 
* * * * *

VAMPIRE MAFIA: SANTA CRUZ

by

JACKSON STEIN

* * * * *

Vampire Mafia: Santa Cruz

Copyright 2013 Jackson Stein

www.JacksonSteinBooks.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © (2013) by (Jackson Stein)

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Books by Jackson Stein

VAMPIRE MAFIA: SANTA CRUZ

DRACULA RISING

DRACULA REIGNS

I, DRACULA
TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EXCERPT FROM DRACULA RISING

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dedication: For my three wise guys, Nicky the Enforcer, Fat Tommy and Zacky Two Cheeks. Love ya, you knuckleheads.

Acknowledgements: Thank you Gemma Halliday for all of your support in the process of writing this book.

Thank you Linda Style and Arran McNicol for your insightful contributions along the way.
CHAPTER ONE

It was just before midnight when Sarah Little decided to knock-off for the night. She strode through the tall glass doors of her law firm's office building and plunged into a wall of hazy white mist rolling across the parking lot. The moon emerged from beneath the broiling clouds, its glowing top edge slicing through layers of rippling thunderheads like a shark's fin patrolling the murky skies.

Sarah wrapped her long blond hair deep into her fluffy down jacket, zipped it all the way up and shivered back at the frosty evening. She hurried across the foggy lot, still lost in the details of the trial she was working on.

Sarah Little was a Santa Cruz local. She loved her small town by the sea but was also eager to get her life started in a new city... any new city. People always told her she was bright and quite mature for twenty...and it was true. She'd already decided she was going to be a successful trial lawyer.

But, while she dreamed of someday attending a top law school, she knew her parents weren't going to be able to pay for everything and was thrilled when Bremen & Stratford offered her a paid internship position. The experience would look awesome on her law school application and it may even mean the difference between acceptance and denial.

Sarah's mind was racing with excitement. She'd been working nights in the downtown law office during one of the biggest cases of the decade. A pharmaceutical company, Oracle Pharmaceuticals and Medical Supplies, had been accused of knowingly suppressing critical research data just before the global release and distribution of their new miracle drug called Viatoxil.

People were getting sick...very sick. Many were dying...and the people who had taken the drug and their families were mad as hell.

And if the firm won the Viatoxil case, in some small way, she would have her name attached to the victory forever. It just might be her ticket into Stanford. No, she was sure of it.

Everyone in the law office had been scrambling lately on the Viatoxil case and tonight was no exception. Another caffeine-saturated marathon evening at the office. But that's what it would take to be good. What surprised her was how fast the nights flew by. The old adage, time flies when you're having fun, was all too true. She truly loved every minute of it.

Sarah ran through her plan again. She would graduate from community college in the spring and work hard for the next several years to complete law school as early as possible. Her plan had become an obsession with all the other small but important details of her exciting future. It consumed her thoughts on a day-to-day basis and she found it hard to care about little else. She did her best to assist the attorneys as they formulated new strategies and researched possible precedents of helpful past decisions, and she always left wishing she could have done more to help her colleagues prepare.

But she had school early in the morning and was already going to catch hell from her parents. Normally she wouldn't have thought twice about walking toward the back of the well-lit parking lot, but tonight something was different. Halfway across the lot, she paused...noticed the end row of usually bright halogen street lamps above where she'd parked had gone dark, transforming her destination into a sea of shadows that had swallowed up her car.

Just let your eyes adjust, Sarah...

Good logic, but even so, her heart began to pound as she searched for her keys, ransacking the oversized purse slung across her shoulder. Finally locating them, she stepped into the black abyss.

As she did, she turned with a quick jerk and saw a long shadow slide across the lighted area of pavement. Prickly goose bumps gripped her body as the darkness enveloped her and alarm bells started ringing in the back of her mind.

She shook it off. Don't be silly. It's just the clouds moving over the moon, she decided, then squared her shoulders and drew in a deep breath. Holding a single car key out in front of her like a tiny sword, she inched her way forward.

Hearing faint footsteps running somewhere in the distance, she turned to look behind her...to the right...and the left. But it was too dark. Her heart hammered, each heavy beat expanding and contracting in her chest, thudding like a base drum. She heard footsteps again, only louder this time...and closer. About to make a quick dash toward the safety of her car, she smelled the sweet scent of cologne...felt a sudden, undeniable wave of body heat behind her.

And froze.

Just as she opened her mouth to scream, strong arms pulled her to the ground with a powerful jolt and covered her mouth and nose with a moist, acrid-smelling cloth. Struggling for each breath...she flailed her arms, fought to get away, only she was getting dizzy...suffocating. Another pair of hands...grabbing her arms, tying her arms behind her back...wrapping a thick silky blindfold over her eyes... 

# CHAPTER TWO

"Brilliant little bugger..."

Tommy Valentine spoke to himself as he admired the highly sophisticated piece of FBI surveillance equipment in the palm of his hand. He drew in a long breath and then exhaled slowly, trying his best to calm his ratchet-tight nerves. A drop of perspiration rolled off of the end of his nose and landed on the inside of his wrist, barely missing the high-tech gadget.

Valentine had a tight, edgy feeling in the pit of his stomach and a bothersome little voice in the back of his mind that whispered....

You're missing something.

He reminded himself there were always doubts about the safety of a mission and nothing had gone terribly wrong so far. Still, both hands were damp with sweat and trembling as he inspected the recording device. It was a tiny spy camera that looked similar to, and replaced, one of the buttons of his pressed, white dress shirt. The data was then wirelessly recorded in a receiver located inside of his belt buckle.

Another deep breath.

"Looking smart there, Thomas," he said, attempting to spike his courage as he checked his appearance in the reflection of a small, dimly lit bathroom mirror. Then he noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead and thought back to the fundamentals of his FBI training, refocusing on the mission with a series of mental exercises.

He drew in a large breath and centered his mind. Then he slowly exhaled and concentrated on the first hurdle to overcome. He drew another deep breath and crystallized the vision...one of flawless execution, then exhaled and repeated the exercises until he had run through each element of his plan.

No room for mistakes...

Valentine thought back to how this undercover mission had begun and how simple his assignment seemed then. And now how complicated everything had become. The Stelino family was a more formidable opponent than the Bureau had expected because no one would dare testify against them. The assignment had already gone on longer than originally planned, and every day seemed more dangerous than the last. It was only a matter of time before he'd get made...his cover would get blown...and he'd be a dead man.

And yet...they just keep sending me back in there...

But he was close, and if he was successful tonight, it would be the last time. Then he could get on with another job, preferably not so deep undercover. He just needed to gather a bit more solid evidence before they could charge and eventually convict the organized-crime boss Vincenzo Stelino of racketeering, extortion or at the very least, tax evasion.

The FBI would likely offer a promotion plus a huge pay raise. This was his career moment. He had to pull it off...

Still looking in the mirror, he adjusted his shirt, shrugging off the negative thoughts.

Piece of cake Thomas. Just get the evidence and get out.

He was still trying to stay calm as he drove his polished BMW Z4 roadster up to the security gate of the Stelino compound, located in an industrial neighborhood on the north end of Santa Cruz County. The compound was large enough to span an entire city block...a far cry from the tiny apartment the FBI had rented for him near the coastline, close to the city's popular downtown area.

The little voice resurfaced...pulling at his thoughts. An uncomfortable shiver crawled across his skin as he thought about the evil men he knew were inside the compound's high, fortress-like walls. It wasn't the loan sharking, gambling or drug dealing that made him wary. There was something more about these eerie men, something unnatural.

Something unthinkable...

Vincenzo Stelino was the boss, number one in command, and his three sons, Constantino, Nicoli, and Dominic were made men. Vincenzo also had a beautiful daughter, Anna, but she was unlike the rest of the family and didn't seem to play any role in the crime syndicate's illegal activities. He'd made a connection with Anna, but...his gut twisted up at the thought...how she would hate him if she learned the truth. He sighed. He couldn't think about that now. He had a job to do.

Get in and get out. Not a problem.

The guards knew him well by now and were relaxed and friendly as they closed the gates behind him. Valentine put on a casual air as he shook hands and made small talk. He passed through the first security post with an easy smile pasted on his face, attempting to read their expressions and body language for the "tells" that would expose any malicious intent. He scanned for any general uneasiness or tension in their eyes. The FBI had trained him well to spot anything out of the ordinary and abort if necessary. Any suspicion whatsoever and he would simply turn around and terminate tonight's mission. If he noticed even the smallest hint of doubt, he would recite his well-rehearsed exit line: Well then, mates, I just remembered I forgot the one very important document Vincenzo requested...and it's just back in my car. Vincenzo will be mad as hell if I don't have what he wants, when he wants it. You know how he is... Be right back then. It sounded believable as he went over it again. It would be just enough of a distraction to buy him a few seconds.

But everything was fine. The men were calm and easy going and seemed to barely care or even notice as they nodded him through the compound's military-like entry points.

Renzo, the head of security at the Stelino compound, stepped into Valentine's path. He was a huge man with a broad chest and rounded stomach, but due to his youthful, boyish facial features he had acquired the nickname Babyface. His expression usually remained a blank slate, and today was no different.

"Ciao Tommy, how ya doin, eh?" the hulking Italian asked as he searched Valentine with his eyes.

"Quite well, thank you Renzo, and you?" Valentine flashed the best smile he could muster.

"Not too bad. I'm gett'n by. Know what I mean, eh? You're good, go on through." Renzo nodded his admittance.

The tension eased from Valentine's limbs, allowing him to relax a bit.

Don't let the paranoia get to you, Thomas...

Valentine composed himself as he entered the military-like building inside the compound and then walked toward the long hallway that led to Vincenzo's office. The architecture of the building's interior was stunning, nothing like its lackluster dingy gray exterior. He marveled at the enormous pavilion-like chamber in the center of the building. Twenty-foot-high ceilings held up by six huge marble columns formed a circle around the majestic looking room.

The hard heels of his dress shoes announced his presence against the marble floor and echoed down the cathedral-like archway in front of him. The round ceilings above him were painted with different Biblical looking scenes. One of them depicted a huge dragon, its dagger-like teeth sinking into a maiden's throat, claws clutching a spear that impaled a man from groin to mouth. The frescoes that now surrounded him were as horrible as they were intricate, and seemed to serve as a grisly warning to all those who entered. Though he'd seen the frescoes before, a sudden icy fear clawed its way deep into his mind.

As he approached the staircase that led up to Vincenzo's office, he took another full breath and mentally cataloged the different pieces of evidence he'd already been able to extract...most of it right under the Stelino family's noses. The list was long and detailed. He smiled at the thought of the successful work he'd done to obtain it.

No. They won't have any idea what hit 'em.

He paused in front of the opulent marble staircase. The railing was hand carved into what looked like a huge snake rising from its coils, ready to strike. An obvious strategy to strike fear into the heart of whoever dared to enter, and although he knew the psychology behind it, his palms were sweating anyway. He clenched his jaw...reached out...and placed one damp hand on the snake's cold head.

***

"Hey-ah Valentine." The voice of Constantino Stelino emanated from the shadows on his left. "Can you-ah come in here per un momento, eh? I'd like to speak to you..."

Constantino was the one man Valentine needed to avoid. "Sorry, mate, I'll be there in just a quick minute. Vincenzo told me to come see him straight-away. Said it was urgent," Valentine replied over his shoulder as he placed a shaky foot on the first smooth white step of the stone staircase. Valentine looked toward the top of the stairs and saw Constantino wasn't alone. The two hired henchmen, Luiggi and Giuseppi, stood at the top of the staircase in front of Vincenzo's office.

He froze. Those thugs only came over from Italy when work needed to be done.

A tremor of fear gripped him at his core and any composure he'd summoned vanished. His mouth turned sticky, his throat sand-paper dry and it seemed as if his heart somehow already knew his fate, suddenly foregoing the need to continue beating.

Think...do something...anything.

He glanced left to right, his thoughts scrambling for a way out. But all he heard was that little voice in the back of his mind.

Valentine backed down the steps, turned and walked into Constantino's office that was just to the left of the stairs. "What can I do for you this evening, mate?" Valentine asked, calling on his best Brit bravado to conceal his fears. Luiggi and Giuseppi followed him inside.

Constantino sat behind a large mahogany desk, eyes glowing with wild anticipation, a twisted grimace of a smile contorting his face...until it became something almost inhuman. Valentine's mouth dropped open as he saw the grimace grow wider, exposing a sharp row of rotting yellow teeth just under Constantino's thin black moustache.

At that moment, Valentine realized in the three years he had known Constantino, he had never—not once—seen him smile.

The two men behind Valentine closed and locked the doors with a nauseating click-click, sealing his fate. The only question that remained now...was how.

A loud crack exploded inside his head. The pain traveled like electricity to his neck, down his back, blasting out of the soles of his feet.

Losing consciousness as he fell to the ground, Valentine heard Constantino spit on him in disgust, then mutter, "Vaffonculo...ah, forgettaboutit."

***

Thomas Valentine lifted his head from what he hoped was just a bad dream and wished he could go back to sleep in his warm, comfortable bed. His head pulsated with waves of pain as he blinked in his new surroundings...the alarm bells ringing in his mind transforming into dread as he recognized where he was.

It was a room he had seen before while working undercover. Memories flooded his mind as he realized he was chained to a table in a room below the central building in the center of the Stelino compound. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Luiggi...sharpening an axe. Then he saw Giuseppi putting a thick cloth apron over his shoulders, tying it around his waist. Valentine's stomach lurched up to his throat. Giuseppi had a thing for tidiness...and the apron was to keep the blood from soiling his clothes.

His blood.

His heart hammered in his chest as he thought through the different scenarios, searching for a quick solution...anything to change his impending fate.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures...

"No, Luiggi...you're making a big mistake, mate!" If he could get a dialogue going, he might have a chance. A slim one, but it was all he had. "What is this about?"

"Oh Valentine, you-ah big, big disappointment for the family, eh. We only love you like a brother and this is how you return the family's generosity, huh!" The growing disdain in Luigi's voice confirmed Valentine's worst fear, the cold words penetrating his mind like an ice pick. "We found the wire. We know you're working with the feds."

Valentine's eyes went wide, horror filtering through every cell in his body as images of his own death flashed in his mind.

"Wait! For the love of god, please just wait a minute. I can explain."

Luiggi smirked. "Your time is up Valentine. You think we leave things like this to chance? We have an agent in your office. He's on our payroll and just gave you up. So the cat is, how they-ah say, looking to be out of the laundry bag for you." Luiggi handed the axe to Giuseppi and they both paused, staring down, smiling, letting Valentine's agonizing emotions hang a bit longer. The men's eyes shone with anticipation...their smiles beamed with excitement.

Valentine clung to the simple act of breathing as Giuseppi gripped the axe handle. He held it low, swinging the gleaming metal head gently across the floor like a pendulum.

Finally, he spoke in low tones, just above a whisper, "Constantino says for you we take our time, you know what I mean, eh? Find out how much you know. So why not make it more easy for yourself and just tell us now, eh?"

Valentine knew they were lying. If an agent had leaked classified information, the pair would already know everything he did. All of the evidence they had on Vincenzo and his three sons was circumstantial, which is why tonight's mission had been so important. But clearly, none of that mattered now.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," Valentine said, surprised at the cool confidence in his voice despite the way his head was spinning. "I haven't the slightest clue as to what you're talking about—"

A silvery flash arched through the air as Giuseppi moved forward with the axe swinging above his head...coming down at full force. It landed with a sickening thud. Valentine didn't feel anything except the loud thump of the heavy tool hitting the table. He looked down, blinked, and then blinked again, sudden shock gripping his mind as he saw the axe was stuck deep into the wooden table where his fingers used to be. He saw bright red splatter on Giuseppi's white apron...yet, strangely, Valentine felt no pain. His head began to swirl...and the room grew darker...and...darker...
CHAPTER THREE

John Stanic's mind would not stop racing. All of the aspects of his life equaled a mountain of stress...and there never seemed to be enough hours in one day. He was a full-time professor at Santa Cruz University and taught several courses in archeology and anthropology. It was his dream job, but a job that could also be overwhelming. At 5 a.m. he realized sleeping was out of the question, so instead he decided to go for an early morning jog.

He lumbered out of bed, slid his legs into a pair of old sweatpants, shrugged his body into a hooded sweatshirt, and then began his routine of light stretching. Running had been his hobby for most of his life, and he was good at it. He typically ran one marathon and at least half a dozen shorter races each year. This year, he was training for the New York City Marathon. The world-famous event loomed just two short weeks away, so he decided to push himself a little harder this morning.

He went to the kitchen and made a strong pot of coffee, then opened the fridge and took out a handful of ripe strawberries. He sipped the dark brew and ate the sweet fruit between stretches, then laced up his running shoes.

Stanic loved living in the Santa Cruz foothills because of the challenging, hilly trails and the endless fresh, cool mountain air. He lived on a well manicured tree-lined street where his favorite mountain trail wrapped around the back of his property and S-curved its way up the mountain's grade, deep into the lush green forest. He knew exactly what to expect. The first steps were always exhilarating. Like sliding into a cool swimming pool after a long soak in a hot tub.

As he opened the back door and stepped out to the trail, he realized how dark it still was. "That's the price you pay for getting up so damn early," he muttered, then took the first step into the cool mist that enshrouded the mountains.

His breath matched his heartbeat, steady and slow. He felt strong, like a slow moving train picking up speed right out from the station. He knew by around mile seven he would begin to feel the hypnotic trance of the runner's high that he always anticipated achieving. Hopefully, right around mile seven, with his eyes half closed and barely aware of the world around him, he would enter what more experienced runners referred to as "the zone". Or the moment he would begin to feel a powerful surge of dopamine course through his veins.

Stanic picked up the pace. Dawn was just lighting up the hillside in a glorious display of light filtering through tall pines that made all his worrying about work seem insignificant in comparison. The trail had led him through a wooded grove and then out into an open meadow. He gazed across the field and frowned. Cutting through his scene of organic surroundings was a car parked out in the middle of a grassy meadow. The nearest road was a good 150 yards away. Someone had to be looking for seclusion to end up here. Not a good sign.

He stopped in the middle of the trail and turned toward the car, breathing hard with his hands on his knees. It was a black Cadillac. Two men emerged from the front doors just as Stanic ducked down behind a thicket of small pine trees. The men were wearing well-tailored black suits. Definitely not nature lovers out for a morning stroll. The taller of the two men opened the back door and extracted shovels, handing one to his partner. Then the two of them rounded the car and then popped the trunk.

As the trunk swung open...a blood-streaked hand reached out from the inside...a hand that was missing two fingers. Stanic stared in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat, unable to look away as the bony, flesh-torn stumps glistened in the bright sunlight.

The two well-dressed men whipped their heads in his direction, their eyes locking on Stanic's.

He tried to look away but couldn't. The shock of the bizarre vision paralyzed his body while his brain attempted to interpret the scene. The two men, however, suffered none of the same paralysis. They dropped their shovels, the first taking a quick step toward the small grove of trees.

Fight or flight...

He turned and took off back down the trail, his legs now rubbery, clumsy and numb. His lungs seized, rejecting the much needed airflow. Even as the adrenaline kicked in, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

***

Over John Stanic's right shoulder and off in the distance he heard the two men call out, "Wait! Hey, we just want to talk to you!"

His adrenaline spiked, coursing through his body like a stimulant. His muscles tightened and contracted with lightning quickness as he ran, but just before he rounded the bend of the narrow mountain trail, he heard shots. Crack! Crack-crack! He felt the air move as the bullets whizzed by... smelled the lead in the air. Then...felt the burning pain as a bullet ripped through the flesh and muscle of his right shoulder. He grabbed his shoulder, applied tight pressure...and kept running.

After sprinting another quarter-mile, he glanced back, looking for signs of the two men. Blood spread like an ink stain across his sweatshirt, increasing in size with every step. He knew he wouldn't be able to continue this pace much longer so he turned to his right and sprinted straight into the forest hoping to find a hiding place. Sharp tree branches flew by at a blur as he ran, cutting into his face and arms. But the path dead-ended into a rock wall rising twenty feet high and stretching far from his left to his right. Gasping and choking for air, he searched for a way out... left...then right...then he gazed back at the forest where he'd just been, the hopelessness of his situation gripping his throat like an ever tightening noose.

Too late to go back.

He turned to his right and lurched ahead, running, stumbling, forcing his feet to move along the side of the steep mountain's rim, warm blood now dripping down his arm as he ran. He prayed he wouldn't pass out from blood loss as he pushed through more unforgiving tree branches that tore into him, scratching and gouging out pieces of flesh as he rushed toward the edge of the grove. And then... the earth dropped away before him. He slid to a quick stop, teetering in place, struggling for balance at the edge of a cliff...leading straight down into a vast rock quarry, just inches from where he stood.

Trapped like a lab rat in a maze, Stanic turned, eyes fixing on the mountain terrain behind him. The only way out was the way he'd come in...then he heard the rushing footsteps of the men approaching in the distance.

"Hey! We need to talk! Just want to talk!"

Standing at the apex of the cliff's long vertical drop, he looked up at the steep mountainside rising to his left. That's when he noticed a sturdy tree root jutting through the base of the mountain, wrapping out over the cliff side. He grabbed onto the thick wood of the root with both hands and jumped, leaving his body swinging in the air and his feet dangling below like a just-caught fish flopping on a hook.

Pain ripped through his torso as more fresh blood oozed from the wound in his shoulder and the lacerations on his arms and face. A small avalanche of rocks and fine dirt showered down on him from above, the noise betraying his location. He looked down from the dizzying height above the jagged rocks in the quarry below. Then one foot caught hold of something solid. An angular granite boulder, with just enough room for a toe, allowed him to make his way up the side of the rocky overhang.

After climbing about fifteen feet of sheer mountain wall, the terrain leveled off a bit, allowing for quicker progress. As he made his way up the hill, he grabbed onto small trees and bushes for more leverage. Then he heard the menacing cry of his predators right behind him.

"Wait! We just want to make this as easy as possible for you!"

"Yeah, right," Stanic mumbled. "Tell me another one, pal."

Clinging to a young sapling on the cliff's upper edge, his mind raced across what few options he had. He again searched the hillside for an escape route. If he could just entice the men to follow him high enough up the mountainside, then maybe he could loop back around and get out the way he came in. But, his right arm was now numb, and he was still rapidly losing blood. Time was not on his side.

He turned left and beat his way through the trees, stopping occasionally to listen. He could hear the men as they attempted to climb the rock wall behind him. He turned again and sprinted straight down hill. The steepness of the hillside caught him off guard and his feet slipped out from under him and he slid out-of-control, foot-first across the slick green foliage and loose dirt. His body picked up speed as he shot down the mountainside, blasting through the leaves and plant life like a torpedo. More brush whipped across his face as he barreled downward.

He saw beams of bright sunlight coming toward him as it broke through the thick layers of foliage. The ground under him suddenly fell away and the unforgiving forest spit his body over the ridge and back onto the path that he came in on. He landed flat on his back with a solid thud. After gasping for a quick gulp of air, he stood, winced, and sucked in another breath as he scanned his surroundings.

All was silent.

He dashed back toward the main trail and soon approached the quiet meadow where the black Cadillac still sat. He let out a long sigh of relief, realizing his plan had worked...at least for the moment.

He paused in place and stared at the car, remembering the bloody, deformed hand reaching out from the trunk.

Taking quick glances at the trail behind him, he crept forward. As he closed in on the vehicle, he saw the trunk was closed. He squinted through the dark tinted windows on the driver's side door for the trunk release but something glimmering caught his eye instead.

Keys. The keys to the Caddie were still in the ignition! Stanic opened the door but hesitated. He thought about the man in trunk, then about the bullet hole in his arm. He made a quick decision, slid onto the seat and started the engine. The Cadillac's high-performance engine purred as he accelerated out of the meadow then down a narrow dirt road and safely onto the highway.

His wound was still bleeding as he sped down mile after mile of open road in search of the closest hospital. Then he heard loud thumping noises from the back end of the car and swerved toward the nearest exit ramp and pulled to a stop on a deserted road surrounded by acres of farmland and far from view of the freeway. He waited a beat, listening as he scanned across the long stretch of empty field. More thumping...this time accompanied by a muffled voice. Stanic pulled the release lever on the dashboard, jumped from the car and ran toward the back. The trunk lock disengaged, easing open as he peered inside.

# CHAPTER FOUR

The man in the trunk wore a white dress shirt streaked with deep ruby stains, but he looked up with a bright smile.

"How're we doin' then, mate?" the man said, blocking the sudden flood of sunlight from his eyes with a hand gloved in red.

"Not well," Stanic replied, looking at the gruesome amount of blood. He could see the man's left hand was missing both its ring and pinky fingers. "You?"

"Been better, actually, but I'm glad to see you there, mate... instead of those two goons. Mind giving us a hand up 'n' out of 'ere?"

Stanic's brain was still tumbling through the events of the morning as he helped the man out of the trunk.

"The name is Thomas Valentine. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Just dumb luck, I guess," he said glancing around. "Here, let me take a look at that hand."

Valentine lifted his macabre stumps into the sunlight and Stanic flinched at the sight of wounds. "Let's get out here, right now," he said, pointing toward the passenger side of the car and then he slid behind the wheel.

"Right behind you, mate." Valentine jumped into the car just as the tires turned through the loose gravel, spitting rocks into the air behind them as they headed back toward the highway.

***

"Okay, let's start at the beginning. Who is trying to kill you?" Stanic gunned the accelerator and the car responded with jolt of forward motion.

Valentine stared into the distance, his face now showing signs of pain as he applied pressure to his wounded hand.

"Have you heard of the Stelino family crime syndicate?"

Stanic shook his head. "No. I'm a college professor. I don't keep up with that sort of thing."

Stanic's only interest at the moment was finding out what was going on.

Apparently Valentine sensed Stanic wasn't going to engage in small talk, "Well, Vincenzo Stelino just happens to be head of the mob. And...he tried to have me executed this morning...and I can guarantee he won't stop until I'm buried in a shallow grave or deep in the great blue Pacific. You, on the other hand, are simply collateral damage—wrong place, wrong time, mate. You witnessed the crime, and then you even managed to stop it— thank goodness for my sake—then proceeded to steal their shiny black car. They'll have a major vendetta against you as well. And one more important thing, mate..." he paused, looking at Stanic. "They have police officers on their payroll. This is no joke... it's quite a big mess."

Valentine glanced over his shoulder to the back seat. "What do we have here?" he asked, pulling a large, blue Nylon, heavy-gauge gym bag into the front with his uninjured hand.

Stanic pried his eyes off the road for a second, watching as Valentine unzipped the bag and revealed its contents.

"Guns," Stanic muttered, feeling a little uneasy with the find.

Valentine reached in and snatched up a black pistol.

"This is a Walther PK380 semi-automatic. It's extra lightweight, but still powerful." He checked the clip before handing it to Stanic. "Also, it's loaded, so be careful, mate."

Valentine pulled out a second gun, fingering the handle with his good hand. "This one's a Glock, also semi-automatic," he said pointing at the weapon with his bloody stumps as he described it. "This crosshatch style, short grip, tells me it's a fourth-generation Glock 19. Holds up to eight rounds and—" He popped the clip out of the weapon, then snapped it back in place. "—also fully loaded."

"Those men planned to use these two guns to execute me back there in the meadow. I'm sure the serial numbers have been filed down as well," Valentine reported as he reached into the bag and traded the Glock for a small manila envelope.

He opened the flap, smearing faint lines of blood across the top. "Of course. It's the cash for the hit." Valentine fanned out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. "Looks like about twenty grand here." His expression fell flat, the disappointment on his face obvious.

"That's all they get these days for whacking a guy? Only twenty grand? Tsk-tsk."

His disbelief made Stanic smile.

Then, shrugging his shoulders, Valentine pocketed the cash.

Stanic took a deep breath as he considered the new information. He shifted his gaze from the road back to the bottom of the gym bag and found himself staring at the bloody, torn flesh and bright white bone of two severed fingers.

"Uh..." He cleared his throat. "Valentine?"

"Yeah, mate?"

"I think I may have found something that belongs to you."

Valentine looked into the bag. His face paling. "Yes, they do actually look a tad bit familiar."

"It may not be too late to reattach them," Stanic suggested.

Valentine nodded, his face now looking worn and washed-out, his eyes unfocused, staring off into the distance.

Stanic wondered how much blood the man had lost...and how much blood he had lost from bullet hole in his shoulder. The truth was neither of them was going to be in any shape to do anything if they didn't get to a hospital fast.

The Brit cradled his two fingers with the cautious care of a father holding his newborn baby for the first time. Then, eyes wide with fear, he jerked his head over at Stanic. "We can't go to a hospital mate," he pleaded. "Please, you gotta believe me!"

Valentine's urgent tone seemed laced with desperation. He took a deep breath, apparently trying to calm himself, then continued. "I'm an undercover FBI agent. The Stelino organization is one of the largest mafia families on the West coast and they have corrupt police officers on their payroll. If we go to a hospital...the only way either of us will come out is in a body bag.

Stanic nodded, still staring ahead at the open road as it flew by. Seeing the guy's fingers, he had to believe him. "I have an idea."

"Okay, mate...out with it, then."

"I have a friend who's a doctor. She may be able to help us stay under the radar."

"Well, bloody 'ell, mate. Off we go, then."

He and Dr. Rachel Moore had been dating for three years now, but hadn't seen much of each other lately. He smiled, remembering the warm summer day they met on the Beach up north in Bonny Dunes. Both were avid surfers, and both loved the big waves. When the waves grew huge, most of the surfers headed in for safety, dreading the jagged rocks along the shore and fierce riptides. But not Stanic. And not the dark-haired beauty he'd seen paddling out into the surf that day. He had watched her swim out, then carve up and down the powerful walls of churning water. With the other surfers watching from the safety of the warm sand, he had paddled out and joined her. Just two surfers battling together side-by-side against the monster swells of the open sea.

The power of the ocean seemed to parallel Stanic's feelings for Rachel most days—a rare synergy of calm harmony mixed with pure excitement. It was only natural they became good friends. To Stanic's delight, the two had begun to make plans to meet at the top surfing spots in the area, searching for bigger and better breaking waves. Soon, it was more than just the waves that brought them together.

