Gargoyles, created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Dracula, created by Bram Stoker, is the property of everyone. Everything else in this story is based on real made-up history.
Special thanks to Masterdramon, Gryphinwyrm7 and Bookwyrm for beta-reading and feedback.
Hungarian National Musuem, Budapest, April 30th, 12:23 a.m.
Fiona tried in vain to rise up against the talons digging into her back, pinning her to the cold marble floor. "If you kill me, Demon, another will take up the Hunt," she spat.
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." The Demon brought the mace swinging down.
Fiona shut her eyes tight. A shot rang out, followed by a panther-like shriek of pain. When Fiona opened her eyes again, the iron mace lay embedded in the floor beside her and the Demon's taloned hand was bloody and limp.
"Release her, gargoyle!" a voice cried out as another bullet whizzed by the Demon's horned skull.
Fiona turned her head to see Mina wielding her own pistol. "For God's sake, Mina, put one between its eyes!" cried the Scot.
The Demon's nostrils flared as though taking in a scent. She eyed the newcomer warily. "So be it, take the human if you desire her. I already have what I came for." The creature dropped to all fours and loped off with the speed and grace of a jungle cat.
Mina rushed to the fallen Fiona's side. "Are you hurt?"
"Give me that!" Fiona snapped, grabbing back her pistol before giving chasing. She was too late to prevent the Demon leaping through a window and taking to the air.
She took aim and fired wildly into the night sky, again and again until her pistol ran empty.
"Fiona...?" spoke Mina, placing a hand on the Scot's shoulder.
"I'm fine," Fiona lied. "I'm heading back to the hotel to stock up. If the Demon's here, every man, woman and child in Budapest is in danger. You coming?"
"Go on without me. I need to… check something before the local constabulary arrive."
"Fine," Fiona spoke curtly before descending the rope still hanging outside the shattered window.
Mina had no idea what history Fiona shared with the strange gargoyle that attacked them, but that would have to wait.
She stood over the body of the dead guard, cold blood congealing in a crimson circle around him. The sight of it revolted and disgusted her, but not as much as the beast dwelling in the back of her mind. The thing slavering in hunger.
[-]
Grand Royal Hotel, 12:23 p.m.
"Mina?" Fiona knocked on the door again. "Mina are you there?"
No response.
"That girl must sleep like the dead," the Scot muttered in frustration. She couldn't afford to waste any more valuable sunlight. Fishing pen and paper from her pocket, she scrawled a hasty note.
Mina,
Got a hold of a motorcycle and sidecar. Going to search likely roosting spots before sundown. With luck, I can nip this in the bud.
Fiona.
Her missive complete, she slipped it under Mina's door and headed out to continue the Hunt.
[-]
It was edging close to sunset when Fiona finally entered Matthia's church in Budapest's castle district. She had spent most of the day searching the rooftops of St. Stephan's Cathedral and the Parliament to no avail. If she did not find her quarry's den soon, she would be forced to post-pone the Hunt for another night.
She slipped quietly into the gleaming white bell tower that rose majestically over the main body of the church. Her steps up the wooden stairs were slow and silent. She knew that her prey could not possibly sense her approach as long as the sun still shone, but fifteen years of the Hunt had made stealth an unconscious act.
When she finally reached the belfries, the sun was just touching the horizon, casting a ruddy orange glow over the city. She stepped onto the small shaded balcony that surrounded the bell tower, and there it was.
The Demon sat perched on a small ledge, its unholy form imprisoned in stone by the purifying light of the sun. Its face glared down on the peaceful city with an expression of animalistic hate.
"Finally," Fiona sighed as she drew a heavy sledgehammer from her bag. "It's over."
The hammer ground to a halt in mid swing, black clad hands that were not Fiona's held it in an iron grip.
"Mina!" The Scot stared at the English woman. "What the Hell do you think yuir doing!? I coulda killed you!"
Mina Harker held the hammer fast, refusing to relinquish her grip. "I'm preventing you from making the greatest mistake of your life!"
Fiona's demeanour hardened. "Let go, Mina! This monster killed my brother, and that's the least of its crimes against my family!"
"Whatever her sins, she's still a living being. You can't kill her, Fiona… not like this!"
"Oh and I suppose you've ne'er staked a bloodsucker in their coffin?"
"That's different," Mina responded coldly.
"HOW!? How is it different?"
