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CHILDREN OF INFINITY
by
Disclaimer:
For disclaimers, please see the prologue
Chapter Three
2010
A sharp gasp penetrated the quiet of the lab. Sabrina Houston backed away from the microscope she'd been peering into and muffled a sob with a hand over her mouth. She moved further away until the counter behind her impeded her progress. A few empty vials and beakers crashed loudly to the floor.
Outside the lab almost everyone ignored the commotion coming from within Dr. Houston's domain. They'd become used to the odd noises. However, one pair of keen brown eyes paused at the sound of the clatter and peered into the small panel window of the Doctor's door. The observer's eyes narrowed sharply upon noticing the Doctor's expression, and a feral smile caused thin narrow lips to curl upward in a sneer.
A slight furrow creased dark brows as the unnoticed observer tried unsuccessfully to get a better look through the three by twelve glass panel. A hissed curse was muttered between clenched teeth. The observer slipped unseen into a storage closet a few feet from the Doctor's lab, leaving the door cracked open. Brown eyes kept watch for an opportunity.
Sabrina stood, pressing her back into the edge of the beaker counter and shook her head vigorously as she glared at the microscope on her workstation. Her eyes darted swiftly from the scope to stare at the small adhesive bandage on her forearm. She took deep, shallow, breaths; then her hands flew to her lips to muffle a soft scream. Her eyes became large saucers. The microscope was getting closer. Sabrina glanced down to see her legs propelling her jerkily and awkwardly forward. The doctor leaned again over the workstation and risked another look through the lens. She jerked away abruptly. More beakers and petri dishes fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
A thin bead of sweat formed over her top lip and brows. She clutched at her abdomen suddenly and hunched over as the contents in her stomach were expelled. Shaking violently, she straightened unsteadily and leaned against the counter to regain her equilibrium.
Sabrina's eyes narrowed suddenly. She turned sharply, her eyelids blinking in rapid succession. The small sample was growing again! She backed away slowly, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. Taking air forcibly into her asthmatic lungs, she began cautiously inching towards the door. Something skittered across the floor just in line with her peripheral vision.
Outside the lab, people froze at the sound of the strangled scream coming from the doctor's lab. Running from their own workstations at the sound of the horrid commotion, they arrived in time to see Doctor Sabrina Houston fleeing from her lab and racing down the long corridor of the SciTech Labs' facility.
Doctor Houston raced into her office and immediately reached for her phone. 'Logan.' The name sprang forward in her mind, and she meditated on the name as though it were a mantra. 'Logan would know what to do. Logan always knew what to do.'
Sabrina's hand froze mid-dial upon hearing the decisive click of her office door. A jagged gasp escaped her lips as the feel of cold steel penetrated the flesh of her side. A gloved hand covered her mouth, hindering any further sound that might have escaped her lips. The sharp object was removed and then jabbed mercilessly inside her again with a sickening schlick sound. Her muffled screams went unnoticed by students and faculty passing outside her door. She struggled frantically as she was wrestled to the floor. The rapid loss of blood was weakening her. The sharp object piercing her side was removed, and before she could draw a breath she felt the bite of metal, now warmly coated with her blood, slice quickly across her throat.
The soft gurgling sound Sabrina Houston emitted was cut off by her own surrender to the darkness.
*******************************
Darelling's heart hammered madly in his chest. He opened a desk drawer to retrieve a small glass and a half empty bottle of Scotch. He poured himself a shot. The implications of this situation were astronomical. Never in his entire career had he actually believed he would stumble across something like this. Of course, he grimaced, taking a healthy swallow of Scotch from the glass. It's my job to find this very thing. Too bad about Dr. Houston ... she might have proven helpful, even an asset perhaps. But he doubted she would have cooperated. Still, he would have liked to know whom she was about to call.
Obviously, Darelling reasoned, someone else is aware of the research the doctor was conducting. Maybe several someones; he frowned at that thought. It meant things might not go quite as smoothly as he and his benefactor had anticipated. Perhaps the person Houston had been attempting to call was the same person the samples had been taken from. Conclusive testing had proven that none of the mutated samples had matched the Doctor's DNA. Darelling took another swallow of Scotch, draining the glass, then poured himself another shot. If this person truly exists then perhaps, he grinned to himself, I can make this a much more lucrative venture than my benefactor or I anticipated. He stared speculatively at the intercom for a long time. Loath to hand over control, he was aware that it was in his interest to contact the appropriate people. Withholding his findings would not please the people with whom he was dealing. He was wise enough to understand that it would be unhealthy for him to piss them off. He pressed the call out button.
"Yes, Dr. Darelling?" The receptionist's crisp voice responded quickly to his summons.
"Mrs. Pritchard, …" He addressed the receptionist and instructed her to get in touch with his contact. Darelling poured himself another glass of scotch. He grinned self-assuredly, deciding there was no harm in him secretly keeping a few samples for the sake of further 'scientific study.'
****************************
Have you ever been in love, Logan?" Logan opened her eyes to peer into her lover's questioning gaze. She smiled, curious as to where this conversation was going, and shook her head. "Why is that? Why have you never allowed yourself to fall in love?" When Logan tensed and would have pulled away, Sabrina held her tighter. "I know someone who would be perfect for you."
"Sabrina." Logan's voice held warning. "You know what I am." Her eyes darkened with annoyance at the rehashed argument.
"Well whatever else you are," Sabrina's voice was soft and filled with concern, "you can still feel emotion."
"Hardly."
