Reality Bypass

Chapter 1: Oct 15, 10:00 pm

“You damn substandard piece of English garbage!” Dianna McDunna slammed the heel of her hand against the rental car’s dashboard, hoping the GPS’s 3d map would stabilize. Instead the upside down buildings turned violet and the “You are here” image disappeared in a static buzz.

“I think the English call it rubbish.” Lillian piped up from the ONStar screen.

“I’m voting for piece of shit.” Di growled.

Lillian stuck out a pierced tongue, raking a hand through her spiked hair, although the pink frosted locks barely shifted. “I told you you’d get lost within the first fifty kilometers.”

“I’m not that pathetic. If this car had any sort of decent map, I’d be there by now.”

“Whatever. Luckily I got your back, uploaded directions coming now. Next time call me before you leave the airport, then I won’t have to track your phone.” The OnStar screen went blank and Lil’s image was replaced with directions.

“Thanks Lil, I owe you dinner when I get home.”

“Yeah, yeah. Only if you’re not cooking. I hate burnt water. Call me tomorrow and come home soon.” Di heard the click as Lil hung up.

Dianna strained to see the names of the cross streets on the digital signs, but like her headlights the street signs were lost in the rolling fog. She preferred the old gasoline driven cars, there was a sense of freedom in controlling her own speed and direction, but she had to admit that the Mag system didn’t get lost.

Guessing that she was facing South Pike street, Di skimmed Lil’s directions and made a U turn. She didn’t see the figure in the road until she was on top of it. Cursing, she slammed on the breaks, the seatbelt biting into her shoulder. She collided with the dark figure with a meaty thunk and a body rolled up the hood, coming to a stop against the windshield.

Glowing eyes peered into the car and Dianna blinked as the creature, not the expected pedestrian, bared fangs and hissed. One taloned fist crashed through the windshield, sending safety glass showering onto the dash as it reached for her.

Di ducked the grab, pulled the Glock free from her hip holster and fired. The bullet grazed its intended target and shattered the digital street sign. The creature fled to the left, ghosting over a rusting gate whose crooked sign read: East London Sewage Treatment with a spraypainted: ‘Condemned’ across the sign. Noxious fumes curled around the gate, mingling with the fog.

She unbuckled her seatbelt, ears ringing from the report of the gun and grabbed her duffle from the back seat. It was bad enough she was lost, hungry and jet-lagged, but now a monster with a sewage fetish?

“Don’t I get one night in town before the wackjobs start making my life hell?” No one was there to hear her grumble, but it wasn’t as though it had ever stopped her before.

Dianna moved through the headlight thinned mist, ignoring the battered car, and rattled the rusted gate. If someone had asked her why she was following a monster into the night she wouldn’t have had an answer. Hunting unexpected monsters was just what she did. It was part of the job and if she left him to run free who knew what trouble he’d cause by morning.

The rusted lock gave way and she followed her would-be assailant, her nose wrinkling at the stench. “This sucks…” She fished the gun light from her belt and attached it to the belly of the Glock, flashing the beam into the mist.

A smear of fresh blood gave her direction in the dark and she followed the trail into the complex. It would be easier if she ditched the bag, but she wasn’t sure what she was hunting, vampire seemed likely, but if it was a ghast or a were she wanted heavier weaponry.

She didn’t leave the light on, using it in measured flashes to track where the creature had run. The angle of the blood drops changed and Di paused, dropping to one knee to study them closer. The stains were circular without an angle to show direction which meant they were coming from somewhere above.

Di jerked to one side turning the gun muzzle towards the scaffolding above, firing twice as a heavy body dropped through the fog.

Pain flashed through her shoulder, claws connecting and tearing through her denim jacket. She twisted, bucking it off and the disfigured form darted towards the skeletal buildings of the plant. Dianna rolled to her feet, she was bruised but the thick fabric had blunted the blow and kept her skin in one piece. “Vampire.” Up close and personal she no longer doubted what it was. This one was a feral, lost to the Beast and dangerous as hell. Par for the course. Next time she was going to stay in bed.

* * * * * *

Benjamin Taney glanced at the warm vehicle in the road, predator’s night vision taking in the smears of blood and smashed windshield. A single lock of blonde hair fell into his eyes, which he pushed away with irritation. Stroking his moustache, he considered the empty street and the abandoned sewage plant. His attention returned to the car and he frowned. He’d seen no sign of the former occupant, but he’d heard gunshots moments earlier. Coming closer to the car, he caught the scent of gunpowder on the air mingled with the vampire blood on the hood. “Bloody hell,” he snapped, glancing left and right before taking a few steps and vaulting over the rusted gate. A rustle of metal broke the silence and as he landed he noticed the gate was already partially open. Only pausing a moment, he was attracted by the scent of blood and fresh marks on the pavement. Flaring his nostrils, he could smell more than one presence: the vampire blood joined by a human scent, female. He shivered, the scent stirring hunger, but he fought it blinking away the green glow that rose with his beast. He was his beast’s master, not the other way around.

