Chapter 6
All’s Fair In War
I didn’t hear from the Guildmaster for a couple of days after the Rite of Discovery, and didn’t speak to any of the other hunters. What was worse, I hadn’t heard from Bradon. From the message traffic on the hunters’ website, all of the vampires were laying low. They knew the lycanthropes were out for vengeance. The Bleeders were warning the other leeches to stay in their territory and do nothing to provoke the lycanthropes.
I was busy going through my gear. I had a hunch that I was going to need it. Hours were needed to go through the mass of electronics, climbing rigs, weapons, and other items to make sure all were in proper working order. I was, in fact, cleaning my Colt Commando when the telephone rang.
“Marcus,” said the Guildmaster, after I answered it, “What are you doing right now?”
“Putting my Commando back together,” I replied, nonchalantly.
“The coronation is being held early. The day after tomorrow.”
“What the fuck?” I asked into the telephone, nearly dropping the receiver of my Commando. The coronation had always been held on the next Bone Moon after the death of the previous lord. The period between was designated by the shaman for mourning the loss of the lord, and the soul-searching that inevitably followed the death of such an important lycanthrope. For the coronation to be held so early was unheard of. It had been less than two weeks since Vollen’s funeral.
“The Spiritmaster approved it. In fact, I believe it was he who came up with the idea.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“Dennis overheard a pair of shaman. They said that the Spiritmaster had some sort of divine premonition, and two hours later the announcement came down.” Although I had little respect for Dennis, I knew he was capable of gathering very good intelligence. So, I was apt to believe what the little rat had said to the Guildmaster.
“Do you think this has anything to do with the package you received after the funeral?” I asked, bracing the phone on my shoulder. I picked up the Commando and continued assembling it. I heard a dark breath over the phone before the Guildmaster answered my question.
“Yes, I do. When you finish that little chore, meet me at my office. I’m going to bring in Kurt and James, maybe a couple of others. I have an idea what this correspondence is, and if my hunch is true, I want the Guild to hit the ground running. All other operations are suspended.” He broke the connection abruptly. I quietly inserted the magazine into the gun, still holding the phone on my shoulder. My mind raced over the possibilities. I didn’t like any of them.
My motorcycle roared up into the parking lot of the Guildmaster’s office complex. As I parked, I noticed a pair of hunters that were doing their best to look like normal people. It unnerved me that the Guildmaster needed additional protection. There was a new tension in the air. I walked in to the reception area. The usual secretary was gone. What surprised me was the person replacing her was kin. She flashed her eyes up at me and nodded. I took that to mean I was expected and walked up the stairs.
I entered the Guildmaster’s office and found Deadeye and Sneller sitting down in front of the Guildmaster’s desk. Deadeye was reading a sheet of paper while the other two waited for him to finish. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone else in the room. Turning, I found John Bowmaster availing himself to the Guildmaster’s small wet bar. I walked up to the Guildmaster and asked him who else was joining us.
“No one for right now. We are going to war.” This revelation floored me. I tried to keep my face impassive as possible as my mind tried to comprehend what it was just told. Granted, a few weeks ago, I might have relished the opportunity for unrestricted leech hunting, but that was when Stephen Vollen was in power and would have commanded the packs. Now, I knew the political ramifications and the possibilities. I knew what this war would cause.
“Are you sure?” was the only question I could summon.
“Yes.” Deadeye handed me the paper he was reading. The masthead was from the Lord’s Manor. I read the sentences carefully. As the vampire infestation is no longer acceptable to the leadership of the lycanthrope society in Hillsborough County, I, the Lord-Apparent, order the Hunters Guild to deploy its strike forces for immediate operations. There was only one thing for me to do.
“What are your orders?” I asked. There was no time to be flippant or to make recriminations. The aristocracy gave us its orders, and it was our duty to follow them – whether we thought the orders were sensible or not.
“John and his brother will be issuing weapons to the hit packs. They will be put into their collection points until their targets are defined. The loners will also be issued weapons and also be put into collection points, but I want them to act as a back-up measure for the packs. Marcus, you and one of Kurt’s teams will accompany me to the coronation. Afterwards, you will forego the party and get to work. Any questions?” None of us answered because none was needed. He dismissed us with his hand, a disturbing look on his face.
Unlike the night of Vollen’s funeral, the night of the coronation was clear. In fact, it was better than clear. The Order had, in their spell-casting, removed much of the haze of the city, and revealed more of the night’s stars than normally could be seen. The only marring feature was the waning three-quarters moon. As I scanned the perimeter again, I could not help feeling that this was akin to heresy. I had never been a very religious lycanthrope, missing many of the rites that the Guildmaster expected me to be at, but a good deal of the indoctrination of tysach still remained. Part of this was the fact that important rites could only be performed under the Bone or Blood Moons, when the Ancestors power was at their greatest. Only in emergencies, such as war, was this custom deviated from. Quite frankly, I did not see the coronation of Jason Vollen as an emergency. The war was Vollen’s desire, not a demand on the county.