How fast the years had gone by...and how proud of her he was. She'd managed to land a great job at Santa Cruz Memorial Hospital. He'd been there...watching in excitement as her career took off...and was excited for her when she was promoted to chief of staff. Her dream had come true...and he'd felt privileged to witness all of the success unfold for her.

It was unfortunate they were both so busy with their careers lately, he as a professor with a full schedule of classes at the university, and her in charge of a large staff at the hospital. They hadn't been able to spend much quality time together and it seemed as if they might be drifting apart. Sadness filled him as he pushed harder on the accelerator...and blinked away the unexpected tears that suddenly welled in his eyes.

They exited the freeway and drove into a small convenience store parking lot where Stanic jumped out. Seconds later he returned with large cup of ice. Valentine placed both his severed fingers inside the cup and Stanic fired up the Caddie again.

"We should have at least a few hours to get those fingers reattached before the tissue dies," Stanic announced, amazed at how confident he sounded...even though he was unsure of how long Valentine's fingers had lain on the bottom of the gym bag, let alone whether they were clean enough to be reattached without risk of infection.

Valentine nodded in agreement, then added, "And the sooner the better, mate."

Stanic gunned the accelerator again, his eyes glued to the road as his passenger opened the glove compartment, shuffled the contents around, and came up with something from inside.

Valentine held the device in the air.

A glowing smart phone...flashing like a beacon...transmitting their exact location.

Stanic stared at the screen wondering how much time it may take for the owners of the phone to track them. He took a strained breath as a new wave of fear flooded through his mind.

As if on cue, a black Escalade with dark tinted windows approached out of nowhere. Stanic gunned the motor, but it was too late. The oversized vehicle rammed them from behind hard enough to send the phone and both men flying sideways across the dashboard. Looking out the window at the same time, he recognized the driver as one of the two men he'd seen in the meadow.

"Friend of yours?" he shouted.

"That's Luiggi. He's wicked with an axe."

The SUV surged forward for another attack, this time accompanied by the crack of gunfire.

Stanic and Valentine ducked down. Crack! Crack-crack-crack! Gunshots rang out, shattering the back and side windows, peppering the passenger-side door. Stanic slammed the accelerator to the floor creating some much-needed distance between the two vehicles. Both men stared down at the speedometer as it climbed over 110 miles per hour.

Just ahead, the highway split off in two directions. The oncoming traffic separated to the left side of a cement barrier as the lanes parted. The SUV approached from their right. It was now or never. "Hold on!" he shouted as he swerved into oncoming traffic. He threaded through the first few speeding cars, just missing several, then jerked the wheel to left. The Cadillac fish-tailed to the right, screeching the wrong way down a steep on-ramp.

Realizing they were going too fast, he stomped the brakes, but instead of slowing down, the tires locked up and they began to slide toward a busy intersection at the end of the ramp. The tires billowed smoke and screeched across the pavement as they shot forward, closer to a crowded boulevard looming ahead. Both he and Valentine caught the dashboard and braced for impact. He held his breath as the car propelled them down the wet pavement in an out-of-control diagonal spin...directly toward oncoming traffic.

Then the car slowed, bringing them to a lurching stop in the bright white crosswalk lines only inches from the thunder of rushing cross traffic. Stanic exhaled, then maneuvered the vehicle back to the exit ramp...and merged into the city traffic.

"Find that phone!" Stanic yelled spotting an old pick-up truck hauling a trailer full of old appliances at a gas station. He jerked the wheel to the right, turned off the road and pulled alongside the trailer.

Valentine bent down, reemerging with the device and a wolfish grin tugging up the corners of his mouth. Clearly he knew what Stanic was thinking. He tossed the phone...and its location-tracking chip...into the trailer bed just as it pulled away headed toward the highway.

"That should keep 'em busy for a while," Stanic said, then he noticed Valentine's hand had started bleeding again. The man sat in the passenger seat with shoulders slumping forward, feebly attempting to slow the blood loss. Thick red liquid soaked the front of his white shirt. "We'd better get you to a doctor quick, pal," Stanic said, then stomped on the gas pedal.

# CHAPTER FIVE

As they pulled into the parking lot of Rachel's hospital, Stanic was again flooded with memories of the vibrant woman he loved so much, making him realize how much he missed her lately. He also realized he needed to figure out how he was going to explain his bloody, finger-less friend.

Stanic found a dark sports jacket in the backseat and draped it across Valentine's shoulders, concealing his blood-drenched shirt the best they could, then they walked into the waiting room. Rachel was standing at the front desk. She looked up, a flash of pleasure in her eyes quickly changing to a look of concern. She motioned the two of them into a small examination room near the waiting area.

"Hi, stranger. Where the hell have you been?" Rachel asked, her jaw tight.

"Me? I'm not the only one who's been busy. You just can't seem to fit me into your completely full schedule lately." Stanic added air quotes around the word 'completely'.

"Oh, I see. I get it. Now that you need something from me, here you are?"

There was a long pause as they looked at each other. She stood with her arms folded across her chest and hips turned in a defensive posture. She jerked her head to the side and looked away. He felt the sting of her words, but had to admit there was an element of truth to them. He could see in her eyes she felt the same.

"Rachel, we need your help," Stanic said, hating the quiver of urgency in his voice.

"We're in a bit of pinch, love," Valentine chimed in as he opened the blazer and stumbled forward.

Shock shone in Rachel's eyes, but in the next instant she shifted back to medical professional. In one fluid motion, she grabbed Valentine and eased him onto a gurney. She took the lid off the cup he'd been holding and stared down at its pulpy contents.

It was a long beat before anyone spoke.

Finally Stanic blurted, "He's an undercover FBI agent who got caught by the Mafia and was going to be buried alive, but I saved him and now we're both on the run." He looked into her eyes, hoping she believed him. She held his gaze for a moment, and then broke away and went into doctor mode again, placing the two severed fingers on a piece of sterile white gauze. "Well, you're lucky, they look pretty good. It's a clean cut. Must have been a sharp tool to get this type of separation. I don't see any crushing or tearing so you're a good candidate for what we call 're-plantation.' Also, good thinking to put the amputated digits on ice. I would have had to do that anyway and it would take more time.

She grabbed a syringe from the cabinet, prepared a shot of antibiotics and then another for tetanus, quickly injected each into Valentine's arm, and then she applied a local anesthetic to his hand. "It's pretty simple actually. The trick is to first shorten the bone stumps so there's no tension on the tendons, blood vessels and muscles when we reattach them."

The two men watched in awe as she slipped on a pair of microscopic eye glasses, then lifted a small electric hand saw. Valentine eyes stretched wide as she switched on the power. The whir of the spinning blade filled the air and she went to work.

***

Eventually, and with a little help from Stanic, Rachel had reattached both fingers. She finished stitching and applied a heavy cast to Valentine's hand. She then attended to the gunshot wound on Stanic's shoulder.

"No more roughhousing, boys," she said as she finished her work. The corners of her mouth curved into a little grin, but Stanic saw deep concern in her eyes.

He knew stitching a pair of fingers back on an FBI agent wasn't just another day at the office for her...and she deserved an explanation. He wanted to hold her, put his arms around her. But, while it would feel wonderful to him, he wasn't sure if his touch would be comforting to her at this point.

"I'm really sorry to come here like this, Rachel. But we had no other choice," Stanic said, keeping his voice down to a whisper so he wouldn't be overheard. "We're in deep trouble. We have a pissed-off crime syndicate after us...and a compromised Santa Cruz Police Department, so we don't know who we can trust. We just need time to recover and figure out a plan."

And again more silence...

Finally..."Okay. Don't make me regret this. But go back to my place," Rachel offered.

"No, Rachel, we couldn't—"

"Go to my house and wait for me until I get home." She removed her house key from its ring and handed it to Stanic, then looked at Valentine. "And you need to stay calm and keep this hand elevated for the next several hours. No excuses."

Rachel replaced the jacket onto Valentine's shoulders and the two men stumbled back into the lobby.

The waiting room had filled up. Several rows of chairs held the sick and injured. An older couple held hands by the window. A woman holding a little red-faced boy in her arms leaned against a soda machine.

And in front of the exit door stood a fully uniformed police officer gripping the collar of a young man in handcuffs. The young man had blood smeared across his face and a swollen eye.

Stanic flinched, a small bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he remembered what Valentine had said earlier about crooked cops working for the Stelino organization.

The officer's gaze seemed to be scanning through the crowded waiting room, but soon landed squarely on Valentine.

The two patched up men continued walking through the lobby then back outside to the parking lot.

Once inside the car, Stanic turned the engine over and as they drove away from the hospital, Valentine said, "It could have been considerably worse, mate." He held up his new white cast. "And I've my got my two favorite fingers back on."

Stanic wished he could match the man's optimism but instead, the realization that he'd just dragged Rachel into a dangerous—if not deadly—situation began building in his mind.

***

Rachel Moore was a successful physician, just as she always planned when she was a little girl. It was amazing for her to look back on how accurately she had mapped out the course of her life.

Until this very moment...

She'd graduated from Stanford Medical School, just as she said she would. She'd bought a home along the coast with a stunning view, just like she said she would. It had all seemed so easy, pieces of her carefully plotted course falling into place with an orchestrated precision. And now...she stood behind a hospital's front desk, pretending to fill in patient paperwork while secretly tracking the police officer with her eyes. She had no idea how the police department could have been corrupted by the Stelino family, but based on Stanic and Valentine's injuries, she wasn't taking any chances.

The officer paced in the lobby like a hungry animal. A drop of perspiration tickled its way down her temple and slid off her cheek, landing on the bogus insurance form she held in her trembling hands and smearing the newly written ink.

Rachel continued to observe the officer as he walked toward her. A chill ran across her skin as the six-foot, five uniformed man closed in, invading her personal space. Her pen slipped from her shaky fingers, bounced across the counter, then spun to a stop at the officer's feet.

Rachel glanced up, her eyes locking on his face. A railroad-track scar pattern ran from his left ear to his right eye by way of the bridge of his nose. A scowl distorted his face, shaping his eyes into thin slits as he towered over her. His lips parted and Rachel stared back at the sharp row of teeth underneath. The officer stared at her a moment, then he leaned down and picked up the pen, his gaze fixing on the fake insurance form in Rachel's hands.

"Who were the two men that just walked out of the lobby?" the officer demanded in a low, raspy voice.

"I'm sorry..." She squinted up at his badge. "Officer Duprey. We have a strict patient confidentiality policy here."

"You're obstructing the law. Just tell me who they are, now!" The officer persisted.

"Not without a court order," Rachel snapped. She knew her job...and the confidentiality laws.

The huge man's face darkened. His throat swelled like a balloon, exposing an array of spider web-like blue and red veins. He reached forward, latching onto Rachel's wrist and pulled her in close with a painful twisting motion.

"You'll regret this!" he said, his icy stare boring into her.

Rachel cringed, but she wasn't going to let him intimidate her. She narrowed her gaze. Clenched her jaw... and stared right into his cold black eyes for what seemed like a full minute.

Finally, his lip curled into a snarl...and he released her, then turned and marched out of the lobby.

***

Lost in thought, Stanic drove toward the safety of Rachel's home with Valentine in the passenger seat. The FBI agent hadn't said a word since they got in the car and was probably thinking along the same lines he was. They were in serious trouble without any clear course of action for the immediate future. The elements of their dilemma presented a grim scenario and they both knew it.

Stanic thought back to just a few hours earlier and his normal routine...what should have been a relaxing jog before a productive workday. Then he thought about Rachel and how much he loved her. A wave of regret flooded over him. He hadn't thought things through. They needed help and she was able to do it. He'd taken advantage of their relationship...and in doing that, he'd put her life at risk. If anything happened to her, he was to blame. "Damn." He pounded his hand on the steering wheel.

"What now?" Valentine perked up.

"Sorry. It's nothing, just thinking about what to do."

"The Stelino family owns this town," Valentine said, "I hope you fully understand that we can't go to, or trust, the police in this city." He paused. "To make things worse, the officer at the hospital may have recognized me, which means Rachel could be in danger."

"Then we need a plan...and fast," Stanic said, glancing at the man next to him. "Let's just get to Rachel's house where we can figure something out."

"Don't worry, mate, I think I've got a plan."

Stanic rolled his eyes...sucked in a slow, deep breath...then another.

"You think you have a plan, or you actually have a plan, which is it?"

***

Rachel's hands were shaking, her stomach tied in knots, and she felt a little dizzy. She was finally able to pull in a deep breath as she watched the officer storm away from the front lobby. Relief flooded through her as she filled her lungs with air. She raised her chin and then turned and ambled back to her office as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Rachel!"

Rachel flinched but it was just Edna, the hospital's head nurse. "You have a patient in room 110 who has been waiting for quite a while. Mrs. Geraldo."

Rachel flushed with guilt as she remembered her patient, who had been waiting a good forty-five minutes now. She took another deep breath and turned to her nurse, "What would I ever do without you, Edna?"

It was true. Her head nurse was always on top of things. At age 58, Edna Wong was not just a qualified RN and a good friend, she was invaluable to the hospital.

Edna had, just a few months after being hired, moved right up to the head nurse position. Rachel had always attributed a large part of her office's success to Edna's organizational and leadership skills. The saying "What would we do without you, Edna?" became much more than a warm and fuzzy office motto. The office depended on Edna.

Although only four feet, eight inches tall, Edna seemed larger than life. She ran the office skillfully, regardless of what circumstances arose. Whether irate patients, problems with suppliers or even issues between other staff members, Edna resolved each dispute logically, without taking sides or talking down to her subordinates. Maybe her skills were the result of her many years of experience working at other hospitals and clinics...or the fact she had raised four beautiful children on her own. Wherever it came from, Rachel was grateful. Edna could truly handle just about anything.

"Oh, and Edna," she said as the woman was walking away. "Please ask Dr. Pierce to have a look at Mrs. Geraldo. I've got a ton of paperwork I need to get to," she said in as much of a business-as-usual way as she could muster, then turned and headed toward her office.

When Rachel finally closed the door behind her, it felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even if just temporarily. She took a deep breath, then walked past her desk, to the large office windows, peering though the blinds like a timid child investigating a terrifying thunderstorm.

She could make out Officer Duprey in the parking lot, but he was only partially visible through low-hanging tree branches. He was talking on his police radio and using animated hand and body gestures, throwing his arms in the air and pointing at the hospital's entrance. He stood next to his patrol car, but continued to stare at the front doors of her office as he talked into his radio. Then he suddenly stood statue-still, his mouth clamped shut.

Rachel watched him nod as if in complete agreement with whatever directive was being delivered, then he put down the police radio and removed the gun from his holster. He released the safety, examined the clip, snapped it back in place...and marched toward her building.

Rachel drew in a sharp breath. She had to do something fast. The window...she could crawl out the window...but the windows in her building had security bars on the outside...and her office was too close to the reception desk.

Trapped...

She walked to the door and opened it just enough to peer out. She couldn't see much from her vantage point, only old Al, the janitor, standing in the hallway collecting the used hospital gowns. Seeing the large laundry bin the old man was filling, she realized what she had to do. As he turned his back, she reached in, lifting up as many gowns as she could and dove in head-first... deep under the flowery cotton garb.

She heard Duprey's booming voice coming from the front desk, then Edna denying his access, but it was like trying to stop an ocean wave from crashing onto shore. She heard pounding footsteps rush past the bin she was hiding in...then she heard her office door open.

"Damn you!" Officer Duprey shouted at the sight of her empty office...followed by an animal-like growl...followed by sounds of shattering furniture and breaking glass. Her whole body shook as she listened to him tearing her office apart piece by piece, searching for his prey. Searching for her. The man obviously had no thought of obtaining a search warrant.

"I know you're here!" Duprey screamed, then...even louder, "I'm going to find you...and when I do..."

The rest of his tirade was lost to her, muffled in the distance as she bumped along inside the laundry bin, grateful for old Al as he pushed her down the hall on his way out to the loading docks.

# CHAPTER SIX

Upon arriving at Rachel's home, Valentine explained his plan to Stanic in detail. It sounded risky at best. At worst, a suicide mission. But it could be their chance to not live in fear of a Mafia hit for the rest of their lives.

Just crazy enough to work...

Valentine knew of a single key piece of evidence that would be enough to lock up Vincenzo Stelino and his three sons. It was a small, black leather-bound logbook. Vincenzo kept the log-book protected in a thick wall safe in his office.

He'd known there was no way to get his hands on the logbook working alone. The best he'd been able to hope for was coercing Vincenzo into incriminating himself on tape. But, with Stanic's help, he just might be able to pull it off.

"The safe is located behind a large framed painting of a stone castle nestled in an Italian hillside. This logbook is always kept inside the safe and it contains records of all of the family's transactions—or transgressions, as the case may be. I've been inside Vincenzo's office enough times while working undercover to know Vincenzo has relaxed his security and, most important, he has been leaving the safe unlocked." Valentine paused for a quick breath and to let the information sink in. "As unbelievable as it sounds, Vincenzo Stelino has become complacent with the FBI's most sought after piece of evidence!"

As he spoke, Valentine felt a quick jolt of excitement, waving his arms through the air like an excited child. "Vincenzo simply got tired of leaning over, squinting down at the tiny dial of the combination lock. I only recently noticed this change in behavior. Instead of laboring to open the safe, Vincenzo simply swings open the painting, then pulls open the safe.

So,—" Valentine went on, "—we infiltrate the Stelino compound, create a distraction, and then steal the logbook."

Stanic crossed his arms and eyed Valentine narrowly. "Why should I risk my life to help the FBI?" he asked, then jammed a hand through his dark hair. "Remember, I'm a college professor, not an undercover agent."

"You were a college professor," Valentine replied. "Now, unfortunately, you are a man fighting to stay alive...the mafia never forgets."

Frowning, Valentine looked at Stanic. "Unless you want to hide out or leave the country and be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, this is the best chance we've got."

Stanic closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, then finally nodded. "Okay, let's do it."

***

Oddly, Rachel felt safe and warm curled up in her hiding place, buried under two feet of dirty linens and rolling toward the loading docks. She found a small hole in the side of the bin and peered out. Relief swept through her when she saw a laundry truck waiting. But just before they made it to the end of the dock, the bin stopped moving. She heard old Al making small talk with the driver of the truck, taking his time as he usually liked to do.

"Looks like we're in for bit more rain," Al said in his always gruff but affable tone.

Alvin Jones, otherwise known as, old Al, was a proud black man. His sixty-four-year-old eyes had seen it all...probably more than they wanted to. But all in all, his life had been good. He began his business fifteen years earlier, and who could have known maintenance and supply business would take off the way it did? He had started out as a local handyman who garnered a great reputation. Many people in the community began relying on his services so he'd had to start hiring. He eventually expanded his business into broad-range maintenance and custodial service and the clients just kept coming in. Over the last decade he'd hired over sixty-five employees, and opened three other locations. His company serviced clients as far up the coast as Half Moon Bay and as far south as Monterey.

Life had been good to old Al. Everyone knew he really didn't need to work anymore, and being so close to retirement many wondered why he continued to put on his trademark dark green uniform and come in to work every morning. Maybe he just loved his job. He had first met Rachel years earlier when she came on board at the hospital and their relationship soon grew into a great friendship. He'd once told her that at times he thought of her as the daughter he never had and felt that sometimes she looked at him like a second father. And she did. He'd given her many words of wisdom in the years she'd known him. A more caring man couldn't be found.

"Be sure to turn your lights on and drive real careful now," Al said to the truck driver.

"Yep, the darn fog's rolling in too," the driver replied. "Thick as pea soup out there, barely even see the road."

Rachel listened to the conversation impatiently from her hiding place, each word muffled by two feet of thin cloth gowns that she was buried beneath. Hurry, hurry, please hurry...

"Well, I'm sure by noon the sun will break thr—

Al stopped in mid sentence. After a moment, Rachel peered out the hole in the bin. She spotted the uniformed officer leering in the doorway that led back into the medical offices. She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. He had the same scowl painted across his face, eyes narrowed like a hungry animal stalking prey. The officer's body stood rigid as he scanned across the loading dock.

Then he marched over to where Al and the driver stood chatting.

"I'm looking for a doctor who works here. She is tall and thin with long brown hair," he growled. "Last name, Moore. Have you seen her?"

The horrible scarring pattern on the officer's face must have caught the two men off guard because there was a long pause before Al replied.

Rachel suddenly felt dizzy. The sound of Dupree's voice hit her like a powerful punch to the gut. Fear escalated in her mind as she listened to his gravelly voice. Her heart slammed inside her chest. Different scenarios of what might happen if she were caught swirled in her head.

If she could just make it to her car. She lay there listening from her hiding place, keeping statue-still and trying hard not to make noise when she breathed. Her stomach burned and her throat constricted and cramped, threatening to make her to cough.

"Doctor Moore should be just inside, see'n her patients as usual I s'pose," Al said causally. She heard feet shuffling and peered through the hole again and saw the officer leaning down, face-to-face with old Al.

"Do you know how much trouble you can get in if you lie to the police?" he spat. "Tell me where she is. Now!"

"But I did tell you, sir. She's just inside those doors over there. I'll take you in and show you, if you like."

"Then get moving, old man."

Rachel heard footsteps moving away from her. She exhaled a long sigh of relief. A soundless moment passed as she listened, then she heard the clunk of the heavy cargo doors on the laundry trunk unlock, then swing open. Rachel said a silent prayer as she felt the bin jerk forward and then roll up onto the truck's cargo bay.

***

I just got lucky.

Rachel heard the truck engine fire up with a roar. She took in a deep breath and tried to relax as the big truck lurched forward. She could hear the loud low hiss of the air compression brake system,shhhhhhhizzzzaaahhhh-clunk, followed by a rocking bump-ba-bumpahh of the vehicle's forward motion. As the truck lumbered out of the parking lot and onto the main road, Rachel reflected on how absurd...how crazy...her morning had been. Unbelievable. And her escape was even more unbelievable.

Just like in the movies...

As the truck hummed down Soquel Avenue, Rachel planned on waiting a few extra minutes before exiting the laundry bin. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called Stanic's number but got no answer. After leaving a quick message she disconnected the line. The truck had to stop somewhere and when it did, she'd sneak out and call a cab to get home. Her heart ached at the thought of John being so far away. She missed him now more than ever...longed for the safety of his warm embrace. She thought back to times they had spent on the beach just enjoying each others' company...then cursed herself for not making more time to spend together. She silently promised herself to change the way things were going for the two of them.

Then she heard the muted siren.

Was help on the way?

Or was it.... A paralyzing shock ratcheted through her.

She felt the truck slow and pull to the side of the road, then come to a complete stop. She heard the unmistakable rasp of the demanding officer's voice talking to the driver, then she heard a shout and the sound of some kind of struggle followed by a muffled groan. Her muscles cramped into tight knots, her legs went numb...her body seized in cold fear, her reality now transforming into a frightening nightmare.

There was no way out. The doors of the truck made a loud clank! Her heart plummeted like a heavy stone down into a cold abandoned well.

Sheer escalating terror overpowered her as she heard the slow grinding of metal hinges.  EeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEk.

As the morning sunlight flooded the truck's cargo bay, Rachel peeked out from under several hospital gowns—directly into the cold snake-like stare of Officer Duprey standing in front of the steel doors, holding the unconscious truck driver in one hand and a small bottle of what looked like chloroform in the other.

#

#  CHAPTER SEVEN

Sitting in Rachel's kitchen, Valentine watched Stanic at the counter making coffee.

"Vincenzo Stelino has three ruthless sons he calls his Dark Lords," Valentine said as Stanic placed two cups on the table along with a carton of cream and a small bowl of sugar. "We know these three men will stop at nothing...not even murder...to get what they want."

Valentine took a long, slow breath as he added cream and a few spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee, stirring as he spoke. "However, we've gathered some important recon data on their security system. I've noted the locations of their video surveillance cameras, timing of the guards patrol route, as well as their shift changes." Valentine studied Stanic's immediate response, which appeared amenable, so he continued. "I have identified a few flaws in their security system," he said, punctuating the information with a firm nod. "I know the best time and place to infiltrate the compound and the safest path from the perimeter wall to the main house."

He scooped another spoonful of sugar, then took a long, slow sip. "Do you know how to shoot a gun?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "You just point...and...shoot." He formed his hand into shape of a gun, mimicking a shooting action. "It's that easy, mate." Valentine placed one of the pistols from the Cadillac onto the table in front of Stanic. "So we better get going if we're going to be at the compound in—" He glanced at his watch. "— forty minutes."

"What happens in forty minutes?"

"That's when the guards have their shift change. The on-duty guards tend to leave their post about five minutes early. The late-shift guards take three to five minutes to get to their positions. That gives us as much as ten minutes. The only question that remains is how to cause the distraction."

"I can do it," Stanic offered with an audible quiver in his voice. "Just tell me what to do. I'll keep everyone busy while you grab the logbook."

"Okay mate, let's go get you some dynamite then," Valentine replied. "We don't want to be late to the party. Sounds like a real blast."

Stanic's eyes rounded. "D-dynamite?"

***

The floor was cold, dark and damp. Rachel managed to remove the silk blindfold tied over her eyes but it was still difficult to see with only the dim traces of light casting through small cracks in the windows. She was chained to a cement wall. Iron bracelets compressed the skin around her wrists and ankles. A stone floor stretched into the distance, fading away into the shadows and a large drainage grate lay under a table in the center of the room. A number of tools hung from hooks on the wall.

Rachel felt dizzy from the lingering effects of whatever drug she'd been given at her abduction. She shook her head, trying to clear it...and to come up with a viable explanation for the bizarre events of the day. She fought her clouded mind to put the details together, cursing herself for unwittingly getting involved. But she'd had no choice. Stanic had been shot and he couldn't go to the police. She'd had to help him.

The door creaked open, letting a thin shaft of bright light stream across the dusty room. Two men stepped in, whispering to each other while pointing at the tools hanging from the wall. The first man was tall and thin, with white hair and Coke-bottle-thick glasses. The other man was shorter, with a dark mop of hair and a barrel chest. The shorter man turned and switched on overhead lights, illuminating the room.

Rachel scanned the area around her. Gleaming silver blades hung from the walls and several were laid out on a table. Oh no, God no...Fear clutched in her chest. She jerked her arms, pulling up with all her strength, writhing from side to side until the sharp shackles dug into her wrists and ankles...and she felt the warmth of her own blood as it smeared across the skin on both her wrists.

"We must do our work quickly, eh Giuseppi?" the first man said in a hushed tone and a heavy Italian accent. "No time for fun today-ah, you know what I mean? But maybe we have more time tomorrow, eh, Luiggi?"

"I don't-ah-know," the shorter man grumbled.

Rachel took a deep breath, then screamed at the top of her lungs, praying for anyone to hear her. Her throat burned and strained as the shrill sound reverberated through the room.

The two men only laughed. Giuseppi was hard at work sharpening several different-sized blades that glimmered and flashed in the bright overhead lights. Luiggi stood to the side, arranging a set of extension cords that led to some kind of power tool hanging by the table side. They set up a smaller side table, placing three shining scalpels of varying lengths on top of a clean white cloth.

Rachel had seen enough horror movies to know what was going to happen to her. She was going to die a slow and horrible death if she couldn't find a way to escape. Futile as it was, she again pulled hard against her shackles.

Luiggi and Giuseppi paid little attention as they continued to prepare the room. When Rachel screamed again, both men only laughed louder.

"Buena sera, belle mia," Luiggi said turning toward her, his voice almost holding a polite note, but his bulging eyes betrayed his intentions.

Rachel thrashed at the chains that bound her to the wall, screaming again for her life as the two men approached.

Then she saw Giuseppi's fist... BAM! A right hook to her left temple and everything went dark.

***

Valentine and Stanic jumped back into the bullet riddled Cadillac. Valentine spoke from behind the wheel. "Before we pay a visit to the Stelino compound we'll just need to make a quick stop to pick up the explosives. I have an associate called Smith who sells powerful specialty items. Luckily, he lives not far from here. I met him while working undercover."

Valentine drove down as many small back streets as possible, trying to keep out of sight from the police, until they reached a vast costal area of open farm land. He pulled off the main road and onto a small dirt driveway, then came to a stop in front of an old dilapidated house.

"I had better go in alone," Valentine said, counting out several hundred dollar bills from the cash in his pocket. "Smith spooks...easily."

Valentine got out of the car and made his way to the front door, giving it a gentle knock. The door opened and he disappeared inside. Ten minutes later he emerged from the home holding a dark plastic bag in his arms. He scanned the area for police cruisers as he walked back to the car.

"I think six sticks of dynamite should do the trick, mate, and I recommend you not drop them," Valentine warned, handing over the bag. "There's a sixty second fuse attached and a lighter in the bag as well." Then he walked around, slid into the vehicle and drove back onto the highway, heading north toward the Stelino compound.

***

Rachel began to regain consciousness as the two men were chaining her to the table. The room spun like a top and the bright lights blinded her. Pain from the powerful blow to her temple throbbed in her head. As she heard the locks snap on the ankle clamps, she realized this would be her last chance. She had to do something before they could clamp her wrists as well.

Rachel snapped her eyes open, ready to make a move the second she could catch her captors off guard, when a deafening explosion shook the room.

KA-BOOM! BABOOM-BOOM!

The ground and walls trembled from a series of blasts and dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. Both men stopped what they were doing, mouths hanging open as they looked at each other in utter shock.

Rachel sprang to a sitting position, snatched a scalpel from the side table before the two men could blink and with one quick motion drove the razor-sharp instrument straight into the shorter man's left eye socket. His other eye opened wide, as if not comprehending what had happened...and a droplet of blood trickled down his face like a lonely, cardinal-red tear.

Luiggi grabbed onto his partner, but Giuseppi's weight made them stagger backward across the room.

"Oh, Giuseppi! No, Giuseppi! Oh, no. Nooooooo!" Luiggi cried as he stood there like a father holding his dying child in his arms, Giuseppi's eye still spewing blood, his face now braided by a mask of thick, wet crimson.

Luiggi's attention shifted from the dying man to the woman on the table. He laid Giuseppi to the side, straightened, and clenched his hands into fists as he glared at Rachel.

