A Dark Place
story by Meilean
Part 2 of The East Side Triad (EST)
A/N: Hello, everyone! I proudly present to you the 2nd part of the East Side Triad. It took a little while but I wanted to have a few chapters (6 mainline chapters or 11 alternate ones) in the backhand first.
This story comes with an alternate ending. That's why I referred to (6 or 11) above. You can decide in chapter 6 which way you want the story to go. From there on I'll declare the chapter title with an additional 'alternate' or 'mainline'.
Mainline will fit into the WWT-stories.
Huge thank you to Churchlady63 endlessly precious beta help so I feel now ready to publish.
Also a huge thank you to penpractise for her suggestions and advice. Check out her great stories as well!
Disclaimer: Nothing of Supernatural belongs to me. Though this is pretty much an original story, I have Ridley's characters Wade, Cole and Daniel Wilmington in it. Mentioned in her story To The Victor Goes The Spoil. The idea of the Brotherhood belongs to Ridley C. James.
All other fictional characters except of Wade Wilmington, Cole Tanner, and Daniel Wilmington are mine.
History: The US is at war with Britain (The 2nd war of Independence 1812-1815); the time of the Napoleonic War in Europe.
Rated: T+ (16)
What happened so far:
Mike Campbell fells in love with his best friend's sister Diana Wilmington. Her father is enraged over the revelation that the two have spent the night together. To prove his worth to Mr. Wilmington and following the Guardian's orders, Mike is sent to a vampire hunt in the middle of the 2nd War of Independence. It all spirals out of control and he is captured by the British as a prisoner of war.
Due to a misunderstanding, a message arrives that he fell during battle. Pregnant with Mike's child, Diana has no other choice and is married off by her father to a new-rich man to Newport.
One year later, after hardship, hunger, sickness, and torture Mike is released from prison in Quebec. He just wants - to return to his love and his brothers. Finally at home, he finds nothing the way it should've been. Broken, and haunted by nightmares he pursues his duties as the Knight of the Brotherhood but things will not stay as they are.
*** EST ***
Chapter 1 - Other Duties
MIKE
In the morning of 26th June 1815 - New York City
Mike entered the run down house with a questioning look. Inside it was no better than outside. He heard loud voices from one of the doors in the first level. It sounded like a wife scolding some children. It was not his concern.
Climbing up the filthy stairways, Mike wondered again how bad a place for living could look. The paint crumbled from the walls, nearly every step had stains, he didn't want to think about what had caused them, and the smell - Holy Mother!
He pulled a cloth from his jacket pocket and pushed the fabric to cover his nose. The higher he came the worse the smell got. At the third level he was sure it was the smell of decay. The only other living soul he had seen here so far was a cat and some rats who had crossed his way upstairs. Maybe another cat had starved somewhere in the stairway.
He got unsure if this was the right room, or even the right house. Miller had sent him the address where Mike could find him. Mike pulled the crumbled paper from his pocket and checked the address once again. There was no mistake on his part.
He knocked. It stayed silent. Pushing the handle down, he found the door unlocked. There was no way Miller would not lock his door, inside or not. Mike pulled his blade from his side and pushed his body to the wall next to the entrance before he gave the door a shove. Carefully he peeked around the corner. The smell got even worse. 'Oh Lord please let him be okay,' Mike prayed. He swallowed hard and entered, blade in hand.
He was in the right room - only at the wrong time. The body scattered on the floor of the small room was covered in blood and gore. His chest looked as if it had been ripped open. Blood stains had painted the wall and the planks on the floor. Mike checked the room for a threat but he was pretty sure who or what ever had done this was long gone. He came closer, pushing the cloth over his mouth and nose again.
A bunch of flies buzzed up as he approached the body. Finn must have been dead for days. His dead eyes stared wide open to the ceiling as if he couldn't believe he was really dead. The area where his heart had been brutally ripped out was nothing more than a gaping hole. Mike had to turn away from the sight for a moment, or he would have thrown up right next to the body.
He had seen much as a hunter, and definitely enough in war and the field hospitals after a battle to last a lifetime, but this topped everything.
Walking to the window, he opened it to get some air to breathe. What a fucking mess! Mike had left Hartford two weeks before. Actually he was on the way to visit Thomas Rutherford - the retired Guardian - in Philadelphia. Wade had sent him to retrieve some things for him, the new Guardian.
The day when he had left he got a message from Finn Miller, one of their hunters. Miller had written he might have a lead to a case. Three murders under strange circumstances. He asked for someone for backup. New York City was on the way and Mike had to stop here anyway. So here he was - only he was the one who needed backup now.
