Hunter of the Dead (24 page)

“Sven!” Benito cried out, “Don’t kill her!”

Mr. Chains – or Sven as it seemed his real name was – reached back and cracked a length of chain into her face, pulverizing her eye.

Easy enough.

As Sven tried to pull the chain back, she reached out and grabbed it, allowing him to fling her back over his shoulder along with the length of chain.

“Huh?” the giant grunted, suddenly losing sight of the target which had just been in front of him.

Idi Han caught his left shoulder with her feet, and threw herself forward, wrapping the chain around his neck twice as she passed and dropped to the ground in front of him. Her eye and the side of her skull were still healing, but she already felt her hip popping back into place and her shoulder seemed fully mended.

She turned and saw that Benito and the others were back on their feet.

“I noticed you all brought chains and clubs. Non-lethal weapons.”

“The plan was to bring you back alive,” Benito growled.

“I don’t think you understand who I am.”

Idi Han yanked on the length of chain she still held in her hand. The loops of heavy chain around Sven’s neck tightened and to the evident shock of the rest of the gang, his head popped off like an overripe pimple.

She reached up and pulled the garland of garlic from her neck, tossing it into the pile that had become of Sven’s corpse. The alarm in the faces of the gangsters turned to panic. For the first time they could smell her power – and, more importantly, for the first time she could feel it herself.

“Boys with toys. No idea how to deal with a real woman.”

“Hold…hold on!” Benito said, holding out his hand and slowly lowering his sledgehammer to the ground. “Listen, we were wrong to attack you and I’m sorry for that. And I never apologize. Just ask anyone.”

Benito gestured around at his other goons who began nodding copiously. Suddenly, the smallest one, a particularly ugly beak-nosed little man with terrible skin, broke and ran.

“Hofstra!” Benito shouted angrily.

Idi Han took the length of heavy chain, newly freed from Sven’s body, and slung it forward with a vicious crack. It came down on the soft spot of Hofstra’s head and didn’t stop until it passed through his crotch, severing the man in two down the middle. The two halves fell to opposite sides of the macadam. Grotesquely, both halves of the split man tried to pull themselves across the asphalt back towards each other, presumably to begin healing.

“Carson,” Benito grunted brusquely while snapping his fingers, “put him out of his misery.” He looked up, suddenly noticing the look in Idi Han’s face. “Is it all right?”

She nodded. They watched as the other gangster, Carson walked over to Hofstra’s body. Both of Hofstra’s arms reached towards his erstwhile comrade in supplication, the two halves of his tongue trying to say something pleading. Carson glanced back, ostensibly at Benito, who nodded, but his gaze lingered on Idi Han, who hoped her face was remaining implacable.

He bent over and fished Hofstra’s heart out of one of the halves of his bifurcated body. He broke a splinter off his axe handle and impaled Hofstra’s heart on it. Hofstra instantly stopped moving. He glanced back. At that moment, Carson was farther away than any of the gang members. If there was a time for him to run, it was now.

Reluctantly, he returned to his place in the semi-circle that had become of the diminished gang.

“Listen, Miss Han,” Benito said, “We’ll walk. You’ll never see us again. I’ll give you…whatever you want. Let’s just not…split any more heads.”

“How did you find me?”

Benito reluctantly pointed at her dress.

“There’s a transponder on you. It’ll feel like just a tiny…”

Before he finished his sentence she had fished the miniscule microchip out of her right shoulder and crushed it between her fingers.

“Who sent you?”

Benito’s mouth opened, he paused, and then finally admitted, “Otto Signari.”

“Otto Signari cares whether I live or die?”

Benito exchanged a sidelong glance with the remaining members of his gang.

“Topan said not to touch you, but…”

“But you got it in your heads that I’d make a valuable hostage.”

Benito nodded.

“So there probably aren’t others coming after me?”

“No.”

“But they’ll be coming after Father Cicatrice?”

“Yes. A lot.”