Trapped with her ankles still chained to the table, Rachel felt as if she were in a horror movie, living out her final death scene, frame by agonizing frame, in high-definition slow motion, watching as Luiggi, eyes cold and bulging in search of immediate vengeance, raised his bloodied fists high above his head...and charged

Rachel grabbed the second scalpel from the side table, slashing it through the air just as Luiggi wrapped his hands around her throat. He stopped cold...mouth open, eyes bulging, His head rolled back on his shoulders, exposing the large gash she'd made just under his left ear and chin. Blood rolled down like spilled red juice into his hands, soaking his apron as he swayed back and forth. She watched as the man somehow reached down and tore the scalpel from her bloody fingers

Rachel scrambled to the far side of the table, as far from the lurid sight as she could get, not believing it medically possible that he was still standing, let alone lifting a scalpel.

She watched in frozen horror as he lifted the knife in both hands to a full extension over his head, arching his back like a cobra before it strikes.

A strangled sort of cry escaped from Rachel's throat as Luiggi stood directly in front of her, his blood showering down like rain as he tried to stabilize his wavering balance.

Then he lunged forward with a quick jerk of his arms, bringing the knife slashing downward with all of his body weight behind it.

***

The Stelino compound was located in an older industrial area on the outskirts of Santa Cruz County. The streets were empty, making it look like a ghost town. Stanic studied the huge structure inside the compound walls. It looked like it was of another time and place, reminding him of an ancient fortress, or battlement—old-world architecture mixed with state-of-the-art security to create a facade that seemed almost impenetrable. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to penetrate its walls.

Except him, of course.

Not for the first time that day, Stanic questioned what the hell he was doing. None of this had anything to do with him. In fact, he couldn't be altogether sure Valentine wasn't just a little crazy. What was a Brit doing working as an FBI agent anyway? He'd heard of guys flipping out and going rogue while under deep cover before and wondered if Valentine hadn't lost perspective at some point, mixing his casual demeanor with guns and dynamite. Maybe it didn't only happen in the movies.

Those men chasing him were real. Their guns were real. The dull ache in his shoulder told him it was all clearly real. One moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time had changed his life.

Being at the wrong place at the wrong time seemed have been a specialty of his throughout his life, the one exception being the day he'd met Rachel. Definitely a case of right place, right time. But he wasn't altogether certain he hadn't managed to screw that up as well.

He forced thoughts of her out of his head as Valentine led him to a wall on the south side of the compound, then motioned for Stanic to scale it alongside him.

Stanic cupped his hands together and held them out to give Valentine a boost. At the top, Valentine reached down with his good hand and helped pull Stanic up. Giving each other a nod, they jumped to the soft soil below and landed with a whispering tha-thud. Their new position was shrouded by an old storage shed and some low-hanging elm tree branches.

Stanic's instructions were simple. Make his way to the northern side of the compound, set off the dynamite then get back into position to cover Valentine coming out of the building. If he was lucky enough to come out of the building—hopefully with the logbook in hand

"Let's move out," Valentine said, his voice low and steady.

Stanic pulled the dynamite from the bag and turned to watch Valentine's approach. He moved into position on the right side of the building, then darted toward the rear entrance. As Valentine slipped through a back door and into the main building, Stanic could tell by the way he moved he was every bit the FBI Special Forces operative he claimed to be.

A blood-curdling scream rose up from somewhere inside building.

"Rachel." Stanic whispered the name. He didn't know how he knew it was her, but he just did. He raced along the building's perimeter, making it to the northern side of the structure, where he noticed an open window about a foot above his head. "That was my...Rachel," he repeated as his throat constricted around his vocal cords and the weight of the world crushed down on his heart.

Rachel's screams again rose up from the building and the nauseating vision of Valentine's severed fingers flashed into his mind.

He shook it off. Focus. He had to focus. He could tell her agonizing cries were coming from a small culvert at the base of the structure's exterior...and he'd noticed a dark stairwell leading into what looked like an old cellar or basement. He knew in his heart Rachel was down there...and he had to reach her before it was too late.

Stanic rolled his thumb across the top of the lighter, lit the dynamite, then stayed to watch the fuse burn, crackle and sizzle, sending warning sparks off in all directions. He let the fuse continue to burn down low, then stepped up next to the building, tossed the bomb inside the window above his head...and dove into the stairwell for cover.

BABOOM-BOOM-BABOOM!

Shrapnel flew as an orange mushroom cloud of smoke and fire blasted out from the window and high into the air. Dirt, dust and debris radiated in every direction. Large pieces of the building mixed with shards of broken glass and chunks of metal rained down on top of Stanic as he lay at the bottom of the stairwell. Smoke and dust burned his throat and eyes as he fought for air...

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Like a big jungle cat maneuvering through thick foliage, Valentine raced to the building and as he expected, the back door was unlocked. He slipped inside, pausing in place at the base of the stairway, listening for any guards that may be walking the grounds. He sidestepped the staircase, instead moving to his right into a small storage closet just below the staircase. He pulled the door nearly closed behind him, then crouched like a predator, watching and waiting as he peered out.

A ground rumbling explosion boomed across the courtyard, shaking the walls and floor of his hiding place. Seconds after the blast, charging footsteps came down the stairs from Vincenzo's office.

When he heard a door slam and all was quiet, he emerged from the storage closet, scanned for Vincenzo's men, then bolted up the stairs...gun drawn. He crept into Vincenzo's office and there, behind an oversized mahogany desk, he spotted the painting of an enormous stone castle burrowed into the lush Italian countryside.

He walked over and swung the painting away from the wall, realizing he had leveraged the whole mission on this moment and everything depended on his belief that the safe wasn't locked. As he approached the safe he wondered if he had made a mistake, wondered what he was going to do if he was wrong. He felt a sudden tightening in his chest, making each breath shallow and labored. Beads of sweat broke across his forehead and his heart seemed to pound harder and harder with each passing second.

This is it...

He reached out, swung the painting open and with a trembling hand, pulled the handle just as Vincenzo had done so many times in the past.

Click. It worked.

He smiled, took in a quick breath as the safe opened, then reached into the dark interior for the logbook.

Nothing.

His stomach shot into his throat as he shoved his hand farther inside, to the right and to the left, touching every inch inside the safe. And still...no logbook.

Shock ripped through Valentine's body. He'd made a critical error.

And people might die because of it.

He pulled a bit of oxygen into his depleted lungs, then searched through the safe again. Still nothing.

"You-ah looking for this, eh?" A cold, calculating voice that could only belong to Vincenzo came from behind him.

Valentine jerked around, poised to raise his gun. But Vincenzo stood in the doorway holding the logbook in one hand and a revolver in the other.

Oddly, thoughts of Anna and how much he loved her flashed through Valentine's head. Then images of his childhood...just as he'd heard they do when one can feel his own impending death.

That was all he needed. He dove to his right and swiveling his body around, raised his gun and fired. Crack-Crack! Two shots dead center in Vincenzo's forehead. The old man stood there still gripping the logbook in one hand and his gun in the other, a dazed, faraway look in his eyes, as if not knowing he was a dead man.....

***

Rachel looked at her imminent death, her ankles locked in place as she waited for Luiggi's scalpel to go to work. As he raised the shining, murderous blade high into the air, she saw his blood red teeth smiling at her as he lunged forward, bringing the knife straight down.

Watching the events unfold as if in slow motion, Rachel lurched to the side just as the door to the cavernous room flew open with a crash. She turned. John Stanic stood framed in the opening, gun drawn.

Crack! Crack-crack!

Luiggi flew back as three shots pounded into his chest. He stumbled backward across the room, colliding into the wall with a heavy thud, and stayed there... propped up, as though he was resting against the wall. After a long moment, he slid slowly downward toward his partner, Giuseppi...dead...with the knife handle still protruding from his left eye. Behind Luiggi, thick blood smeared down from the wall above him as he descended to the floor and took his last breath next to the other man.

***

Valentine knew his shots had met their mark, but the Mafia boss was somehow still standing in place...as if his body hadn't yet realized what happened. His eyes seemed vacant as he stood there, swaying back and forth. Two trails of blood rolled down from the center of the man's forehead, dripping over his eyes and funneling down from the bridge of his nose. Then, Vincenzo began a slow, straight-legged forward fall like a tall tree chopped down at its base. Valentine stepped forward, reached out and snatched the two books from the hands of the dead man as he fell face down to the floor.

Valentine took a quick look to make sure he had what he needed. The first was a small, leather-bound logbook, but the second book was much larger, its vellum cover thick, rigid and worn. Its pages were tattered and yellow at the edges. As he scanned the parchment and the ancient looking Latin text, he heard the muffled sounds of a door opening, followed by the echo of approaching footsteps.

He slammed the book shut, dashed down the stairs and out into the courtyard. There, with gun drawn, just to the left of the back door, stood John Stanic, his Glock trained on the doorway directly behind Valentine. Rachel stood a distance away near the shed where the two men had originally entered the compound.

"Just as we'd planned. Very impressive," Valentine said, amazed at the calmness in his voice. He'd just killed mafia boss Vincenzo Stelino. The head of the Stelino crime family. The man he'd spent the last three years building a federal case against. The implications would take some time to sink in, but mostly, he was just lucky to be alive. And seeing Rachel's blood drenched clothes, they were all lucky to be alive.

"Thanks, mate."

Stanic nodded in response. "Anytime...and Valentine, the two men who were going to execute you this morning are dead." Then he turned and took off...sprinting across the courtyard to where Rachel waited. Valentine followed quickly behind and the three helped each other scale the compound's outer wall, then sped away in the bullet-riddled black Cadillac.

# CHAPTER NINE

They gathered in the castle's main common room without a sound. Each wore a long, black, flowing robe. The hoods hung low, concealing their eyes, shrouding their faces behind dark shadows. They walked to the center of a large red pentagram engraved into the castle's stone floor and joined hands. No one spoke. The only light in the chamber emanated from thirteen glowing candles that circled the ancient symbol. Each paused there, standing just inside the flames.

Finally, Constantino spoke in a drone-like baritone. "We have gathered here to renew our allegiance to the darkness."

Nicoli responded, "May our enemies suffer one thousand agonizing deaths."

"There will be retribution for all those who oppose us," Dominic replied.

"Our vengeance shall be swift and fierce, delivered as retribution to all who stand in our path," Constantino continued, his tone rising along with their hands.

Then the brothers began to speak in unison, "Their blood shall spill and their bones shall burn." With each chorus, their voices grew in amplitude.

"Their blood shall spill and their bones shall burn!" And again, this time with words broiling with vehemence, their voices vibrating with raw emotion, "THEIR BLOOD SHALL SPILL! AND THEIR BONES SHALL BURN!"

The brothers then lowered their hands and began to chant "OoohhhMMMMaaaAAAHHHH-oooohhhhMMMMaaaAAAHHHH" with a palpable force that radiated deadly power.

Next, Constantino stepped away from the group and disappeared into a small room behind him. He returned pushing a large wheeled table over the castle's uneven rock floor. On top of the table lay a young female, clad in an extravagant white silk robe and adorned by a lavish headdress. She was bound at the ankles and wrists with tight leather straps. A blindfold masked her vision and a gag quieted her screams. She struggled violently against the straps, writhing and pulling with all her might, even though it was of no use.

Constantino rolled the table onto the center of the pentagram.

Nicoli produced an ancient dagger wrapped in a velvety cloth. He hunched his shoulders over the weapon and growled like a dog protecting fresh meat as he unwrapped it. The delicate golden dagger was encrusted with bright red and green stones that seemed to catch fire as it sparkled in the flickering candlelight. He looked at Constantino with one raised eyebrow and a sideways sloping smile, like both halves of a ghoulish drama mask had merged into one. He passed the dagger to his brother, bowing his head as the chant began again.

"OoohhhMMMMAAAAAAHHHH-oooohhhhMMMMAAAAAAHHHH"

"Let the sacrifice of the Dark Lords begin," Nicoli said in a long, slow monotone that sounded at least an octave lower than the average man's voice.

"OoohhhMMMMAAAAAAHHHH-oooohhhhMMMMAAAAAAHHHH." Their voices passionate, shaking with emotion.

"We offer this sacrifice to our god, Lucius, in the name of our father," Constantino sang as he raised the dagger above his head and held it out...over the girl's heart. "And this gift is only the beginning of our gratitude."

Constantino paused, lowering the blade, holding it with both hands as he turned the razor-sharp edge downward and ran it across his palm. Bright red blood spattered onto their struggling, blindfolded sacrifice. The brothers watched as the crimson liquid dripped onto her exposed torso, formed little red beads across her body, and then ran down onto the table.

Constantino passed the ancient, glimmering blade to his brothers, each in turn repeating the act.

They removed the girl's gag.

She gasped for a full breath of air, then screamed for her life. As she screamed, Nicoli clamped his hands on her jaw and forced her mouth to stay open, while, one-by-one, the brothers held their dripping wounds above her and watched their life force slither down her throat as the girl gagged and choked. Once they were convinced the blood from each of them had indeed entered her mouth, and was swallowed, they halted the chant. Then each man pulled back his hood, exposing their faces...the sallow skin and excited ghoulish eyes glowing in the candle light.

Then...slowly, methodically, the brothers stretched open their own mouths, revealing sharp, canine-like teeth...and lunged forward, each plunging his fangs into the soft skin of Sarah Little's neck.

***

"What should we do now?" Rachel asked, her nerves uncomfortably tight as they sped down Ocean Street along the beautiful Santa Cruz coastline. "Maybe we should go to John's house up in the hills?"

"Frankly, it's way too risky, love," Valentine said. "The Stelino family has moles working throughout the police department, which means they have access to phone records. They also have access to all of the FBI's servers, with the entire database at their disposal. That's a ton of information and I'm quite sure they have already linked the two of you together which means no cell phones or no credit cards from this point on, and neither of you can go home. Please, trust me on this, my friends. It's not worth the risk. What we need to do is take some time to study the log book before we go public by contacting the media."

"You're probably right," Rachel agreed.

"Do either of you have a cell phone or credit cards on you now?" Valentine questioned.

"Nope, I left them at home," Stanic replied, patting down his running clothes as if there were pockets.

Rachel pulled her cell from her pocket. She thought about making an argument for keeping it, but instead, rolled down her window and then tossed it out, cringing at the sound as it bounced against the pavement.

"Well done, love," Valentine complimented.

"Well, at least we don't have a cash flow problem," Stanic pointed out with his two friends nodding in agreement.

"I think we do need a different car, though," Rachel said.

"Excellent idea," Valentine said. "Let's ditch this vehicle straight away."

"The only question is how?" Rachel mused. "We're sorta stuck. We can't use our cell phones, we can't go home." She gave a helpless shrug. "And if we go to a dealership, they will report the sale to the DMV and the first cop that sees us will pull us over."

"Well, we can always steal a car," Stanic suggested facetiously, but seeing Valentine's eyes light up, it was obvious he saw the suggestion differently. And that made him wonder again about Valentine. How much did he and Rachel really know about the man who suddenly seemed to have control over their lives? "But that probably wouldn't go over very well with your FBI bosses, would it?" Stanic said.

Then he added, "And since we're talking about the FBI, how did a Brit come to work for the US government, anyway?

***

The Dark Lords stood over the girl's limp body, blood still dripping from their mouths. They knew very well each time they successfully performed the ritual the gods offered a unique gift of power to each participant. They stayed in place, eyes darting back and forth between them as they awaited their transformation. Anticipation hung in the air like black smoke, each eager to behold a new dark power.

Constantino's lips curled into a grimace, the ecstasy of a well satisfied hunger showing in his bloodshot eyes. He felt a new power welling inside and his body quivered with pleasure as the energy began to increase in strength.

Psychic visions swirled in Constantino's mind, manifesting as a kaleidoscopic pattern, shifting and rotating with bright colors. He focused his thoughts with anger and revenge in his mind. The visions were distorted and broken due to the daylight hours, but he was able to feel the presence of Thomas Valentine returning to his apartment. Then he caught a glimpse of the girl called Rachel, and her location as well. With both eyes closed, Constantino smiled wider as he understood the immense power of the new gift he had just received. He had been granted the power to see into the future.

He took a deep breath and let out a slow sigh of relief. The ritual had again been a success.

Nicoli swung his arm back and forth, flexing his muscles. Then the threads on his shirt stretched taut as his muscles began to bulge underneath, threatening to tear the thin silk. His neck swelled with new muscle mass as buttons popped off and bounced across the floor.

Nicoli looked to Constantino with a demented grin. "I can feel the surge of power flowing through my entire body," he growled in a low raspy voice as he cracked his neck from side to side, then flexed his muscles once again. "I can lift a car if I wish, tear a tree out of the ground!" he shouted in full throat, throwing his arms toward the ceiling. Nicoli shifted his gaze toward Dominic. "My gift from our God is raw strength."

Dominic watched and waited, preparing to showcase the extraordinary abilities he had received from the ritual. His eyes began to glow red, then a flash of bright light illuminated the dark chamber as his body vanished...replaced by a massive Rottweiler. The huge animal let out a low growl as it stared back at the other men with familiar eyes. Then another flash and his shape shifted again...the form of the dog transformed into the shape of an enormous bat flapping in place, each of its great leathery wings pounding against the other as it hovered in the air. Then, with a third flash, the bat changed back into a human form. Dominic, obviously pleased with his new gift, turned to Constantino with a slow nod, denoting a successful ritual.

Constantino spoke. "Valentine will inevitably return to his home. This much I know with all certainty. Nicoli, you will go to his apartment at once. Bring Renzo along with you. Valentine may be armed, so take no chances. When he does return to his home...terminate him on sight."

Constantino brought both hands to his temples, attempting to channel more visions of future events. "The doctor...will return to her place of employment today," Constantino growled with both eyes still closed. "This much will surely come to pass." His muscles were suddenly weakened by the heavy strain of pushing his powers to their limit during the daylight hours and he fell to one knee, overwhelmed with exhaustion as his strength drained away. He looked up through narrowed eyes. "Dominic," he snapped. "Go to the medical office and wait for the woman. Bring her here to me." With eyes flashing toward his brother, he said, "I would like to watch her die."

Having received his orders, Nicoli's body disappeared in a flash of light, replaced again by a black bat. The animal let out a shrill cry and flapped away through a high open window.

Dominic clenched his fist with rage, his eyes gleaming orange in the candlelight. He had received his orders from Constantino, and now, with an uncontrollable lust for blood, he leapt toward the castle door and was gone.

# CHAPTER TEN

John Stanic parked the smashed up Cadillac on a side street, not far from a local Kinko's print shop, and their motley crew walked into the building. He bought a "pay as you surf" card from the kiosk in the front lobby, found the nearest computer, and logged on. He found a local listing for a 2012 Ford SUV, then went outside to a pay phone and called the seller. Within the hour they'd made a cash purchase and drove off in their new SUV.

"Well, bloody 'ell! That did the trick, then," Valentine chortled as they got settled into their new vehicle—with Rachel behind the wheel this time. She stomped on the accelerator and the SUV lurched forward, speeding south onto Highway 1 in search of a safe place to hide out for a few hours and figure out what do next.

***

A tall man dressed in a black suit stood in the shadows behind a tree on the far side of the parking lot. He observed the three people exiting the print shop, lifted his high-tech Nikon, with telephoto lens already in place, then zoomed in as close as possible, the camera clicking and spinning in multi-shot mode. Confident he had the needed photos, he retrieved a small notepad from his pocket and quickly wrote down the car's make, model and license plate number.

***

Constantino sat at his kitchen table, yearning for the night to come. In front of him lay a large plate of raw chicken livers. He picked up one of the bloody livers and examined it, savoring the moment. He placed it in his mouth, tasting the sanguine texture as he chewed through the sinew, too entranced to notice the chicken blood dripping down his lips.

After finishing his meal, he wiped the blood from his hands using the table cloth, then walked to the window, massaging his aching temples with both hands as he waited for the darkness to come. He desperately needed his psychic powers to increase to their full strength. He gazed at his pocket watch. Four twenty-five in the afternoon and he'd not heard from his brothers since he sent them into town to dispose of the vermin who'd murdered their father. It had been hours. He had prophesied exactly where the infidels would be, but the visions were weak and shrouded by the power of daylight. It wouldn't be long now before he had the clarity to see the future events of his choosing, but the waiting was agonizing.

Constantino always felt more alive right after performing the ancient ritual. His body was stronger and rejuvenated, his mind sharper and clearer, and he reveled in the thought of his renewed powers. But this time was different. He now possessed one of the most coveted dark gifts anyone could receive.

The gift of clairvoyance.

This ability to see future events would allow him to control the city with brutal and ruthless precision...but only after nightfall.

He craved the darkness, beseeched it to come as he paced in front of the window. Even though he had limited access to this new power in the daylight hour, he was determined to keep trying. He rubbed his temples, trying once again to focus his thoughts.

Eventually, powerful visions manifested in his mind. He smiled. He was now channeling his gift... another glimpse of the future involving the woman from the hospital. He saw her standing alone at a popular highway rest stop taking a drink of water from a fountain. Constantino smiled wider as he picked up the telephone receiver on his desk and called the private number for Officer Duprey.

Duprey answered on the first ring. "Yes, master?"

"There has been a new development. Go now to the rest stop on Highway 1 near 17th Avenue. You will find the doctor there. I want you to bring her to me at once."

***

Thomas Valentine had the logbook open in the back seat and was pouring over it. Rachel alternated glances from the road to the rearview mirror to look at Valentine. She could tell by his expression and body language that something wasn't right.

"What is it, Valentine? Is something wrong?"

"It's written in code. It's completely encrypted!" Valentine slammed the book shut, then made a noise in his throat that sounded like a strained growl. After a moment, and in a calmer voice, he said, "I've studied cryptology and code-breaking at the academy, but this data is unreadable. They did a peach of a job of encoding it. There are only numbers, and it's utterly useless without some sort of key code."

The words hit Rachel like a jolt of electricity. No evidence meant no arrests. And no arrests meant their lives continued to be under threat...targets of the next mafia hit. Her stomach churned. All she wanted was to go home, go back to work...go back to seeing John... She missed that. Missed it more than she'd realized. And now...thanks to Valentine sucking them into this mess, they may never have that chance again. "So you're saying we have no evidence?"

"Righto, love."

Righto Love? His Brit flair for understatement grated on her nerves. There was a time and place for that and this was not one of them. Their lives were at risk. Rachel tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Hell, how much did they even know about the guy? He'd never mentioned a thing about himself, only that he was an agent. How did they know he was telling the truth? There'd been no time for chit-chat about personal lives...and there wasn't now. "Well, that's just perfect. Now what do we do, Mr. FBI expert?"

"Is there a way to get the key code?" Stanic asked. "Do you at least know where it is? Can you call for backup? Should we consider leaving the country?"

John's voice was calm and his logical questions brought Rachel's anxiety down to a manageable level. It wasn't Valentine's fault he spoke the way he did, she reasoned, and she'd been around him enough now to know he was a decent man...whether he showed it or not. She glanced at Valentine again.

"Actually," Valentine said. "Now that I think of it, I have seen another similar leather-bound logbook. I've watched them exchange logbooks from time to time." His forehead furrowed. "It's very possible one of Vincenzo's sons possesses the counterpart to this logbook. And...if that's the case, then we need both books to decode this information." His frown eased a little, and then he smiled as if he'd had some new revelation. "Well, then. It's simple. We must get the key codes and decipher the book."

Rachel narrowed her eyes as she glanced to the backseat again. "Simple? Oh, wait...I think I see. We just waltz in and ask a murdering mafia family for the key to decode a book that will put their entire family on death row."

She laughed, but didn't bother to disguise the sarcasm in her tone. "Oh, yeah. Piece of cake."

***

Valentine took a deep breath, reflecting on the information he knew about Vincenzo's three sons. The top-secret intel he held about the Stelino brothers was classified, not to be shared with anyone outside the FBI. And even inside the FBI, not without having a security clearance.

On the other hand, he had dragged two innocent civilians into this God awful mess. Conflicted, he hesitated as he considered the situation, then made a decision, "Okay, I should have told you about this sooner but I really couldn't, plus, you would have never believed it." He'd even found it hard to believe...until he'd gone undercover and seen some of their victims. "But now that the FBI has been compromised, I might as well try to explain." He squared his shoulders.

"They...the brothers—" He took a quick breath. "—are vampires."

A deafening silence flooded the SUV. No one made a sound, each of them apparently contemplating what he'd just said. He had to admit, it did sound like he might be a bit delusional.

But...he'd gone this far, might as well go all in. "People have been going missing from town...girls. The bodies we've recovered had puncture marks on their necks, all of the blood drained from the victims. The FBI has been trying to figure out how and why for the last two years, and everything leads back to the Stelino family. We can't prove anything, so we were trying to lock them up for something like racketeering to at least get'em off the street. That's why it was so important for me to go undercover and infiltrate the family...and why we must get key codes."

Seeing their skeptical expressions, Valentine knew his new friends, understandably, did not believe him, but he had to press on in hopes some piece of information might convince them this was not a crazy man's fantasy, but a reality going on right under their noses.

"I know it's hard to swallow, but it's true. Vincenzo Stelino's three sons are actually...modern-day vampires."

***

Rachel threw her hands into the air. "Ridiculous. Totally ridiculous," she said, but seeing the serious expression on Valentine's face, she knew that however crazy it was, the man seemed to believe it. But the FBI?

Stanic shook his head from side to side. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"And what the hell do you mean by vampires, anyway?" Rachel said. "Are these men in some sort of dark cult? Maybe they've been exhibiting violent, psychotic or bizarre behavior?" Her voice cut through the still air and no one spoke for a long moment.

"You don't really think something as preposterous as this could actually be true, do you?" Rachel finally said, looking over her shoulder. "You didn't really think we were going to believe this little fairytale, did you? Are you insane?"

"No...and no. As I said before, I do not expect you to believe me, but in time, I think you will," he replied, inspecting the clip of the Glock in his hand.

Rachel saw a freeway sign indicating an approaching rest stop and turned off the highway, having more questions than answers at this point. She considered the possibility that Valentine was simply crazy, or whether there could really be some kind of a paranormal occurrence happening. As a doctor, she knew there were people out there who were crazy enough to believe this type of phenomenon. She had heard of a few rare cases where people were convinced they were vampires and had actually killed before.

In fact, she remembered there was a psychiatric syndrome in which the patient exhibited the deviant behavior of wanting to ingest blood. These patients usually had a background of severe schizophrenia, fetishism and heavy drug intoxication. Was this what Valentine meant? Or was she trying to give the man the benefit of the doubt? The last thing she wanted to believe was they were trusting their lives to a rogue agent whack job.

They coasted down the off-ramp and into a highway rest stop. After screeching to a halt in the nearest parking space, Rachel exited the vehicle and Valentine and Stanic did the same. She folded her arms across her chest and gazed out at the ocean as she tried to make sense of the situation.

The rest stop was desolate, nothing there except an expansive, well-manicured green lawn with about ten tangerine colored cement picnic tables scattered about. A public restroom was set off to the far side of the field. Rachel walked to a table with the other two a step behind her, and they all sat down.

"Okay," Rachel offered. "I did notice the police officer had what looked like sharper teeth than normal, almost canine-like incisors...but I've seen really bad teeth before. And I've heard some seriously sick people believe themselves to be vampires and have had their teeth filed to points." Rachel inhaled, but it felt more like a gasp as she thought back to the terrifying interaction she'd had with Officer Duprey earlier at the hospital, her abduction, and then her narrow escape.

Chills ran up her spine as she recalled the officer's eerie gaze and disfigured face. The image still disturbed her. She straightened, took a short breath and tried to shake off the vision. "But that only means we are dealing with sociopaths who have watched too many horror movies. It does not mean anything supernatural is happening here."

"All I'm saying is we must try to be as prepared as possible," Valentine replied, challenging her argument with simple practicality.

"If they were actually true vampires, then why did Luiggi and Giuseppi die back at the compound? I thought you had to drive a stake or something through a vampire's heart to kill it?" Stanic interjected.

Rachel shot him a skeptical look. Stanic couldn't really be entertaining the possibility of real vampires, could he?

"Good point, mate," Valentine said. "That is because not everyone involved in the Stelino crime family is a vampire. We only suspect Vincenzo's three sons. No one else at this time, but there could be others."

"Okay. I have had enough of this nonsense," Rachel blurted as she launched to her feet, her frustration rising along with her blood pressure. "I'll take my chances on the run or go to a police department in a different town, far away from here. John, I hope you're not buying this supernatural bullshit. If you want come to with me, fine, you are more than welcome. We can leave town right now."

As she spoke, her body trembled. She glanced at John again, hoping for a positive response. The last thing she wanted to do was separate from Stanic right now. Despite their differences, the events of the last twelve hours had shown her just how much she didn't want to be alone. She also didn't want to be tied to an FBI lunatic either, and the thought made her frustration kick up another notch. "I need to use the lady's room," she announced to no one in particular. Then she turned to Stanic. "I suggest you think about what you want to do and be ready to let me know your decision when I get back."

She walked off toward the public facilities, cursing under her breath and shaking her head.

The restrooms were situated inside a small building made up of four brick walls and a weathered, brown shingle roof. A pair of drinking faucets shone in the afternoon sunlight. Rachel didn't need to use the bathroom, just some time to clear her head and think, maybe give Stanic some time to think as well. She drew in another slow deep breath that served to soothe her nerves.

She walked to the water fountain, bent down and took a long drink. Standing in front of the structure, she scanned the area for other weary travelers, but the rest stop seemed deserted. Then, in her peripheral vision, she saw something move...sensed a presence close by...maybe inside the building. An animal? No...a sudden rustle of clothes confirmed her suspicions. She wasn't alone.

She took a step backward toward the grassy field that separated her from her two friends.

A shadow rose up from behind, engulfing her inside its outline. She spun around and found herself face to face with a uniformed police officer, her sudden terror reflected squarely in his oversized mirrored sunglasses.

Officer Duprey.

The railroad-track scarring across his face seemed to stretch as his smile grew wide, exposing the same long incisors she had seen before.

"Ah, there you are, Dr. Moore," he said, pulling off his glasses. "I believe you've missed our last appointment. However, I think this time slot will do quite nicely."

