(4)

"Leave death to the professionals."
Graham Greene (attributed)

The nightclub would not have been D's first, second, or even third choice of a meeting place. The Pit was too loud, too bright, and too full of humans. The heavy scent of their blood surrounded him with every breath, weighing insistently on his heightened senses, threatening to awaken that part of him that D had so long suppressed. But his contact- Ambrose Basker, the mayor's liaison-had insisted, so D found himself enduring the Pit and thinking it aptly named. The man had also insisted on buying D a drink, which sat untouched on the scarred table between them.

Basker, who had introduced himself as the mayor's younger brother, was a fast talker. Unfortunately, he wasn't saying much that D found particularly useful.

"...so we sent for a vampire hunter. My brother has an extensive-and very expensive-security system, so we can't see how anything could've gotten into the manor, but the baby was just gone, so it had to have been the vampire and--"

"Has anyone seen the vampire?" D asked finally, his low, emotionless voice easily breaking through the other man's babble and the ambient noise of the crowded nightclub.

Startled out of his recitation, Basker stumbled, as if the question confused him. "W-well, no. I don't think so. But we know it was a vampire, the kids that were dumped were all drained and some of them...came back. You know, as those zombie corpse things."

"How many children were taken?"

"Three," Basker said, his rodent-like face twisting in the first genuine sorrow he had exhibited since D's arrival. "Including my nephew. He's barely a year old."

Three? That doesn't sound right... Left Hand's words whispered in D's mind. D ignored the telepathic voice, his attention focused on the man before him. Basker squirmed beneath D's sharp gaze.

"How many bodies were there?"

"Huh? Oh, right. Well, if you count them... There were maybe six or seven in all, I guess. A couple more, a couple less. You'd have to ask those filthy squatters on the edge of town exactly how many of their brats are missing. But--"

D rose abruptly. "I will."

"Hey, wait!" Basker leaped to his feet and lunged across the table to grab a handful of D's black cape. Basker's beady eyes gleamed with anger. "We're not done here, Hunter."

D turned cold blue eyes on him and Basker went almost as white as the dhampir, all the color draining from his narrow face. He let go of D's cape so suddenly he fell back into his chair and nearly tipped it over. He grabbed frantically at the table, righting himself and regaining his feet in a clumsy rush. He stretched out a hand, but stopped short of touching the imposing dhampir, again.

"Please, wait..."

It was obvious from his expression that Basker knew he had screwed up. It was equally obvious he hadn't a clue what he had done to incur D's displeasure. Basker swallowed audibly, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing.

"Please." Basker wrung his hands, his eyes darting back and forth as he sought desperately for something that would regain D's co-operation. "What...what about your fee?"

Handsome face an expressionless mask, D glanced back at the frantic little man. In a flat voice, he said, "Double it."

"All right, whatever you say!" Basker lowered his eyes, his fingers anxiously twisting the elaborate rings on one hand. He risked a glance up at D, then dug in his coat pocket and held out a leather pouch that bulged with the weight of the coins within: D's retainer, should he take the job. "We'll pay. Anything. Just... bring the boy back safely."

D nodded and took the proffered coin purse from the other man's trembling hands. Without another word, D strode from the noisome confines of the Pit and out into the darkness. After the crowded nightclub, even the sun-baked air, oppressive with the lingering heat of the day, was a welcome respite. He breathed deeply, clearing his nose of the too-tempting smell of human blood, and started for his horse.

A warning tingled along his spine. He knew instantly that he was not alone.

D, the parasite said in his mind, we're being followed.

"I know," D murmured. "Be quiet."

For once, Left Hand obeyed him without argument. D pretended to be unaware of the presence behind him as he extended his senses. He sniffed the dry air, testing the scent it offered him. Dust, horses, and...something else. Something not human, not vampire, not mutant. Something...unearthly.

Something dangerous.

Faster than any human could hope to counter, he pivoted, one hand on his sword, drawing the long blade as he turned, slashing--at the woman he had passed on the road into town. At the last possible instant, something in her eyes made him pull the sword's strike. In the same instant, she moved, hands flashing up to catch the slender, curving blade between her palms. They froze, the sword suspended between them, its razor sharp tip dimpling the flesh of her throat.

