Vintage soul

EIGHT

The narrow alley afforded little room to move. Vein stood dead center between Donovan and the streets beyond. The others formed two small phalanxes, ranks of two, on either side of the phone booth, blocking both ends of the alley. One end was, or at least appeared to be, a dead end, but apparently Vein was in no mood to take chances. It was likely he knew more about Donovan than he was letting on, though he didn’t seem concerned.

“Always the funny man,” Vein said. “We’ll see if you can keep that smile in place. You are going to tell me what you know, or we’ll make you wish you’d seen the light. Am I clear?”

“Oh, I understood you the first time,” Donovan replied. “You know, inside the club, when the bouncers showed up and you all ran like whipped puppies? I was hired to do a job by your elders, and I intend to finish that job as contracted. You can get out of my way and let me proceed, or I will proceed through, across, and despite of you, and your elders will be informed of your stupidity. It’s your call…Vein.”

Maybe it was the thought of a living, breathing man, regardless of how old or powerful, giving him orders. Maybe it was the calm delivery, which Donovan had perfected over many years and much worse situations. Probably, Donovan reflected, it was the sarcastic inflection of his voice when he pronounced the affectatious name. Whatever it was, the vampires lunged.

Donovan raised his hand, swung the green pendant in a slow arc, and chanted softly. Greenish light, matching the hue of the crystal, appeared in the air, trailing after the circling chain. The light crystallized, and the first two attackers met that barrier head on. Sparks flew, and they cried out, stumbling back. Donovan started toward the head of the alley. He lowered the crystal in front of him like a shield and the shimmering barrier of light preceded him as he ran straight at Vein.

Young and foolish as he was, Vein was fast. He didn’t back away from Donovan’s attack, but instead leaped straight up. It was a graceful motion, like you’d expect to see in a bad kung fu movie, the leap taking him so high, and the whirling motion of his body so precise, that it gave the impression of slow motion. As Vein hurtled back to the floor of the alley and landed with his booted feet spread, already running forward, that illusion was shattered.

There was still one black-suited vamp between Donovan and the mouth of the alley. The shield of light divided them, but Vein was coming up fast from behind. Donovan knew he had to think fast, and make no mistakes. He didn’t have the strength or speed his adversaries could bring to bear, and he had to make a quick decision now and pray it was the right one. It would be hard to explain to Johndrow and the elders how he’d been ambushed and taken down by their own whelps in an alley.

Vein was moving much more quickly than he was, and Donovan knew he had no chance of reaching the other vamp blocking his way before he was caught from behind. With an odd gesture of his left hand, Donovan wove a character in the air. He spoke the name Pachacamac, and relaxed absolutely. He closed his eyes, blanked his mind and focused, and his body dropped like a stone to the floor of the alley.

Vein was moving so quickly that stopping wasn’t even an option. He roared over the point where Donovan had stood and plowed into his follower full tilt. The other cried out and raised his hands, but it was far too late to provide any protection. The two crashed to the ground and fell, thrashing and fighting to untangle themselves.

Donovan floated within the stone and brick and soil beneath them. He felt the earth elemental’s hold tighten, and with a quick mental push disassociated himself. While he lacked the innate agility and strength of the undead, Donovan was not weak. He arched his back, executed an admirable kip up and scanned the alley.

Vein was back on his feet, though his companion still sat on the ground, shaking his head. Their glasses had been knocked free, and Vein stared down the alley at Donovan in unfettered rage. His eyes glowed red and predatory in the dim light. Donovan glanced back toward the dead end and saw that any ill effects from his crystal charm had worn off. He had a decision to make. He could try getting past these three, who didn’t seem overloaded in the brains department, and find his way up or through the walls at the far end of the alley, or he could give Vein a second chance, hope he got lucky, and sprint for the streets. Angry as they might be, Vein and his “posse” wouldn’t dare to follow if Donovan made it onto the crowded streets. It would draw too much attention.

