"Are you challenging me to a duel?" Alastair laughed, obviously assured that he would be the victor no matter what.
Zac stifled his own mocking laughter, "It's the twenty-first century, Al you old bastard. I had more of a fight to the death in mind, not pistols at twenty paces." The only option, as he saw it, was to kill the vampire and that was going to be problematic. Alistair wouldn't let his guard down for an instant or put himself in a position away from areas populated with humans. He knew Zac would attempt bodily harm given the slightest opportunity. A fight to the death was the only option he would consider and was banking that the other vampire's arrogance would be his downfall. There was no way he would win on strength alone; there was close to four hundred years between them. If he was to actually kill him, a challenge of this magnitude outside of town was the only way.
Alistair's eyes brightened, "A fight to the death. No rules, only death for the loser."
Zac pushed him back, dropping his grip from his shirt. He wouldn't play mind games with him, no matter what he threatened to do. If he won, then Alistair would be gone for good and if he lost, well, he'd be dead. Zac could think of worse things.
"In the woods by the manor," Zac said. "Two hours. And come alone." He knew he couldn't rely on Sam, his brother didn't agree with his tactics almost one hundred percent of the time. And a death match? Well, that one took the cake. This he had to do on his own.
Tucking a wooden stake in the back of his jeans, Zac made his way through the forest. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting long eerie shadows that distorted the ground ahead. The nominated two hours had passed and he hoped he was going to his victory, not his death.
The older vampire was standing so still, he almost mistook him for another shadow. Alistair's soft chuckle cut through the silence, "Are you ready to die, Zachary?"
"Quit the small talk, Al. Lets get on with it," he sneered, chomping at the bit to draw blood.
Alistair pulled a gun from behind him, which had been hidden under his jacket. Pointing at Zac's thigh, he pulled the trigger, the bullet tearing through flesh and splattering blood as it made contact. The force of the close range impact knocked him from his feet and he landed heavily on his back, grimacing in pain, clutching his leg.
"Wow," Zac hissed through clenched teeth. "Talk about bringing a sword to a gunfight. You're a piece of work, Al. Where'd you get the wooden bullets? From ye olde carpenter shoppe? How long did it take you to whittle those you old bastard?"
Alistair laughed, clearly not put off by his sarcastic observations. "I'm not one for these devices," he tucked the gun back into the back of his pants. "Call me old fashioned, but I like to use my hands. That way I can feel the life bleed from you when I tear your heart from your chest."
Zac grimaced as he dug his fingers into his torn flesh and pulled the bullet out. Throwing it aside, his eyes darkened to black as he lunged for Alistair, knocking him to the ground with a roar. The stake was in his hand, but the older vampire grabbed his wrist before he could bring it down into his heart. There was a crack as the bone broke under the pressure. Grimacing in pain, he dropped the stake as Alistair threw him to the side with enough force to crash him into a tree.
Landing with a thud, Zac was on his feet in a flash, ignoring the pain in his broken wrist. He'd had worse and was still able to fight. Alistair was on him before he could react, the older vampires strength overpowering as he shoved him back against the tree trunk, his forearm crushing his neck, almost cutting off his airway. Twisting to the side, Zac managed to free himself, Alistair's arm crushing into the tree, the bark splintering under the force.
"Stop playing with your food, Al," he darted behind him, grasping his left arm, wrenching backwards until it broke.
Alistair roared in anger as much as pain and grabbed Zac around the neck again before he could escape. Zac tried to struggle out of the headlock, but this time, the other vampires grip didn't budge.
"Oh, I like it when they struggle," he chortled as he tightened his grip around Zac's neck, landing punch after punch into his unprotected face. Breaking his nose and splitting his lip, blood poring out of the multiple gashes that were opening up with every impact.
Gasping for breath, he eyed the gun that had fallen onto the ground a mere four-foot to the right. If he could manage to loosen Alistair's grip and free himself, he might have a chance to slow him down with a few bullets before staking him. Struggling, he managed to kick sideways, his shin connecting with Alistair's leg, buckling his knee and making him stumble.
