Hunting in Bruges

  They worked in two teams. It took both Celeste and Benjamin to handle the hose on the Eastern side of the square. To the West, Ash and Darryl were working together.

  Ash turned the water on and helped guide Darryl’s brawn, telling him where to aim the hose. If you’d told me a ghost and a blind man would make a great team, I would have laughed. Now it just made perfect sense.

  I’d been surprised when Darryl asked about the other person in the archives earlier today, but when I realized he could hear Ash, albeit faintly, the revelation had given me an idea. We needed more Hunters in the field on this mission, and with Ash’s help, Darryl was the strongest man we had out there.

  Also, Ash’s ability to manifest grew weaker the farther he moved from my position. I didn’t know why, another question for later, but it meant pairing him with Darryl gave him a chance to aid in our mission, even if he wasn’t directly at my side.

  Of course, he could move fast if I needed him as backup. The fact that he could literally move through the crowd gave him an advantage the other Hunters didn’t have. It was like having two pieces on the game board instead of one.

  My team let loose with the fire hoses, aiming them high above the crowd. We didn’t want to knock people over, just get them wet. The water would only be an annoyance to the gathered humans. In fact, in the darkness, they may even mistake it for a passing shower. Heck, some of them probably think this is all part of the show. But those hoses weren’t spraying regular old H2O.

  They were spraying holy water.

  Inhuman shrieks rose up from my two o’clock and seven o’clock. The holy water helped to pick the vamps out in the crowd and, judging from their positions, they were descending on the relic in a pincer move.

  I kept my sword raised, scanning the crowd for the vamps. Too late, I caught movement on the opposite side of the palanquin. In a blur of movement, a gloved hand reached out and snatched the phial from its resting place inside the larger, ornate reliquary and replaced it with a replica. It was so dark, and it happened so fast, the guards bearing the weight of the palanquin didn’t even notice.

  With a growl, I ducked under the palanquin and between the two guards. I nearly did a header, having to adapt to the weight of my armor, but managed to keep my feet under me as I ran.

  “The wine has left the cup,” I said. “I repeat, the wine has left the cup, moving east. Dubois and Martens, we’re heading your way.”

  I felt the displacement of air, just before the claws grazed my chin. A vampire had come up from behind and was trying to tear out my throat. I’d been expecting company. I jinked left, away from the clawed hand, and spun. In one smooth movement, I severed the head from the vampire’s body, turning her to dust and ash. A few people coughed, but that was it. No one noticed the vamp’s second death. They were still too busy looking at the sky.

  But that distraction wouldn’t last. A countdown in my goggles let me know that the vampires were running out of time—and so were we.

  If we didn’t retrieve the Holy Blood in the next three minutes, the vampires would go to ground, and the relic would be on its way to France. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I heard someone cry out as they fell to the pavement and I ran. I’d lost sight of the vampire I’d been chasing, but that had to be him up ahead. My leg burned and the ache in my side sent waves of nausea to grip my stomach, but I pushed myself to run faster.

  “Martens, Dubois, do you see anything?” I asked.

  I had to be right on top of their position, but the witch and the doctor were nowhere in sight.

  “Yes, vampire to your three o’clock,” Martens shouted. “Don’t let that bloodsucker get away!”

  Celeste didn’t check in, and I just hoped she was alright. I still wasn’t sure how many vamps had entered the square, but I’d given our Hunters orders to protect the innocent bystanders. If the witch wasn’t chasing down the vamp who stole the relic, then maybe she was helping to protect the humans.

  “Copy that, Martens,” I said. “I see him.”

  I caught sight of the vampire, recognizing him from his portrait. I wouldn’t forget those cold eyes. It was Jacques de Chatillon. I put on a final burst of speed, following him into a narrow side street that angled away from the Burg.

  “I’m heading down Hoogstraat,” I whispered, aware that the vampire had supernatural hearing and was probably listening for pursuit.

  “Da, copy that,” Zharkov said, his voice faint over the pounding of my heart.