I stood in front of the house that housed the Manor, in a simple set of robes. The robes were conservative enough for the coronation rite, but I still felt out of sorts wearing them. My work clothes were sitting in Skiff’s car. When he heard the Guildmaster’s orders, he asked if I wanted any help. I took his offer and had him wait for me outside the Manor. As I waited for the Guildmaster, I checked the security personnel again. I didn’t expect any trouble. Whoever our mystery assassin was, it was unlikely that he would show up here. I was convinced that he had done his job and vanished. Professionals on that level did not expose themselves to any more danger than it was needed, and not for any of the small targets that were going to be here. As compared to a well seasoned and politically connected lord. Still, no one knew who was behind the murder of Lord Vollen, or what the ultimate goal of the assassination had been. The Guild was still unsure if the entire operation was completed with Vollen’s assassination, or if there was still more to come. The hunters assigned to the Manor for the evening were our best defensive hunters, and they had a strong force of hunter-trained pack warriors assisting them. It helped that the new house had been built to make it easy to defend.
This house had been home to the Manor for the past five years. It was built in what had been a rural area of the county near the Riverview area southwest of Tampa on about five acres of land. Surrounding the property was a high wrought iron fence. The black, one-inch thick posts of the eight foot tall fence were topped with one-inch silver spikes. The spikes were painted to match the iron bars, more to discourage thieves than any attempt at subterfuge. In addition to the spikes, low-light cameras and motion detectors were scattered along the fence line, disguised as ornaments. At each of the corners, two foot square brick posts held the sides of the fence together. They were bullet proof and had small, concealed automatic weapons that could be controlled from inside the house through underground fiber-optic lines. The front gate was the only way in. Here the iron fence ended in two brick posts, similar to the ones at the corners of the fence. However, each six foot long gate door slid through the post, to avoid the problems and dangers of a conventionally opening gate. Standing at the gate stood Hangman, lent to the Red Knights for this job. He stopped each car as it pulled into the drive and checked the occupants. On either side of the gate, hidden in the shadows was a pair of lycanthropes. They were probably Red Knights. They were fidgeting too much to be hunters.
The grounds of the Manor were well trimmed, with only a few tall evergreen trees dotting the landscape. Patrolling the grounds were three groups of about six lycanthropes each. They were a mix of hunter-trained pack warriors and shamans. They were trying hard to stay out of sight, but I could still pick them out as they stealthily moved across spacious front grounds and across the artificial hill.
The house, itself, was built into the side of the artificially created hill. Only about half of the house was visible, with the section that housed the Manor being well buried underneath the hill. A small half-floor sat on top of the hill, hidden by the sloping roof of the house. No doubt a Red Knight crew was in the half-floor covering the rear entrance on top of the hill. That was one of the main reasons of the house’s design. Instead of the entire rear of the house having to be guarded, only the half-floor needed defense. The only rear entrance was the sliding glass door on the half-floor that faced out onto the hill.
The house itself was upscale, but not grandiose. It had a roof that came down from the half-floor to about twelve feet off the ground, disrupted only by a few well-concealed windows. The front of the house was painted in medium grays and featured lightly done wood work. Up on the roof, I had spotted four pack warriors, and there was a group of four more in the front of the house.
I stood on the walk that led from the horseshoe shaped driveway to the front door, watching the various pack leaders and important lycanthropes from the surrounding counties pass by me. About five feet from me stood the group that Sneller had sent. I had often thought that Sneller had a cruel sense of humor, but the group he assigned to the detail proved it. I had no doubt that the group was capable, and probably was one of the best that he had, but the leader of the group and I had feelings for each other; feelings of loathing and general contempt.
JB, as the leader was known, had been a hunter for about as long as I had. He was of average height, and wore his dark hair in a crew cut. His dark eyes smoldered as he glanced at me. Unlike me, he was a dedicated group player. When we had joined up with the Hillsborough chapter our coolness between us had come mostly from bravado and arrogance on each of our parts. However, the feelings culminated into severe hatred about eight years back, before the current Guildmaster was in power. Before the current Guildmaster came to head the Guild, communications between the lone wolves and the hit packs were rare, and it was not uncommon for a hit pack and a lone wolf to be going after the same target. It got to the point that when a job was given, one faction went to the other side of the house to make sure that no one else was doing the same job, and if so, to coordinate action. However, on the night in question, JB’s group and I were both assigned to sanction a prominent member of the TCV who had been recruiting vampires on our territory – and neither of us bothered to check if anyone else had been given the job. Since the TCV wasn’t going to rein the vampire in, the Hunters Guild had been asked to do it for them. It was a simple straightforward job that was perfect for a young hunter like me – at least on the face of it. The leech went down fast, but I fucked up my extraction and ended up starting a firefight with the leech’s ghouls and minion vampires. As I was fighting for my life, the hit pack JB belonged to at the time pulled up at the front gate of the leech’s home. They had planned a covert insertion using a basic bluff. Normally, it would have worked, but not while the guards and I were busy exchanging gunfire. The now-alerted leech forces and the hit pack met in a bloody and violent firefight. As I escaped in the confusion (thinking JB’s group had extracted themselves), the hit pack and the leeches fought each other for the next two hours in a running gun battle all over Hyde Park. It had ended with most of the leech forces killed, but with the leader of the hit pack severely wounded and the rest of the hit pack walking wounded. I’m sure JB would have killed me for that, but the battle had earned him and the hit pack a great deal of respect both within the Guild and the lycanthrope community at large. JB’s coolness under fire during the fight resulted in him being promoted to the leader of the hit pack, and he had continued to rise in status and proficiency ever since. The grudge between the two of us was still there, however. He considered me a reckless and dangerous maverick, and I thought he was too conventional and inflexible.
