I'm back! I know it's been a while, hopefully I still have some readers left.
This is bit different for me, but I hope you like it. Gothic isn't exactly my area, but I wanted to try something new. Feedback is wanted and appreciated!
There are 11 chapters total, I'll be posting every Friday
Chapter 1 - It begins
Drake shivered as the forbidding castle appeared in the mist before him. Grimly, he wondered if the castle could have looked any more cliched as the lair of an evil scientist. No matter, the organization was paying him handsomely for his services.
He crossed the stone bridge leading to the keep. The damp weather penetrated his heavy wool coat and he shivered again. His approach must have been observed, because as soon as he was within a few feet of the door, it swung open. A tall, thin man in a butler's uniform stood in the doorway. "Mr. Drake?" he inquired politely.
Drake was not fooled by the man's polite demeanor. He knew that anyone answering the door in an establishment such as this would try to kill him in a heart beat if he said the wrong thing. The operative word was "try," Drake was a very hard man to kill. But he was not here today for violence. "I was told to ask for the Doctor of the Ages." He winced inwardly at the pretentious name, but a password was a password.
Hearing the expected pass phrase, the butler stepped back and held the door open, allowing Drake to step into the a large entry hall dominated by a grand staircase. The butler shut the door with resounding thud that echoed through the cavernous space. He politely took Drake's coat and then ushered him into a study where a cheerful fire burned in the hearth. "The doctor will be with you in few minutes." With wave of his hand the butler indicated a decanter and a few glasses off to one side, "Please help yourself."
Drake inclined his head to acknowledge the butler's offer, then he was left alone. He drifted over to the bar and poured some of the amber liquid into a cut crystal tumbler. He took an appreciative sip as he looked around the room. Again he wondered if this place could be anymore cliched. If he were to design a set for a movie about a mad scientist working on weapons of mass destruction, this is exactly what he would have designed.
His musing was interrupted when the door opened and the scientist in question entered the room. He was decidedly not the typical mad scientist type, he was more in the mold of Santa Claus. Medium height, round stomach, white hair and beard. He peered at Drake through half spectacles perched precariously on his bulbous nose. "Mr. Drake, thank you for coming!" he bellowed in a thick German accent. Drake saw a brief flash of fang as the scientist smiled at him.
They shook hands, Drake noted that the scientist's handshake was firm. "I'm getting paid enough to be here," he replied.
"From what I hear, you're worth the price," the doctor replied cheerfully as he poured his own drink.
Drake inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment. "I've been fortunate to complete some difficult assignments," he said.
"So I have heard, which is why you were contracted for this mission, my friend," the doctor replied as he sipped his drink.
Drake refrained from pointing out that he and the doctor were not friends. This was the first time they had laid eyes on each other and, as far as he was concerned, it was strictly business. In his line of work, one didn't have friends, they were a liability. But getting snippy with a customer was bad for business, so he settled for a simple "Thank you."
"Will you be driving back to Sibiu tonight?" The doctor inquired.
Drake nodded. "I've already booked my flight to America. I leave tomorrow."
The doctor set his drink down on his desk. "Then I'll waste no more of your time. Please follow me."
Drake followed the doctor down the hall, across the huge foyer, and down another hallway. He stopped in front of a metal door with an electronic keypad that looked ridiculously out of place in the ancient castle. He punched several numbers and the door slid open to reveal a pristine white hallway that looked like it belonged in a modern hospital and not a medieval castle in the middle of Dracula's home turf. They had only taken a few steps when a blood curdling scream ripped through the silence.
The doctor looked over his shoulder at Drake. "Pay it no mind. It is just a test subject."
Drake nodded. He felt sorry for the poor bastard, whoever they are, but it was not his place to say anything. He followed the doctor through a door about halfway down the hall.
The room on the other side was the same sterile white as the hallway. Drake would be the first to admit he had no medical or scientific training, but it looked like the place was full of the latest scientific equipment. The doctor walked to a table in the back and picked up a metal cylinder about nine inches long and four inches in diameter. "Here it is," he announced triumphantly.
Drake was impressed. "That's it?" he exclaimed. He took the cylinder and examined it. "It's much smaller than I expected."
