Punk had expected to meet Sheamus at the gym or a martial arts dojo, or even a damn YMCA but this-?
He double checked the address the Sheamus had given him last night, written on a cocktail napkin. Yep, this was indeed the place. He wondered if the Irishman was having a joke at his expense.
He parked his car and stared glumly at the Chesterfield Public Library. He hated books. If he wanted to read he would have opened a bookstore, a not become a wrestler. Well, he could always hope there was a secret vampire hunter training facility in the basement. Wasn't that how they did it on "Buffy"?
Inside he spotted Sheamus immediately. He was leaning against the checkout desk and flirting idly with the librarian who seemed absolutely fascinated by every word coming out of his mouth. As Punk approached them, he realized Sheamus was regaling her with one of his fantastic tales of life back in Ireland.
"…and to this day," Sheamus was saying, "me granda' refuses to go to the outhouse without a flashlight and a nine iron!"
The pretty blond dissolved into laughter, "Oh my god! I can't believe you and your brother did that!" She shook her head, and gave him an arch look,"Tell me, is that really a true story or is that a bit of the famous Irish Blarney?"
Sheamus winked at her, "I'll take you home with me one of these days and you can ask 'im yerself."
Punk cleared his throat loudly," Er, uh-hemm….hemmm…..hheeem…..…hmmmmm...mmmmm". "
Sheamus finally looked over. "Ah, Punk!" he said lazily, "Meet Miranda, the bonniest lass this side of the Shannon. Miranda, this is Punk. Now, don't be put off by him. The longer you look at him, the less ugly he gets!"
She glanced over at him, "Hi, nice to meet you." She said politely, before turning her batting eyelashes back on Sheamus.
"Uh, yeah, pleasure," Punk muttered, feeling a little like he was in the twilight zone. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had dismissed him so quickly, without a second look, and in favor of Sheamus?
He didn't think he was a particularly vain man, but he'd had girls falling over him since he was sixteen years old. Women routinely gave themselves whiplash doing double takes when they saw him. And add a smile or a wink from him and they were putty in his hands.
So, what was up with this chick that she'd rather make googly eyes at Sheamus who was as pale as a ghost and had Ronald McDonald orange hair?
Wait! Was she a vampire?
Aha! That was it, it had to be. And Sheamus was charming her just as he did the vampire women he met on the road.
It all made sense. That must be why Sheamus had brought him here, to help him get rid of this vampire. Punk stood a little straighter, ready to spring into action. Well, this was more like it! He was ready to make a kill.
"Well, Miranda me love, "Sheamus said, "As much as it pains me to trade your company for my swarthy friend here, I'm afraid we've got work to do."
"Oh, OK." She said breathlessly. "Please, let me know if there's anything else I can do for you! I mean anything!"
Sheamus took her hand and gallantly brought it to his lips. "I shall be forever in your debt."
Miranda blushed prettily and practically floated away.
"OK," Punk said in a low voice when she was out of ear shot, "I'm totally ready to do this. What's the plan? Do we do her here or do we take her somewhere more private? You get her from the front and I'll take her from behind? Or the other way around?"
Sheamus stopped and gave Punk a quizzical, faintly revolted look, "Good god man." He said, "That's a bit crude, don't you think?"
"Oh," Punk was taken aback, "Uhm, sorry. When I saw you flirting with her I thought she was….that we were going to, you know..." He curled his hand around an imaginary wooden stake and made a back and forth stabbing motion in the air.
By now Sheamus looked truly disgusted, "I don't think Miranda is that sort of girl, Punk. Have some respect for the lass. And even if she were I'm not keen on tag teaming with you in that manner."
He looked Punk up and down as if seeing him in a new light, "I never took you for such a cunt, Punk."
He shook his head and turned away. Punk heard him mutter under his breath, "Bloody Americans!"
"Wait, "Punk demanded, "Aren't we going to kill her?"
Sheamus looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "And why the hell would we be wanting to kill Miranda?"
Now Punk was totally confused. "She's a vampire!"
"No." Sheamus said slowly, as if talking to someone very, very stupid, "She's a librarian."
Punk looked around the vast library and then back at Sheamus. "Please tell me there's a secret training facility down in the basement."
Sheamus led him to a table back in a dimly lit corner stacked high with dusty, ancient looking books.
Punk stared at them, "I'm supposed to read all of that?" he asked without much enthusiasm.
"Aye," Sheamus said, slipping on a pair of reading glasses and looking at him shrewdly over their tops. "You can read, can't you?"