“That was a mistake, magic man,” Vein said. His voice was low now, grating and dry like it had been filtered through charcoal. “I wanted to talk, now I ‘m going to kill you.”

This time there was no mad rush. Vein and his companion, who’d finally managed to get back on his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust of the alley floor, strode purposefully toward the phone booth. Donovan considered slipping back in and dialing, but he knew they were too fast. One or more of them would be in the booth with him, and in their mental state even the thought of the bouncers waiting inside wouldn’t be enough to deter them from ripping out his throat. That meant he’d have to kill them, and he didn’t want to explain that to Johndrow any more than he wanted to explain his own defeat.

From the other side, the three remaining undead mimicked Vein’s slow approach. They spread out, like a dark curtain, so the only open space was the blank wall directly in front of the phone booth. Donovan considered this, and frowned. He hadn’t brought as much protection as he should have, and hadn’t even considered his present danger, considering it was Johndrow who’d hired him. The danger was very real, though, and he had to think quickly, or he might not live to get back to his office and the charms he should have brought with him in the first place.

He could try the wall. If he were quick enough, he might summon another elemental, slip into the brick, and take his chances in its arms until they reached the far side of the wall. He didn’t like it. The Elementals were unpredictable in allegiance, and in strength. If he caught the wrong one at the wrong time, he would spend the rest of his days embedded in that wall, the essence of his spirit joining with the elemental, and that would be the end. It wasn’t the death he had in mind for himself — not that he’d give his preference much thought.

He could try levitating, but with the speed and agility of his attackers, he wasn’t certain he could get out of reach before they scaled the walls and dragged him back down.

“Not so funny now, are you magic man?” Vein asked. His smile widened, and Donovan saw the fangs fully extended and the dripping, drooling hunger fairly foaming from that yawning, arrogant mouth.

Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His skin was clammy, and he knew his heartbeat thundered in the ears of his attackers. Even if they wanted to stop, it was beyond that point now. He knew enough about vampires to understand that, civilized as they appeared; they were a slave to the hungers that defined them. Once certain limits were reached, and exceeded, there was no turning back.

Then it hit him. Without waiting to gauge the wisdom of his actions, Donovan concentrated on his heart. He dropped his breathing into rhythm with that pulsing beat, and he incanted a short, monotonous chant, being very careful to match the inflection of his voice to that steady pumping of blood through his veins.

The vampires didn’t hesitate, they surged forward. Vein’s grin widened and his eyes filmed red. Donovan chopped one hand through the air, as if slicing his own words into equal pieces, and there were two of him standing in front of the phone booth. The vampires hesitated, mesmerized by the motion of his hand and the pounding of his heart, which he continued to magnify through the deep, sonorous accompaniment of the chant. He chopped his hand down again, and again. The six undead stood stock still, staring from one to the other of four flickering images. Donovan slipped forward, and before they realized what he was going to do, he joined the other three versions of himself in a slow, whirling dance.

“Kill them all,” Vein whispered. His voice was hoarse, and his gaze flicked first one way, then the other. The pounding heartbeat confused his senses, and with it magnified to such intensity, it was impossible to attribute it to one, or the other of the dancing Donovan DeChance figures whirling before his eyes.

Donovan knew it was only a diversion, and he knew it wouldn’t stop, or fool them for more than a moment. As he reached the outer edge of the ring of images, he broke out around the far side of the slower vamp to Vein’s left. As he moved, the images wavered, and seconds later there was nothing but a scent of acrid smoke floating in the center of the alley.

Donovan skirted the wall as closely as he could and sprinted for the mouth of the alley. He knew he had a second, maybe two, before Vein would recover. Maybe a bit longer for the others, but their leader was sharper than he’d first appeared, certainly more formidable than Donovan had given him credit for.

There was no sound, but he knew they were coming. The alley extended another ten yards, and Donovan ground his boots into the alley floor and launched forward. He heard traffic on the road beyond the alley’s mouth, and the honk of a horn. He needed to stagger into traffic, fade into a crowd, something — anything — to distance himself from the red glowing eyes and starved fangs of the young idiot on his heels.