A thin trickle of blood slipped from the puncture, painting a bright red ribbon against her skin and running down the edge of his blade. D pulled the sword back and watched as the wound closed itself, the smear of blood blackening and turning to ash.

She studied him, one eyebrow lifted in faint, sardonic amusement. Her eyes glittered at him from beneath messy, brown bangs. "Do you try to kill everyone you meet, or am I special?"

In the silence that followed, the parasite snickered.

"What the hell was that?" the woman demanded, looking around sharply.

"What do you want?"

Her dark eyes looked him up and down, and found him wanting. "You're going after the bounty."

"I'm going after the children." D sheathed his sword as he turned away, uncertain why he had bothered to answer her. He had no time for distractions. Unfortunately, she didn't take the hint and followed him as he moved toward his patiently waiting horse.

"Where do you think you're going?" she called after him. "We aren't through, Hunter!"

As far as he was concerned, they were. He swung up into the DL-4's saddle and, without even a backward glance, urged his mount into a gallop. In moments, he'd left her – and the Pit -- behind.

"Well, that was fun," Left Hand said, as D rode swiftly toward the edge of town and the Travelers' camp he knew he would find there. As usual, D ignored the parasite's snide comment. Also as usual, that didn't stop it from making more of them.

"If by 'fun' I mean 'not fun and a total waste of time, '" Left Hand said, in a voice that was not-quite- sullen. "Why did you let her go, anyway? Even if she's not competition, you know she's going to be trouble. Her kind always are."

"She's a Crow, not a Snake."

"Same tune, different lyrics." Left Hand was silent for all too brief a moment, then added, "That's why you attacked her, wasn't it? You thought she was a Snake."

"I sensed..." D shrugged. He wasn't sure what he had sensed, but it had had the distinct feeling of darkness, of evil, about it. The woman herself, however, had not. "I was mistaken."

"You're admitting you were wrong? Do you have a calendar? And a pen?"

D resisted the urge to sigh. There were times when he was sorely tempted to simply slice the parasite off and be done with it. Unfortunately, innate honesty forced him to admit that Left Hand was occasionally useful. It had even saved his life on more than one occasion. So D tolerated the creature, regardless of its annoying, never-ending commentary.

As they rode, Left Hand said, "I hope these people are more open-minded than most of the humans we deal with." He didn't much sound as if he believed that would be the case.

Silently, D agreed. How many times had he been confronted with human prejudice-or with vampire prejudice, for that matter. Truly fitting in nowhere, unwelcome by those on either side of his dual heritage, he was a man apart. Alone.

He pushed aside such self-indulgent thoughts as his horse neared the first of the brightly painted conveyances clustered together to form the Sojourners' small encampment just outside the town's limits. Some of the vehicles were motorized; most sported empty hitches meant for the harness animals whose musky scent reached him on the slight breeze. On the Frontier, relying too heavily on the internal combustion engine wasn't a survival trait. It was a lesson the Sojourners had obviously taken to heart. The mixed assortment of vehicles clustered together beneath the crumbling remains of what had once been a highway overpass. Now, the crumbling concrete and steel served as shelter for the temporary encampment.

Though he could not see any sentries, D had no doubt they lurked in the upper reaches of the ruins. Nor did he doubt that they had already spotted him. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later, as he neared the camp's perimeter, when dogs barked, sounding the alarm. An instant later, he was the focus of intense scrutiny-and several shotguns. Guns at the ready, sentries boiled out of the shadows like warrior ants from a disturbed hill. Several of the men were accompanied by large mastiffs. The dogs, having caught D's inhuman scent, growled menacingly and pulled at their chains. Were the animals not restrained, D had no doubt they would have gone for his throat. They knew a predator when they smelled one and they were already on edge, ready to defend their territory from the intruder in their midst.

Patiently, D sat his horse and made no move to dismount.

One of the men, his fierce expression nearly hidden behind wildly overgrown eyebrows and a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache, stepped forward and demanded, "What do you want here, stranger?"

"I've come about the missing children," D said, his voice and manner quietly commanding.

"A fancy gentleman like yourself?" The spokesman's suspicious gaze slid over D, sharp black eyes taking in every detail of armor, sword, and horse. His eyes narrowed when his scrutiny caught the pale tips of D's ears, the pale hands on the cyborg's reins. He tightened his grip on his rifle. "You're a dhampir."

