Enterprise - Act 1
Rachel rushed out the door to find Logan brushing himself off. He immediately recognized the fearful and confused expression she tended to get whenever these sorts of random things happened.
"It's okay," he said gently, "let's not make a big deal about it. Just a car chase– yes and gunshots," he added before she could cut him off, "and half the neighborhood will have called the police by now, so let's just go inside and have some dinner."
"Dad, are you okay?" Hanna called from the partly open front door.
"Hanna, go back inside right now," Rachel commanded, pointing to emphasize, but the girl's worried look was fixed on her father.
"I'm fine honey," Logan said with a half smile, "go on back inside, I'll be there in a minute."
Once Hanna had disappeared again into the glowing warmth of the lighted house, Logan and Rachel made their way toward the front door. Rachel smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't scare me like that!"
Logan made a little sarcastic frown. "It was a car chase, honey; I don't think there was much I could have done to prevent it."
"All the same," she warned, "this neighborhood is getting more and more dangerous every year."
"Well, in a few months, if I get this promotion, maybe we can afford to move..."
Rachel kept the sour look as she stepped through the door into the deceptively warm looking house. "Well it won't be soon enough."
Logan let the door close with a sigh.
Standing near the hedge was a figure robed in darkness. The warm glow from the house's windows stung his eyes and the smell of happiness was offensive. He bared his fangs.
--
Niki blinked rapidly in the darkness of the building into which the Goths had led her. She could smell that this was no warehouse. Carpet. Cheap fabric office cubicle dividers. Toner. She walked as naturally as she could in the direction she hoped the Goths were leading her. Eventually she felt space open up around her and when a series of lights flickered on, she found herself in a drab conference room.
With a stoic Goth on either side of her, she looked across a plain wood table at three vamps. The center one was the most ornately pierced and also had a black snake tattoo running up the side of his neck onto his face, whose head was turned and looked like it was about to bite the vamp's eye. His hand rested on a large black case which sat on the table.
Niki suppressed a pang of disappointment. This was not where the bracelets had been manufactured: There was neither metallurgical equipment nor magical paraphernalia with which to create them on a large scale. In fact, there was no evidence that the Goths spent any time here at all. Just a meeting place.
After eyeing her for a moment, the tattooed vampire unbuckled the case and opened it on the table. He reached inside and drew a small, black, silk bundle. Unwrapping it he offered the silver bracelet for her to inspect.
"One hundred and sixty six," he said calmly, his hands resting again on the case. Each one no doubt crafted meticulously, individually wrapped in silk and transported here from... where? The Slayer cursed her naiveté. Of course they wouldn't do business on the factory floor. She thought quickly.
"How do I know they will pass inspection by the Slayer?" the words sounded odd in her mouth. How exactly did vampires speak of her when she wasn't around? Were they afraid of her? Did they show some kind of reverence, contempt or just plain hatred?
"Each one is crafted precisely to duplicate the original." The tattooed Goth tilted his head slightly as if this was an almost insulting question. "There is no way for a mere human to tell the difference."
"But the Slayer has a magical friend," Niki said quickly. "Are you saying he could tell the difference?"
The Goth with the snake was silent for a moment as he seemed to stare into the heart of the woman before him. "We thought of that," he said at long last, taking the silver trinket and wrapping it again in silk. "He is being taken care of. I assure you, your coven will be safe when they arrive provided they wear our product."
Niki's hands slid into her pockets. "That's all I needed to know." With a sudden blur of steel, she drew the vicious preditor from her pocket and sliced through the throat of the vamp on her right while simultaneously shattering the jaw of the vamp on her left with the tightly clasped brass knuckles. The two simultaneous shouts of pain accompanied the look of surprise on the face of the tattooed vamp and his two coworkers who quickly drew knives and leapt over the table upon the Slayer.
Niki was quick to jam the knife-like preditor into the ribs of the first, using his weight to drive it deep. She then launched his deadweight into the other attacking Goth, discarding the brass knuckles in favor of a stake. In a flash the vamp with the blade still in his chest was dust and Niki was grappling with the second.
The Slayer was slowly bringing the tip of the wooden spike into position to thrust into his heart, her wrist still in his grasp, when the vamp's chest exploded and spattered her with blood. The vamp blinked in surprise. With another loud bang, another section of his chest erupted and Niki felt a searing pain across the top of her shoulder. The vamp she was fighting let out a grunt of pain as another bullet passed through him and finally Niki's stake found its way into his heart.