  The vampire passed a familiar bric-a-brac shop and a hotel and turned onto Mallebergplaats. It was a short, narrow street with only a few eateries on one side and the brick sides of large hotels on the other. In the blink of an eye, he was already nearing the end of the street where it would merge with Philipstockstraat to the west, Twijnstraat to the east and Wapenmakersstraat to the north. If the vampire made it past that corner, he’d have access to the rest of the city, and I’d likely lose him in the warren of medieval streets.

  I yanked the night vision goggles from my eyes and ducked.

  “Zharkov, now!” I shouted.

  The end of the narrow street exploded in a riot of light and color. Twirling sparklers spun above a cake of crackling fireworks. Jacques wasn’t making it down that street, not unless he liked his body extra crispy.

  The Russian had come through. He’d remotely detonated the fireworks, his pyrotechnic display working exactly as we’d planned. He’d had to rig every egress out of the Burg, since we had no idea which way the vamps would run, but the man had done it. I smiled. That meant Zharkov was probably one of the good guys after all.

  I knew the traitor was Chad, but it was good to have that theory confirmed. But this was no time to celebrate.

  The vamp spun around with a hiss. His eyes had turned to dark pits and his fangs elongated, but I didn’t hesitate. I gripped my sword and charged forward, keeping my eyes low. I didn’t need to get snared in his gaze, not now, not ever.

  I raised my sword, but instead of taking his head I aimed for the chest. He slashed at my arms, clawed hands scrabbling for purchase, but I ignored his attempts to tear me apart and focused on driving my sword up under his rib cage and through his heart.

  He stopped moving, freezing in place.

  I’d filled the groove of my sword with a wood paste earlier today, but I drew a wooden stake from my belt and drove it through the vampire’s heart for good measure. With a smile, I patted down the pockets of the Frenchman’s stylish, for the sixteenth century, suit, but soon my lips turned downward.

  “Where is it?” I demanded.

  The vampire couldn’t move, but I could see the laughter in his eyes. He didn’t have the relic. I’d chased the wrong bloodsucker.

  The Holy Blood, the Blood of Christ, the Holy Grail was gone.

  Chapter 49

  “There are many ways to subdue a man on the run.”

  -Jenna Lehane, Hunter

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “Can you repeat that?” Zharkov asked.

  “You okay, girl?” Lambert asked.

  I lifted a small, portable incendiary device Zharkov had whipped up for me and placed it against Jacques’ chest. With a spark, the vamp went up in flames. It was a better death than he deserved.

  Too bad killing vampires didn’t solve everything. Jacques was dead, but the Holy Blood was gone.

  “I’m okay, but we have a problem,” I said. “Jacques didn’t have the relic.”

  I sifted through the pile of ash with my sword, grabbing the shining fangs as I checked in with my team, and ran back down the street. It had all taken mere seconds, but my heart was pounding.

  Where was the phial?

  I raced back into the Burg, eyes scanning the crowd. What the hell? The vamps were all dead and the sun was coming out, so who had the phial?

  I shook my head. It didn’t make any sense.

  That’s when I saw Doc pushing through the crowd, running in the opposite direction, trying to leave t
he Burg.

  “It’s Martens,” I said. “He’s our traitor. Keep eyes on him, I’m going in.”

  I knew that he could hear every word, but we didn’t have time for establishing new channel frequencies. He was the traitor. He had to have known that I would come for him, sooner or later.

  As the sky brightened, the procession began to move again, and the crowd cheered them on in earnest. The darkness was chased away by the sun, but there were still monsters among us—and some of them were human.

  How could Martens have sided with the vampires? By giving the Holy Blood to Philip and his men, he was selling out humankind. He was delivering a weapon into the hands of our enemies. I would not—could not—let that happen.

  Breathing hard, I pushed through the surging crowd. Bodies pressed in from all sides and I used my armored elbows to full effect. I didn’t enjoy injuring civilians, but a few bruises were better than the alternative.

  I drew my combat knife as I closed in on Martens. There was no room to safely swing a sword, and projectile weapons were out of the question in this crowd. I was skilled with a bow, but nobody is that good of a shot. It was just too damned risky.