The other members of his team I had not met before, but apparently JB explained who I was beforehand. JB’s deputy was a huge lycanthrope by the name of Farmer. Ancestors, he looked like a wall of flesh, topping in at just over six and a half feet tall with physique of a professional wrestler in human form. I imagined how truly immense he would have been in true form. The other two were more average looking, but both of them held a wild gleam in their eyes. It slightly worried me until JB explained that they were the Crazy Boys. They were brothers that had gained a small reputation in the Guild as dangerous and slightly off-kilter assassins. They were called the Crazy Boys because of the wild cackling laugh they both used to signal a particularly interesting or difficult kill. They had started in the Guild as lone wolves, but Deadeye didn’t really trust them and asked the Guildmaster to switch them over to the hit packs. Sneller agreed to take the Boys, and promptly handed them over to his resident bad-ass hit pack leader, JB. The Crazy Boys had been with JB for almost a year, and had apparently thrived as hit pack members. They still made me a little nervous. They just had that wild look in their eyes that screamed barely contained insanity.
The crowd flowed by me as I saw the Guildmaster walk up to the five of us. Escorting the Guildmaster was his wife. Both were dressed in dark robes, with the Guildmaster’s adorned with golden runes, depicting his name and position in the ancient tongue. As he approached JB and me, two small, white envelopes appeared in his hand. He covertly handed them to us.
“Read these during the coronation,” he growled quietly. JB nodded. The Guildmaster moved quickly to the door before I could say anything. The Crazy Boys went past him and took up front guard positions. JB and Farmer fell back covering the rear, while I stayed next to the Guildmaster and his wife.
As our group approached the front door, I could see the two Knights on duty tense up. They were both dressed in the ceremonial robes and wielding deskunas. The senior one checked the Guildmaster’s credentials as the other watched the rest of us suspiciously. Upon going through the door, the nondescript elegance of the house faded into out and out regal design. The floor was constructed of marble tile, covered only by a wide red carpet. Tapestries depicting several famous battles from the lycanthrope history were hung carefully along the walls. The ceiling held a single, huge chandelier. Standing on either side of the carpet stood two more Knights in ceremonial dress and carrying deskunas. As one of the Crazy Boys introduced us to the two guards, I looked around the room a little more carefully. I noticed that while there were no chairs or couches, there were a number of wooden stands with flower vases on top of them. I found this strange, because since Vollen’s wife had died several years ago, Vollen’s decorating had deteriorated from tasteful to pragmatic. The Guildmaster apparently noticed me looking at the stands, because he whispered into my ear, “Vollen’s pragmatism has a beauty to it. All of those stands break apart easily and can be used as stakes. They supposedly pioneered the idea in the disputed territories.” That made sense. Dade and Broward counties were supposed to be in the middle of an all-out war with the leeches. However, we haven’t been in real contact with lycanthropes there for over two years. Still, it was an interesting idea. I grinned at that until I noticed a shadow out of my eye. Staring at me, with the gleam of unadulterated hatred in his eyes, was Smythe. I knew that he blamed me for to prevent the death of Stephen Vollen, according to the scuttlebutt between the hunters and the Knights. I returned his scowl with a wide smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes, and continued to walk down the corridor with the Guildmaster. There was little Smythe could do against me here, and I severely doubted that he had enough courage to ask me to step outside to finish whatever business he thought we had. Not tonight at any rate.
I walked into the Manor itself and marveled again at the splendor of the ancient room. All the items in the rooms were originals. It had been put into this house piece by piece from the last house that held the Manor, which in turn had the pieces put into it carefully from the previous house, all the way back until the founding of the lordship almost two hundred years ago. It was a huge room, with a domed ceiling painted with several battles from the early times in the Fatherland. The floor was white marble, shining from the reflected light of the gilded chandeliers.
About ten feet from each wall ran two lines of marble columns. Each of the twenty columns, ten on each side, was about a foot in diameter and evenly spaced from the door to the throne. On the six closest columns were the banners of the past families that ruled Hillsborough since the domain was founded some two hundred years ago. All were decorated with brilliant colors and the crests of their line. All except one. The one that hung at the closest column on the right of the throne was a pure white. It had no decorations or any symbols upon it. I had seen it on the handful of occasions that I had been to the Manor. The position that the banner held meant that it belonged to the family that held the throne right before Stephen Vollen’s father claimed it some forty-five years ago. That was the banner of the Forgotten Lord.
What is known of the Forgotten Lord is that he briefly ruled after the end of the Great Fatherland War, known to the humans as World War II. He apparently served well enough during the Great Fatherland War that when the Lord of Hillsborough was killed during the war, the Forgotten Lord was appointed to take over by the prince. During his short reign, he committed some form of grievous offense to the Prince. It wasn’t known what exactly the offense entailed, but some of the rumors involved the Forgotten Lord taking an undesirable mate. Whatever it was, it was serious enough that the Prince not only removed the Forgotten Lord, but had the State Spiritmaster remove his identity from the memories of almost all lycanthropes in the State of Florida. Only the Prince now knows the Forgotten Lord’s identity. Many still wondered what had caused such a drastic response because no one can find any evidence that the Forgotten Lord ruled the county poorly.
Our group moved through the Manor, ignoring the looks from the packs. Our destination was near the throne. The throne was actually a wooden podium raised off the ground by a height of about seven feet. It was reached by a narrow staircase in the back. Many lycanthropes likened it to a church pulpit. On each side of the throne, and directly in front of it, were areas about twenty feet square laid out in black marble. These were where the family of the lord, the Order, and the Guild stood. The family stood in front of the throne, the Order on the right, and the Guild on the left. The Guild took a perverse pride at sitting at the left hand of the throne, especially since we considered ourselves the shadowy part of the trifecta that stood outside the packs. We stood in our area as the Guildmaster walked to the back of the Manor, where a pair of Red Knights stood by a well-concealed door directly behind the throne.