Someone grabbed his jacket from behind, and he drew his arms in instinctively, sloughing off the outer garment in a graceful lunge. As he dove forward again, he expected to feel strong, cold hands on his shoulders, or his arms, or the colder bite of ivory through the flesh of his neck. He prepared himself for a final curse, something to leave his mark in defiance.

Someone screamed. Then there was another. Donovan ran another step, frowned, and whirled, pressing his back to the wall of the alley. He gasped as he caught sight of Vein, gripped at the throat by long, slender, gloved fingers that held him easily, lifting him from the ground. Vein and one of his followers were held aloft by a tall woman with flame red hair and eyes that flashed like ice chips in the dark alley, despite the lack of light.

“Amethyst?”

Donovan grinned. His breath came in deep, heaving gasps, and he wanted to collapse onto the ground and clutch his gut, but he stood his ground. For some reason, this particular woman’s presence made him want to appear strong and brave. He knew this was an illusion even he wasn’t going to pull off in this situation, but he did what he could.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked. One of her eyebrows rose, and she smiled lazily back at him. “Men are never good at this sort of thing.” She informed him.

Vein, who had overcome his fright at being snatched from his feet unceremoniously, whirled and lunged at her neck. Amethyst flung him to the side, slamming him into the brick wall of the alley so hard that Donovan was afraid they must have heard the collision inside the club. Amethyst tossed the second vamp to the far wall and strolled indifferently down the alley to where Donovan leaned on the wall and watched in amazement. He’d seen her in action before, but never like this. She had never exhibited more than normal strength in his presence, and he was wondering what other secrets she might be keeping when a ragged cry broke out behind her.

The three vampires who’d followed Vein down the alley lunged from behind, one for each of her arms, and one straight at her throat. Amethyst shook her hair down off her shoulders, and a blinding flash of light erupted from a glittering web of crystals woven in among her lustrous locks. The light was brilliant yellow, and the alley lit as if the night had passed in an instant and the sun had peeked her head in over the wall.

The vampires scattered. Vein crouched by the wall, his eyes very wide and his once well-groomed hair and clothing in complete disarray. There was a ragged tear at the elbow of one sleeve of his jacket, and his sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. Still, he didn’t look beaten — just angry.

“I wouldn’t do it,” Donovan said. He stood and brushed dust from his arms. He eyed his jacket, still lying in the middle of the alley, and sighed. “I’m going to have to pay a fortune to get that thing cleaned.”

Amethyst turned to glance at the trampled jacket, and as she did so, Vein sprang. Donovan was already whirling the green crystal again, but Amethyst had anticipated the move. In fact, Donovan decided with amazement, she’d invited it by turning her head. She flicked her hair again, and Vein took the blast of light full in the face. He cried out, unable to stop his forward progress. He clawed at the air, and smoke rolled out from the sleeves of his jacket and up through his collar to wind about his hair. Amethyst held out her hand, and he smacked into it with a thud. He crumpled to the ground, then, screaming in pain and fear, he tore at his jacket, ripped it from his back, and turned to follow his friends back down the alley. He scuttled up the back wall like a spider, moving so quickly he was over wall and out of sight before Donovan’s crystal stopped it’s now lazy, pointless circle and dangled limply on its chain.

“Wow,” he said. “You never told me Hercules was your brother. Where did you get that strength?”

She met his gaze, stepped forward to offer him her hand, and promptly collapsed forward into his arms. Donovan, surprised, barely managed to catch her and hold her upright.

“I could use a drink, cowboy,” she said. “Buy me one and maybe I’ll show you how I did it.”

She shook in his arms, and he all but carried her back to the phone booth. He pushed the numbers 3, 6 and 0 again, and they rotated inward. The alley stood quiet, and empty. All that remained were the empty booth, three pairs of battered sunglasses, and a half-burned sports coat. It was turning out to be a hell of a night.