Through the ash which fell to the floor, Niki could see the tattooed Goth standing calmly behind the table, a sleek, silver semiautomatic in his hand.
"Enough" he said simply. The vamps on either side of the Slayer were slowly standing. One had his hand across his slit throat and the other was cradling his shattered jaw. Niki clenched her jaw. The fiery pain in her shoulder was starting to take up all her attention.
The Goth with the tattoo kept a perfectly stoic expression as the two escorts grabbed Niki and held her before the barrel of the gun.
"Any last words, Sl–" the gun exploded from his hand with a bright spark. Two more shots caught the tattooed vamp in the face and he was down. Niki couldn't tell what was going on until she saw a fist flying at the already shattered jaw.
With the second vamp's attention distracted, she jammed her elbow into his injured ribs and dashed for the door, feeling the presence of someone behind her. She ran all the faster. Once she was outside in the cool air of night, she side stepped the entrance and extended a foot. Sure enough, with a curse in the darkness, a figure stumbled over her foot onto the pavement, quickly rolling onto his back and raising his gun.
Niki squinted down at the figure with puzzlement. She had never seen him before. Tentatively she raised her hands. He wasn't a vampire. "Uh, don't shoot, please."
Harrison very carefully lowered his gun. She certainly didn't look dangerous, not carrying anything pointy. And she was injured.
--
Niki winced as the disinfectant was dabbed over the gash. The bullet had only nicked her, but that wasn't much of a comfort now. The Goths carried guns. This was something she would have preferred to know before getting involved with them. Since guns were rarely lethal to other vampires, unless shattering the spine, the only reason to carry them was protection against Niki herself. Although somehow flattering, it introduced another variable into her job. These weren't scum anymore. They were a high class enemy.
"So what were you doing in an office building after hours?" Harrison asked, dipping the cloth into the bowl of hot water. Internally, wheels were spinning. He tried to keep his eyes on the wound. It was difficult considering he was actually standing in the home of the Cremator. From what he had gleaned from the casual glace he had afforded himself, it was an average apartment. Perhaps a little messy and still hanging on to an age where floral was the way to go, but normal. Somewhere here, however, was the proof he needed.
"I could ask you the same question," she said, wincing as he cleaned the wound. She had invited him here primarily to avoid having to go to Logan for help. It wasn't a leap to assume this man had been the man in the car chasing them and shooting at them all the way through Freeport. What his interest was in the Goths or the bootlegging was what Niki couldn't figure out.
"I asked first," he said with a smile, wringing the water from the cloth and rummaging around in her cupboards looking for a bandage or possibly something incriminating. Unfortunately he found the bandages first.
Niki shrugged. "Just doing some dumb things with some bad people." She tried to plant an innocent smile. "What youth is all about."
"They would have ended your youth very abruptly if I hadn't been there," Harrison noted.
Niki swallowed. He was starting to sound like Addison. "Alright, I answered your question. Now it's your turn." He was silent while he applied the bandage. Finally he sat down across the small kitchen table from her.
"Alright." He folded his hands and all false amusement melted from his face. "You, Niki Valtaine, are a serial killer."
Niki was stunned. What the hell was he talking about? Her mouth was suddenly dry as she recalled the woman on the news. The woman the Deceivers had tricked her into killing. Did he know? How could he? Why wasn't she in handcuffs? "Uh... what?" was all she managed.
"You're a serial killer," Harrison repeated. "And I've been following you for a while now. I know you killed the Brandon woman and I've personally seen you incinerate dozens of others." His tone was so candid that he might have been telling her that he had personally seen her using the wrong coffee brand.
"You're crazy," she insisted, still sitting as he shrugged and went on. "You're really fucking nuts, you know that?"
"You're too young to be the original Cremator, but I think you heard about the case in the news or on some cheesy cop show and decided it fit your style." The FBI agent crossed his arms. "You took her name and you took her MO, starting the killing spree all over again," he wagged a finger at her with a sly grin, "but you were sloppy. You didn't burn that last victim, we found her and we're going to link you to her... and I'm going to take you down."
Niki's head was swimming. They couldn't... could they... Link her to that woman's death? "Crazy," she muttered.