The actual coronation was held in that room. Only the Spiritmaster, the Lord-Apparent, and the Guildmaster would actually witness it. The rest of the lycanthropes would wait in the Manor. When they came out, Jason would have gained the powerful psychic powers his father had possessed. That was considered the true sign of being a member of the aristocracy. Once he had ascended and took possession of the throne, Jason – now Lord Vollen – would give a speech outlining whatever he had planned for the packs of Hillsborough County. It was reminiscent of the State of the Union speech that the humans’ President gave. His father’s had been one of unity and restoration of the glory of Hillsborough. I wondered what sort of tone Jason would set, although I feared it was going to be a dark tone. War for vengeance is almost always a dark toned course of action. It may be necessary, but it was still dark.
As I entered the Guild’s area – there was no formal name – I saw a couple of hunters waiting for us. The first one that came to greet us was Dennis Matric. The other was a surprise. Sally Harth, the leader of Pinellas’ hit packs, was one of the few female hunters in the state of Florida, but she had helped turn Pinellas’s Guild from one of the most laughed at to one of the most feared in the state. She did it by being ruthless, calculating, and recruiting help from the Guildmaster of Hillsborough. Some of our hunters went over there to form a training and operationally cadre, and under her direction, they succeeded in weeding out the bad hunters and improving the good ones. The best part of it was that the two Guilds had remained close since, trading information and doing operations together with the best of results, like the job against the Sirens. I wondered why Harth was here. Usually delegates from other counties are received the day after the coronation at a special reception. The Guildmaster would have had to invite her personally in order for her to be in attendance. I wanted to ask her, but she gave me a level look as I approached that was definitely in the polite-but-stay-away category. Given my options, I started a small, but civil conversation with JB and Farmer. JB was his normal pain-in-the-ass self, but Farmer seemed not to have been infected with his boss’s animosity towards me.
After our small chat, JB and I decided it was time to read the orders that the Guildmaster gave us as we walked in. We sliced the envelopes open with our claws. It was as I feared – orders for the opening shots of a war. I read the orders twice to make sure that I had read the target correctly. Damn. I jammed the orders back into the envelope. I looked up at JB and saw that he was grim, but not surprised. Apparently Sneller had explained the current facts of life to him, like the Guildmaster had done with me. Sometimes it absolutely fucking sucked to be the Guildmaster’s personal hitter. I pulled out my cellular phone and sent a text message to Skiff, who was waiting for me at the car. I told him we had a green light, and to prepare everything. He responded that he had and was ready for me. As I replaced the phone, I watched as JB gathered his team around him, giving orders. We both knew that we needed to move fast once we were ordered out.
Dennis apparently noticed something was going on and walked over to me from where he had been chatting with Mrs. Werstand and Harth.
“Something of interest?” he asked with a sly smile. I gave him my most level stare before responding. Matric either didn’t know what was going down, or he was preparing to present the Guild’s public face when the war opened. As evil as it sounded, this war would give Matric a good chance to rehabilitate the Guild’s public face. That didn’t mean I had to like it.
“Matric, go over there and play politics,” I told him menacingly, “Don’t bother me again.” Something in my tone must have triggered Matric’s self-preservation instinct, because he very stately scampered back away from JB’s team and me. I looked over at JB, who gave me a knowing smile. I nodded to him and began putting myself in the job mindset. Out of habit, I brushed my hand across my pistol, hidden in its shoulder holster under my robes. A couple of Red Knights noticed, but I met their interested looks with warning glares. They looked away quickly.
The tense mood of the room broke as the concealed door creaked open. The first lycanthrope out of the room was the Guildmaster. Carrying the solemn face that custom dictated he strode swiftly across the floor to the area where the rest of us waited. Following him by about twenty paces was the Spiritmaster. As the lycanthrope strolled with a casualness that worried me, he glanced over to us. I could have been wrong, but I swore I had seen a smug grin on his muzzle.
A moment was given before the new lord’s appearance to allow all the gathered to straighten up to their full height. The new Lord of Hillsborough strode into the room and made his path to the throne. There was strange gleam in his eye that set my instincts roaring with danger warnings. The door to the throne was a concealed switch that could only be operated by the psychic touch of the aristocracy. It is said that this is the proof to the packs that the Lord-Apparent had gained the mantle of lord. Jason, now Lord Vollen, third of his line, closed his eyes a brief second and waited as the door clicked and swung open. He walked up into the throne and closed the door mentally. The room was silent with anticipation. Breathing was stopped before the new Lord of Hillsborough began his speech. A smile graced the lord’s muzzle as he looked out among the gather packs and few prominent independents. His voice boomed out in the Manor as he began.
“Loyal lycanthropes of my county, I know that all of this seems sudden. Many of you have said that the timing of my coronation is ill-placed. There is a reason for this. An important reason. For far too long, we have lived with the offspring of the cesspool of degradation. We even made peace treaties with them. However, they have shown themselves to be completely untrustworthy time and time again. And now, they have committed an act of war against our society as a whole. For these crimes, they must pay. As of this night, the Peace no longer exists in Hillsborough County.” He paused for a moment as startled gasps rose from many in the Manor. It occurred to me then, that even if the Guild had been preparing for this, none of the packs had. I doubted they were even aware how high tensions had become between the aristocracy and the TCV.