"Even so, Logan, you need . . . "
"Okay. Stop it." Logan pulled herself out of the woman's grasp and slipped from beneath the comforter. Her light brown skin was silhouetted by the pale moonlight, which spilled into the window. Long dark hair swayed gently as it brushed across her naked back. Her temper was deadly, and she had no desire to subject the other woman to that.
She stalked angrily out of the bedroom towards the comfort of her den. Logan grabbed up a pack of Salem menthol. She retrieved a cigarette and slipped it between her lips. She laid the pack down on the mantle and took a deep breath to quell her rising anger. Long slender fingers appeared, striking a match and holding it up to the tip of the cigarette. Logan took a puff and withdrew the cigarette from between her lips with her left hand. She captured the delicate fingers in her right, all the while aware that with barely any pressure at all she could shatter those fingers and render them forever useless. She blew out the match and turned around to face the smaller woman and pulled her forward until bare flesh pressed against bare flesh. Her anger curbed for the moment by the physical contact, she inhaled all the fragrances that made up Sabrina Houston. It had a further calming effect as the woman's natural fragrance mingled with the musky scent of recent sex.
"I don't want to have this argument," she whispered to her friend and part-time lover. Careful of the cigarette, she gave the woman a gentle squeeze took a small step back, and raised her right hand to caress the Sabrina's cheek. She didn't have to touch her to recall the velvety textured skin. She could hear the delicate heart beating rhythmically and calmly beneath an inviting left breast. As light as Logan's skin was, Sabrina's was that much lighter, an inheritance from the bi-racial mating of her parents. Her skin was rich, a creamy hazelnut brown or maybe Kahlúa, Logan amended. And her eyes were soft hazel. The hair which fell to her shoulders was naturally wavy, almost curly, cottony-soft; a tribute to her mixed heritage. Logan took great pleasure in the visual perusal of her friend's naturally aging beauty.
Embarrassed by such close scrutiny, Sabrina blushed, nuzzled the valley between Logan's breasts with her cheeks and sighed.
"I don't want to argue either, Logan." There was a deep sadness in her voice as she continued. "There's not enough time to waste it arguing." She looked up into a gentle face and bit her lip apprehensively. "I just hate to think of you being alone."
"Hey," Logan chuckled, slipping a gentle finger beneath her friend's chin. "You talk as if you're going somewhere." She searched the woman's hazel eyes earnestly. "Not planning on just taking off somewhere are you?" Logan's displeasure at the idea showed in the slight frown that marred her otherwise flawless features. She began to wonder if maybe their friendship was beginning to take a toll on the Doctor.
"Logan, I would never willingly leave you." Sabrina's soft whisper eased the disconcertion that had begun to form. "You should know that. You've been a friend and benefactor. A protector and confidante." Sabrina stood on tiptoes, and Logan lowered her own head until their lips brushed against each other gently. "This isn't something that you just walk away from," Sabrina moaned softly, breaking the kiss. "You'd have to be ripped away from it." Sabrina's smile was tinted with mild sadness. She understood well her place in Logan's life. She was a cherished possession, important only as much as what she provided for Logan. Her talents. Oh, she knew that once she was no longer of use to her Benefactor, she would still be provided for, and made comfortable. Logan was not so cold hearted as to toss her out with the trash. But she knew that Darkness' Offspring would lose interest and tire of pointless pursuit. A shiver ran down Sabrina's spine as her own words chilled her to the bone. Logan took a drag off of her nearly forgotten and almost burnt out cigarette, crushed the remaining butt in the ashtray atop the mantle piece, then allowed herself to be led back to bed.
If Logan had thought it strange the way that Sabrina had clung to her as they made love for the remainder of the night - almost desperately as though trying to compete with the inevitable sunrise, to touch and be touched as much as possible before they allowed sleep to claim them - she didn't mention it. And when they'd said goodbye that following morning, Logan had experienced a strong feeling of wrongness at her friend's departure, promising herself that she would check on Sabrina at her lab later in the day.
It had been late that following Thursday afternoon when she had received the officer's call regarding Sabrina's death. The phone had rung the moment she had gotten out of her meeting. A meeting that had tied her up and kept her from keeping the promise she had made to check on her friend at the lab. Logan been completely thrown off guard by the call.
Murdered. Sabrina had been murdered. 'But why?' She had cursed her idiocy for not having gotten more information from the officer, but she had been so stunned after that phone conversation that she had not been thinking with a level head ... a deadly error for a hunter. She had driven home in shock and upon letting herself into her house, Logan had immediately been assaulted by the lingering fragrance of Sabrina Houston and their last night together.
She donned a pair of black boots and a black duster. Stepping out into the night, she peered up at the stars and with barely a leap she was riding the still night wind.
She had immediately headed for Sabrina's home where the officer had reported the murder had supposedly taken place, questioning herself as to why Sabrina had been home? It had only taken a matter of minutes to reach the doctor's former residence. Hovering in the sky for a moment, an indistinguishable figure against a backdrop of midnight, Logan had glanced down and took a long look at the Doctor's house, but her instincts had told her she would never find what she was looking for there. She had then made an effortless change of direction towards Sci-Tech.
Logan's eyes were focused on the large spot on the floor of Sabrina's office. 'Not very professional, but clever.' She tried to shut out the memory of the previous night with the Doctor; their last night together. A low growl of fury rumbled at the back of her throat. She shook off the memory and concentrated her attention on the investigation at hand. No mortal eye, she concluded, would have been able to detect those bloodstains. She doubted the police would have had any reason to believe that Sabrina might have been murdered here, and then later moved to her home. Logan was very aware of the high tech procedures involved in extracting blood from clothing and fibers. Not every one was aware that immortals could still see the ghost shadows that blood left behind. Of course not everyone was aware that immortals existed.
