Blood and Bullets (18 page)
A deep charnel smell washed over me, the smell of rusting iron and rotting meat. Like a slaughterhouse in the summer heat. Gorge rose in my throat and I swallowed hard, forcing it down. The stage up front was where the pulpit would be in a normal church. It had been tossed aside. The altars, low benches in front of the stage, one on each side, had been covered with what appeared to be roses and body parts, tied together and glued in place with spiderwebs.
There were ten other Were-spiders in various positions hanging from huge webbed areas along the roof and walls. I could tell some were the same as Charlotte, and some were other kinds of spiders. One appeared to be a black widow Were-spider. Hopefully, they were like Charlotte and serving Appollonia against their will, but my luck would be that most of them gladly served the vampire. The half of a legion of vampires was really bad news; the Were-spiders were icing on the cake. Even if they all were serving Appollonia against their will, if she ordered them to attack, they would.
Speaking of the vampire in question, she was on the stage and she wasn't alone.
Her back was to us as we entered. The long strands of a cat-o'-nine-tails whipped out from a long slender arm as she scourged a man chained to the front of the baptismal. I couldn't see much of him. He was kneeling and what was left of his back was to us. She had whipped him until his skin hung in ribbons on his back. Blood wasn't even running down his flesh. She had been at it long enough that it had congealed and sat like jelly on his flesh. Even in the low lantern light I could see the glisten of ribs. The air held the scent of iron over the smell of snakes. Blood and vampires, they go together.
To the left of the stage stood two women, I was assuming they were Larson's mother and sister. They looked like him, with pale skin and thick red hair. Torn clothes didn't cover up the bruises blossoming on their creamy skin. His mother was still screaming. It was her screams that had brought me into the sanctuary. The reason she was screaming, besides the horror that she was on stage with, was the man twisting her hair in his hands.
He was large and muscular, easily my size. Blond hair flowed from his head down around his shoulders, framing a face that was angular and sharp. All corners and edges, it was a face that looked angry all the time. A patchwork cloak of tanned skins and pants made of brown strips of leather that tucked into calf high boots were his only clothing. He looked like a hunter of animals. A short sword was strapped to his left side. It had a black knobby handle made of onyx or something similar. One hand was knotted full of red hair and his other was inside the neck of her sweater, closed around her breast.
Another scream tore out into the air, hoarse and filled with rage. Larson's coat slapped into my arm as he ran past me to the stage.
“Quit touching her, you bastard!” Larson slid in a huge puddle of blood surrounding the altars. It spread out from the altars all across the front to the first pews. His arms windmilling to try to keep on his feet, Larson fell heavily. Blood, thick and slimy, splashed up over him. The man holding his mother looked down at him, laughing. Larson had gained his attention.
He had also gained the attention of Appollonia.
She turned away from her victim on the stage with a slow movement of her head. As she turned to face us, so did all the vampires in their pews. In unison, their necks moved and every vampire eye fell on me.
Creepy again.
Stepping to the front of the stage, she stood proud and haughty. Tiny, she was all of five foot tall. Long, thick locks of hair fell to her ass in big waves. Other than being covered in bloody splatter from whipping the man chained behind her, she was completely naked. Long ago she had started life with a darker skin tone, but centuries without sunlight had paled her to an olive-toned ivory. Fine muscles traced along legs that rose to a full swell of hips. Her sex was a dark thatch below a flat stomach. Full, heavy breasts stood out from a ribcage that flared out from her narrow waist. Muscled shoulders became muscled arms and a slender neck. Her face was dark with drying blood splatter.
The gore covered, but did not hide, the delicacy of her features. Thick, full lips parted in a smile to reveal white teeth, complete with small fangs. Large golden brown eyes blazed out of the blood mask and sat between a Semitic nose and thick, full eyebrows.