Nobody hunts alone. It was something like a new main rule since Wade had become the new Guardian. He understood why Wade had put that rule in place. To think he had lost Mike on that hunt during the battle of Fort George had nearly broken Wade. In general his best friend and leader of the secret hunter organization was right, but still not all hunters followed that rule - like Finn. Now he saw the importance of the rule. If Finn had followed it, he - Mike Campbell, Knight of the Brotherhood, would probably not be standing over the desecrated body of one of their members in the middle of the fourth bloody crime scene. If he wanted to stick to Wade's rule Mike had to contact another member in the city.
He turned back to the room, taking the scene in. There must be a clue somewhere in all this destruction. The room didn't have much furniture. A bed was the main object, dominating the room before the bloody mass had taken that position. A wardrobe, a small table, and a chair. This room didn't look like a fight had taken place here. Had Finn not tried to defend himself? The unlocked door made Mike assume that he had let the attacker in. It looked like he had been waiting for someone.
Miller's shoes were at the foot of the bed. His jacket hung on the chair, and two glasses were still waiting to be filled with the bottle of wine on the table. Mike wondered where Finn's other belongings were. He rounded the bed to get to the wardrobe only to stop again in front of an ugly slimy mass between the wardrobe and the bed, which looked like a pile of discarded skin. Mike grabbed one of the glasses and scraped some of the mass into it. He would take it with him to analyze later.
Careful not to step into the mess he walked to the wardrobe, opening it. Two shirts and some trousers were all the clothes inside, but a blanket hung over the rest of the wardrobe rail. Mike knew why. Shoving the blanket to the side, he revealed Finn's research. Newspaper articles about the three other murders, notes, and a map of NYC with some scribbling on it were plastered across the wardrobe's back wall.
Mike spotted what he had actually searched for. Finn's bag. Opening it, he pulled the small leather-bound journal he was looking for out. He took the notes from the wall, shoving everything into the bag.
He turned to Finn, giving him a pitiful look. He had been a nice guy. They worked together two times before. Since he had no family, there was no one to inform other than the police and Wade. Mike pulled the hunter ring from his Brother's hand and secured it into his pocket. This item was for the Guardian. The journal for Bastian - their Scholar. But first it would help him solve this case Finn was investigating. "I'm sorry Brother, I swear I will find this bastard and make him pay for this." Mike pushed Finn's eyes shut and spoke a prayer for his soul.
*** EST ***
In the evening
Most days, Mike Campbell couldn't decide if the day he had returned exactly one year before - his birthday too - had been one of the best or the worst days in his life. Probably it was both - this was hilarious, wasn't it?
The good part was he was free again. He would never again set foot on Canadian territory. He would never again let anyone lock him away. He would rather fight until the last drop of his blood was spilled before he would ever again suffer from hunger and thirst in a cold filthy prison cell.
But at the moment, today's events topped the other worst day of his life. To find Finn like that weighed heavy on him. As the Knight he was the protector of the Guardian, but he also felt responsible for the other members of the Brotherhood. Now Finn had found a bloody end because he had been too late.
Why did he always come too late to fix things?
Usually, he considered the worst day in his life was to hear his love, Diana Wilmington, was far away with a husband and a son and therefore out of reach for him. He had been too late then too. He had not been granted a single look into her beautiful face, not a single word from her full lips, not even a letter - he had nothing to be sure she had ever existed.
Diana's brother - his best friend Wade Wilmington - was very reluctant to tell him much. Mike assumed he didn't want to make it even worse for him. Maybe he was right to do so. Like Wade was damn right to bring up this no-hunts-alone rule.
He ordered another glass of Whiskey, glad that none of his friends would stop him from drinking here. Mike chuckled, already pretty much intoxicated, over the irony of the date. Not that he celebrated his birthday since he had returned, but this was not the way he wanted to spend it either.
He would find the creature who had killed Miller. To have a victim with a ripped out heart was unusual - though not too unusual for a hunter. It had come handy more than once to have a member in the higher ranks of the NYC police department. But Mike also knew why Finn hadn't turned to Jonas Richardson. He was the kind of person whose shoes you better not piss on, and Finn definitely had by seducing Richardson's wife.
Glad that the conversation in the police department had gone smooth today, Mike ordered another Whiskey. He needed more than one drink to get the smell and the picture of the morning out of his mind.
Richardson would take care of the funeral but he had reluctantly accepted The Knight's request as backup. He had enough to do at the moment he told him. They had come to the agreement that Mike would investigate the other murders and they would meet in the mornings in the department to see what Mike had.
