(3)
"Let the spirits help you. And they will help you-but you have to have faith."
Abe Conklin
In a darkness lit only sporadically by the occasional street lamp or light spilling from random windows in the buildings along the arid streets, Hannah made her way into the town of Basker's Field. So far, she was less than impressed. She shrugged philosophically. It wasn't as if she was planning on sticking around any longer than necessary.
Her progress along the main thoroughfare, a depressingly provincial-looking street lined with decrepit buildings and even more decrepit-looking people, drew suspicious glances from those passers-by brave, or foolhardy, enough to be out after sunset with a known vampire in the vicinity.
The crow flew ahead, and eventually led her into an even more run-down part of town. Here, there were more people on the streets-young men, mostly, dressed in battered leather or oddly out of place finery. They carried themselves with the unthinking arrogance of the young, though even they hurried between buildings rather than loitering on the street corners. Hannah ignored them and followed the crow down a twisting alley to a building that looked as if it might have been there since before the Great War. Sputtering red neon glowed fitfully above the door, proclaiming that this local night spot was the Pit. It was a fitting name, as she quickly discovered.
She stepped inside and was almost knocked back by a virtual wall of sound and smell. In the back of the room, a live band thrashed its way through what was probably meant to be a song. Patrons gyrated in wild dances near the stage or clustered around the small round tables with their food and drink. Competing with the noise from the band, myriad voices rose and fell, merging in a dull roar of conversation.
Worse than the noise, or the stifling heat, was the smell. Hannah wrinkled her nose at the stench. The scent of smoke, unwashed bodies, and human sweat mingled unpleasantly with that of overcooked meat and spilled alcohol. There were other, even more noxious, odors in the mix, things she preferred not to put a name to. A greasy haze of smoke hung over everything, stinging her eyes and making the garish neon lights decorating the walls seem even more surreal. Hannah pushed her way through the crowd of revelers until she was standing at the bar.
The woman behind the scarred counter shot one look at her and scowled. "Oh, great. Another one."
Hannah felt one eyebrow rise. In a deliberately soft voice, she asked, "'Another' what, exactly?"
The bartender wasn't stupid. She caught the implied threat in that dangerously understated tone; Hannah could see it in the sudden, nervous shiftiness in the other woman's eyes.
"No offense, Hunter. You are a bounty hunter, right? The mayor sent for one..."
"You said 'another one'," Hannah reminded her, leaning into the bar and holding the bartender's gaze with her own. The bartender flinched. "How many?"
"Just one other," the other woman blurted, turning to point across the room. "Over there, the tall man in the black cape and hat."
Looking, Hannah spotted the rider who had passed her on the road. He was seated at a secluded table in the corner of the room and, despite the crowded conditions, there was a circle of empty space all around him, as if even the drunkest customers were giving him a wide berth. Seated across from the hunter was a smaller man whose rat-like features and furtive eyes were at odds with his carefully coiffed hair and expensive clothing. Gold rings set with precious stones gleamed on his fingers as he waved his hands to emphasize a point. The hunter, to judge by his utter lack of expression, was no more impressed by the little man's posturing than she was.
Great, she thought sourly. A vampire hunter. Just what she didn't need
She would have to make sure he didn't interfere with her plans, such as they were. The last thing she needed was this guy butting in and getting the kid killed because he was only interested in collecting his bounty.
With a disgusted frown, Hannah turned back to the bartender. "What's going on? Why does the mayor need a vampire hunter?"
The bartender's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who wants to know?"
"I do." Hannah was nearly out of patience and she hadn't been here five minutes. She could feel the dark spirit moving within her, urging her to let it out to play. One hand curled into a fist, the nails beginning to blacken...
Not yet, she whispered silently to the other presense in her mind, struggling to contain her growing anger. Soon.
Reluctantly, the Crow subsided. But it was even less patient than she, and some of its twisted anticipation must have shone in Hannah's eyes, because the woman behind the bar shrank back, eyes wide with fear.
"Look, it's not like it's a big secret or nothing," the woman said, the words spilling out in her sudden haste to tell everything she knew. "There's a castle, up in the mountains. Abandoned for years, so nobody thought nothing of it, but suddenly there's a Noble living there again and the babies started disappearing..."
"Babies." The plural left a bad taste in her mouth. "How many?"
"Who knows? Mostly gypsy whelps, and plenty more where they came from." She spat. "Then the decent folks' children started to disappear, including the mayor's. And then..."
The bartender's voice faded out, her eyes glazing as she gazed into an apparently unpleasant memory. Hannah fought the urge to wrap her fingers around the slattern's throat and squeeze until something popped. It would be counterproductive, but oh, so satisfying. She settled for offering the woman a razor-thin smile that managed to convey the threat quite nicely, and prompted, "And then?"
