11

STORM IN THE DESERT

The wall started to grind against the stone floor.

"That's it..." Helen whispered encouragement to her boys as they grunted and growled, steadily moving the enormous door with an ear-splitting screech.

As usual, the token vampire was right – brute force wasn't enough. The entire wall was an intricate combination lock that had stumped the other two Oxford majors for the better part of an hour. Nikola had waited patiently, inspecting his claws while they tried every primitive thing they could think of. Humans...

"Nikola..." Helen had finally drawled, calling him forward. With only the very slight advantage of a private collection of ancient texts stolen from the British Museum's vault, Nikola picked out the numerical sequences hidden in the mural, slid his long, tapered claws into several sets of holes burrowed through the rock and listened to the satisfying 'click' of the door unlocking.

Physically opening it regrettably required something a little less demure.

"Come on, push harder..." Helen insisted.

"By all means, chip in at any time," Nikola replied airily. There was actually a layer of sweat on his brow – how distasteful. Gods and the dust... don't get him started on the dust.

Helen tried not to think about the elusive, full-blood vampire lurking about. He'd warned them not to return and here they were, raiding his cave like common tomb raiders having some kind of party in his vaults.

Well, in fairness, at the present they were common tomb raiders.

"Honestly, if you're just going to stand there and watch you could at least be more encouraging?" Nikola gasped, trying but failing to get a better grip on the granite. The task of pushing the door forced him to stand a lot closer to John than he felt comfortable with.

Helen smirked.

Twenty minutes later, the door was open. It left in its wake an enormous gape in the rock beyond which was a void, presumably a room. Helen stepped forward, shining her torch into the black. Its light tracked up the floor until it hit a stone sarcophagus.

"No one touch anything..." she whispered, stepping carefully over the threshold and into the room.

"Steady on, Indy..." Nikola followed, closely trailed by John and his ridiculously long trench coat. "Step on something here and a wall of spikes tries to impale us."

"It's not funny, Nikola..." Helen cautioned.

Nikola thought it was, judging from his large, fang-filled grin.

"What the devil have we got here..." John asked, approaching more cautiously than the others. Caving had always been their thing, not his.

"The devil indeed, according to the entrance foyer – a creature of unimaginable danger, locked away from the world and – oh..." Nikola had reached the sarcophagus and frankly after all the paraphernalia at the front, it was rather unimpressive. "I was hoping for more."

"Don't sulk, Nikola..." Helen warned him, throwing a spare flashlight at Nikola while she stepped forward with a lighter, catching several of the ancient torches with its flame. Their oily mixture exploded into flame rendering the room instantly bathed in light, enough for them to see that it was big and empty with nothing but the rectangular stone slab at its centre. "Bloody hell."

Nikola slipped the useless flashlight into his pocket. "I'm going to make an educated guess that this is a bad sign," Nikola said, bending down to get a better look at where the stone sarcophagus had been ripped open. He ran his claws along the crack. It was deep and weathered. "From the inside too..."

Helen picked up a fragment of the broken tomb. "Like alien – but with stone, in an Egyptian tomb but in South America and - "

"Totally not like alien..." Nikola shook his head playfully at her, flirting as always. "You don't suppose this pissed off creature escaped and wreaked havoc on the Sanctuary? It would explain why we've found it in ruins."

"A creature destroyed them?" Helen replied, her hand resting on the capstone. She'd certainly come close enough to that inside her own sanctuary. "The walls don't elaborate on its abnormality. We have no way of knowing what it was capable of – or what became of it."

"Except..."

John looked to Nikola. "Except?" he prompted. John had been wandering around the remainder of the room but had found nothing but a few spare torches.

Nikola twirled around to face him, arms folded across his chest. "Well, think about it. We've got one person here who was around in that time. Someone who remembers it. The vampire..."

"I really don't think it's a good idea to hunt him down, Nikola."

"Just how many vampires are there?" John sighed. Was the world bloody crawling with them now? One vampire was quite enough for him.

"We need to get back to finding Ashley," Helen whispered. "This place has a dark history that is better kept hidden from the world before it seeps into it..."

Nikola smirked, pacing menacingly around the ruined coffin, leaning on it casually. "Helen... you know as well as I do that a full-blood vampire is too dangerous to leave roaming free. You could offer him Sanctuary." How many times had she used that line on him?