The doctor looked quite pleased with himself. "Yes, that is all that is needed."
For the first time since he entered the castle, Drake smiled. "Excellent."
Alonzo Quinn looked up as his right hand man Simmons entered his office. "Well?"
"Heard from our European partners, Drake has picked up the package. He'll be here as scheduled," Simmons replied.
Quinn looked pleased. "Good. How are the other arrangements going?"
"Well enough," Simmons said. "Tierney and Davies are taking a poll now, but they believe that we have enough support to issue the challenge at the feast as planned."
Quinn chuckled. "Everything is coming together."
The Special Counsel's phone buzzed. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed his suspicion. "Right on time, as usual," he muttered. He picked up the handset, even though he knew what his secretary was going to say.
"She's here," the ever-efficient Samantha said.
"Send her in," The Special Counsel replied and replaced the handset.
Control swept into the room, her face grim. "What do you have?"
The Special Counsel leaned back in his chair. "Two days ago the Machine gave us the number of one of our own agents, Peter Dragu. This agent was in deep cover in the Transylvanian region of Romania. All efforts to reach this agent failed. After 24 hours, we dispatched one of our other Romanian agents to Transylvania to his last known address."
Control leaned forward in her chair. "Did Dragu go rogue?"
Special Counsel shook his head. "He went dead." He pushed a picture across his desk to Control and she snatched it up to examine it. "His throat was torn out."
Control's eye lid twitched, just the tiniest bit. "Vampires?"
"Transylvania, throat torn out, very little blood at the scene, so most likely the answer is yes," Special Counsel replied. "The dead agents home had been searched by whomever killed him, apparently the house was completely trashed. However, the agent who found the body was familiar with Dragu's hiding places and found materials in the home indicating that there is some sort of plot against New York City, most likely involving vampires."
"Monsters," Control muttered. She tossed the picture back on the desk with huff. "What's the current plan?"
Control's hatred of vampires was one of the worst kept secrets in the upper echelons of the American intelligence community. Unfortunately, it had prevented her from allowing any recruitment activities in the vampire community, and the CIA had few contacts and very little visibility into the world of the undead. Special Counsel wisely did not point out that Control had left the intelligence services in a very bad position for any situation that involved the blood suckers. Now they desperately needed some vampire help, and they had none. He knew he was going to tread very carefully with her on this.
"Well?" Control snapped, her arms crossed.
He pulled a file folder off the stack on his desk. "We don't have any contacts in New York Vampire society, so we had one of our very few remaining vampire agents approach the woman known as the Vampire Queen of New York. She's been known to cooperate with human authorities in the past, apparently she's big into human/vampire relations. She said she would cooperate on one condition."
Control snorted. "What does she want? Money? A meeting with the president? A blood bank?"
"No, she will only cooperate if we send her agent John Reese."
Control paused for a moment as she tried to recall everything she knew about Reese. "He and his partner Stanton did the Paris job last month," she recalled.
"Yes, they're one of our best teams. Mark Snow is their handler."
Control pursed her lips. "Any idea why she wants him?"
The Special Counsel looked troubled. "No, as far as we can tell, they've never had any contact."
"Well we're out of options, so give her what she wants," Control replied coldly. "Then when the job's done, kill Reese. I don't want any agents around who consort with the blood suckers. Consider him compromised."
"Yes, ma'am."
Like the trained CIA operative that he was, John Reese looked around the parlor as he was shown into the room, taking it all in at a glance. It was decorated in Gothic style with a red and black color scheme. While the décor could have been a cheap cartoon version of Gothic, the fabrics were rich brocades and the woods were beautifully crafted. The overall impression was one of considerable wealth instead of kitsch.
He became aware of a faint scent. It smelled of earth, and grasslands, and rain, with hints of ginger and cinnamon. It smelled of … Africa? Something prickled at his memory, but he couldn't quite pin it down.
He allowed his eyes to be drawn to the woman sitting in the middle of the couch. Her skin glowed a dusky gold, despite the stereotype of her kind being unnaturally pale. His briefing had said she was hundreds, possibly thousands of years old, but she didn't look a day over thirty five. Her long, raven hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders and her lipstick was blood red. She was wearing a black leather vest that showed off her toned arms and delicious cleavage. Her short leather skirt showed off perfect legs.