“Some of you have advanced orders. You may carry them out now.” With those words, JB’s team and I left the Manor, with several shamans following us. The Knights at the double doors held them open for us, and then closed them loudly as the group of us walked through. The shaman and JB’s team raced down the corridor to the door that led outside. I, on the other hand, calmly pulled out my phone and told Skiff to bring the car around. I was sure that the night was going to have enough excitement without me getting wound up too early.
As I reached the door, I saw Skiff waiting for me at the front of the driveway in human form, standing next to his pride and joy, a brand-new Ford Mustang. I stripped out of my robe and shed to human form. I opened Skiff’s trunk and pulled out one of the suitcases. As Skiff talked on his phone to Deadeye, who was busy coordinating tonight’s operations, I put on a light grey suit. I put my robe back into the suitcase, and placed the suitcase back in the trunk. I pulled out another case, this one loaded with my weapons for tonight’s job. I hated the fact that the job required me to go in light, but that was why the Guildmaster had me as his personal hitter. My job was to start the night off. Dressed and armed, I replaced the other case and walked around to the passenger side of the car. Skiff hung up the phone, and stepped into the car. I joined him and he sped out of the driveway.
“What did Deadeye say?” I asked Skiff.
“Surf’s up, dude.”
We reached our destination about twenty minutes later. It was a plain, two-story house in one of the suburbs in New Tampa. New Tampa was always an area of contention with both the vampire and lycanthropes claiming it as their territory. Skiff stopped long enough for me to get out, and then sped off to his waiting point, a couple blocks down the street. As I approached the house, I could see the first guards on the porch. Two vampires were sitting on the porch. One was tall and lanky with long dark hair tied back into a ponytail. His partner was about my height with a crew cut. They were both dressed in jeans and brightly colored pullover shirts. They seemed to be two young men just hanging out with other. Two things made them stand out: one, the both had pistols on their hips in semi-concealed holsters, and two, they both had their fingernails painted a matte black. This was the home of the Bleeders’ leader, Phillip Bradon, and both of those young men were Bleeders assigned to guard their master. I fingered the panic button on the beeper I had placed on my belt as I walked up the steps.
As I reached a couple of steps short of the front porch, their non-interest in me suddenly changed. The tall one leaped in front of me, while his partner trained his revolver on me. I stood face to face with Long Hair as he spoke in the hot, foul-smelling breath of the leeches. “What are you doing here, doggie?”
“I need to see Bradon, immediately,” I replied, coolly and collected. The two laughed at this and Long Hair dropped back a step. Which was good for me, his breath could have floored a tank. They looked at each other jokingly, and then turned back to me.
“Now what makes you think we’re going to let a dog go up to see Bradon?” he asked, barely containing his amusement. I folded my arms across my chest and drew my face into a scowl.
“Tell him that Ranger is here to see him. It’s urgent.” Their laughing faces sobered quickly. My instincts roared danger as I looked into the Long Hair’s eyes. I adjusted my hands, and grabbed the butt of my Glock that I had placed into a shoulder holster. Long Hair took another step back and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol from a small of the back holster. His partner cocked back the hammer on his drawn revolver. I could feel the storm brewing around me. My hand on my weapon, I began plotting how this dance was to unfold.
“You know, there’s a bounty–” That was all I let him get in. I didn’t know about any bounty, but that was the start of something. I dropped to the ground, drawing my pistol from under my suit jacket. This kind of situation was why I drilled so damned hard at snap shooting. As I hit the concrete of the sidewalk, I double tapped the leech in front of me. He was hammered to the ground by the nine millimeter silver rounds. Stupid fucker must not have had his vest on him. I didn’t pay any further attention to Long Hair. I rolled onto the grass as the dead leech’s partner quickly fired off three rounds at me. The bullets screamed by. Their tiny supersonic hisses told me that Long Hair’s partner was getting far too close. I placed five shots into the other leech’s head and body before he collapsed to the porch. I swore silently. This was not what I wanted. I rose off the ground, scanning the area for more Bleeders. I was expecting more gunfire, but instead, an unarmed male ghoul servant came out onto the porch. I trained my pistol on him, but he stood there emotionlessly.
“Mr. Bradon will see you now,” he said in the monotone voice of a personal servant. As I walked in, a pair of Bleeders stopped me. One motioned for me to hand over my weapons, while the other trained a big 12-gauge shotgun on me. I handed my Glock to the leech. I had been expecting to be disarmed, which was why I had brought the Glock rather than my USP. I was more willing to lose the Glock. The Bleeder put the pistol onto a small table, and then motioned for more. I grimaced at this. They obviously were going to make sure I had no weapons on me. I gave them my boot gun, and all my knives. If they were professional enough to know that I easily had more than one weapon on me, then there was no point in trying to get any through. It would just delay me from my job, and all of the hunters were waiting for me to finish my job so that they could start theirs. The two Bleeders checked me thoroughly one more time and then ushered me upstairs.