"Undeath is a disease that ravages body and spirit alike, Fiona. Releasing a soul from that walking damnation is an act of mercy, believe me. But this… This is murder!"
"No, this is justice!" Fiona snarled, struggling to tear the hammer from Mina's grip.
"Please, Fiona, be pragmatic. If you kill her, she can't lead us to Schappeller!"
"SO WHAT?! Why do you give a toss about some Austrian tinkerer anyway?" Fiona practically screamed in frustration.
"Because… He's my only hope of finding my son." Said Mina weakly, pleadingly.
Fiona stared, silent and uncomprehending. Her mind raced to process what Mina had just said. She was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of cracking stone.
The sun had just slipped under the horizon.
[-]
Demona unleashed a panther-like roar as she shook the last flakes of stone-skin from her awakening form. Some instinct screamed at her. She twisted around in one fluid motion, her eyes blazing red and her talons ready to deal death in the blink of an eye.
The bell tower stood empty and deserted.
Her eyes scanned the looming twilight shadows, finding nothing. Still, she made a mental note to move on to a new roost before the next sunrise, much as it went against the gargoyle's naturally territorial instincts. Bitter experience had thought her that remaining in the same place too long was practically suicide.
But that could wait. Tonight was the Night of Walpurgis, and there was much work to do. She launched herself into the twilight sky, her wings catching the wind that carried her over the dusky city.
She didn't notice two figures watching her from the base of the bell tower.
[-]
Somewhere outside Budapest, 8:15 p.m.
Karl Schappeller sat at a workbench in the corner of the barn, tinkering with a device that bore only the vaguest resemblance to a metal detector. He carefully soldered a delicate looking blue crystal to the heart of the machine.
On the opposite side of the barn, half a dozen Czech mercenaries sat around a rickety table playing cards. The largest of them detached himself from the group and stalked over the worktable.
"Where is out employer, Schappeller?" a deep voice rumbled. Its owner was built like a stone slab with an iron grey beard and coal black eyes.
"She'll be here in good time, Brod." Schappeller went back to his machine, or at least pretended to. He'd never admit it, but Simon Brod intimidated him slightly. Not nearly as much as their mutual 'employer' but still.
The barn door was flung open with enough force to tear it from its hinges, the winged silhouette of Schappeller's employer stood framed in the moonlight, her eyes burned a hellish crimson.
The Austrian nervously stood to attention, dusting himself off. "Ah, mein Herrin, we were not expecting you so…"
The Gargoyle stormed past the inventor's workbench to where the remaining mercenaries still sat playing cards. With a snarl of rage, she grabbed the table with one hand and sent it hurtling across the barn, splintering it to fragments.
"Which one of you imbecilic apes was responsible for bombing the address I gave you five nights ago?!" she roared, murder in her glare.
The men, hardened soldiers of fortune all, froze like hares in the wolf's gaze. None dared to speak or move until Brod quietly interposed himself between the enraged gargoyle and his troops. "Is something wrong, Ma'am?"
"I was ambushed by one of Tepes' wretches last night, Brod. You told me your men burned his lair to the ground along with everything inside it."
"So I was told," said, Brod glancing meaningfully over his shoulder.
"Then give me the vermin responsible, Brod." The gargoyle flexed her talons.
"No."
"What!?"
"My men, I discipline them. You pay for me and my men. You not like the work we do? Fair enough… You take it out on me." He stood before her, seemingly without fear or defiance, just simple resignation to whatever came next.
She flexed her talons once more. "Have your men ready to move out in ten minutes, I can't afford to waste any more time then I already have on you. Schappeller, with me!"
"Of course, Mistress!" the would be occultist answered.
She paused before the door of the barn before ripping the lid from a nearby crate. It was filled with bullets, chains and knives. An armoury that had cost her a small fortune, for every last piece of it shone silver in the moonlight. She selected a serrated dagger for herself, tucking it into her belt, before striding imperiously into the night.
Once they were out of earshot, one of the younger mercenaries stepped forward and spoke to Brod in their native Czech. "Thank you, Sir, I…"
Before he could say another word, Brod swung around and socked the young man right on the jaw, sending him collapsing to the ground. "The next time I give you a job, you make sure it gets done. And if you ever embarrass me like that in front of a client again… I'll snap your neck myself."
[-]
From the shadows of an overgrown field, Fiona and Mina watched as several mercenaries began loading equipment onto a truck outside the barn.
"Where do you suppose they're headed?" asked Mina.
