Touch of Evil Read online

  “You, too. Is this the nest you’ve been following?”

  “Yeah. Elusive bastards. Every time I got close, they moved. But they weren’t quick enough this time.” Mark sifted through a pile of vampire remains to reach the last stake, then ground his cigarette out in the pile of dust.

  Ash snorted at the final show of disrespect on Mark’s part.

  “So,” Mark asked, “what brings you here? The old man send you out to find me?”

  “Uh huh. Told me to tell you to quit playing with those tree hugging vamps and get your ass home.” Ash looked around the warehouse as he spoke, his enhanced vision picking out the junk that littered the building. Disgust roiled through him that a sentient being would willingly live in such squalor. He could hear the rats scurrying around in the dark, could smell their stink. They were vampires, but that didn’t mean they needed to live like vermin. Lord knew that Ash didn’t. Not even when he had first been turned.

  Grinning at Cyrus’ assessment of his prey as tree hugging vamps, Mark started towards the entrance of the warehouse. The old man wasn’t that far off. Apparently, the group had taken off to the jungles of South America some thirty years ago. They’d somehow managed to miss the end of the Vietnam war, Nixon’s resignation, Iran Contra, Desert Storm and Monica Lewinsky.

  Mark figured their lack of knowledge concerning current events had a lot to do with the haze of villager’s blood and locally grown weed. When the vampires had finally decided to venture out of the jungle and back over to this side of the border, they had been appalled by the surge in industrialization in the States. They’d started to prey on those that they felt were “raping” the Earth and robbing her of her natural resources. After three months of hunting them, Mark had found that they were like any other activist. They just had the benefits of sharp claws and teeth to get their point across.

  Whether or not Earth was getting “raped” was not his concern. His job was to make sure that the night creatures didn’t snack on the citizens, and he didn’t care what their cause was, or if they even had one. If they wanted tougher ecological laws, they could March on Washington like everybody else, or lobby the Senate and hope for a night session.

  “You would have thought that the toxic cloud hanging over them would have made them easier to track,” Ash observed with a grimace.

  Mark’s snort of laughter preceded the sound of the door opening. They both took a deep breath of city air to dispel the smell of the marijuana, filth and blood that had permeated the warehouse. Mark thought it funny that the strong scent of tar, car exhaust and decaying trash was a much better alternative to the strong smell of the nest.

  “So, what’s got Cyrus so pressed to get me home?”

  The two men turned and started to weave their way along through the maze of deserted warehouses to the main road where Mark had left his car. Hulking buildings surrounded them, the smell of their decay thick in the night air. They were the perfect home for the things Mark hunted, since they were secluded, abandoned and, best of all, rent free.

  Most of the owners had moved their businesses into Baltimore, which was right off both the Parkway and I-95, much easier to get to then North Port, which was on the other side of the busy city. The warehouses left behind were just that. Left behind. Most of the owners didn’t care who, or what, took up residence. Mark would wager that most of them were waiting for the day some arsonist got the idea to play with matches and set all of the warehouses on fire. If it weren’t for the College that dominated the center of town and the beer bottling factory on the outskirts, the city of North Port might very well have fallen into extinction.

  One enterprising individual actually bought an ancient building off the main road and converted it to a two level den of inequity, ironically called “The Den”. It was the after hours hang out for co-eds and the few businessmen that still lived in town. Mark had never been inside himself, since it was easier to catch the vampires that hunted there on their way out than it was in the club itself. He wondered about the idiot that bought it often enough, however. Everyone who lived here knew better than to frequent the docks. But, apparently, the promise of a good time and cheap drinks made that knowledge easy to forget. Since the club’s inception, disappearances had tripled, causing Mark to shake his head at the stupidity of the club’s patrons.

  “A job.” Ash finally answered his question as they emerged from the darkness of the interior warehouses to the bright, garish light of The Den.