I walked up the stairs, noticing the lack of any color in the house. The carpet was a dull white, with white walls. The few pieces of furniture I had seen were plain and lacked any real color except for dull browns and blacks. There were no photographs or pictures along the walls. I was led by the leech that took my weapons into a large room on the second floor. White double doors marked where the white carpet ended and a luscious hard- wood floor began. A large picture window gave a view of the well-cultivated backyard, lighted to almost daylight by several large halogen lights. A modern teak desk was placed in the middle of the room, surrounded by book cases, mostly filled with aging books. Bradon sat behind the desk in an antique leather chair, arching his fingers at me as I was motioned to sit by my escort. There didn’t seem to be anything on the table, but I knew there was computer equipment in the room by the smell of ozone and several high pitched wines from cooling fans. Bradon continued to look at me as he motioned for my escort to leave the office. My escort looked at me, then to Bradon, and then back at me. Bradon motioned for him to leave again, this time angrily. The leech bowed slightly and moved backward out the double doors, closing them as he left. Silence enveloped the room, pierced only by the whine of the computer’s cooling fans. Bradon leaned back in his chair, putting his hands on the desk in front of him. I knew then he wanted me to start our conversation.
“I suppose you want to know why I’m here?” I asked quietly. He nodded, his face an emotionless blank. “The Lord-Apparent has been coronated as the Lord of Hillsborough County.” I waited for Bradon to say something, but he just continued to stare at me. I thought that statement would lay it out, but apparently it hadn’t. “He has decided that the nosferatus continued existence in Hillsborough County is intolerable. War, I am afraid, is inevitable.” His face didn’t change. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze came down and focused on me.
“Why are you bringing me this?” he asked quietly. I could feel the explosive tension building in him. If I wasn’t careful, I would be seeing him coming over his desk for my throat.
“I have been asked by my Guildmaster to ask you for the names we had asked earlier. The Guildmaster feels that if a war breaks out, both the hunters and the Bleeders will suffer for it. We have trained as surgical operatives, but I’m willing to bet that both our leaderships see us as shock troopers for the offensives. If, on the other hand, the Guild were to take out the two Inner Council members that were responsible, then both sides could back down.” He considered that for a moment.
“You said that war is inevitable. Why then should we give you those names? Why shouldn’t we be preparing for the war?” I saw his eyes flicker with maliciousness. It wasn’t something I normally saw in him. I fingered the panic button on my beeper. His eyes flashed to my beeper, then back up to my eyes. He smiled, as if amused that I still felt threatened around him.
“The starting date is still a couple of weeks off. The lord wants the packs armed and ready. It is time enough for us to do the job and keep the Peace in Hillsborough. My boss says that he will help to get the lord on the right track if you will do the same for the Inner Council of the TCV.” As I finished, he looked back up at the ceiling, obviously considering what I had just said.
My fingers pressed the panic button. The panic button did two things. First it sent a signal to Skiff to come get me. Secondly, it opened the beeper to reveal a two-shot derringer. Bradon noticed the activity, but to no avail. I had already leveled the derringer at his head and pulled back the hammer. Right before I squeezed the trigger, a new look came onto his face. The best I could describe it was a knowing face. One that told me that he understood why I was doing this. Two thunderclaps boomed and Bradon’s head exploded as two .40 caliber silver bullets slammed into it.
I had to move quickly. The gunshots would have alerted every Bleeder in the house. I leapt over the desk, shedding my human form for true form. I threw Bradon’s changing body, still in his chair, through the window. There was my extraction route. I heard the pounding on the stairs as Bleeders began responding to the gunshots. I threw the desk on its side as I heard the double doors crash open. Before I reloaded my derringer, a glint caught my eye from under the desk. It was a Glock 17 in a desk holster. It surprised me that Bradon hadn’t used this on me. The Ancestors must have smiled upon me. Three bullets crashed through the desk. Wood splinters imbedded themselves into my face and arm. I winced at the slight pain and grabbed the Glock. Two more bullets came through, one hitting me square in the chest. The impact threw me to the floor and knocked the wind out of me. Bastard was using a Desert Eagle .50, and it fucking hurt. I gasped for air as the leech jumped up on the table. He had heard my loss of breath. He leaped up as if he was examining a kill. However, I was wearing a nice warm Kevlar vest. I raised the Glock and neatly placed three shots into his head. I wasn’t going to repeat his stupid mistake.
At that point, I heard a screeching crash outside. I looked through the shattered window to find Skiff in the backyard. He had taken his Mustang through the wooden fence that surrounded the lot. The front end of the car was bashed in and the windshield was completely shattered. I half-rolled, half-jumped out of the office window. The ground rushed up at me, and I felt the satisfying crunch of my body hitting the grassy ground. Pain flashed and quickly subsided as I figured which direction I needed to run. I put another double-tap into a Bleeder that came running out of the house. Gunshots cracked overhead as I ran crouched towards Skiff’s car. My body had healed itself by the time I had reached the passenger door.
As I reached up and opened the door, I looked over to Skiff. Crouching behind the door of his car, he was firing his pistol at a pair of Bleeders that had made it to the rear entrance of the Bradon’s home. I climbed in and pulled the magazine out of the Glock to check how many rounds I had left. Somewhere between falling out the window and getting into Skiff’s car, I lost count of how many rounds I had fired. Skiff jumped into the car and slammed his door shut. Throwing the car in reverse, he punched the gas, nearly running into a tree on the other side of the street. I had a mostly full magazine of bullets. I felt the acceleration of the car push me back into my seat. I placed the Glock into the holster where mine had been. I looked behind us, and saw a bat clinging to the rear window.