"That's what my superiors said," Harrison agreed, nodding. "And, granted, I still haven't figured out how you incinerate your victims, but I'm telling you now that there's nothing you can do and there's nowhere you can run where I won't follow." He leaned in close, his experience as an interrogator telling him he had her where he wanted her. "I'll be behind your shadow. You blink and I'm there. You were sloppy enough to leave a body once; you'll trip up again. And I'll be there."
Niki slowly stood, her eyes cold and her hands trembling. Just what she needed: Another enemy. And this one couldn't be killed without raising questions. "Get out," she said hoarsely, her finger pointing towards the door. "You don't have a warrant. Get the hell out."
Still with the self-satisfied smirk, Harrison rose and strode towards the door. "I'll just be downstairs if you need me," he said with a smile.
The door slammed behind him, leaving Niki in her torn and bloodstained shirt blinking at the unrelenting obstacles the universe in its fucking infinite wisdom was throwing at her.
She slowly closed her eyes and sank back down into the chair. Shit.
--
Enterprise - Act 2
Hanna glanced down without realizing it, her cheeks flushing. He was looking at her like that again. Instantly she looked up so as not to miss his gorgeous eyes. His gaze was still locked intently on her. Matt was the only one who listened to her.
"Keep going," he encouraged, brushing a strand of his thick blond hair from his eye. "What did they look like?"
Hanna shifted her shoulders inside her denim jacket which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. She knew she wasn't supposed to tell, but he was looking at her with such rapt attention she didn't want to disappoint him.
"Well," she explained modestly, "they weren't much taller than normal guys, but it was dark, so it was hard to tell. They kinda strutted about like they weren't even afraid of getting caught – not like bad guys from on TV or anything who are all hunched over and shifty."
"What were their faces like?" Matt pressed, imperceptibly leaning in a bit closer over the cafeteria table. Most of Hanna's 'friends' had abandoned her since the tale had started circulating that she cut herself for attention, and Matt had been pegged early on as a troubled child, so the two were alone this particular lunch hour.
"Their faces?" Hanna closed her eyes, thinking back to the night which seemed more and more like a nightmare. The more she discussed it –really, only with Matt– the less terrifying it seemed and the more the entire thing excited her. "They were sort of bumpy... I don't know, kinda angry looking, but like they were stuck that way– and their eyes were like cats eyes... or wolves eyes."
Matt's smile faded from his eyes to nothing more than a token twist of the lips. His own memory was fuzzy but still very present. The school was right; he was a troubled child. "And they had fangs."
"Of course," Hanna said, not catching his vague unease. "That's how I knew they were vampires." She leaned in closer with a conspiratorial whisper. "People say they don't exist – but they do. Kirsty better watch out or one of them will eat her and her whole family."
Now the smile had left Matt altogether. He blinked once. "That's not a very nice thing to say," he said distantly, looking at some invisible point on her shirt. If she noticed she didn't let on. "Then your dad came?"
Hanna nodded enthusiastically, getting to the good part. "He totally kicked their butts. He did this whole lightning thing from his fingers and they were, like, poof! gone, just like that."
Now Matt had a hard time concealing the smirk which had left Hanna eating her lunches alone. "He shot lightning from his fingers?" he asked, trying hard to suppress the sarcasm. She really was cute, even if she was just making all this up.
"I know how it sounds," she defended sternly, "like some kind of fairy tale. But none of you were there. I was and I know what I saw." She looked into his still smiling eyes, searching for some trace of respect. Then the bell rang.
Matt stood first, clearing away the remains of his lunch. "Well, I have to get to class." Hanna was still sitting, staring at where he had been. He sensed her pending disappointment and nudged her elbow. "See you in English?"
After a moment, she perked up. "Sure." And then he was gone.
Morosely, she dumped her lunch debris into the trash can and made her way to the girls' washroom. Resolved to spend a good five minutes feeling crappy about her decision to tell anyone what had happened, she didn't notice the dark form standing behind the door until it closed. Then the hand closed around her mouth and the last thing she heard before she passed out was a deep and amused laugh.
--
Logan brought the coffee to his lips and winced. It was too hot. Damn his bad luck. He stared out the window of the small coffee shop and glanced up at the wall clock. Back at the office in twenty minutes. Give or take. He blew on the coffee to cool it. Sip. Damn.
The scalding liquid he had managed to pull into his mouth came out in a spray as Niki strolled past the window, looking directly at him. He quickly wiped his mouth and stood from his small table as she turned in the door and approached his table with a perfectly stoic expression. Without a word, however, she sat down at the table beside his, her back to the window.
