Damoren (10 page)

“
So he didn’t kill two vampires in one swipe?”

“
Actually, that part is true. At least according to other knights with him at the time. However other things like the size of the nest and the role of the three other men with him in Budapest, is disputed.”

“
Three? I hadn’t thought there were that many with him.”

“
Precisely.”

“
Still,” Matt said, “Two in one swing is pretty impressive, especially if that one is confirmed.” He looked in the direction of the wall with Dämoren’s former owners. Three cases packed with leather-bound books stood between them. “I didn’t see his painting over there.”

Allan touched his neck lightly.
The bandages were gone, but the pink, scabbed wounds were still there. “I think it’s downstairs.”

“
Do you know where?”

“
By the gym.” He looked back at the computer screen and shook his head. “Come on.” He stood. “This thing is just pissing me off. I’ll help you find it.”

Matt followed him through the old house down to the first floor.

“
So that kid in the library,” Matt said. “Is that Mikhail?”

Allan nodded.
“That’s him. Why?”

“
Ben told me about him. Real sad losing his mentor like that.”

“He’s a good bloke, but probably not the most fit for Librarian.”

“
Why’s that?”

“
He spends more time fluttering around Anya than anything else. Bloody annoying.”

“
Sounds like a teenager.”

The hall turned.
The walls in this portion were wood-paneled and much simpler than in the rest of the home. Allan explained they were in the old servant’s side. They turned down a little hallway, and then stopped before a wall of paintings. Muffled metallic clacks came through one of the wooden doors behind them

“
He should be right here,” Allan said, scanning the portraits.

Searching the paintings, Matt spied the image of a man holding the sword Dämoren to his side.
Brown curls spilled out from under his wide hat onto the shoulders of a black and tan doublet. The sprawled body of a blue devil lay at his feet, sheathed in green flame. A small plaque on the bottom read, ‘V. Kluge.’ “There he is.”

“
Good eye,” Allan said. “There you go. Look at him. Arrogant twat. The painter must have thought him mad to add that little beastie at his feet.”

Ignoring the jabs at his predecessor.
Matt admired the dashing image. Regardless what the painter might have thought, the portrait was one of the better ones in the house. Almost life-like. Kluge must have paid a fortune for it.

The door behind him creaked as Allan peeked inside.
“Hey, once you’re done, come here. There’s something I want you to see.”

Matt gave a little nod to the painted man and followed Allan into a modest gym.
The smell of old sweat permeated the room. Various weights and workout equipment packed one side, leaving the other half open. A pair of men sparred before a mirrored wall. Wooden weapons filled little racks on the far side.

Allan gestured to a stout black man.
“Matt, I’d like you to meet Luc Renault, protector of Velnepo.”

Luc transferred a flanged iron mace to his left hand and offered his right to Matt.
“Good to meet you.” His voice was surprisingly deep.

Matt shook the hunter
’s strong hand. “Good to meet you, too.”

“
Velnepo is one of the original eight Valducan weapons,” Allan said. “She can smash just about anything.”

Luc gave a proud smile
and swung the ancient mace once in a downward sweep.

Allan turned to a small Asian man holding a katana.
Four long, pale scars ran from his left ear down to his jaw. “And this is Kazuo Miyagi and his sword Akumanokira, the youngest of the known holy blades. This is what I want you to see.”

Kazuo held the sword out flat before him.
Its copper handle was cast with a woven diamond pattern, mimicking the look of silk-wrapped katana grips.

Leaning in closer, Matt noticed a series of numbers stamped neatly at the base of the blade.
“Is that an army sword?”

“
Yes,” Kazuo answered with a short nod. “My grandfather was in the Great Pacific War, stationed in the Philippines. One night, many demons came out of the jungle and attacked his squad. My grandfather emptied his rifle into one to no effect. When the demons came for him, he picked up his commander’s fallen sword and slew them.”

Matt peered at the Japanese sword.
The lights above reflected off the polished steel. No blemishes, not even a scratch. It looked as though it had just come off the factory line. Almost expecting a joke, he turned to Allan, his brows raised.

“
I know.” The Englishman shrugged. “It defies every theory on how holy blades are made, but there it is. In the 50s, the Valducans heard stories of a demon-killer travelling the islands, ridding them of monsters. Became bit of a folk hero, really.”

“
But how?” Matt asked. “It’s a machined blade.”

“
How did Dämoren survive being broken, then turned into a handgun?”

“
Faith,” Kazuo answered. “It’s all from faith.”

#

Thick clouds, lumbered across the morning skies, their edges pink and red at where the rising sunlight penetrated the canopy. A soft breeze rushed down into the valley, rustling the grape leaves. Matt jogged along a dirt road between the vine rows, fighting to keep his breath steady. In the three days since his arrival, his sinuses had yet to let up. He hadn’t had many issues with allergies back home, but thankfully the jet lag was about gone. Matt hoped he’d get summoned on the next expedition. Maybe find a demon. One good touch of demon blood could heal anything from poison to a punctured lung. Something as simple as allergies wouldn’t be a problem.

He followed the path up a long slope until he came to the chest-high wall
circling the property. Succumbing to his clogged sinuses, he stopped to fish a tissue from the wad he’d jammed in his pocket. A quick gust swept through the vineyard, bringing a sudden coolness to Matt’s sweat-slicked skin.

Footsteps crunched up from behind.
Matt turned to see Luiza jogging up the road toward him. He couldn’t help but appreciate her red sports bra bouncing in sync with her black ponytail.