“All right,” she said, “You’ve told me what I want to know.”

Benito pointed tentatively off into the distance.

“We can go, then?”

“Oh, no. You’re all going to die. I’m just tired of talking to you.”

She cut through the rest of them like butter.

Eight

Nico’s jaws clapped together, pinching the tip of his tongue and drawing blood. His heart was clattering like a locomotive speeding off the tracks. It took a moment for the signals to reach his brain that his legs had not been shattered in the fall. Price sat on the ground, clutching at his shin, but otherwise seemingly unharmed.

Cicatrice was already on the other side of the room, his hands folded behind him, his back towards them. His voice wafted over his shoulder towards them.

“You’ve had your fun, Price. You can tell your drinking buddies you saw me face-to-face and lived to tell about it. Now get out.”

Nico held out a hand to help Price up. Surprisingly, he took it and pulled himself to his feet.

“Boy, you don’t rattle easy, kid,” he whispered in Nico’s face.

Nico opened his mouth to reply, but all of his cool points leaked out with a mouthful of bloody saliva. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

“Trust me, Scar, I take no pleasure in being here. But you and I have a common interest.”

Cicatrice turned so that his profile was visible, but not to fully face them.

“And that would be?”

“
Le chasseur du mort
.”

Nico was surprised to hear the French words pour out of Price’s mouth like a fine vintage. For some reason (many reasons, in fact) Price struck him as the ugly American type.

“Ridiculous. The Hunter of the Dead hasn’t been seen since I last encountered him. Seven hundred years ago.”

Price shook his head and turned to leave.

“Fine, play your games, Cicatrice. Come on, kid.”

They stepped out the door, and Price grabbed Nico and put his finger to his lips, expectantly.

“Price. Wait.”

Price winked at his charge and together they walked back into the conference room, feigning reluctance.

“Are we going to talk?”

“I’ll talk. I promise nothing beyond that.”

Price nodded.

“All right, that’s something. If you’re willing to admit…”

Cicatrice held up a hand.

“Your catamite will have to wait outside.”

Price glanced at Nico.

“I guess he means you.”

***

Nico kicked the stainless steel wall and immediately regretted it.

I hope I didn’t chip a bone.

The pain didn’t make the anger go away. Price had sent him out of the room like a child. A child!

He glanced around. Unwholesome, dead-eyed stares greeted him in every direction. The renfields seemed to carry about their work unflaggingly, while still managing to stare at him.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m going to play some blackjack.”

Technically, he was too young to even be in the casino, but what the hell, he had already gotten past security. Price could come find him. Heaven knew Cicatrice had enough cameras to find him.

He passed by row upon row of creepy
Birds
-like renfields staring at him until he exited the mini-pyramid. He stopped mid-stride upon spotting a lone figure at the foot of the pyramid. Under ordinary circumstances he would have thought the girl was extremely attractive, but right now she looked like a drowned rat. Someone had ripped her clothes to shreds.

“Hello,” he said, stepping carefully down the pyramid one step at a time.

The girl looked up at him, betraying a look that combined fierce determination and infinite sadness.

“You’re an Inquisitor?”

Nico’s hand drifted to the bat hanging from his belt.

“You want to find out?”

“I wouldn’t try it,” she said quietly.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s just a piece of advice.”

He looked her up and down.

“I take it that makes you a…”

He trailed off.

“Immortal,” she said.

“Immortal, sure.” He clambered down to take a seat next to her. “You look like a bomb went off.”

“Close,” the girl said, running her hand down what scraps remained of what he couldn’t tell whether had been a fine dress or a rag.

“So you, um, you work for this Cicatrice guy?”

“No, I don’t work for him,” she snapped. “I’m his…” she paused, seeming to consider her situation before finally deciding on a word, “friend.”

“You’re his friend. I didn’t know vampires had friends.”

“
Goeng-si
?”

“What?”

