Chapter 20 – Helping Hand
September 30, 2004 = Thursday
I woke to searing pain, and couldn't help but whimper as each and every movement was agony. I soon became aware though, that I wasn't alone. I was being held to the bosom of another, and by the soft, fleshy lumps pushing into my arm, a feminine someone. I opened my eyes, and quickly shut them as bright light flooded my eyes as if I were staring into several one-hundred-twenty watt bulbs.
"Mistress?" I heard Heather say. "Do you want me to help you up?" I nodded my approval, and Heather helped me to stand. I was glad they had stripped me out of my clothes, but I wasn't sure if I could heal sunlight damage like this, or how long it would take if I could. I did know I was hungry, and my lunchbox was in the next room. Heather helped me to the door, and I cracked an eye to find Constance waiting on me. She rolled her head over, baring her neck for me.
I took a tentative step toward her, wrapping my arms around her and using her to support me. I could feel the blood thrum in her veins, and licked her neck before I sank my teeth deep into her artery. She moaned as I drank her life giving blood, and I could feel life return into me as the pain left my body. Unfortunately, her blood thinned quickly and I was forced to stop lest I kill her. The teenager was limp in my arms, as I was now holding her up, but the light's were still bright enough to give me a headache.
"Brian? Can you settle her onto her bed please?" I asked him. Brian scooped the girl up, and laid her down to rest while I fumbled my way back into the bathroom. I turned off the bright light and let my shadow vision kick in while I examined my body. I had large scabs on my left arm and shoulder, and on my right hand. It still felt uncomfortable, but not the deep searing agony it was when I woke up.
Huh, guess feeding makes me heal fast. The burns looked almost third degree, which would have required the flesh to be cut away as it would be more like burnt steak at that point, but now? Maybe first degree? No more than having a bad sunburn or accidentally get near boiling water splashed on you. I rolled the pallet up, stashing it on the commode before turning the water on cool and showering. It still felt somewhat warm, even though it shouldn't reminding me of an extremely hot day where the water would be heated in the main pipes underground.
I washed at the scab, using the water to soften and remove it without ripping any skin under it. The scab start to peel away, leaving red skin underneath it, confirming why the pain lessened. I was almost healed, just a quick bite and I'd have perfect skin again. Maybe being a monster was useful for something.
Stepping out the shower and drying off, I wondered how Constance was doing. I did almost drain the girl dry. Wrapping a towel around me, I left the dark bathroom and stepped back into the lit main room, the bulb was still bright, and my headache began to resume. Constance was laid out on the bed, tucked in under the covers with Brian sitting beside her, trying to get her to wake.
"How long did she take last time?" I asked him.
"A minute, maybe two. I don't like this, mistress," he said, not looking back as he continued to stare at her.
"Let me check," I told him, and he moved to stand by the fridge. Heather watched, horror filled her eyes. I put my ear above her mouth, listening to her breathe and seeing the bare rise of her chest. I then moved down, putting my ear right on her chest in the valley of heaven, and listened to her heart. I could hear it as thumped weakly, straining to pump a near empty system. She was going to be weak from blood loss for days, but she'd survive. "She'll be okay. I just took a bit too much."
Brian nodded his head, his eyes wide as he looked at me, and even Heather looked scared. I couldn't help but feel I was the monster in the family, the matriarch everyone respected but not nobody liked. The kind who had problems from everyone playing their petty politics as they tried to gain favor. I did have four ghouls, plus whatever term Constance was. Damsel said she was the start of my herd, so cow maybe? Blood bag? I still think Happy Meal suited her best.
"Mistress," Heather began, as she continued to stare wide eyed at me, "what's wrong with your eyes?"
"What do you mean?"
"The colored parts aren't there anymore," Brian said as he looked at me in horror. "Can you even see?"
"What do you mean? I see fine," I said as I looked between the two. "I have a headache from the bright lights in here, but other than that..."
"Mistress, there's only two lights in the apartment," Brian told me. I looked around, and he was right. That one bulb I could see was the source of my oncoming migraine. But why?
