Disclaimer: Van Helsing and Co. are property of Steven Sommers. Unfortunately, all my requests to borrow Dracula and Gabriel have been denied…but I won't give up! Pardon me while I send more letters...hehe

A/N: Don't expect the chapters of this to be very long, or even consistent in length. I just felt like writing, and what comes, comes. Just thought I'd warn you.

And THANK YOU THANK YOU for all you're wonderful reviews! I'm so very glad you've enjoyed this so far. Unfortunately I haven't answered any questions in this chapter, but for those who've wondered, I expect the 'ghost' to show up next chapter, mwahahaha…but I will hint that it's a 'he'….

Chapter 2

Power. He could feel it like blood in his veins, crackling like electricity through tensed muscles, in the heat of the stone beneath his paws. The wind was strong, clanging the catwalks high in the tower and rustling the thick fur around his neck. Flexing claws as long and deadly as the fangs curving passed his snarling lips, he growled, and the sound shook the earth. Dracula only smiled, brushing an errant lock of hair from his eyes before reaching up with one hand, and lightly brushing the side of his muzzle as one would a favored pet.

"Oh Gabriel…Gabriel…when will you learn? Things are never as they seem, you should know this better than most, you, who were the Left Hand of God…." Dracula drew back his hand and turned his head to the clock tower beyond a broken window. The enormous hands read 12:01. When Dracula spoke again, his voice had changed. It was Carl's voice, matched to every inflection. "The serum must be given before the twelfth stroke of midnight." Dracula smirked, and Van Helsing lifted one great, clawed hand to grab him about the throat, but it passed through as if the vampire were no more than smoke.

"You need to look deeper into things, Gabriel. All the world's answers cannot be found through death and duty. But oh, the irony of seeing you like this…the very thing you have fought so ruthlessly against, and the only one of your kind I cannot control…." Dracula laughed, and suddenly disappeared. Van Helsing whirled, ears laid back against his skull and lips drawn back in a snarl. Laughing from somewhere up above drew his attention, and looking up, he found the vampire lounging casually in a high window, the full moon behind him leaving him a dark silhouette. "It was past midnight Gabriel, past the wolf's hour, the twelfth chime too long an echo…." Then he began to fade, like mist in the rising sun. The edges blurred, and the moonlight grew brighter, and Van Helsing lifted his head and howled a sound that rattled the stones and mortar, shook the bats from their bell tower perches and drove the birds from the trees for miles around.

And then, there was light and sound, and Van Helsing found himself blinking, eyes opening on an entirely different scene. He was back at the inn, the light from a three-quarter moon shining through the window, Carl's snores breaking the silence. Almost frantically, Van Helsing raised his hands to his face, and collapsed back in relief upon discovering they were still very much human, and it had all been a dream. Reaching beneath the pillow, Van Helsing took firm grasp of the leather-handled dagger hidden beneath and pulled it into his hand. Something had woken him from the strange dream, and he wasn't about to let down his guard until he was positive it was something harmless. And, it was a welcome distraction from the nightmare.

The sound that must have woken him repeated itself a moment later. It was a high-pitched, hoarse cry. It was the sound metal made when it tore in the heat, or scraped heavily across stones. It was a sound Van Helsing would have recognized anywhere.

"Carl," he hissed, and tossed his pillow at the sleeping friar. Carl snapped into a sitting position and promptly fell off his cot, arms and legs flailing as if he were drowning.

"What? It's not even light out," Carl grumbled, but quickly began rummaging through the bag beside his bed.

"The gargoyle is out and about." Van Helsing was busy tying his bootlaces, his Tojo blades already latched onto his wrist braces and shotgun sheathed at his back.

"You're going after it?" Carl asked, holding the brass knuckles in one hand and the large silver cross in the other.

"Of course. That is what I'm here for," Van Helsing replied with a smirk. Carl rolled his eyes.

"Right. But now? We just got here!"

"You're staying here. Stay inside the room, and keep the cross on you. If it doubles back this way it won't attack you with something consecrated on you." Van Helsing was up and heading toward the door.