Rachel's throat constricted. She opened her mouth to scream but her airway seized. Duprey hunched over and moved toward her, arms opened wide, preventing passage to either side. She was standing directly in front of the restroom door and had no other choice but to backpedal into the dark room behind her. One shoe caught on the raised doorsill and she fell backward to the floor. Unable to look away from her predator, she pushed across the cold cement with her feet. Then her head made contact with the bricks on the back wall. She was trapped... cornered...and paralyzed by fear.

He lunged forward like a wild animal and landed on top of her, holding both her arms behind her back with just one of his huge, vise grip-like, hands. His mouth opened, letting out a snake-like hiss, fangs dripping wet with saliva as he leaned in closer. He placed his mouth on her neck. She could feel his incisors piercing her skin with a sharp sting, entering her jugular vein. The pain shot down through her body as everything started going dark, then sudden dizziness...

No...no...she couldn't let him do this. She snapped her eyes open...sucked in a deep breath, then let out a bone-chilling scream.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

"That's not going to work," Valentine said, keeping his voice low. "She probably won't even make it out of this town alive."

Stanic nodded, analyzing the seriousness behind Valentine's pale blue eyes. He thought about the events that had occurred earlier in the day. Nothing seemed paranormal or mystical in any way, just the Mafia trying to push people around for their monetary gain, willing to stop at nothing to do so.

"Maybe they've just found a pretty great way to coerce people into doing what they want, letting people think they have supernatural powers, causing them to feel terrified and helpless." As Stanic spoke it became clear what he would do next.

Leave town with Rachel.

Just as he thought it, a shrill scream pierced the air.

"Rachel!" Stanic shouted, bolting from his seat. Valentine did the same, both men sprinting toward the restroom. As he rounded on the restroom door, he saw a huge man mounted on top of Rachel. He charged in and slammed his body against her attacker like a linebacker, driving him backward across the room.

Duprey flew into the brick wall, then rolled into a sitting position with his shoulders leaning against the stainless steel bathroom stall. A satisfied smile hung on his face as blood dripped from his lips.

Valentine appeared in the doorway, gun drawn. He fired five bullets in rapid succession at the officer with a booming cra-crack-crack-cra-crack!

The deafening sound echoed in Stanic's ears as he rushed to Rachel's side. Valentine was a half step behind him, and the two men lifted her to her feet. She was still breathing, but looked pale. Two fresh puncture wounds were on the left side of her throat, each dripping with a thin trail of blood.

Stanic turned to the officer sprawled on the floor, frozen like an inanimate object, two bullet holes in his forehead, the front of his shiny forest-green uniform stained with three splatters of dark red liquid.

"Stanic," Rachel said.

"Rach, are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yes, I think. Thanks for—" Rachel suddenly gasped for air, her eyes going wide, boring in on the downed officer behind him.

Stanic turned. Officer Duprey's eyes had snapped open and were locked onto Rachel. He leaned his body weight forward, maneuvered himself into an off-balance standing position.

Valentine lifted his gun again and squeezed the trigger. Click. Empty. He tried again and again...click-click-click.

Duprey rounded on the group, forcing them to back into the corner. His upper lip now pulled up high...his wild eyes crimson and seething with rage.

Valentine tore his shirt open, pulled out a silver cross that hung around his neck and thrust it forward like a shield.

Duprey cringed...then groaned as he cowered back, blocking his eyes as if the sacrament caused him actual physical pain.

Stanic grabbed Rachel's hand and practically dragged her toward the door where they dashed out into the sunlight. With Valentine right behind him, he cradled Rachel in the curve of his arm while they sprinted across the field to the SUV.

***

"Tell us everything you know about the Stelinos. We need to know exactly what it all means." Stanic demanded from the backseat as Valentine sped down the highway, weaving his way around the cars. He glanced at Rachel in the passenger seat. She seemed in a trance...or shock.

"Okay," Valentine replied, then paused a moment to collect his thoughts. "It takes three attacks to become...one of them. So everyone can relax a bit. But we will have got to be extra careful from here on out."

The agent remained silent for a moment before speaking again. "The brothers are highly intelligent and extremely mysterious men. Their father, Vincenzo, was somewhat of a figurehead who simply allowed his sons to run the day-to-day business. Vincenzo's three sons live together in huge stone castle situated in the uncharted depths of the Santa Cruz Mountains. The castle sits at the bottom of a gorge, near the base of a huge cavern-like quarry. The only entrance or exit is from the summit of the mountain range just off Skyline Boulevard. A tiny one-lane road runs downward through the jagged rock cliffs and the castle seems to be located in a huge cave. In fact, the crevasse runs so deep that the sun never breaks though the canopy created by an enormous wall of rock and redwood trees towering above. Their castle is suspended in a constant state of nightfall, and this utter lack of sunlight leaves the terrain eternally cold and dark. I've only been there a handful of times, but it's definitely creepy."

An uncomfortable chill ran through him as he proceeded to tell his friends more about the family. "Vincenzo's sons are different..." He trailed off, troubled by the eerie images in his head. "Their style of clothing doesn't make much sense at all. It looks more like something typical of old Eastern Europe than anything else, and they always wear completely black clothes. Even the way they walk appears rather odd. They seem to almost float across the floor like a shadow. All have aggressive personalities aimed to strike fear in the hearts in those they interact with...and they refer to themselves as Dark Lords."

Rachel's jaw swung open as she looked at Valentine in speechless disbelief.

"They each have specific roles within the family business," Valentine explained. "Dominic Stelino's specialty is handling the organization's finances. He is in charge of payroll and accounting, as well as bribes and blackmail. But, more importantly, Dominic hides and launders the money. He would dream up the money-making ventures, and no matter how crazy it sounded, it would always turn a profit.

His latest scheme was successfully extorting portions of the federal bail-out funds from various government officials. A few bribes and a couple of broken bones started the ball rolling. The people who wouldn't comply ended up buried somewhere in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The Stelino family made millions from just that one singular venture." Once he began talking, Valentine couldn't quit, he talked faster and faster, now gripping the encoded log book and the ancient parchment as he relayed all the information he could. All the information that might contribute to saving their lives.

Stanic and Rachel listened quietly, taking in the startling new information the best they could.

"Then there's Nicoli Stelino. He is a charming showman who continues to gain more and more power every year. He's kept a low profile, working as the special advisor to Mayor Tom Lane. With Lane in his back pocket, he gained access to a good deal of classified information. If a family project ran into any resistance from the city, Nicoli knew who was causing it, and he also knew which buttons to push to fix the problem. And to make matters even worse, Mayor Lane appointed one of the Stelino family's cronies' as chief of police. You've probably heard of Chief Rafferty. Well, Rafferty works for the Stelino family. He gave Nicoli direct access to several corrupt police officers as well as all of their police files." His mouth dry, Valentine popped a small piece of mint candy in his mouth and continued.

"And finally, Constantino. He is the one everyone fears the most. He would take care of the dirty work...the wet work. If the family had a problem, Constantino would make it go away. Together the three brothers are almost untouchable," he finished, now feeling deflated "I'm not sure what this second book is or why Vincenzo had it with him," Valentine wondered out loud, then he tossed it into the backseat to Stanic. "It looks pretty old, though. What do you make of it, professor?"

Stanic studied the ancient parchment for a moment before speaking. "It's roughly five to seven hundred years old and Romanian. I can hypothesize its place of origin from these indentures and page symbols."

Stanic held the book out through the opening between the front seats so the other two could see it, then pointed to the engraved pentagram symbols on the corners of each worn page and continued lecturing, as if Valentine and Rachel were students in one of his classes. "It definitely dates back to the Dark Ages...and these symbols are probably thirteenth or fourteenth century traditional Romanian.

He suddenly jerked his head up from the book. "Wait...a...minute. No...I don't believe it!"

***

"It couldn't be...but...it..." Stanic couldn't think, much less get out the words.

Valentine looked over his shoulder. "What couldn't be?"

"This...this looks like one of the original Grimoires, from the original set of ancient books of magic! There were only six of this particular set of texts in existence, and I'd heard none had survived. Then there were rumors that one had been secretly preserved but was later stolen. If this is truly one of them..."

He shook his head. "No. I can't believe it." He took a long, trembling breath. "If this book really is one of the six, it contains powerful ceremonial rituals...in other words, this is real black magic," he explained. "I suppose the rituals were mostly used as protection from demons back in the medieval times. It claims to grant certain transformative powers to those who successfully perform the ceremony. It says right here 'Natum obscuri potestate inorbe novo,' which roughly translates as, Birth of new dark power into our world."

Valentine kept his eye on Stanic in the rear-view mirror...sitting motionlessly, apparently still deep in thought about the meaning of the text.

If these spells were really as powerful as claimed, then performing the rituals for themselves might be their best chance against the three monsters who called themselves the Dark Lords. "This text details the ancient process of becoming a vampire!" Stanic said, unable to keep his voice from rising with his excitement. "It's a combination of performing the ancient ritual while drinking some sort of elixir."

Stanic kept reading, now in disbelief. "The active participants shall receive 'Ingenio Maxime,' or 'the Special Abilities.'" He stopped, sighed deeply, and went on. "Unfortunately, there is only one way to complete the ritual. 'Bibant sanguinema virginitate' which translates to drink the blood of a virgin. The ritual actually involves making a mixture of the blood from all who participate combined with the blood from a virgin. Apparently, each participant would be granted a unique ability or power as long as the ritual is performed correctly."

And again, more silence...

"You can't be serious," Rachel finally said, throwing her hands into the air.

He understood how she felt, and he was a bit of a skeptic, too. But if this was true and the Stelino brothers had used black magic to conjure some kind of super powers, there was only one thing they could do.

First, complete the ceremonial ritual, and second, go to the brother's castle while they still had the element of surprise and get the key code for the logbook. If they ran into the Dark Lords they would at least have a chance to fight them off.

"Well...all of this doesn't do us much good," Stanic said. "We don't have a chance in hell of obtaining the blood of a virgin."

Stanic and Valentine nodded in unison, then all went quiet.

"I have virgin blood," Rachel finally said.

Stanic was caught off guard and leaned forward, closer to Rachel, both eyebrows raised as he looked at her. "I beg to differ," Stanic said trying hard to hold back an inevitable smile.

"Not mine, you jackass!" Rachel shot back, punching Stanic's arm.

"I have a young patient that gave me a blood sample recently. I know she's a virgin because I personally examined her. The only problem is that the blood sample is back at my office."

"Brilliant then, love!" Valentine said "We've got to go get that blood."

"I agree," Stanic said. "Let's get the blood...and then go after the key code and put the Stelino family away for good."

"I don't see much choice," Rachel said on a sigh, finally conceding.

"The sooner the better, then," Valentine agreed. "We'll get in and out of there before they know what hit 'em."

#  CHAPTER TWELVE

Internal affairs special agent Daniel Gant parked on the curb in front of the small home near the coast in Capitola, walked to the front porch and up the steps with a long face and slumped shoulders. This was the one part of his job he really disliked, but it had to be done. He held grim news for the parents of a young girl who had not been heard from in several days.

He rapped on the wooden door and then stepped back as it sprung open. The girl's parents, Dean and Betty Little, looked as if they hadn't slept in days. Their clothes were wrinkled and the woman's matted down hair badly needed a comb. She'd been nearly hysterical when he'd talked to her on the phone earlier.

Their daughter had never stayed away from home without calling, and both seemed to know he brought bad news. Seeing him, Betty burst into tears. Dean turned to comfort her while motioning Gant to enter their home. He went inside and indicated the couple should sit on the couch, then sat on the easy chair opposite them

"It's not fair," Betty sobbed. "Sarah is so young...too young," she sobbed, burying her head in her husband's arms.

"We found her car in the parking lot where she worked and there were definitely signs of a struggle," Gant reported. "We found some blood at the scene and one of Sarah's shoes along with her purse, ID, and some cash. We are officially ruling it an abduction."

"What do you think the ch-chances are of finding her un...unharmed?" Dean attempted to ask, tears now welling in his eyes, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"I'm so sorry," Gant said. "There have been a number of similar crimes in town over the last year and we don't always have positive outcomes. But we are on top it and working around the clock to—"

"What did you say? A number of similar crimes?" the woman said, frowning. "Similar in what way?"

Gant cleared his throat wishing he was better at this, but no matter how many times he did it, something always went sideways. Parents wanted answers...even if there weren't any to give. "There are always cases in which we look for similarities..." He hesitated, searching for the right words.

Betty Little jerked from her husband's arms. "Similarities...to see if there's a serial killer out there," she finished for him. "That's it, isn't it? There are similar cases with more missing girls, aren't there," she said...a statement, not a question. "And there could be a serial rapist or killer out there." Her voice rose on every word.

"I'm sorry. I didn't say that."

Anger blazed in the woman's eyes, then her face puckered, as if she was going to burst into tears again. "But there are. Right? More missing girls. Some of them dead. And there are similarities in the cases."

What the hell could he say? The department hasn't alerted the public because we didn't want mass city-wide panic? That would be even worse. "Many teenagers run away or go missing every year, Mrs. Little, and we do our best to find them. I'm so sorry that..."

"And the police department said nothing."

"You bastards!" Betty spat out as she sprung to her feet, pointing at Gant like he was solely responsible "You bastards could have prevented this!" she screamed...a shrill cry of anguish rising up in volume and echoing out into the neighborhood.

***

Valentine, Stanic and Rachel drove back down Ocean Street near the old boardwalk. Together, they decided their first order of business was to find a hotel room and hide out for a while. They also agreed to find as inconspicuous a location as possible. Turning onto San Lorenzo Boulevard into a seedier part of town, Rachel spotted a place.

"How about that one over there?" She pointed to what looked like a deserted building, overgrown with bushy weeds.

The Sea Shore Motel was a total dive. It looked like it was built in the early 1970s, completely dilapidated and going unrepaired and unpainted for decades.

"This place has got to be a pay-by-the hour," she said, smiling. "It's perfect."

The color scheme of the small motel was dirty brown with a flat chartreuse trim, and the entire structure was well chipped, stained and faded. The pool had no water, and even better, a thick layer what looked like greenish-black pond scum across the bottom.

"Well done love. She's a peach," Valentine confirmed.

They pulled into the parking lot and walked inside where an unshaven clerk was sitting behind the front desk. He was chewing tobacco and spitting into a large Taco Bell cup as they entered. He didn't seem to notice them walk in as he was focused on a small TV set on the far side of the desk. He wore a dirty white tank top and a bright green John Deere Tractor cap pulled down low and off to the side. Fiery dragon tattoos sleeved both arms from wrist to shoulder and covered his neck and chest.

From behind a pair of dark sunglasses, and without bothering to look up, he finally said, "Help y'all?"

"Sure," Stanic answered. "Just need a room for the night with two beds."

The clerk turned and peered at them over the top of his sunglasses. Then he took a slow head to toe look at Rachel and nodded his approval. "Twenty-nine, ninety-nine a night," he muttered. "That gonna be cash or credit?" he asked, his tone sounding more like an accusation than a question.

"Cash!" the three said in unison. Valentine paid the man and they left the office with the room key.

John Stanic retrieved the ancient parchment from the SUV and sat down on the hotel room's worn-out couch, flipping through the pages of text. "It seems like a fairly simple ritual. I just hope we have the right amounts of...wait a minute." Stanic glanced at Rachel and Valentine. "We're going to need a large red pentagram drawn across the floor here," he said, making a circular motion with his arms and then pointing at the motel's dirty, matted carpet. "And a compass and a bottle of red wine!"

"Anything else, professor?" Rachel asked, the corners of her mouth curving into just a hint of a smile.

"Okay, doctor," Valentine broke in. "We'll need to go to your office and pick up that blood straight away while there's still some daylight left."

Valentine's friends nodded their agreement. "But we have some extra errands to do. First we're off to the hardware store for supplies and then a quick pop in to my apartment to retrieve some additional weapons and ammunition. We must be as prepared as possible," he warned. "The FBI has confirmed a couple of different killing methods for a vampire, but a wooden stake through the heart is the most effective."

Stanic and Rachel looked at each other, huge questions in their eyes. Valentine wished he could say something comforting, but there was nothing comforting about this situation.

Stanic swallowed hard. "Stakes? W-w-wooden stakes?"

"Don't worry, mate, we'll have the element of surprise on our side." Valentine was trying to be optimistic, even though it was the last thing he was feeling.

"And the other ways to kill a vampire are...?" Rachel asked.

"Only decapitation or incineration." Valentine shrugged. "And that's all we know of at this time."

"However, we do have some weapons at our disposal. We'll have guns with silver bullets, of course, plus vials of holy water, and a silver crucifix—all blessed by a priest. The bullets will slow them down, but not kill them. The holy water only burns their skin superficially, and, finally, the crucifix blinds them. Only problem is...everything, unfortunately, is back at my apartment. But the more artillery we've got the better."

"One other critical piece of information..." he said. "We believe that during the daylight hours, they have diminished strength and less control over their supernatural power. It's very important to keep this in mind." He hoped he was getting across how serious their situation was. "We'll need to get our supplies together while we still have some daylight left. And if we want to be successful vampire hunters, we must avoid confronting them after nightfall at all costs."

***

The three vampire hunters walked out of the motel room filled with gritty determination. They crossed the small parking lot and then jumped into the SUV. Nervous energy circulated though Stanic's body as he turned the engine over. No one spoke as they sped down San Lorenzo Boulevard then turned right onto Ocean Street. Stanic spotted a hardware store and screeched to a stop in the closest parking space. He exited the SUV with Valentine and Rachel close behind and together they entered the store and started searching for their supplies.

They opted for small, but strong, polished columns made from ash hardwood. Each was about a foot long, making them easier to transport and conceal. Next, they found three box-cutters and razor blades for sharpening the stakes. And, finally, they filled their cart with three small, but heavy, wooden mallets as well as a can of red paint, a brush, a case of small candles, a compass and a black iron kettle for mixing the potion.

As soon as they arrived back at the motel room, Stanic opened the can of red paint, dipped the brush in, and then painted a large pentagram on the carpet in the center of the floor. He was still unsure if he had translated the ancient text correctly, but time was not on their side. Five straight lines created the ancient symbol, which was encircled by a ring about ten feet in diameter. He used the compass to direct the top point of the powerful symbol toward magnetic north, just as the ancient text had instructed. Valentine and Rachel loaded the razor blades into the box cutters and began sharpening the ash columns into the finest points possible. When they were finished, Rachel gave each of them two stakes and one small mallet...and the three vampire hunters walked outside into the bright sunlight a few minutes after 4pm.

They got into the SUV, Valentine behind the wheel, and headed down Riverside Avenue, then turned right on Beach Street.

Rachel sat in the front inspecting the tip of the sharpest of her wooden stakes. "Yep," she said with a creased brow and with a slow nod. "Can you say cardiac arrest? These things are seriously deadly."

Stanic noticed the steely look in her eyes as she spoke and realized the profound impact the day was taking on her. She seemed stronger, more confident.

They turned right on Bay Street, followed by a quick left on Lighthouse Avenue toward Valentine's apartment. As they approached the deserted complex, all looked quiet. A little too quiet, maybe.

Valentine drove past the apartment and made a right on the next street. He parked the SUV against the curb, pointing down a narrow alley that led behind a row of small houses. The tiny alley consisted of nothing more than a long dirt road. A scattering of pot holes, half filled with muddy water, littered the narrow passage. Each side of the alley was overgrown with shaggy overhanging trees and big green bushes spilled over the back fences of the property lines causing the alley to seem even smaller.

"My apartment is just through this corridor about two hundred yards down. We'll make our way in through the alley behind the property...just in case," Valentine explained as he started down the narrow passageway and took out the Glock that was riding in his shoulder harness.

Stanic pulled the Walther PK380 from his waistband, handing Valentine four of his remaining eight bullets. Also armed with their sharpened wooden stakes and mallets, the trio moved silently ahead, each staying close to the tree line, backs against the fences whenever possible. A light rain began to fall as they approached the rear of Valentine's apartment complex.

Valentine slipped into a neighboring courtyard adjacent to his apartment building. Stanic watched as the agent climbed over a short fence, followed by Rachel. He followed close behind, landing with a muffled th-thumpnear a small row of hedges. As he did, he caught movement in the corner of his eye and froze...and spotting someone crouching in the bushes on one side of Valentine's front door... a quick burst of adrenaline surged through his body, his heart pounded against his ribs. The Walther PK380 felt awkward and heavy in his sweating hand as he used it to point out the shape lurking in the darkness to his friends.

As they inched in closer, Valentine said, "That's Renzo. One of Constantino's thugs, head of security at the Stelino compound."

The enormous man was bending down on one knee, facing the main entrance of the courtyard, gun drawn and trained on Valentine's front door. They ducked behind a thick hedge that ran the length of the courtyard and Stanic kept his eyes locked on the man stalking the apartment. Valentine pulled back the sliding mechanism on the Glock 19, engaging the next round, then nodded and they began to move forward.

The air was eerily still and quiet...and Stanic had no idea what they were going to do or what was going to happen as they moved in closer.

He crept up next to Valentine, his last step coming down with an unnerving crunching sound that seemed to echo off the walls of the courtyard, shattering the silence. Damn! He glanced down at a few dry leaves and brittle twigs on the path.

Renzo jerked upright, eyes narrowing, his gaze shifting in their direction. A tight scowl transformed his oversized boyish face into that of an experienced warrior. He turned and raised his gun in their direction.

Valentine fired three shots before Renzo even had a chance to aim his weapon. Two met their mark and Renzo slumped into the thick foliage...out of sight.

***

The threesome hurried into Valentine's apartment. Valentine pulled a large duffle bag out of the closet and set it in the middle of the living room. He then rolled up a long rug that lined the small apartment's hallway. Underneath the carpet was a three-by-five-foot panel that lay flush across the hardwood. Valentine went to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of wine and a thin screwdriver to pry open the hidden panel.

Rachel watched wide-eyed as he lifted the panel and revealed several guns with high-tech laser scopes, a box of bullets, a silver crucifix and two small bottles of holy water. He first picked up the laser-sighted pistols, handing one to Stanic and another to Rachel, and then placed the third silver-bullet-loaded pistol into the duffle bag.

"Stanic, be a good chap and lend a hand to your mate," Valentine said. "If you would be so kind as to go into the back bedroom and retrieve three recon suits from the closet." Valentine was speaking faster now with the commanding voice of an experienced field general. His FBI training and the field skills would be essential if they wanted to stay alive. "Rachel, there is a small suitcase in the hall closet. Be a love and find the case to stow the recon gear."

When the two went off to do their job, Valentine got down on one knee and arranged the other weapons and the wine bottle in the duffle bag, then zipped it closed.

Feeling as if he'd overlooked something important, he surveyed the room. Nothing unusual. Still...a cold sweat flashed across his body as he waited for Rachel and Stanic. He craned his neck over his shoulder to look down the dark hallway that led to the back bedrooms.

Something's not right, I can feel it...

A dark shadow rose on the living-room wall, growing larger and larger until it blocked most of the late afternoon sunlight...Valentine gazed back at the door where a tall muscle-bound figure was now framed. His thick arms were holding a large black cape up above his bloodshot eyes like a giant bat ready to take flight.

Nicoli.

The man let out a viper-like hiss, stretching his mouth wide, exposing long white fangs. His fiendish, demon-like face contorted into something almost disjointed.

Valentine realized he only had seconds to act...and all of his weapons were still inside the duffle bag. He reached for the zipper and pulled hard, but it didn't budge. His hands were slick with sweat and the zipper slipped out of his grasp. He tried again, forcing it now, but only jamming it tighter.

Nicoli flew across the room like a flash of lightning, dove on top of Valentine and opened his jaws like a huge snake, poised and ready to strike, fangs fully exposed and dripping with thick strands of silvery saliva. His demonic eyes bore down on Valentine as if lusting for his blood. Nicoli held him down with one tree-branch-strong arm pressed against his throat, pinning him to the shag carpet as he arched his back like a coiled cobra. His strike was blink-of-an-eye fast, driving his razor-sharp fangs downward.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rachel picked up the small suitcase from the hall closet and walked farther into the dimly lit back bedroom. She threw the empty case on the bed, opened it, and waited while Stanic looked through the clothes hung in the closet. "Here we go," Stanic said, spotting the high-tech recon suits. All black, soft Italian leather stealth suits with inside zippered pockets and slots for ammunition for assorted weapons.

"These will do nicely." He admired the gear. "I'll load these if you want to check with Valentine to see if he needs anything else."

Rachel shrugged and went back down the hall. As she approached the living room, she saw a huge bat-like form charge across the room and drive Valentine backward onto the floor. Then, the shape arched back...

With only seconds to react, Rachel raised her pistol, saw the laser's small red dot appear on Nicoli's face right below his left eye, and pulled the trigger. Crack! Crack! Nicoli flew back and fell to the floor as Valentine rolled away. Two silver bullets had found their mark.

Rachel froze, her jaw hanging open, gun dangling in her hand at her side. She couldn't move...couldn't breathe. She'd just shot a man...

***

Stanic was loading the recon gear into the small suitcase when he heard the shots. He charged into the living room as Nicoli thrashed back and forth on the carpet. He pulled one of the stakes from his waistband and walked to where Nicoli lay suffering and stood over him, the sharp wood column raised above his head. Nicoli rolled left, then back to his right. The impact of the silver bullet seemed to be wearing off and the man began to crawl toward the door...until he came across Stanic's right foot planted directly in his path.

The stake came down hard, right through the center of Nicoli's back, passing all the way through his chest, lodging into the shag carpet beneath him.

Nicoli's body tensed, convulsing as he let out a high-pitched cry.

Goose bumps crawled across the back of Stanic's neck as he stumbled backward.

Nicoli's body convulsed, vibrating with an audible humming sound from beneath his clothes. Smoke started to rise from his jacket and cape, obscuring his body. As the smoke began to clear, Stanic drew back, cringing as the horrifying image beneath became visible. The man's decaying face looked like an old wrung-out rag, twisted voids where his mouth and eyes should have been. Then the disfigured shape began to lose its solidity, collapsing in as if hollow.

Stanic couldn't drag his gaze away, hypnotized almost, as the remains of Nicoli's body disintegrated to a fine powder.

"One down," he whispered without looking up, "And two to go..."

Rachel and Valentine rushed to Stanic's side.

"Thanks mate." Valentine said. "You saved me again, my friend. And, if memory serves, that's the second time today. So seriously...thank you, mate."

Then Valentine looked at Rachel with just a hint of a smile. "Just a beauty of a job to you as well, love. That was a close call, bit too close."

Without another word, the trio gathered their weapons and gear and headed back to the SUV. Stanic held out the keys to whoever wanted to take them.

Rachel grabbed the keys, "I've never seen someone move as quickly or powerfully as that man did. It was like a flash of light and shadow."

Valentine looked at her, his body still visibly trembling from being seconds from death. "And that was during daylight without his powers at full potential. Just imagine what they can do after dark."

As Valentine's words sunk in, Stanic locked eyes with Rachel who seemed to be studying him. Was she thinking the same thing as he? The reality was...this could be the last time they had together. In a few hours, they might all be dead. He had a sudden urge to hold her, to protect her, tell her how much he loved her.

"Quickly now, you two, we're off, straight away, to the lab to retrieve the virgin blood. It's almost five pm."

***

Dominic sauntered into Santa Cruz County Memorial Hospital with a belying smile pasted across his pale face. He locked the doors behind him, then approached the front desk where Edna sat, filing insurance forms.

"May I help you?" Edna said, now with her full attention on the young man standing in her lobby. Taken back by the man's odd looks and black clothes, she rolled her chair away from her desk and looked up at the man...then noticed his bloodshot eyes, dark red lips and pale yellow skin.

"Where may I find Dr. Rachel Moore?" Dominic asked.

"May I ask what this is referring to?" Edna said as professionally polite as possible even though she was unnerved by the man's odd demeanor.

"This is regarding the whereabouts of your Rachel Moore."

"I'm sorry, but hospital policy prevents us from giving out any personal employee information. You can leave her your name and phone number if you like?"

"She is not here...is she?" he said, his voice calm. But the demented look in his eyes alerted Edna to beware.

"I think I'll wait," he said, then walked around the front desk and invaded Edna's personal space.

"But while I'm waiting—" Dominic bent down and hissed in her ear "—let me explain to you how I feel about your...hospital policies..."

***

Valentine loaded their recon gear into the SUV and the threesome sped off down Ocean Street with tires chirping. They turned right onto Highway 1, then headed north toward Rachel's office.

"Okay, so all of the blood samples are kept in the lab," she explained. "The lab is located in the rear of the building. I have a key to the back door, so I should be able to sneak in relatively unnoticed. If someone does see me, I'll deflect any questions as best I can, but it will be easier if I don't have to explain the two of you."

"You actually want to go in there alone?" Stanic asked, his voice registering disapproval. "It's not the employees I'm worried about."

"No worries, mates," Valentine chimed in. "I have a plan."

"Let me guess," Stanic replied. "It's just crazy enough to work?"

Rachel pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the building, shut off the engine, removed her office keys from her purse and replaced them with her laser-sighted pistol. She opened the car door and stepped out, then paused and took a long look at Stanic, wondering if she would see him again.

Stanic looked back, and she could swear she saw the same hesitation in his eyes. They didn't speak, but the undeniable emotion brought a slight moisture to her eyes. For just a moment, time seemed to stand still. But in reality, time was of the essence. "I'll see ya soon," she said with a wistful smile, then turned and closed the door behind her.

Rachel approached the rear doors of her office, just as she would when coming to work. Casual. Nonchalant. It seemed like a normal evening.

Nothing out of the ordinary. This will take two minutes... No one will even see me. Just two minutes...

She took a long, deep breath, inserted her key into the lock and slowly turned it clockwise. The lock popped open with a click much louder than she remembered it sounding. Then she opened the door just far enough to peek into the hall.

The lab was on the left across the corridor and she could see enough to determine it looked deserted.

Perfect. She slipped inside, but before closing the door, she pulled a pack of gum from her purse and wedged it into the doorjamb. She let the door rest against the makeshift obstruction and stole across the short hall and into the lab without so much as a glance toward the front desk. Once inside the lab room she found Sarah Little's blood sample in the specimen cooler, pocketed it, and then turned and walked back toward the rear exit. Just before she pushed the door open, she turned to look down the long empty hall toward the reception desk.