"Yes!"Punk said, insulted by Sheamus's skeptical tone, "I can read. But why am I wasting my time reading books when you should be teaching me how to kill vampires?"
Sheamus pulled a wooden stake from his pocket, flipped it into the air and caught it expertly.
"Because you must first learn to use this," he tapped Punk hard on the head, "before I can teach you to use this." He held up the stake.
Punk rubbed his head where Sheamus had thumped him and said accusingly, "You stole that from Braveheart!"
Sheamus shrugged, "Just because it's from Braveheart, doesn't make it not true, does it?" He picked up a thick tome, bound in leather with the word 'Wamphyr' inscribe on the cover in ornate Calligraphic script and handed it to Punk.
"As It is true in wrestling, it is true in hunting vampires. The more you know about an enemy, the greater your advantage. Start reading."
Punk opened the book and apathetically began to read. It wasn't as boring as he'd thought it would be. It was much worse. The book dealt with the history and origin of vampires, including speculation as to when and where the first vampires came from and whether vampirism was a physical disease or a product of supernatural possession. It also went on to describe the habits of vampires, where they could be found and what could be used to deter them. On the surface, it should have been interesting reading but the language was so dry and archaic, full of 'thee's' and 'thou's', and pseudo scientific jargon that it had all the appeal of reading a tax manual. On top of that the script was tiny, cramped and hard to read. Each page was a solid block of text from top to bottom. The author could have at least thrown in a few interesting illustrations.
After about fifteen minutes of reading Punk had only gotten through three pages and his head was starting to hurt. He peeked over the top of the book and saw Sheamus sitting slumped in his chair, his book Anatomy and Physiology of the Vampyre: Second Edition propped open but unread. Sheamus's eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open. As Punk watched him he let out a soft snore.
Punk glanced around, they were the only two people in this part of the library and it was very quiet. He reached out and slowly pulled the book from Sheamus's slack hand. As he drew the book towards him, a smaller book fell out from between its pages, as if Sheamus had been trying to conceal what he was really reading inside the larger book. Punk picked it up. 101 Easy and Colorful Crochet Patterns.
What the hell? Seriously? Punk looked over at the sleeping Sheamus. What a freak!
He shook his head and opened Anatomy and Physiology of the Vampyre: Second Edition. Now, this was a lot more interesting. The book contained large, colorful illustrations drawn in excruciating detail and labeled with anatomical terms. Side panels explained the differences between human and vampire anatomy as well as highlighting the most vulnerable parts of a vampire's body and how injuries in these areas could incapacitate or even kill them. Vampires, it seemed, no longer had anything resembling normal internal organs. Stomach, intestines, livers, kidneys, they were all replaced by some sort of vascular system that transported ingested blood directly to the heart to be distributed throughout the rest of the body. The heart was an even bigger mystery, for even though it no longer beat it still acted as a pump channeling blood throughout the body.
Punk had settled back down, absorbed in the structure of vampire fangs when he heard a sharp cry, startling in the dead silence of the library. The sound was cut off as abruptly as it came. He frowned and glanced over at Sheamus, who shifted slightly in his sleep and resumed snoring. Punk put the book down and stood, listening. The silence was so profound he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He slowly crept around the reference shelves, toward where he'd thought he'd heard the cry. There was no one there, and nothing out of the unusual that he could see. Wait...his eyes widened.
Just beyond the last shelf, on the floor almost out of sight, was a hand. Punk swallowed hard and ventured forward, heart jack hammering in his chest. He could see the wrist, the shapely arm, the shoulder.
It was Miranda, the bubbly blond librarian, and from the angle of her head and the vacant look in her glazing eyes, Punk knew she was dead. Nevertheless, he rushed to her side, feeling for a pulse. Her head rolled bonelessly, telling him her neck was broken. He gently rolled her body so it was aligned with her head and closed her eyes. Something, a mark, on her neck made him pause and look twice. There, on the right side of her throat, just beneath the angle of her jaw, were two large puncture wounds. Oh crap. But it was the middle of the day. What about vampires and the sunlight thing? Suddenly, he realized maybe he should have listened to Sheamus and read the book he'd been given that detailed just exactly that.
Punk slowly rose to his feet, eyes darting here and there, looking for something he could use as a weapon. Maybe he could make it back to Sheamus, wake the Irishman up and they could both take on whatever was in the library with them.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned as Heath Slater stepped into view at the far end of the aisle.