As the grip slackened from around his neck, he managed to lunge to the right and snatch the gun from the ground before Alistair could kick it out of reach. Without hesitation, Zac fired, a bullet imbedding itself into the older vampire's stomach. It wasn't enough to knock him to the ground, but he doubled over, clutching his bleeding abdomen in surprise. It was the millionth of a second that Zac needed to stab upwards, the stake hitting its mark with a sickening thud as it tore through flesh and sinew until it rammed home into Alistair's heart.
"You were stronger, Alistair, but not smarter," sneered Zac as the life drained from the vampires eyes as he pushed him backwards onto the ground, dead. Grimacing, he held his broken wrist and spat the blood that had pooled in his cut mouth onto his desiccated body. "Good riddance."
Turning away from the body, he jumped in surprise as he saw a woman emerge from the surrounding forest. She approached calmly, her hands clasped in front of her, expression cold. Zac frowned as he took in her dress; it was something akin to what ancient Roman women would have worn. Long white folds of silk, low over her shoulders, draped to the ground, cinched at the hips by a low golden belt. Long auburn hair had been pinned up in elaborate braids, a few curls left out to frame her cold face. Zac automatically knew not to make fun of her appearance.
"And who the fuck are you?" he sneered when she came to rest a few paces away.
The woman cocked her head, glaring, "I am the founding witch Katrin and you've just murdered one of my most beloved creations."
Just what he needed, a witch in fancy dress. "And what are you going to do? Cast some witchy juju spell on me?" Before she could answer, Zac threw the stake at her with alarming speed, but as it made contact she vanished, the stake imbedding itself in the tree behind the spot she had stood.
"You will suffer vampire, for the murder of your own kind," he jumped as Katrin's voice came from behind him. "I will enjoy hunting you and all those you love, inflicting pain the likes of which you cannot imagine."
Zac whirled around to face the witch, who had materialized behind him out of thin air. "If you could kill me, you would have already done it," he waived his hand towards her and her form shimmered where it passed through. "You're transparent, so I'd like to see you touch me."
She laughed, filling the surrounding forest with her musical voice, "I'm going to enjoy watching you writhe in agony."
Gasping, he clutched his chest at the sudden pain that tore through his heart. Falling to his knees he tried to draw even breathes, but couldn't draw any oxygen, his airway closing in on itself. Just as suddenly as the pain overtook him, it was gone.
"That," Katrin crooned. "Was a precursor, vampire. We will meet again, you and I."
When he looked up, he was alone except for Alistair's cold dead corpse. Wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, Zac groaned as he began to drag what was left of the vampire away. The witch had disappeared, but had left the heavy promise of retribution behind.
If Zac thought he was in trouble before, he was well and truly screwed now.
CHAPTER THREE
It was the second time in as many days that Zac walked home after a fight, his clothes torn and bloodied. He'd killed Alistair, but had dug himself a deeper hole. An ancient dead witch who had claimed to be the creator of all vampires had marked him for a slow and painful death. Best birthday present, ever.
It was late when he finally came home, wandering up the driveway, well after mid
night. Opening the front door with a little less force than last time, he shuffled into the parlor and headed straight for the scotch. He thought it was best to get a few drinks in his brother before telling him the bad news. Zac poured Sam a glass as he heard his brother sit on the couch behind him.
"Do I even want to know what you've been doing all night?" Sam said, exasperated. "I have a good idea, considering Liz came over and told me what happened with Alistair."
"Well, I fucking killed the bastard," Zac sneered, getting right to the point, handing the glass to him.
"And?" Sam took a large mouthful of the liquor as if in preparation for what was coming next.
"And, his dead witchy overlord is out for my blood. Refill?" he asked sarcastically, waving the bottle of scotch at his brother.
"Wait," Sam said, holding his annoyance in check. "Start from the beginning. You killed Alistair? How?"