Even on a quiet night the floor was buzzing with lab techs, nurses and patients, as well as maintenance personal. Where the heck were they? They had grown so close over the past years that her employees had become more like family...and she worried about them just like she would her family. Now she feared she had put their lives at risk. But maybe she could at least give them some kind of warning. She took a few tentative steps toward the front lobby. If she could just warn one employee, she would feel much better...

As she took another few steps, she saw a dark pool of something easing out from under one of the larger storage closet doors...like something had spilled inside the room...a paint-like liquid...almost black... and the door to the room was ajar.

Rachel pulled her pistol from her purse. Her muscles tightened and her legs felt clumsy and rigid as she continued her cautious approach. As she neared the storeroom, the unmistakable scent hit her... the acrid stench of death. Her hand shook as she reached for the handle, then slowly inched open the door.

As the bright light from the hallway's overhead florescent bulbs lit up the storage room, Rachel spotted a shoe lying on the floor. She gasped. Edna's shoe. The soft leather was splattered with dark stains. Oh, no... Oh, God, no!

Rachel's pulse raced as she opened the door a bit farther, and in the stream of light...she saw Edna's limp body lying next to a bright yellow mop bucket. Her elbows and knees posed in the air like a slack puppet with no puppeteer...her throat had been ripped apart...like a wild animal had attacked her. Her eyes still wide open, frozen in terror.

Rachel's heart wrenched. Tears rolled down her face and her throat cramped. Edna was her best work friend...and this was her fault. She placed a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing outright. Oh, Edna. I'm so, so sorry.

She stepped to her friend's side, sorrow and regret now consuming her. Then she saw someone else...underneath Edna...someone wearing the dark green trademark work uniform. It was old Al. His neck was twisted backward into a grotesque dislocation. His vertebrae had torn through his dark skin, and was positioned vertically in the air with all of the other mop handles.

Bile rose in her throat. She took a quick step back toward the threshold of the doorway, gagging as her body jerked and heaved.

Suddenly all her senses went on red alert. She felt a presence...a wave of unwelcome energy...and the scent of unfamiliar cologne. The pistol felt heavy in her hand, but a burst of raging adrenaline coursed through her. His fault. He did this. Fingers tightening on the gun, she swung around and fired.

Crack!

But no one was there. Nothing but a deserted doorway. But it...or someone...was still there. She knew it...sensed it. And even though she had a gun, she felt as helpless.

The grisly nightmares of her childhood returned full force...fear and terror...panic...closing in on her from all directions, ripping and tearing at her mind like a pack of hungry hyenas attacking an injured gazelle. She braced herself against the hallway wall as the crushing despair settled in. She was lost...helpless...trapped under the powerful and debilitating currents of her own flooding emotions.

Then something flashed in her peripheral vision. A barely noticeable drop of blood fell from above and landed on the bloody hallway tile floor...and she realized why she hadn't seen anyone else in the room.

Rachel dove through the doorway just as a dark form leapt down from the ceiling with a bright flash of white light. She slipped across the bloody floor and rolled up against the door jamb on the other side of the hallway. The force of her body collided with the wall jarring her pistol loose from her grip. She watched in agony as the weapon slid across the hallway floor just out of reach. She would be dead before she could retrieve it.

The dark shape in the storeroom stayed in a half-crouched position, hissing in obvious fury from missing his target. Fiery red eyes seething with rage and hatred locked onto Rachel, as if burning their way into her soul. Then, the thing stretched out its long arms and charged...cape flying high like giant batwings as it flew toward her.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Valentine waited a full ninety seconds before approaching the medical office to backup Rachel. He made his way around to the front entrance, studying the parking lot for anything out of the ordinary. It looked quiet enough, so he walked to the front doors and reached for the handle.

Locked? That's odd. He peered through the large glass doors. Papers and files were strewn across the front lobby. An overturned chair hung on top of the front desk. A sharp gasp escaped his lips. Rachel was in trouble.

He lifted his left arm up to shield his eyes and slammed the butt of his pistol down on the glass door. Glass exploded in every direction, shattering the door. Valentine bashed a few big pieces out of the way, then slipped through the opening into the empty office. And just as he stepped inside, he heard gunfire echoing down the hallway.

***

Stanic approached the rear office doors with gun drawn. He'd studied the back parking lot to be sure there wasn't a trap designed to lock them inside. Then, when he was satisfied no one was lurking, he entered through the rear doors, which were propped open with a pack of chewing gum. He smiled. He'd have to give Rachel credit for her quick improvising.

Crack!

Gunshot. His gut cramped. Visions of Rachel overpowered by the police officer at the rest stop flashed through his mind as he sprinted toward the sound, hoping beyond all hope he wouldn't be too late.

***

Rachel's heart pounded hummingbird fast. She yanked a sharpened ash stake out of her inside pocket and braced it against the wall and doorjamb against her back.

The monster landed on top of her with a thud. He looked directly into her eyes, his grotesque face glowing with a twisted smile of triumph.

But his ecstasy quickly turned to confusion. He shifted his gaze, hands groping at his chest. The stake had penetrated his thin silk shirt and driven straight through. His body started convulsing...then vibrating. Then it went rigid. Smoke rose from his clothes as Rachel pushed and shoved to get out from underneath.

"Rachel!"

Turning to the side she saw Stanic charging in from the rear entrance door. At the same time, Valentine barreled forward down the hallway from the front lobby, both men with their guns drawn. The two halted, watching as the vampire's body disintegrated into a powdery grey ash with his clothes collapsing to the floor.

"I'm alright," Rachel groaned and rolled away, spreading the monster's remains across the sticky, blood-red floor.

She scrambled to her feet, still staring at the creature that had attacked her. She glared at Stanic as an unfamiliar rage boiled up from somewhere deep within.

"Two down..." she said in a low, hoarse voice. "And one to go."

***

The vampire hunters arrived back at the motel, screeching to a stop in the small lot. They hurried to their room and unloaded the gear. Stanic grabbed the small black kettle, placed it on the coffee table, then sat on the couch and opened the tattered and yellowing vellum.

Rachel and Valentine sat in the chairs opposite the couch.

"This seems fairly straightforward," Stanic mumbled as he re-read the ancient text. "Let me see; we add 'VINI SANGUINEI', or translated—red wine. Then it says 'REPETERE QUATTUOR TEMPORA', or—repeat four times." He frowned, but didn't look up. "Hmm. We'll need to recite these incantations aloud as we mix together each of the elements into a chalice." He shrugged, grabbed the motel's oversized rules and regulations cardboard poster displayed on the small end table next to the couch and started to write out the incantations on the reverse side in large, readable letters:

Habetur deos orare nocturno

Noctis mutare di permittitis

Patiaris nostri obscuro transmutatio

Exigimus obscuro magno donum

"And also," Stanic directed his words toward Valentine. "This ritual must be performed over real earth, so we'll need to find some nearby soil to dig up.

Valentine stood, grabbed the motel ice bucket with his uninjured hand, and nodded over his shoulder on his way out. "Be back in a jiffy, then, mate," he replied, then went in search of exposed earth.

***

A tall man wearing full-length black trench coat and a wide rimmed black fedora stood watching Valentine from the shadows as he gathered the loose soil. The man's hat was pulled down low, covering most of his face as he took a long drag from his glowing cigarette, the bright amber illuminating his face. He lowered the cigarette, watching as it burned down to the filter, and then dropped the butt onto the pavement, exhaling a cloud of billowy white smoke that swirled around him in the cool October air. Taking out his notepad, he recorded the strange behavior that he would report to his superiors.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Stanic was still attempting to decipher the text when the motel room door swung open.

"This should do the trick then, mate!" Valentine proclaimed, holding the earth-filled ice bucket up like a trophy as he marched into the room, then slammed it down on the coffee table with a dusty clang.

Stanic gave Valentine a slow nod of confirmation, picked up the bucket and walked to the center of the bright red pentagram he'd painted onto the shag carpet. Unsure of what to do next, he looked to Rachel. She was busy in the kitchenette, replacing the dulled razorblades from the box cutters they'd used to sharpen the stakes. He looked at Valentine, who shrugged and cocked his head to the side.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, then," he said and poured the entire bucket of dirt on the shag carpet in the center of the pentagram. A plume of dust rose up, clouding the room. Stanic went to the coffee table with the dust still settling around him, picked up the small black kettle and placed it on top of the soil.

Almost ready...

Valentine pulled a lighter from his pants pocket and began lighting the candles as he placed them around the thick red ring encircling the pentagram, counting aloud as he went. "One...two...three..."

Rachel returned to the living room with the box cutters.

"Ummm..." She touched one of the sharp blades. "Uh, huh. This is, uh...unfortunately may...um... " She paused with a lopsided little grin. "Yeah, this is definitely going to hurt." And then she tossed the box cutters onto the coffee table.

"Eleven...twelve...thirteen! That's the ticket, mate," Valentine confirmed in Stanic's direction.

But Stanic wasn't paying attention. He was looking at the text. "Wait a minute! I can't believe I missed this...it says 'solum nigrumvestimentum'. Or those involved must be clad in black."

Valentine straightened. "Just so happens we've got that covered, mate." He unlatched the small suitcase they'd brought from his apartment and threw open the lid to reveal their black recon suits. They dropped what they were doing and changed into the soft jet-black leather suits.

Stanic returned to the center of the room, feeling a little more prepared to start the ritual, but still mulling over the possibilities they had made some mistake, mistranslated the text...or worse, the fact that this ritual might change them in some way...permanently.

***

Constantino paced across his den, continuing his urgent attempts to conjure more and more of his new psychic powers. He smashed both fists down on his desk as he realized his new clairvoyance still remained quite limited. The use of the dark arts always took their toll physically on the user, but much more so before nightfall. Constantino didn't care. He deemed the information vital.

With his chin buried into his chest, he closed eyes and rubbed his temples. He focused his mind to conjure the power that had been bestowed upon him...and the visions began to come.

It was as if he was looking through a dark swirling tunnel as a twisted mosaic of images flashed behind his eyes. Brilliant colors and shifting patterns penetrated his mind's eye, moving in and out of focus.

Soon, however, he began to see the images more clearly. He could almost make out the blurry image of two men and one woman. As he focused harder, the murky cloud sharpened, showing his youngest brother screaming in pain as he burned to ashes inside a small room with a stake protruding from his chest. Then the terrible vision continued as he saw his other brother—also burning to ashes.

Painful convulsions ratcheted through his body. He clenched his fists in agony as his nerves twisted into knots and his muscles contracted. He could not comprehend how his two brothers had failed...and now, including his father, he had lost three members of the family...

Impossible! This cannot be happening.

But he knew in his heart his brothers were gone.

Constantino felt another vision emerging from deep within. He closed his eyes and pressed hard to utilize his extrasensory ability. The premonition flooded his mind like a distorted dream. He could again see a long tunnel swirling in and out of focus, but soon the vision began to reveal the infidels' future location...in the chamber below his very castle.

Very interesting...

"So the fly comes to pay a visit to the spider," he mused. "You shall pay with your lives...but first...you shall suffer."

***

Stanic walked into the candlelit ring that encircled the red pentagram and joined hands with his two friends. The tension in the room rose to a palpable level as Stanic gave a slow nod to the others, signaling them to begin reciting the ancient script written on the back of the motel rules and regulations sign. They spoke in trembling voices not much louder than a whisper:

Habetur deos orare nocturno

Noctis mutare di permittitis

Patiaris nostri obscuro transmutatio

Exigimus obscuro magno donum

Stanic grabbed the bottle of red wine from the bag of supplies, opened it, and poured about half the bottle into the small black kettle in the center of the ring. "Not exactly a chalice," he mumbled while shaking his head. He let out a long sigh, then placed three plastic cups on the floor next to the kettle.

Rachel pulled out the vial of the virgin girl's blood and removed the rubber stopper. She then poured the entire contents into the kettle, and they repeated the mantra in a monotone style now louder and with more conviction:

Habetur deos orare nocturno

Noctis mutare di permittitis

Patiaris nostri obscuro transmutatio

Exigimus obscuro magno donum

Stanic picked up the three box cutters, passed one to Valentine and another to Rachel. He ran the tip of the blade through a candle flame to sterilize it, then, after it cooled, placed the blade across the palm of his left hand, closed his fingers around it and pulled. Blood spurted from the open wound and ran down onto the shag carpet. Searing pain shot up his arm.

Valentine and Rachel followed in sequence, slicing open their own flesh, their blood dripping down their hands to their wrists. Stanic held his bleeding wound over the kettle, alongside Rachel and Valentine, and all three watched as their life force came forth and merged with the other elements. The only sound was the soft pitter-patter of droplets of thick liquid hitting the wine and blood mixture already in the kettle.

They repeated the ancient incantation again, putting more passion and force behind it:

Habetur deos orare nocturno

Noctis mutare di permittitis

Patiaris nostri obscuro transmutatio

Exigimus obscuro magno donum

Finally, Stanic lifted the kettle, swirled it around then poured equal portions into each of the three cups. He handed both Valentine and Rachel a plastic cup of the bizarre mixture, then paused in profound disbelief as he stared into his cup.

At that moment, the weight of what they were doing sunk in...like a runaway boat anchor plunging deeper and deeper into a cold and dark churning sea. Stanic looked at his two friends and whispered with a slight quiver in his voice, "Bottoms up, you two."

As the salty and sanguine liquid touched his tongue, Stanic's body shuddered, as if it was making one last attempt to stave off whatever dark secrets were being imparted.

The warm mixture tasted coppery, then sour. Stanic knew if he thought about it too long, he'd gag on the rank concoction. Instead, he swallowed hard, forcing it down his throat. The others did the same, making sure to have swallowed every last drop, then they rejoined hands to recite the incantation one last time:

Habetur deos orare nocturno

Noctis mutare di permittitis

Patiaris nostri obscuro transmutatio

Exigimus obscuro magno donum

Stanic saw Rachel's body convulse then jerk forward, and for a second, he wondered how he could've let her do this. But she quickly regained control, and he reminded himself how strong her convictions were and that she would do what she wanted, whether he wanted her to or not. While they stood there waiting for something to happen, Stanic also wondered if they had made a mistake in performing the ritual or, even worse, had they forgotten something?

Rachel suddenly dropped to one knee, crying out in pain. Stanic started to move to her side, but realized the elixir had taken hold of his body as well. The pain started in his head and shot down through his body. It felt like his skin was on fire...like he was being burned alive from the inside. His muscles tightened and he writhed in pain. He could see Valentine who was also bent over at the waist, apparently going through the same thing. He reached out and they all held each other's hands vise-grip tight as the immobilizing pain escalated to pure scorching agony,

But as the pain began to subside, Stanic felt his strength returning and attempted to pull himself up. Within seconds he began to feel elated, mesmerized by the onset of what could only be called a growing ecstasy. He released Rachel's hand and lifted his own, as if to inspect something foreign. A palm he had never seen before. Something was definitely different.

He was also focusing on the empty kettle...felt some sort of direct connection between his hand and the kettle. A magnetic pull. And he could actually see the kettle vibrating with energy. He turned his wrist to the right. And the kettle turned to the right.

His jaw dropped open as the realization of his new power became evident. It was like there was a strange force pulling hard against his hand. He turned his wrist to his left. The kettle jerked about thirty degrees around to the left, spreading out the soft soil across the shag carpet.

Fascinating...

He raised his hand high into the air, stretching his fingers out wide and the kettle reacted, springing up from the shag carpet and straight into the air. It smashed into the ceiling, hovered there, then came plummeting down, landing not far from where it had been originally. He started to speak but Rachel spoke first.

"You can move objects with your mind and it scares the hell out you," she said with a mystified look in her eyes.

"Yes," Stanic said. "But how did you—"

"Because I can read your mind."

A cold shiver crawled up his back.

He and Rachel turned as one to look at Valentine.

But Valentine just stood there with eyebrows raised and shrugged, clearly disappointed. But then...a faint blue light radiated from around his body, electrifying his silhouette with veins of light. And then...he vanished.

Gone...

Stanic stood there, wide eyed and speechless, looking at Rachel and then back to the empty space where Valentine had been standing.

Another flash of blue light flooded the motel room. Valentine returned, standing behind Rachel and several steps away from the place where he'd been. He seemed out of breath but had a crooked little smirk on his face.

"Well, looks like it worked, love," he said as he walked back into the encircled pentagram.

"I know," Rachel replied without turning... both eyes still closed.

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

5:15pm.

The dusky night seemed to pulse with electricity. The stars had become more noticeable as it got darker, speckling the skyline like tiny diamonds adorning the strip of black velvet horizon, hanging just below the looming thunderheads. They had work to do. Daunting, treacherous work. The full darkness of night would be upon them within the next ninety minutes.

No one spoke as they walked through a billowing wall of condensation rolling up from the ocean and over the sand dunes, their black recon suits making them look like some kind of futuristic superheroes.

A bashful moon showed its face through the dark clouds, peering at them as if intending to light their way with its hazy white glow. Thick fingers of the evening's fog were already beginning to embrace the small seaside town as the cool swirling moisture took its nightly stranglehold on the coastline.

They were each armed with a pistol hanging off one hip and a mallet hanging off the other. Their recon suits also had long pockets stitched along their backs, which were perfect for housing the foot-long ash stakes. The sleeves were wide enough to fit around Valentine's cast and the zippered pockets in front held their other weapons nicely.

They were as ready as they could be...

Emotions raced through Stanic like an electrical charge. His new powers coursed through his veins, radiating wave after wave of exhilarating adrenaline bursts of strength and pleasure. The trance-like sensation seemed to be coming from deep within. They all climbed into the SUV but no one spoke for some time.

The power seemed to be increasing in its intensity as it permeated each cell in his body, filtering down into the depths of his soul. His senses heightened with superhuman awareness. His vision was sharper, his hearing magnified with everything sounding crystal clear. Stanic vibrated with anticipation while attempting to harness a range of dark emotions bubbling up from within.

"We're cutting it kinda close don't you think?" Rachel finally whispered, breaking the silence. "How far are we from the castle?" She gestured to the dashboard's LED clock that read 5:18 p.m.

"We'll 'ave plenty of time, love," Valentine replied. "We're about twenty-five minutes out, which gives about sixty minutes for us to get in, get the codebook, and get out."

Stanic watched Rachel's eyes ping to Valentine, then back to him. Even without her power of telepathy, he could tell what she was thinking.

"If Constantino's powers are anything like ours, no jail will hold him. We need to end this tonight," Stanic said, voicing what he felt to be their shared opinion.

"He's right," Rachel said in a low, breathy voice. Stanic watched her eyes as they began to illuminate with an eerie red glow. "We need to end it here. Tonight."

"Okay." Valentine nodded after a long pause. "We take out Constantino tonight." But then he added, "There are, however, several low-life thugs we can take off the street if we do retrieve that code book. There is a list. A group of street thugs who are either simple street criminals or brutal killers for hire, and I'll be willing to bet the code book has enough information to put them all away for a very, very long time. The least we can do is try to clean up some of the Stelino mess and help the city if we have the chance."

"Agreed." Rachel nodded.

"Agreed." Stanic confirmed from the back seat.

They sped down San Lorenzo Boulevard, their silence continuing as they turned onto Highway 17. Stanic's emotions seemed to be growing more intense as the sky grew darker. From the car window, he watched the tall green pines fly by as they raced up the steep mountain highway. They reached the mountain's peak and turned left onto Summit Road, then came to Devil's Canyon Gorge and turned left again, back down into the throat of the monstrous gorge.

This road was smaller...even smaller than the last. It wound around jagged rock formations, diving straight down into the canyon's dizzying depths. Huge oak trees grew from the steep canyon walls. The gnarled and exposed root systems jutted out overhead, squeezing the one lane road down even more. Their tires squealed as Valentine carved his way around the hairpin turns and the tiny road descended deeper and deeper into the heart of the huge canyon. The terrain formed a thick, fortress-like wall of overgrown vegetation, intertwining with soaring redwoods and rock canyon walls, enveloping them in a flood of darkness.

Valentine switched the SUV's floodlights on and they drove still deeper into what now looked like the world's largest trench-like rock formation. Sheets of granite leaned in overhead, as their vehicle threaded around each perilous turn. They continued their descent into the darkness like they were headed into the center of the Earth.

Or straight into hell...

Finally they came to a long, paved driveway.

"There's the entrance road that leads back to the Stelino castle." Valentine pointed toward the right-hand side of the road.

The castle's grounds were protected by thick stone walls that rose ten feet high and stretched three feet wide. Huge, hand-carved pillars stood at each side of the driveway and thick black iron gates barred their entry.

An eerie mist twisted toward them like a ghostly serpent, manifesting out of the darkness, slithering up to greet them from the forest just beyond the castle's rusted iron gates. Valentine drove past the ominous driveway in search of a place to hide the vehicle.

Several hundred yards past the castle, Stanic noticed a small clearing. Valentine must have seen it too, as he pulled over, shifted the transmission into neutral, and then engaged it into four-wheel drive, low. He floored the accelerator and drove off the road's shoulder toward the mountain's steep grade. The soft, wet earth churned beneath the wheels. The SUV rocked to the left and then bounced hard to the right as it lurched forward, but soon the tires gripped the terrain and they powered up the mountainside, parking the SUV out of sight.

The hunters exited the vehicle as more light rain floated down from above. Stanic was amazed at the way the group moved, like a trained special ops team as they approached the castle's perimeter.

A rustling sound whispered from above Stanic's head. He looked up into the dusky gray sky and saw a hideous creature. He stifled a cry.

The creature had ominous, leathery wings that billowed high in the air above its wide back. Large pointed ears rose from each side of the monster's oversized skull. A wicked and toothy grin seemed to challenge all who dared trespass. The infuriated demon-like eyes stared down on Stanic and his two friends. Its scaly arms and legs were rippled with large, well-defined muscles that led to enormous paw-like feet ending at razor-sharp talons.

The beast looked to be half man and half fiend and sat patiently, perched in a full squatted position on the edge of the castle's gate, ready to spring forward at the first sight of any intruder. The ghastly stone-carved gargoyle unnerved the three as they stared up at it from the base of the castle's foreboding exterior stone wall.

Valentine took a small grappling hook from his belt, tossed it over the wall, and then pulled back on the cable until it caught on the wall's upper edge. Stanic and Rachel helped Valentine climb to the top, and one by one, they ascended the thick rock wall, climbed over and landed on the soft soil without a sound. Valentine led the way as they began their slow assault on the castle though the misty wet foliage.

***

After they made their way to the rear and moved in toward the castle's back entrance, Valentine signaled the others to pause in the high brush as he assessed the situation. From their vantage point he could see the courtyard. A beautiful fountain flowed above an opulent swimming pool surrounded by large, hand-carved Roman pillars. The massive stone castle rose up through the mist just beyond the Romanesque aqua-blue pool, all dark and dead silent. Beyond a large stone archway and through a window, he saw Constantino pacing, a scowl hung from his face and his sunken eyes seemed to dart out, searching the cold night air.

"There's Constantino," Valentine whispered, pointing toward the huge man moving past the window. "And he doesn't look happy."

Valentine spotted an entry point along the castle's right side that looked as if it led down below the monolithic structure. He pointed toward the small iron and wood cellar doors that lay at the base of the castle. "Let's move out," he ordered like a confident field general while at the same time feeling a nagging uncertainty in his gut...and it was growing stronger. They moved toward the cellar door, crouching, staying as low as possible to the ground.

Valentine arrived first and saw an old rusty ring attached to the center of the ancient-looking door. He pulled hard with his good hand, but the door didn't budge. He bent to inspect the iron ring. It was a medieval locking device of some kind. He motioned for Stanic who held the lock with both hands, bending his knees for more torque, and turned with all of his might.

The ring began to move until it had rotated a full 180 degrees. Then Stanic pulled back on the cellar door and immediately it opened upward with a muted cla-thunk. Quickly bracing their backs and shoulders against the heavy door they held it above their heads and peered inside. The entrance led to a dark staircase descending into the ground. Valentine motioned for Stanic and Rachel to go in first while he continued to hold the door.

Stanic and Rachel did as he suggested, creeping across the threshold and into the murky darkness of the stairwell that led into bowels of the castle. Valentine watched as they faded into the shadows below. Once they were inside, Valentine paused, still bracing against the heavy cellar door above his head.

His physical shape seemed to blur in and out of focus, then he veined with blue electricity...and blinked.

Gone.

The door now seemed to be floating on its own in mid-air.

"What are you waiting for?" Stanic called back to Valentine.

"I'll meet you inside in just a bit," Valentine answered.

Suddenly the door swung closed with a loud thud, extinguishing all light, leaving him and Rachel entombed in the darkness.

***

Valentine walked through the courtyard and around to the left side of the castle, listening to his boots crunch against the wet gravel. He looked at his feet, or where he knew his feet should be, but now he saw only the ground, his power of invisibility perfectly cloaking his appearance.

He found an open window low enough to shimmy through, then jumped inside to the cold stone floor. He stopped to assess his location. The castle's interior looked like a museum. Huge cathedral-like ceilings rose high into the air. The walls were adorned with beautiful framed paintings, hand-carved life-sized statues and elaborate displays of medieval weaponry.

He stood both invisible and statue-still. Only his steady breathing could give up his location.

So far, so good.

The castle's main entrance stretched to his left and contained two staircases. Keeping his breathing quiet, he walked into the foyer, and after determining the coast was clear, he tiptoed up the first stairway and crept into Constantino's gloomy lair.

The huge master suite was furnished with old European-style antique furniture and lit by flickering candlelight. Coffered ceilings rose above an elegant black coffin...its cover open...setting in the center of the windowless room. A shiver ran up Valentine's spine. He looked toward the far end of the chamber. A dark hallway seemed to stare back at him, daring him to enter Constantino's private office. He made his way across the room and stole into the shadows of the deserted hall.

Get the code book and get out...

In Constantino's office, he closed the door, walked over and lit a candle on the oversized desk with his lighter and began rifling through drawers. The first drawer had three quills and a bottle of black ink. The next drawer had two books. Salem's Lot by Stephen King and Dracula, by Bram Stoker. The next four or five drawers contained only office supplies. Then he opened the last drawer and saw a small, well-worn leather-bound book.

Bingo!

Valentine's adrenaline surged. He flipped through the book as fast as he could, his excitement mounting as he realized it was, indeed, the counterpart to the other logbook they'd retrieved from the Stelino compound earlier. Looking up, he spotted a portrait of Anna hanging on the wall, her unforgettably big brown eyes staring back at him.

He felt a twinge in his chest. The first time he had ever laid his eyes upon Anna, he'd just begun working undercover on the Stelino case. She'd arrived at a celebratory dinner event hosted by the family...and she'd looked so beautiful with her porcelain skin and long, shining black hair. She had haunting eyes, long, well-toned legs, and graceful curves wrapped in a tight, red dress, highlighted by a glimmering diamond necklace.

He'd been surprised to find she was Vincenzo's daughter. His only daughter. She looked so sad and forlorn he couldn't keep himself from glancing her way. Her brothers, however, greeted her with snide remarks as if she were a misbehaving child or some sort of well-trained show animal. With each condescending comment Valentine felt worse and worse for her.

As the evening wore on, her brothers began discussing business and drinking heavily. Valentine had sat next to Anna, and they'd started some polite small talk. She was well spoken and articulate, and even though she rarely looked up, he could tell she was holding back the urge to smile. He'd felt an immediate connection with her, and it was more than apparent she felt the same.

Of all the women in the world to fall for...Vincenzo's daughter!

The same man he had just shot and killed.

In fact, if all went well he would put her three brothers in the ground as well. Any thoughts about a life with Anna were as hopeless as Romeo and Juliet. Valentine had tried to forget about her over the last few years. He'd attempted to dismiss his feelings on many occasions but just couldn't do it. Every time she would show up at different events looking even more beautiful than he remembered, his heart would feel heavy, as if it were swelling and bleeding in his chest. Their conversations were effortless, their time together precious...and within a few weeks, Valentine realized he was falling deeply in love with her... and felt a strong, undeniable bond growing between the two of them.

Undeniable... Even now.

Valentine had begun losing sleep thinking about her...felt he needed to help her in some way...but how? Maybe if the investigation succeeded in taking down the Stelino family he could liberate her from the torment and repression she suffered through on a daily basis. Maybe she would soon be able to forgive him.

He knew what he had to do.

Find Anna.

#  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The cellar was cold, dark and musty. Rachel tried not to breathe in the thick, moldy air as she and Stanic made their way down the first flight of stairs. It seemed to get darker with every step. And the second flight of stairs only led them deeper into the unknown.

Rachel could feel her senses beginning to sharpen. Her heightened abilities of sensory perception were now overwhelming her. Somehow she could sense their surroundings without using her eyes. Almost like an internal radar system that put the important details of the environment into her mind's eye. Rachel was filled with amazement as she "saw" their surroundings through the sheer blackness.

When they finally reached the bottom of the stairwell she sensed a long corridor leading underneath the castle's floor. She led the way, hurrying down the damp corridor with their shoes clicking against the wet stone floor. The sound of each step began to echo down the hall and back, filling the darkness with a rich mosaic of tapping sounds. Then the corridor opened into a tall archway ending at a large iron door. In the center of the door...an iron ring similar to the one on the exterior cellar door. Stanic grabbed the ring and turned hard toward his left, disengaging the ancient bolt. Then he pulled back on the rusty handle and the door swung open with a long dusty creak. Rachel peeked through. The door led to a small arched foyer and right beyond opened into a large chamber with high vaulted ceilings. They stepped forward, peering into the expansive room, their eyes wide like lost and frightened children.

***

Valentine stuffed the codebook into the inside pocket of his jacket. It blinked, and then glowed blue before finally disappearing. He knew his ability to sustain his power of invisibility was wavering, but he didn't care. He had to find Anna. He had watched the beautiful young girl being verbally and physically abused over the past years while working undercover. She was treated as less than human and forbidden to leave her brothers' presence. Her life resembled that of a prisoner with an agonizing life sentence. Her entire existence consisted of serving her brother's needs. He had to see her...needed to see her.

***

At the far side of the chamber Rachel saw a spiral staircase wrapping its way up to the castle's first floor. A light glowed from the top of the stairway, radiating a soft illumination across the room. They inched forward toward the staircase. Rachel gripped Stanic's arm as they began a slow and careful ascent around each long twist of iron stairs toward the light.