"Sit down," she said with a harsh whisper. "And don't look at me." She pretended to rummage around in her jacket pockets for a minute but continued talking. "I'm being followed. Just play along. Pretend you don't know me."
Logan stood and stared at her with a perplexed expression. After a moment of watching her ignore him, he shrugged and sat. It was broad daylight. How could a demon or vampire be following her? He decided to ask her.
"Never mind," she hissed, finding the napkin dispenser suddenly in need of her attention. "I need you to think back to when you made the bracelets. The silver ones. You remember?"
Logan shrugged. "Yeah, I remember," he said into the rim of his coffee cup. Sip. Damn. He winced. "What about them?"
"Is there any way you could tell one that you made from one that someone else made?"
"What's this all—" he began, but a crumpled napkin landed in his lap bearing the weight of something metal.
"Just do it. I'll be in contact," without another word she stood and marched towards the door, her eyes shifting furiously around the busy street, looking for someone she was sure was there.
Logan's puzzlement reached its peak. "How did you know where I eat—" he turned around but she was already gone. Lunch. He sighed, finishing his thought.
Sip. Damn.
--
Niki practically leapt out of the taxi and marched into the lobby of her apartment building. She tapped the elevator call button rapidly, glancing over her shoulder as the doors opened. She turned around with a start.
"Hello," Harrison smiled, standing in the elevator with his hands on his hips. "Looking for me?"
"Get the hell out of my elevator," she said through clenched teeth. Her eyes slowly widened as he drew a blue, folded piece of paper. He dangled the paper before her with a grin. Her jaw dropped slightly, images of him searching her apartment entering her mind. Closets full of weapons...
"You are eligible," he read from the brochure as he unfolded it, "for a full day spa treatment with the purchase of any–" Her fist connected with his face, sending him sprawling back into the elevator wall.
She grabbed his lapels and shoved him from the elevator just before the doors closed. With a hand covering her mouth, she rode the lift up to the ninth floor, trying to calm her racing heart. He could have... She shook her head. Calm down. Get your head together, she told herself. She finally relaxed when she got to her door and found it still locked.
Niki took a deep breath. Of course he hadn't broken in. He wanted an airtight case against her. No tricks, no deceptions—
Her eyes met the whiteboard hanging on her fridge door. For a moment her heart must surely have stopped.
Do not be deceived. Meet me at Time Square - 7pm
Niki walked slowly through the kitchen through the living room to the window by her bedroom door. On the street, nine storeys below, was a black car. Inside was Harrison. A shiver went up the Slayer's spine. All the thoughts and jumbled mess of the joke that was her life were crushed suddenly under an unbearable weight. She missed her parents.
--
Logan fingered the silver bracelet, wrapped still in its crumpled napkin, stuffed deep into his khaki jacket pocket. With a familiar tone, the imitation wood elevator doors opened, letting him back to his office floor just in time. More or less.
Like something from a Discovery Channel special, heads popped up from cubicles to see who had arrived. Upon seeing Logan, most dropped back down again. All except that of Eric Quinlan, the slightly balding prosecutor who was hand-holding Logan through the process of getting his promotion in the firm. Though Eric was an excellent prosecutor and junior partner of Morgan, Lewis & Bockius, his job had somehow become a dead end and though he wouldn't admit it, he knew his head was on the chopping block if the merger took place.
"Hey Kilpatrick," Eric waved his pencil in Logan's direction. "You got a message while you were out."
"Who called?" he asked, walking by to his own desk.
"Not a call," Eric corrected, "an actual message." He dropped the envelope on Logan's desk. The prosecutor remained, waiting to see what was so important it came in a black envelope, but Logan gave him a look which could wilt flowers. With conciliatory smile, Eric returned to his own business.
Logan tapped the envelope on-end on his desk, then tore the leading edge open to find out what was inside. With a jerk he emptied the contents onto the various papers on his desk. There was neither amusement nor trust on his face as he reached out for the simple folded piece of paper. With an easy flip he opened it.
We have your daughter. Wait for further instructions.
He read the words over again. We have your daughter. Your daughter. We have your daughter. The words began to blur as the letter trembled in Logan's trembling hand. With a jerk he pulled his hand back from the paper and wrung his hand. His fingertips had burned through the page leaving small black-edged holes. The slight wisp of smoke rising from the page curled around his face as he stood. His face was the color of the smoke and his hands were still trembling.