"Don't know, but wherever they're going, the Demon's going with them," responded Fiona.
They watched in darkness, silence filling the void between them.
"So…" Fiona began. "You never said anything about having a son?"
Mina was quite.
"He disappeared several years ago while traveling in Austria. The man who sent me after Schappeller claims to have information about his whereabouts."
"And he'll only give you this information after ya bring him whatever Schappeller and the Demon are looking for?"
"Essentially."
Fiona snorted in disgust. "Reminds me of a cardinal I know. Well… for what it's worth I don't blame you for stopping me ending the Demon."
"I didn't do it just for him… I did it for you. That sort of blood stains the soul, Fiona… believe me."
"They're moving!" Fiona said before straddling atop the motor cycle. "You coming?"
[-]
Banks of the Danube, 11:55 p.m.
"Are you certain, Schappeller?" Demona spoke, watching the silver moonlight dance upon the surface of the greatest river in Europe.
"Ja, mein Herrin," said the Austrian inventor as he fiddled with the dials of his 'Vril Detector'. "The Sword is about 50 meters off shore, give or take."
"And how exactly are we supposed to get to it, swim?" Brod drawled.
Demona smirked. "No… we walk."
She waded knee deep into the water, holding the Tear of Danu by its silver chain and lowering it until the azure gem was completely submerged. Then in a low murmur, she chanted in a language that had not been heard in this part of the world for almost fifteen centuries.
In an instant, a massive water spout erupted from the river's surface, whirling like a tornado before coalescing into the form of a woman of titanic proportions.
A crown rested on her brow, sparkling silver in the moonlight. Queenly robes literally fell about her, a sword hung at her hip. Her regalia, like her body, was composed entirely of rich flowing water.
Schappeller and the mercenaries drew back from the shore, gaping like children.
Demona did not even flinch. She locked eyes with the watery figure. "You are the guardian of this river?"
"I am the River."
Demona held the Tear of Danu aloft. "Then I call upon you to honour the pact made with the Hun shaman who forged this stone all those centuries ago. Grant us passage to the Tomb of Attila!"
"So be it," the River spoke.
The image of the goddess dissolved into the waves. The waters of the river pulled back, revealing a muddy path down to the deepest part of the river bed.
Demona walked down the path until she came to a patch of weeds, sweeping them aside to reveal a great stone slab.
Brod followed gingerly, eying the walls of water surrounding him warily. "It's going to take at least half dozen of the men most of the night to lift that thing."
Demon dug her talons into the slab before lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. A set of stone steps leading down into the darkness.
She looked back at Brod. "Attend me."
[-]
"What in God's name is that thing?" Mina whispered hoarsely. She and Fiona witnessed everything from the cover of the tree-line.
"Probably just a Child o' Oberon," Fiona replied.
"A what?" Mina asked.
Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose. "Not important. This is our chance to corner the Demon and put an end to her evil once and for all."
"The two of us against over a dozen armed men and a murderous immortal sorceress?" Mina mused.
"I know." Fiona smirked. "Poor bastards don't have a prayer."
[-]
Filip stamped his feet, lighting a cigarette. The match shook slightly as he tried to hold it steady. His hand continued to tremble nervously. Between the debacle earlier and the unnaturally parted river behind him, he was terrified of risking Brod or their 'client's' wrath again. Luckily, guarding an abandoned river bank in the middle of nowhere should not be too challenging.
"Hm?" He looked down. Something resembling a large ball bearing rolled against his foot. An instant later it exploded into a cloud of smoke that filled half the clearing, sending Filip and the rest of his comrades on guard duty into a panic.
Next thing Filip felt was a clenched fist driving into his nose.
[-]
Mina had already moved on to the next guard before the first had even hit the ground. The smoke did little to impede her senses. She could still smell her prey's fear, hear their hearts pounding. The blood surging through their veins has like the roar of the ocean. It took a substantial amount of her will power to keep her fangs sheathed.
Another guard dropped unconscious. If anything, she had to pace herself, hold back. Fiona couldn't be more than a few feet away.
A third guard groped blindly at her. To Mina's perception, he moved as though wading in a sea of molasses. It gave her time to reflect.
Ever since her first death, Mina never thought she be able to relate to a mortal again. Yet despite everything, she felt a certain kinship with the hunter. Perhaps, Mina mused darkly, because the Scot was something of a monster herself.
A shot rang out as the smoke began to clear.
