Hunter's Kiss Read online

  Hunter’s Kiss

  A Princeps Venatrix Novel

  By Niall Teasdale

  Copyright 2016 Niall Teasdale

  Amazon Kindle Edition

  Contents

  Part One: There’s No Such Thing as Vampires

  Part Two: There Are Vampire Accountants?

  Part Three: Vampires Are Real?!

  Part Four: Vampires Don’t Do Drugs

  Part Five: You’re a Vampire Now, Suck It Up

  Part One: There’s No Such Thing as Vampires

  New York, NY, 6th November 2014.

  She could smell the blood. The metallic, coppery taste of it filled her mouth and flashed into her brain. Her mouth watered and she swallowed, annoyed. Now was not the time: he was here and she would catch the bastard this time. She had tracked him to a disused warehouse near the Henry Hudson Parkway in Harlem and, this time, he was not getting away. From the scent, he had killed another one, but there would be no more.

  Her boots made no sound as she slipped down the corridor, and her sword made barely a whisper as she unsheathed it. She wanted this quick and quiet. No media attention, just an end to the killings and, unfortunately, eleven unsolved murders on the books. The smell of copper death became stronger as she approached an open door. She could hear him, hear the growls and snarls of…

  Anger flashed through her and she pushed it aside. It was not him, but this one had to be dealt with anyway. She darted into the room, the scene resolving around her in one sweeping glance. An old office, a single desk, a broken chair. He had dumped his victim on the desk and the cheap, pale wood was stained in red. He was still bent over her: the sounds she had heard were him hungrily lapping up the last of her blood, though there was plenty of it still dripping from the desk, pooling on the floor, running down the walls… He was young, a few days at most since his death. There was no pallor to his black skin after his feeding, but there was still more than a hint of decay about him, overlaid by the stronger smell of blood.

  He heard her, turned, and bared his fangs, hissing.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘No, we do not do the hissing thing. It’s crass.’ She could see the wild insanity in his eyes. Killed, turned by pure accident, left for dead to wake up craving blood. She almost felt sorry for him, but the corpse on the desk behind him could not be ignored.

  He moved, lunging forward, and so did she, driving forward as her katana came up and swung in a silver arc. His body hit the ground, followed a second later by his head. Her body stayed in the same extended posture for a brief second and then she turned, bending down to wipe her blade clean on his shirt. There was more blood now, but the scent was different and she did not need to ignore it. She reached up to her ear and tapped the hands-free unit clipped there.