--
Enterprise - Act 3
Niki stood perfectly still at the corner of Broadway and 7th Avenue. The surreal hour of twilight was settling in and the city that never sleeps was beginning to light up. There was a car parked somewhere nearby whose occupant was watching her.
Niki pulled the comforting leather of her jacket tighter around her, burying her hands in its pockets.
As one, a small crowd of tourists began to cross Broadway, headed for the Slayer. Her eyes caught one particular figure, his fedora pulled down over his face, the collar of his plum jacket flipped up around his neck.
The people pushed past her, some pushing more politely than others. Without a word, Niki felt the tug of something being dropped into her pocket. Without a moment's hesitation, she shoved her way out of the crowd and hailed a taxi.
The ride home was silent as she fingered the thing which had been passed to her. When she got to her apartment, she knew he wouldn't be waiting for her in the elevator. She rode to the ninth floor in silence. It was something bad. She could tell. Whistler would have stopped to talk if it had been good. He was that sort of fair weather friend who always got scarce or useless when times were tough. The doors opened and she scoffed internally: that's why she was the hero and he was the... demon. Must be in his job description.
She slid the key into the lock like it was the first time. Opening the door, she moved through the living room in the dim light towards the small shelf next to the couch. A tape player sat gathering dust. She jabbed the eject key and pulled out the last tape to be played. The Toe Tag City demo tape. The tape from her pocket she slid into the player's lid and snapped it closed, hitting the play key. There was a staticky silence for a few seconds before the familiar voice began with a sigh.
"Hello Niki. Sorry I'm not around right now, but I can't get involved with humans' legal affairs. Against the rules and all that.
"Anyway, I've got a few things to tell you, so listen up. First of all, I've found out something which might be useful. There's a seer — yeah, just a regular old seer, doing palm readings at Hudson Mall. She'd know a thing or two about the Deceivers, or at least if your love line is strong.
"As for... The other thing. You can't control everything, and you can't sit back and do nothing. That's your problem. You have to see what's behind you, but you can't look back." Whistler's voice took on an amused tone.
"Listen to me: I sound like a fortune cookie... Your lucky numbers are 122, 37, 10016. True, you have fewer lucky numbers than most, but consider how your luck has been." There was a sudden silence. Niki was just reaching for the tape player when the voice made her hand jerk.
"Remember when times were good? Go back to where times were good. Yes, now you can turn this off." Her finger came down and the tape stopped with a click.
Niki sat on the floor of her apartment in the dark. On an impulse, she replaced Whistler's tape with the one she had last listened to — how many years ago? As the music started, she hugged her knees and laid her head on a couch cushion. But she didn't sleep that night.
--
The very might of the Earth resonated up through his footsteps, a deep and unquestionably angry voice. Under his shoes was the crunch of his frosty footprints. The ground froze where he stepped. The top of his head was practically steaming, his body divided between cold hate and hot rage. Down in his gut, however, where the hot met the cold, a gnawing cancerous terror resided. They had his daughter. They had Hanna. The terror snapped and bit like a chained dog. Circling it was a sickening guilt. They had taken her because of him.
Logan marched down the sidewalk to the small boarded up shop which the message had advised him was the rendezvous point. He had every intention of barbecuing whoever was sent to meet him until they told him where Hanna was. Then they would die. And not quickly.
His newly healed fingertips were beginning to glow at the center of his tightly balled fists and his irises had turned from a hazel brown to a burnt black. Crunch, crunch, crunch, the ice under his feet left snowy footprints back to the phone booth where the second message had been left for him.
Without a thought, he vanished into thin air in the late evening light, reappearing only a few paces ahead; his impatience and terror getting the better of him. Crunch, crunch. The door was locked when he tried it. No matter. With a twist of light he was inside, looking about in the darkness for something to make scream.
"Daddy," the weak whimper made his veins fill with ice.
Like a shadow he moved towards the sound, his hand reaching out and meeting the warmth of Hanna's cheek. She flinched. In the darkness, his fingertips were glowing visibly. An eerie colorless glow. Then he heard her gasp.
Logan ducked just as the sword swept through the air where his head had been. Turning, he delivered a punch but found only thin air. The sword sang as it swept past him again.
"Illuminatus," Logan commanded, the room suddenly brightening.