Beyond her beauty, there was something very familiar about her. John studied her trying to remember where he had seen her before.
"You may go, Tony," the woman dismissed the servant that had answered the door and led John to the room.
Tony's eyes shifted to John, who gave him a smirk, and then back to his mistress. "I'll be right outside if you need me." Then he withdrew without a sound.
John turned his attention back to the woman to find her studying him with her large, luminous eyes.
"Please sit, Mr. Reese," she indicated a chair with a wave of her hand.
John took his seat in the chair, still trying to figure out where he had seen her before.
"Now, tell me, what does the CIA want with me?" She asked. "And why didn't you bring your partner?"
It would seem she knew as much if not more about him than he knew about her. "Do I know you?" He asked.
She smiled, flashing a bit of fang as she did so. "Not in your current lifetime, but I've been waiting a thousand years to see you again."
John was trained to keep his emotions in check, to not let them show and give his opponent the advantage of knowing what he was thinking, and he was very good. But still he blinked in confusion at that statement. "I don't understand," he said.
In that moment she looked at him fondly. "You are the reincarnation of a man I knew many, many years ago."
John leaned forward. Maybe this was something he could use to accomplish his mission. He wasn't sure if he believed in reincarnation, but this woman certainly did, and she seemed to care for the man she once knew. "What was I like?"
"Same as you are now," she replied. "You were a knight. You wanted to protect people. You were a good man."
"I was a knight in shining armor, then?" John scoffed
She laughed. "No, you wore chain mail. It was rather rusty and smelled bad. You smell much better now."
Was she flirting with him? John had no idea what to say.
Fortunately she didn't expect an answer. "Don't worry, all the knights smelled bad back then."
This was certainly not what John had been led to expect in his briefing.
5 hours ago
Mark Snow tossed the folder in front John and Kara. "We drew the short straw on this one, people. We get to tangle with vampires this time. Blood suckers. The undead. Shadows of the night."
Kara wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, I'd hoped to never deal with the nasty things."
John, as usual, didn't say anything. He just pulled the folder towards him and began leafing through it.
"We don't know much," Mark said. "Our agent couldn't get a message out before he was killed. All we know is that there is going to be a terrorist attack in New York this week."
"What do vampires have to do with it?" Kara sniffed.
John passed a picture over to her. It was a picture of the dead agent, his throat torn out, but very little blood on the scene. "Yup, that's vampires all right," she commented. "So what does that have to do with us? Why were we recalled from Europe?"
Mark tossed another folder on the table. "Meet Jocelyn Carter, AKA, the Vampire Queen of New York. She's rumored to be hundreds, maybe thousands, of years old. No one really knows for sure."
Kara took the folder and opened it. The first item was a picture of the Queen striding down the street. If she knew the photographer was there, she didn't show it. She was looking straight ahead, perfectly coiffed hair flowing down her back, the way she carried herself was nothing short of regal. She looked every inch the Queen she was rumored to be. "She's aged well," Kara commented. "She doesn't look a day over a hundred."
"We know she's at least two hundred, she helped establish and run the Underground Railroad through New York," Mark replied. "Our experts are pretty sure she was already quite old then."
"Is she part of the terror plot?"
"No, she's apparently been an outspoken proponent of human/vampire cooperation," Mark said. "We approached her about helping us with this since we don't have any contacts in New York blood sucker circles. She said she would only talk to John Reese."
John looked up sharply, "Me?"
"Sorry buddy," Mark replied in a voice that showed no trace of regret. "No mistake. She wants you, pretty boy."
"Maybe she likes the taste of Boy Scouts," Kara jeered. But John could tell she was a bit put out. Swell, this meant she was going to be in a bitchy mood for the rest of the day.
"Any idea why she wants you, John?" Mark asked.
John shook his head. "I've never come into contact with any vampires, much less her."
"Well that's about to change, you have an appointment with her at 8."
John decided to take control of the conversation. "Do you know why I'm here?"
The Vampire Queen nodded. "There is a threat of some type against the city and it involves my kind. This is why you need my help."
"Will you help?"