In her right hand she held the cat-o'-nine-tails. It dangled to the floor of the stage. Dark with congealed blood, each of its lashes were thick as a finger and glistened with interwoven bits of metal, bone, and glass. Strips of flesh clung to the evil device. This was not a bondage toy, some light flogger to bring a blush to a playmate's bottom. No, this was the real thing. An awful, terrible weapon of punishment. No wonder the chained man looked like he had been filleted. I did not even know how he was alive still.
In her left hand was a lance. It had a thick wooden handle that was wrapped in leather and had been cut down to a shorter length, maybe four foot long overall. The head of the lance was almost a foot long and was a wavy leaf shape. It was a dull iron color with a gold center section. Something was inscribed on the blade, but I couldn't tell what it was.
Appollonia stood on the edge of the stage looking like a dark goddess. Punishment personified. A blood-kissed Fury that radiated death and lust.
I did not want to go near that stage. Everything in me screamed to turn and leave. It was a primal reaction, deep in the lizard part of my brain. But Larson was not getting up. He kept slipping on the blood on the hardwood floor because his boots sucked. It was almost like a comedy act. The Three Stooges meets
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Time for me to go be the big damn hero.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Time for me to go be the big damn hero.
Or the big damn martyr.
Slowly, carefully, I walked to where Larson was. He had stopped trying to get up and simply lay on his back, looking up at the stage. Keeping my eyes on Appollonia, I reached down and grabbed the sleeve of his duster, pulling him to his feet. When I took my hand from his arm it was covered in blood. The floor was sticky with it, like a ghetto porn theater.
If that theater was in hell.
How were this many vampires sitting so calmly when there was this much blood around them? There was blood splattered all around the stage, blood covering the blasphemed altars, and a twenty-foot pool of blood in front of the stage that was almost an inch deep. There was so much blood that the air smelled like iron.
Vampires are a lot like sharks. Blood drives them into a feeding frenzy. They should be attacking each other to try to get to the blood. They had all just risen for the night and their hunger should be at its peak. Instead, they sat, stone still as only the dead can, and watched unblinking.
If this was the level of power Appollonia had, then I knew we were dead. There was no way to win against something that powerful, especially without a cross or a gun. This realization wanted to settled down and gnaw at my bones. It wanted to make me give up, to quit, to lay down and die.
But I have a secret. I don't give a damn if I die. It's fine with me. That means I get to go be with my family. If today was the day I cashed in my ticket, then so be it. Now my only concerns were to try to save Larson and his family, and to take as many of these vampiric bastards with me as I could. I had to stop myself from putting my hands in the pockets of my jacket. It wasn't time for that. Not yet.
Appollonia stared down at us calmly from the edge of the stage. Everything was silent as she appraised me. It was a cool look that went from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. The look was full of dark promise, heavy with an arrogant lust. She stood in naked glory with eyes just for me. When it came, her voice matched her eyes and rolled out with a soft, sensual purr.
“You should join me here, Deacon.” Thick hair swayed as she motioned with her head. “Come closer so that I may know you better.”
My head shook from side to side. “No way in hell am I coming up there with things the way they are.” I pointed at the man who still had his hand down Larson's mother's shirt. “Tell your boy there to back off.”
Amusement crossed her eyes. Leaning back and thrusting her hips forward, she said, “Do you not find me glorious? Surely you are drawn to me.”
This was a prickly situation. She was an ancient, powerful vampire. My experience seems to be that the older a vampire gets, the more unhinged they are. Appollonia was obviously used to men, and probably women, slavishly lusting after her. I could see it. She was powerful, beautiful, and glorious, to use her word; but I knew the truth behind the lie. She was a blood-sucking, homicidal beast, regardless of what package she was in. Like most situations that called for diplomacy, I chose to go with the truth.
“Don't get me wrong, you're hot, but the blood thing is a little much. I know it works for you vampires, but not so much for the rest of us non-blood drinkers. Gross is not sexy.”