"I challenged him to a duel," Zac said sarcastically. "Slapped him with a leather riding glove and everything. Very authentic. Then I staked him."
"Zac..." he scolded.
"That, brother, was the truth. I challenged him to a fight to the death. Book smarts won over brute strength," he said, tapping his temple.
Sam closed his eyes and held his head in his hands, fed up, "And what if he'd killed you? Did you stop to think about us?"
Zac took a long draught of scotch straight from the bottle, "Yes, I thought about it. This was my issue to deal with, Sam. I did this to protect everyone. I did what I had to do."
"You could have warned me," he said quietly.
"And you would have stopped me," Zac replied sarcastically.
"Well, that's just great," Sam shook his head. "Murderous vampires and now dead witches? Geesus."
"Can you see into the fucking future, Sam, because I sure can't," he yelled, the now empty bottle smashing into the large fireplace, the remnants of alcohol flaring in the flames. "He wouldn't have stopped until we were either dead or exposed. Killing him was my only option."
"And this witch?" he asked calmly, trying not to exacerbate his brothers mood.
"She claimed to be a founding witch named Katrin. But, she was transparent," he sighed, sharply. "Very much dead and ghostly. Dripping with ectoplasm."
Sam shook his head and contemplated this, "You could have come to me, Zac. We could have found another way. One without killing."
"Well, I'm so sorry I can't be the kindhearted human wannabe vampire you so desperately want me to be," Zac seethed. "Guess what, brother. We're vampires. We fight, we hunt and we kill. It's what we are."
"There's always an alternative, Zac. You just have to be open to hearing it."
"You might be content in fighting your true nature, but I've made my peace Sam. I understand what I am, even if you don't," he walked across the room before turning around. "I will speak to Gabby in the morning. You can stay out of it if that's what you want." He left the room, leaving Sam to make his own decision, his mind already made up.
Gabby wasn't too pleased about been woken up at eight am on a Sunday morning, even less pleased to hear Zac's voice. Pleading wasn't his thing, so he suggested it might be a good idea to help him, being guilty by association. She'd reluctantly agreed to come over to the manor once she was ready.
Zac was already into the alcohol by the time his brother had woke. He was riled up already and he had a feeling it was going to be a trying day and that meant he needed all the calming down he could get. And he was getting hungry. He sat heavily on the couch, leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling. Dead witches pretty much took the cake so far. They'd never encountered so many supernaturals in one place before. Witches, vampires, werewolves and now ghosts. Next it would be voodoo spirit lords and Aztec witch doctors.
"I'm surprised to see you here, brother," Zac looked up as Sam sat across from him.
"We're brothers, Zac. You're shit is my shit," he replied firmly.
"And so eloquently put," he scoffed.
Sam snorted as they heard the front door close and footsteps approaching down the hall. Gabby strode in, carrying her grimore in her arms. The tattered book that was over five hundred years old, protected by magic from deteriorating and falling apart.
She flopped down on the leather armchair and said with a hint of sarcasm, "This better be worth giving up my Sunday for."
"Long story short," Zac announced. "I killed Alistair, his dead witchy overlord appeared out of thin air proclaiming that she was the founding witch Katrin, whatever that means, and that I will die a long and horrible death. Thoughts?"
Gabby stared at him in surprise, not expecting a tirade of that magnitude. At least not one that included the words 'founding witch'. She looked slowly to Sam, who nodded. Well, at least it was a truthful tirade.
"Well," she began, opening the grimore carefully.
"Is there anything in your diary about this Katrin?" Zac swirled his drink around in his glass.
Gabby glared at him and turned back to the grimore, turning the pages. "There's a passage about the founding witches and the one who broke her covenant with them," she stated. "Katrin. She betrayed her sisters for power and created a creature that could do her bidding long after she had passed. Vampires. She bound them to herself, so they would follow her for eternity."
"She seemed to believe that she had created Alistair herself," Zac said.