Mike had written to Thomas and Wade that he would be late and that they had lost Miller. He would stay in NYC until this was solved. He informed Wade that Richardson was his second man on this hunt to calm The Guardian's nerves, though Mike knew from experience that Richardson didn't like to get involved too much when it didn't suit him.
*** EST ***
Three days later…
Mike had asked for a job at the saloon where the second victim had worked. The poor man had been found dead in an alley not far from here. With the reputation that his uncle had a wine trade in Hartford and knowing his way around numbers they had accepted.
So far he had nothing new, except reconstructing Finn's investigation. The murders had occurred weekly and he found no connection between the victims except they had no families and all three were between the age of 20 and 30. Two had been found with a ripped out missing heart, one with a slit throat. Finn's death was not fitting in the weekly killing though. Maybe he had found out too much? The last victim fitting in the pattern was a young woman. He had seen her body which was still in the pathology.
Mike sighed frustrated, at least the job in the saloon brought some money in. He knew he would always have a place to stay in Connecticut at the Summers' but he didn't want to be without resources. His uncle's business had been sold to pay the man's depts. And there had been many. Oh Lord, Mike had had no idea. Maybe his uncle had drunk to forget too. He was grateful that Bastian had taken care of the whole fiasco with the wine trading station. But it had left him with nothing but the few possessions that he had in his room and the box the Army had sent to Thomas.
How could he have been so stupid to believe he could care for a wife and maybe even children as poor as he was. Diana was better off with this Marcus Tanner. At least she had enough to eat, a house, nice dresses and a son she could care for. But the thought of another man touching her caused his blood to boil over every time he thought about it. Mike balled his hands to fists, staring at them.
"What's wrong, Campbell? Why so angry? You wanna talk about anything?" Frank asked, as he mindlessly wiped out a glass behind the counter.
Today it was Frank's shift. He was a grumpy fat guy. It had taken Mike the whole three days to get a reaction from him that confirmed he was not a zombie but a living soul. Mike had stopped a bar fight and prevented more damage to the saloon then. Obviously Frank had needed proof that he could trust Mike. Since then Frank had been nice to him. Mike just sighed, offering Frank his glass to refill.
Frank shook his head. "No Mike, you had enough. Go upstairs and hit the sack." Frank told him, snatching the glass out of his hand.
Probably he was right. Mike had stopped feeling his lips, toes or finger tips a few glasses before. He just drank on to forget. It didn't work. No matter how hard he tried - no matter how much distraction he tried to find. The only part of him he hadn't been able to numb was his aching heart. At the end of the day his thoughts were with her and the few moments they had shared in love. They left him desperate and lonely every day.
Getting up, Mike stumbled to the back door. The fresh air hit him and he stopped for a few deep breaths before he turned to climb up the stairs to the upper level where he had a small room.
"Hello stranger," a woman's voice startled him from his left.
Mike stopped mid movement, turning slightly to glance at the woman. She wore a dark green dress. Her blonde hair was pinned up, revealing her long neck where Mike discovered a large birthmark. Her lips were dark red from lipstick and her skin white as snow. "Go home, young Lady. It is not safe out here alone," he slurred, thinking of the last female victim, a blonde beautiful innocent woman.
"I watched you in there. Maybe I can lighten your mood a bit."
Mike swore under his breath, "Even the whores in New York look like Ladies." He had never been one for quick love. He had not tried to forget Diana in the arms of another woman, not even a whore. He would not start today. No matter how stunningly beautiful she might look. "I'm not interested," he said more seriously, checking his surroundings. It was past midnight. No one was on the street except for some other drunks like him.
"Oh, why so grumpy, sweety? I thought this is a habit of old men?" she chirped, teasingly.
Mike glanced up, meeting her gaze. There was something strange about her. Even through his drunken state his senses screamed that this was no usual encounter. "Who are you?"
Her demeanor changed instantly. "You missed your chance for some fun," she said angrily, turning.
Mike looked after her with a frown. What had this been? Wasn't that … strange? Shaking his head, he turned to continue his way upstairs. He really needed to sleep. Tomorrow morning he wanted to meet with Richardson and he didn't want to show up hungover in front of the man.
*** EST ***
Mike was plagued by weird dreams throughout the rest of the too short night. Dreams about prison - dreams about Diana - dreams about this case. All mixed together to a crazy woven tale. He woke with the sunrise and decided it was better to get up now than to toss and turn in nightmares. Groaning he tousled through his dark bangs, pushing his palms to his temples. His headache was killing him. He needed coffee - much coffee.