  I clenched my jaw, wishing I could use my crossbow. Martens was nearly out of the square.

  I put on a burst of speed, my heart pounding faster than my booted feet on the cobbles, and reached for Martens with my free hand. I spun him around by the collar of the municipal uniform he still wore and slammed him against the wall of the nearest building.

  With a snarl, he rammed a blade into my side. He was aiming for my kidneys, but the chain armor I wore beneath the larger chest plate deflected the blade from my side. If I’d been wearing costume armor, I’d be gasping my final breaths.

  Not that it didn’t hurt. Martens knew of my injuries, and he’d aimed his knife at the same side that the vampires had torn open with their claws. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to register the pain.

  Martens was already swinging another short blade at me. Without hesitation, I stabbed him in the gut, keeping my combat knife between us. The crowd was focused on the procession, but there was no need to be sloppy. This was something no one needed to see.

  “Why?” I asked, voice raw.

  There was so much in that one question. Why had he betrayed the Guild? Why run when he knew I was coming for him? Why try to stab me?

  I never would have used deadly force if he hadn’t pushed me to it. There are many ways to subdue a man on the run. My stomach twisted as warm liquid soaked the fingers wrapped around my blade.

  “You w-w-wouldn’t understand,” he wheezed.

  “Try me, Doc,” I said. “You swore an oath, as a doctor, and as a Hunter. How could you betray the Guild?”

  He sneered, spittle dripping from his lips.

  “The Guild?” he asked. “What did they ever do for me? My wife gave her life for the Guild, and what is her legacy? I can barely afford my daughter’s tuition, but the Guild doesn’t care—all it does is take.”

  “So this was what, revenge?” I asked. “I’m sorry your wife died, but that’s a risk every Hunter takes. It’s not a reason to hand over the power to the vampires. Do you think they’d make any better masters?”

  I grit my teeth. We all lose people. We all fall on hard times. It was no excuse.

  “No,” he said, spitting blood at our feet. “No, but at least the vampires are honest about being monsters. They threaten you to your face instead of stab you in the back.”

  I didn’t agree with him, but Martens was swaying on his feet. I needed to keep him talking. Darryl, Ash, Celeste, and Aleksey would be on their way. In fact, Celeste should have been here by now. She’d been with Martens when the procession began.

  A chill ran up my spine.

  “What did they threaten you with, Doc?” I asked. “And where’s Celeste?”

  “Philip will come for my daughter,” he said. “You must give him the phial…”

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said.

  Philip had kidnapped and killed Guy Dampierre’s daughter back in the 14th century. He’d done this before. Unless someone stopped him, he’d likely do it again.

  Ash and Darryl came to my side, Ash leading the way. Darryl was out of breath, but Ash just looked worried. I guess when you’re a ghost, you no longer have to breathe.

  “He’s in bad shape, love,” Ash said. “We’ve got to get him back to the infirmary.”

  I shook my head.

  “There’s no time, not with this crowd,” I said. “Help me get him on the ground, and hand me his medical bag.”

  With Ash and Darryl’s help, I managed to move Martens into the adjoining courtyard and onto the ground. I pulled off my tunic and wadded it around the knife protruding from his stomach. I knew I had to staunch the bleeding, but I had no idea if I should remove the blade or leave it where it was. Hopefully, Doc could give me some pointers once I got his pain under control.

  “Here,” Ash said, handing me Martens’ medical bag.

  I unzipped the bag with shaking hands. At the top of the bag was the Holy Blood, confirming once again that Martens was our traitor, not that we needed any more proof. His confession and attempts to kill me were damning enough.

  I lifted out the phial, slipping it carefully into a pocket beneath my armor, and continued to dig through the bag. I tossed items onto the cobbles, fingers scouring every pocket and compartment, but there were no life saving medical supplies inside. The black leather bag was packed with a change of clothes, cash, two plane tickets, and Benjamin Martens’ passport. He had planned to run, probably with his daughter, and hadn’t even come to the square with the medical supplies necessary to heal any of our wounds. He never intended to help us when the vampires attacked.