Benjamin took a step and a sound to his right caught his attention. Freezing mid stride, he turned and saw a door dangling on its hinges, more meager splatters of blood glittering under his sight. He unsheathed the silver blade from his cane and crept through the doorway. Where the devil have you gone, you little bugger? And where did you take the driver of that car? The darkness shone to vampire eyes in shades of grays, greens and purples though blood was always red. The building was silent, but he could smell the woman. Sweat and lavender mingled with the tang of metal and gunpowder threatening his hard won control. He increased his speed, sword aloft and supernatural senses attuned to scent and sound. Where the devil were they?

* * * * * *

The hallways of the long abandoned building were narrow and twisted with no shortage of leaking pipes jutting out at odd angles, complimented by rotting drywall. Dianna disliked being so enclosed, but didn’t slow. She’d committed and turning around now would be more dangerous than continuing. Vampires tended to take hunts as deeply under cover as possible or into the open night. She preferred the latter, fewer hunters died that way. The gun light flashed again and she ducked past a pile of crumbled debris, scanning the passage. “Where are you?” She muttered trying not to think about the goo caking her favorite boots.

A soft noise betrayed the vampire’s position as it burst through a thin wall, driving into her with bruising force and knocking her backwards. She kept her feet, the fetid breath of the creature choking her as she leveled the Glock and fired twice. The bullets removed chunks of decaying flesh but it didn’t slow, knees digging into her belly and slamming her against the floor. Spots flashed across her vision, but were chased away by adrenaline and she fired point blank into its chest.

The creature’s body shook with the impact, its talons digging into her jacket and ripping cloth away. It leaned down and bit into her shoulder pain burning down her side. There was no enthralling pleasure to the vicious attack and Dianna bit back a scream slamming the butt of the gun into the feral’s head. It reared back with a hiss, her blood dripping from its fangs and she pulled up her knees, hitting it in the back.

In that moment there was a flash of silver and the vampire’s head spiraled away from its shoulders in a spray of blood. The body collapsed on top of her and exploded in a cloud of flame and greasy ash that almost removed her eyebrows. She heard a metallic clang and rancid sewage burst over her, mingling with the ash from the feral in a cold disgusting burst.

Dianna closed her eyes and jerked to her feet, sewage and blood dripping down her arm. Her rescuer cursed, his sword lodged in the broken pipe. It was possible whoever had just arrived was one of Stephen’s hunters so Dianna made efforts not to yell at him. She brought the gun around, turning the light on and illuminating the room and her rescuer. “So should I be thanking you or shooting you?”

A mid-built man, dressed in a once tidy pair of gray trousers and a black sweater blinked and recoiled, shading his eyes with an arm. Fetid green and brown liquid caked his hair, and pooled at his feet. “Devil take it, woman, I just finished off that blighted creature. I should hope that’s evidence enough.” The Englishman sounded offended but she couldn’t blame him. She was holding the gun. But it didn’t mean she was going to relax. She was cranky and tired, that didn’t mean she had to be stupid.

Di could feel her hair stuck to her face and knew she looked like drowned sewer rat. This was turning out to be a very stupid, painful night. “There are all kinds of evidence. I’ve had a hell of a night.” She kept her tone even and the gun steady. “Are you one of Stephen’s kids?”

“Kid?” Despite herself, Di was amused. Accusing him of being an enemy apparently irritated him less than calling him a kid. With a supercilious sniff, he sheathed the sword. “I don’t work with him, no.”

“But you know him…”

“Yes, we’re mates.” His hesitation made her suspicious, but Di felt too shitty to press him. She didn’t remember injuries hurting so much a few years ago. The gash in her shoulder stung, competing for attention with the bruises spreading along her back. She was getting too old for this. Where the hell was her duffle?

Following her searching gaze, the man crouched and lifted the bag, “I imagine this is yours?” Di arched a brow, the bag was heavy, but he hefted it as easily as she did.