The girl suddenly rose to her feet and stumbled forward, nearly tripping. Nico jumped up to catch her, but she had only lost her footing for a second. She wandered off.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

He followed her as she hurried to the nearest row of slot machines. The young girl approached a bluehair dumping quarters into a slot machine.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the girl said, “do you have a mirror I could use? Just for a moment.”

Without taking her right hand off the lever, the old woman reached into her purse and handed the young girl her compact. Nico walked up behind her and glanced into the compact. He could see her face like normal. She spotted him over her shoulder in the glass and snapped it closed.

So much for that old canard.

“Thank you,” she said, returning the compact.

“Any time, sweetheart.”

Somewhat dazed she returned to the foot of the pyramid.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“You really think I’m a monster?” she asked, “A vampire?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know you.”

“My name is…” she looked up into his eyes, “I was about to lie to you.”

“Okay.”

“My name is Idi Han.”

“Nico. Salazar.”

He put out his hand. She took it, clasping his fingers tightly for a moment rather than shaking.

“Heh. I think I might practice Idi Han.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh. My…friend. The other Inquisitor. When we broke in here…I shouldn’t be telling you this, should I?”

She laughed.

“No, it’s fine. Go on, please.”

“Well, he said I was this great martial artist. Ho Tan Fow. Do you know what it means?”

She shrugged.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, I thought not.”

“What’d you do?”

“Um…I hit a lady in the head with a baseball bat.”

Idi Han giggled, covering her hand.

“Not Hedrox?”

“Yes. That was her name. Something Something Hedrox. What does Idi Han mean?”

“Oh. That. That’s a long story.”

“Oh. Yeah. No time for long stories now, I guess.”

He glanced back up the steps of the pyramid, wondering how long the grown-ups would be, and then internally chastising himself for not counting himself among their number. Idi Han wrapped her arms around her legs and pulled her knees into her chest.

“I don’t want to tell you what my name means. It’s embarrassing. And I’ve had a bunch of people who keep telling me that I’m this special, magical savior treasure person. It’s very annoying.”

“You don’t want to be a special magic savior whatever?”

“No.”

“Well what do you want to be?”

She looked into his eyes for the first time. There was a spark of mischief there.

“You really want to know?” she asked.

He couldn’t help the grin that was tugging at the side of his face.

“Yeah, I do.”

She blushed.

“It’s silly.”

“We’re two people in extraordinarily silly positions. Who happened to come across each other. Trust me, I won’t judge.”

She thought for a moment.

“Well, all right. I want to be the person who proves them all wrong. Who proves there’s no such thing as destiny or even potential. That I don’t have to do anything. That the whole world can just burn for all I care. That’s the person I want to be.”

Nico opened his mouth to reply but a clatter from above signaled that the great détente between Cicatrice and Price was complete and their apprentices were desired once again.

Nine

The Wild West…

Topan hurried down into the mine, his spurs clinking as he ran. After a few months of traveling with his sire he had only just begun to grasp the importance of his new role. He was, if anything, perhaps too over-eager.

He nearly bowled over the Egyptian as he stumbled into the crosscut where the other Cicatrice houselings had gathered.

“Pardon me, Elder Rahim!”

Rahim nodded and patted Topan’s shoulder absently.

“The mortal disciples are all gathered outside, Father Cicatrice!” Topan announced loudly.

Cicatrice nodded and beckoned for Topan to join him at the head of the throng.

“Thank you, my boy. And thank you all for coming. Welcome to Virginia City. I know you’ve all come a long way and you may be wondering why you’re here at all, so I won’t waste any more of your time. Some of you older immortals will recall the legend of El Dorado. I’ve located it not far from here. And no, it is no empire of gold. Rather it is the last Aztec temple: resting placed of The Damned.”

In a rare moment of indulgence, Cicatrice allowed the elders and the upstanding immortals in the gathering chatter among themselves. He raised a small piece of coal on the toe of his boot and tossed it down the shaft. Topan never heard it strike bottom.