He fumbled for the loops of his suspenders which were still attached to his trousers and slipped them on. He wasn't sorry for getting up from the hard mattress in the small chamber he resided in. There was barely enough space for the bed here. The only other thing in the room was a solid chair where his clothes rested.
Mike rummaged through his duffle, searching for a piece of soap, a wash cloth and his razorblade. With a bit of luck he would find a shirt that was not smelly. A fresh shirt was not in the duffle. He hadn't planned to stay this long in New York. He took the two worn shirts he had in there with him and headed to the small washroom one level beneath where the whores had their rooms. He hadn't wanted to take the inside stairs last night. It was disgusting to watch all the fat old or ugly guys go after the girls to get a bang for their buck, and even worse to witness them doing it like the beasts. He had made this mistake the first night he stayed here. But in the wee hours there was no one on the floor. At least Mike thought so.
In the washroom he placed the soap and shirt on the marble plate and filled the bowl with fresh water from one of the buckets on the floor. He stripped off his suspenders followed by the sweat-soaked shirt he had worn in bed. Washing his face first, he felt the relief the cool water brought to the throbbing pain in his temples a bit and he repeated it a few times, brushing his wet hands through his hair every time.
Sighing, somewhat refreshed, he began washing out the shirts until he was satisfied with the smell. Mike thought about his duties today while washing the laundry. He would meet with Richardson at nine. Until then he had to eat something and get dressed, nothing more. This should be possible in three hours. He began shaving. Since he returned to civilization he hadn't worn a beard. It had become a habit since he was back and it felt clean. He had to stick to a daily plan the first few weeks to remember what to do to feel like a human being when you weren't rotting in a filthy cell.
Putting the blade away he washed his torso and where he could reach on his back. The scars there hurt sometimes when the weather changed. He was glad it was summer but touching them the wrong way also didn't feel good.
"This must have hurt," said a male voice behind him.
Whirling around, grabbing the razor blade, he saw to his relief it was Frank. "Bloody hell, Frank. What are you doing here this early?" Mike lowered the blade.
"Easy my friend!" He raised his hands. "You should have better spent the night with one of the girls than waste yourself at my counter. You look like shit, Campbell." Shrugging his shoulders, Frank added, "I didn't even leave. I was with Holly." He let out a wolf whistle. "She really knows what she is doing," Frank smirked at the memory.
Mike hadn't seen him so relaxed since he knew him. It was funny. And maybe Frank was right. He wouldn't have felt so hungover if he had spent the night with a whore rather than a bottle.
"And, you're gonna tell me how you came to those?" Frank now stared at the burn marks on Mike's abdomen, pointing at his torso. "The scars and burns."
Mike didn't like when someone saw his tortured body. Maybe this had also been a reason why he hadn't searched for female company. He had carefully avoided letting his Brothers see what Hazard had done to him. Mike definitely didn't want to talk about it with Frank. "I was a Prisoner of War in Canada."
Frank nodded. "I see. Glad you made it. I lost one of my brothers in the battle on Lake Ontario."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Mike said honestly, avoiding Frank's gaze.
"Margaret knows how to treat scars. She uses an ointment she swears helped her. She escaped a house fire when she was a kid and has a burn marked leg. If you still have trouble with those you could ask her to help you. Maybe she can also help you apply it and ease some other tensions."
Mike snorted, "Hm, maybe I'll talk to her."
"Are you going out? Don't be late to your shift."
"I am and I won't. Don't worry. Would you let me finish my catlick now? I really need a coffee."
"Catlick? What is that?" Frank looked unsure.
Mike smirked. "It is a quick wash with not much water because cats hate water so it is called a catlick," Mike explained. He turned and finished washing up, leaving Frank trying not to picture him licking his hand and wiping it over his face. Sighing, he gave his reflection one last look in the small shaving mirror on the vanity. This was gonna be a long day.
*** EST ***
He glanced at the clock in the hallway of the police department. He had been early, it was twenty to nine and Captain Richardson wasn't even in the department yet. Mike decided to pay the coroner another visit and went down to the basement level. He had spoken to the man, Potter if he recalled right, on the first day he had asked for Richardson's help. They had gotten the chance to see the body of the last victim - a young woman - which still was in the department's Pathology. The encounter with the blonde last night still puzzled him. She reminded him of the female victim. When he remembered right he had seen a similar mark on the body like the blonde's yesterday. Maybe the killer or monster had a pattern he followed. He had to ask Potter if the other bodies had similar marks. He also could use the time while waiting for the Captain to research the case further.
He knocked at the door to the pathology and entered. Richardson had introduced Mike as a friend and private investigator from Hartford. Mike wondered if this could be something to earn money with.
