Demons Are Forever (Love at First Bite Book 2) Page 3

  * * *

  Marco’s words were killing Amanda, even though she was already dead.

  Then again, they had been killing her since she first discovered she was in love with him. One of their first conversations had Marco happily agreeing to being “just friends.” Marco had even said she was beautiful, and lovely, and he found her attractive… and of course, they would just be friends. It had been a pattern he was familiar with all his life, apparently. He had skipped the heartbreak and went straight for the friendship, never expecting or trying for more. And that was before he knew she was a vampire.

  Now what could she do?

  “Yes,” she said, “we will always be friends. I am not going anywhere.”

  Marco gave her one of his easy shrugs. “Yes, but I may be.” He reached out and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But no matter where I am, you give me a call, I will come running. And I will kill anyone who gets in my way. ”

  Amanda gave him a little smile, and returned the hand squeeze. She cherished the contact, and resisted the urge to pull him closer and embrace him. His hands were surprisingly soft for all the fighting he did, and even a few degrees warmer than her own hand.

  Amanda stroked her thumb along the back of his hand. “That’s sweet. I think. Do you want to go?” she asked, hoping to God that he said no.

  Marco gave another little shrug, and leaned back, not releasing her yet. “He seems to think I’m needed there. Though I don’t know if I’m the one he’s gonna need. It’ll be up to him. I guess I should make preparations just in case.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, darling, you won’t get rid of me quite that easily. Not yet, anyhow. The short version is—I have no idea.”

  Amanda furrowed her brows. “How can you say so? Merle has offered you an all-expenses-paid scholarship for the rest of your days in college. You can get a Master’s in Physician Assistant without spending a dime. Why would you give up all that?”

  Marco maintained his grip, and stroked her fingers with his thumb… like she had been doing with his hand. “I’m used to New York. It has everything I’ve ever loved.”

  Amanda’s heart stopped. Literally. She could usually set it to automatically beat, and keep all of her vital organs still viable. But, sometimes, there were little moments that could make her forget… and those events lately all seem to be around Marco.

  “After all,” Marco continued, “it’s not like they’re going to have sidewalk hotdog vendors in San Francisco.”

  Amanda had to laugh at that one. “Marco, of all the things to say, really?”

  Marco’s little smile flickered. She couldn’t tell if it flickered up or down, really. “Well, it was one of the first things that came to mind. Ah well. Whatever do you think Merle Kraft would do without us?”

  CHAPTER 4:

  WELCOME TO SAN FRANCISCO

  San Francisco, April 27th

  If anyone were to know the number of government operations that were actually taken from television, Merle Kraft was fairly certain that most of the general populous would be worried.

  Take, for example, the USS Enterprise, a space shuttle named after the Enterprise of Star Trek fame in the 1960s. The first nuclear submarine was named after the Nautilus, from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

  As for Merle’s subsection of government work, there wasn’t much of a name. In fact, the name kept changing every few years.

  At the moment, Merle’s code name was Initiative, named after a government project on Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.

  Sometimes, I hate government work, he thought.

  Merle sighed. Generally, he worked with anyone with a problem. He’d hung around Special Forces, the FBI, and Homeland Security, which wasn’t bad for a 5’5” Eurasian with midnight blue eyes.

  However, as he got back to his place in San Francisco, Merle came to the conclusion that he needed a slightly bigger budget …

  Not to mention a flamethrower, multiple squirt guns, and enough medieval weaponry to launch a crusade.

  Of course, his handlers were no help. Everybody above him in the chain of command were dead silent on the problem. From the moment he learned that vampires were real until he got off the plane in San Francisco, every last text and email he had fired off into the government ethernet had been met with silence.

  This only meant one thing: the official and the unofficial position of his government overlords was simple, and vampires did not now, or ever, exist. Merle would be expected to handle “whatever” all by himself.

  At least increase my budget, you lousy pricks.

  “You mean the best you can do is throw money at the problem?” said a voice from behind him.