The bartender quailed. "The...the zombies appeared."
For the first time, there was actual emotion in her recitation, though it was obvious her only real concern was for herself. She shuddered. "They might've been little kids before, but once they Changed... Damn things got into town, killed two people before they was stopped. Don't want to see no more of 'em, believe me."
She fell silent, focused inward, as if reliving the memory. She shivered again, and hugged herself, then glowered at Hannah through slitted eyelids. "You buyin' anything, Hunter, or you just gonna stand there gapin' at me, all night?"
"I've had my fill," Hannah said, not bothering to hide her disgust. She turned away from the bar just in time to see the vampire hunter stride away from his table, leaving an unhappy looking townsman behind. Silently, she followed the tall hunter back out into the night.
There should have been no sound to betray her presence-- after all, she didn't have to breathe and, despite her heavy boots, her steps were cat-quiet on the wooden sidewalk. But when they hit the dirt street, he suddenly spun on her, his sword clearing its scabbard so quickly she didn't even see him draw it. Reacting on instinct, she fell back a long step, her hands coming up to catch the blade before it could take off her head.
Theoretically, she was impossible to kill as long as her psychopomp was unharmed. It wasn't a theory she felt particularly willing to put to the test, tonight.
Fortunately, she didn't have to. She caught the blade between her palms, just as the hunter seemed to change his mind and stop the sword's sweep on his own. She felt the tip of the blade bite into her throat, felt a cold trickle of dead blood caress her skin. They stared at one another across the length of the sword, then he lowered his weapon and stepped back.
His blue eyes narrowed minutely as he watched the small wound on her throat heal itself within seconds.
"Do you try to kill everyone you meet or am I special?" She didn't try to hide the mockery in her voice.
Someone snickered.
They were alone on the dark street. The noise hadn't come from the bounty hunter, though it had seemed to come from his vicinity. Judging by his stony expression, he wasn't even slightly amused. She had a feeling laughter was an alien concept to him, anyway. But someone had found her remark entertaining. Someone... or something.
She peered at the hunter, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself. "What the hell was that?"
"What do you want?" the hunter countered. His deep voice was nearly inflectionless, but there was a wariness lurking beneath the quiet words that didn't escape her notice. Neither did the fact that, although he had lowered his sword, he hadn't put it away.
Still, she had to admire the way he cut right to the point. So to speak. So she ignored the question and got down to business. "You're going after the bounty."
He surprised her by sheathing his sword then and turning away, as if he had suddenly lost interest in her. "I'm going after the children."
Well, that she hadn't expected. The guy had thrown her off-balance --again-- and she didn't like it.
Hannah went after him as he strode toward the black cyborg horse waiting patiently at a nearby hitching post. Despite the rough neighborhood, it didn't look as if anyone had dared disturb the imposing animal. "Where do you think you're going? We aren't through, Hunter!"
He swung easily up into the saddle, then paused to look down at her, his blue eyes cold and distant. He didn't answer, merely clicked his tongue at his mount and rode away at a gallop. Left with unanswered questions and a mouthful of dust, Hannah stared after him.
When the crow landed suddenly on the hitching post beside her, she frowned at it, wondering what the bird had gotten her into this time. Because she had finally gotten a good look under that broad-brimmed hat and Mr. Tall, Pale and Humorless wasn't just some run of the mill vampire hunter.
The crow cawed at her. When it sprang back into the air and glided up the ill-lit street, she followed it, tallying up the facts as she ran.
Start with the height. The vampire hunter had to be seven feet tall if he was an inch, not completely unheard of among humans, especially out here on the Frontier, but unusual enough for her to take notice. Then there was that perfect, pale complexion, which no normal human could hope to possess. The snowy white skin of his hands and face was unblemished, untouched by age or the sun. But the clencher was the glimpse she had gotten of his ears, their elegantly pointed tips peeking through his thick mane of long auburn hair.
Pointed ears and pale skin usually meant one thing: vampire. But she had seen him in the midday sun. So what did that leave? Some kind of mutant or...?
In the years since the Great War, Hannah had seen a lot of strange things, mutants and monsters and things that made Crows seem mundane by comparison. She had witnessed the fall of human civilization and the rise of the vampires. And she had even met a few of the rare beings that were the result of successful vampire and human interbreeding.
Tonight, it seemed, she had met another.
So, she thought, as her path carried her in the crow's wake. A dhampir. And not just any dhampir, but one who hunts vampires for a living and cares more about rescuing children than collecting his bounty. Just what I needed...
She shook her head. Ten thousand years and still, nothing was ever easy.