Scott G. Mariani - The Cross

‘Have you reported back to Rumble yet?’ Utz said, gathering himself.

‘Rumble was with me in Romania, Utz. He isn’t coming back. A certain vamp called Lillith was a little too handy with a bloody great sabre.’ Poor Harry, Alex thought. He hadn’t been all bad, even for a suit.

‘How the hell did you get out of it?’ Utz said.

‘It was thanks to a human,’ Alex replied after a beat.

‘A what?’

‘His name’s Joel Solomon. He’s a cop. Or was. If he hadn’t turned up when he had, I’d have ended up as just another severed head in a basket. He got shot to pieces, but not before he’d managed to take out Stone’s guards and most of his crew. As for Stone himself—’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what happened to him.’

‘A human did all this?’

‘He had a little help. From the cross.’

Utz’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Come on. You don’t mean—’

‘That’s right, Utz. The cross, the one nobody at VIA wanted to believe me about. The cross of Ardaich. Yes, it exists, and yes, it does what all the legends say it does.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘You’d better.’

‘Where is this thing now?’

She shrugged. ‘Last time I saw it, it was flying over the battlements of Stone’s castle. Something like a thousand-foot drop. Nothing but rocks below.’

‘So it got smashed, right?’

‘Probably.’

‘What does that mean, “probably”?’

‘It means I didn’t actually see it get smashed, okay? Hard to believe anything could have survived that fall. That’s the best I can tell you.’

‘So it’s gone . . . and we’re safe. We are safe now, aren’t we?’

‘No more questions, all right?’ she told him. ‘I’m tired and I need a feed and I called you because I thought you could help me.’

‘What are we going to do?’

Alex stared at him for a second. Then, quicker than he could react, she’d grabbed the pistol she’d known was in a shoulder holster under his jacket, flipped off the safety and aimed it square between Utz’s eyeballs. It was a 9mm Beretta, not the big-bore stuff she personally favoured, but it would do the job. ‘Utz, when I tell you something like “no more questions”, I do mean it.’

‘Hey. Watch out. That thing’s loaded with Nosferol tips.’ She smiled. ‘Of course it is. Standard field agent issue. All right, Utz, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going back to base, to find out if there are any pieces left to pick up. If there aren’t, it means Stone’s beaten us. End of the line for the Federation, every vampire for herself from now on.’

‘What about me?’ Utz said in a small voice, squinting at the muzzle of the pistol.

Alex smiled sweetly. ‘You’re a VIA station chief, aren’t you? Stealing hick farm trucks and stowing away on freight trains in the middle of the night isn’t my style. While there’s still some operational funds left in the coffers, you’re going to get me on a nice, comfortable Federation jet to London with enough red juice on board to satisfy Count Dracula.’

Chapter Three

Dec Maddon swallowed hard and took another trembling, tiptoeing step down the darkened corridor. The big silver crucifix tightly clenched in his right hand glimmered dully in the near total blackness. The rasp of his breathing filled his ears. The frantic drumming of his heart made his throat flutter. He knew he was lost. Nobody would ever find him here.

Nobody except . . . them .

Something brushed his face, making him flinch violently and almost cry out in fear before he realised it was the silky touch of cobwebs hanging from the low ceiling. He clawed them away and moved on. Ahead of him, a solid rectangular patch of darkness stood out against the shadows. A doorway.

He reached out to push it open, his left hand a pale, ghostly thing in the darkness. The door creaked slowly open. Dec gripped the crucifix for all he was worth, took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway into the space beyond.

Immediately, and with a spike of shock, he knew he’d been here before. The stone pillars of the ancient cellar were dimly lit by the flickering orange flame of a wall-mounted torch. He took a trembling step across the uneven flagstones. Then another. He gulped. His mouth was dry. He thought of the terrible scenes he’d witnessed the last time he’d been here – down here in the crypt beneath the vampire lair of Crowmoor Hall. He’d always known there were more of them, lurking down there, waiting for their moment to strike again.

His blood congealed in his veins as a sound echoed softly in the darkness. He froze, afraid to breathe.

Then he heard the sound again. A low cackle from the shadows.

And a dark shape detached itself from the pillar just steps away, and came towards him. As it stepped into the glow of the firelight, he saw it clearly. The hands reaching out for him. The predatory glint in the thing’s eyes. The white fangs in its gaping mouth.

Dec stumbled back, raising the crucifix. ‘Get back, vampire!’ His yell came out as a choked whimper, barely audible.

The thing kept on coming. Dec screamed as he felt its hands clutching his arm.

It was shaking him.

Saying his name.

‘ Dec. Dec. Wake up. ’

Dec snapped his eyes open with a gasp and jerked bolt upright in the bed, staring wild-eyed at the person standing over him. But it wasn’t a vampire. It was his ma, still gently holding on to his arm. And he wasn’t in the crypt at Crowmoor Hall, but at home in his bedroom in the suburban safety of Lavender Close, Wallingford.

‘You were having a bad dream, son,’ his ma said.

‘Jesus,’ Dec said, rubbing his eyes. He smiled weakly. ‘I’m all right.’

‘Oh, Dec, you didn’t sleep in your clothes ,’ his ma groaned. ‘Again? Is this what you are now, a slob?’

Dec glanced down at himself, and saw he had, shoes and all. He shrugged. ‘Sorry, Ma.’

‘I brought you some tea.’ His ma motioned at the steaming drink she’d set down on his bedside table. She’d made it in his favourite mug, the Spiderman one.

Dec reached over and picked it up gratefully. ‘Thanks, Ma.’ He slurped at the steaming hot tea, the vividness of the nightmare still lingering in his mind. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was after eight.

‘I see you’ve taken to wearing your cross again,’ his ma said approvingly, pointing at the little gold crucifix that hung on a chain from his neck. She’d bought it for his confirmation, but it had lain forgotten in a drawer until very recently. Dec touched it and nodded as he slurped more tea.

His ma walked over to the window and jerked open the curtains, letting in the grey morning light. She peered out across Lavender Close, then tutted irritably. ‘Look at that. They’re back again .’

‘Who’s back again? Not the police, is it?’

She shook her head. ‘Them bloody reporters. For next door.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘They should leave folks alone, so they should. As if those poor Hawthornes haven’t suffered enough.’

Dec made no reply. The nightmare of his dreams was gone now. Only the nightmare that was reality remained.

His ma turned away from the window and headed for the door. ‘So are you getting up or are you going to lie there all day?’ she said on her way out of the room. ‘Your da needs you at the garage.’ Dec’s da was the boss of Maddon Auto Services in Wallingford, where Dec did a few hours’ spanner-wielding each week.

‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ Dec groaned, wincing at the idea of having to go into work today. When he heard his mother’s footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, he fought the covers off him with his fists and feet, clambered out of bed and went to the window. The sight of the TV van and the reporter’s car in the street outside, both parked outside the gate of Number 16 next door, filled him with anger.