“Shit, one of them got a hold of us,” I said to Skiff. He nodded quietly, which was unusual for him. I wondered if he had been hit. Then I saw what was in front of us. A pair of sedans had set a roadblock up at the end of the block. “Please tell me you have something heavier than a pistol in here Skiff,” I pleaded with him.
“Scattergun in the back, dude.” I could see him calculating his moves through the roadblock as it rapidly approached. I reached in the back and found the Mossberg Skiff had been keeping in the back of his Mustang. He had outfitted it pretty decently, with a flip-up folding stock and rigid side-saddle for more ammunition, which was full. Not bothering to ask whether the gun was loaded, I worked the pump and leveled it at the bat, still clinging to the rear window. I squeezed the trigger and was momentarily deafened by the thundering roar of the shotgun. Silver buckshot pellets shattered the rear window and shredded the bat, which was thrown back into the street. It laid there, slowly changing forms in its final death.
I turned to the front to watch as Skiff suddenly pulled his car up onto the sidewalk, around the roadblock, and back out onto the street. Gunfire from the roadblock began hitting the car, but Skiff never wavered. I turned to congratulate him on his skillful driving when his head exploded in a cloud of red mist. Grabbing the steering wheel, I pulled the car to my side, and slammed it into a tree. Skiff had managed to get the sports car up to about fifty miles per hour before avoiding the roadblock, and even with the speed bled from the sharp turns, the collision was shattering. I was thrown into the dashboard, dropping the shotgun. Skiff’s airbag deployed, cushioning his body’s impact into the steering column. I shook off the momentarily disorientation, and pushed back the pain of my body resetting all the broken bones and healing them. I picked the shotgun back up and looked out the rear. The leeches had left their roadblock and were walking up to the Mustang. I could make out about five of them, well-spaced out, centering on a very tall Bleeder. Two of them, the center leech and the one on the far right, carried sub-machine guns. The other three were armed with automatic pistols. Well, at least I had my first two targets.
I pumped the action of the Mossberg and made a quick shot at the center Bleeder. He crumpled to the asphalt as his middle was torn apart by the silver buckshot. In response, the other four opened fire. Bullets slammed through the car, several hitting my seat. Fortunately, only three actually went through the seat and hit me, and two of those were caught by my vest. The last sliced across my left shoulder before imbedding itself into the dashboard. An eerie quiet came as the four Bleeders reloaded their weapons. Seizing the opportunity, I jumped up from my crouched position in my seat and shot the other leech carrying a sub-machine gun. He was thrown back by a solid slug of silver. Skiff had staggered the loads in the Mossberg. Another slug hit his partner on the right, slamming the leech into another tree. I quickly put the sights of the Mossberg onto the other two, pumping the action as I moved. The closest one had finished inserting a fresh magazine into his pistol and was bringing the weapon up. A round of buckshot quelled that notion. The last one had turned to run as I fired again. His back was quickly filled with tiny holes. I threw the shotgun down as the leech staggered up. The last round had been birdshot. At close distances it was about as good as buckshot because it had more pellets, but it was still not quite enough to take down a Bleeder. I pulled out the Glock. Putting the white-green front sight on the Bleeder’s back I squeezed the trigger. The bullet threw him forward, but he caught his balance before falling. A quick double-tap finished the job.
Silence again filled the suburban street. Unfortunately, I could not afford to enjoy it. Moving quickly, I tore the trunk open, reached in, and retrieved my two cases. I pulled Skiff’s body out of the car. It was in true form, with the noticeable lack of a head. I left the shotgun in the car and opened my weapons case and pulled out a small metal block with a digital readout and number pad on it. It was a thermite bomb that Gunny made for the hunters. When it hit, the electronics in the digital package ignited the block, which was thermite inside a magnesium shell. Burning at two thousand degrees Fahrenheit, it would melt everything in a twenty foot radius. It was a nasty, last-ditch device. I gingerly laid the device in the front seat of the Mustang. Placing the Mossberg on top of the device, I set the timer for twenty seconds. Although the idea of leaving a booby-trap for the leeches that were sure to follow was tempting, I didn’t want to give them a chance to disarm it. Hefting Skiff’s corpse over my shoulder, I picked up my two cases with my free hand. I walked over to one of the houses that were behind the tree that I had crashed the car into. I quickly reached the wooden fence between the closest two houses and threw Skiff’s corpse and the two cases over. Then I jumped over the fence and waited for day to come. Vampires could not come out in the day. They wouldn’t burst into flame on contact with solar rays like most humans believed, but they would lose most, if not all, of their supernatural powers and strength. They might send their ghouls, but I would be safe for awhile. I leaned my head against the wooden fence and took a deep breath. I placed the Glock by my side and called the Guildmaster.
“What the hell is going on over there?” he almost shouted over the phone, “The Sheriff’s Office is going crazy with calls about a gun fight in your area!” I could just imagine him trying to get our kin in the Sheriff’s Office to stop them from sending half the deputies in Hillsborough to where I was. I put my hand on Skiff’s corpse and took a deep breath before answering. Before I could, a loud THUMP erupted behind me. The thermite charge hit the gas tank. As the echo of the blast faded, screams from the wounded leeches floated over to where I was. Apparently a few had managed to get close enough for the charge to get them.
“Boss, Skiff’s dead. I got a bunch of leeches around me and I’m running kind of low on firepower. There were more Bleeders in the area than I had been expecting.” With that comment, I picked up the Glock and ejected the magazine. I had about ten rounds in the magazine, plus the two spare magazines in a holder under my shoulder. I reinserted the magazine into the pistol. I could barely make out his breathing over the phone.