  Even though they were a block away, the brilliance of the spotlights illuminating the front of the club reached them. A line of people had formed outside waiting to get in. Mark rolled his eyes at the line of easy pickings and turned to follow Ash to his car. The ancient Thunderbird looked sad against the sleeker, sportier models that were parked around it, but that car had saved Mark’s life on more than one occasion and he wouldn’t trade it for the fastest sports car on the market.

  “Does this job pay?” Mark asked, unlocking the car. “’Cause, it’s kind of hard to buy smokes with vampire dust and werewolf teeth.”

  “I hope so.” Ash slid into the ripped interior of the car. “Flora’s hinting not so subtly that I’m a little late on the rent.”

  “How late is a ‘little?’”

  “Three months.” They both laughed as Mark put the car in gear and eased out of the parking space. “You know, she’s also been hinting that a certain ungrateful boy that she helped raise has been neglectful in coming by to see her.” Ash looked over and smirked at the grimace that crossed Mark’s face.

  “Been busy.” He shrugged a shoulder. A stab of guilt lanced through him belying the move, and he made a promise to himself to get over to her shop the next day.

  Flora Clement was like a force of nature, wild and raging on the outside, but calm and serene on the inside. She had been his grandmother’s best friend, and she had turned into his pseudo-mother in the time after he came to live with Cyrus. Cyrus had said on more than one occasion that if it hadn’t been for Flora, he would have gone crazy when his wife died. Of course, he never said it when there was any danger of Flora overhearing.

  In fact, whenever the two were in the same room, an argument was almost guaranteed to break out. Mark had been shocked the first time he had ever witnessed the woman with brassy blonde hair and garish, colorful clothes take on the gruff and crusty Cyrus. The fact that his grandfather had backed down in the end had shocked him even more. That shock lessened over the years, as he himself got a taste of what it was like to disagree with her.

  A comfortable silence settled over Ash and Mark as they left the noise of the club behind and made their way through the city. Mark’s mind drifted as he drove, taking him back to the night Ash had brought him to the grandfather he had never even heard of. He could still remember Cyrus’ horrified face when he’d calmly told the old man to “show him”. Cy had adamantly and firmly told him no. He flat out refused to do what he thought Wanda wouldn’t want him to do. But, after two months of listening to his young grandson wake up in the middle of the night crying and screaming for his parents, Cyrus finally relented.

  Mark would never forget the feeling that had unfurled in his chest the first time he had held a crossbow. It wasn’t until a few years later that he was able to name the warm, intoxicating feeling that had flowed though his veins that day. Power.

  And with that feeling of power had come a misguided feeling of invincibility. It had been Ash that had reminded him about humility. To that end, it had been the vampire that had given Mark his first scar—a set of bite marks on his neck, just below his jugular.

  It had been the Mark’s own fault. He had just turned fifteen when he had decided that Ash was one of “them” and needed to be destroyed. It didn’t matter that the vampire had been a constant in his life. He had taught Mark how to fight, how to find the weaknesses in an opponent, and how to prey on those weaknesses. And Mark had used all of those lessons to systematically cripple a friendship that had survived his initial re
alization that Ash was a vampire. He’d had no excuse as to why he did it. And Cyrus had taken him to task after he’d found out about it. Of course, the sight of Mark, bruised and bloody and sporting a bite mark, had only served to feed Cyrus’ anger at him.

  The fact that Ash had forgiven him with a barely whispered apology on Mark’s part never ceased to amaze him. It was one of the many things that awed Mark about Ash.

  The vampire was a mystery, despite being his best friend. He never spoke of his past, his turning, or who he was before he’d been turned. If he talked about his life as a vampire prior to meeting Cyrus, it was only in a “life lesson” type of way, used to make Mark understand how vampires worked. But it didn’t explain how Ash worked. And why he would spend his life killing his own kind and keeping company with the creatures that were supposed to be his food. Mark still wasn’t sure how the vampire got the blood that he needed to survive. But Ash never looked in danger of combusting into dust, so he figured he had a source at the blood bank or something.