"C.M. Punk" Slater growled, his voice full of hate. The right side of his face was burned, no doubt from his last encounter with Punk and the hotel bible.
"Heath Slater." Punk replied, struggling to keep the fear out of his voice. "How ya doing, buddy? I hate to embarrass you but, I think you got something on your face there."
Slater glared, "Oh, you think you're so funny, Punk? Let's see how funny you are with your head on backwards."
Punk started to slowly back away, "I don't think you'll have to do that. I can tell you right now I'm probably not as funny with my head twisted around. Nope, definitely not funny at all."
A second vampire stepped out from around the wall on Punk's opposite side. He looked vaguely like Justin Gabriel, if Justin Gabriel grew fangs and ridges on his forehead. "Oh, I don't know Punk." he said, "Just the thought of it kind of makes me want to smile."
They had him trapped, one on either side. Slater hissed and charged down the aisle at him with unnatural speed. Punk froze for a second as he watched his death coming at him, and then did the only thing he could think of. He gave a high, yodeling scream and ran straight at Slater. For an instant, a look of surprise and doubt crossed Slater's face. Just before they collided, Punk dropped to the floor, into a baseball slide, knocking Slater clean off his feet and giving himself some serious rug burn. He started to push himself up when Gabriel kicked him hard on the sternum, knocking the wind out of him and slamming him onto his back.
Gabriel planted a boot on his throat and slowly applied more and more weight, gradually crushing his airway. Punk wildly flailed his arms and legs as his consciousness dimmed. God, was the last thing he ever saw going to be Justin Gabriel's grinning face?
There was a "twang" sound and Gabriel's chest suddenly sprouted a feathered quarrel. Gabriel stared down at it in comical surprise before his body dried up and turned to a fine dust that fell in Punk's face and open mouth.
"Pfffffttttt! Bleeechhh!" He sputtered, gasping, coughing and trying to spit the dust out. That was seriously disgusting!
Sheamus calmly reloaded the crossbow and took aim at Heath Slater who stared at him in shock.
"Sheamus?" Slater sputtered in disbelief, "You?"
"Aye," Sheamus said as he fixed Slater with a cold green gaze," Heath Slater, I should have known. You always did have a face like a slapped arse. This is actually a vast improvement."
Slater backed slowly away, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Irishman!" he hissed, "The Master is risen. Twilight is near. And your death will not be quick. You will screaming!"
"Will I?" Sheamus said mildly, "Let me make it easier for him. Tell me who this 'master' is. I will go present myself to him as a professional courtesy."
"I will present him with your head!" Slater said. He suddenly turned and bolted for the doors. Sheamus fired the crossbow but Slater ducked and the bolt struck the door frame, quivering. Slater burst through the doors and was gone.
Punk had pulled himself to his feet, throat still burning. "Do we go after him?" he croaked.
Sheamus shook his head as he retrieved the crossbow bolt, "Nawp. He's gone. He'll be reporting back to his master. We haven't seen the arse end of him yet."
Sheamus knelt by Miranda's body and touched her hair, "Poor lass," he said sadly."I would have liked to take you to meet my granda'. I think he would have like you." He picked up her hand and raised it to his lips. His eyes were glistening.
Punk looked away, wanting to give him some privacy in his grief.
When Sheamus stood back up his eyes were dry.
"I'm sorry about Miranda." Punk said sympathetically.
"Aye," Sheamus nodded, "As am I. But she knew the risks."
"Wait," Punk said, "are you saying that she was a...a...vampire hunter?"
Sheamus shook his head, "No, she was a civilian. But you'll find that there are times we must employ those with special knowledge or skills. They are strictly non-combatants. We try to protect them as well as we can but there are always risks. Poor Miranda was an excellent archivist with a specialty in Vrykolakas folklore. She had a vast personal collection of books on vampire lore and knew as much as anyone did on the subject."
Punk had a hard time reconciling the vapid blond as a serious scholar."Really? That woman was some kind of brain when it came to vampires?"
Sheamus fixed him with a stern look," 'That woman" as you put it, had a Ph.D. in Mythological Studies. I'll not have you scoff at her, Punk. Did you think that because she was a bit of a Steph she was as empty headed as you? I'd rather have one of her than a hundred of you! You've been an absolute cock and balls so far!"
Punk remained silent, chastened. Sheamus gathered up the books on the table and dumped them in Punk's arms.
"Well, come along," he said. "We've work to do and less time that I thought to do it in."
"Where are we going?" Punk asked.
Sheamus motioned toward the door marked Employees only! "To the secret facility down in the basement."