part one
It was just his luck to end up with this one, Riley reflected as he watched the vampire through the wire. The creature stared back at him, scenting the air and, even after working with them for so long, that overt bestialness still gave Riley the creeps. Made him wonder what exactly it was smelling. Was it Sam? That thought saw his hand tightening on his baton defensively. Christ but he hated them. Probably why he was assigned as a handler. You wouldn’t find Riley Finn trying to make friends with a vamp.
He unlatched the gate and went inside, on alert now that there was no longer a fence between himself and the demon. Not that he should have anything to worry about, the chip should keep him safe. But there had been incidents. Traps the creatures had set to take the unwary, buying themselves precious moments in which to escape. This one had tried that a few times which was why they’d had to operate again. If it wasn’t such a good hunter, it would probably have been put down by now.
“Let’s go, seventeen,” he said as he clipped the leash onto its collar. The vampire stood up, passive, head hanging and followed him out of the kennels.
The mission was taking out feral vamps, something Riley got even more of a buzz
from than the typical demon hunt. A nest of them had set up shop on the outskirts
of San Paulo and were eating their way through the shanty town. Only when the
locals took to the streets to protest the lack of police action had the Brazilian
government asked for help.
Special Ops transport dropped Riley and his squad off half a mile from the nest. Any closer and the vamps were sure to pick them up, so from here on in, they were on foot; four soldiers, four hunters.
Riley, as ranking officer, lead them out, sliding from shadow to shadow as silent as the slice of night next to him. It took them fifteen minutes to travel that short distance, but when they arrived, the place was quiet and unguarded. Not for the first time, Riley wished they could do this during daylight, but then the hunters would be useless and they didn’t have the manpower to risk unaccompanied agents. Their losses had hovered just above critical before Project Orion came online.
Two handlers flanked each side of the door. Leashes off. Night goggles on and weapons primed. Riley gave the order to advance and seventeen spun into the door, kicking it down with ease. The four hunters poured through the gap, followed up by their human handlers who stayed by the entrance to ensure none got out alive. Screams of pain and fury rattled out of the darkness and Riley moved slightly deeper into the lair to watch the action.
His own vamp was doing well, holding his own against three males. Fifty-six and sixty were tag teaming another group and dust already crowded the air around them. Only twenty-five was having problems. She was backed up into a corner by another female vamp and, as fast as the hunter was punching, her blows were being parried. As Riley watched, the feral grabbed the stake from twenty-five’s hand and threw the hunter against the wall, following up with what would surely be a death blow.
Damn! Riley fired his tazer, dropping the feral where she stood and ran over to finish the job. Twenty-five snarled and went to attack, jealous of her prey. The chip fired before she got too close and sent her screaming to her knees. Riley ignored her and knelt next to the feral, loosening the stake from his belt.
He had the stake raised, ready to drive it into the creature’s chest when an attack from the side bowled him over. Riley rolled with it, rising to his feet ready to fend off his attacker, only to find seventeen next to the feral, cradling the creature in his arms and crooning subvocally to her.
“Submit,” he barked, expecting the immediate obedience demanded of all hunters at that order. Seventeen ignored him, its entire attention on the feral, long fingers brushing strands of dark hair off her face.
“I said, submit, seventeen!” Riley tried again, this time backing up the command with a slap round the head from his night stick. The hunter snarled at him, snapping its fangs, but its eyes conveyed more desperation than bloodlust.
Left with no choice, Riley unleashed his tazer on his own vamp, then kicked its inert body aside so he could stake the feral. Disciplining seventeen would have to wait until they got back to base.
“He turn nasty on you?” Graham asked from behind him.
Riley swung round on his heels and frowned up at his friend. “Something about the feral, I guess,” he said, indicating the female vamp he was about to stake. “Pity we can’t ask him, really. Must have been something powerful to make him disobey a direct order.”
“You ever hear him talk?” Graham asked. “Disgusting mouth on him. That’s why the doc severed his vocal chords.”
“Arrogant as well. I remember when he was brought in. Sunnydale wasn’t it?”
Graham shrugged and hauled on the leash that bound his own hunter. When the vampire was kneeling in front of him, he demanded, “Know who she is?” and pointed to the feral.