"Ah, Mr. Campbell. Hungry?" Potter asked, offering him his sandwich as he bent over another body.
How can someone work over dead bodies and eat in between. His stomach rebelled at the smell of embalming fluid alone, and God knows what else this smell was. At least not the Sandwich. Mike swallowed disgustedly. "Please, no. How can you eat while doing that?"
"You get used to the smell over the years and then it is no problem. Do you have a question about the case?"
Mike scratched the back of his neck. "Uhm, aye. I'm waiting for Captain Richardson and thought you might have some new clues about the slimy mass I gave you."
A wide smile flashed over Potter's face as if someone had made him a present. "Indeed, indeed. Come over. I will show you something. I did a few tests.'' The small man hurried over to the table where a lot of various instruments, books, and glasses were spread out. It looked like chaos to Mike. How anyone could work here and find anything was a riddle to him. Potter took a wide glass with the slime Mike had given him before and another glass with a similar content. He carefully placed them both on a free spot on the table. "I found this in the liquid."
Mike bent over the second glass. "It looks like a piece of an ear and … a breast nipple maybe?"
Potter bounced on the spot. "You are right. And this tells us what?"
Mike looked up questioningly, thinking about an answer. Before he could think about anything, Potter went on with telling him.
"Yes, it is human skin. Female, I'd say. But what is even more interesting," Potter took a silver spoon from somewhere in the chaos, pressing it onto the skin piece with the ear. It sizzled and left burned skin. Potter looked fascinated at him. "It is reacting to silver. Whatever is causing it is fascinating." Potter took the spoon out and put it into the other glass. The sizzling began there too and the liquid nearly started cooking.
Mike had seen enough to know this must be from some kind of supernatural creature. The clock of the nearby church banged nine and Mike swore. He had been in on time and now he'd still be late to the meeting. "Thank you for showing me this. I have an appointment with the Captain now. We'll talk later."
"Sure, I'll run some more tests, Mr. Campbell," Potter said, taking another bite of the Sandwich he had put aside on the overfilled table.
Mike took in a deep breath outside the room and hurried upstairs. Of course Richardson was already in his office. Mike entered with a knock. Richardson glanced up. "Campbell, you are late."
"In fact I was early. I paid Potter a visit and guess what he has found."
"You will tell me I'm sure." Richardson leaned back in his chair, waiting for further explanation.
"The mass I brought from the crime scene in Miller's room was skin. And it is reacting to silver like a werewolf. But I've never heard of werewolf skin-slime or anything similar. Do you have an idea about this?"
Richardson frowned, thinking hard but shook his head in the end. "No."
"Well, at least this means we can kill it with a silver blade. Do you agree?"
"Looks like it. I bet you do have a silverblade with you, don't you?"
Mike raised a brow. "Aye. What hunter doesn't have at least one silver blade in his bag."
"Obviously Miller didn't."
"Or he might not have thought of a threat coming from whoever had killed him."
Richardson shifted in his chair. "Hm, have you found any hint in his journal? Maybe he had noted a name or something on the case?"
Mike brushed over his forehead to ease the still present tension from his headache. "No. There was nothing more than we already knew."
Richardson got up. "In that case we'll talk tomorrow. Maybe you'll have something more or were able to kill the skin-werewolf-silver-allergic-whatever monster." Richardson ushered him to the door to leave. "I have a lot of work on my table. If you don't mind."
It didn't suit Mike in the least that the man kicked him out of the office, doing as if he was his boss. "I mind, Richardson. We have to find this thing before it kills someone you care more about than Miller. I know you haven't come along willingly but lives are at stake. How can you care so little? You took responsibility with this ring on your finger to protect innocent people from harm of the supernatural." Mike noticed Richardson hiding his hand with the other.
Richardson came into Mike's personal space. "I also took responsibility to fight crime on New York's streets and I tell you, Campbell, there are human monsters here, so disgusting, you can't even imagine. I have to fight them too. Now, would you do your job as The Knight by killing that thing and I'll do mine as a Police Captain. I offer whatever help I can give you with this case but I will not work full time for the Brotherhood. This could cost me my job and I have the feeling it suits you and Wilmington very well that I'm in a high enough position to save your ass when you need it, and clean up the bloody mess after you at a crime scene."
Mike grounded his teeth. He had to keep calm. Richardson was right, they needed him in this position. It was a very welcome asset. He would find the thing even without help. Wade doesn't have to know what little help Richardson was. "Then give me access to the files and the library and I will not bother you further unless necessary."
Richardson stared at him for a second then returned to his desk, writing a note. He held out the paper to Mike. "Here, this will allow you access to every source you'll need."