"Is it like when they dilate your eyes?" I asked them. Brian shook his head, then Heather dug into a schoolbag for a notebook and pencil. She sketched something real fast and then showed it to me.
"This is what an eye looks like, right?" she said, showing it to me and Brian. It was a good drawing, simple but complete, with the white of the eye, the veins and the colored iris all being displayed along with a solid black for the center lens."This is what it looks like now, she said, as she used the pencil to blacken the center of the eye. Now, all that was left was the white of the eye, and I couldn't help but feel robbed of something.
Of course, now I was also a walking masquerade violation if anyone saw my missing iris's.
A knock at the door broke me out of my thoughts, and we all looked to the door. Brian looked at me for guidance, and I nodded. It seems we never got visitors, and I wondered who might trouble themselves to brave the sun to see me? Michele? Damsel? Strauss?
Brian opened the door to reveal a light golden-brown haired woman in a leather outfit. From where I stood behind the door, that was about all I could see. Her voice was high pitched, very feminine, but the outfit was very butch. Then I remembered, this was the girl who staked me at Simeon's warehouse, and then stood up for me at the trial. A Gangrel. It was Hunter Bitch.
"Hi," she said to Brian, as I hid behind the door still dressed only in my towel. "I'm here to see Eliza, who's hiding behind the door? My name's Jean." I fought the brief surge of panic as she singled out where I was, and instead of wondering how she knew, stepped around the end of the door to feel naked in just a towel. I really should have gotten dressed after my shower.
"Jean," I said, extending a hand in greeting, even as my left kept the towel from falling. "Nice to see you. Thanks for standing up for me at my trial, by the way."
She giggled at that, leaning against the door frame. I'd call her a bimbo, like Angel, except where Angel tried to be sexy by dressing to reveal her voluptuous body, Jean hid her alabaster skin as much as possible. Her leather pants were skin tight as they should be, but the white tank was loose under her heavy denim jacket and seemed tucked into her pants. I could tell she had a large rack by the way her coat stuck out from her shoulders, but she didn't show any cleavage. Even her ass was hidden under the long denim jacket and not out for display with only a standard boot heel, not some kind of stiletto or heel. She seemed to have been a model before her change, but now she hid it.
And why was I ogling her like I was Brian? She seemed not to notice, or maybe she did and was just used to it, and took my offered hand. Her hands were rough, covered in small callouses, but the nails were neat and trimmed. Actually, the difference between her and Dusty was night and day. And they were the same clan? How did you tell the different clans apart then?
"It's not a problem, sweetie. I know how it feels to be Embraced into something you don't understand," she said, her breathless way of talking was amazing, and seemed to quiet something in me. The panic that was filling me abated, and I almost shuddered at realizing how nervous I was. "You really should keep a better hand on your Beast. It felt like it was ready to take control."
I nodded, starting to realize what everyone meant by the inner beast. "If you'll give me a moment, I'll get dressed. I feel like a harlot standing here in nothing but a towel."
"Go ahead, I'll be waiting. Someone forgot to get you the address to Grout's mansion, so I'm supposed to drive you there. My truck's downstairs," she said, as I turned my back to get the clothes Heather had laid out for me. It was one of Sharron's all leather ensembles, and probably fitting considering I might have to go digging for Grout. I just hope it wasn't literally.
"Oh, you poor thing!" Jean exclaimed as she saw Constance laid out in the bed. She leaned over the youth, sniffing, before finally setting an ear to her chest. "She'll be alright, but sweety, you can't drain them that deep. It's not good for their heart."
"Yeah, I was trying to heal from a bad sunburn I got coming home. That and I drank from her yesterday. I'm still getting used to this," I said apologetically as I entered the bathroom. I could hear the bed creak as something shifted on it, and I dressed quickly in the cotton panties, leather pants and crop top. I stepped out to see Jean on the bed with Constance, the happy meal smiling as she wrapped herself around Jean, her lips moved as she murmured something I couldn't hear.
"I still say she looks familiar," Brian said, looking at Heather. "I just can't figure where I know her from."