Sixty shook its head. “No, sir,” it growled, “but she’s an old one.”
Riley reassessed what he was looking at. There were clues to her age, he supposed. The dress she wore was old fashioned, white and sheer, exposing the curve of her breast and ribcage. Her face was beautiful like a silent movie star with large prominent eyes and a generous mouth, and her hair cascaded like a sheet of silk across the floor.
As he watched, her eyes flickered open and he slammed the stake down before the demon could fully recover. Her hands fluttered up to grasp the wood, tears filled her eyes and then she crumbled to dust.
***************************
part two
Assessing movies before they went to the MPAA wasn’t among Lorne’s favourite
pastimes but, as head of the entertainment division he was the only person allowed
to authorise the bribes. Thus, every Friday, he treated himself to several seabreezes
and settled in to watch some of the worst dross Hollywood could produce. And
this one promised to be no exception.
Entitled ‘Hellraiser: Hellspawn’, it was Barker’s latest attempt to rescue his flagging career, and Lorne wasn’t holding out much hope for it being an improvement on his last effort.
And, boy, was he wrong.
“Hey, Danny!” Lorne yelled down the corridor, “Get your skinny tush in here right now and bring Barker’s home number. I’ve gotta know where he dug up the money.”
“All in the casting, the man says,” Lorne grumbled. “As if that’s gonna pull his pudding outta the fire.”
“Well, sir, they do say Simon and Reed can bring down your production costs by twenty percent.”
“They do?” Lorne pulled his head out of the limousine’s bar where he’d been trying, without success, to locate a fresh bottle of vodka.
Danny handed him a brochure printed on quality glossy, complete with photos. Across the top was printed, ‘Simon and Reed Casting. Reduce your production costs by twenty percent’.
“Huh. I guess they do.”
“It’s so good to have someone here from Wolfram and Hart. Dear Nathan, I miss him so much.”
Lorne stared in wonder at the small man currently engulfed by an enormous leather chair feeling as though he’d accidentally wandered onto the set of Boy Meets Boy. Between the two of them they could probably house a largish scout troop.
“And it’s nothing so gauche as the money. Though from my mouth to your ear, I still use his name to open certain doors. People in the know appreciate a connection to such a reputable firm. It reassures them that there won’t be any, hmm, difficult questions.”
Of course, Oliver Simon had about as much dress sense as Carlton and his interior designer needed to be mauled by tigers.
“So you’re interested in the pretty piece Barker used. Let me see,” Simon said, finally getting onto the subject at hand. He leant forwards and tapped his keyboard. “Raimi, Scott… Ah, here he is. Now which movie was it? Hellspawn?”
Lorne nodded. Even his ability to chatter was overshadowed by this man.
“Oh, how nice,” Simon purred. “He used Spike, I’d totally forgotten. Now, status, status… Hmm. That’s not such good news, I’m afraid.”
“Why?” Finally, Lorne thought, managed to get a word in edgeways. True, it was only one word but that was a vast improvement on the nothing he’d managed before.
“In a word? DeCoteau. He needed someone to chop up for his latest production and,” Simon glanced at his watch, “right at this moment, wardrobe are stitching your boy back together.”
***********************
part three
Knox often talked to himself as he worked in the harvesting lab. He pretended to be talking to the stock, not that they could understand him, or at least Knox hoped they couldn’t, because that would be beyond creepy.
“Only five millilitres yesterday, seventeen. You’re slacking,” he said, checking the feeding tube into the demon’s stomach. The tubes had a horrible habit of getting blocked with clotted blood however diligently they were flushed with saline, and the techs were never as attentive as they should be. It seemed clear, so he wouldn’t have a run a new one in today. The shunt into its aorta was open too, so that couldn’t be the reason for low productivity.
Knox sighed and leaned on the vivisection table, staring around the stark room with its monitors and gizmos. “I bet you’re just depressed, having to look at this lot all day,” he said. “How about you tell Uncle Knoxy all about it, eh? And maybe I can fix you up with some nice fresh human blood.”