She picked up the most recent human scents in the office and dropped to one knee beside the shadow of blood. She could smell the lingering odor of sweat, fear, and blood. There were two very distinct smells besides that of Sabrina's. Logan inhaled deeply, committing the scent of prey to memory. She had not yet fed. Her hunting skills would be more keenly attuned tonight.
She was out of the office and moving down the corridor at speeds the motion sensor could not detect. Outside Sabrina's lab, Logan removed a set of keys from her pocket and quickly let herself in. Once inside the lab, she had no fear of detection. Sabrina had never allowed any sort of monitoring devices in her workspace. She made her way through the darkened room easily. She raised a glove hand to the wall safe and containment area and quickly punched in the correct code. With the safe open, she peered inside, prepared to retrieve and destroy the contents.
Logan stared at the space the test vials should have occupied. The Huntress had not expected to find them missing. Her gut clenched almost painfully. She expelled a sharp breath and quickly closed the safe. Her eyes moved about the lab with careful inspection. She knew it was useless to hope that Sabrina had been able to destroy them. It wasn't very likely that someone would kill the scientist unless they had managed to procure the vials of blood. She glanced up suddenly at the ventilation shaft in the ceiling and acted upon instinct. With a quick leap she was moving the grate aside and crouching within the narrow crawl space.
The Huntress picked up on a familiar odor - the smell of aggression. Her lips curled into a snarl as she prepared for attack. The assailant moved with surprising speed, catching her off guard. She was knocked onto her back and slid a few feet across the shaft. On all fours, the creature that had once been human moved in quickly for the kill. Logan was up into a crouching position again and more than prepared this time for the attack.
She caught the creature mid leap. Startled, she emitted a sharp gasp of pain as fangs bit into the flesh of her right forearm. She snatched her arm away, leaving behind a considerable amount of flesh in the crazed beast's teeth. Ignoring the pain, she pressed for the advantage as the thing greedily feasted on the flesh she had left behind.
She did not recognize the creature's scent as either of the odors she'd picked up near Sabrina's phantom bloodstain. The odor was slightly altered now but Logan sensed that this person, this thing, had had nothing to do with her friend's death. She bared her teeth. Her nails morphed into sharp claws as she allowed the full transformation to overtake her, and Logan was upon the creature without warning. She emitted a harsh guttural growl as she captured its head and jerked it back, exposing the neck to sharp fangs, which glistened with deadly venom and saliva.
She emitted a satisfied hiss as the creature whined and struggled desperately in her arms. She tightened her hold around its waist and chuckled at the feel of ribs crushing under her powerful grip. She lowered her head, savoring the scent of fear. Logan's eyes closed tightly as her teeth sank into the creature's flesh.
She felt the rush of primal rage as she drank in the beast's blood. A spasm of pain shot through her abdomen and a strange heat pervaded her veins. Her grip on the creature reflexively tightened that much more. Ribs disintegrated further and the creature emitted a pathetic mewling sound. Logan's eyes widened with shock. She tried to retract her canines, but her body refused to obey her. Another sharp pain gripped her and she moaned as she continued drinking in the tainted blood of her victim. Overcome with dizziness, the huntress swayed slightly, her teeth still embedded in the creature's throat. She was helpless to do anything but drink in blood that was tainted with the sample from one of the test vials - her own blood.
She drained the creature and slumped over the dehydrated corpse. Her breathing shallow, she stayed there for a long while as the blood she'd ingested mingled with the blood already coursing through her veins. "Oh, fuck!" she groaned. Her whole body was fevered. She could feel the savage hunger of the blood that had been separated from her for a decade. It felt as if it were clawing at her blood cells, trying to draw nourishment from her, crazed from not having been fed for nearly ten years.
Logan's body jerked almost violently from the ravaging her system was suffering as old blood was reunited with its host. She grunted as she felt the surge through her limbs. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, then fell back nearly exhausted as the feverish feeling subsided. "Shit!" She closed her eyes for a moment then moved to her knees unsteadily. She grabbed the corpse and slung it over her shoulders. She couldn't remain there, certain that by now one of the security guards had heard the commotion.
She crawled the expanse of the shaft, the corpse slowing her down in her weakened state. The Huntress was able to make it to the safety of nearby woods. She studied the mutated creature closely but the thing's features were unrecognizable. She snatched off what appeared to be a student badge and read the name on it. There were vague images running through her mind, images she'd picked up from the creature as she had fed from it but they were too blurred for her to make any sense of them at the moment.
Logan dug deeply into the earth. Before dumping the corpse into the hole, she rummaged through the pockets of tattered trousers and removed all traces of anything that might identify the student upon discovery of the body. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she noticed another slightly odd smell she had not detected in her struggle with the creature. She quickly decapitated the head and shoved it and the body into the hole, quickly covering it up. Crouching over the grave, she speculated the odd odors and contemplated her next move.
Logan stood suddenly, her decision made. After a short detour to her boat to clean up a bit, she would head for the morgue. Logan was certain her friend's corpse would give her the answers she sought.
It proved to be a futile trip.