They were almost at the top of the stairs when Rachel heard something unsettling from behind. The large, rusty iron door, guarding the chamber they entered through had begun to move with a drawn outscreeeeeeeeeeech, slamming shut with a deep, booming k-klooong, the dreadful echo resonating along the walls followed by the sound of the ancient bolt re-engaging.

She felt Stanic's body tense beside her as they listened to the footsteps moving away from the door, back down the corridor. They hurried to the top of the stairs only to find the trap door above them was bolted from inside the castle. It was a trap...they were sealed in.

***

Valentine had only been to the castle on a few rare occasions, but he always took note of Anna's actions. She always arrived and retired to the east wing of the estate and from the stairway on the left of their enormous foyer. He crept back through the master suite and down the first set of stairs, then stopped at the bottom, careful to be as quiet as possible. He could see Constantino striding across the castle's main corridor, coming toward him.

Valentine flattened his back against the castle wall, held his breath...and waited.

Constantino seemed to sense his presence, suddenly turning and walking into the foyer, right in front of where Valentine stood, still invisible...

***

Stanic and Rachel stood stone still on the spiral staircase leading from the cellar up into the castle. The room was circular in shape and about twenty-five feet wide. As Stanic's eyes adjusted to the low light, his visual acuity increased...along with his anxiety. He studied the elaborate artwork along the wall adjacent to the spiral staircase with a morbid fascination. An enormous fresco rose from floor to ceiling. It showed startling scenes depicting demons attacking, then impaling men and women, draining their blood into large black cauldrons. The grisly images stretched the length of the walls on their right, rising across the rounded ceiling in a frightening display of evil deeds.

***

Valentine moved across the castle's main entry foyer away from where Constantino stood scanning the room for intruders. Constantino suddenly turned and strode to the castle's front windows and gazed into the courtyard. Valentine knew this was his chance and dashed up the other staircase where he saw a long hallway ending at a set of large double doors adorned with oversized golden fixtures.

Anna's quarters.

He made his way down the hallway, but was overcome by an abrupt dizziness. The room started spinning around him and he felt an overwhelming exhaustion. His body was struggling for oxygen. Losing the battle with intense fatigue, he dropped to one knee. He tried to stand but couldn't. He gasped for air, collapsing to the ground, realizing too late he had pushed his new power too far. His breathing came in shallow gasps, beads of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the floor. Pure adrenaline coursed through his veins.

He looked back, fearing Constantino's ever-present gaze, then stood up and somehow continued toward Anna's room. He reached out to take hold of the golden doorknob, but couldn't seem to reach it. His body flashed with veins of electrified blue light, then became visible again. All his energy spent, he fell to the floor.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Rachel closed her eyes. She sensed Constantino was close by and began to pick up his thoughts, like listening to a short-wave transistor radio through intermittent static. She could "hear" Constantino thinking.

"He thinks we are weak," she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. "He somehow knew we would come in this way...he knows his brothers are dead...and he has a torture chamber ready," Rachel said, her tone turning cold. "He's thinking of doing terrible, terrible things to us."

***

Valentine woke up on the castle floor at the base of two large double doors...still dizzy but at least his vision was clearing. He struggled to lift himself to a standing position and then took a moment to regain some composure. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed his forehead while pulling in a slow, deep breath. Then he turned the bolt that locked the door from the outside with a muted shhhh-shinkk, eased open the door, then stepped inside.

It was Anna...wrists and ankles locked in shackles. The iron bracelets that held her were attached to long chains bolted to the wall next to the bed.

"Hello, Valentine," she said, an undeniable longing filling her saucer-like brown eyes. "I thought you would never come."

Valentine rushed to her side. "'Ello, love. I see we're in a bit of a pickle, are we?"

A tear ran down Anna's cheek. She lifted her bleeding and swollen wrists, shrugging as if already defeated. Her white silky nightgown was torn and bloodstained. Valentine pulled out his lock-picking kit and went to work on the shackles, flinching when he noticed two puncture mark scars on her neck. Each of the ancient locks popped open and Anna fell into his arms.

"Where is Constantino?" Anna whispered, eyes darting toward the doorway, voice quivering with fear as if she were visualizing the horrible things yet to come.

"He's just downstairs, love," Valentine whispered. "And we're taking you straight up and out of here."

"We?"

"Yes. I have two friends just on their way up through the basement to help."

***

Rachel continued to explore the chamber in which she and Stanic were trapped. She looked across the room and saw a small archway leading to a closed door. "What's back there?" She pointed at the dim light emanating from under the door.

That's when Rachel heard a muted sobbing. She walked closer to the door, recognizing the same type of ancient-looking bolt that had been on the outside of the chamber. Stanic must have recognized it too, stepping forward and disengaging it. The door opened.

Rachel's skin turned cold as she peered inside.

A torture chamber.

And a girl locked in an iron cell, huddling under a shredded scrap of a blanket.

At the sound of the door opening, the girl began crying in an incoherent, ramble, "no...oh, no...please not again...please...I can't...I won't..."

Rachel recognized the girl.

Sarah Little. Her patient. The virgin blood.

"Sarah, you are going to be okay," Rachel whispered as she moved toward the cage.

Sarah paused when she heard her name and looked up, rubbing her eyes as if she was seeing some kind of mirage, as if her very eyes were deceiving her.

"Dr. Moore? Wh-what are you...how d-did you...?"

Rachel reached through the bars, lightly touching Sarah's arm. "Everything's going to be okay and we are going to get you out of here," she said. "I'll explain everything to you later."

Rachel turned to Stanic, and seeing the perplexed look on his face, said, "John, this is one of my patients, Sarah Little. Sarah, this is my boyfriend, John Stanic."

Stanic nodded his understanding and walked over to the thick iron bars separating them. "We will get you out of here, Sarah, I promise."

***

Stanic went to the staircase and examined the trapdoor. He could feel his powers gaining in strength since they had completed the ancient ritual, so he raised his right hand with palm up as if offering something toward the door at the top. He felt his eyes burning, imagining them glowing with the same red illumination he'd seen in the others' eyes at the motel. His body tensed and his eyes closed, emotions welling up in his mind. He could hear heavy chains and a deadbolt on the door above start to rattle. Stanic's amazement grew as he realized just how much power he now possessed. A power stronger than he could ever have imagined.

He felt like a god.

He turned his wrist to the right feeling an odd pressure fighting back against his hand. He heard the chains slide taut to the right side of the door as if held there, suspended in place. He could feel a direct link, almost like some kind of magnetism pushing down on his wrist as he turned his hand back to the left and the chain slid left as well.

Stanic's arm trembled as he balled his fingers into a tight fist, shaking as the energy flowed from his body through the heavy wooden door above him and back...as if they were one. He thrust his arm straight up toward the ceiling to a full extension, opening his hand and stretching his fingers out wide.

Iron and wood exploded from above, sending shrapnel in all directions as the deafening sound echoed through the chamber. Stanic dashed up the spiral stairs, charging right through a plume of smoke and dust in the air. Reaching the top, he looked over the wreckage.

Deserted.

Two burning torches leaned away from the castle's wall from long wooden posts. The room flickered between firelight and shadow as the billowing air attempted to extinguish the flames. Long, angular, inky shadows danced and leapt up against the walls as the flames fought back against the unpredictable draft. Stanic crept over the threshold at the top of the stair, scanning the empty room. He turned back to help Rachel climb out over the debris, reaching out his hand to her, then he saw her face had turned ashen white with horror.

"Look out!" she screamed,

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

A huge stone came crashing down from above, striking Stanic's left temple. He collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath his head. Constantino moved with cat-like quickness, leaping on top of Rachel. He threw her onto the ground and before she could do anything to escape he had tied her hands behind her back.

"You are going to pay for your treachery with your lives," Constantino growled, double-checking the tightness of his knots. "But first you will tell me how you managed to destroy my basement door."

***

Lightning flashed and Rachel watched as the walls were again painted with violent and angry shadows. Thunder shook the ground as Constantino finished tethering her hands behind her back, then he grabbed her by the hair, dragging her to the spiral staircase. Rachel kicked and screamed, struggling against him the best she could, but she knew it was futile.

Constantino smiled as he pushed her forward through the destroyed trapdoor.

She screamed again, tumbling headfirst down the iron staircase. She landed with a hard thud, smashing into the rail where the stairs turned around the first curve of the spiral. Her head made loud contact with one of the thick iron support posts, slicing open her forehead.

Sitting crumpled on her knees, only semi-conscious, Rachel could hear Constantino approaching her again, saw the lack of emotion in his face as he stared down at her from above. He kicked her with the hard tip of his pointed boot, the force of the blow propelling her down to the next turn of stairs. The violent motion also caused Rachel's pistol to fly out from the inside pocket of her recon suit. She watched it fall away, agonizing at the sound of her last hope hitting the floor and sliding into the shadows.

Constantino followed her down the last flight of stairs. "It's time for you to learn your manners, eh!"

He again grabbed Rachel by the hair, pulling her across the chamber's floor like a bag of grain, toward the torture chamber at the far end of the room. He produced an ancient looking key from his jacket pocket and opened the cell's iron door. Then he threw Rachel inside with Sarah Little, slammed the door shut and locked it.

"Now, I'll just go-ah take care of your friend," Rachel heard Constantino say as his voice faded in the distance.

As soon as Constantino was out of sight Rachel turned to Sarah, but the girl had gone into a catatonic state and didn't seem to be aware of her surroundings. She didn't react or acknowledge Rachel in any way, her eyes glazed over as if seeing nothing. Rachel's heart went out to the poor girl who now seemed to be in severe shock with the potential for paralysis. But without any immediate means of helping Sarah, Rachel shifted her focus to finding a way to escape. She noticed a sharp edge on one of the iron cell bars. She turned around and started working the leather straps that bound her hands behind her back and forth across it. Soon, the sawing action had cut through the straps on her wrists and they fell to ground. Rachel then began trying to untie the tight straps around her ankles...hoping to free herself before Constantino returned.

***

John Stanic lifted his head from the hard floor with images of the day's horrible events flashing behind his eyes. He had to do something fast. His stomach twisted, ached and burned as he thought about Rachel. He ran his hand across the left side of his head and felt an open gash about four inches long. Blood covered his hands and face and pooled on the ground below his head.

The room was spinning, but he had to stand. He managed to get to his feet, staggering two or three steps toward the castle wall for balance, then leaned against the rough hewn stone for support. He squinted, opening and closing his eyes, trying to focus on the room as it spun by. He could see a silver dollar moon glowing brightly. It hung low in the sky, just beneath the dark, rolling thunderheads. The rain was falling harder and the wind had picked up, creating a deep and ghost-like moan that reverberated through the corridors.

The sky lit up with jagged veins of lightning and a booming snap of thunder followed, shaking the castle floor.

Stanic needed time to clear his head. He was dizzy, and his thoughts were clouded, but the last thing he remembered was hearing Rachel's piercing cry for help. He stumbled toward the demolished trap door that led into the basement, panic seizing in his chest as he kneeled down and saw only darkness below.

***

Valentine held Anna's hand as they made their way from her room in search of his friends. They had just passed her bedroom doorway when Valentine heard a booming explosion from somewhere in the castle below them. He led the way down the stairs and stopped in the enormous foyer, watching and listening for Constantino.

He looked out the large bay windows at the full moon shining through the wisps of passing clouds and felt his strength increasing by the second.

Anna let go of his hand and looked up at him with a peculiar look in her eyes. "I have something I need to tell you," she said, showing obvious signs of urgency on her face.

"Yes, love?" Valentine whispered, darting a glance down the corridor for any sign of an approaching Constantino.

Anna opened her mouth, exposing long, pointed fangs dripping with saliva. "You shouldn't have let me out...when the moon is full" Her black eyes gave away her intentions just as she dove onto Valentine's throat.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

Stanic needed to find Rachel...and fast. As he began to descend the spiral staircase, heading back into the cellar, his legs felt like rubber and his head throbbed in pain. He stumbled down the steep iron stairway, reached the bottom of the stairwell and walked into the torture chamber. He saw Rachel, now locked inside of the iron cell. His head wound was bleeding down onto his face, and the mixture of blood and sweat bit into his eyes...blurring his vision.

But not so much that he didn't see Constantino rounding on him, charging out from the shadows.

Adrenaline spiked in Stanic's body long enough to give him a much needed moment of clarity. He raised his right hand and pointed toward Constantino's chest, felt the energy surge through his body and threw open his hand with fingers spread wide.

The bolt of energy connected with Constantino, blasting him off his feet and across the room. He landed on his back and slid backward across the floor until he collided hard with the castle's wall.

The jolt of energy also caught Stanic off guard in his weakened condition, knocking him backward. His head made loud contact with the rock floor and everything went black again.

***

Rachel watched in horror as the thunder again shook the castle's walls, rumbling the ground beneath her feet. She sensed the hatred that had consumed Constantino's mind. She could also feel the pure love driving Stanic forward. She was, however, sensing a third person's aggressive thoughts...from close by.

Both Constantino and Stanic lay unconscious on the castle floor, but she could still feel a growing rage.

She turned, an unsettling fear twisted in her stomach as she stared at Sarah. Suddenly, everything became clear.

Sarah stood in the corner, facing the cell wall and looking down at her feet. She jerked her head in Rachel's direction, now looking over her shoulder. Long blonde hair wrapped across her face, then slid to the side revealing the rage that had overcome her. Her eyes locked onto Rachel's like a wild animal...cornered and ready to strike.

Her mouth opened with sharp, white fangs creeping just into view. Rachel sensed the hatred and aggression amplify in the young girl's mind. Then Sarah lifted her arms out in front of her and began to walk toward her across the small cell.

***

Valentine saw anger in Anna Stelino's eyes right before she lunged for this neck. He turned sideways just in time, sending her falling forward and past him.

"You don't understand." she pleaded, straightening as she stared back at Valentine. Her eyes cold and steely with determination. "But you will!"

Anna charged again, this time from just a few feet away. But as she did, Valentine's body flashed, veins of blue light encircled him just as he vanished into thin air.

Anna continued her attack, running right through the place he'd been standing, her head colliding with the castle's uneven rock wall. She turned and looked back at Valentine, dazed, blood dripping down from the center of her forehead into her eyes and down the bridge of her nose.

Valentine pulled a stake from the long pocket on the back of his recon suit and, in one continuous motion pulled the mallet from his belt, raising it high into the air. He paused with the mallet held high above, looking down on Anna with sorrow and pain weighing on his broken heart.

Then he brought the heavy mallet down, full force, driving the stake deep into Anna's chest.

She dropped to her knees, looking up at her love with tears sliding from her beautiful, brown eyes, and with blood spattered across her face and whispered, "I'm sorry..."

And then she turned to ash.

***

Rachel backed up against the cell wall, then pulled the crucifix from her recon suit and lifted it up toward the young girl's eyes. She wasn't sure what to expect, but Rachel watched in amazement as Sarah cowered back and then turned away. Rachel moved closer, pulling the wooden mallet from her belt.

The girl retreated as far as she could into the corner of the cell, and crouching down, she attempted to block the sight of the silver cross, shielding her eyes with both hands. Then she let out an ear-piercing shrill scream and sprung to her feet...and charged across the cell.

Rachel stepped to the side, kicking the girl's legs out from under her, sending her flailing to the ground and landing flat on her back with a solid sounding thud. She pressed her boot onto the girl's throat...then placed the post of the silver cross on Sarah's chest and slowly drew the mallet back behind her.

But then Rachel paused. She lowered the mallet...unable to do the unthinkable. Sarah suddenly arched up and rolled to her side. The quick motion took Rachel by surprise as the girl broke away from her and retreated back into the corner of the cell.

Sarah wrapped her arms around her bare knees and curled her body into a tight ball. She sat shivering against the far wall, sobbing as if going back into a catatonic state. Rachel gripped the crucifix with both hands, holding it up high as she backed away into the far side of the cell, but as she gazed at the young girl, she recognized the fear and innocence in Sarah eyes.

Her power to "hear" the thoughts of others suddenly welled up again in her mind like huge ocean wave. Her thoughts sounded tinny and static laden, coming in and out of reception. She could sense Sarah's mind shifting from anger to sadness...aggressive to passive... even vengefulness to thankfulness. The sounds of Sarah's thoughts sounded choppy and distorted in Rachel's mind but there was no misunderstanding the meaning behind them.

"Afraid...I don't know what is happening to me...something pulling on my thoughts...never harm Dr. Moore...so glad she is here with me now....don't want to be alone..."

Rachel understood her feelings and walked to her side without fear. "Sarah, I need to ask you an important question. Is that okay?" Sarah looked up, nodding in agreement.

"Have you been attacked three times?" she asked, eyes narrowing, jaw-line tightening into a deadly serious expression. A tear slid down Sarah's face as she again nodded her affirmative answer. Then she said, "more than three times."

Rachel's heart slowly broke inside her chest as she held the girl in her arms gently stroking her hair.

"What does it mean?" she asked

"It means your life may be different."

"You mean I'm a monster now! That I've become one of them! She sobbed. "Forever changed by those horrible animals? You're saying my life is over even if we do make it out of this hell hole?"

"We don't know what it means yet, but it's going to be okay, honey, I promise," she whispered. "It's not your fault, baby...I've been attacked, too."

Sarah jerked her head up to look at Rachel with shock showing in her eyes.

"Yes, I've been bitten as well, but you've suffered through so much more than I have...and that means our lives may be different. But it does not mean we are evil, not by a long shot. We can figure out a way through this together. Please believe me Sarah, the person you are inside will determine what it means. You have your own free will and you can choose your future. Now, we can choose it together."

"I don't want my parents to find out what I've become." Sarah whispered in between sobs. "You have to promise me to keep this a secret....promise me." Sarah's eyes rolled back in her head, her shoulders going limp as she slumped to the side. Rachel realized the ordeal had been too much for the young girl and she had gone back into a catatonic state.

***

Constantino blinked several times as he regained consciousness. He looked around, still dazed, wondering what happened. He focused on the man's unconscious body on the floor in the center of the room, then remembered the blast of energy that had come out of nowhere. He stood, staggered three steps to his left before catching his balance.

He heard the woman scream from inside the cell.

Constantino recalled the man had come back to save the girl but then he'd somehow been knocked unconscious.

He smiled, realizing the man's futile attempt to save her had failed, then turned toward a row of cabinets along the far side of the room, taking his time to select a suitable instrument from the tools hung there. Finally, he chose an ancient-looking hammer and turned back, walking toward the unconscious man, a diabolical smile spreading across his lips.

"I don't know how you did it, but it ends for you here tonight, eh." He stood above Stanic, holding the hammer behind his back like a surprise bouquet of flowers. Then he raised the weapon into the air, bringing it down hard just inside Stanic's right ear.

Thwack!

Blood splattered in a tight radius around his head.

Constantino looked at the blood-splattered hammer, studying the tool with great care. His smile grew wider as he turned it over, claws down, and raised it up again.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rachel watched Constantino swing the hammer through the air, but couldn't watch it connect with John's head. But she felt the impact in her heart.

Oh, God no! She had to do something fast. Her gun...it had been knocked away in the fall down the stairs. She searched the pockets of her recon suit for the small jar of holy water Valentine had given her and feeling it in her jacket pocket, her pulse went into overdrive. She pulled out the vial, pried off the cork and flung it at Constantino just as he was lifting the hammer again. The jar of holy water landed on Constantino's shoulders, splashing across the exposed skin on his neck and face.

Constantino screamed and dropped to one knee, grasping and clutching at the back of his head. The skin on his neck and face turned bright red, blistering and burning as thick white smoke rose into the air. The hammer fell from his hand as the blessed water boiled and sizzled like acid. Rachel knew the effect of the water was only temporary and she didn't know how much time she would have. She pulled her last weapon, the stake from her recon suit, and held it in front of her like a sword. And from behind the thick iron bars of her cage...she waited.

***

Constantino stumbled to his feet, stunned and again trying to figure out what just happened. He saw the empty jar on the floor and realized it must have been holy water. He laughed at the plight of the foolish intruders. "HA! HAHA! HA!

He closed his eyes as new visions penetrated his mind. The swirling images that were previously cloaked or distorted by daylight were now vivid and crystal clear. He saw himself this time. He saw a wooden cross. He saw his body.

"What is this?" He cried. "No...It cannot be!"

Constantino felt the blood drain from his face, his mind flashed with fear, shock and disbelief as he tried to interpret the clairvoyant waves that predicted his own demise.

"I shall not let it come to pass!" he shouted. "Did you really think you could stop our coven so easily? You daft fools! Our syndicate has nests all across your insipid country. You'll never stop us! Never!" His voice rose up against another blast of thunder. "They will hunt you down in the streets like the dogs you are! HA! HAHA! HAAAAA!"

Constantino's staccato laughter echoed through the chamber. Then he looked down as if suddenly overcome with sadness. But only seconds later he snapped his head up, his eyes illuminating dark red. He picked up the hammer and walked toward Stanic once again. He stood over the man's battered and unconscious body and smiled.

"I'm going to take my time," he growled, then raised the hammer, arched his back and then swung the hammer straight toward Stanic's right eye, claws down.

***

Valentine heard the screams coming from the cellar and sprinted toward the trapdoor, then bounded down the spiral staircase while still using his power of invisibility. Constantino was standing above Stanic with a hammer, so he charged at the man, bearing the agonizing realization that he may arrive too late. Just as Constantino raised the hammer, Valentine bolted toward the room and dove through the doorway, pulling his pistol and firing three rapid shots into Constantino's chest.

Constantino looked up, shock and horror in his eyes, no clue where the shots had come from. The hammer fell from his hand and clanked against the floor.

Valentine had hit the ground rolling, still invisible, then bounced back to his feet. He saw Constantino's confused expression as he scanned the room for the origin of the gunshots. Valentine took two powerful steps toward Constantino and leapt high into the air feet-first. He collided with Constantino, kicking mule-hard with both feet, down onto his now bloody chest, sending him wheeling backward across the room toward the cell that held Rachel. Valentine then stood, pulled his remaining stake from his recon suit and stepped forward.

***

Rachel heard the shots that came out of nowhere and watched Constantino fly backward toward her cell. In the space of a second, she gripped the stake white-knuckle tight, pushing it through the bars of the cell. She braced it against the thicker iron support plate that ran horizontally across the cage just as Constantino flew backward against the bars. Constantino's scream echoed through the chamber as the stake ripped through his clothes, penetrating his back.

Valentine suddenly materialized in front of Constantino, with veins of electrified blue light and his own wooden stake held high. He brought the sharp column down hard, driving it with all his strength into Constantino's chest.

Both vampire hunters brought their mallets high up over their head with quick blurred motions, forward and down, both connecting with the wooden stakes in unison. Both stakes drove deeper into Constantino's body, crossing at the center of his heart. His body began to vibrate, his flesh crackled and bubbled as if it were aflame. His back arched, muscles tightening to their limit as he writhed in pain, then slid to the ground, still up against the bars of the cell.

Constantino's face transformed into a surreal mask of surprise and horror like a farm animal just after slaughter. The skin on his face burst into bright orange flames that roared like he'd been doused with gasoline. The fire grew hotter and the flames leapt higher, his body popped and sizzled, smoke poured out from both eyes. The skin and muscle tissue on his face began to fall away, exposing a gruesome, yellowing jawbone. The distinctive, pungent smell of burning flesh made Rachel gag, then dry-heave in rapid succession.

They watched as the remainder of Constantino's skull became visible. The vertebrae at his neck under his chin began to show through, the awful transformation partially shrouded by wispy blue-gray smoke as it slowly drifted away, floating up to the ceiling and dissipating into the darkness.

Rachel watched the vampire-mafia boss die...then saw Valentine rush over to check Stanic's condition. From behind the bars she saw John's head and face were covered in blood, and she knew he had certainly suffered a massive concussion. Her heart wrenched, a sob caught in her throat.

Valentine turned back to the cell, working fast to pick the lock, freeing Rachel. She threw the cell door open and ran to Stanic, tears sliding down both checks as she held the man she loved so much. He had sustained massive blows to his head. His breathing was shallow. She examined him the best she could through the hemorrhaging eye, trying to be the skilled doctor and not the woman losing the love of her life.

"It's major head trauma," she told Valentine. "It could go either way. We had better get him to a hospital. We may not know the extent of the brain damage for quite some time."

"Okay," Valentine spoke up. "He needs immediate medical attention but can we do this under the radar? The police force in this town is still corrupt love, and we now know at least one officer is a vampire."

"Good point. Let's get him to my office and I can treat him off the record."

"Sounds good. I'll be back in a jiff with transportation."

With that, Valentine dashed up the stairs to bring around their vehicle.

Rachel walked over to where Sarah Little sat in the corner of the cell, still curled in a ball and shivering.

"Sarah, we are going to take you to a hospital," she said. "But we need to keep what has happened here a secret. Do you understand?"

Sarah looked up at her with her big blue doe-eyes brimming with tears. "I can keep a secret if you can," she whispered. 'But, like you said...my life...will never be the same."

Just then Valentine came barreling back down the stairs. "We are in luck love. They left keys in their vehicles just up in the garage. The fastest way is to use one of their cars."

Valentine approached his injured friend and, with Rachel's help, gently picked him up and the four made their way up the iron stairs and out into the castle's huge garage where a long line of black cars were parked. "Take your pick," he said pointing at a long row of parked vehicles. "They all have keys sitting right in the ignition."

Rachel approached a black Escalade, opened the tail gate. She reclined the rear seats to create a flat cargo area. Valentine eased the still unconscious Stanic into the rear of the vehicle with Rachel still clinging to his side. Valentine slid behind the wheel and fired up the engine as Sarah jumped into the passenger seat. The garage door slid open with a loud churning of gears and the SUV shot forward.

"What's going to happen to me now?" Sarah asked as they sped down the driveway toward the exterior gates. "Now that I have been attacked...three times."

Valentine looked at the young girl with sadness in his eyes. "I'm so sorry love...there is no easy way to tell you this... but after your third attack, you will have received the curse."

The car remained silent for some time as Valentine drove toward the hospital as smoothly as he could, carving around the hairpin turns of the steep mountain road.

"You're lucky to be alive, love," he said. "The rules for being a vampire are really quite simple actually. You will never age. You will be stronger at night, but weak in the sun...and under the light of the full moon...you will want to hunt."

A tear slid down Sarah's face as she took in the grim news about her future. "You said that we need to keep this a secret and totally I agree...we can never let my parents find out what has become of me. They're better off just thinking I'm dead. I can keep a secret if you can." Valentine knew that wouldn't be easy. Nothing would be easy for her now. His heart pounded as he watched the girl begin to understand what her future held.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When Stanic opened his left eye, he studied the hospital room ceiling. Then he noticed an IV running to his left arm and heard the steady beep...beep...beep...of the electrocardiograph monitoring his heart through the tiny wires and small diodes stuck to his chest...and he felt as if a heavy metal rock band was banging out their loudest song inside his head.

He turned to his right and saw Rachel standing over him, tears glistening in her eyes and a bright white bandage around her head. Just behind her, Valentine paced from one corner of the room to the other while Sarah sat quietly on one the chairs against the back wall of the room.

"How do you feel, honey?" Rachel whispered, her hand gripping his. "You've been asleep for over twelve hours."

"I feel like my head is in a vise, but I think I'll live. By the way," he stammered, "wh-who are you?"

Valentine gasped aloud from the other side of the hospital bed. Rachel's eyes went wide, anxiety flashing across her face. But then she squinted and her lips curled into a grin. "Ha-ha," she said. "That's not funny! We've been worried sick! And you're incorrigible," she said, tapping his arm.

Stanic laughed. "Well, I guess I haven't lost my sense of humor, I'm obviously still in my prime."

"Let's have a look to see how your wounds are doing, shall we?" Rachel removed the bandages from Stanic's head and bent to examine the lacerations. Her mouth swung open, shock registering in her eyes. "What the..." She took off the bandages from his shoulder where he'd been shot...then the patch over his eye, confusion swirling in hers. "I-I can't believe it! Your wounds...they're...gone!"

Rachel tugged the bandages away from her own head as she moved toward the mirror on the opposite wall.

Stanic watched a surprised expression flash across her face the moment her bandages had fallen away.

Her head wounds were gone.

Rachel retrieved a cutting tool from the hospital supply room and removed the hard cast on Valentine's hand.

His fingers were healed as well.

"Simply amazing," Valentine declared with a bright smile as he worked his hand open and closed. "Apparently we've acquired some sort of superhuman healing abilities as well."

"I think we should vacate the premises," Rachel suggested, trying to stay as calm as possible. "Before someone starts asking some seriously unanswerable questions."

"Good call, love."

Valentine looked at the beeping EKG machine by Stanic's hospital bed. He grabbed the electrical plug that led from the machine to the wall outlet and with a quick jerk of his arm the machine went dark and soundless.

Rachel removed the IV drip from Stanic's arm and taped a small piece of gauze in its place while Stanic yanked off the electrodes stuck to his chest. Then he sprang from the hospital bed, changed back into the hooded sweat jacket his friends had retrieved from the hotel room, laced up his running shoes and, without any hesitation, the four strode out of the hospital room.

But as they reached the lobby, directly in their path, stood a tall expressionless man waiting to greet them, his dark eyes shining under the yellowish hue of the hospital's fluorescent bulbs.

"Hello, John," the man said. "You're all looking quite well." He paused. "Considering." Then he flipped open his wallet, flashing a shiny gold badge. "FBI, Internal Affairs, Daniel Gant," he said, then looked at John. "Funny thing, I was informed that you suffered a major head trauma just a few hours ago. Your prognosis was critical."

The man's eyes narrowed, then darkened. "That's quite a recovery. You seem to be a very fast healer," he said, suspicion dancing in his eyes. But without waiting for an answer, he added, "Which is good because there is someone who would like to talk to you. He glanced from Stanic to Valentine and then to Rachel. His name is J. Malcolm McCauley, special advisor to the director of the C.I.A."

"What's this about?" Rachel moved closer to Stanic. "Why would anyone want to talk to us?"

"There is no reason for you to be concerned," the man replied. "We have an interesting proposition for the three of you. Mr. McCauley is waiting outside in his limousine. Please, come right this way."

Stanic hesitated. He really didn't like the idea of anyone, law-enforcement agent or otherwise, leading them into an enclosed space. "Why should we trust you?" he asked.