"Then maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she is one of the founding witches," Sam said. "She was an apparition, so maybe her spirit still lives, that's why Alistair was bound to her."
"And how she knew he was dead," Zac added.
"If she is, then she would be strong enough to do it. The founders were the beginning, the most powerful of us, ever. But why would she create vampires?" Gabby agreed with Sam's conclusion. It made the most sense.
"To do her dirty work," Zac sneered.
"Probably, but I don't think that was the only reason," Gabby shook her head. "Why create a predator who needs blood to survive who can only walk in the night, when all you need is someone to do your bidding after you're dead?"
"You're right, it doesn't make sense, but all we need to know is how to get rid of her," Zac pointed out, exasperated. "I'd rather be the one doing the hunting, not the other way round."
"You don't want to know anything about the first vampires?" Sam was surprised.
"Why? We've been doing okay. The more we meet, the more trouble we get in."
"Don't you mean, the more you piss off the more trouble I get in?" Sam said, seriously.
"You're the one who chose to come along for the ride," he sneered. "Don't have a cry now."
Gabby sighed loudly, "If you two are finished bickering like children, I have more."
"Do please enlighten us, Glinda," Zac rolled his eyes.
"Right," Gabby stood and began gathering her things. "If you don't want my help, you just have to say so. I have better things to do than take shit from you."
Sam stood hastily and said, "Gabby, I'm sorry. We do need your help. Please stay." He turned and glared at Zac who shrugged.
"What?" he asked, annoyed.
Gabby sat back down with an exasperated sigh; "There's a summoning spell in the grimore that caught my attention."
"And what does it summon?" Zac asked.
"The one known as the Witch Hunter," Gabby flipped to the page and began to read. "The one betrayed by their own. The one who punishes the ones turned evil, the hunter of witches who would do harm. Cast this call and perchance the hunter will deign to speak."
"You want us to summon a witch hunter?" Zac laughed at the notion.
"It's all I got," she shrugged. "But there is a warning that goes along with it. The Witch Hunter is a very old and powerful vampire, unpredictable and only serves their own end."
"Well, they sound like a riot," Zac snorted.
"I don't think it's a good idea," Sam said, warily. "It could do more harm than good."
"From what I can tell, the Witch Hunter helped my
ancestor, the one who wrote the spell. For a vampire to help a witch, that's kind of a big deal," she looked pointedly at Zac, who glared at her in return.
"Is there anything else about them?" asked Sam.
"Not much, but this spell was written in 1542. It's one of the first in the book and one of the only ones I can read," she said, not mentioning that she thought it was an omen. For good or bad, she didn't know. "The story goes that the church and crown in Wales passed through a law naming witchcraft as a felony and those found practicing would face punishment of death. The first law of its kind. The witch who wrote the spell was accused, having been framed by another witch, who was using her power for evil. Exploiting the townspeople, summoning devils and monsters. This is what drew the Witch Hunter to the village. They formed a tentative alliance and under the cover of darkness the Hunter tore the devils to pieces and stole the evil witches light."
"What does that mean?" asked Sam, intrigued by the story. "Stole her light?"
"They probably took her power. Anyway, the Hunter left a trail of mutilated bodies in their wake, horrifying the good witch. The next morning some angry townsfolk, who had been spying on them, tore her from her bed. She had no trial and was tied to a wooden pole at the centre of the village. They intended to burn her for the crime of witchcraft and murder, for they believed it was she that had summoned the devils. As the flames grew around her, the Witch Hunter came back and saved her from the fire and took her far away from the angry mob to live out her days without fear of exposure. She married and had a family and passed the grimore to her daughter."
"It seems that the Hunter has a heart, at least," Sam said absently.
"If you call tearing apart devils, mutilating their bodies and stealing witches power, having a heart, then we have a serious problem," Gabby exclaimed, snapping the grimore shut.
"Pfft, it's just a story," scoffed Zac.
"It's meant to serve as a warning," Gabby scolded. "One you would do well to heed."