For the first time since she first turned around, Appollonia let her gaze move from me to something else. She examined her arms and torso. From an unspoken command, two Were-spiders dropped from the ceiling to stand behind her. They had a robe made of a thick, silky material, spiderwebs, that they put over her shoulders. As they stepped back, she shook out her long mane of midnight hair. Thousands of tiny black specks moved from her hair and the robe to crawl over her body. It took only a moment, but the tiny spiders cleaned her of the blood and then retreated back to the robe and her hair. She handed the cat-o'-nine-tails to one of the Were-spiders but held on to the lance.
“Is that more to your liking, Deacon Chalk?”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “But I am still not coming up on that stage until we get some things worked out first.” I stepped up to the edge of the stage, just below where she stood. The robe of webs hung loosely from her shoulders, framing her naked body more than covering it. “If you want me, then you need to allow all the humans here to leave with no further harm.”
Larson's mother and sister shrieked as the man with them stepped forward. He now had both of them by the hair and was dragging them with him. Muscles stood out with tension as he dragged them across the carpet. Rug burn blossomed ugly on their knees as they struggled. The fighting ended as he shook them violently, still using their hair to control them. They both slumped in his grip, whimpering and crying. His face was a contorted mask of rage.
“You do as you are told or these two will pay the price for your insolence!” Muscle corded in his arms as he shook both women again. Tears were streaming from their eyes and they howled in pain. It took both hands to hold Larson in place next to me. I didn't even look at the man, my eyes stayed pinned to Appollonia. She was the power. He was her renfield. He would do what she said. Throat tight with the strain of control, my voice sounded calm when I addressed her.
“Appollonia, you tell your slave there to let them go. If he does one more thing to hurt them, I am going to break every bone in his arms. I will leave him crippled and useless.” Threats are better if you are specific with them. Pointing at the man, I said, “If you don't rein him in, I will. I don't respond well to threats. They never make me do what the person wants and only piss me off.”
Appollonia looked at me with heavy lids. She simply stepped back and gestured toward the man. It was an invitation to rein him in myself. Good, I was feeling like hitting somebody right then.
One quick hop put me up on the platform. Once I was on the stage, I kept moving, striding to the man. I could feel the smile on my face. A sharp shove pushed Larson's mother and sister away from him. They scrambled away, off the stage and into Larson's arms.
The man flashed teeth, his smile matching mine. A big hand moved to the hilt of the dagger on his hip. Slowly, he drew it out and flipped it into an upside-down position.
A knife fighter's position.
Great.
Not only did he have a weapon, but it looked like he knew what to do with it. In a knife fight, you are going to get cut, especially if you don't have a knife. I had one still in my boot, but I would be stabbed before I got it out. I looked around for something to pick up as I kept moving forward. Appollonia's voice called over my shoulder, power pulsing in every word.
“Matthias, I want him alive. Drop your knife. You will fight skin-to-skin.”
I saw the anger flash in his eyes, burning like a brush fire. His hand unfurled around the knife and it fell away to the stage. My smile widened, becoming even more sadistic. Now we would see how things went.
Matthias lifted his hands up, holding them loosely like a boxer. We circled a step or two around each other. In a one-on-one fight, if you don't get the drop on someone, it's always risky to make the first move. You have to open your defense to strike and you don't know how good the other guy is.
This is why in a lot of fights you have name-calling. You are trying to goad the other guy into breaking defensive posture and making the first move. This is why there is a saying that if two masters ever fight, there is no fight, because neither would make the first move.
I was not going to dance with Matthias, so I just stopped moving. I stood with my arms to my side and my feet planted. It was something I learned in Kenpo. You never know when someone is going to jump you, so you learn to defend from natural positions. When I would compete in tournaments I found that standing still and not in a fighter's stance drove my opponent to make the first move. I don't know why, but it seemed to infuriate them, like I wasn't taking their threat seriously. Later, as a bouncer, I found that it worked in the real world too.
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