"Because we're on your side," the officer replied. "We know the Santa Cruz police department has been compromised. I lead a task force that's, right now, working to clean up this town. You can trust me...because we are on the same side."

Valentine looked at Rachel and raised one eyebrow. Rachel seemed to pick up on what he was thinking. She shrugged her shoulders, took a long deep breath looking at the ground. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto the officer, gazing into his eyes. Stanic watched as Rachel's trance-like concentration level intensified. He hoped her mind-reading powers were still working, then he saw her eyes begin to glow red. The officer must have noticed it too because he took a quick step back, looking startled as did Sarah Little.

Rachel broke the stare, and relaxing a bit, she smiled at the man. She turned to Stanic and gave her slow nod of approval, then looked toward Valentine, nodding to him as well.

Stanic had seen more than enough to be convinced. "Okay, let's go. Please lead the way."

They followed the man through the hospital and into the parking lot where a black Hummer stretch limo waited.

A chauffeur stood at the ready. The rear doors opened as they approached. They were directed into the back door while agent Gant went to the front seat, with a glass partition between them. Stanic slid across the soft leather couch-like seats followed by Rachel, Valentine and Sarah. At the other end of the car's spacious interior, was the man they were supposed to meet.

"Well, thank ya'll for com'n on in," the man sitting on the far side of the car from them said, his Southern accent pronounced, his voice low and smooth. He wore a dark navy Armani suit, with a red and yellow power tie loosened around his neck. In his right hand, he held a glass filled with a beige liquid over ice, in his left hand an unlit cigar. He looked to be in his late sixties with a head full of slicked-back silver hair.

"Well, we don't know how y'all did it," he said, "but we are most definitely aware you've just taken down the entire Stelino crime family in one night."

Stanic looked at Rachel, saw her lip curl into a lopsided smile. Then he realized she must have already known the purpose of the meeting because she didn't seem the least bit alarmed.

"And we're very appreciative!" A disarming smile slid across the man's face. "Anyone care for a glassa' Blue Label?" He glanced at each passenger, lifting his glass into the air. "Cuban?"

"No thank you. What's this all about?" Stanic asked. "You have our full attention."

"Y'all like to cut right to the chase, huh. Well, I like that too." His smile disappeared as did the Southern charm and his face suddenly tightened

"Okay, here it goes." He took a short breath, then finished his scotch. "It's pretty simple. We need your help. We're been having some similar types of difficulties down south in San Diego." McCauley let out a heavy sigh and then continued. "The Borsetti crime family is exhibiting some real outlandish behavior down there. They have a brazen disregard for our rules and..." He paused on this more serious note. "Girls are going missing. We've recovered the bodies of a few of these unfortunate souls, and the medical examiner determined all their blood had been extracted." His lips thinned. He looked at Rachel. "They all had puncture wounds on their necks, kind of like the two marks on your neck there, Rachel." He motioned to her, using his unlit cigar as a pointer.

"Only these girls weren't so lucky."

The comment caught Stanic off guard, both eyebrows rising as he listened.

"You'll be nicely compensated, of course. What do ya say one million bucks each for cleaning up the Stelino mess for us, and another million after sorting out the problems we're having with the Borsettis. Hell, you'll be saving us money!" The man smiled. "Think of it as one hell of an important community service. Think of the innocent lives you'll be saving. One hundred grand each up front and the remainder after our San Diego problem is solved."

Stanic noticed Rachel had closed her eyes, concentrating on the director. After a brief moment she opened her eyes and grinned. "I know you're telling the truth, but we'll have to think about it. Thank you, Mr. McCauley," she said, speaking for the group, and then reached for the door to exit the vehicle. "We'll be in touch soon."

Valentine reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out both the small leather-bound log book and the counterpart book which decoded it.

"Everything you need to know about how to clean up the Stelino mess in Santa Cruz is in these two books," he said, placing them on the back seat of the limo, He gave them a gentle pat. "Please use them wisely, mate. It was bloody hell obtaining them."

***

The foursome walked across the parking lot toward their SUV.

"I'm starving. Let's go grab a bite," Rachel said.

Stanic nodded his agreement. "Great, I'm in the mood for a nice, thick steak, and let's make it rare."

"Actually, a steak does sound pretty good," Sarah said, chuckling as she spoke.

Stanic realized his old life was gone for good, and his new life was going to be a very different one. He smiled wholeheartedly. "I think we all deserve a nice, long, relaxing vacation. Don't you?" he asked. "What do you say?"

"Sounds perfect," Rachel responded. "But then it looks like we'll have more work to do."

"I believe you're right, love," Valentine replied. "But I think the FBI can afford to give me some much needed vacation time as well. How does surfing in Costa Rica sound, mates? "

His broad smile made Stanic realize he'd stumbled upon a strong friendship in Valentine...and he no longer required an explanation on how his friend came to be with the FBI. He would get his answer when Valentine was ready to give it. "Can't wait."

And the four headed to the best steak house they could find, each ordering a thick, extra-rare filet. After dinner...they drove straight to the airport.

The End

* * * * *

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An excerpt from:

Dracula Rising

"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part." —Bram Stoker

September 13, 1447

It was well before dawn as my carriage rolled through the darkness, out beyond our castle's great wooden drawbridge and deep into the forest. I had my driver prepare our departure much earlier than usual and we set out, plunging through the soup-thick fog. The darkness felt heavy indeed as the significance of this day pressed arduously into my mind. Boughs of rolling white mist loomed like eerie columns of stricken-down clouds hovering just around eye level and hazy moisture spiraled from the ground, snaking forward and wrapping around our coach before swirling away and dissipating into the darkness.

My name is Vlad the third, Prince of Wallachia and I am seventeen years old.

Upon noticing we were making good progress, I drew in a deep, slow breath. Our pace seemed much quicker than usual and it calmed my heightened state of mind. I took in another full breath, then exhaled slowly. I had been preparing for this day for many years, eager to prove my worthiness, once and for all, to my father, my king, and to the people of Wallachia.

Oddly, just as our road began to descend into yet another deep vale, my carriage began to slow. I stretched out from the small window on the side of the coach, intent on asking my driver why he was slowing, but, I could see it for myself. We were headed toward a narrow wooden bridge...and something barred our passage, something lying in the path in front of us.

A dark shape emerged through the heavy white mist. The eerie image moved across the road, arching high in the center, forming into a shape I couldn't identify, but it was large enough to prevent our carriage from driving around it. I heard my driver call to his horses in hushed tones, "Whoa there, lads." Then I listened to the measured kl-klop-kl-klop-kl-klop of slowly falling horse hoofs taking us forward.

As he led us closer, I stared intently from the window, refocusing on the form as it came into better view. The wind picked up without warning. Thick, rolling clouds billowed across the moon's face, cutting its light to a muted, hazy glow.

My driver stopped the carriage several paces before the strange thing that blocked our progress. Our horses reared, straining against the reins and I heard my driver speak again in low tones, trying his best to calm them. I removed the burning lantern from the interior wall of the carriage and stepped down onto the dirt, then drew in a long, strained breath, thinking about possible lost time.

This was the one day I could not be delayed.

I turned up the gauge on my lantern to its full brightness, the frustration of lost time now weighing heavily on my thoughts as I walked toward the object that lay in front of me.

I could now see clearly...it was a girl.

She lay facedown, partially wrapped in a dingy gray, threadbare blanket. Her torn blouse hung open, most of her torso exposed. Two streaks of ruby red lined the supple white skin of her bare back. Her silky black hair played around her neck and shoulders, catching the moonlight.

"Miss, what has happened here? May I be of any assistance?"

I hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and the clouds, as if on cue, began to part, letting a flood of eerie moonlight splash down on her body like a murky spotlight.

I rocked her slender frame backward until she rolled over on her side with one of her arms still awkwardly tucked back under her body. She was alive, but her breathing labored, her eyes stretched wide, bulging from her face like a dying fish gasping for oxygen. The still-wet blood on her back told me that whatever injury she had sustained must have happened recently. Then I noticed a dark puddle of blood had pooled in the dirt below her—all black, save the glowing reflection of the moon itself.

Alarmed by the strange scene, I looked back to the carriage where my driver still struggled to soothe the startled horses. Thunder boomed down around us, shaking the ground as the sound rolled through the valley. Jagged fingers of lightning scorched the sky, casting a flash of white on the road, illuminating the silhouette of a man standing a short distance away on a little hill.

A fine rain started falling and the small, cold drops landed with a steady hum, saturating my thin silk tunic and the terrain around us. The figure stood hunched forward, shoulders pulled down underneath a long black coat that wrapped around his body and hung to the ground. He stood like a statue, frozen in place, staring back at me as the lightning vanished over the horizon, flooding the road again with darkness.

"Sir! May I have a word?" I called out to him. "We may be in need of your assistance! Do you know what has happened to this poor, unfortunate young girl?"

Just then, another bolt of lightning braided the cold night sky. I watched as the man's shoulders turned with a quick motion...and vanished.

I lifted my lantern higher wondering if this man had perpetrated a crime here or possibly knew who the parties responsible were. I walked to the far side of the carriage to see where he had gone, but saw nothing and continued through the mist, hiking to the top of the knoll where he had been standing. As I peered over the hill I saw a long shadow disappear into a thick line of trees.

Shaking my head with increasing frustration, I stepped down from the knoll and returned to the road. I walked back to the carriage and went around to attend to the injured girl, perhaps transport her to a local church when I saw, to my further dismay, she was gone as well.

Fresh blood droplets glistened in the moonlight, leading down the embankment away from the road. Holding my lantern low to the ground, I followed the trail of small red drops as they led me toward a thicket on the left side of the road.

I inched my way into the blackness of the forest, worrying about how rapidly the girl was losing blood. Sheer darkness surrounded me, save the ten-foot radius of my glowing lantern. I looked down hoping to find more of the blood-drop trail on the ground, but saw nothing. Then, after searching the area, I found a small, well-worn path leading through thick foliage.

I paused, looking back toward the road, my mind flashing across the years of training spent in preparation for this monumental day, then shuttered at thought of the girl in the forest may die without my help.

I took a deep breath, exhaling as I watched a heavy ground layer of fog crawl toward me, stretching and contracting over the plants and rocks like ghostly white fingers. I followed the trail deeper into the woods until the path sloped downward and led into a large clearing. There at the bottom of the grade I noticed an old dilapidated house, a dim glow coming from within, behind one of the rear windows.

I made my way down the path, then onto the front porch of the home. The door was slightly ajar. My heart rate elevated as I reached out, pushed it open and took one step inside.

"Miss?" I queried, my voice raised. "I assure you I wish only to be of assistance. I believe you are in shock and should seek help at once."

Silence.

I edged farther into the foyer, again lifting my lantern over my head, hoping to get a better look around the dusty room. Totally deserted.

A long gloomy hallway stared back at me. I walked forward...all the while sensing someone was indeed near. I came to the first door on my right and silently placed my hand on the knob, gently turning...

I threw open the door, thrusting the lantern out in front and stepped inside. The room was empty except for a large black coffin that lay against the far wall. Its size and elaborate handcrafted design told me few peasants could easily afford such an item. I paused in place, wondering why someone would display a grand coffin in such a manor, raising it two or three steps off the floor on a platform. My heart pumped harder and harder as I crept forward toward the casket's open lid with lantern held high and in front of me like a ship's beacon. I reached the top step with my adrenaline spiking...and slowly peered inside.

Empty.

Just then my lantern flickered once...twice, then sputtered, sizzling out into darkness.

I had run out of lamp oil...standing there alone, surrounded by an eerie blanket of darkness, the only sound that of my heartbeat pounding in my chest as a horrible sense of panic rose in my mind.

I set the extinguished lantern on the platform and pulled my sword slowly from its sheath. Frozen in place, I listened closely for the man who I thought may have attacked that poor girl. Beads of sweat broke across my forehead, my face twitched as a drop of perspiration tickled its way down my temple.

I knew someone had injured that poor girl and could still be lurking nearby. My sword felt heavy and slippery in my damp hands as I took a deep breath and blindly backed down from the platform, then turned and left the room.

In the absence of my lantern's glow, I could barely see an illumination from behind a closed door at the end of the hallway. I crept down the hall toward the light, the floors creaking and groaning underneath me as I went.

I heard faint sounds of rushing footsteps somewhere in the murky darkness behind me. Muscles tightening, I jerked and spun around, sword held high.

Pitch black.

Again, I stood frozen, listening to the sound of my heart slamming away in my chest, louder now like a hammer on an anvil, all else stone silent. I made my way forward, but kept craning my neck to look behind me...until I reached the final door at the end of the hall. I placed my damp, trembling hand firmly on the knob and turned it.

A torch burned from a thick iron bracket, its crackling flame throwing long shadows across the floor before they made violent, angular cuts up into the four walls. The girl from the road sat on the floor, nearly naked with her back leaning against the far wall. She had a large dragon tattooed on her chest. It's narrowed, wanting eyes of a predator and lizard-like head turned back across its body, showing long, canine-like teeth that looked more like daggers. Its barbed tail slithered up her shoulder and around her neck.

"You are not welcome here," she moaned in a low, sultry voice, smiling behind unfocused eyes.

"Miss, I believe you are in need of some sort of assistance, and—"

"Get out!" she shrieked, her eyes bulging, exposing the depth of her true state of mind. Then she lowered her voice to a breathy sing-song murmur. "You should never have come here...he will be angry."

"Who will be angry, miss?"

"The wolf," she said, erupting into a fit of broken, maniacal laughter, pointing behind me.

I spun around. An enormous wolf glared at me from the shadows, hackles aggressively splayed, eyes glowing bright orange in the torchlight. The huge beast lunged forward, looking directly into my eyes as it snarled and let out a deep, rolling growl. Its lips curled aggressively, showing long, white teeth that gleamed in the torchlight. Stains of deep crimson were soaked into its fur and flashes of rage and unpredictable intent shone in its eyes.

Icy fear hacked its way up my spine. The wolf crept forward in a low, half-crouched position, as if ready to leap at any moment, its growl mounting with intensity.

I held my sword high as the wolf circled me, getting in front of the girl, snarling back as if protecting her.

My pulse racing, I edged back...out of the room and kept moving down the hallway with the wolf pressing ever forward. As I reached the front door, the animal became passive, pausing in its tracks. I got the odd, but distinct feeling the animal didn't necessarily want to harm me, but just wanted me to leave.

I wanted to leave as well...but without making any sudden moves. I turned very slowly and eased my way out.

Not followed, I heaved a heavy sigh and made my way back through the darkness and up the inclining trail to where my driver, Macgregor, sat waiting.

"Grab your sword, at once! Your lantern as well, man!" I shouted. "The poor girl is trapped out in the forest by an enormous wolf."

Macgregor's shoulders turned with a quick jerk and in no time we were hurrying through the woods toward the house. As we made our way into the clearing, the structure came into view—but this time, no light emanated from within. I rushed down the slope with Macgregor close behind, stepped onto the porch, pushed open the door, and entered.

We raised our swords, and—led by Macgregor's bright lamplight—searched for the animal. All was quiet as we crept down to the end of the hall and threw open the door. The wolf, the girl and the burning torch had all vanished.

We searched through the small house as well as we could, but upon finding nothing more, we had no choice but to turn away, baffled by the strange events as we strode up the path and out to the road.

I jumped into my carriage, anxious to get on with my trip. Almost before I was in my seat, I heard the sharp "Heeaaah!" of Macgregor's yell, followed by a sharp crack of his whip. The carriage lurched forward, wheels clattering across the small wooden bridge. I looked back again and again, staring through the mist.

What else could I do? She'd flatly refused my assistance and ordered me to go. Yet guilt seeped through me at leaving her...a helpless, injured girl trapped in the woods by a vicious wolf.

I turned again, struggling to see as the bridge disappeared into the murk.

I had only one choice... alert the local constable.

* * *

After the substantial delay, our morning's journey finally pressed on with the sun coming up over the horizon. The weather seemed oddly cold for a morning this early in September. A thin layer of frost covered the grass and bushes surrounding us, transforming the landscape into a great sea of white. Bright sunbeams had begun to peek over the horizon, shooting down from the jagged mountaintops like thick fingers, splayed out, beckoning us ever forward.

Today is a day for great competition, however it is dismally unfortunate that my father cannot be in attendance to watch me compete for the honor of our kingdom. We rarely know the exact whereabouts of the king, only that he is either fighting or traveling. We last heard he was courageously defending our land south of Wallachia, along the border of Bulgaria but he could be anywhere. I miss him more than I can explain with mere words and my only hope is to make him, and our people, proud on this most important day.

My thoughts momentarily went back to how my father ascended to the throne of Wallachia, cleverly securing the powerful support of the Catholic Church by joining the Roman Emperor's new society called The Order of the Dragon. Membership into The Order was limited only to the finest nobility and their primary focus was defending the word of Christianity.

It was a brilliant move and brought our castle tremendous power. Since then, he has unfortunately spent virtually all his time away, risking his life in battle, valiantly defending our great land from the ongoing attacks of the evil Ottoman Empire.

He also regularly travels to the other Wallachian kingdoms to strategize and better align our forces. His years of absence have, however, taken a heavy toll on me. I miss him dearly and fear for his safety constantly.

His extended time away has also made it nearly impossible for me to prove myself a humble warrior, worthy of his praise. My father alone holds the power to grant me the privilege of becoming his official successor and once I have acquired my father's blessing I will be the sole Heir to the House of Draculesti...and the next ruler of this great land. And, if I succeed today at the tournament of champions, it will mark a most significant step toward demonstrating my combat readiness, assuring my future as the next great Wallachian king.

Until now, I have only watched my father rule from afar—leading us with a steady, but mighty, hand over the many years. He is a great warrior and a king with a brilliant mind for the strategies of war. He has become known as the best negotiator this land has ever seen. He plays chess with men's lives and wins...always wins.

As the sunlight touched the terrain, its heat began burning into the morning's chill. A fine mist rose up like smoke, as if the bright white frost secretly concealed red-hot embers just below the surface. I watched the beautiful trees, wide green-blue rivers, and deep lush valleys from my carriage window and listened to the sound of the horses as they hoofed their way forward on our journey...on to the academy's storied Tournament of Champions in our capital of Targoviste.

I have spent most of my life until now training for combat, but I have also studied many other subjects. The king summoned the finest instructors from Bucharest to educate me in mathematics, science, geography, classical art, and philosophy. I also spend part of each day studying other languages, such as Latin and Slavic. All of my classes are taken privately inside our castle's grounds. I have never known another student from the time my studies began—until now, the day of the tournament, the last day I am to be called a student.

The competition is held annually in the great city of Targoviste. Other graduates from the surrounding castles, who are also of royal lineage, compete against one another to be crowned the champion scholar. There is always great interest from the many royal families, as well as the townspeople who gather to watch and cheer us on.

The competition consists of a simple tournament with three separate rounds. Win all three rounds and become this year's champion. There is no cause for shame if you lose, as this remains a friendly training competition. However, and most importantly, the champion's castle will receive respect from its peers, and it is also said a victory brings good luck into the victor's castle, promising a fruitful spring harvest for its people.

My heart raced, hot blood pumping through every vein in my body as I waited in my carriage, leaning forward, fingers constantly kneading the edges of the sword's hilt.

I had trained for years. I was fully prepared. And I wanted to win...desperately.

Even though I had never seen my competitors in training, I had just as good a chance for winning the tournament as anyone. I was sure of it.

And I would soon find out.

* * *

We arrived at the coliseum late—definitely not a good start. The city was buzzing with interested onlookers as our carriage rolled down into the bowels of the huge arena, underneath the towering rows of seats above. I was rushed into a dressing room by a frowning, obviously displeased attendant.

Quickly, I slipped on our black and red ceremonial robes, both shoulders proudly displaying our castle's great crest—a dragon reaching out from behind a red shield, one sharp talon clenching a long dagger, the other a royal scepter, its tail coiling up into a barbed point.

Next, I lifted my chainmail over my head, sliding my arms through and firmly into place, then my helmet. I took a sharp breath.

I was ready.

We strode up to the floor of the arena. The seats were full of restless onlookers who seemed to know I was the reason the games had fallen behind schedule. They stared down at me in silence as my attendant directed me up a stairway and onto a large podium where the other seven contestants stood.

The other competitors possessed the same steely eyes and stone-cold expressions of grit and determination. I could tell they, too, were not pleased with me for arriving late. Then I heard a double blast of horns blow, signifying the beginning of the draw.

A man walked toward me with a creased brow, lips pulled back sharply into a grimace. He gripped a black velvet sack in his hands, pushing it forward as he approached. I reached in and pulled out an emerald green stone, knowing each stone was part of a matching pair. I looked down the line to see who had drawn the other green stone, but the other contestants and their attendants unfortunately obscured my view as they were directed where to go. Everything happened too fast. I didn't have time to take in the scene before someone quickly ushered me backward.

All eight of us were led from the podium and onto the dirt floor of the arena, where there were four separate fighting rings. I entered a ring, and for the first time saw my opponent. He looked smaller than me, and lighter too.

I watched him pace back and forth in his corner, stretching his lean muscles while trying to get his adrenaline pumping. I could tell he had strong legs for his size and that strength would probably make up somewhat for his lack of height. A pure horn tone sounded, catching me by surprise, then rose by the familiar royal fifth of an octave. The fight had begun.

We rounded on each other and I immediately noticed his quickness. I admired his excellent footwork as he nimbly stepped forward and back, left, then right. He was wiry and agile, but I already knew what he would do to utilize his obvious skill set.

He stepped up without pausing and his body jerked down, then lunged suddenly forward. He dove in hard and low, intending to grab my legs, drive me backward off my feet, but as he shot toward me, I threw my legs out behind me and pancaked flat down on top of him with a thud, restricting his movements with a simple arm lock.

He squirmed to his side, showing impressive flexibility, trying to break free, but I expected that as well. I slowly released, giving him enough room to spin, but as he did, I shifted my weight around and wrapped my bicep flush under his chin, successfully engaging a deadly sleeper hold.

He scratched and clawed at my arms. I gently flexed, cutting the oxygen going to his brain. I could have easily broken his neck if this was a real combat situation...but it wasn't.

Without any air, his body convulsed, arching wildly in my arms like a small antelope with its throat caught in the jaws of a lion. He couldn't escape, and he quickly realized it. He surrendered by tapping hard three times on the dirt and I released him.

We stood, bowed, and shook hands. Relieved to make it past the first round, I sucked in a deep breath and walked over to the holding area, awaiting my next opponent.

Large sheets of red and yellow canvas obscured each of the fighting rings, making it impossible to gain any strategy by watching the others compete. Three other winning fighters soon joined me, and then an attendant led us back to the podium.

I looked down the aisle: two men were about my size, the last a giant, standing almost seven feet tall, an angry scowl hanging low on his face. I heard the double blast of horns, the referee approached...time for another draw.

I reached in and, this time, drew the color red. Again, I looked at the others. The giant opened his enormous, skillet-like hand and there, on his palm, lay the other red stone. I drew a sharp breath that sounded more like a gasp as I dragged my gaze from the tiny red stone, up to his huge, menacing face.

Abruptly, someone pushed us backward and into the arena, then someone else handed each of us a wooden training flail and wooden shield, and then led us back into the ring. The training flail consisted of a length of chain attached to a block of wood on one side, and a strong handle on the other.

A horn's blast sounded pure and loud, then rose by a fifth.

The giant man lumbered across the dirt floor of the arena toward me while swinging the heavy flail around in a huge circle, like a lasso, high over his head. A bellowing "Aaaaarrrrrrrhhhh!" rang from his enormous mouth and seemed to fill the still air in the ring. With just a few long strides, he towered over me.

My flail felt suddenly useless. The chain was too long and there wasn't enough time to get it turning with much velocity. The huge man looming above me turned his hips with more agility than I expected, and I saw his flail hurtling toward me. I lifted my shield to take the brunt of his tremendous blow. Even though it was only a wooden flail, not iron, and only a training competition, not a real fight-to-the-death battle, I still feared for my life.

The thundering crack-crunch! of his flail hitting my shield exploded in my ears. The impact felt like I had been hit by a cannon ball, and the force splintered my shield in two.

The collision knocked me onto my back, sending painful shockwaves vibrating though my hands and up my arms. But now we were both too close together to have much use for a swinging flail. Without showing any emotion, the giant lifted his pointed shield high into the air, pivoted his hips sharply and dropped down on one knee as he brought the heavy wood powerfully earthward.

Watching it slice though the air toward me, I waited...then rolled my head to the side just before it made contact...and glanced off my helmet. His shield landed like a falling tree, shaking the ground where I lay. I turned to see the shield, which appeared to be his new weapon of choice, was sunk deep into the dirt...only inches from my face. Like a spade splitting hard soil.

This was my chance. With the giant's flail useless, I gripped onto half of my destroyed shield and spun around with everything I had. The sharp edge slammed into his oversized, horse-like right leg just inside his kneecap. A hollow, echoing thwack! of wood smashing against bone shot through the arena.

The giant toppled like a crumbling stone wall and sprawled on the ground, clutched his knee and howled in pain. I stood immediately and grabbed the heavy wooden block of my training flail with both hands. As I lifted the weapon, the chain dangled down to its unused wooden handle.

Sitting now, the crippled giant looked up at me, horror, shock, and surprise showing in his eyes. My heavy block came down squarely on top of his helmet, jerking his head awkwardly to the side. His body went limp, then he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. I heard the roar of the crowd erupt from all around me. My heart swelled in my chest as I realized I had won round two.

And yet, even as I stood looking on the unconscious man at my feet, I could only think about how I wished my father could have been here to witness the skills I had learned over the many years of training. Soon, I would be fighting side by side with the king and none of this was ever going to matter, but I still dearly missed his presence.

My attendant led me back to the podium, where the last remaining competitor stood. He was about my height and weight, and I could see a trail of blood running down his forehead. We were each given a wooden training sword and ushered quickly back out into the arena.

The horn sounded long and pure, then rose by a fifth and, finally, the arena went silent. He didn't charge like the others had. We began to circle each other like hungry wolves, and I watched how he held his sword down low and firm and I knew then I would win the competition.

I raised my sword and stepped forward. The surprising action caught him off guard and his basic survival instincts took over.

He lifted up hard on his sword—exactly what I wanted him to do.

The full weight of my training sword pounded down on the hilt of his,Thwack! I heard bones crunching as his weapon fell to the ground.

In one fluid motion I flew in close, pivoting my weight back for more power, then brought my elbow down and forward, connecting squarely to the center of his face.

Again, bones shattered. Blood exploded from the bridge of his nose and across both cheekbones. His eyes rolled back into his head as he fell to the ground. I raised my weapon high over my head and paused in the kill position. The crowd went wild. The horn blew again, this time a quick flurry of fifth-octave blasts.

The competition was over.

I had won.

My heart raced as an attendant led me back to the podium. The headmaster placed a champion scholar medal around my neck. The crowds cheered louder as the horns trumpeted their splendid fanfare. I looked down and saw the other seven competitors looking back at me stoically while clapping.

I pulled in a full breath of fresh air and then exhaled slowly, feeling all of my anxiety melting away. Just then I spotted my driver, Macgregor, coming out of the crowd, approaching the podium.

I felt glad to see him there. Over the years I'd become accustomed to having the great big Scotsman by my side. He wore the fine wrinkles of time around his eyes like badges of honor, and a full supply of reddish-blonde hair on his head like a crown.

Macgregor had an easy way about him, and always gave me a knowing smile. Each morning he helped me get ready for whichever training events the day held, and then each night, before bed, he helped me to fall sleep by telling a story about my father's glorious and unheralded bravery on the battlefield.

Macgregor had a tear welling in his eye and he hugged me tightly. I still couldn't help feeling saddened that my father had not been here to share this moment. I missed him, as always, and knew he would be home soon, but it was still nice to have Macgregor at my side.

"Vladdie my boy, you made me more than a wee bit proud, ye hear me now, young lad," he said in his always affable—and thick—Scottish brogue. "And I know, as sure as the sun rises, your father would be more than a wee bit proud of you as well."

I nodded back to him, realizing Macgregor had become more than just my driver or my caretaker. He had become more like family. I bid adieu to the other competitors and returned to the carriage, still glowing with the thrill of victory, still yearning to tell my father the news.

* * *

As we traveled home from the competition, my thoughts again went to the poor injured girl in the woods. I instructed Macgregor to head into town instead of going directly back to the castle. As we pulled to a stop on the town's main road, the sounds of the open market filled the coach. I noticed the townspeople gathered at today's street fair urgently bartering with one another, buying or trading for their needed supplies. Some men were paying with golden forints and others trading with their various goods like animal skins, meat, and tools.

"Macgregor, where can I find the constable?" I asked, stepping down from the carriage.

"Aye, Vladdie, the constable goes by the name Augustin, and I would be guess'n you'd find him somewhere out there in the market watch'n over the tradin' for thieves and hooligans and the like."

"Very good, Macgregor, thank you," I said as I walked directly into the crowd. I thought about how long it had been since I'd stood out amongst our good townspeople. The last several years had become so overwhelming with the many responsibilities of being the prince of Wallachia, I rarely even left the castle grounds anymore, instead spending all of my time training and studying.

I watched the traders buzzing around with high energy, aggressively haggling with one another, attempting to acquire their needed rations while giving up the very least amount in return. I had not been to one of our street fairs in far too long, and I began to realize things had changed. The bartering now seemed overly aggressive—even angry and bitter at times. Bands of hooligans gathered around, yelling threatening remarks at our townspeople as they passed by.

I spotted the constable in the crowd and approached him.

"I say, are you the one called Augustin, the town's constable?" I asked. "I am the Prince of Wallachia, Vlad, the third."

"Yes, my lord, how may I be of service?"

"I happened upon an injured girl in the forest, just off the road and away from a narrow wooden bridge. She had a particularly interesting injury to her neck," I explained. "I tried to be of assistance to her, but, oddly, she ran off into the forest, vanishing in a small, dilapidated house."

I watched the man's eyes go wide, then his face go white.

"In-injury to the neck, you say?" His startled eyes shifted left to right.

"Yes, and a large wolf roamed about as well. Would you mind going out and finding her? Maybe just ask her if she needs any assistance?"