  ‘It’s me. The bastard turned one. I need clean-up to twenty-three eighty, twelfth avenue, top floor. One vampire, one corpse.’ She waited for the response. ‘Saint Nicholas Park? That’s not far; I’m on it.’ And she tapped the cut-off button as she sprinted out the door.

  ~~~

  Suits, Mike had decided, were an instrument of torture invented by women in revenge for high heels. Well, off-the-peg ones anyway: maybe custom tailored ones were better, but he wasn’t buying one of those, even on a detective’s salary. So the jacket pulled on his shoulders and the slacks were either too tight or not tight enough. He never seemed to be able to find shirts that fit around his neck properly and when you added a tie, it was purgatory. At least it was not too cold.

  Things had been easier when he was in uniform and still working the 32nd Precinct. Not that he wanted to go back: he had worked hard to get his shield and he had no desire to get back into a uniform any time soon. But they had posted him to Midtown North so his apartment three blocks from his place of work had become half the island away. He had wanted homicide or, at worst, vice, but he spent his time dealing with burglaries. Still, it was plentiful work, serving the public with relatively little chance of getting shot, which his mother was happy about, and it was good investigative experience. Sighing, he crossed Edgecombe Avenue and headed for the subway entrance.

  And stopped. He could hear sirens, a few shouts. The latter seemed to be coming from the park across Saint Nicholas Avenue and, checking for traffic even though it was three thirty in the morning, he darted across to look through the trees. Here, you could see the buildings of the university through the darkened greenery, the paths through with benches for those wishing to contemplate the beauty of urban New York. No one there now, no one…

  He saw something, a fleeting glimpse of someone running, a flash of white in the darkness. Behind that figure, more indistinct, another figure ran, dressed in dark clothing. Just from the way they were moving, Mike could tell it was not a fun-run and he bolted after them, pulling his Smith & Wesson Model 5946 from his shoulder rig and racking a round. They had a lead on him, but the guy in black seemed to be catching the one in the white top, so Mike figured they would be stopping soon and there was just the hope that the time it cost to close the distance would not be too long. The runners moved out of sight behind a tree and Mike pushed harder to catch up.

  Backup, he thought as he rounded the tree, hoping to see another flash of white. Should have called for backup. The thought of reaching for his radio evaporated as he saw white, and red.

  The runner in white was a girl. The white was a sweatshirt worn with a short, black skirt. If she had been in shoes, they were gone. The left side of the sweatshirt had been ripped open to reveal the lacy, rose-pink bra beneath it. The man in black had his head to her neck, and Mike might have thought he was interrupting lovers if it were not for the fact that he had her pinned up against a tree, her legs kicking at empty air. A student, Mike thought as he took up a modified Weaver stance and aimed, probably a student. ‘NYPD! Back away from the girl.’ There was blood. Blood running down the pale skin of her breast.

  The man turned, tossing the woman aside like a rag doll to land on the grass. Blood on the grass. Blood on his mouth.

  A weird feeling, like his brain was trying to throw up, washed over Mike as he looked at the man with the close-cropped, blonde hair and the square face. They had been calling him the Harlem Vampire… ‘Hands on your head,’ Mike commanded, and the man charged at him.

  Bang! Bang! Two solid hits to the chest and the guy was still coming. He hit Mike like a train and they went down onto the grass, strong arms grabbing Mike’s shoulders and then his head, twisting it sideways. Mike let out a shriek as he felt something, teeth, sink into his throat. The smell of blood, hers and now Mike’s, was strong in the air. Mike rammed his pistol into the man’s side and pulled the trigger over and over again. There was the smell of propellant and the clicking of an empty pistol, and the pain was gone, replaced by a weird euphoria, a heady, dizzying warmth that spread through Mike’s body to replace the fear. He braced his hands against the man’s shoulders and tried to push, but coordination was not his strong point right now and there was an urge to just go with it.

  There was a sound like someone smacking a coconut with a mallet and the insane man reared up and was yanked away out of Mike’s sight. There was a scream, a combination of pain and rage. Mike closed his eyes and, a second later, he felt someone pull his pistol from his hand, and then his jacket was pulled aside. A voice said, ‘Hold on, fella. I’ll be with you shortly.’ Then he heard gunshots, a lot of them, though he was beyond the ability to coherently count now. His gun was pressed back into his hand.

  ‘There’s help coming. Hold on.’

  Mike opened his eyes as much as he could manage and figured he was dead. There was an angel leaning over him. Had to be an angel: she was beautiful, absolutely stunning. Olive skin, deeply blue eyes, a mass of soft, black hair that framed