Mina turned to see the mercenary captain lower his pistol and press the still smoking barrel to the back of Fiona's skull.
"Enough, Čarodějnice!" the Captain barked. "If you don't want to see her brains mixed with the river muck, you'll throw down your weapon… now."
"Bloody Hell, Mina! Just shoot the pig!" Fiona cried before the butt of the pistol came rapped down on the back of her skull.
"Well?" the Captain asked.
[-]
"What part of 'shoot him' did you not understand?" Fiona hissed at her fellow captive as they were marched down the steps of the tomb.
"It wasn't worth your life," Mina whispered.
"Oh? And I suppose you expect them to just let us go with a warning after this?" Fiona sniped. She noticed that while her hands were bound by rope ,Mina's gloved wrists had been tied by a silver chain. "Why are…?"
"No talking!" the captain snapped, prodding his pistol into Fiona's back.
She gazed about the interior of the tomb, searching for any kind of escape. Half a dozen chambers led off from the central corridor, most of them piled high with gold, jewellery and other treasures. One contained what appeared to be a mummified horse with chariot, yet another stood bare and empty.
Every square inch of wall, floor and ceiling was covered by the most vibrant and exquisite tiled mosaics she had ever seen. They would have been beautiful had their subject matter not been so disturbing.
Everywhere she turned were images of rape and slaughter, Roman temples crumbling and aflame, the severed heads of men, women and children assembled into grisly pyramids. Above it all loomed the figure of a mounted barbarian king holding an ornate and bloody sword aloft in triumph.
"Poor Attila," a voice purred with mock pity.
The Demon stood before a vast iron sarcophagus, her lips pursed in a cruel sneer. "After a lifetime of war, he finally stands on the brink of crushing his most hated enemy beneath his heel… only to drowns in his own bile while he slept. All his dreams of conquest and vengeance ending in humiliation and failure. I imagine you can empathize, Hunter?"
"Do what you want with me, Demon!" Fiona snarled. "If I fall, another Canmore will take up the Hunt, and ano-"
The Demon back handed Fiona, sending a fresh burst of pain through her already aching skull. "Do you have ANY idea how many times I've had to listen to that inane speech of yours?"
"Don't you DARE touch her!" Mina cried, straining against her bonds.
"Interesting," the Demon purred. "I've never known one of your kind to show such concern for a mortal. Tepes must be desperate if he sends one of his whores to task me."
The Demon grabbed Fiona roughly by the collar. "And you, Hunter! You have the gall to call me 'demon' while consorting with this… parasite! What did she promise you? What price was your soul, Canmore?"
"What the devil are you raving about?" said Fiona.
The Demon stared dumbfounded for a moment, before breaking out into a hellish cackle. "You… you really don't know, do you? Well… allow me to enlighten you before you die."
Before Fiona could react, the Demon savagely tore the silver crucifix from around her neck. She turned to Mina. "Hold her!"
Fiona turned to see two mercenaries forcing Mina to her knees. For the first time since they met, she saw stark terror on the usually impassive English woman's face.
"What are you doing?!" cried Fiona.
"Showing you the truth." The Demon pressed the silver crucifix against Mina's face. Then the screaming started.
Fiona watched in uncomprehending horror as her friend's skin burned and sizzled at the touch of the cool metal as though it was a red hot branding iron. Mina's eyes blazed an infernal crimson, her canines grew into wolfish fangs and her screams devolved into an animalistic howling that could have issued from no human throat.
The Demon finally withdrew the crucifix. Mina collapsed to the tiled floor, the charred image of a cross still smouldering on her pale flesh.
Fiona was speechless.
"Bůh v nebi…" the Captain whispered, reaching for his pistol. "Kill them both!"
"No!" The Demon raised a talon. "I have a better idea."
Fiona felt her face scrape against the tiled floor as she and the creature she'd known as "Mina" were roughly thrown into the empty chamber. She turned back to see the Demon standing smugly by the stone doorway, a silhouette against the torchlight.
"Poor Hunter," the Demon purred, grabbing Fiona roughly by the chin and looking down on the Hunter's eyes with sadistic glee. "I wonder how long before the revenant's thirst overwhelms what lingering conscience she has left?"
Fiona took the opportunity to spit in the Demon's eye.
The Demon's eyes flared blood red, her talons twitched around Fiona's throat as though fighting the urge to tear out the human's windpipe right then and there.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the Demon hissed. "A good clean death. Perhaps if you're very lucky, the creature will get lonely and turn you, then you can both spend the rest of eternity rotting in this pit."