  Mark was brought out of his thoughts as he turned into the short driveway in front of the house where he had lived the last twelve years. A car sat on the street, its blue paint shining in the street lamp. “Who’s that?”

  “I dunno. They weren’t here earlier,” Ash answered as they climbed out of the car and started up the walk. “Maybe it’s about the job?”

  “Maybe. But from the looks of that car, they can’t afford to pay very much. I’m guessing this is another freebie.” Mark’s voice held no malice. It didn’t matter to him whether or not they got paid. It suited him just fine to take care of whatever the problem was and make the world a little safer. But as Cyrus was fond of saying, “good intentions don’t pay the bills”. And the cost of keeping their equipment in tiptop shape, as well as mundane things like food and clothing, were more than Cyrus’ teaching job could afford. “Well, let’s go see what this is all about.”

  Ash nodded in agreement and followed Mark into the house.

  * * * *

  Evelyn Anne Murphy had been called a lot of things in her near thirty years on Earth. Dumb was not one of them. She had spent the last ten years of her life learning how to read people and situations, never liking to be surprised since surprises were rarely good. At least, they weren’t in her experience. So as the two men filled the room, their size and presence formidable, she took in everything about them.

  It seemed to Eve that when they walked in the very speed of life slowed down. Their movements took on a slow motion quality that reminded her of an old western movie. The first one was only lacking a hat to complete his gunslinger image and the man right behind him was no less lethal looking, despite his deceptively unassuming exterior. They were both handsome, unbelievably so. Neither could by any means be called “pretty”. Their beauty came from a raw, predatory air that seemed to skate under their skin. They were intimidating, the intensity of their eyes making her heart thump in her chest and her breath quicken, like it would if she had just met a tiger without the benefit of the bars at the zoo. All in all, the men were an impressive duo. Her confidence in what she wanted to hire them for skyrocketed to new heights. Some of the apprehension she had been feeling since this idea had started to form eased away.

  The first of the men was tall, towering over the other by a few inches. Eyes as black as pitch burned into her, sizing her up in much the same way she was doing to them. Her gaze moved to the icy blue eyes of the other man, a shiver rolling up her spine at the predatory gleam in them.

  Both men were lean and well muscled, their clothing doing nothing to hide either fact. While the taller one looked like some sort of dark avenger, all of his clothing black, the other one was dressed in more casual attire of blue jeans, denim jacket and a plain gray T-shirt. Scuffed work boots adorned his feet, making him look more like a construction worker than a demon hunter.

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as their gazes locked, the feeling not unpleasant but definitely inappropriate. Eve couldn’t stop herself from studying the rich, sable hair that fell across his broad forehead, giving him a boyish quality. Or the sharp lines of his face that seemed etched out of stone. Long, dark lashes surrounded eyes that were so light that if it weren’t for the dark circle around the irises, it would have been impossible to see their color against the white. His jaw was square and strong, his mouth inviting, the bottom lip fuller than the top. His nose, while just a little crooked, didn’t detract from the overall beauty of his face.

  “Good, you’re back.”

  Eve’s contemplation stopped as Cyrus’ gruff voice broke into her thoughts. He stood in the small archway that separated the living room from the dining/kitchen area. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and in his hand, he held a stack of papers. He reminded Eve of a typical grandfather type, with faded, stressed blue jeans and an ancient flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The only thing that detracted from the image, was the rather large cross situated in the center of his chest and the long knife strapped to his belt.

  “You beckoned, oh wise one?” the taller of the two newcomers asked, a smirk curling his lip.

  Cyrus snorted and walked fully into the room. The three men combined seem to fill the small space to overflowing, giving Eve a distinctively claustrophobic feeling.

  “Eve,” Cyrus said, “that disrespectful brat is my grandson, Mark. The man behind him is Ash. They’ll be the ones that will go in and do the actual job.”