"She's a vampire!" Heather silently argued back. "You know, blah-blah vampire? She could be hundreds of years old!" Jean stroked Constance's hair as the youngster continued to hug the kindred in bed with her. It made me wonder if the kid was an adrenaline junkie.
"She's only seventy eight," Constance mumbled, and we looked at her. She knew a kindred?
"So who is she?" We all said together. Constance mumbled something about comfortable and I chalked it up to blood loss. The mind can often do strange things under stress, after all. More likely she was a celebrity look-a-like, the kind that can't make a name for themselves unless it's impersonating their famous counterpart in movies or TV. Still, who did she remind me of?
"Well, the name I use is Jean Baker," she said simply, her breathless voice so feminine and at odds with her attire. Brian and Heather exchanged glances, shaking their heads. The name meant nothing to any of us, so I chalked up another point in the look-a-like column. Constance seemed to be okay, so I slipped on a pair of three inch heels with straps to hold it tight to my foot.
Fully dressed, I pulled my bag from beside the desk. The pistol I had taken from the thug was on top, and I pulled it out. Behind the trigger, it said 'Made in Austria, Glock, Inc.' I pulled out the part that held the bullets, and the spare that came out the top after I slid the top part back. I really don't know much about guns.
"It's a Glock, Seventeen maybe, maybe a nineteen?" Brian said, moving to stand behind me.
"Yeah, it's a Glock 19, third generation. Holds fifteen in the clip, and has a universal rail to mount a laser sight or a flashlight on. I recommend the laser sight, unless you're bad with your night vision," Jean said from the bed. "It's great for when you need to kill kine and not make it look supernatural, or just intimidating people. Not so great on kindred. It's just a nuisance, even hollow points don't do enough damage to really stop us."
"So, how do I do this?" I asked Brian, who showed me how to put bullets in the clip, the part that goes in the handle. He even showed me where the button for the clip release was, and the safety on the slide. It was more complicated than the revolver, which I pulled out and gave to Brian in case he needed it. I was about to stash it back in my bag when Jean piped back into the conversation.
"If you want, I can give you a holster for that. You can keep it on your belt in the back in case you need it. If you keep everything in your bag, all someone has to do is take the bag to leave you defenseless."
I weighed her words, then nodded. I had been lucky so far, in that I had never been separated from my bag, but that was changing. I needed to adapt, to change before I ended up dead. If that meant packing a pistol like an outlaw, well, call me bad. I was so not going to die tonight, and Nines did say I needed to be ready to fight at a moments notice. "Brian, take Heather and Constance back to that shop and get me a selection of coats. Preferably long enough to hide a holster."
"Sure, mistress," he said, as I slid the weapon into the bag to keep it out of sight. Jean slid out from under Constance, being careful not to jostle her and laid her on a pillow. I followed Jean out the door and down the stairs to the alley. At the end of the alley sat a black Toyota 4x4 that had more dents in it than a golf ball. Jean went around to the other side, and I opened the door and climbed in.
The first thing that drew my eye was the badge hanging from the review mirror. I turned it a bit, to see it said bounty hunter. When Jean got in, she reached into her coat and pulled out a huge pistol with a shiny finish. Jean noticed my gaze as she slid the weapon into a holster attached to the dash where it would be by her knee.
"This is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and would blow your head clean off. You've gotta ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?" she intoned, pitching her voice low and deep. It finally clicked after a second. She was quoting Dirty Harry as he talked about his gun. I smiled, shaking my head.
"Still not good against a kindred?"
"Takes several shots to kill one, best thing is to aim for the neck or the heart," she said as she started the motor. It purred into life, and the headlights came on. It was nice being in the dark, and my headache eased. "Detach the head, and they turn to ash. Destroy the heart, and they turn to ash. Problem is, not everyone has their heart in the same location, so be careful."
It was odd listening to her talk, as her voice was so light as she talked of dark things. She also had an odd lilt in her voice, owing more to her probably being old than anything else. Still, she was helping and I needed that. "So, what way do you prefer?"