“
If you ran any slower, you’d be walking,” she said, stopping beside him.

“
Allergies,” he said. “They’re kicking my ass.”

“
Have you taken anything?”

Matt nodded.
“I raided the clinic. Found something there, but they’re not working too well.”

Her brow arched.
“In a yellow box?”

“
Yeah.”

“
There’s a reason no one’s taken them.”

“
Oh.”

“
I have some better ones back at the house you can have.”

“
Thanks, I’d really appreciate it.”

Luiza gave a small smile.
“So,” she said, looking out over the valley, “what do think?”

“
About what?”

“
About all of this. The Valducans, the house, everything.”

Matt gazed out across the property.
Straight lines of green vine rows cut across the smooth landscape. The huge chateau and outbuildings overlooked it all from a hillside like in a painting or travel brochure. “Not quite what I was expecting,” he said, finally.

“
And what was that?”

“
I don’t know. Some Medieval tower with battlements, bearded men in tabards and hoods, maybe.”

She laughed.
“Well we only wear those for special occasions, the beards, that is.”

Matt chuckled.
“Good to know.”

“
So have you had a chance to try out the range yet?”

“
Not yet. I figure the last thing my sinuses need right now is a room full of powder smoke.”

“
After you get your medicine you should be fine.”

“
Should be.”

Luiza gave a toothy grin.
“I’ll tell you what, if you can keep up with me, I’ll give you the medicine, and then give you a chance to show off your shooting. Think you can beat me?”

Matt pursed a smile.
He’d expected a shooting challenge eventually, but from someone like Mal or his buddy Colin. “Okay,” he said. “You’re on.”

#

“This is it,” Luiza said, flipping on the lights. Fluorescents flickered to life, illuminating the long cinderblock building. Five metal tracks spaced along the ceiling ran the length. Red painted lines marked ranges out to fifty meters. A wide window looked into a darkened room behind the range. The familiar smell of powder hung in the air.

“
Very nice,” Matt said, noting the silver panel that controlled the target tracks. He set his duffel onto one of the tables along the back wall and stepped over to it. “So you can time them all differently?”

“
One at a time, all at once. You can also do random patterns.” She set her cube-like canvas bag down beside his and zipped it open, then removed a black plastic holster and clipped it to her belt. “Help me setup the targets.”

She pulled several paper targets out from a rack on the wall and Matt stapled them to the hole-ridden cardboard squares hanging from the tracks.
Once done, they stood in a row before him like five black-silhouetted men. Their only features being the concentric oval rings blossoming from their chests, each printed with a number, decreasing with each larger ring.

Unzipping a side pouch, Luiza removed a blued nine millimeter.
She popped in a fresh magazine, cocked the action, and slid it into her holster. “Muffs are on the wall.”

Matt took a pair of the olive-colored earmuffs off one of the pegs and put them on.
“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing toward the range.

The Brazilian smiled.
She showed Matt how to operate the targeting tracks, then once she was ready, stepped up to the middle of the firing line, her hand by her side. Matt selected the correct program, pressed the green start button, and all five targets flipped sideways and raced away down their tracks. At ten meters they stopped, then began slowly moving back. The second target to the right turned, facing forward. Luiza ripped her pistol from the holder, bracing it in both hands, and fired two quick shots. The target rotated back. Another target flipped to face her, she fired again, nailing it twice before it reset. One by one the targets flipped, allowing no more than three seconds for her to fire.

Once all five targets had flipped, she holstered the gun, and removed the large muffs.

Pulling off his own earmuffs, Matt walked up to the line of targets. All but three rounds had hit within two inches of the center mark. “Good shooting. Little practice you might even get them all in the center ring.”

Luiza
’s brow arched sharply. “You can do better?”

“
Well, yeah,” he answered like it was the easiest question in the world. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, walking back to his duffel. “Winner gets to shoot this first.” He removed the black Ingram machinegun and set it on the table.

The Brazilian
’s face brightened. “Now we’re talking.”

“
Now I only had fifty practice rounds for it. Not shooting the silver ones. So that’s one full magazine and the other will just be twenty. So you’re not going to get a full mag after I shoot the first one.”

“
Stop stalling and get up there.” Luiza placed black stickers over the holes she’d shot in the targets, then took her place by the controls.

“
Dämoren only holds seven,” Matt said, unbuttoning his holster. “So I’m just going to fire once at the first, third and fifth targets.”

“
Wait, so I shoot ten and you shoot seven, that isn’t fair.”

“
Consider it a three-shot handicap for you.” He smiled.

Luiza
’s lips pursed. “All right, then” She turned to the controls. “Get ready.”

Matt turned toward the range, his hand resting on his belt.
The targets flipped sideways and raced away. He drew a breath. They stopped as they hit the red ten-meter line.

The lights went out.

Bright yellow and red spinning lights on the walls sprung to life, filling the room with dizzying patterns.
The target on the far right, barely discernible through the confusing light, flipped toward him. Matt pulled Dämoren from the rig, cocked the hammer, and fired. A plume of dense smoke erupted downrange. It caught the spinning light, obscuring the targets even more. The target turned away. It had seemed longer before they reset when she shot. The approaching middle target clicked and rotated toward him. Matt fired, cocked, then fired again. The target reset no more than a second after it had activated.
She shortened the times!
Gritting his teeth, he finished the course. Once all the targets had activated, the ceiling lights flicked back on, and the spinning lights ceased.