an angular face and fell over the slopes of large breasts. Lots of skin on display… Not something to think about when you meet an angel. Then the angel leaned forward and kissed him. He felt her tongue slide over his and his head started to buzz. The hard-on was not only embarrassing under the circumstances, but probably not good given his lost blood.

  The angel leaned back and grinned at him. ‘You’re about to be a hero, kid,’ she said.

  ‘I’m dead,’ he mumbled as his vision began to close in.

  ‘Better not be,’ she replied before getting to her feet.

  Mike heard shouting. He thought he heard the angel shouting for medics, but that was crazy. And then, with the darkness, came silence.

  7th November.

  The beep of monitors intruded into what felt like the best sleep ever and Mike struggled into consciousness to find out what the noise was. He recognised what sounded like a steady heart beat and, since there seemed to be wires and tubes attached all over him, he assumed it was his heart that was beating. Good start.

  He turned his head and saw the trolley with its bank of screens and medical who-knew-whats, but he instantly forgot about them. Curled up in a chair at the side of the room was Leanne. Her head was bowed, so her face was hidden behind a curtain of copper hair, and she was dressed in scrubs which did absolutely nothing for anyone in Mike’s opinion, but it was Leanne so everything was okay. The thought occurred that if she was there, then he was probably in Harlem Hospital Center: she was a resident there.

  Almost as though she had felt him awaken, Leanne’s head lifted and she smiled. She had a triangular sort of face, so not a wide mouth, but it tried really hard right now. Her green eyes sparkled with pleasure and, Mike thought, relief. She had sharply angled reddish eyebrows, and they rose as he looked at her. ‘You decided to re-join us then? I’d better get your attendant–’

  He shook his head and tried to say ‘No’ but it came out as a croak. His throat felt like it had been through a dryer on spin. Leanne stood and crossed the floor quickly, retrieving a plastic cup of water with a straw jutting from it.

  ‘Wet your throat. Not too much. It was badly bruised.’

  ‘What happened?’ he asked when he could speak.

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  Mike frowned. ‘Fragments. I was chasing someone and… And he attacked me. The girl?’

  Leanne’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry. She didn’t make it, but there won’t be any more, thanks to you.’

  ‘Any more? I don’t…’

  ‘You, and let me add that if you do anything like this again I’ll kill you myself, are a hero. You took down the Harlem Vampire.’

  Mike looked at her. He was not really sure he had taken anyone down, but the idea that he had stopped a serial murderer was absurd. But there had been gunshots… ‘You don’t believe in vampires,’ he said, mostly to say something.

  ‘You’re right, I don’t. No such thing. Ridiculous superstition. And not even a source of good horror movies now. Too much teen angst. I do believe in psychopaths and fetishism, and if the press wants to sensationalise it, there’s not much to be done, is there? But you shot him and he’s dead.’

  ‘I thought I was. I saw an angel.’

  ‘You saw an angel? Really? Halo and everything? Big, white dress?’

  ‘No, she was wearing… And she… was probably a hallucination. I lost a lot of blood, right?’

  ‘Yeah… It was touch and go for a bit. They say the guy was on PCP or something. No one knows how you managed to reload with him hanging onto your neck like that.’

  ‘I reloaded? I don’t remember.’

  Leanne frowned. ‘I’m going to get your doctor. It’s probably normal, but I think we need to get you checked out.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks for being here, Leanne.’

  ‘Are you kidding? They couldn’t pry me out.’ She turned and headed for the door. ‘See you in a few minutes. I’m glad you’re awake.’

  ‘So am I,’ Mike replied, but he was also confused. What the Hell had happened to him in that park?

  9th November.

  Mike was sitting up in bed and the monitors were gone when his mother walked into the hospital room. Mike was glad. He had not wanted her to see him with all the tubes and wires: she was going to be worried enough without that.

  Georgina Williams was sixty-six and aging fairly well. Her hair was grey and she no longer held it to the bob Mike remembered from her youth; her face was lined and her neck showed wrinkles, but her skin was clear, and she still had most of the figure which her husband had once described as ‘the best thing to come out of Sheepshead Bay, ever,’ though Georgina had just laughed at that. Her brown eyes were weakening, and she needed glasses now, when she remembered, but they were still clear. Except that now there was worry in them which belied the smile she gave her son.

  ‘Now what have you gone and done to yourself?’ Georgina said as she sat down in the chair Leanne had been occupying when she was not working.