Mike gave him a short nod, taking the paper. "We'll meet tomorrow. Hopefully there won't be another victim. It is the seventh day since Miller was killed if your coroner is right with the date of his death."
"I'll keep my eyes open. Good luck, Campbell. It'd be a pity if Wade would give up the Guardian job should you die again. He is highly respected in our ranks."
Mike left without another word. Darn Richardson! He knew trust must be earned but the comment was unnecessary. Mike knew he had to be careful. He hadn't lived on for himself, but for Wade. Bastian had told him how heartbroken Wade had been when they thought him to be dead. His friend had not even wanted to be the Guardian without him as his Knight.
*** EST ***
Mike headed back to Potter. He needed to see the female victim once more to be sure he remembered the mark right.
He knocked and entered, nodding at Potter once again. "Mr. Potter, can I see the body of the third victim - the blonde - once more? When I think of it, I recall seeing a birthmark on her neck."
"You're lucky she is still here. I have to cremate her body today. You can help me with the stretcher, will you?"
Mike and Potter pulled the stretcher from the rack and placed it on the empty examinations table in the middle of the room. Potter pulled the death linen back, revealing the woman's body. She looked the same as the blonde from yesterday - well of course much more dead. Mike frowned, brushing her hair aside to see the mark again. "That is not possible," he gasped.
"What is not possible? Did I miss something?"
Mike whispered more to himself than answering Potter. "The mark is the same and she looks exactly like her."
"Who?" Potter asked, interested.
Mike glanced up at Potter giving him a long look. "Do you think it is possible that she had a twin with the same mark on her neck?"
"Well it is possible that twins look exactly the same but I don't think they would have the same birthmarks. Are you sure you met a woman looking the same?"
"I'll find out. Thank you, Mr. Potter. I've got work to do."
*** EST ***
Note: The New York Society Library (founded 1754). By 1793, the NYC Library had grown to 5,000 volumes and needed a building of its own. A plot of ground was leased and a building constructed at 33 Nassau Street, where the Guaranty Trust Company of New York formerly stood.
*** EST ***
Mike headed to the City Library. It was unique. A collection of over 5000 books. Bastian would love it. He had to take him here one day. He entered. Glad for the note Richardson had written, he had no trouble with having to sign up for a membership. The librarian led him to the right corridor with the folklore section where Mike took one of the large tables for his research.
Six hours later he got hungry. The piles of books to his right and left were all useless so far. His notes were a list of possible creatures. Most of them were already off the table. If this was good or not, Mike had no idea. He hadn't dismissed the idea it was some kind of werewolf creature. This would explain the missing hearts. But as far as he knew werewolves did not use blades and Potter had been pretty sure that the slit throat had been of a blade.
Mike massaged his aching neck. Thank God, his headache had vanished. He turned the page, reading the next entry.
"SHAPESHIFTERS
Naturally, it's hard to pin down a Shapeshifter's appearance. As individuals, their shape is constantly changing, and as a group spread across dozens of cultures, they have a wider variety of shapes than anyone could track.
Beauty is perhaps the biggest trend in their appearance."
Mike glanced up thinking about the blonde. She had been stunningly beautiful though not his type. Was it possible that he was hunting a shifter? He finished the section about them,
"These characters frequently appear as radiant maidens or strong young men, whose beauty entrances anyone who crosses their path. Other popular forms are wolf-like animals and serpents."
Wolf-like animals … a second word fitting to their theory that the creature could be killed with silver. He grabbed the quill, copying the section about Shapeshifters into his journal.
Enough for today. Mike tried his best to put the tomes back to their places. With the three he wanted to read further he went to the librarian. "Pardon Sir, can I borrow these books?"
With the three heavy tomes tucked into his pack he headed back to the Saloon. His shift would begin soon. And what was more important - he would not kick the blonde out, should she show up again. He had some tests to run.
*** EST ***
VIOLET
She stood naked in front of the large mirror, inspecting her new body. In these four days she had gotten used to it very well. Maybe she would keep this one a while longer. Though Finn had been a handsome man, and her lover Harvey had taken his shape gladly for her, she was already bored of it.
But the grumpy guy in the saloon yesterday had caught her interest. Even the thought someone had dared to brush her off like he had done, fueled her desire for him. She would taste him first and decide if her lover had to shift his shape again.
She began to dress this time into something easy to take off. After that she pinned up her hair and added a bit of rouge to her cheekbones. He would not say no to her again. She would be in the saloon earlier and make sure he was not drunk.