"There's no good way, unfortunately. Stake works best if you want them alive, just shove it through their heart. A pencil works in a pinch, but like a straw through a potato, fast and straight. Knives and swords are good for getting close in for like Tremere and kindred who like to fight. That's one reason I liked you, you didn't fight me and let me stake you without a problem. You just seemed so innocent, like I was."
"Turned against your will?"
"Some gangrel who was a serial murderer decided to have a little fun. Instead of killing, he decided he was going to turn them. As the gangrel way is to leave the childe alone after embrace, I didn't know what was going on. So, I turned back to what I knew, drugs and alcohol."
"How? I smell water and it turns my stomach," I said, remembering my experience in the diner when I met Sharron.
"Just popped the pills into my mouth and swallowed. Couldn't stomach the champagne I once liked so well, so I took them dry. Never take drugs, Eliza. Never. Our system doesn't clear it out and it throws your body off. Since I took a bunch of sleeping pills, I woke up two nights later, after my autopsy. Drained a tech and got found by a ghoul. He recognized me as a kindred, and helped me hide my "death," using another young girl to take my place. Isaac got involved, helping control the people who saw the difference. They used a whig to get the hair right, and an old friend was dominated into doing her makeup to more look like me. After that, no one knew."
"Sorry," I said, saddened by the news she had been ripped out of her life. "At least you had your shot, right?"
She started laughing. "Had my shot? You can say that. I starred in almost thirty films, so...yeah, I had a shot."
"You're not lying are you? You really were a movie star?"
"Oh yeah. I starred alongside Clark Gable, Laurence Olivier, Betty Grable, Cary Grant. Then I died, and it all got ripped from me. Isaac was a godsend. I'd met him before at parties, didn't realize who he was at the time, but he helped me through the changes and set me up in a place. Taught me how to survive."
"Thank God for Isaac," I said, not sure who the kindred was. "So, how does a former movie star end up in a battered old Toyota?"
"Gift from Isaac. It's an old movie prop for some sci-fi movie, I think. The kid went on to do good work," she said as we continued on. "Oh, you might want this," she said, reaching behind us to grab something. It turned out to be the holster she promised, made of leather and almost identical in color to my pants. I was going to put it on when I realized I didn't have a belt.
"You wouldn't to have a spare belt, would you?" Jean reached behind us and pulled out a belt. It was some kind of military belt, designed to use friction as a way of staying locked. "So, Jean Harlow?"
"I'm not that old," she said, laughing. "Jean Harlow was big in the thirties. I'm more of a fifties star. But don't worry, I've gotten good at hiding it. Right now, only Isaac really knows who I am. And not even that pretentious pup of his recognizes me."
"Another star?" I asked, and she nodded.
"Ash Rivers? Has that big movie that came out a few years ago, Negative Zero? He's kindred now too. He overdosed a few years ago, Isaac found him dying and brought him back as kindred. He's also been forced as I have to see his career flush itself down the toilet because he can't act anymore."
"Why not? He's not Nosferatu is he?"
"No, he's Toreador, which is where I wish I'd been embraced. Or at least as a Brujah. Even Malkavian has a certain charm in it over Gangrel."
"Because you don't want to end up like Dusty? He seriously needs a shower, by the way."
Jean frowned at that. "It's not the personal hygiene. It's the fact that we Gangrel are closer to the Beast in us. Every clan has a curse, for some it's not so bad. For us? Well, we turn into animals. Literally."
"You mean like he's got bear parts?" I said, and Jean nodded.
"As we lose ourselves to the Beast within us, we're left with parts of ourselves that aren't...human, anymore. I've already lost it a few times, and I try hard to avoid it, but sometimes staying in touch with my humanity is about all I can do, some nights."
"So, if we lose ourselves to this Beast, what happens to us?"
"You lose parts of yourself. Eventually, it can change you. Maybe not physically, like us Gangrel, but you'll find yourself loving to harm others. Taking pleasure in their pain. Like my sire, he laughed when he found me dirty and crying weeks later, and all I can remember after that is that I killed him. So be careful, okay? Promise me you'll fight it. I can help you at times, like tonight, to keep the Beast calm."