"Of course, my lord," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Those woods can be very dangerous for a girl at night. Not a sane man would dare enter those woods after dark. The creatures are stirring, my lord. The moon will be full as well," he said, his voice low and trembling.

"Thank you, Augustin, and will you please send word up to the castle regarding her condition?"

"Yes my lord, I'll gather a search party just soon as the sun comes up."

"Very well. Good evening to you, sir."

I turned and started walking back toward the coach, gazing out one final time at the fervor of the crowds. I immediately noticed one particular girl selling wool. Something about her drew my attention. She had bright eyes that seemed to shine through the crowd, almost glowing under the dirt smeared across her face.

Her clothes were stained and threadbare, even torn in many places, and I could see she wore no shoes. I couldn't help but feel saddened as I stepped up onto the carriage and got inside, still looking back as Macgregor called out to the horses and cracked his whip, leading us home.

Just before sundown we arrived at the castle, tired and hungry. I bid Macgregor a good night and walked through the enormous common room, thoughts of my great victory still swimming around in my mind. I felt like celebrating the win, but with who? While there were many people working in the castle, I may as well have been alone.

I watched the servants milling around, working and cleaning and cooking, all looking so serious. Something about the castle seemed so empty...so cold. I stood in the enormous entrance hall, suddenly missing my mother. I told myself that soon I would be gloriously riding into battle, side by side with the king. I would join our army in battle, become a celebrated warrior, and make my father proud.

The castle's head caretaker, Alexandru, suddenly approached from out of the shadows.

"Good evening Vlad," he said from behind thin strands of oily-black hair that hung over his eyes. His icy voice grated on my mind as he stood there rigidly, staring at me.

"I've come to find that you arrived late to the Tournament of Champions in Targoviste today."

"Yes, Alexandru, but—"

"But nothing!" he snapped back, a flash of anger showing in his eyes. "You have brought shame into our castle, and you will soon learn, one way or another, of the importance of showing respect to your superiors. By the authority of the king, you shall remain in your quarters until further notice, and you shall go without your evening meal," he declared. "No arguments. You are dismissed." And with that, he turned on his heel and hurried away.

* * *

I made my way up to my quarters still thinking about how unfair my punishment had been, and realizing I had not eaten much all day. After several hours my stomach began to growl.

I found myself pacing the floor in my quarters until a soft knock sounded at my door. To my pleasant surprise I found our head chef, Mr. Iordache standing outside my room in the hall. In his hands he held a small plate under a high-domed silver cover.

"Our secret then, Prince Vlad?" he whispered with both eyebrows rising high. He opened the lid, showing me a plate of freshly grilled pork and onions, sliced apples, and several pieces of fresh bread. "And by the way," he said, "congratulations on your most honorable victory at the tournament this morning—the townspeople will be deeply pleased to hear of it as well."

I felt a smile tugging up at my lips, and my heart suddenly begin to thaw. I slowly nodded back to the man, taking the meal from his hands. I saw his eyes suddenly dart down the hallway nervously, as if someone might be quickly approaching.

"Thank you, chef," I replied, and silently closed the door.

I strode across the room, placed the dish on the windowsill and ate, quite possibly, the best meal I had ever had while standing up.

Later that evening, I climbed the long, spiraling stone stairs, to the top of the highest point in our castle. I walked out under the high-arched doorway made from smooth, hand-carved stone blocks, and then silently gazed past the wide landing and beyond.

Soon, in my honor, there would be a tremendous celebration. The townspeople would gather in the castle for a traditional gala to commemorate the day I turn eighteen years old, rightly coming of proper age and officially qualified to be the next leader of Wallachia if needed. And now, the ceremony will also acknowledge my great victory at the Royal Training Academy, bringing good luck to our critical spring harvest. I should have been happy, but as I stood there, silently, on my perch atop the castle's highest point, watching for my father's return, none of that mattered.

The view from this high perch overlooked greater Wallachia and farther out into the great expanse of Transylvania, with its fortress-like snow-covered mountains, and lush, deep green forests. From here, I could see for many miles, far past the sheer cliffs of the Transylvanian Alps, across the gorge and into the flat marshlands near Balteni, before finally leading out to the vast Black Sea. From this spot, I could see an approaching army from a whole day's travel. I could see my father's men returning from battle and have many hours to prepare to greet them.

They had built this perch to be a lookout for approaching armies, but rarely used it. No army would be foolish enough to march onto this castle, considering its location on top of a steep mountainside with only one winding road leading up it...and protected by the hundreds of feet of sheer cliffs on three of her four sides. We also feel safe here because the great strength of the combined Wallachian armies strike such deadly fear in the hearts of our enemies.

* * *

So I waited, longing to see my father and tell him of my victory. We had received word that he would soon return, but as the hours dragged on, I began to worry that something terrible had happened. I feared my father had been injured or, worse, maybe even killed. I told myself it would not be possible—the king of Wallachia is the greatest warrior this land has ever seen, and ever will see. I knew he would return with stories of great victories.

And soon, as a man of full age, I would be able to hear those stories directly from my father's lips instead of from a servant's relay.

I counted the minutes from my high perch as I watched the sun travel across the blue, cloudless sky and then begin its nightly demise down beyond the mountains, bleeding out into the sea. As the dusky night began to settle in around me, memories of my mother suddenly came flooding back into my mind. My chest ached as I lamented how she fell tragically ill and died from the plague when I was only five years old.

Macgregor had broken the horrible news to me by saying, "She's sleeping in a wonderful land called heaven." I didn't begin to understand what that meant until months later when I asked Macgregor when my mother would be waking up from heaven. Then he told me "never." And I cried harder than I ever had before. He'd cried too, letting me know the importance of the future king to show courage.

I realized then that my legacy would be bigger than a boy missing his mother, and I would have to consider the fate of every man, women, and child in our land, protecting them as best I could.

* * *

As the days came and went, I found myself still there on my perch, waiting for the king's return. Tonight, as the velvety shawl of nightfall embraced the castle, I stared out, over the cliffs and across the vastness of the valley below and beyond to the unrelenting sea. I still felt a sharp loneliness as it gripped at my heart. A tear appeared from nowhere, slowly rolling from my eye, sliding down my face like a glistening shard of broken glass, shattering into a million pieces against the castle's cold and unforgiving stone floor.

I missed my mother, and yearned to see my father again. The day had finally come. I knew in my heart that tomorrow, when I turned eighteen and joined the ranks of great warriors who fought for our kingdom, they would both be very proud. Even though my mother was no longer with me, my father was, and I couldn't wait to tell him everything.

I opened my eyes the next morning as the sun came up, its warmth soothing my skin and pushing away the morning's bitter cold. The wind blew in hard from the east and I could hear our flags whipping loudly around from above. I had again fallen asleep sitting on my landing, waiting for my father. I quickly stood and scanned far into the distant terrain, but saw nothing. No sign of him or our army.

Despite my disappointment, I felt a wry smile forming on my face as I realized that, as I slept, I had turned eighteen. I had become of age, the official Prince of Wallachia, and this will be the best day of my life.

I heard the echo of footsteps approaching from under the huge archway, up from the long flight of stone stairs that led down into the castle's interior. It was Macgregor.

"Young Vladdie!" he scolded me in his usual gruff voice. "You've been sittin' there all night a'gan, have ya? You'll catch your death of cold out here, don't ya know. Come inside man, and I'll have a warm bath drawn for ya at once, son."

"Good morning, Macgregor," I said. "It is a cold morning, but a glorious one indeed."

"That's for certain, I say, and I'll not have you catching ill on y'ere biggest birthday. No sir, young Vladdie. I won't be hear'n of it." A careful smile flashed across his lips. "And, by the way, happy birthday to you as well, son."

Macgregor held a thick goose-feather quilt under his arms, and he immediately wrapped it around my shoulders, rubbing the chill from my bare arms. "We'll need to be prepar'n your finest suit, then. It's sure to be a grand celebration this evening," he said with a wink.

"Thank you, Macgregor. I hope my father will be here to share in the festivities as well," I said as I stood, still shivering, and then walked under the archway and down the great stairway for the first time not as a boy...but as a man of proper age to be the official prince of Wallachia.

The ball was to begin at precisely sundown. I realized, painfully, that there was still no sign of my father or any new word of his safe return. I knew he would not miss my coming-of-age ceremony unless some horrible tragedy had befallen him and his men. I stood in front of the full length mirror in my quarters with the gritty distress for his welfare washing over me time and again. I held my chin high, grinding my teeth with frustration as I dressed in my formal attire.

If my father could not make this once-in-a-lifetime event, it meant he was risking his life, saving our kingdom, saving his people. It would be selfish of me, even foolish, to demand he refrain from his sworn duty to uphold the safety of the Wallachian people.

Nevertheless, in my heart, I hoped he would somehow make it home before the night was over. I took a deep breath and walked to the castle's common area, where intoxicating aromas filled the room and a servant placed my favorite dinner in front of me with a deep bow. The mouth watering sight of roasted goose wrapped in sugared bacon and glazed with plum sauce immediately spiked my appetite and I ate my full share wholeheartedly.

As I was finishing my meal, I noticed Macgregor walking toward me. His eyes showed sadness, and I realized they held bad news.

"I have received word of the whereabouts of the Wallachian army," he said in an official air, concealing any emotion. "Our men are due to return in one fortnight." He paused and let the horrible news settle into my mind. "The Ottoman Empire has established a stronghold on the border of Bulgaria, bearing down on the opposing Bulgarian forces. Our allies have requested our additional support and it has been granted by the king."

"Our allies need to learn to fight and win their own battles!" I heard myself growl as my stomach sank.

"Vladdie, you don't understand, lad—the Ottoman Empire is now putting up much more of a fight than expected, and unfortunately, we've just received more terribly grim news. Our own General Dragomir has been captured, dragged off the battlefield, and taken behind the Bulgarian borders."

I knew General Stephan Dragomir's reputation of being both a great warrior and my father's right hand on the battlefield. His capture surely cast a heavy sadness over our army, even though he was not killed, only taken. There still remained a small chance of negotiations to bring him safely home.

"The Turks will be sorry they ever crossed my father," I ground out as my jaw clenched, my brittle heart cracking in my chest as I sat there. The food in my stomach turned sour. I stood, feeling awkward and rigid. I felt my chin absorb the news with a quick quiver I hoped no one saw, and I tried my best to disguise my emotion as I walked into the main ballroom where the festivities were just beginning.

Music from the royal orchestra floated through the air of the enormous ballroom. Hundreds of townspeople milled about and talked amongst themselves. A trumpet's fanfare announced my presence and everyone stopped in place, clapping and smiling. With Macgregor by my side, I took my place behind the royal table, which had been placed on an elevated stage overlooking the ballroom.

Members of other royal families in attendance were seated at the table as well. They looked at me, passively smiling, as they made clapping motions with one or two gloved fingers against the backs of their other hand.

The whole night now seemed meaningless and empty without my father's presence, but I shrugged it off. He would return soon and I would be fighting at his side. With that in mind, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, determined to enjoy the evening's celebration as best I could.

And then I saw her.

The most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. Her long blond hair ran down the length of her slender body, her dress accenting every beautiful curve. She stood tall and lean, with long, gazelle-like legs and an ample bosom. Her sapphire-marine eyes were bright and hypnotizing, like deep pools of clear blue water.

And then I recognized her.

This was the poor peasant girl from town I had seen working at the trade fair selling sheets of cloth woven from wool. This was the girl who dressed in ragged, unfitting clothes and without shoes.

Now she looked so different, so ravishing. Her beauty stole my attention. I realized at once that this unmistakable attraction was indeed a powerful one. She seemed to look over at me and smile. She straightened when she noticed my gaze and her eyes flashed with interest. Not knowing what to do next, I raised my glass of wine in her direction just as she turned away.

Macgregor again appeared at my side, whispering in my ear. "Young Vladdie, it is time for the ceremony to begin. You must rise and approach the head priest who will ordain you, with God's acceptance, as our royal prince."

I stood, took a deep breath, then walked up a few stairs to the center of the main podium. Once at the top, I looked on all the happy townspeople in attendance, but only searching for the blond girl with the sapphire-marine eyes.

The priest began to speak. "Vlad, the third, in the presence of God, do you accept, from our ruler and king, your joining of ranks into the royal army, and do you swear to defend her with all your might even if the resulting effort shall surely mean your own death?"

"I do," I said softly, and at that moment, I spotted her in the crowd. Again, I became mesmerized by her poise. I watched her move around the ballroom in wonder.

How could this girl, so elegant, be a peasant?

She moved like royalty, like a princess. I decided I would ask her for my first honorary dance. The priest still spoke, though I had all but stopped listening.

Finally, the priest concluded the ceremony and the crowd responded with roaring applause. He handed me a sacred chalice to drink from. I raised it to my people, and then drank deeply.

Macgregor returned again, whispering at my ear. "Traditionally, lad, the first dance goes to the princess who is the frontrunner to be your wife." He pointed to the end of our table with his elbow. "That would be Princess Agnes from Eastern Wallachia." But I barely heard him.

I absconded from the podium and blindly made my way through the crowd. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as my mind raced through the words I would say to her. I spotted her playfully chatting with a few of her friends, who seemed to be giggling as I approached.

The crowd separated. She turned. Her porcelain doll-face flushed to a shade of pink rose, but her eyes would not be denied. I took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. An audible gasp of shock swirled through the room as the townspeople cleared the floor...and then...the band began to play the traditional coming-of-age waltz. I put my hand around her waist, holding her tightly against my body as we danced.

"Congratulations Vlad, Prince of Wallachia," she said tentatively. "I know you will be a great warrior and you will protect our kingdom for many years to come."

"May I ask your name, miss?"

"Helena," she said in barely more than a whisper. "My father raises sheep, and we sell the wool cloth each weekend at the town's trade fair."

"Yes, I remember seeing you there," I responded, watching her cheeks again redden. "You are looking more beautiful than ever, Miss Helena," I said, and inexplicably leaned in and kissed her cheek just as the song ended.

I spent the rest of the evening speaking with the royal families from surrounding castles. All congratulated me and wished me well. As the gala concluded, I watched Helena leaving with her friends. She smiled one last time in my direction as she walked out into the royal courtyard, disappearing from view. I secretly vowed to find her and ask her back to the castle when we would have more time to talk.

That night, I must have fallen asleep again on my secret perch. When I awoke, I found myself wrapped in the fluffy down quilt, and I knew Macgregor had been here.

Sensing a low rumbling in the distance, I stood and peered out over the great expanse before me. I saw a large plume of dust rising from the south and could almost hear the thunderous pounding of approaching horsemen. I stood excitedly waving my arms high overhead, even knowing I could not be seen, but I didn't care. Excitement ran through my body in a powerful jolt, energizing my mind, uplifting my soul as happiness flooded my heart.

I turned and ran through the archway behind me and down the spiraling stone staircase that wrapped around the tower's interior. When I arrived at the common area, Macgregor was there waiting. He gazed at me with a knowing smile, then gave a slow nod that told me he, too, knew the king was approaching the castle. In his hands, he held my new battle garb, gleaming chainmail and helmet, and on the floor in front of him were new war boots, shined to perfection.

"The king is due to arrive in two fingers, as the candle burns, Vladdie," he said with the corners of his mouth curving up into a bright smile. "We had better get you dressed and ready to greet him in the receiving yard. A warm bath is being heated for you as well, son."

I smiled gleefully and felt much better knowing how much time I had to prepare. If it were not for Macgregor I would surely have rushed to the castle's drawbridge and waited in my wrinkled underclothes.

I bathed and dressed quickly before appearing in the common room, where a full breakfast greeted me. Thick slices of honey-cured ham, freshly scrambled hen eggs and warm-from-the-oven fluffy golden brown bread were placed in front of me.

I pushed the plate back, untouched, much too excited to eat, and stood. Anticipation rose by the second as I peered from the front window. I saw many of the staff hustling to line up for inspection in the receiving yard. I walked out to join them, barely able to contain my emotions, but the waiting just seemed to only continue.

I thought about how lonely my life had been in this castle, and I imagined how much my life was about to change. I had been raised solely by my caretakers, taught privately, fed by my personal chef, and clothed by my personal tailor. Some would say I've led a life of luxury. However, like most royal families, this life comes at a steep price.

My life is one of desolation and solitude inside the cold stone walls of our castle. With my mother passed on and my father gone away at battle, I have existed in a constant state of heartrending isolation.

I had never known a friend near my own age, never allowed to socialize with anyone outside the castle, never allowed to just be myself. I had come to understand the way things must be, the way it had been for the past generations. They say, "Heavy is the head, and the heart, who wears the crown," and, indeed, they are right.

But now, for the first time, I would become my father's son. I'd join the ranks of the great warriors who have had the distinguished honor of fighting alongside our king, the legend, who is my father. The waiting had been almost impossibly difficult, but it would be worth every moment. I'd now be able to assist with the planning of battle strategies and listen in on the negotiations with our enemies as they surrendered to our demands.

I would also be able to attend other social functions that I had not been allowed to attend thus far, meet others my age, and even take a wife.

Over the years, I had longed to get to know my father better. Not as the king of Wallachia, but as the man whose blood runs through my veins. Most of his time is spent away on long mysterious journeys to faraway places, traveling to different royal meetings or on to the next battle. I had only seen my father twice in the last three years, and then just in passing.

But I understood his job did not include entertaining me, and I fully realized the importance of being a worthy prince. I must be prepared to make whatever sacrifice necessary to sustain prosperity across our land. My father's job is to rule our kingdom to the best of his ability and I had to respect that role, and even prepare to one day succeed him.

Finally, the drawbridge began its descent. Butterflies fluttered through my stomach and my heart raced after them. The wood creaked and groaned as the men released the great locks that held it in place. The drawbridge leaned outward over the water, suspended by thick ropes that led down to two enormous wheels, one on each side of the great door.

Each wheel was manned by six servants faithfully holding the tonnage of iron and wood in place. I could hear the loud tick-tick-tick-tick of the gears engaging, and then releasing as the massive bridge lowered inch by inch. I knew the moment had finally come when it landed on the far side of the moat with a solid and dusty thud...and for a moment everything went silent.

I held my breath as horses began to press somberly forward through the gate, their slow, clonking hooves echoing through the narrow stone tunnel that led into the castle's courtyard. The defeated looks on the faces of the men told the story of what had happened in battle.

This was the first time I had witnessed an arrival home of an army at battle. Our castle's tradition strictly forbids children from attending these ceremonies. If the casualties are too devastating a child may lose his nerve to fight on the battlefield. But I am no longer a child, I am now eighteen.

I felt like celebrating their return but couldn't help feeling the gloomy and morose mood hovering over them like a black cloud. Their heads hung low, their mouths held slack, their eyes disoriented. I could see many men were severely injured and still bleeding, and I knew many had not returned at all. A surge of panic flashed through my mind as I realized our king might be one of the casualties.

Then my father emerged from the group and dismounted from his steed. His waxen face looked gaunt, with stark shadows cutting down from his nearly emaciated cheekbones. His long hook nose, that seemed suddenly too large for his boney face, led down to thin red lips, ending in a rather pronounced overbite. His small black eyes flashed across the yard as he handed the reins of his great stallion to a servant, and we watched the great beast being trotted off to the royal stables.

He wore thick chainmail under his traditionally long black cape. His tunic displayed two brightly colored icons. Our castle's family crest clearly visible alongside the barren red and yellow cross belonging to the Order of the Dragon. I thought back to how my father's masterful plan had indeed come to its fruition. King Sigismund of Hungry wisely inducted him as a member of the Order just before his death and we gained the full support of the all-mighty Catholic Church.

I stood in awe of the scene, smiling as my father approached. I wanted to run to him with open arms and hug him in his return, but I knew I must stay in my place, waiting in the proper formation of other members of the royal court.

He walked to the first line and briefly greeted the many commanders and captains that had not accompanied him in battle because of previous injury or who had simply been held back to defend the castle if the need arose. I watched him whispering orders into the ear of his personal caretaker, Alexandru, and then he made his way up to the castle's staff, which stood rigidly in a straight-line formation.

He first addressed Mr. Iordache, the castle's head chef. I looked over at the man's ruddy red face with great respect and admiration, realizing life inside this dreary castle would simply not be the same without him. The king approached Mr. Iordache with an angry scowl on his pale, drained face.

"My men are hungry and tired. Roast your fattest hog immediately and open a barrel of wine. You have two hours." He paused and looked at the chef for some time without speaking. Then he added, "And one more thing, Iordache—if you overcook the pig again, it shall be your head."

Waves of shock rippled through me at hearing what he had said. I thought I must have misheard him, or at the very least misunderstood the seriousness and context of his words. I had witnessed my father's anger before but this seemed uncalled for. I decided his words came only from the frustration of the lost battle.

Yet, I stood, puzzled, as I watched our great king make his way down the line toward me.

The next staff member he approached, named Camelia, stood motionlessly—she was my chambermaid and one of the castle's many governesses.

He looked her up and down as if inspecting her immaculate black and white uniform. Camelia has beautifully striking features, with rich mahogany hair, unforgettably big brown eyes, and smooth, olive-toned skin.

She is more than a few years older than I and very wise in the ways of the castle. Her duties range from serving as the castle's head governess to acting as my personal chambermaid. She also coaches me on how to use the proper etiquette that someone of a princely stature would be expected to possess, from how to hold my head and chin with the correct posture...to which fork to use at which time.

Even though I have not yet had the opportunity to put my social skills to use, I understand their importance because Camelia has always been very careful to take the time to explain how our behavior represents the traditions and customs of the Kingdom. Now that I have come of age, I will be expected to participate in all of the castle's royal functions, and, thanks to Camelia, I will be ready.

I imagine she has done everything my mother would be doing for me if she were alive today.

My father stared at her in silence. Then his lip suddenly curled upward into a tight snarl, as if showing great displeasure. His brow began to crease together, transforming his bloodshot eyes into thin slits that bore into her. First he stared down at her full breasts, then into her beautiful brown eyes.

"Bring her to my quarters," the king said coldly.

Camelia's eyes shot open. Two men appeared from behind her, grabbed her arms and pulled her from the line. She screamed and struggled to the best of her ability but the men were too strong for her. I watched as they dragged her from the courtyard and back into the castle entrance.

My stomach tightened. My throat cramped. I wondered why my father wanted to speak with her and decided to ask him about it during dinner. It was Camelia who taught me to never question his royal highness for any reason—especially not in front of his men and our servants—but I have rarely seen this type of behavior from him in the past.

I felt the beads of perspiration break across my forehead and quickly wiped my brow with the back of my trembling hand as my father approached me.

He stood above me, looking down with a strained grimace pasted on his face, as if not recognizing me. Then I saw a glint of recognition in his eyes and his mouth parted just slightly, as if to speak. His head tilted slightly to the side as if judging me. I could sense his sour mood, palpable and intense.

"Hello father," I said, out of turn. "I've come of age while you were away and I've won the tournament at the Training Academy to become the champion scholar!" I looked up at him and gave a brisk and decisive nod. "And I am now ready to accompany you into battle and fight at your side!"

He stood frozen for a moment but did not speak to me, then kept walking down the line and disappeared into the castle.

It occurred to me how exhausted he must have been just then, how inconsiderate it had been of me to confront him at that critical moment, even demanding the honor of fighting by his side, all without warning. My spirits plummeted at the realization I had indeed spoken out of turn, and in doing so, I had insulted his power and rank in front of his men and our staff.

I decided to ask for his forgiveness when it was my place to do so. I thought after our first meal together, we could discuss the progression of the war against the Ottoman Empire. And perhaps then, I could offer my interpretation of our current war strategies. My father would be bound to notice how much I've grown, bound to be impressed, and finally, bound to take me seriously as a warrior and his successor.

But unfortunately, that night my father did not attend our formal dinner, instead choosing to eat in his quarters.

* * *

The next morning I got up with the sun still rising over the skyline. The orange and green colors were plastered against the horizon, swirling together like still-wet paint dripping down an oversized canvas. I dressed quickly, thinking about Camelia. She always started working well before dawn, but, curiously, this morning she remained nowhere to be found.

Soon, I saw Macgregor bringing fresh water and linens into my quarters. His eyes were sunken, dark, and weary.

"Macgregor, have you seen Camelia? I would like to ask her why my father seemed so interested in speaking with her in his quarters."

Macgregor seemed to freeze in place. He began to speak but would not raise his eyes to meet mine.

"Camelia has taken ill and is resting this morning."

His low, forbidding tone caught me off guard.

"We all pray for her recovery."

My heart sank upon hearing this tragic news. Camelia had never taken ill before, and I wondered if it was because of something my father had said to her.

"What is the condition that afflicts her?"

"I was not told the cause of her illness, sir, other than it came on suddenly and is quite serious," he replied, still without making any eye contact.

"Then I shall go and find out for myself." I stood and marched from the room and down into the infirmary, located just below the main floor, in the basement. Macgregor followed close behind me as usual.

Camelia lay motionless. Her usual olive complexion had turned to pale, ashy gray. Her eyes were sallow and sunken but opened about halfway as I arrived. Her hair obscured a face that looked weary, as if washed by deep despair. Long, disheveled locks of hair partially covered her tear-wet eyes.

"Camelia, how are you? I've just heard you've taken ill. Are you okay?"

She attempted to speak, but her words caught in her throat with a dry sounding croak, followed by a long, moaning exhale. She did manage a slight nod of recognition just before her eyes closed again.

I noticed a small blood-red stain on the bright white pillowcase upon which she laid her head. I also noticed some sort of injury to her neck. Two swollen puncture marks were clearly visible directly beneath her left ear. It looked as if she were bitten by some type of animal. I bent closer to the wound and could see the two marks were still open and bloody and surrounded by bright red, swollen, and torn flesh. I also noticed her shirt appeared to be torn in front with buttons missing.

Confused, I shook my head slowly as I gently stroked her cheek, tucking her long hair behind her ear. "Rest now, Camelia," I whispered. "You'll feel better tomorrow just as sure as the next sun rises on the eastern skyline, I promise."

I walked into the hallway outside of the infirmary, my frustration increasing to its boiling point. "Macgregor," I said loudly. "This woman has obviously been bitten by some type of a wild animal. Judging by the bite marks, the creature must be about the size of a coyote, perhaps even a wolf, like the girl in the woods. We must have it found and killed before it attacks again."

"Yes, sir." Macgregor replied quietly. He didn't look up, but his expression showed the signs of wanting to say something more.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Macgregor?" I asked, feeling as if the man was holding something back. I looked squarely upon him, but he quickly turned his eyes away.

"No, sir," he said softly. "I shall alert the groundskeepers at once."

"And I will find out why my father needed to speak with Camellia last night. I shall ask him before dinner."

The evening's sun melted across the horizon and spilled down over the mountaintops as I walked the long hall that led back to my father's quarters. The dinner bell rang, so I stood there and waited. His door clanked loudly from the inside and I could hear him slowly unbolting the iron crossbar...then I heard a loud creaking sound as it opened. The area behind the door was laden with thick shadows. The door had swung all the way open as I waited for him to appear, but the doorway remained vacant.

"Come in," his deep voice rang out of the murky darkness. "I sense you have a question for me."

"Yes, father," I said. "I just wondered─"

"I said come in now, boy!" he shouted from somewhere in the black abyss. "If I ask you again, you will live to rue this day."

My heart began to race. My palms felt wet and sticky as I took the first small, trembling step over the threshold. I blinked several times to focus my eyes, hoping they would adjust to the lack of light. But they didn't. Then I took another step forward—encasing myself in the gloom.

"That's right, my son, you have now entered my lair of your own volition," and then the door suddenly swung closed behind me, slamming in the shadows with a low, rumbling klooong!

I stood there like a statue, immobilized, startled and unsure of myself. "What has happened to Camelia?" I finally managed, speaking into the darkness that engulfed me. "She has taken ill after being escorted to your quarters, and she remains too ill to explain why."

"Camelia is now my servant. She will serve my needs only," he hissed from somewhere in the distance. "I will assign another for your needs—unless you have a problem with obeying my wishes, that is." His deep, provoking voice dripped with condescension.

I knew better than to offer any discord to the king's official orders, but I still couldn't understand why he required the services of my Camelia, the one woman in the castle, and in the world, who felt most like a mother to me.

"Camelia has been my primary caretaker since the time of my birth. I have become satisfactorily accustomed to her care, father," I said, knowing in my heart it would be of no use.

"You have reached your eighteenth birthday, and your manhood," he explained. "You no longer need to rely on this woman." His smooth voice sounded much more regal now. "It shows your weakness, which reflects poorly on this castle, and that sickens me. Camellia shall no longer be any of your concern. If you wish, of course, I will see that she is...well taken care of."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and my heart thudded away in my chest as I stood there in the absurd lack of light, thinking about how crazy this sounded. This was not the man I felt I knew. All of these years, I had idolized him for being a great leader of men and superior warrior in battle. But now, I saw a different side of him—like his heart had rot with malice.

"Tell me what has happened to Camelia. She has become ill and has an injury on her throat," I blurted out.

"I can feel your anger," he whispered. "It gives you more strength than you know, and, soon, I will make you understand, my son."

The door swung open as if by magic, slamming up against the stone wall. Bright light flooded in, and my eyes burned.

The sound of rushing footsteps filled the hall. Alexandru entered the room with a sharply creased scowl etched into his thin face.

"Excuse me, my lord," he said with a deep bow. "But we are in the company of two messengers sent from Sultan Murad the second of the Ottoman Empire. They say they have urgent news regarding the state of the war."

I heard my father suck in a deep breath, and then he let out a low growl as he slowly exhaled. "Messengers from the sultan, you say? Well, we mustn't keep them waiting. I shall formally address them on my throne."

"Yes, your highness."

Alexandru turned, hustling back down the hall. My father emerged from the shadows, pulled his cape up high with a quick jerk and disappeared down the hall with long, flowing strides. I followed quickly behind, curiosity heightening in my mind with each hurried step.

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About the Author

Jackson Stein grew up and lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Before becoming a writer he worked as a 3d animator, commercial director, musician and bartender,. When he's not writing, you can find Jackson staying up all night, enjoying a rare steak by moonlight, and drinking a fine glass of red...wine. He would like readers to know he does not now, nor has he ever, slept in a casket. All of those rumors are completely false

To learn more about Jackson, visit him online at jacksonstein.net