Before him stood the very essence of the Goth. Seven feet tall, thin and dressed all in black, the demon was the terrifying avatar of the vampire Goths' coven. His face was as white as an eggshell, as were his eyes, except for the tiny black dots of pupils. Pencil thin black eyebrows made no movement whatsoever, the face like a statue. From its head swept hair like two black bats wings, arrayed around several black stubby horns running back along its skull. Oddly enough, there was not a trace of silver chain or piercing anywhere. Except for the sword.
The short sword wavered through the air like a cobra, gripped by skeletal hands. Without a word, the demon attacked again. Logan ducked to the side, drawing the action away from Hanna who was tied to a chair against the wall farthest from the door.
"Why are you doing this," Logan demanded, crossing foot over foot, avoiding the demon's strikes. "You must be particularly stupid." The demon did not answer, simply lunging with the sword.
Logan took a deep breath and pulling his hand apart, letting fly a volley of energy. The light show glanced off the metal of the sword and the demon didn't even notice, taking another swing. The tip of the blade stuck in the wall and Logan opened up again, still only striking the sword.
"Ha," the demon laughed expressionlessly. "You are the powerful wizard? You know one trick." The thick black wings of hair on his head seemed almost to flutter with his otherwise unexpressed amusement. "I will clean my teeth with your bones. Then the vampires will dine on the little one." He turned and for the first time made an expression, grinning at Hanna who sat terrified, tied in the chair.
"Honey," Logan said gently, "I want you to close your eyes." Logan backed a good distance away from the demon, then slowly went down on one knee. Hanna shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide open.
Logan slowly bowed low, feeling the floor with his hands, as if inspecting it for flaws. The demon laughed once and moved forward, his sword lifted, ready to separate this man from his head. With calm and concentration, Logan's fingers spread out on the floor and thin white tendrils snaked out before him. With a gleam in his eyes, he looked up to the demon, exhaling a fog of condensed breath.
There was a sound like cracking glass and the demon suddenly appeared to lose his balance, wavering uncertainly with his arms on either side. Logan lifted his shivering hand from the icy floor and watched the demon's reaction as he looked down and noticed that as he had taken a step, he had left his foot behind, firmly frozen to the floor.
His icy stump swung through the air for a moment, then he toppled over, his other ankle cracking sickeningly as his leg went horizontal while his still connected foot also remained planted on the floor, thickly covered in frost.
The demon howled as its bones splintered under its own weight. He still possessed the presence of mind to swing the sword at the approaching wizard, however, and missed by only inches. Making a mad stab, he caught Logan's shirt and tore it, his arm fully extended.
With quick hands, Logan slapped his palms together on either side of the flat blade, holding it harmlessly. Soon the blade was covered in ice and the demon let out a hiss as his hand turned from a skeletal white to a pale blue and ceased to respond to his commands.
"Honey," Logan advised, never taking his eyes off the wounded creature, "I really mean it now. Close your eyes or you're grounded."
Hanna finally forced herself to tear her eyes away from the horrific sight. There was a crunching sound and then a moment later a shout and the distinct sound of the sword striking the tiles and something heavy hitting the floor. The shout ended abruptly.
She was still shaking, her eyes tightly closed when cold hands touched her wrists and began loosening her bonds. "C- can I look now?"
--
Niki was shaken from her drowsiness by the twist of light through the corner of her eyes. She blinked rapidly in the darkness and could only tell that it was a human form standing by her coffee table, looking in the blackness for her. She cleared her throat and the figure turned. What time was it? She glanced over at the tape player. It had run out some time ago.
"Niki," it was Logan's voice. He took a step closer and reached out to flick on the light. The Slayer squinted in the sudden brilliance. Finally she saw him. His shirt was torn and he was carrying something rather hideous. "This is for you," he said quietly, too tired for anger or disappointment. Too warn to forgive.
The severed demon head landed on the carpet near her knees and she looked down at it uncomprehendingly. "For me?"
"This shitball demon took my daughter," he said with the same quiet tone which made her worry. "He was going to kill us both." There was a pause as he tried to read her reaction. "You knew, didn't you?"
Niki blinked. Had she known?
"Why didn't you tell me they were coming after me!" he shouted, falling to his knees to grab her by the shoulders. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? Hanna could have been killed!" When she merely looked at him with blank eyes, the back of his hand swept across her cheek on an impulse and she flinched.