“Alright. The SO will be out there in five minutes. From what our people have heard, it’s going to be a huge group. Twenty-five deputies plus Tac Rep. Stay where you are and avoid contact with the humans. Kin will be in the group to keep them away from you. I’m going to send help, but I don’t know how I’m going to get you out of there as of right now.”
“Okay boss,” I breathed into my phone and terminated the call. I rolled over and peered through the boards of the fence. The street was devoid of vampires, but I could see several humans out looking at the melted wreckage of Skiff’s Mustang. Two of them had rifles, holding them in a skyward safe position. I shook my head slightly. Physically, I was fine. My shoulder burned from the glancing gunshot, but the rest of my wounds had healed themselves already. However, I was fatigued to the point of exhaustion. Everything had happened so fast, and I wasn’t quite up to where I normally got my second wind. I lay back against the fence. Better to wait for the cavalry to arrive. The world began to fade out.
I sat up suddenly, grabbing my pistol as I leaped to my feet. A large dog was standing next to me. Just behind him stood Ronin in true form. Ronin was a welcome sight. I noticed that blood coated his claws. I motioned to his claws. He growled an answer. Unlike humans where sounds are put together to form words, sounds made by wolves, and to a lesser extent by dogs, are used to form pictures in the mind’s eye. He explained that the humans who lived in the house had discovered me. When Ronin and his group had approached me, the eldest male was probing Skiff’s body. Since the human wasn’t catatonic, Ronin assumed that he was becoming a witch hunter. So he had his pack of dogs kill the entire family. For those of you who are repulsed, I never claimed lycanthropes were the good guys, especially hunters. Especially where witch hunters were concerned. I shook my head to clear some of the haze. I had fucked up by passing out, and it had endangered myself and forced extreme measures. Hell, the whole job had been an example of how not to conduct an assassination. Problem was, the Guildmaster had wanted to see if Bradon was willing to give us the names, and if not, kill him. All of that meant that I had to go in under the guise of a friend. Pain flashed and my mind was ripped back to the present. My shoulder burned more than it should have for the wound I had taken, but I had to push that to the back of my mind. We had to extract from the area as soon as possible.
I walked over to the house, holstering my pistol. The back entrance was a sliding glass door, but now it had no glass. Shards of glass were scattered around the door. A small human child was strewn across the door. I pretended not to notice as I searched the house. I didn’t always like all of the killing we did, even when it was necessary. The second floor was torn apart. I made my way to the master bedroom and searched around for the car keys. I found them underneath what I assumed was once a bed stand. As I came out in the hall, Ronin was there, directing the rest of his pack out.
“Do you have any lycanthropes with you?” I asked him. He looked at me for a second, and I could see him mentally translating the English into wolf. When he apparently had made the translation coherent a few seconds later, he shook his head. He growled that he only had a small pack of stray dogs that he had gathered. I shook my head slowly. Concentrating, I growled that I needed him to help me load Skiff’s body into the car of the family he had killed. He looked at me strangely, like I had said something obscene. Then a look came over him, like what I had said finally slipped into place.
“Load body in car?” he asked, his voice straining against the human words. I nodded. He looked relieved. I was confused, until I remembered I was in human form. Humans are unable to speak wolf effectively. Pictures come out confusingly. I wondered just what he thought I had said. I decided not to press the issue and lifted the body. The load lightened as Ronin joined me and we walked to the garage.
The door to the garage was wide open. I could smell death and human blood wafting out. I set down the body and crept in. The morning sun shone into the garage through a small window on a side door. Most of the stored contents of the family were strewn about. There were two cars sitting in the middle, a red sports car and a silver minivan. They were dented, apparently from the debris around them, and had most of their windows smashed. The door of the sports car was open. Pulling my gun, I cautiously moved to peer in. A human body lay across the seats, its neck torn apart. I turned suddenly as I heard Ronin walk into the garage. I nodded my head towards the body. His expressionless face answered my unvoiced question. It was his pack’s work. I was slightly relieved that it was not a ghoul that had somehow made it into the house. We loaded Skiff into the back of the minivan. Ronin reverted to his wolf form and crawled into the passenger seat. I climbed into the driver’s seat after opening the garage door. Starting the car, all the excitement of the past night and morning drained out of me. My wound burned intensely as I put the van into gear and pulled out of the garage. As I moved down the driveway, I noticed a large group of dogs leaving the house and moving down the street. A bark from Ronin and the entire group dispersed.
I tried to ignore my shoulder and made my way back to the Guild. Traffic irritably passed me as I slowly drove through the back streets, my shoulder’s burning increasing with each slight bump or movement. I made it about two blocks from the Guild when the ache from my shoulder became unbearable. I pulled over to the side of the road. Leaning back in the seat, I rested a moment.
Suddenly the door came open and I was jerked out of the car. The flurry of activity surged me with renewed energy, but before I could reach my pistol, I was thrown over the shoulder of my assailant. Confused, I looked around. Ronin had gotten out of the car, and two other lycanthropes in human form had begun removing Skiff’s corpse. As my assailant carried me to the Guild, I noticed that the two lycanthropes were wearing steel wolf’s head shaped pins on their shirts. They were hunters. The lycanthrope carrying me must also be a hunter. As a feeling of safety enveloped me, I succumbed to the burning in my shoulder and passed out.