Лиза Смит - The Return - Midnight

First, however, there was the Beast to conquer. Saber the black hellhound had unfolded, awake and alert from the moment the secret door had opened.

Undoubtedly, they had used Damon’s clothes to teach him to howl madly at his scent.

But Damon had his own knowledge of herbs and had ransacked Mrs. Flowers’s kitchen to find a handful of witch hazel, a small amount of strawberry wine, aniseed, some peppermint oil, and a few other essential oils she had in stock, sweet and sharp. Mixed, this created a pungent lotion, which he had gingerly applied to himself. The concoction formed for Saber an impossible tangle of strong smells.

The only thing the now-sitting dog knew was that it was surely not Damon sitting on the steps and tossing him hearty balls of hamburger and delicate strips of filet mignon — each of which he gulped down whole. Damon watched with interest as the animal devoured the mix of sleeping powder and raw meat, tail whisking on the floor.

Ten minutes later Saber the hellhound was sprawled out happily unconscious.

Six minutes after that, Damon was opening an iron door.

One second later he was pulling a pillowcase out of Mrs. Flowers’s antique safe.

In the glow of the flashlight he found that he did indeed have a star ball, but that it was just a little more than half full.

Now what did that mean? There was a very neat hole drilled and corked at the top so that not one precious droplet more need be wasted.

But who had used the rest of the fluid — and why? Damon himself had seen the star ball brimful of opalescent, shimmering liquid just days ago.

Somehow between that time and now someone had used about a hundred thousand individuals’ life energy.

Had the others tried to do some remarkable deed with it and failed, at the cost of burning so much Power? Stefan was too kind to have used so much, Damon was certain of that. But…

Sage.

With an Imperial Summons in his hand, Sage was likely to do anything. So, sometime after the sphere had been brought into the boardinghouse, Sage had poured out almost exactly half the life force from the star ball and then, undoubtedly, left the rest behind for Mutt or someone to cork.

And such a colossal amount of Power could only have been used for…opening the Gate to the Dark Dimensions.

Very slowly, Damon let out his breath and smiled. There were only a few ways to get into the Dark Dimensions, and as a human he obviously could not drive to Arizona and pass through a public Gateway as he had the first time with the girls.

But now he had something even better. A star ball to open his own private Gateway. He knew of no other way to cross, unless one was lucky enough to hold one of the almost-mythical Master Keys that allowed one to roam the dimensions at will.

Doubtless, someday in the future, in some nook, Mrs. Flowers would find another thank-you note: this time along with something that was literally invaluablesomething exquisite and priceless and probably from a dimension quite far from Earth. That was how Sage operated.

All was quiet above. The humans were relying on their animal companions to keep them safe. Damon gave the root cellar a single look around and saw nothing more than a dim room completely empty except for the safe, which he now closed.

Dumping his own paraphernalia into the pillowcase, he patted Saber, who was gently snoring, and turned toward the steps.

That was when he saw that a figure was standing in the doorway. The figure then stepped smoothly behind the door, but Damon had seen enough.

In one hand the figure had been holding a fighting stave almost as tall as it was.

Which meant that it was a hunter-slayer. Of vampires.

Damon had met several hunter-slayers — briefly — in his time. They were, in his consideration, bigoted, unreasonable, and even more stupid than the average human, because they’d usually been brought up on legends of vampires with fangs like tusks who ripped out the throats of their victims and killed them. Damon would be the first to admit that there were some vampires like that, but most were more restrained. Vampire hunters usually worked in groups, but Damon had a hunch that this one would be alone.

He now ascended the steps slowly. He was fairly certain of the identity of this hunter-slayer, but if he was wrong he was going to have to dodge a stave launched straight down at him like a javelin. No problem — if he were still a vampire. Slightly more difficult, unarmed as he was and at a severe tactical disadvantage.

He reached the top of the stairs unharmed. This was really the most dangerous part of climbing steps, for a weapon of just the right length could send him crashing all the way back down. Of course a vampire wouldn’t be permanently injured by that, but — again — he was no longer a vampire.

But the person in the kitchen allowed him to climb all the way out of the root cellar unhindered.

A killer with honor. How sweet.

He turned slowly to measure up his vampire hunter. He was immediately impressed.

It wasn’t the obvious strength that allowed the hunter to be able to whip off a figure eight with the fighting stave that impressed him. It was the weapon itself.

Perfectly balanced, it was meant to be held in the middle, and the designs picked out in jewels around the handhold showed that its creator had had excellent taste.

The ends showed that he or she had a sense of humor as well. The two ends of the stave were made of ironwood for strength — but they were also decorated. In shape, they were made to resemble one of humankind’s oldest weapons, the flinttipped spear. But there were tiny spikes extruding from each of these “spear flakes,” set firmly into the ironwood. These tiny spikes were of different materials: silver for werewolves, wood for vampires, white ash for Old Ones, iron for all eldritch creatures, and a few that Damon couldn’t quite work out.

“They’re refillable,” the hunter-slayer explained. “Hypodermic needles inject on impact. And of course different poisons for different species — quick and simple for humans, wolfsbane for those naughty puppies, and so on. It really is a jewel of a weapon. I wish I had found it before we met Klaus.”

Then she seemed to shake herself back into reality.

“So, Damon, what’s it going to be?” asked Meredith.

Damon nodded thoughtfully, glancing back and forth between the fighting stave and the pillowcase in his hand.

Hadn’t he suspected something like this for a long time? Subconsciously? After all, there had been that attack on the grandfather, which had failed to either kill him or to erase his memory completely. Damon’s imagination could fill in the rest: her parents seeing no reason to blight their tiny daughter’s life with this gruesome business — a whole new change of scenery — and then giving up the practice in the provincial, protected little town of Fell’s Church.

If they had only known.

Oh, doubtless they had made sure that Meredith had had self-defense and various martial arts training since she was a child, while swearing her to absolute secrecy — even from her best friends.

Well, now, Damon thought. The first of Shinichi’s riddles was already solved.

“One of you has a lifetime secret kept from everyone.” I always knew there was something about this girl…and this is it. I’d bet my life that she’s a black belt.

There had been a long silence. Now Damon broke it.

Your ancestors were hunters too? he asked, as if she were telepathic. He waited a moment — still silence. Okay — no telepathy. That was good. He nodded at the magnificent stave. “That was certainly made for a lord or lady.”

Meredith wasn’t stupid. She spoke without glancing away from his eyes. She was ready, at any instant, to go into killing mode. “We’re just ordinary folk, trying to get a job done so innocent humans will be safer.”