She swallowed and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd have to get involved. I thought I could handle it on my own."
"Well obviously you can't." He shook his head. "I'm calling Addison," he turned and walked into her kitchen. "I can't believe you didn't... What the hell is this?"
Niki frowned and stood up, stepping over the head and into the kitchen. Logan was staring at the whiteboard.
You will die tonight.
Niki's eyes widened. Before Logan could turn around she had grabbed what he had given her and was out the door.
--
The Slayer's powerful legs carried her quickly over the pavement. Even in the dark she had found what she had been looking for.
"I'm back where times were good, Whistler," she said aloud, standing before the stairwell which led down to the now abandoned Nail Biter. With a tilt of her head she noticed the address. 122, 37th Avenue East. Lucky numbers. Whistler had told her to go here. There was obviously something here.
She slowly descended the stairs, placing her feet silently where so often before she had clamored with eager anticipation. The last time she had been here was... The night of the Civil War. When all of this bracelet business had started.
She reached towards the door handle which she knew to be there and gave it a push. Curiously, it was unlocked. The streetlights around the block and across the street flooded the stairwell with light which fanned inward into the deserted bar.
Quietly, Niki stepped inside. What else had Whistler said? Then she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside on the street. Instantly she crept behind the bar she knew was there, listening for the sounds of feet on the stairs. Sure enough, her perpetual stalker was here too.
You have to see what's behind you, but you can't look back, Whistler had said. She glanced up from her hiding place to the mirror hanging behind the bar, angled such that she could see the form entering the bar. Within seconds he had vanished into the deeper shadows at the other end of the room. Then something else caught Niki's eye. A crack of light coming from the door to the old training room.
Clutching tightly to what Logan had dropped in her lap back at the apartment, she stood and stealthily made her way towards the training room door, considering opening it with caution, but eventually settling on kicking it in.
With a crash the door was busted inwards and the Slayer strutted into the midst of a gang of vampire Goths. One glance told her all she needed to know. Spread out on a table were several silver ingots, arranged as if in an assembly line. Two vampires on either side of the table were chanting from a small book and there were glittering lights coming from the rim of a large bowl into which one of the ingots had been placed. Nearby was a pile of silver bracelets and a large box of black silk.
All heads turned to the Slayer, including one with a black snake tattooed up the neck and over the eye. He was the first to recognize her. As one, eighteen hands slid into eighteen breast pockets and drew out eighteen handguns. No mistakes this time.
--
Enterprise - Act 4
"Hold on," Niki said with a laugh, "don't shoot."
The leader of the Goths, the snake opening its mouth wider as he raised his eyebrow, held his revolver perfectly level with the Slayer's throat, targeting her from across the room. "No, I really think we will." He drew the hammer back.
"I'm not here to kill you," Niki said disarmingly, "or even to stop your business." There was a pause. The vamp slowly tilted his head.
"Not reasons why we shouldn't kill you."
"My wizard friend knows how to tell your bracelets from his," she said simply, holding her hands clasped behind her back.
"Your wizard friend has been killed," the Goth argued, his gun lowering slightly.
Niki frowned. "By whom," she lifted the head from behind her back, "this dude?" The terrible expression of the massive severed head, gripped firmly in the Slayer's hand, made several vamps gasp. "Yeah..." she shrugged, "you pissed off the wrong daddy."
"Again, not a reason not to shoot you... and him." The guns lifted again and several more hammers were drawn back.
Niki flashed a smile. "Then here's one: I'm still honoring the original bracelets. And while I'm tickled pink that you've brought destitution to the scum you've done business with, the owners of the originals are still high standing vampires. They would be very annoyed if you killed the only Slayer in the line of Slayers who honored their immunity."
Several of the guns were lowered tentatively. Niki could see the Goth's jaw working back and forth, gritting his teeth. She could see that he very much wanted to riddle her with bullets.
"The next Slayer, I can promise you, will be happy to slaughter everything inhuman in this city. I'm your greatest ally right now. I'm also making you an offer."
The Goth sneered, his gun dropping even more. "An offer? What could you offer us?"
"Fuck this!" one of the vamps shouted from Niki's left. He raised his gun and took aim at the Slayer's head but a shot rang out and he dropped with a scream, his hand clutching the side of his head.
"Nobody fires," the lead vamp snarled, his gun smoking, "until I say so!" His fiery gaze swept the rest of his crew. Then it settled back on the Slayer. "I'm waiting."