The demon twitched, fangs and brow ridges suddenly prominent, and Knox jumped back, nearly tripping over his feet. But it wasn’t anything dangerous; just the twice daily electrical shock that forced the vampire’s body into producing more of the enzymes Wolfram and Hart needed.
Of course that wasn’t all they harvested. It was actually quite amazing just how much of a vampire was saleable on the occult market; apparently vampire sperm was a crucial ingredient in most sterility spells and their flesh useful for healing poultices. After some research, Dr Royce had suggested they make the most of the stock, being as how they had a captive audience as it were, and pocket the difference. So far seventeen had paid for five skiing trips, a flat screen TV and more visits to Madame Anita’s than Knox could count. And it still had another three limbs.
A whirr from the pump next to him indicated that the shunt was coming online and the demon flexed, pain obvious on its face as the chip continued to fire, raising stimulation levels to the proper threshold.
Knox glanced between vampire and machine, watching the blood start to flow through the shunt tube. The demon continued to writhe, tugging on its restraints and panting heavily. Damn but it was disconcerting how aware they seemed when the collecting was being done.
“Soon be over, pal,” Knox said, patting the creature’s arm. “Then we’ll get to the nicer stuff.” Of course that still involved electrical stimulation but of another sort entirely.
**********************
part four
Gunn shuffled through the paperwork for the umpteenth time looking for the affidavit
Mr. Croesus needed to sign and did his best to ignore the fireplace.
It was simple really; wait until the bastard was out of the room and then stake it. Of course that meant concentrating on the fine print while the goddamned thing stared down at him.
“I see you’ve noticed my Hirst original,” Croesus said, drawing Gunn’s attention back to the very thing he was trying to forget. “Something of a departure for the boy, but he achieved wonders given such difficult material, don’t you agree?.”
“Sure, if your tastes run to split open and dripping,” Gunn muttered and then added in a louder voice, “To be honest, Mr Croesus, I’m not up on modern art.”
Croesus tutted his disapproval and went over to admire his, no doubt expensive, piece. “That’s totally unacceptable for an educated man like yourself, Charles. Come, stand by me and have a good look at it. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”
Swallowing hard, Gunn did as he was bid and cursed his judgement at deciding to handle this case himself. Try as he might to unfocus his eyes, details kept getting through, aided and abetted by Croesus’ running commentary.
“It’s titled ‘The Heart of Adonis.’ I’m sure you can see why, but it’s the sense of despair on the subject’s face that I find so remarkable. The way his hand is raised in supplication to his beloved Aphrodite.”
Croesus nudged Gunn’s elbow and whispered, “Actually Hirst cheated and used steel rods to ensure the vampire can’t move, but, as it doesn’t detract from the overall impact, I forgave him just this once.”
***********************
part five
“Doesn’t it bother you? Treating them?” Xander asked.
Sarah glanced up from her screen and shook her head. “No. They are sentient beings, like you and I, and the chipped ones are completely harmless to humans.”
“But vampires?” It didn’t matter how he looked at it, giving vampires counselling seemed wrong. Apart from Angel who was special case, though he could definitely use a good psychotherapist.
“And people’s pets. The trouble is they are bred to be free so, like animals in a zoo, they suffer problems. If the owners have enough money though, it’s sometimes worth making the effort before putting them down.”
Sarah hit one final key and the printer began to chatter out a sheet of paper. “Do you wish to come with me?” she asked. “It may help you to understand.”
Xander nodded and picked up his back pack. No matter what Sarah said, he wasn’t about to enter a house with a vamp in it without a stake.
The client’s home lay on the outskirts of Nairobi, a huge mansion with private
security, and Xander began to understand why Sarah did what she did. Anyone
who lived in a place like this could surely afford to pay well for a vampire
shrink.
Most of Xander’s year in Africa had been spent travelling non-existent roads in vehicles with non-existent suspension and, though he knew about this side of the continent in theory, he’d yet to experience it. The sheer opulence of the place astounded him, especially in contrast to the squatters’ village they’d passed only a couple of miles down the road.
Standing in the sun drenched entrance hall surrounded by marble and brightly tiled walls, Xander said, “Why would anyone try and keep a vamp in this? One wrong step and we’re talking demon dust bunny.”