"I've felt it before, like something crawling under my skin. Does it always cause you to black out?"
"Every time," she said, as we continued at a crawl through the interstate traffic. I couldn't help but feel sad for her, and wanting to change the subject, decided to go back to figuring out her identity.
"So, was Jean the name your mother gave you?"
"One of them. My surname Baker is mom's anyway. I don't know whom my father was, though the one I'm popular for came from one of mom's husbands. Mom was committed when I was seven, and I spent the rest of my childhood in one home or another."
"Sorry, it doesn't sound as if you're life was ever that happy."
"Not really, no. I didn't become happy until I started acting. Always knew I'd die young, though. I was right, in the end."
Not wanting to keep the sad train of thought going, I decided to put my belt and gun holster on. The first few loops were easy, then the gun holster went on, before tracing my way through the other loops to fasten it properly. I pulled the gun from my bag, and checked it. I knew my trembling fingers might accidentally set the thing off, but I had to get used to it. Once I was sure I had the safety on, I put it in my holster, handle up, and felt the sold object acutely as I leaned back in the seat. It would take a lot of getting used to.
"Have you ever fired a gun before?" Jean asked me.
"Besides the hundred times I accidentally shot myself in my mind?" I snarked back, but knew she was right and that I needed to spend some time in a gun range. "Just the day I became kindred. I managed to run from Simeon while I was still alive, stole a gun from a guard and ran for it. He caught me in a dead end alley and I gave him everything I could with the shotgun, only hit him once though."
That set her to laughing again. "You have more than those seven rounds I smell in that gun?"
"You can smell that?"
"Side effect of being Gangrel. We have an animal's sense of smell. Wolf, I think."
"If it weren't the turning into an animal thing, you'd have it made, huh?"
"Well," she started as she turned off the interstate, "I might have had it better if I were another clan. Any clan but Nosferatu."
"So where we headed?" I asked as we headed into the downtown area.
"His name is Fat Larry. He sells guns and, other things from the back of his truck. He's the best way we kindred have of staying stocked on our guns and ammo, as he doesn't exactly do this legally." Great, a black market arms dealer. "But, he does have good prices, and you don't have to worry about hiding yourself around him. He belongs to a Brujah, not sure which one, but he's been around for a bit and is quite knowledgeable about guns."
"Great," I said, as we pulled up to what looked like a UPS truck, but was just dull brown. Jean killed the motor, and stepped out, her hand pulling the magnum from its holster and putting back under her jacket. I was curious about how she fit the large gun there, but decided I'd ask her later. We went together to the back of the truck where a large, fat soul brother sat on the tailgate. He looked at us and smiled.
"Say Jean! You bringing me new customers, I like that. I am Fat Larry, and that's with an F-A-T because there is more of me to love. So what can I do to help you fine looking ladies today?"
I pulled out my Glock, and held it up. "Need some spare clips for this, maybe a coat if you have one, and a lot of bullets so I can practice."
"Sure, baby doll. I got all the firepower you could ask for," he said as he opened his truck. Racks of various guns filled the back end, making look like a military armory in a movie. There were so many, I had no hope of identifying them all. Rifles, grenades, pistols, and several ammo crates. This guy was prepared for a war. He climbed into the back of the truck, opening a crate to rifle through a box of clips, coming away with two more clips for my Glock. He then turned to the opposite wall, opening a few boxes, and pulling out three coats and a trench coat. He brought them out and showed them to me. "Don't exactly carry your size, you're so small, but I do have a selection of fine merchandise," he said. I tried on a few, liking one that was made of wool that came down to my thighs. It also fit me reasonably well, spilling off my shoulders and falling straight down. More of a man's coat than a woman's.
"Coat like this was designed to hide one of these babies," he said, as he reached into the truck and pulled out a shotgun. I'd seen it before, as the kind police officers carry. It had a pistol style grip, and a pump action system, but lacked the shoulder stock that rifles had. It did have some kind of weird rail on top of it though, and figured if I knew anything about guns I could identify it. "She's an Ithaca 37, with an extended tube and can fire slugs or buckshot. Prefer slugs myself. One good hit with his baby, and a kindred will shite themselves into ash. She also has a folding stock," he said, as he flipped the funny rail over the end and it formed the stock I thought it should have had. "Designed for police, good enough for kindred."