Jocelyn cocked her head to one side. "How did you come by this information?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Ever since I was turned, your people have tried to kill me. I've seen many atrocities committed against my kind. How do I know this just isn't some elaborate ruse to wipe out the vampire population of New York? How do I know that once I open the door to our world, you won't use that knowledge to destroy us?"
"You don't believe there is a real threat?"
"I don't know, I need confirmation. Where are you getting your information?"
"It's classified. I don't even know."
Jocelyn studied him. "You don't know? You blindly follow orders? You kill without question?"
John's eyes met hers without flinching. "I eliminate threats to America."
"Are you sure that's that what they were? A threat and not just some poor souls that had run afoul of Control?"
"I'm a soldier. I follow orders and I love my work."
The vampire frowned. "Your work is killing people. Don't you ever feel regret?"
"No," John lied, his voice flat and his face emotionless. "Sometimes you have to become a monster to fight monsters. I do the things other people won't. I can't afford remorse. I have to be the Dark."
"You're proud of that, aren't you? That doesn't sound like the man I knew," she said softly, her eyes were troubled. John was surprised to see her eyes glisten, like they were filling with unshed tears. "He was a soldier too, but he didn't love his work. He wasn't the Dark. He saw things, things that wounded him deeply. Tell me, Mr. Reese, did all your victims deserve to die?"
Reese's jaw moved side to side before he answered. Jocelyn noticed. "That's not for me to decide," he replied. "What about you?"
Jocelyn sighed and looked down, then she looked at him through her lashes. "I knew that someday you and I would meet again, and when we did, I wanted to be able to tell you that I have lived my second chance in a manner that would make you proud. I may be a shadow of the night, but I am not the Dark."
John looked away. He was losing this conversation quickly, but that didn't bother him nearly as much as the fact she seemed to be looking into his soul and was disappointed in what she found. "I don't know you. All I do know is that a lot of people could die if you don't help me," John replied.
"And a lot of vampires could die if I do." Jocelyn stood up abruptly. "I need to think about this. Please come back tomorrow. Tony."
Tony was instantly standing next to John. John managed to hide his surprise at how fast the servant moved; John hadn't even heard him come into the room. He glanced over to where Jocelyn was sitting, only to discover she was gone.
"I'll show you out," Tony said in a tone of voice that told John he had better not argue.
John rose from his seat with his face in a mask of determination. "Tell her I'll be back."
"She knows," Tony responded as he escorted John out of the room and out of the house.
Jocelyn stood at a window on the second story watching as John walked away into the night.
"So that's the guy you've been waiting for all these years."
Joss looked over her shoulder and saw Tony, arms and ankles crossed, leaning one shoulder against the wall next to the window. "Yes." She went back to watching John.
Tony frowned. "He's not what you were expecting, was he?"
Joss shook her head. "He's lost his way; the CIA has warped him. He needs to remember who he is."
"Can you do that? Make him remember?"
Joss didn't respond until John disappeared around the corner. "I don't know," she finally said.
"What was it about this guy that made you wait for a thousand years for him?" Tony asked.
Joss closed her eyes. "The way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he treated me. He made me feel…special. Like I was his whole world. I felt like a goddess every day I spent with him. He understood me. I would look in his eyes and see kindness, gentleness, love.
"I've lived a thousand years, and no one has ever made me feel that way. He saw me in just about every way possible." Her voice choked slightly on the last sentence. Tony pretended not to notice.
Joss turned to him. "And now the CIA has tainted him. They've taken his big heart and buried it inside a cold-blooded killer."
Tony looked at his boss fondly. "If anyone can bring him back, it's you."
Joss gave her servant a small smile. "Thank you."
"His timing could have been better, Simmons and his gang are making trouble again," Tony said, his face serious.
Joss raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Now what?"
"Our spy reported that they're floating the possibility of a direct challenge."
Joss sighed. "I knew this day was coming. I had hoped it wouldn't, especially not now. But I'm sure it's not a coincidence."
Tony looked thoughtful. "You think they're involved in whatever it is that the CIA wants your help with?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Joss replied. "The CIA needs our help just as HR gets restless? No, not a coincidence."
Tony looked grim. "What are we going to do?"
"I think it's time I called Mr. Finch. We're done waiting."