****************************
She didn't bother turning on the light as she entered her office. Logan vaguely wondered if she'd remembered to at least nod a decent hello to Fred, the guard at the front desk on the ground floor. "I hope I did," she sighed. "If not, he'll be ringing me up with a hundred different versions of the same question. 'Are you all right, Ms. Birche?' She sank down onto the sofa, overcome with sudden weariness. Moonlight filtered into the darkroom in a striped effect caused by the vertical blinds. It was unnecessary light but she took a small measure of comfort in it.
Logan removed her boots and kicked them aside. Leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, she dropped her head in the cradle of her upturned hands. The Huntress hadn't felt this out of sorts in a long time. The morgue had yielded her absolutely nothing. No body and no clue as to what was done with it.
She had amassed a great deal of money in her chosen enterprise and at the moment none of her professional skills were doing her any good. Logan Birche was a problem solver. Birche Security Enterprise or BSE was a cover name for what her company was truly involved in. Solving other people's dilemmas. If a situation couldn't be resolved then BSE made it disappear, quickly, quietly and neatly. That was how she'd earned the name the Huntress but those hunter's instincts were not meeting up to her own expectations at the moment.
She would have to extract what information she could from Peter Darelling. She was looking forward to that. She wanted to hear him scream just as his accomplice had. She had sought out Darelling's assistant and found him hiding in an abandoned apartment building on the riverfront. It had not taken much to get him to talk.
The assistant, Mark Sheller, had worked for Darelling since fresh out of college. He had been able to tell her very little, except that Darelling had offered him a great deal of money to help pull off the theft. As for Sabrina's body, Darelling himself had moved it, supposedly to Sabrina's house in Allendale. Darelling's accomplice had been given a special solution to clean up the blood in Dr. Houston's office. Having worked with Darelling for many years, the assistant was aware of most of Darelling's illicit activities but Sheller was ignorant as to who was pulling the strings on their recent caper but he, as Logan, suspected it was not Darelling himself.
She killed the assistant - but only after she broke several limbs and digits. At first Sheller had pleaded with her to let him live, but eventually, those pleas became prayers for death. He had groveled on the floor, crying up at her with sobs racking his broken body and causing him to wheeze for breath. "Just kill me," he had wept. "Oh God have mercy. Please, just kill me." In the end Logan had broken his neck. As she now replayed his death for her pleasure, she realized that it hadn't given her nearly enough satisfaction. Her mind was tripping over thoughts like a child stumbling in the dark. The hungry blood in her system was searing her veins like fire. She would have to feed again, and soon.
The air current in the room shifted too subtly for human senses to detect but Logan stiffened suddenly, alert that she was no longer alone. She gazed at the closed door and frowned with irritation.
"Do you ever knock?" She spoke with irritation to the pale figure emerging from a shadowed corner.
"The results are much quicker my way."
"You didn't kill one of the security guards downstairs again, did you?" She glowered at him, still ticked at having to discard the body he had shamefully left atop her desk three months ago. The moon fell across his face momentarily making him appear a ghostly apparition.
"I was tempted." Pale Face grinned with amusement. "But it puts you in such a foul mood, that I merely put them all to sleep this time." He moved purposefully about the room as though he owned it. Logan watched him cautiously as he strolled over to her desk. She observed him quietly as he carefully picked up an item at a time from her desk and pretended to study it intently before setting it back in its rightful place.
"You've developed quite the talent for being everywhere I don't want you to be."
"Ah now, you'll make me think you don't love me anymore." He winked at her and went back to perusing the pieces on her desk.
"I've never loved you," she snapped angrily. Why was he here? She brooded bitterly, not wanting to deal with his games right now.
"Perhaps not but you do need me." There was a pregnant pause as Logan ingested his statement.
'He knows something's wrong. He's waiting for me to tell him.' She despised his games.
"You can stop pretending you don't know something's wrong." Logan leveled her voice and regarded him solemnly.
"Yes. I assumed there was a problem, considering your recent activities." She clenched her jaws tightly. "You've made several kills tonight. One might even say that you are on a rampage." He turned to her and quirked a brow. "You even made a trip to the morgue." At her widened eyes, he snickered. "I always know where you are." He settled himself on the edge of the desk and smiled patiently. "So tell me what has upset your world. And what in the world," he chuckled, "would you find of interest in a morgue, Logan? As you well know by now our investment … is in the living." He made a mocking gesture and she ignored it.
"Sabrina Houston was murdered," she informed him, allowing no inflection of emotion in her voice. "I've been attempting to ferret out her murderers. As you know, she was a favored of mine." Pale Face narrowed his eyes at Logan. There was more, but he would play this little scenario out if she liked.
"I fail to see a problem then," he responded flatly. "After all, mortals die. They step off of street curbs and get run over by cars. Their hearts stop for no apparent reason. They get caught in the cross fires of gang violence. We hunt them for food. Their life expectancy is very short, Logan. They do occasionally make good little dogs, but they still die. They are nothing." He pursed his lips and then curved them into a feral snarl, "And not worth the expenditure of the angry energy you are wasting." He waited for her anger. He could feel it simmering just beneath the surface. He could feel an unusual off-centeredness within her. He had warned her against taking a mortal into her bed and against forming attachments with them. "There must be more to this story or I'm going to be quite disappointed."
"She was working on a very important project for me." Logan continued, choosing to ignore his lecture. "That project has been compromised. Sabrina's murderer now has possession of this item."
"How dangerous is this item?" He asked his voice betraying none of his irritation. Logan measured her response carefully.
"Dangerous enough that I need to get it back and destroy it."