"How much?" I asked him. It was worth it, if it was cheap enough.
"Hundred fifty for the shotgun, and I'll throw in a couple of boxes of buckshot. Coat's fifty, ten a piece for the clips. How many bullets you need for that nine mill? Cost is five bux a box, hundred rounds a box."
"Six boxes then," I said, and Jean gave an approving nod. I counted out the money and gave it to him, stowing the boxes of bullets in my bag and using the cord provided to stash the shotgun on my back. Once I slipped the coat on, both guns were hidden from sight. Now, all I needed was a rifle in a case and I could pass for a professional hitman.
"Looking good, sugar," Larry said as I looked myself over. Even Jean was nodding in appreciation. I couldn't help but feel good, knowing I was getting more capable with defending myself in a tough situation.
"I'll take you out to a bare patch of desert in the mountains that's far from any werewolf dens. Up there, you can shoot off a box and I can teach you a thing or two real fast, okay?" Jean said, as I lifted my bag.
"Great, it'll give Grout a bit to maybe get himself together, and maybe I won't shoot myself if I have to use this thing."
With our business done, me and Jean got back in her truck, and I could feel the guns press into my back. It was actually uncomfortable. "Hey, mind if I ask you a question?"
"Sure," Jean said as we got back on the interstate.
"Is the reason you take your gun out of its holster because it gets uncomfortable to sit on?"
She nodded. "Yeah. In my case, the barrel catches on the door and presses into my shoulder. It bruises after a while."
"So, where do you keep it?"
Jean opened her coat to show leather around her left arm and a holster connected to it. "It's a shoulder holster, got it from a catalog for police officers. And yes, I am a licensed bounty hunter. Did that years ago. Cuffs, guns, holsters, mace, tasers, got it all and know how to use it. And you'd think I'd at least be taken seriously at a Gathering."
"Let me guess. Gangrel seem to shun guns?"
Jean held up her hand and after turning it over, I watched as it turned into a monster like paw with long claws. "They shred skin like a hot knife through butter."
"Gangrel power?" I guessed. And Jean nodded as her hand returned to normal.
"It's called Protean. It's our special ability, like your ability to do stuff with shadows. If I were so inclined, I could later use it to transform into animals, like a bat, wolf, bird or bear. It's how most of our clan gets around. I can barely form claws, even after forty years. So, like a pup, I have to drive to Gathering, then announce my name in front of the clan. I usually get laughed at."
"Ouch. That must make you look like a rookie."
"Yeah, but the name," she said, shaking her head, "Gangrel names are long things. My first two minutes read like a Toreador's life."
"And I guess it's a source of pride that your name is long, and filled with worthy things?"
"Yeah, so while an actress can go on for minutes about her acting creds, it goes nowhere. The clan cares more for my taking down criminals than being famous. Weird huh?"
"Wonder what my clan is like?"
"Probably meet by candle light, but beyond that? Who knows," she said as we left the interstate. We were past any lights now, and my shadow sight kicked in. I could now see as if it were daylight, but there wasn't anything to see. It was an open, barren desert. After several minutes, Jean pulled off the road and we went through the desert, where every jar of the sand was easily felt. I thought the desert was supposed to be smooth? After a few more minutes, we drove down into what looked like an empty river, and there we stopped. Jean stopped the motor, and hit a switch, flooding the area in bright light. We got out, and I kicked off my shadow vision to see normally. Jean's truck had a row of bright lights on a roll bar above the cab, with more on the front grill.
The washout area was littered with cans and trash, and Jean came over to stand beside me. "First things first. Pull your gun." I pulled my gun out, taking a moment to click the safety off. "Okay, next time you're stuck somewhere safe, you need to practice clicking the safety off with one finger, and not having to look at it. If you can't be good and fast, you'll be slow and dead."