“Yes. I’m glad I didn’t fall on it, though I imagine anything fragile was destroyed,” Dianna sighed, finally lowering the gun. They were at least pretending to be civilized. Besides, her hand was aching from the damage further up. Clawing the filthy hair back from her face, she rubbed a temple. “My car still out there?” She hadn’t seen many street people; maybe something would go right tonight.

“If it was the ivory one outside the gate, then yes.”

“Small favors.” Dianna studied him without meeting his eyes. She might not be shooting him, but it didn’t mean she trusted him not to turn into one of the monsters. He seemed a little older than her, at least forty, which she found ironic. No buff twenty-year-old rescuers for Dianna McDunna.

Hesitating a moment longer, he turned away and started down the hallway. “Shall we depart? It can’t be healthy in here.” The measure of trust given wasn’t lost on Dianna and she fell in a few steps behind.

“I’m Dianna.” She offered, watching his back as though she could read his expression from the wrong side of his face. Would he recognize her name? “Dianna McDunna.”

* * * * * *

Ben missed a step when he heard the name. Son of a whore, he cursed. She wasn’t merely a hunter, this was the American Butcher. The red hair and Celtic knot tattoos ringing her throat should have tipped him off. What was she doing in London? Ben was struck by the silver threading her hair. She was older than he would have expected, most hunters retired or were killed before they reached 30. Of course only five or six other names joined hers in the same circles of success, it made sense she’d be older. Dianna McDunna was an example of how dangerous humans armed with knowledge could be. Just bloody wonderful…

Had his faked limp switched feet? He knew he was too well practiced for such an amateurish mistake, but the irrational worry gnawed at him. Not to mention he couldn’t remember the alias Stephen had given him! “I’m Benjamin. It’s a pleasure Miss McDunna.” He hoped his first name would suffice. His last name was too well known.

She arched an eyebrow at him, amused, although Ben wasn’t sure why. “Now that we’re introduced, how about we relax and pretend to be friends until I get to my car? I’m too damn tired and grumpy to be on guard anymore.”

He hadn’t blown his cover, it seemed. Or so he hoped. She could simply be planning to kill him outside. Next time he felt like hunting, if he survived the night, he’d remember this and stay in. Nevertheless, he nodded and she holstered her gun continuing down the hallway.

Benjamin damned his wariness and caught up, crooking an elbow to escort her. Hunter or not, as a lady she deserved it. The world may have turned vulgar and crude, but nothing would convince Ben that the decorum and propriety of his youth didn’t have a place. Standing alongside her, he realized she was taller. That was irritating; he had been a tall man in his day.

Staring for a moment, she smiled and tucked her hand along the crook of his arm as naturally as any Victorian lady, which surprised him. Very few modern women were comfortable being escorted. Where had she learned? A spike of Hunger roared through him, interrupting the thoughts with the ache of his fangs and graying of his vision until only her pulsing veins remained in color, tantalizingly red. It would be so easy, just grab her… she had holstered the gun.

“So besides hunting in sewage plants, what else do the English do for fun?” Dianna asked interrupting his struggle. She was so relaxed, as though they were old friends walking in a park. Not newly met strangers who still might have reason to kill each other.

Colors returned to his vision, her voice helping him to calm his beast. Sweet Jesus, he shouldn’t be this susceptible to a human’s proximity! Though, he hadn’t had much live blood in months, lapses were bound to happen.

Forcing himself to fill empty lungs and respond, Ben reasserted control. “We garden and drink tea and perhaps play a bout of croquet. The same as we have done for centuries. We English are nothing, if not slaves to our habits.”

She laughed, which softened her features and Ben admired the elegant line of her neck and the curve of her breasts. At least, until he came to his senses. This was a damned hunter! Before he could hide his improper stare, she arched an eyebrow at him and Ben immediately stared at her gashed shoulder, hoping she’d think he’d been checking the injury. It still bled and his fangs ached again, but the reddening lines of infection concerned him and stifled the hunger. He frowned, “The shoulder will need cleansing, post haste, madam. We can avoid a blemishing scar.” He would do best to be rid of her before loneliness made him stupid.

“They all scar. I’m used to it.”

“Perhaps, but it does need to be soon.” He wondered how often she’d been wounded to cause such sangfroid.

“Not arguing, the longer it’s exposed to this gunk the more chance I have of getting a nasty infection, which would suck. That used to be an old war tactic, you know, fouling the blade with human excrement to give the enemy a lingering death of disease.”

She punctuated the tidbit of military history with a mild smile. It was quirky and charming.