Niki dropped the demon head on the floor where it rolled a few feet. "Well, since word has leaked out that your products are forgeries, I expect your sales will plummet. Your influences will dry up and your friends will desert you." She pointed to the rows of silver bars and the pile of bracelets. "That must have cost you an arm and a leg, and now it's worthless." She took a step forward into the room, the guns lifting to follow her. "I'm offering to buy it all off of you."
The lead Goth's gun was now aimed almost at the floor. He wished she would jump at him, pull a stake, give him an excuse. He rubbed his finger across the trigger, feeling the pressure it would take. Of course she had a point. It didn't matter now if they killed the wizard. If word was out their merchandise was identifiable, it was over. They had to go into hiding very quickly to avoid disgruntled customers. Caveat emptor.
"What do you want in return," he said grudgingly. He was a businessman after all.
Niki took another step into the room but this time no gun barrels followed her. "There's a man in this building who followed me," she said simply. She lifted her hand and touched a spot between her eyes while looking at the scar on the Goth's face. "I think you owe him one."
With an odd look, the Goth's gaze shifted from the Slayer to the darkened doorway behind her. He squinted, then emptied six rounds into the darkness. With a thud, a body hit the floor.
--
Logan sat in the driver's seat of his car. Hanna sat in the passenger seat, staring down at her hands in her lap. She swallowed and didn't meet his eyes when she spoke, afraid to see disappointment.
But Logan didn't feel disappointment. Only regret. And fear. Every last trace of blame was squarely on his shoulders. No thirteen-year-old should have to face demons and vampires. Niki had even told him that Slayers weren't called until they were at least fifteen. No, none of this was Hanna's fault. But she may have complicated things slightly. "How many people did you tell," he said quietly.
Hanna blinked. "Kirsty, Allison... Janice, Susan, their boyfriends and Matt."
Logan swallowed. He knew some of these 'friends.' Chances are they didn't believe any of what she had told them of him. Then frowned. "Wait, which one's Matt?"
At last she looked up at him. "Just a friend." She slowly dropped her gaze again. "He doesn't believe me either."
Logan finally sighed. "Well, it's for the best." He leaned over and took her in an embrace. "I'm so sorry you were involved. I had thought I left all of that behind... but it looks like that's impossible. But you can see how dangerous it is. We can't get anyone else involved. Understand?"
She nodded into his shoulder. "Not even mom?"
Logan pulled away to look her in the eye with a focused intensity. "Especially mom." He hugged her again. "You and she are the only things I care about in this world." The guilt clutched at his heart like a vise. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."
"Love you, dad," she closed her eyes and squeezed him tight. He squeezed back.
--
Niki stood in the voluminous elevator, a large bunch of cheap and fragrant flowers wrapped in clear plastic. With a chime, the door opened and she and several doctors in white coats stepped out. She approached the reception desk and smiled.
"Hi, I'm here to see Mr. Harrison..."
"Oh, he's just around the corner," a nurse replied, picking up a chart and rounding the counter to lead her. "I'll take you there." Niki nodded her gratitude. "Are you family?"
"No, just a friend," Niki smiled charmingly. They rounded the corner and continued on towards the correct room. "What can you tell me about his injuries?"
The nurse opened the chart and shook her head. "We get a few cops in here with gunshot wounds, but this... He took six bullets, three in the stomach, one in the thigh, one in the arm and one in the face. We managed to remove them all but one of them shattered his lower spine: he'll never walk again." She opened the door and swept aside the curtain to reveal the man on the respirator. "We had to induce a coma in order to remove the one in his brain. So far, he hasn't woken up yet."
Niki stared down at the prone figure, dressed in peaceful blue medical gown, IV in his arm and plastic tube down his throat. Click, hiss, went the respirator. "Will he ever wake up?" she asked, her voice laden more with curiosity than concern. If the nurse noticed, she didn't let on.
"There's no way to tell. The brain damage was severe." She took the flowers from Niki's hand. "Let me find something to put these in," with as much awkwardness as was required to enter the room with the large array of flowers, the nurse exited into the hallway.
Niki slowly leaned down over Harrison's sleeping face. His head was shaved and bandaged, covering what must have been the scars of a very difficult surgery. She peered down into his closed eyelids, trying to find any indication of his will to wake up. Click, hiss.
The barest hint of a smile gleamed in the Slayer's eyes.