I nodded, wrapping my hand around the gun, raising it and clicking the safety off with my thumb. "Good, one handed is good if you are in a bind, but get used to having two hands on your gun at all times. It gives you better control of the weapon, and thus better aim." I put two hands around the handle, feeling more confident. Why didn't they do this in the movies?
"Now, since your gun has a slide top, keep your hands low to keep from getting bit by the slide when you fire it. It has to slide to reload, so keep that area clear. Now, aim down at the far bank, and empty your gun. Get used to its recoil, and try to hit the same spot each time," she told me as she backed behind me. I aimed the gun down at the bank, and started pulling back on the trigger. The gun kicked in my hands, and the pop was loud enough to ring my ears.
"Not bad, but classic newbie mistake. Squeeze the trigger, don't pull it. Pulling it throws off your aim, which we'll get to later." I nodded my understanding, and squeezed the trigger. My aim seemed to be truer, and I kept squeezing the trigger, each shot close to the first. After a few shots, the gun clicked. I looked back at jean, who was pulling bullets from a box, loading the clips I'd bought earlier.
"Not bad, you've got talent. Now, with one hand, hit the release, using the other to catch the clip and pull it out," she said, and it felt clumsy, but I pulled it out. "Little clumsy there. Lock it back in, and do it a few times. That needs to feel smooth, natural. The faster you reload, the faster you can get back to surviving." I put the clip back in, practicing taking it in and out. It took me close to twenty times for it to feel natural, but Jean liked my improvement.
"Next up, aiming," she said, setting up a can ten feet away. "Hit it," she said, giving me a clip full of bullets. I set the clip in, and took aim at the can. Once I had it lined up in the sights, I squeezed the trigger and the can went rolling. "Good, you can hit a stationary target. Hit it again, and this time, keep it rolling," she told me. I took aim at the can again, hitting it once again, and began to fire multiple shots and the can rolled along. I smiled as the gun clicked empty, and the can was lost to the darkness. Jean handed me a fresh clip, and using one hand, popped the empty clip out and slipped the fresh in as if it were second nature.
"Doing good, Eliza," Jean said, smiling her approval. "Once you get used to it, you might think about checking out different guns, and finding one you like. Most guns operate the same way, so it should make it easier. Revolvers like my magnum are the difficult ones, but Larry can help you figure one out."
"Thanks Jean," I said, flipping the safety on with my thumb and stashing the gun back in my holster. "You probably just saved my life."
"That might be stretching it, but you're welcome. Now, slip out the shotgun," she said, and I pulled the shotgun from it's cord. I folded out the stock, feeling the awkward weight of the weapon and knew I wouldn't be firing it one handed. It was designed for two handed use. Jean pulled some large bullets and handed them to me. "They slide in, copper side back," she told me, and I loaded the weapon. It took seven bullets for the gun to be fully loaded. Then Jean set up another can.
"Shotguns are a lot like pistols. Especially those with pistol grips. Squeeze the trigger, use your left hand to steady it, and keep it tight to your shoulder. After each shot, pull the grip back to reload it, and then forward again. With practice, it will become natural. Once it's loaded, the grip locks in place, and then has to be fired to unlock it. Under the front trigger guard is a button, you can hit it to rack the weapon again, especially to unload it for storage purposes, or to change ammo types. Larry can fill you in on that later. For now, hit the can, then try to keep it rolling."
I nodded, pulling the grip back like I had done to attack Simeon. The gun racheted, and after pushing it back forward, I lined the can up with the sights. "Keep your head upright, don't lean over the sights. It can throw off your aim." I kept my head up, and adjusted the gun on my shoulder. With the gun lined up, I fired the first shot, making the can jump. I quickly pulled the grip back, finding it almost natural in my pose, and pushed it back into place. The can barely had time to land and start rolling before I had it lined up again and fired my next shot into it. The can flew down the riverbed, and in an instant, I had the gun reloaded and fired a third shot after the fleeing receptacle. I reloaded, activating my shadow vision, and saw the can rolling just beyond the light. I put one more round into it, and Jean laughed.