Sarah laughed. “Special glass,” she said, indicating the huge windows. “Also this couple have given their pet a playroom. Though it seems not to have helped him.”
“Bad case?” Xander asked.
“One of the worst, but they have refused to let me put him down. Mrs. Ndolo is very fond of her little Othieno.”
“Ms. Mburu,” the uniformed butler said from the doorway. “If you and your friend would care to follow me.”
They wound their way through what felt like several miles of corridors and rooms, finally exiting through the rear of the house and immediately re-entering a free standing building next to it.
Sarah paused with her hand on the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she queried. “He is… very disturbed.”
Why the sudden change of heart, Xander wondered and, not for the first time found himself doubting Sarah’s motives. After all he only had her word for it that she wasn’t about to feed him to the demon in there.
Sliding his hand through the open zip of his bag, Xander grasped a stake firmly and nodded. “Open the box, Frank. There’s not much can shock this Hellmouth baby.”
The entranceway had what Xander could only describe as an airlock and the space between the doors was small enough that for a few uncomfortable moments he and Sarah were pushed too close together. They exchanged embarrassed grins and then the internal door buzzed open.
“Othieno?” Sarah called peering into the gloomy interior. “It is Sarah. And I have a friend with me.”
“He understands English?”
“He is English, though the Ndolo’s bought him in America.”
A skittering sound came from the corner followed by a rhythmic banging. Sarah sighed and hurried towards it, leaving Xander to pick his way through piles of ripped up beanbags and around dangling tires. Whoever constructed this ‘playroom’ obviously thought vampires were related to chimps.
He found Sarah squatting next to a small figure, presumably this mentally unstable vamp, and that was where the sound was coming from. The demon was scrunched up, hugging its knees to its chest and banging its head against the wall, seemingly oblivious to the woman beside it.
“Please, Othieno, you will hurt yourself,” she was saying and Xander suddenly realised that everything Sarah had said about her commitment to her job was true. She actually cared about these creatures, in the same way that vets cared about their patients.
Still Xander couldn’t resist a jibe at the vampire’s expense. “If it keeps him happy, I say let him do it. So long as he doesn’t damage the wall.”
The disgusted look Sarah cast in his direction left Xander in no doubt that he’d seriously crimped his chances and he silently berated himself for being an idiot. ‘Cos, of course, poking fun at a prospective girlfriend’s patients was a sure way into her good books. There was bridge building to be done and fast.
“Hey,” he said, “I’m sorry. It’s just, I don’t like vampires, OK? They have a history of trying to kill me and my friends.”
Sarah’s face transformed to a sad smile. “I understand,” she said, “but would you hurt a poodle because a mastiff once savaged you?”
Suitably chastised, Xander grinned. “No,” he said, “but I might run away screaming like a girl. Is that OK?”
Her laugh was rich, like Faith’s but without the dark edge, and Xander felt his heart thaw a little more. “So,” he said, squatting down next to her, “is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not really. He gets like this on occasion and unfortunately ordinary sedatives do not work."
The vampire had stopped banging its head and now had its hand down its pants. The way its hand was moving left nothing to the imagination. “Um, does he do that often?” Xander asked.
Sarah grabbed the vampire’s wrist and hauled its hand away from its crotch. “Yes. Mrs. Ndolo had him castrated to correct the behaviour but he still does it. I think it is boredom. That behaviour was manageable, however his refusing to eat is less easy to treat.”
Xander peered more closely at the vampire. It was a skinny unprepossessing thing and, though a shock of tangled light brown curls obscured most of its face, Xander felt a tremor of almost recognition, as though he’d maybe come across this vampire before. Close to skeletal, the vampire’s stick-like arms wrapped round its legs were covered in half healed bites, and deep scratches decorated its pale chest.
“He doesn’t heal any more,” Xander said, “that’s why you’re worried.” There was no answer. Xander glanced over at Sarah and saw the tears in her eyes. “And you brought me so I could put him down,” he added quietly.
She nodded, unable to actually say the words.
Xander touched her arm. “Go and wait for me outside,” he said. “This will only take a moment.”
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