“My townhouse is not far from here. I can certainly offer you a place to bind your wounds.” Decades of politeness inspired the offer before he realized what he was doing. What the devil was he thinking? The plan was to get away from her quickly, not invite her home. Even when hungry, he never took them home! There didn’t seem to be a way to retract the invitation, and he cursed himself for a fool. Sweet Jesus wept, he wasn’t some wet behind the fangs fledgling! Sod it all.

She quirked an eyebrow and he wondered what thoughts were going on beyond those icy pale eyes, wanting to reach out and brush dark strands from her brow.

“Thank you, but no.” It was a relief. And yet, a small part of him wanted her to answer otherwise. It had been some time since he’d last shared human company.

Their footsteps echoed against the decaying walls, each step squelching in the pooling sewage. They reached the building exit and Dianna shivered in the cold bite of fall, her very humanity holding his attention.

Ben turned away, scanning the abandoned parking lot, but noted no movement. Extending his aura, his vision grayed as he sought hidden vampires in the darkness. He’d only heard of one feral, but vampires were nothing if not opportunistic and ferals often left a swath of injured prey in their wake. He sensed nothing and turned back to her.

A mingling scent of lavender, blood and gunpowder marked her aura. The edges shimmered with light, like a mirage, but when Ben tried to focus the effect vanished. He could see the dark veins of injury threading the shifting colors. Her wounds needed to be cleansed.

“Benjamin?” She broke the silence, interrupting his thoughts. Of course she would, he was staring again. Idiot.

“Both.” His vision returned to normal and he found she was staring at him as well. While her gaze was invasive, she wisely never met his eyes. Ben attempted to maintain neutral under the scrutiny. Managing to display the subtle twitches of the living was a challenging skill. He didn’t fit in amongst either of the kindred of the night, hunter or vampire, and he wondered if she would see the lie in his face. He was a terrible liar.

She finally looked away and he guided her out of the building and across the concrete. She followed in silence, and he wondered what she had discovered in his features.

* * * * * *

There was something about him that didn’t add up. Dianna couldn’t figure out what, but it nagged her. Maybe it was the fact he was so damned polite, that was certainly out of style. She looked towards the car as they passed through the gate. Lingering thoughts about her companion vanished as she saw the hood standing open. The onboard computer had been ripped from the vehicle and it had been stripped of rubber tubing.

Dianna growled, stalking across the road. Even the rims had been torn off the Toyota. The trunk was dented, but the lock still held. “I swear I should have stayed in bed.” She moved to trunk, pressing her fingertips to the lockpad. A laser read her prints and the back popped open, showing the contents still intact: books, weaponry, the duffle for her clothing all in place. She pulled one bag clear, but pain blurred her vision and her fingers numbed. Trying to keep the strain from her voice, she spoke to the man standing behind her. “Good thing I don’t pack anything worth stealing.”

“It could, perhaps, be that the common thief isn’t able to bypass such a lock?” Benjamin suggested.

A rain of sparks interrupted, and Di reached for her Glock heart pounding. Benjamin dropped to a defensive crouch, drawing the sword. The former streetlight sign streamed sparks, the occasional letter lighting up in a vain attempt to repair itself. Dammit, she was jumpy.

“Good god.” Ben complained, straightening. He’d been startled too, she consoled herself. He put the sword away before closing the hood with a shriek of metal. “Does it still function?”

“I doubt it. The parts that are worth selling are the ones that make the car vroom, but I can try.” She rolled her elbow, shoulder aflame. The numbness from her hand had crept past her wrist and she couldn’t feel her fingers, even though she could see them move when she commanded them to. Di pulled the luggage to the side of the car and jerked the door open, not bothering to remove the safety glass as she sat down and touched her fingers to the ignition.

Nothing happened. “Not even the radio.” She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, “Shit.”

Benjamin’s voice broke through her frustration. “You have someone you can call? I will not leave you out here alone.”

Dianna sighed and climbed back out of the car, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Yeah, I’ll call Stephen’s folk, they’ll send a car.” The numbness had surged along her bicep making her arm nearly useless. Stephen’s medic, Mariana, was going to have fifty fits.

Leaning against the car, she thumbed the phone blinking when nothing happened. No beeping, no screen… Another substandard piece of shit. She’d dropped less complicated phones with no problem, but Lillian had talked her into this “tricked out model” as the Goth had put it.

“Not…happening…dammit…” Dianna growled and grabbed the suitcase with clothing, she struggled to lift it; fingers sluggish. “Is there a café or a phonebooth around here somewhere?” Managing to heft it over a shoulder, she didn’t attempt to carry anything else. Swallowing her pride, she turned to Ben. “Get the books? I don’t want to leave anything behind.”