"You play dangerous games, Logan," he warned angrily. "Does this little item have anything to do with the vast database you've been amassing on things best left unknown?"
"I'm not playing games at all." She ignored his question.
"Then I suggest you put Doctor Houston's death aside and make recovering her project a priority."
"I intend to and I also intend to make whomever's responsible for her death pay." He raised a hand to silence her.
"That's enough about this mortal, Logan." He left his seat on her desk and moved beside her. "Besides, there is another matter that needs attending to."
"Ah." Logan frowned suspiciously. "I'm afraid that all my efforts will be placed in retrieving Dr. Houston's work." Pale Face's eyes flashed angrily.
"You forget yourself," he growled in a low voice. "I made you, Logan." He placed a proprietary grasp on her thigh and squeezed until she winced from pain. "And while I have been indulgent enough to grant you limited freedoms, don't be foolish enough to challenge the restrictions of those freedoms."
Logan's fury stirred. She refused to be owned by him or anyone. "You don't own me, Carl."
"Oh, but I do. And I own everything that is yours - your life, your money, and your possessions. Everything you have is mine." He released her thigh from his bruising grip and pulled her to him in a strong embrace. Their eyes met in a fierce match between wills. "Everything and everyone." He added emphatically. "That is a lesson it is high time you remembered and past the time for you to instill in your children."
"What are you talking about?" She pulled away from him and deserted the sofa. Distancing herself from his nearness, she moved to the corner of a far wall behind her desk.
"I'm speaking of those miscreants you created." He sat back and crossed his legs comfortably. He appeared relaxed, the edge in his voice the only indication of his annoyance. "It's time you brought them under control."
"I don't particularly care what they are doing." She shrugged disinterestedly. "As long as they're not interfering with my life, they can do as they please."
"That's not how the rules work, Logan. And you know it. I advised you to kill them. You didn't and so they are your responsibility." She leveled a gaze at him.
"I want nothing to do with them."
"I see." He uncrossed his legs and sat up. "Then consider this. The witch has power, an unusual power among her kind. Such a power is to be brought to heel and not left unsupervised."
"She's no threat to you."
"Anyone of my brood and outside of my control is a threat to me."
"Leave her alone." Logan warned angrily. "She wants nothing to do with this madness." Her voice lowered threateningly. "You may do as you like with the others, but don't touch her."
"You have a choice, Logan. Claim her completely or she dies."
"You wouldn't dare," she growled, leaping to her feet only seconds before he emulated her actions. They stood toe-to-toe, Logan's ferocity burning through her system.
"No?" He posed the question as a challenge. "Then you don't know me very well." He backed away abruptly. "And now, my Love, you have two tasks. Find your pet's little project and bring your children completely into the fold, or kill them."
***************************
The hunger was nearly unbearable. Logan had not felt such a strong need to feed since she'd first been made or brought over, as some called it. She'd had to feed twice after Father had left her office and at best the hunger had merely been pacified for a while. Her own hungered blood that she'd drank from that mutation the night before was wreaking havoc on her system and she was beginning to fear for her sanity. She frowned slightly as the hum of the florescent light increased in volume and wondered if she should have returned to her home rather than remain in her high-rise office at Birche Enterprises. She undid the top two buttons of her shirt and tried to calm her erratic breathing. Think, Logan. You need to concentrate.
She had witnessed such cravings among the outcasts of the night children; so crazed by hunger they were unable to hunt efficiently and were reduced to feeding on rodents, cats, and the occasional stray dog. Such feeding, though able to sustain life, was not sufficient for providing nutrients to the brain and drove the creatures even further into madness and made them weak. She avoided crossing paths with the outcasts as much as possible. Their existence was as abhorrent to her as they were to all the brood.
They evoked fear within her, fear of being reduced to their level of insanity. It was just approaching noon and she was going to have to feed again, soon no matter how dangerous it was to hunt during the day. She had to find a way to sate her hunger or it would drive her mad and she could not allow that to happen. A crazed hunter was dangerous enough, but a crazed hunter that could walk in the sun was catastrophic and would pose the dangerous threat of exposure for the other immortals.
Still, the even bigger problem at large was the missing vials of blood samples that had been taken from Sabrina's lab. She frowned slightly, recalling Carl's earlier visit. Baring her teeth, she forced thoughts of him and his threats out of her mind. Those vials took precedence over him. Were someone to become infected with them, there would be another mutation to deal with like the creature from the previous night; perhaps several.
She had to assume that whoever was behind the theft of the vials knew what they were. There was always the possibility that the thief was clueless. She could not, however, imagine someone taking the vials and murdering Sabrina just for the sake of curiosity. 'Sabrina's body … why would they have stolen it from the morgue? To elude me? To unbalance me? I'm the only one who even knows Sabrina's body had been moved to her home after she had been murdered at Sci-Tech. As far as the police are concerned it was a bungled robbery. So taking Sabrina's corpse would only achieve one thing. Delaying my discovery of the truth.'
There had been no files indicating that the corpse had been at the morgue or that anyone had claimed it. The attendant that Logan had enchanted had not been able to tell her anything.
Logan rested her head on the large oak desk. The headache was nearly blinding, but the images she had captured from the creature's mind the previous night had begun to clear and she knew now with a certainty that the young student had had little if anything at all to do with Sabrina's death. Stewart Turner's only crime had been his snooping. She had seen through his eyes Sabrina's frightened flight from her lab and the indiscernible man the young student had seen entering the lab after the doctor's retreat. Turner had witnessed the same man sneaking from the lab moments later, carrying a silver case. Logan assumed the case held the other vials.