  Merle stopped at the door to his magic shop and sighed. It was his half-brother Dalf; and if he wasn’t in his traditional top hat and magician’s tuxedo and cape, Merle would probably drop dead from shock. “What is it, Dalf?” Merle asked without turning around. “I rid New York of the immediate vampire problem. Can’t you leave me in peace for five minutes?”

  Dalf smiled, Merle could hear it in his voice. “Immediate, yes, but nothing more.”

  Merle turned to meet his brother’s eyes. His shirt and blood-red tie were the same, and his cape, and his top hat, and his cane topped with the silver wolf’s head. The only thing that identified the two of them as brothers were the identical blue eyes. Otherwise, Dalf was Boston Brahman black Irish, and Merle definitely wasn’t.

  “Funny,” Merle said, “it’s the afternoon. Are you allowed out in the sunlight?”

  His half-brother grinned then waved his hands at the perpetual San Francisco fog.

  Merle nodded. “Point taken… actually, I’m surprised that vampires haven’t come here yet, the fog all the time, almost no direct sunlight, plenty of bums and freaky weirdos to eat and…” He blinked. “You son of a bitch, there are vampires here.”

  Dalf smiled – evilly, as usual. “It’s not like I brought them.”

  Merle grabbed the door to his store and pushed in. As usual, Tiffany Whitman was there behind the desk.

  Tiffany was fated by her name alone, and fit the stereotype brilliantly—she was a total and complete blonde, with breasts that should’ve been implants. The only reason for her employment is that she was great with numbers, as long as they had a dollar sign in front of them. If Merle paid her on commission, she’d haggle with him to the penny, and she’d be right.

  Her boyfriend, George Berkeley, was a nice enough fellow. He wasn’t that bright, but big, burly, and kind, with brown hair, brown mustache—and sitting off in a side aisle reading a guns-and-ammo magazine. He was the very definition of Neo-Conservative: a Liberal who’d been mugged.

  Merle looked over his shoulder. Dalf was still there, mysteriously enough. Merle moved into his well-lit store, certain that Dalf wouldn’t follow, preferring instead to stay in the shadows.

  “How’s business?” Merle asked.

  Tiffany looked up from the cash register. “We’re making lots and lots of money.”

  He sighed. “That’s nice, Tiffany. Anything happening as of late?”

  George looked up from the magazine. “There’ve been some murders, but that’s the only interesting thing in the news lately.”

  “How’re murders interesting?”

  “No blood at all,” George rumbled, “even though they were kinda gruesome.”

  “Not to mention that they stole several of the bodies from the morgue just last night,” came a new voice. Merle looked over and spotted Yana Rosenburg: slight build, red hair, green eyes, more cute than pretty. She was a bright young woman, which made Merle wonder what she was doing with Tiffany and George half the time.

  He looked over at Dalf. The snide smirking son of Satan had vanished. His point had been made, and the message received. And if I have half a chance, I’d stake him through the heart. “They stole bodies, huh?” I looked closely at Yana. “Why do you think it’s ’they’?”

  “Same method on different sides of town around the
same time.” Yana shrugged. “It’s not that hard.”

  “And when I took out one of them, it didn’t stop anything,” George added.

  Merle cocked his head. “You did what?”

  George shrugged. “Some guy jumped me on Grant Street, near one of the knife places—you know, throwing knives and swords? Took his head off. His partners must have taken the body away, because it was gone when the police came back with me.”

  An idea was starting to form. Should I bring these people into my little world of strangeness? “Yana, you said you have a friend who’s big on hand-to-hand combat?”

  She nodded. “Yup. Sarah. Why?”

  “I’m not sure yet. An idea just occurred to me.” I might need eyes and ears if this is going to be more than I expected. “You think it’s the work of a gang?”

  Yana nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe. Most of the people dying are all similar: young, healthy, and kinda nasty.”

  Merle raised an eyebrow at her victimology. She answered the unasked question: “They’re all connected to violent crimes.”

  George glanced up from an article on the latest Glock. “Some of them were mafya…you know, the Russian kind.”