  Ironically, we were now lacking the tools to save his life. Poetic justice? Perhaps, but I couldn’t help thinking about that little girl waiting for her dad to pick her up for the vacation he’d promised.

  “Someone call Clara’s boarding school,” I said. “Make sure the kid is okay. When Philip doesn’t receive the phial, he might make good on his threats to hurt Martens’ daughter.”

  “I’m on it,” Darryl said.

  “Clara?” Martens asked. His breath rattled in his chest, and blood coated his lips.

  “Don’t worry, Doc,” I said. “We’ll keep your daughter safe.”

  “Promise,” he rasped.

  “I promise,” I said.

  Martens let out a sigh, and I watched the life leave his eyes. I held my breath and waited for his ghost to appear and give me hell for taking his life, for robbing his daughter of a father, but he never came. Benjamin Martens was gone.

  I let out the shaky breath I’d been holding, and blinked away hot tears that blurred my vision. I couldn’t wipe the tears away, since my hands and my tunic were covered in Martens’ blood.

  “This was not your fault, love,” Ash said.

  “I should have figured it out,” I said. “I saw how he was living out of the Guild’s hearse, and I didn’t say anything. Maybe if I’d told somebody, or tried to get him some help…”

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” he said. “He dug his own bloody grave, Jenna. He sold us out to the monsters. It’s not your fault.”

  Then why was it so hard to breathe?

  Chapter 50

  “Hunters don’t hide from ugly truths any more than we hide from our enemies.”

  -Jenna Lehane, Hunter

  Zarkhov found Celeste beside a dumpster down a nearby alley. Amazingly enough she was alive.

  Martens had talked Celeste into taking a few hits of Mandragora just before the eclipse began, “to calm her nerves.” The witch hadn’t needed much convincing. Once she was high on the drug, it also hadn’t been difficult to keep her using until she passed out. Martens then dragged Celeste into an alley where she wouldn’t be seen. He’d tossed her away like trash, but at least he hadn’t taken her life—though some may argue that point.

  Once Celes
te regained consciousness, I found out that the doctor had been the one supplying her Mandragora addiction right along, using her grief and guilt over Ash’s death to keep her docile and distracted. He couldn’t risk Celeste using her magic to detect his role in Philip’s scheme, so he skillfully eliminated the threat she posed.

  Martens’ hand in Celeste’s addiction helped to allay some of my own guilt, but not all. I’d killed a man, a Hunter, and no matter how hard I scrubbed, I could still feel the warmth of his blood on my hands. I wanted to go hide in the shower, where I could kid myself that my tears were only drops of bath water, and then I wanted to sleep for a month.

  But that wasn’t an option. Hunters don’t hide from ugly truths any more than we hide from our enemies. We face our problems head on, no matter the odds.

  That doesn’t mean it was easy.

  The one thing that kept me going was the knowledge that Martens’ daughter Clara was alive. Darryl, through a series of phone calls to Clara’s boarding school, had ascertained that the girl was safe. Except for one pit stop to swap the real phial for the forgery before the procession reentered the basilica, I spent the rest of the day calling in favors and breaking rules by sending every available Hunter to guard that boarding school. I had promised to keep Martens’ daughter safe, and I never break my promises.

  After a few hours of phone tag, I even managed to reach Master Peeters, the master of the Bruges Hunters’ Guild. He wasn’t happy when he learned of Martens’ death or Chadwick’s temporary incapacitation, but once I explained the events of the past week, he stopped threatening to have me stripped of my rank.

  Unfortunately, demotion wasn’t the only thing Peeters could do to make my life miserable. Now it was just a matter of time until the Guild master’s weighty boot dropped. I was pretty sure his boot was going to land squarely in my ass.

  It wouldn’t be the first time I’d ended up on the receiving end of a Guild master’s punishment. Somehow that didn’t make it any easier to accept. You’d think I’d learn, but no matter how loyal I was to the Guild, I could never stand by and follow the rules when doing so cost the lives of innocents.