D said nothing. Denial was useless and stating the obvious went against his nature. Instead, he simply waited. He could almost see the gears turning in the man's mind as he considered.

"You are also a hunter, yes?" At D's nod, the other man appeared to come to a decision. Reluctantly, he lowered the gun so that the barrel was pointed -- mostly -- at the ground. "Then come into our camp. We will speak with you."

One of the men next to him started to protest, but the spokesman silenced him with a look. His dark gaze swept around the semi-circle of armed men, seeming to measure each of them in turn. Satisfied by what he saw, the man waved them back to their posts, then turned to D and motioned for him to follow. "Come, Hunter."

D dismounted and, leading his horse, followed the man into the circle of the firelight as the sentries melted into the shadows. Others, men and women drawn by suspicion or curiosity – or both -- soon took their place, so that D had acquired a sizable escort before he had gone far into the encampment.

Here and there, bonfires cast odd, demonic shadows on the faces of the people huddled around them. Cooking fires burned, adding the sharp, acrid aroma of wood smoke and scorching fat to the thick mix of odors in the air. Overhead, strings of brightly colored lights and lanterns connected some of the garishly painted caravans. All around him, D could sense the presence of human heartbeats and the thick scent of blood and burning meat.

Curiosity had never been a major facet of D's personality, but caution had been ingrained into him from an early age. Now, he let his gaze slip easily over his surroundings, calmly taking in the positions of the humans around him, which individuals held weapons (most of them), how many worried or angry faces watched him from the shadows.

His host glanced back at him, the frown still firmly in place on the Sojourner's weather-beaten face. The man gestured toward the large campfire near the center of the cluster.

"Come," he said, the tone of the invitation leaving no room for refusal. "We talk."

Though he did not outwardly hesitate, D took the time to sniff experimentally at the air. The stench of scorching flesh almost choked him and his narrowed eyes focused more closely on one of the many bonfires marking the perimeter of the camp. A shiver of realization stroked its icy claws along his spine. The fires weren't cook fires.

They were pyres.

Atop haphazardly stacked wood and brush, as if the pyres had been hastily constructed from whatever materials were close at hand, human bodies burned.

The Sojourner was watching him expectantly. When D said nothing, it was the human who finally broke the strained silence. "It is the only way."

D nodded. If these were the bodies of vampire victims, it was far too dangerous to leave them intact. Those killed by vampires often returned to prey on the living – as the townspeople had learned to their horror. But... so many fires. "How many dead?"

The stocky human seemed to shrink, collapsing in on himself as he remembered the losses his people had suffered. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and turned away from the ring of firelight surrounding them. "Too many, Hunter. Far too many."

He gestured to the low camp-stools arranged around the central fire – a fire which held only a black iron cauldron in which something thick and brown, and smelling strongly of garlic and onions, bubbled – and took a seat himself. "Sit, Hunter, and I will tell you what you must know."

Accepting the invitation, D settled himself gracefully, his long cape rustling as he absently brushed it back from his sword arm. He disliked leaving his back open to the night, but his preternatural senses were keen and his sword was at hand. He would simply have to trust Left Hand to watch his back. "When was the first victim taken?"

The Sojourner looked at him sharply, as if the question surprised him. "You mean before the mayor's son?"

D nodded. "One of your tribe was the first."

"Yes, that is so." The man paused to gather his thoughts, absently rubbing the back of one hand across his mouth, then smoothing his moustache with the tips of his fingers. "Irina, my sister -- it was her youngest, and her only son. The boy was taken from his cradle. At first, no one knew what had happened. There were... accusations. Counter-accusations. It was..."

He pulled his gaze back from the memory and focused once more on D. "When the second child disappeared, we began to suspect... But we did not know the true nature of the monster, until three nights ago."

When it seemed the man would not continue, D prompted softly, "Tell me."

Looking far older than he had when the conversation started, the Sojourner clasped his big, rough hands between his bent knees and stared at the ground. In a voice barely audible, he said"Irina had two daughters, twins. Beautiful girls. One of them... was taken by the vampire. The other victims had all been small children, babies. Svetlana was thirteen. We weren't certain."

He drew in a shuddering breath, let it out in a rush. "Until she came back."