  Merle frowned. Great, so there are vampires in town, and already active. He eyed the three of them closely. Technically I can bring them into my little secret—just not about the government involvement. But still… And besides, if I do nothing, these kids would probably all get eaten. George was already attacked in a place he hangs out, and Tiffany would be with him one of these days, and Yana was his best friend since they were two.

  Merle turned back to his employee. Tiffany was busy with a customer, and Yana and George were chatting up a short fellow with supernova red hair that had obviously come out of a bottle. He looked sort of like the old actor Barry Fitzgerald, from The Quiet Man, if he ever played anything other than little old men his entire career. And of course, to fit the image, he came complete with an Irish brogue.

  Merle approached with caution. He had wanted to talk with Yana and the others about the vampire problem, and it was already too dark at the moment, so all of Merle’s more interesting customers were about to start crawling out of whatever coffin they slept in—and those were just the humans.

  With any luck, I can get rid of Mister Potatohead and start the very strange conversation I have in mind. “Ah, Yana... maybe I should hire you, you’re already so friendly with the customers.” Merle looked at Tiffany, who was busy eyeing the cash handed to her by the latest customer. “Unlike some people,” he muttered.

  ”Actually, this is a friend of ours,” Yana explained. “We met him on campus not too long ago. Transfer student to the university. Rory.”

  “Pleased to meetcha, lad,” he said in a thick brogue, extending a hand.

  Merle nodded thoughtfully. It wasn’t unusual for people to start on their education later in life, but this man was easily in his forties, and the smile lines along his face looked older, and his eyes looked older still… in fact, Merle had some idea of where he knew them.

  He’d seen a similar look in Amanda Colt’s eyes back in New York.

  Merle reached forward and grabbed Rory’s hand. It was cold… about room temperature.

  Merle’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced over to the other customer, just departing. His grip tightened and with a simple move, Merle flipped Rory to the other side of the room, slamming him against a wall. Merle slid into a combat stance without a thought.

  Rory was, unsurprisingly, on his feet in a split second, and, without taking his eyes off him, Merle said, “Tiffany, close the door.”

  The blonde stood there, blinking for a moment, then quickly moved to flip over the sign to “Closed.” She then stood at the door, checking for any potential customers who were turned away by the sign—Undoubtedly to tell me how much speculative cash we lost with this hiatus.

  “Might I ask what yer problem is, sir?” Rory asked.

  “Your body temperature, bloodsucker.”

  Rory paused a moment, then he smiled. “Ah, and he’s one of the hard men, is he?” He looked at Yana, then George. “You’re right, he is a quick one. Quicker than they say. But then again, who knew that was possible, eh?”

  Merle quickly checked his peripheral vision. Both George and Yana were still seated. They hadn’t even been surprised by Rory being thrown about. “You know what he is?”

  Yana nodded. “I did… George, um, not so much.”

  George looked up from his magazine. “Did I miss something?”

  “Your friend over there is a vampire,” Merle explained.

  Rory smiled. “At least I’m not an IRS agent, yeah?”

  Merle arched a brow. “You’re not from around here, right?

  Rory blinked a moment, probably wondering if Merle hadn’t noticed his red hair, green eyes, or Irish brogue. “Good guess.”

  “Next time you eat someone, take a dose of mouthwash, you have blood breath.”

  Yana took a step forward. “Um, Mister Kraft, it’s kinda like this… we’ve known Rory for a year now, and he hasn’t eaten us, um, yet, so we thought we could introduce you to him.” She leaned forward, and her voice dropped to an innocent whisper. “It’s about the recent murders. It’s not about gang violence.”

  “Yes, it is,” he corrected her. “Only the gangs are bloodsuckers.”

  George looked around with his normal, easy going style. “Wow, this is like a Hammer film. Which one is Dracula?”

  “Christopher Lee, isn’t he always?” Merle muttered. He grabbed the back of a wooden chair and lifted it so he could grab one of the legs. With a flick of his wrist, he broke off the leg, creating a handy stake. “Now, start talking.”