Helen's hands settled on her hips, her eyes narrowing at Nikola. "And when did you develop a responsible attitude? Nikola... I'm not kidnapping a vampire for you to study."

"You kidnapped me..."

"We discussed this – no vampire species resurrections. The vampires had their time and unless you find a mate-"

John coughed sharply, somewhere between a laugh and disgust.

Nikola had the good grace to look flustered. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of saving that pet protege of yours. The one you're so fond of. If anything holds the key to his survival and unfortunate return to his old, whining self – it'll be our toothy friend."

John had stolen one of the flaming torches, roaming around the room with it. "Ashley must have the same idea. A sample of its blood -"

Nikola's hand waved John to a hush. "It may have nothing to do with his blood. Helen – we need the whole creature if you want to play this game – and somewhere under all that morality, you know I'm right."

Helen stared back into Nikola's sharp, blue eyes. Damn, she hated it when he was right. "I should have shot you when I had the chance..." she sighed, shaking her head.

The vampire winked at her. "You missed."

They stepped out of the Jeep slamming its doors coldly.

Joe and his father took in the scene. Rising behind the ruined airport was a storm. Murky clouds had risen up from deep in the desert to stretch out along the horizon. Stained red, they swirled into a great wave of sand casting a long shadow over the desert that was, even now, creeping over the outskirts of the airport. Joe could hear a whisper of its approaching roar, the vibration making the broken windows in the nearby building rattle and fall onto the ground.

"Jesus..." Joe whispered, at the devastation approaching.

There were people inside the building nailing boards across windows and bolting the doors closed. The hanger was full of planes and cars squeezed in together. Its heavy iron doors were fastened with chains and then abandoned. All that was left in the open was a small aircraft perched on the tarmac like a dragonfly on a lily-pad. The pilot was arguing at the entrance of the airport, glancing nervously at the storm every time he paused for breath. It was obvious they weren't going to let him park his plane – he'd have to take his chances outrunning the storm.

Joe only spoke fragments of the native language but he approached them anyway, pointing to the plane and flashing what little cash he had left in his wallet. The man didn't seem interested, brushing him off to resume abusing the airport staff until Joe said two words, 'Helen Magus'. The man paused, turning slowly. There were a few moments of silence between them in which nothing could be heard but the growing rumble of the sand storm. Finally, the man waved Joe and his father towards the plane, refusing the money.

"Came from nowhere..." the pilot grunted, his English broken as they strapped themselves in. Parts of the plane were held together with thick wads of duct tape. Generally, it looked like it had been compiled from war scraps picked out of the desert. "Never seen them at this time of year," he continued, not bothering with – well, most of the preflight checks that ordinary aircraft went through. There wasn't much point when the answers would be, 'broken' 'not functioning' 'empty'. "Fierce bastards, tear this thing apart."

Joe gripped both his father and the seat. They had to get out of this place. A pure blood, ancient Vampire had been free for two hours and already there seemed to be a terrible power unleashed over the land. In ancient times, the world sighed for them not because of their fangs but because they could call the desert to their will and tumble cities into dust.

On the other side of the world, the phone rang.

Bigfoot grunted and sidled off the infirmary table leaving a mess of blood and bandages behind him. He balanced the phone in his paw, answering the phone with that same polite, indifference he always did. He was met with a static.

"Say again...?" he growled.

It was Detective Kavanaugh – little bastard. By the time Bigfoot put the phone down, he was shaking his head. There was a sand-Will on the loose, missing boss with two of the most untrustworthy men on the planet and now, an escaped pure blood vampire. Begrudgingly, he made a few phone calls to the Sanctuaries based in Africa to stay on the lookout for suspicious behaviour. He didn't mention vampires... Best they keep that to himself for now. In all Magnus's years building Sanctuaries around the world there was one piece of information she'd left entirely out of the records – vampires.

Out on the streets of Old City, Will had descended into the train tunnels. It was cool and dark, perfect for his freshly created body. Despite hunger, he needed to rest. He made himself a nest at the side of the track where part of the tunnel wall curved generously. Like a cat, Will curled up on the stones, his dark red skin rippling as he closed his eyes.

He still had memories of who he was but that was all that they were – a distant awareness that he had once been something else. He could remember people but they were just names now. Helen Magnus, Henry Foss, Ashley – the Sanctuary itself, none of it meant anything to him. This wasn't William Zimmerman, no, this was a creature of the sand, like all the others. When he finally woke up – he would feed.