"But…but…are you sure?" Carl asked, but sounded more grateful than anything.

"Yes, I'm sure. I've handled gargoyle's before, you know." Van Helsing turned back slightly, and Carl gave him a grateful smile. "Trust me," he said, and closed the door.

Outside, it was black. The moon had already set, and the sun was still too far below the horizon to even dim the stars with a faint glow. A few insects buzzed lazily from the undergrowth, and an unknown night bird called out suddenly in the dark. There was a slight breeze, and Van Helsing's nostrils flared, searching. The Gargoyle screeched again, and the insects fell silent.

Crouching low to the ground, Van Helsing hurried toward the sound, pistols gripped tightly and aimed skyward. His feet made no sound on the soft vegetation beneath his feet, and he struggled to quiet his breathing. The wind had stilled, and suddenly the only thing he could hear was the slow beating of his own heart, and the steady rush of blood through his veins.

The loud rustling of wings was his only warning. Dropping to his knees, Van Helsing brought both pistols up to bear and shot directly into the chest of a thing that looked remarkably as if it had been carved from stone. Its skin was thick and grayish, tight over a squat, winged body topped with a badger-like head with wide nostrils and overlapping fangs. The eyes were a pinkish red, gleaming like polished metal. The bullets only slowed it slightly, and Van Helsing quickly rolled out of its path, unsheathing one Tojo blade at the same time. The creature dove again barely a second after he'd regained his feet, and he whipped his arm out in a wide arc, the saw-like blade catching the edge of the creature's wing as it veered out of the way. The howl of pain it bellowed forth was so unearthly that even the trees shook on their roots, a few panes of glass in nearby homes shattering into thick shards. In the third dive it wasted no time at all, but rather fell from the sky like a bullet. Van Helsing didn't have time to bring the blade up again, and the creature plowed him into the ground so hard that he knew something should have broken, and stars danced in his vision. On instinct, his hands flew up and latched onto the beast's arms, struggling desperately to shove it back despite its greater strength and mass. Its face dropped close, gaping maw spewing hot breath into his face, stinking saliva dangling precariously from yellowed fangs. Van Helsing was only aware of a brief flash of pain shooting through his chest, before strength suddenly flooded into his limbs. Slowly, he pushed the creature back, fingers digging so fiercely into its arms that it twitched in pain. And then, with one great heaving shove, he threw it from him so violently that it went sailing thirty feet off into the trees.

Shakily, Van Helsing rose to his feet, eyes wide and focused on where the creature had disappeared. Then, briefly, the pain returned again, like his guts were twisting in his abdomen and his muscles burning with sudden heat. The scars on his chest almost felt as if they were throbbing, burning through his skin to his very heart, and he didn't like the implications of that at all.

Somewhere off in the trees, the creature howled, and he stared tiredly as it suddenly burst above the treetops and sailed off toward the deeper woods. Collapsing to the ground, Van Helsing yanked down the neck of his shirt and stared down at the scars on his upper chest, an oval of jagged pale splotches where the werewolf's teeth had once sunk into his flesh. They had been nothing but faint white scars, but now they were reddish and slightly inflamed, as if irritated. Swallowing thickly, Van Helsing looked away and sheathed the Tojo blade. His breathing slowly returned to normal, warm exhalations fading into the night.

---

"Van Helsing, don't you think we should go someplace more…welcoming to do this?" Carl asked shakily, eyes darting around the small, smoky pub. There were a very few people scattered around the many small tables, but nearly all were glaring at Van Helsing and Carl hidden in one corner. Carl had spread maps of the region over the tops of two round tables they'd pushed together, and a few ancient books with sketches and vague references to gargoyles were flipped open on the edges of the maps. A few odd, silver instruments were scattered about atop the maps.

Van Helsing only lifted his head briefly to meet the gazes of the locals, before looking back to the map spread before him. "This is fine. And besides, this is the only place where there's room for all this at once," he said, sweeping one hand to gesture at their mess.