  Mike laughed. He could laugh now without pain, which was a good sign. ‘Become a hero, apparently. And I didn’t do it. It was some nut with veneers on his teeth.’

  ‘This “Harlem Vampire?” Leanne explained. I refrained from any suggestion he might have been a real vampire.’

  Mike smiled. His mother did not exactly believe in the supernatural, but she was open to its existence, and Leanne was a supreme rationalist. When there was alcohol about and something set them off, they would bounce off each other on the subject, but Georgina would not set off an argument when things were serious. ‘Just a psychopath with a fetish. I had a couple of guys over from the thirty-second yesterday to take my statement. I couldn’t tell them that much because I was pretty out of it after the guy jumped on me, but apparently I managed to put him down. They seemed pretty sure that was the guy, so I’m flavour of the month.’

  Georgina nodded. ‘I was worried. Leanne called to say you’d been brought in, but you were unconscious. There were news reports, but your name wasn’t mentioned until yesterday. By that time, of course, Leanne had called again to say you were fine.’

  ‘You know, you didn’t have to come out here. I’m getting out tomorrow, at least that’s what they’re saying. I’ve got two weeks’ medical leave so you’ll be seeing me out at the house once or twice.’

  ‘And you normally come on a Sunday, when you can. Today is Sunday and I wanted to see my son.’ And to make sure Leanne was not exaggerating his fitness. It was unspoken, but it was there. Mike knew his mother had not really wanted him to join the force, but she had never stood in his way, had encouraged him. Still, the worry that she would lose her son the way she had lost her husband was always there, unspoken.

  ‘I’m fine. Neck’s still a little stiff, but I’m fine. I think they put more blood back in than I lost, to be honest. Leanne says I look flushed a lot.’

  ‘That would be all the nurses. Ah, there’s that flush again!’ Georgina knew just how to embarrass her son.

  ‘Don’t say that near Leanne; she’ll cause someone harm. Probably me.’

  Georgina smiled and shook her head. ‘That girl would cut her own arm off if it hurt you.’

  ‘True, but the nurses are probably not off limits. How are you? Journey wasn’t too bad?’

  ‘I am quite capable of moving around, you know?’ Georgina replied with a hint of mild affront, and the conversation proceeded as it often did when he came for Sunday lunch, just without Leanne there to add her bits. A family Sunday, in a hospital room, and Mike felt better every second it was happening.

  10th November.

  It took some effort to get the hospital to agree that Mike’s apartment was close enough to walk to, but he managed it. Getting Leanne to agree that he could walk it on his own was another matter, and he did not really try that hard anyway, so they walked together to W 138th Street and started up it past the deli on the corner.

  ‘You know…’ Mike began as they walked.

  ‘I know a lot of th
ings,’ Leanne said when he paused too long.

  ‘I know you do. I was just thinking that my apartment is a lot closer to your job than that place you’re sharing in the Kitchen.’

  ‘And when I stay over, I enjoy that fact immensely.’

  ‘So, maybe, I was wondering, maybe because I had a close call, you know? I was wondering if, maybe, if…’

  ‘You’re more eloquent than usual,’ Leanne said, deadpan. ‘I’ll think about it, but I’m signed up with the other guys until June. Can’t move before then.’

  Mike let out a breath. ‘You’ll think about it?’

  ‘I’ll think about it. It’s a pretty heavy thought.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mike had been thinking about asking her to move in with him since he had got his shield, so he knew it was a heavy sort of thought. A big move. The big move. Well, the second biggest.

  They stopped at 7th Avenue and waited for the lights, and Mike turned, looking back the way they had come for something to do. He saw someone walking their way, maybe thirty yards back. An indistinct form in a long, black coat and dark glasses, but he had seen the same figure when they had turned past the deli. Were they being followed?

  ‘Lights,’ Leanne said and Mike turned back, crossing the road. When they reached the central island, he glanced back, but the dark figure was nowhere to be seen.

  Shrugging it off, he ran a couple of paces to catch up with Leanne, and started to believe he might need the two weeks’ recovery.

  ~~~

  The ‘angel’ in the black coat and sunglasses looked up at the well-appointed brownstone which Michael Williams called home. Three apartment units, according to the details she had. He occupied the smallest of them, tucked away below street level with barred windows and a door hidden away under the steps leading up to the main front door. Not bad: she figured he had been lucky to get it. Fairly good security too.

  She tapped at her headset. ‘He’s got good instincts. He made me on the walk over.’ She listened while she walked on down the road. ‘I know you don’t, but you know they won’t let the current situation continue. Get the taps set up and monitor everything. Do the girlfriend as well. I want to know what colour it is if he sneezes. I’ll see you back at the office.’