"Wow, you must have really good night vision to hit it in the dark." I turned, slowly ratcheting a fresh round in the weapon and looked at her. Here eyes had an eerie glow, that as I turned off my shadow vision, found was red. The glow faded from her eyes, and we locked eyes.
"Part of my clan abilities. I can see in pitch black darkness. In fact, light shows up black when I use it."
"Nice," she said, handing me four more bullets. "Reload your gun, I think you're ready to head off into the sunrise,' she kidded me. I reloaded the gun, and looked at the trigger for the safety. "See that button, just behind the trigger, left hand side? Push it in to turn on the safety." I did it, then folded the stock back over and hung it on the cord under my shoulder.
"Grout's mansion isn't far from here," she said, as I tied my coat closed. "I'll drop you off, then you can call a cab to pick you up from there."
"Sounds good. So, who taught you to shoot?"
"When I went to get my bounty hunter license, they taught me the basics. Learned the rest over forty years of hunting. Come on, we better get a move on if you want to get done before the night's over."
I got back in the truck with Jean, and we headed for Grout's mansion. I couldn't help but think of how much I'd already changed, then I remembered Jean having said something about changes before. "So, Jean. What about these changes?"
"Well, I don't know if everyone is the same, but," she paused as she seemed to think about something, "it seems as if they're intended to make us all monsters. Sometimes I wonder if we're doomed to hell because of something our ancestor supposedly did."
"Ancestor?"
"Supposedly, we all come from Cain. You know, book of Genesis? The man who killed his brother because he grew crops instead of raising cattle? Legend has it, that God cursed him to be the first vampire. From there, he met Lilith. She taught him magic. From that magic, all our powers are based. He created childer, and they created more. They became the Third Generation. In polite society, they're called Antidiluvians. We each trace our ancestry back to one, and from there to Caine.
"The further down the line you are, the greater your Generation. From what I gather, at unlucky thirteen, you can't embrace anymore. You can't feed. They're called Thin Bloods. They're barely kindred, so watered down from Caine that they're almost alive.
"We also have a book, our own version of the Bible, called the Book of Nod. The short of it is this. One day, the antediluvians will rise again from their sleep. This will happen in the Time of Thin Blood, when kindred with weak blood and those who have no idea of their kindred nature will become so common they rise to the level of Prince. When they do, they'll feed on us, killing many of us off. Other stuff happens, and it's over. We will all be judged, probably by the very God who turned his back on us."
"So, what do we do?"
"We survive. Every night is a fight for survival. I'm weak, I know. Just a scared little valley girl who was more house wife than Rosy the Riveter," she said, her voice cracking a bit as she dredged up bad memories. "It's okay, I made it to the new millennium. I'm seventy eight years old now. Never thought I'd make it this far. Always thought I'd die a young, beautiful woman. Even had arranged ten years before I 'died' to have my makeup done. Even paid for it. I was ready to go. Here I am. It's two thousand four, forty years after I died and I'm still surviving. Just trying to be normal."
I couldn't help but feel for the actress. She was a lot like me, ripped from her life and forced to face a terrible future. I couldn't help but feel for her. Soon though, we arrived at a large house. We were on the outskirts of town, on a hill near a small brushy area.
"I'll take a guess and say we'll never be normal Jean. Mortal's are our prey. We're the monsters in the night. But," I hung my head as I thought about the lives I've taken already. "We don't have to be. You keep on suppressing that beast, and I will too. Okay?" God, she was going to make me cry.
"You best go. No telling how long it might take you to find him. It is a big house."
"Yeah, what is it? Four stories tall?" I said as I looked at the large mansion.
"Five. But, he's like old, from old money in England. Still, bigger than my home ever was."
"I'll catch you around, okay," I told her as I got out of the truck.
"Sure. I'm around the tower a lot. Give me a shout if you see me, and I'll gladly talk to you again.
"Later, hun," I said as I watched the gangrel drive off. I couldn't help but wonder who she had been. But as I looked at the mansion, and went through the gate to enter the front yard, I knew I had to shelve that thought. I had bigger fish to fry.