*** EST ***
MIKE
The evening went on and it was already past ten. The blonde hadn't shown up. Mike tried desperately to remember when he had left the Saloon yesterday but he had been way too drunk. He shouldn't waste himself during a hunt. If someone died today and his guess was right with the blonde, he would not forgive himself for not killing her yesterday.
Only three regular guests were still in the Saloon at one a.m. And Mike had sent Belle to clean the tables which were already empty. He prepared the order for the stock of Whiskey and Gin when the door opened. He glanced up, spotting the woman from yesterday. She came directly to the counter, fixing him with her intense green eyes.
"Good evening, Honey. Still too drunk to chat with me?"
Mike swallowed. Now he was sure he had seen right yesterday. She looked the same as the female victim in the pathology. Mike put on his best poker face. He could be the best company if he wanted to. He smirked at her, "Not at all, Sweetheart. I never drink at work."
She bent over the counter, getting so close that Mike could smell her sweet breath. "So I guess I'm lucky today. You could serve me a glass of your best wine and tell me your darkest secret, Handsome."
"My darkest secret? I don't even know where to start. How about you tell me your name first. I'm Mike," he said, turning to add a bit of Holy Water to her glass before filling it with wine behind the counter.
She took the glass from his hands, nearly stripping off his clothes with her hungry stare. "Violet," she said, with an alluring tone. She smiled, taking a long sip of the wine without a reaction to the Holy Water.
So much for the first test. "How about we meet after my shift. These three guys will leave soon."
She looked a bit aloof. "Will you tell me why you brushed me off yesterday?"
Mike reached over the counter, inspecting her blonde curls by winding it playfully around his index finger. "I promise," he breathed, giving her a long look with his best winning smile.
"Let's meet here," she shoved a note over the counter with an address at the harbor not far from here. "We can talk and do other things in private there."
Mike wetted his lips lustfully, "I'll be there." Seeing her smile grow, he knew he had played it well enough.
Violet emptied her glass. Leaving the money on the counter, she twinkled at him, "'till later." She strolled away with a promising hipsway.
He had to prepare. Mike begged Belle to close the Saloon after the last three guests and hurried to his room the quickest way.
Rummaging through his pack, he pulled out his blade holster and the Dragon's Talon. He slipped into the holster, filling it with his three throwing knives. To cover these he put on his leather vest. Another blade belonged to his boot holster already in place. At last he bound his blade holster around his hips, shoving a hidden silverblade into the hidden sheath sowed into the belt band.
Straightening his jacket, he closed his eyes. Mike bowed his head making the cross-sign and took a moment to pray. "Holy father, let me be your tool to fight evil. Guide my hand to kill the beasts of hell. Keep me safe to save others from harm. Amen."
He let out a deep sigh, "Let's hunt." Mike had sent a messenger with the address to Richardson, though he doubted that the Captain would show up. At least he had tried to follow the number one rule. Wade would kill him if he knew he was going into this alone.
*** EST ***
The streets weren't empty. New York City was never sleeping so it seemed. Mike turned into the street the address told him, searching for the right house at the docks. He could smell the water of the nearby East River.
He saw a movement between the buildings to his right. She was watching him. "Did you miss me, Sweetheart?" he asked into the dark. She stepped out into the dim light of the street lantern.
"I wasn't sure you would show up." Her face was illuminated by a lantern she had with her.
Mike grinned, selfconfident, "Well, here I am. And you said we could have some privacy, so after you."
Violet smirked, "Follow me."
Mike scanned his surroundings as best as possible in the dark night. This felt like a trap. At least he was expecting her to try to kill him. He followed her into one of the dark warehouses. She placed the lantern on one of the boxes inside and came prying closer.
"Do you already have plans for our private meeting, darling?"
She didn't answer but pushed him against the wall, kissing him hard. Mike pushed her away. "Whoa, easy. We don't need to rush this."
Her grin grew when she pushed her knee slowly up his thigh to his crotch. "I'm impatient, honey. Didn't I tell you?" She didn't stop touching him, checking him out.
Why should a Shifter do such a thing? He had expected that she would try to rip his heart out or jump with a knife on him as soon as they were in the house, but her whole behavior spoke of pure lust. Mike couldn't help but feel like the prey of a wild animal. With skillful hands she fumbled with his vest buttons, opening it faster than he could think.
"What's this? Are you scared of someone? So armed to the teeth."
"I told you it's not safe outside." Mike narrowed his eyes on her. He would make another test. With a swift motion he drew his silver blade from his belt's backside, bringing it to the blonde's throat. Where silver met flesh it sizzled instantly.