By the time Joe reached the Sanctuary in Old City, his father had grown too weak to walk. A small medical team flitted around them, ushering them through the foyer.

"He needs to reeest..." Bigfoot drawled, laying the fragile man onto a bed before wheeling him down the hallways. Joe followed, filthy and dishevel from the rigmarole of getting here. "Few weeks of food and sleeeeep should be enough."

Bigfoot spent the remainder of the afternoon in the lab, drawing samples of blood from Kavanaugh senior and analysing them.

"...it's a virus," he grunted, holding up the delicate glass slide to the light. The only other creature in the underground lab that was still awake at this hour was the Sanctuary's mermaid. She shimmered in the water, her scaled tail never settling on a colour. Gently, she placed the palm of her hand against the glass, tilting her head curiously. Mermaids did not exactly speak but they did have a way of making you aware of their thoughts and without knowing how they did it, you answered their questions.

"Hiiiis blood is littered with the carcasses of the things," Bigfoot continued, turning slightly to the tank. "Whateeever that vampire did, it killed the virus."

He put the slide down and sighed, staring into the empty lab. On the table in front of him were photographs of Joe's father, most pointedly of his neck which bared a row of puncture marks – a vampire bite. He nudged one of them with his fur-covered finger.

Henry put the radio down in disgust. No answer from anyone. The cave had rejected him and he couldn't say that he was surprised – there appeared to be some truth to those ancient stories of vampires and werewolves not mixing and frankly he was mildly insulted. It was a Sanctuary for all – except him. Typical. Oh, finally, the boat driver was awake...

Henry reached for the map, spreading it out on the crate serving as a table to show the tour guide where he needed to go when the man suddenly lurched forward, rocking the boat sharply.

"What in the-" but Henry didn't get to finish as he ducked out of the way of large piece of wood. It hit the map, tearing it and smashing through a small lantern hanging on the boat. The guide straightened up, quickly moving in again.

"You'll make a nice addition to the collection, Wolf..." His words were thickly accented but unmistakable. The man's eyes were white in the moonlight. He worked for a shamble of an abnormal black market – trading what he could for cash. Usually, he only happened across strays or if he was lucky, his forest traps picked up humanoid abnormals living on the fringe. Tonight, he had himself a werewolf. Pay day.

"Not good..." Henry stammered, cornered. There was nowhere to go in the tiny boat except into the black water. Close by, a bird screamed into the night and splashed against the thick reeds along the river bank. Henry didn't fancy a swim in that water...

The guide brought the blunt handle of a machete down on the back of Henry's head, sending him to his knees. Henry was dizzy, sharp pain rushing down his spine as he turned to see the driver of the boat grinning in the night air. His teeth were eerily white.

He had no choice but to let the wolf take over, growing to his full height – his clothes tearing away as fur sprouted over his skin and long, sharp canine teeth glinting in the moonlight. Henry growled, swiping at the man who ducked, missing Henry's paw which went on to shatter the glass windscreen.

Several of the children that Henry had seen playing in the daylight – running beside them had assembled on the bank. They crept up amongst the reeds, watching with hungry eyes the strange beast and man fighting. They knew that their forests were full of devilish creatures – it had always been so. The land of monsters some called it, a place for things of the night to hide.

The boat lurched under the weight of the werewolf causing both of them to stumble and the last lantern to fall onto the deck, shattering and catching alight. The fire ripped along the spilled oil heading dangerously close to the fuel tanks.

"Holy shit..." Henry growled – the other man pausing from his attacks to stare in horror. Both of them turned at once, leaping into the water as the boat exploded in a ball of fire that lit up the night.

Ashley stepped back from the wall. Something was wrong. She could feel a tingle in the air, like static electricity running over her skin.

She lifted her weapon, stepping back and pointing it squarely at the wall in front of her. A cold whisper of laughter filled the air as the rock wall flickered into nothing, revealing the ancient vampire.

It was only now that Ashley realised how ridiculous her gun looked. She could empty it into this creature and it would merely straighten its robes and grin back – so she lowered it.

"I'm not here to kill you," she said quickly, with that same measured tone as her grandfather. "I've come for your help."

"What is it these days with humans wanting my help...?" the vampire drawled back, his tone somewhere between menace and curiosity. "I could have used your help fifty years ago."