Turner had sneaked in after the unidentifiable man had tipped out and had been attacked by a sample left behind and which had managed to mutate on its own. Logan presumed the sample had broken free of one of the test vials. This mutation must have been what had frightened Sabrina and had driven her from the lab.
Logan continued massaging her throbbing temples and sat up in her chair, resting her head against the head support. It made no sense as to why Sabrina's work would suddenly draw notice. They had been too careful. As a professor and scientist, she had purposely kept her work insignificant and obscure. Even in college, the shy and bashful Sabrina Houston had avoided the limelight. She derived her satisfaction from simply assuaging her voracious curiosity. She'd never been one to seek public notice or attention from her colleagues.
As a professor, she was well thought of by her students. Joint projects with other scientists lent her continued credibility in the wake of previous controversy. The Board of Director's were satisfied with her contributions on those joint ventures; enough to happily comply with whatever bogus project she submitted for approval. They didn't really care so long as Dr. Houston's indulgent and wealthy unknown benefactor continued funding the projects and making generous donations to the school.
And though Sabrina's major undertaking was more suited to Alexandria Parker's field of study, Alex was too often in the public eye and her work too closely scrutinized. Sabrina Houston loved her anonymity as much as Alexandria Parker loved her fame and distinction. The two were polar opposites in that respect but well matched in their drive and determination. Logan was also aware that her old college 'chum' Parker would have serious misgivings about pursuing this line of research. That, among other reasons, was why she had found it necessary to keep the two scientists apart. As it were Parker was going through great lengths to ensure that her own secrets not be discovered. The glamour spell Elizabeth had taught her long ago had been useful.
Sabrina had taken on the task of studying Logan's genetic makeup for curiosity's sake. She was fascinated with the idea of discovering what caused Logan's bloodlust as well as determining exactly what Logan was. Logan had been careful in procuring normal Vampire blood samples as well as a long list of other demons and ghouls, which she had categorized into a secret database as a measure of comparison and had discovered that those samples could not survive very long outside of the host. Without sustenance, the samples would begin to break down within days until they disintegrated into nothing. There'd been little compatibility between those and Logan's samples, which continued to thrive and grow, albeit at a slower rate on their own. What had proved most interesting was that although Sabrina had not been able to determine what Logan was, she had found that Logan's blood had few of the traits displayed by the vampiric samples, except for same the strand that made drinking blood a necessity. She merely possessed carrier traits for what Sabrina considered to be the vampirism disease. While Logan could make Vampires, and shared their hunger she was not one of them.
Through the dizzying headache, something important nagged at the back of Logan's mind. Something she had missed. She closed her eyes, fighting a wave of nausea. She reached for the glass and pitcher of water and poured herself a cool drink. She took a healthy gulp and set the glass down on a silver plated coaster. Taking a deep breath, she pondered the missing vials. It was hard to view the problem objectively, with Sabrina's death weighing heavily on her heart and mind. Damnit! I should never have involved her in this.
But they had been so careful to ensure that no one could link the two of them together. They'd been too cautious for anyone to just stumble upon what the scientist was doing. This is getting me nowhere. I haven't been able to think clearly since I got that damnable phone call ... Phone call. Logan's mind came into sharp focus suddenly -the phone call. How would anyone have known to contact me about Sabrina's death? "Damn it!" She reached for the phone and immediately dialed. "Fuck!" she growled angrily and slammed a fist down on her desk. She ignored the protesting splintering under the force of the blow. "I'm making mistakes like a first year suckling." She waited for an answer, then requested to speak with Officer Kyle Winslow. There was a brief pause and then Logan hung up abruptly when she received confirmation of her suspicion. There was no officer Winslow. "I'm deliberately being toyed with." She stiffened and her hands balled into tight fists on the desktop as another suspicion sprang to her attention.
'Sabrina's body hadn't been at the morgue because it never reached the morgue. Someone wanted me to go to her house. But why? A trap? I must have completely thrown them off their game by not showing up there. Or did they know about the infected student a well?' She needed to get the days paper. 'If I'm right, the police aren't even aware of Sabrina's murder.'
The phone's shrill ringing startled her. She picked up the receiver and spoke into the mouthpiece with abrupt harshness. "What is it, Beverly?" She took a deep calming breath and began speaking again apologetically. "No. I'm sorry. I've had a rather long night. What is it?" 'Shit,' Logan breathed, 'I forgot all about that interview.' "No. No. Something rather urgent has come up ... Tell Ms Henley I'm in conference at the moment and am unable to speak with her." Logan frowned momentarily. "Convey my regrets and inform her that I shall call her personally to reschedule an interview over dinner. Thank you, Beverly. Oh, and could you bring me in the morning paper? I seem to have forgotten mine … excellent, thank you again." She broke the connection, then dialed another number.
"It's Birche." She spoke coarsely into the mouthpiece. "Gather the others." She tapped her long nails on the desk impatiently, awaiting a response. "Yes." She growled the word irritably, annoyed at having been questioned. "And I want those calls made as soon as this conversation is over. I want them assembled tomorrow." She released a deep rumble from her throat at an issued challenge. "Then change your plans. I expect everyone there. Do you understand? I don't care how you get them there. Just make sure you do." She whispered a soft threat. "Do not make the mistake of forgetting who I am, Pup. I don't care how long it's been, I'm not fool enough to believe that you have not kept tabs on everyone." She smiled with satisfaction at the responding silence. "So be a good little pet …" she purred seductively "… and do as I tell you." She wondered if perhaps Pale Face had not been right in his claim that she needed to assert her dominance over her creations. It was a thought she would have to mull over at a later time.