  Rory nodded. “I came here a bit back, befriended this lot to get close to you, Mister Kraft. There’s trouble brewing, and from what I hear, you’re the one to talk to about it.”

  Merle sighed, and lowered the stake, visibly relaxing so Rory could take a swing if he thought his guard was down. “Sure, I’m Nero Wolfe for the supernaturally inclined.”

  Tiffany let out a breath. “Thank God.”

  Merle laid the stake against the counter. “Yes, it could’ve been bad.”

  Tiffany: “No, it was bad, that’s why it’s good!”

  He rolled his eyes, knowing that it would be useless to play twenty questions. “Explain.”

  “You broke the chair with the bad leg,” Tiffany cheered, “and that means we don’t have to fix it, yay! You saved us money! Are you finally getting money sense?”

  He looked at the wooden stake, then reconsidered… If I staked Tiffany, there would still be a body left over. Nuts.

  George closed the magazine and put it aside. “So, we’ve got a vampire, a magician, and a werewolf. I think we have enough for a D&D campaign.”

  Merle kept his eyes on the vampire. “We have a vampire, a magic store owner, and a what now?”

  “Werewolf.” George shrugged, as placid as ever. “My last girlfriend was a biter.”

  “Not a wolf!” Tiffany called over his shoulder. “Wolfhound. You’re not a problem, honey!”

  Merle looked back to the vampire. “You’re a dog?”

  “He’s really a gentleman. No. Really,” Tiffany corrected, almost sadly. “He’s a gentleman.”

  George sighed. “I guess I’m too laid back to be a wolf?”

  Merle frowned. “So, vampire—”

  The redhead held up a hand. “To start with, my name at the moment is Rory, and I’d prefer it,” the vampire said. “It would raise fewer questions than my real name.”

  “Which is?”

  CHAPTER 5:

  ENTER DARKNESS

  San Francisco, May 20th

  Marco Catalano’s first thought, looking at the University of San Francisco, was, Wow, they have a nice field of fire here.

  Marco looked on with approval. The campus wasn’t very large. If it topped out at a dozen acres, he would be surprised, and he hoped that the campus before him wa
s merely a main campus. So far, it seemed to be a really nice, green lawn, closed in on three sides, leaving the open side to the main street and facing Golden Gate Park, which Marco had already dismissed as a cheap imitation of New York’s Central Park (even though the same man designed both).

  Heck, he thought, this central park has a windmill, what do they think this is? Don Quixote? New York has a friggin’ castle, take that, you dirty hippies!

  Marco sighed. That was his third hippie thought today, and he hadn’t even been near the more hipster part of the city yet. He was going to explode if he even got near Haight-Ashbury.

  What the Hell am I doing here? I’m ready to set this city on fire if I stay here five more minutes, and I’m actually considering a whole regimen of Physician Assistant studies here? Four more years for a Master’s? Yeesh.

  Of course, the answer came to him fast enough. Amanda.

  His problem was less with Amanda and more with himself. He loved her, there was no question, but he was a bit of a monster. More along the lines of “Oh, you’re mugging me? Good, I wanted to kill something.”

  There were also other things to consider. He was a genius. The problem with being a genius is being easily bored, as any true genius can tell you…in his case, he would also insist that he was annoying; the student body of his university agreed with this assessment. He wasn’t welcome there. There was a possible solution in going to a nice, quiet little town to attend classes in—though “little” was relative, considering the size of New York City. Thus far, San Francisco offered a full scholarship and hinted at offers of sex, drugs, and rock and roll if they could only get him and his 4.0 GPA there.

  “Can we help you?”

  Marco glanced over at a trio of female college students. None of them were much taller than five-foot, and they were an odd set of two blondes and a redhead. The taller blonde (topping out at 5’5”) was a dirty blonde who wasn’t excessively pretty; she had muddy brown eyes and a square face, a stout figure, and leaned towards butch without falling into it.

  Marco’s brain automatically compared them each to Amanda. It was like comparing candles to the sun.