  The old man took a seat next to her on the couch. He threw the papers he held on the table, revealing a few pictures and a couple of pages of notes. Mark flashed his grandfather an unrepentant grin and shrugged out of his duster. He dug out a pack of cigarettes then threw the coat over the back of an easy chair that sat in front of the window before settling his long form into it. Ash disappeared into the dining room, returning a few seconds later with a metal-framed chair. He set it down backwards and straddled it, his legs stretched out on either side. He rested his arms across the top of the chair and settled his gaze on Eve, his every sense focused on her.

  “Eve here has a problem. It seems that her sister has gotten herself into something she can’t get out of, and she’s hoping we can help her,” Cyrus said.

  “What kind of something?” Mark asked, lighting a cigarette.

  Eve sighed and rubbed her hands together, wondering just where to begin.

  Ash watched her as she thought. She studied her slim, delicate hands. Pretty hands. Fine boned and slender, the fingers tipped with unpolished nails. Silver glittered from her right thumb and left middle finger, but other than that, she wore no jewelry. She was diminutive, almost seeming childlike next to Cyrus’ barrel-like build. A short cap of sleek, dark auburn hair angled toward a pixie-like face. A slight underbite made her bottom lip have a pouty quality. Her sun-kissed skin was sans makeup, making her appear even more youthful. A simple, black silk tank top accentuated her tanned skin and the red highlights in her hair. It clung seductively to her full breasts, the thinness of the material making it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. Linen pants molded to the best pair of legs Ash had seen in quite awhile.

  Despite her height, they seemed to go on forever, the sleek muscle under her skin moving fluidly as she shifted. A pair of black, thong sandals adorned her feet, the nails painted a vivid red. The soles of the shoes were about two inches thick, but even with the added height, he didn’t think that the top of her head would brush the bottom of his chin.

  She must have felt his gaze, because when she looked up it was directly at him. Ash wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but it felt to him that the air had suddenly gotten thick and he had a little trouble drawing in breath. He figured it was a good thing he didn’t need oxygen to survive.

  “Eve? Would you like to explain?” Again, Cyrus’ voice broke through Eve’s haze. She broke eye contact with Ash as heat crept up her neck

  “Er, yeah. Sorry.” That was weird, she thought, deciding that looking at
Mark might be safer. Once she met his black eyes, however, she felt a shiver run up her spine for a completely different reason. Danger emanated from him, overwhelming her and making her nervous. “M-my sister, Brie, she’s being held by a vampire named Sebastian. I want you to go in and get her out.”

  “You realize that the possibility of her still being human, or alive even, is slim.” Mark’s gaze never wavered from hers as he spoke. The smoke from his cigarette floated in the air around him, circling his head in a mock halo.

  “Well, the fact that I spoke to her just yesterday, not to mention that there is no way Sebastian would turn her, or kill her, pretty much tells me that she is physically all right,” Eve shot back.

  “And why is that?”

  Eve hoped that the condescending note she heard in his voice was a product of her over-sensitized emotions. If it wasn’t, she’d really hate to embarrass him by showing him that she might be small, but more than capable of taking care of herself.

  “My sister is a very special woman. She is a Siren. And killing her or turning her would destroy all of her usefulness to him.” Silence permeated the room as the men let this sink in.

  “A Siren? You can’t be serious,” Ash said, frowning. He didn’t know much about them, but he did know that the woman in front of him didn’t fit the image of a Siren. How was it possible that her sister was a Siren if she was not?

  “She’s my half-sister,” Eve said, as if reading his mind. “And I can assure you, it is possible. Now, unless you want Sebastian to use her gift for his own selfish means, which I can tell you will not bode well for humankind, I suggest you listen to what I have to say.” Her eyes shot sparks of anger and fear, challenging the two men to deny her.

  Mark watched her thoughtfully. He crushed out his cigarette in a dented, tin ashtray before leaning forward in the chair. “Start at the beginning.”