He didn’t respond, staring into the darkness. Dianna thought she saw a flash of green haloing his narrow features. She tensed. Then his face shaded blue as the broken street sign cycled through red, green and blue repair lights. She was damned on edge.

Turning from the shadows, he hefted the last two bags, showing no strain. Dianna was again impressed, he seemed trim and the bags were heavy. Maybe she didn’t need a strapping 20 something.

“These don’t seem like your normal dime-store travel reading.”

She could see the burn of curiosity in his expression. “I doubt most of what I read could be found in a dime-store.” She was amused at his choice of terms, but had heard Stephen do as much. Britain might be a mecca of modernity, but parts of it were well behind the times.

“Reading is one of my favorite diversions, sometimes one needs to let go and enjoy frivolity.”

“Never. Letting go gets people killed.” The faces of the dead rose through her memory: Mule, Ladis, Tess… the unnamed victims she had watched die, those that she had killed. Marie Laveux’s laughter had mocked her the first time they’d met, *A party, Butcher? For Mardi Gras? You really expected your little cadre of hunters to stand up to the power of the Lwa?* And then the dying had begun.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I apologize.” His tone invited her to keep talking, to unburden herself but Dianna refused. Depression was its own self-indulgence.

“No apologizing. We all have our ghosts.” She found her shoulder didn’t hurt, but because she couldn’t feel anything from the rotator cuff down.

The Brit frowned, his concern warning Dianna that she was showing too much weakness. “There’s a café around the block.” He settled his hand between her shoulder blades to guide her across the street. As queasy as Dianna was feeling, she didn’t protest.

“They got good coffee?” Nothing was like New Orleans chicory but she’d welcome a shot of something caffeinated and sweet.

“They have excellent teas. Coffee rots your stomach.”

She laughed at his haughty response, but a wave of nausea cut it off.

“I will, of course, remain here until your ride arrives.” He sounded so distant.

“I would appre…” The words cut off as the suitcase shifted forward, making her yelp. She dropped to one knee, swaying, “I…clumsy…of me…” The words were garbled, the world seemed to twist onto its side and everything went black.

* * * * * *

He caught her before she hit the pavement, moving in an instinctive blur. Thank heavens no one was around, there was no way he could have explained the speed. The bags forgotten on the pavement, he cradled her. She was sheet pale, no lingering sign of consciousness in her slack features.

Benjamin didn’t think she’d lost enough blood for fainting, but she could be injured where he couldn’t see. The thought was uncomfortable. He couldn’t check, it would be improper but his maid could. He realized that he’d have to take her home. She was a lamb among wolves in this state. Of course it was six blocks away. She was easy enough to carry, but there was all the bloody luggage.

He considered leaving it, but she’d be upset and no cabbie would take them in this state. It was never this difficult for dime-novel monsters. They just would have run off with the girl, luggage be damned.

Resting her over his shoulder, he arranged everything so it could be carried or drug on wheels. Wheeled luggage, why hadn’t he thought of that? It was a novel idea, really. How different his life would have been if he had designed wheeled luggage.

Dismissing the musing, he set out, grumbling under his breath. He wasn’t going to give into the temptation to hunt anymore. It only led to undignified trouble.

It took a quarter hour to reach his block. The flickering gas lamps, fenced trees and cobblestone pathways of the meandering park was an oasis of the past against the onslaught of the modern. This historic district was protected by law and the tenacity of the residents. Here, the clip clop of shod hooves taking tourists up and down the streets in surreys still interrupted the rumble of automobiles.

411 Briarwood Court was the largest townhouse on the block, four stories tall with a double curved staircase. The wrought iron balustrade supported English ivy that crept through its bars and coiled up the white washed porch pillars.

Leaving the luggage, he took the steps two at a time and deposited Dianna on a dusty porch swing. The ivy had managed to curl around the swing, stopping its sway. She didn’t stir. In fact, she had rested limply for the entire trip.

She needed to be inside in the warmth, the last thing he needed was her dying or something equally disastrous. He had no illusions that anyone would believe he didn’t kill her. He was also deeply worried about the sudden collapse. Women hadn’t been prone to swooning since the corset had gone out of style.

Unlocking the heavy oak door, Ben ignored his golden retriever’s ecstatic greeting. He gathered the woman in arms and carried her inside and up the grand staircase to the third floor. Nudging open the door to his bedroom, he bore her to the canopied bed and cocooned her in blankets. Ben stared at her hoping she’d wake, but she slept on.

© Jana Stocks Brown and Kristen McAlear, 2008