Logan replaced the cordless back on the charging cradle and stood. It would soon be time to hunt. Logan began pacing before the wide picture window behind her winged back chair and desk. Sabrina's death and the missing vials, along with the phone call from the fictional officer Winslow, brought to mind a line Logan had read from a Stephen King novel. "I had been interfered with." Someone had done just that - interfered with her life. She grinned savagely as she repeated the line from the novel to herself.
She had been an avid Stephen King fan in her first few years as a predator. She had taken great comfort and solace within the cover of his books and not because of antiquated ideas of good triumphing over evil but because she identified. In King's books, the terrors were always more than anyone could have imagined.
His monstrous characters hiding in the shadows were darker than anyone dared dream and Logan identified with those terrors because she too was more, so much more than anyone could have imagined. She was the figure waiting in the shadows under the bed, the unstoppable boogey man in the closet. She was death personified, and at any moment of night or day (should she choose) her next victim could be one chosen at random or someone she had carefully stalked for days or months, allowing them a sense or hint of her presence in their lives, feasting on their fear as they realized the inevitable conclusion to her presence. Her eyes illuminated as hunger began gnawing painfully at her gut. I have to feed.
Logan didn't trust herself to behave within the confines of her office building in her present condition. And there were other arrangements that needed to be made. She stepped outside of her office and paused at her Assistant's desk. She smiled as the woman returned from the outer office with the newspaper in hand.
"Ms. Birche." Beverly smiled shyly and handed Logan the paper. Accepting the item, Logan rolled it up into a tube and slid it under her right arm securely. "Is there anything else you need, Ms. Birche?" Logan shook her head and smiled, knowing full well the affect her lazy grin had on the assistant. She started past the woman and changed her mind.
"Actually there is," Logan whispered. Beverly eyes became unfocussed for a moment and without realizing it she was moving to the seat behind her desk and sitting down.
"Yes. Ms. Birche," she uttered softly and somewhat breathlessly not quite aware what was happening to her.
"Beverly." Logan drew the woman's eyes towards her and exerted a small amount of pressure to the human's delicate mind. Beverly's brown eyes softened and Logan could feel the woman's body becoming almost fluid under her control. She breathed in the subtle scent of lemon oil that the woman used as a body spray. The fragrance blended intoxicatingly with the smell of the blood that flowed beneath the surface of her skin and Logan's eyes were drawn to the pulse point at Beverly's throat.
She caught the strong aroma of the woman's arousal and her lips curled into a feral smile. Logan had known her assistant would welcome her advances. Beverly had often but subtly hinted as much but the Huntress was as cautious about her sexual liaisons as she was about her hunting grounds and had long ago ruled out intimate associations with her employees or with business acquaintances. That did not make Beverly Warren any less appetizing, particularly now. Logan's sexual arousal inevitably evoked her hunger and at present there was no satisfying one without sating the other. She looked the woman over slowly, her eyes taking in the full swell of breasts accentuated by the royal blue v-cut sweater that left just enough to the imagination.
Logan ran a gentle finger along the slender neck to the pulse point and let the finger dip slowly to caress the ample and lovely pecan brown cleavage exposed by the sweater's neckline. Beverly's breath quickened as she waited expectantly, still under Logan's trance. Birche could almost taste the sweet thickness of the woman's blood as she imagined her sharp fangs puncturing the soft brown breasts. She closed her eyes as her hunger warred with good sense. "Fuck!" she groaned softly and then pulled her hand away from her assistant sharply as though burned. She had to get out of there and quickly. "Beverly. There's something very important I need you to do." The woman nodded once, her breathing now slow and even as she listened carefully to the instructions given to her.
Outside the thirty-story high-rise of Birche Enterprises, Logan winced in pain as the autumn sun's sharp glare intensified the pounding in her head. She slipped on her Foster Grants and took a cautious look around before approaching her wine-colored Mustang convertible. She paused at the door of her vehicle, her appetite peaking as she caught scent of the throng of people that crowded the sidewalks. Logan looked around once more, this time scoping out potential prey.
She could smell the human flesh all around her and hear every heartbeat as blood pulsed through veins. If she didn't get off the streets she would not be able to control her need. She hopped over the door and into the driver's seat of the convertible. She was fairly certain she was being followed, but the pain in her head and the continually growing hunger drove that problem to the back of her mind.
Logan needed blood more potent than human's to satisfy this particular craving. Her decision made, she pulled away from her building and headed for warehouse district.
The Huntress parked her car on Burbank Avenue and continued toward her destination, six blocks away on foot. She stepped into the darkened alley between two renovated warehouses and walked through a side entrance of one of the buildings. The throbbing staccato beat of music from the Pit's establishment assaulted her ears and she flinched at the sharp stabbing-like sensation in her head. But the music did not drown out the sound of ancient blood flowing through veins and the scent of sweat covered bodies as the human clientele writhed about the dance floor in serpentine movement. The place was always busy but since it was Friday it was already packed, at the present mostly humans who were working up an alcoholic stupor to endure their cravings for the night breed.
Some Vampires after reaching their five hundredth year of crossing over found they no longer needed much sleep during the day. Driven inside or underground by the danger from the sun, they often slept during the daylight hours to escape boredom. The Pit was an answer to that boredom for many of the night children. Open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, it offered a safe haven and a variety of entertainment to its patrons: dancing, drinking, sex. It was a home for many.