The Demon tossed Fiona roughly to the floor before withdrawing from the chamber and dragging a stone slab over the opening, plunging everything into darkness.
[-]
Demona finished filling in the joins of the slab with a paste composed partially of ground communion wafers, silver dust and other more esoteric ingredients. She congratulated herself on having the foresight to 'liberate' a portion of the Host during her last visit to Notre Dame.
"Now to business," she said, turning her attention back towards the iron sarcophagus. She stood there, silently admiring it for several minutes as though waiting for something.
She turned to Brod. "Well?"
Brod frowned, then began barking orders to his men in German. Within minutes, about a dozen mercenaries where strenuously hauling the iron lid aside, revealing a shining white silver coffin.
Demona examined her talons nonchalantly, Schappeller was practically jumping up and down with childish excitement. The silver lid was roughly shoved pried to reveal yet another coffin, this one of lustrous gold.
Finally, the third and last lid was laid aside. Within the golden coffin lay a wizened, mummified figure, as though some mad taxidermist had stretched a layer of human skin over a skeleton two sizes too big for it. Grey wisps of hair still clung to its chin and scalp. Hollow eye sockets glared back at the onlookers, its dried lips drawn back in a frozen rictus grin. Armor plating covered the figure's torso and a leathery wolf pelt was draped over the corpses head and shoulders like a mantel.
"Attila," Demona purred. Her eyes were drawn to the sword clutched in the Hunnic King's claw like fingers. It had been forged of a strange blue-grey, almost stone-like metal. Antediluvian runes were inscribed upon the blade and an ice-blue gem shone faintly in its hilt.
"The Sword of Mars," Schappeller whispered in awe. "Passed down from the Aryan Electrical Supermen of Thule-Atlantis! With its power, we can restore the German people to their rightful place in the world, as you said!"
Demona suppressed a chuckle as she pried the Sword from the dead Hun's fingers. It never ceased to amaze her how a species so innately treacherous as humanity could still be so idiotically gullible.
She heard a pistol cock and felt cold metal press gently between her wings.
"Gott in Himmel!" Schappeller shrieked as he backed into a corner, making no move to assist her. "Slavic treachery!"
"Silence, Schappeller!" Demona hissed. "So what now, Brod? You kill us both and take the Sword for yourself?"
"I honour my agreements." said Brod. "You and Schappeller take the Sword, me and my men help ourselves to the rest of the treasure. I just want the Tear of Danu before you go on your merry way."
"Afraid I'll drown you and your men the instant I'm out of the tomb?" asked Demona with a smirk.
"I think you'd slit our throats while we slept for the sheer pleasure of it if you had half a chance." Replied Brod.
Demona chuckled. "Fair enough." She slowly handed the azure jewel the nearest mercenary.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Brod pocketed the gem, turning to his men. "We'll come back for the coffins later. Clear everything of value from the store rooms first." The mercenaries began filing out of the main burial chamber, leaving Demona and Schappeller alone with Attila's corpse.
"Typical materialism," Schappeller sniffed with disdain. "No doubt due to a Hebrew contaminant in the man's bloodli…"
Before he could utter another word, Demona's talons clamped around the portly Austrian's throat, brutally pinning him to the wall. his legs dangling ineffectually half a foot from the floor. The tip of the Sword of God hovered less than an inch from his face.
"Schappeller," Demona hissed. "Make a single sound, and you die. Move a single muscle and you die. Do you understand me?"
He made no response in reply.
"Good." She brought the tip of the blade closer. Its tip, still unnaturally sharp after all these centuries cut gently into his cheek like a surgeon's scalpel. She held it there, letting the blood trickle down the blade.
She dropped Schappeller, who sat mutely on the tiled floor clutching his chest and panting in terror. She stepped back towards the coffin, holding the tip of the blade directly over the face of Attila. Two drops fell into the Hun's snarling rictus maw. "We're leaving," she said. "Now!"
"What… why?" Schappeller stammered.
"Schappeller," Demona drawled. "As a 'student of the occult', why do you think anyone would bury their king in a silver coffin and under running water?"
Schappeller's eyes widened in understanding. "Gott in Himmel!" he whimpered, quickly following her out, leaving the Hunnic King once more alone in his tomb.
His finger twitched.
To be continued…