She let out a sharp hiss, pushing him backwards away from her. She stumbled, holding her throat. Then her intense green eyes fixed him furiously. "You're a hunter?"
"I thought you didn't mind dangerous, bitch." Mike stated, blade in hand.
"You're gonna pay for this little trick of yours." She grabbed one of the boxes nearby, throwing it on him without the slightest effort.
Mike ducked, feeling the box flying across his head only inches away. It shattered on the wall with a loud clatter. Fuck, she was strong. He dived in cover behind one of the bigger boxes. "Why did you kill all these people, Violet?"
Violet was faster than he thought possible, grabbing him by his throat and the arm with his blade in hand. "I need a change from time to time. Everyone was special. I chose my victims always well-considered, like I chose you."
Mike felt the hand around his throat squeezing harder, constricting his oxygen flow. Desperately he tried to loosen her grip with his free hand. Mike gasped for air while she smashed his caught arm brutally over the edge of the box behind him. He heard the breaking of bones together with the hot sharp pain that left his right limb useless. "Argh," he pressed out in agony while his silverblade fell to the ground.
She kicked the blade across the room before she released him again.
Heavily breathing, Mike slumped to the ground trying to cover his broken arm. He had underestimated her completely. "At least you've missed that I'm a hunter," he pressed out, still teasing. He needed to buy a bit of time. With a bit of luck, Richardson would arrive before she killed him. The man could not ignore a direct request of The Knight.
She began rounding him while talking. "Well, handsome men sometimes blind me. So you can feel honored to serve as my new toy."
He carefully drew one of his throwing knives and straightened as he threw it at her. He never missed a target, even with his left. The blade hit her and stuck deep in her stomach where she stared at the blade angrily.
Pulling it out, she made a scolding motion with her finger. "Has your mother not taught you how to treat a lady, honey?" He should really change his knives for some silver ones.
Violet came closer, grabbing his uninjured arm and pushed it against the head-high box behind him. He could feel her breath hot and demanding at his ear. She brushed the cold sharp edge of his knife playfully over his cheek. "We could have had so much fun before you'd died, honey. Now you will only suffer," she said before she pushed the blade harder into Mike's cheek, drawing blood.
Mike groaned at the sting but only went to the ground when she kicked her knee with full force into his crotch. He tried to catch a breath. Mike felt her hands searching for any other weapons. When she was finished unarming him, he was glad she hadn't checked his boot. She was close enough. He had to reach around his right leg, which was difficult, but he found the hilt of the blade. With all the force he could muster he pushed the silver blade through her chest, right into her heart.
Her scream echoed through the warehouse before she slumped down next to him. "Sorry honey, but I will not let you rip my heart out like Finn's." Mike gave the blade a twist before he pulled it out. In disbelief she stared at him when the light in her eyes faded.
The door was pushed open by Richardson, gun at the ready. "Campbell? Are you in here?"
Mike let out a sigh of relief. "'m here," he shouted. He slid back to lean onto the box behind, holding his broken arm. "'m here," he whispered more to himself than to Richardson, to convince himself he was still alive.
Richardson eyed the dead Shifter, then crouched down, checking on The Knight. "Damn, Campbell, you know how to leave a mess. Any severe damage besides your ugly face and your arm?"
Mike closed his eyes, grinning about the teasing. He took a moment to consider. Then he shook his head slightly. "Only my arm and my manhood," he groaned, still feeling the cramps from her kick to his crown jewels.
He heard Richardson gathering things from the area around him and some liquid being spilled.
Richardson pulled him up. "C'mon, Brother, you did well. Let's get you out of here before the fire spreads out."
Mike got confused, "What fire?"
Richardson took the lantern and threw it at the body of the Shifter where it shattered. The drenched clothes of the woman's body instantly caught fire. "This fire. Come, I got your belongings. Let's get your sorry ass to a doctor."
*** EST ***
HARVEY
With horror he had witnessed how the hunter had killed his love. He knew she loved her little games with the men before she decided if he should take a new identity. So he had waited but the situation had changed so fast, he could only stare shocked at Violet's dead body. Harvey couldn't believe he had lost her. He was about to make the hunter pay for this. He would be easy now without a weapon and injured.
Then the door was pushed open and another man entered. He had to think of their son. Violet wouldn't want him to risk Adrian - he couldn't let his feelings take over now. He stayed between the timberframe of the rooftop where he had watched Violet and her toy.
Now the other man set the warehouse on fire. The smoke got thicker - he had to leave but he would not forget the hunter's name - Mike Campbell. He would make him pay for this. He would make him suffer; to feel the pain he caused by killing his love and mother of their son. He would get his revenge when it was time.
TBC