For those interested in the ultimate in blood sports, beneath the floors of the warehouse deep beneath the ground layer of the city, under the first 3 levels of crude sleeping grooves dug into the walls, was an arena for those who wished to pit their strength and wit against others of their kind in life or death matches. Humans had been forcibly dragged into the fighting pits in the earlier days but had provided little challenge and amusement for those who were more inclined to participate as spectators and gamblers. The games were now restricted to Vampires, Werewolves, Demons, or otherwise immortal participants.
Logan moved through the throng of writhing bodies and gyrating hips on the dance floor. The intense burn of heated sexual arousal all around her, seduced her olfactory senses. Hands reached out and touched her: Sharp nails raking down her back over her coat drew a shudder of excitement in spite of the throbbing in her head. She caught the whiff of those engaged in frenzied sex and her nostrils flared as the strong aroma steeped into the air. Caught up in nostalgia she approached the bar and seated herself on a vacant stool and grinning wolfishly, she exposed her fully extended canines as the owner and barkeep of the Pit advanced with a sensuous sway of the hips.
"Dark and Deadly." Leona's thick Norwegian accent was sexily rivaled by her low vibratory alto voice. Her smile a sumptuous invitation, "It's been a while." She met sable eyes with unwavering candor. "I thought you were out of the slumming game for at least another thirty or so years." She leaned over the bar, her face close enough to the Huntress' to steal a kiss. Logan leaned forward, her tongue snaking out to lightly trace the soft fleshy lips offered for her pleasure. Leona moaned softly and just barely repressed her desire to toss the darker skinned woman onto the bar and have her way with her. With regret, she ended Logan's maddening tease with distance.
"A girl's got have fun sometime," Logan answered softly. "Miss me?"
"You kidding?" Leona chuckled. "Since you stopped hanging around business has dropped drastically." Logan rested a hand on the bar and glanced around skeptically. The owner laughed softly. "Birche, if you'll remember there was time when this place barely had standing room. You attracted them like moths. Everyone wanted to see the new legend in action." The pale-haired barkeep pursed her lips and clasped Logan's right hand in her own. "You were something else." Leona breathed out heavily. "There's not a thing that can compare to the sight of you in bloodlust." A soft growl escaped the Vampire's lips. "Hell yeah, I've missed you. I've missed us."
Logan squeezed her ex-lover's hand and smiled warmly. "Don't even try to convince me that that you haven't moved on. After all, it has been … what? Eleven years?"
"Oh, I've moved on," Leona answered with a grin. "Still, no one else quite has your uh … bite." Her pale blue eyes twinkled with merriment and they both laughed. "Shit! It's good to see ya. How about a drink on the house? What'll it be?"
"Vodka Virgin. Neat." Logan nodded accepting the offering. Leona nodded and began mixing the Huntress a drink. She poured a dash of vodka into a glass and topped it off with virgin blood.
"So tell me, what brings you to the Pit?"
"Oh well," Logan knocked back her drink quickly. "I'm in the mood for big game." She continued dispassionately. She held the glass up for a refill, pleased that the drink had taken off some of her edginess and cured the headache.
"Are you serious?" Leona asked wide-eyed. She knew Logan had given up the game partly because of boredom but mostly due to the Huntress' belief that it was too reckless and dangerous for her to continue to participate in the blood sports. Sooner or later some Vampire might get in that lucky bite and Logan's blood was potent. Her blood often had unpredictable effects. Leona refilled Logan's drink and grinned. "Sure you're up to it?" There were many aware of Logan's toleration to the sun but few were aware of just how powerful the Huntress was. She was still young, but rapidly advancing to legend status. Leona was all too aware that not all the night breeds were happy about that.
There were many speculations as to just how Logan Birche had been made. Many believed an ancient might possibly have sired her. In the olden days it was rumored the ancients were capable of siring children with human women. Some believed her just an accidental freak and doubted her of having fully crossed over. Many of the newbies who now frequented the Pit even doubted the Huntress' existence.
"Very."
The Pit owner quickly calculated the money she was about to make on the young legend. She could more than make up big time for the loss she'd suffered after betting on the suckling that had gone down after the first two minutes. She smiled at Logan broadly. "I think I have just what you're looking for. Should prove a challenge even for you."
"Really." Logan's interest was piqued. "Anyone I know?"
"Not sure," Leona answered truthfully. "He's not an Ancient but he has been around for a very long time, undefeated champion." Leona wrinkled her nose in distaste. "He's something of a scumbag if you ask me." She noticed Logan's glass was once again drained and poured her another drink. "Many of the others are scared of him; not too many will challenge him in the sport. He's old blood, Vampire and very powerful but he's not loyal to the Brood."
She slid the drink to Logan and leaned closer to speak in hushed tones. "Contracts himself out as an assassin to the highest bidder. Last job he did was the Haven." Logan's eyes narrowed. She had been familiar with the dance club. She remembered reading about the mysterious explosion in the paper. Leona nodded in agreement with Logan's disapproval. "Yeah, that was Van Btten's handiwork. The bastard killed over 100 innocents on that job. Just to take out one mark. There were at least fifteen of the Brood in there and he knew it. If the explosion and fire had not destroyed all the Brood's remains we would have all been in danger."
"Set up a match between me and Van Btten," Logan smiled.
"When?"
"An hour," Logan smirked. "I have plans for the evening."
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Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4