"Right…" Carl replied warily, forcing his eyes to return to a tome on 'Daemonic Manifestations 1298-1498.' Van Helsing was staring intently at the center of the map. The Kensington House had been marked by the stub of a burnt out candle, and two new murders, five miles to the north of the village, had been marked by a old bullet casing. The murders had occurred late in the night, after Van Helsing's encounter with the Gargoyle. It was similar to the first, in that it was a man and a woman slain. Thankfully there were no more missing persons, but the mood of the tiny village was no less grim. Both had taken place on the outskirts of the village, and were sickeningly violent. Reaching out for one of the silver instruments, Van Helsing suddenly drew his hand back with a low hiss of pain. Glancing down at his fingertips, he saw what looked like pinkish, fresh burns.

"Van Helsing, are you alright?" Carl asked, glancing from the instrument to Van Helsing's hand.

"Fine. It's nothing," Van Helsing mumbled, fisting his hand. Carl picked up the instrument and turned it over in his hand, his eyes questioning, but he didn't press the issue. "Gather your stuff, Carl, we're going," Van Helsing said suddenly, thumping shut two of the nearest books.

"What? Where?" Van Helsing's only reply was to thrust his finger toward the map, fingernail pressed to a tiny sketch of what appeared to be some sort of castle ruins.

"Why are we going there?" Carl asked, hurriedly shoving maps and gadgets into a bulging satchel.

"Call it a gut feeling," Van Helsing replied, and cast Carl a smile that made him groan. "And, it's the only place within ten miles that could logically birth a gargoyle."

"I'm not going to like this…" Carl said to himself, and followed the hunter out into the pub. They were nearly to the door before one of the villagers finally made their move.

"Murderer." It was an old woman, hunch-backed with a thin, polished wooden cane in one hand. Her hair still held some of its former blonde color, but her face was a mass of wrinkles and dust, the pink of her eye tissue visible above the sagging lids.

"Pardon me, Ma'am," Van Helsing said, trying to step around her to the doorway. She replied by whacking him firmly in the shin with her cane. "Ow!" Van Helsing yelped, and glared while stepping back out of caning range.

"Murderer and rude, then," she growled, and narrowed her milky eyes.

"Please, Ma'am, we only wish to pass-" Carl began, and she harrumphed and waved her cane threateningly beneath his nose.

"Oh, I'll let you pass, but I'll have my say first. If it were up to me, you, Van Helsing, would be tied to a stake and burned like the heretics of the old days. You'll bring more death upon us, monster," she said. Van Helsing paled, but didn't reply immediately.

"Then I shall be glad it is not up to you," he said, and his eyes were suddenly sad, as if remembering something he'd rather not.

"I'm sure you are. Who will they send to kill you, monster? Once the gargoyle's dead? I know you're not human…I can see it in your eyes. The beast, clawing it's way through your human skin even now. You'd best not stay here long, Van Helsing…there are plenty others who share my thoughts and know just how to take care of your kind…" she said, her wrinkled lips curving into a nasty smile. Van Helsing narrowed his eyes, and suppressed a growl he felt rising deep in his throat. No use proving her right, after all, he thought.

"I have a job to do Ma'am, and that is to kill the gargoyle. I always kill what I come for, and neither you nor anyone else will keep me from it this time." Van Helsing stepped quickly around the old woman and stalked out the door before she could reply, Carl rushing to keep up. No one came after them.

"What was that all about, do you think?" Carl asked, warily casting an eye behind them as they headed back toward the inn.

"I wish I knew," Van Helsing said, idly glancing toward his burnt fingertips.

"And what did she mean by not human? I wonder if she was...you know…mentally unbalanced." Carl looked uncomfortable at accusing her of such, but appeared to be more worried than anything.

"Wouldn't surprise me. Besides, it's not the first time I've been called a monster."

--End Chapter 2---

A/N:: I know, odd place to end the chapter, but that's how it goes. Hope you enjoyed anyway!