Chapter Thirty-One – Sam

 

 

The smell of soil filled my nose as I descended back into the basement, with its crates and crates of foreign dirt shipped here nearly two centuries before.

A dozen or so man-sized boxes filled the cramped, dimly lit quarters, their lids pried off so their drying soil could be open to the air. Laid out like beds in a bunkhouse or barracks, it was like he wanted to have options for places to sleep. Back off in the far corner, a pile of diaphanous cloth billowed in the draft from the hole in the ceiling that I’d come down through, lighter than air with its wispy nature.

Damn, it was stupid to be down here, trying to cut off his places to rejuvenate himself. But what else could I do? Humans were dying, and I knew this Tanchovsky was responsible.

I left the cans of gasoline sitting at the base of the ladder and, open sack of rock salt in hand, nearly ran over to the first open crate. Working as fast as I could, I poured maybe a pound’s worth of rock salt into the opening and began to mix it with the soil. The idea was to make the soil uninhabitable. Creatures like the upier were vulnerable to something as simple as the salt. He’d be in for one hell of a nasty surprise when he crawled into the crate for his little dirt nap. And, try as he might, he’d never get it out.

When the first was thoroughly mixed, I moved onto the next, moving as quickly as I could. Workman-like, mechanical. This wasn’t the first lair I’d deprived a vampire of, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about what kind of dangerous game I was playing at by being down here in the upier’s hideaway. Or how damned stupid I was to be down in this hole in the dirt, with just my pistol and one magazine of nine silvered rounds. Instead, my thoughts stayed focused on Faith, and her boss upstairs. I hadn’t wanted to let her go out there alone, even though it was just the medical examiner outside. But what else could I do?

She wasn’t my woman, after all. And, even if she were, that wasn’t my kind of move. I’d rather have an independent partner than one who looked to me for guidance or direction. Advice? Sure. But one who needed to ask me permission to do something? Hell, no.

Besides, even if I could still remember the way her mouth had felt on mine or how her hands had felt against my chest, she wasn’t my partner in any shape, form, or fashion. Not yet.

Damn, had I really just thought that?

As I’d been thinking about Faith, and her ballsy move to come along with me, I’d gradually worked my way down one line of soil crates and moved on to the next. I smiled despite the gravity of the situation, beginning to mix the salt and soil together in the box in front of me. Seven down. Only five more to go.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the fabric piled in the corner billowing lightly, catching another waft of air from the hole in the ceiling. As it waved in the breeze, though, I realized what exactly it was.

It wasn’t fabric.

It wasn’t fabric at all.

No, that pile of cloth was Tanchovsky’s leftover skins. The remains of the ones he’d sloughed off his body, just like a snake outgrowing his old skin. Thin, translucent skins that were dry and crisped-looking, with all the aspects of the facial features, like some deranged funhouse mirror where your image was fashioned from flesh.

My lips curled back in disgust, and I spat to the side. I may have been a supernatural creature, but at least I wasn’t like this thing. This monster. Stealing skins from the living so I could wear them as my own, to cover up my own disgusting, rotting nature.

Newly energized by the sight, I turned back to the crates and began to pour the salt. I had well over half a bag left, which would be more than plenty for the remaining casks.

Scowling, I mixed what was left of the salt with the last crate’s soil, imagining what the creature’s face would look like when he discovered what I’d done. Maybe he’d be as surprised as his latest victim. Or as shocked and horrified, violated-feeling, as Faith had been when she realized she’d been put under the spell of this place. Forced to obsess about the upier, to nearly lust after him.

My lips curled back in a sneer as I shook out the last of the little crystalline pellets into the soil, just for good measure, and began to stir it all together into a surprise mix. “Fuck him,” I grumbled. “For trying to trap us here, for murdering all the people he’s ever murdered. And, most of all, fuck him for stealing all those poor skins. Don’t care if they’re just from animals, either.”

I slapped my hands together, dusting off the mixture of salt and dirt over the crate, and went back over to where I’d left the gasoline canisters at the base of the ladder. I lugged the first one over and began to splash the petrol over the line of crates, liberally spreading the gallon of gasoline over everything.

Like I’d said upstairs, fire cleansed everything. And, even if it didn’t make the soil completely unusable, I still wanted this house gone. This blight on the land.

Done, I went and retrieved the second can of gas, performing the same firebug ritual on the right side. When I was finished, I still hadn’t heard or seen any sign of Faith. Hopefully, she wasn’t having any problems with her boss. Getting him out of here was probably more difficult than she’d imagined it would be.

But what else could we do? I couldn’t just go out there and beat the old codger, or something. He was just as innocent of a bystander as anyone else.

Right?

Done with the second can of gas, I fished around in my pocket for the pink Zippo I’d grabbed from the trunk of the Camaro. I’d used a disposable for a while, but they could be a real pain in the ass when there was even the slightest amount of wind. them.

Why pink?

Because no one wants his hunting tools stolen.

This was it. One little strike of the wheel, and we’d be off to the races. A couple hours after that, and all that would be left of this place were urban legends and evil memories.

I struck the wheel, producing a spurt of sparks. Before I could do it again, though, a voice broke through the creaking silence of the old house, stopping me in my tracks.

“I wouldn’t do that, were I you,” said a deep, cultured voice from beside me, back towards the ladder. “Not if you know what’s good for you, shifter. Or your little woman outside.”

“Mr. Tanchovsky, I presume?” I asked, my thumb still on the striking wheel. “Or is it Ironside?”

“Does it matter?”

“Suppose not,” I said, striking the wheel anyways, sending the flame spurting to life as I held it over the open top of the crate in front of me. I turned to face him. “Suppose not.”

He stood there near the ladder, the shadows seeming to stretch out and embrace him with their ebony darkness, wrapping around his suit like a lover. Taller than I’d imagined from the pictures of him, his eyes seemed to burn red, lighting his face as he practically leered down at me.

I waved the lighter over the crate of soil, trying to be as threatening as I could.

He didn’t react. Instead, he seemed to eye me closely, to take my measure as a man. To see if I would carry through on the threat.

I needed him to think I was a wild card, capable of anything. When you know how a man is going to react, it’s just one step over to knowing how to manipulate them. I slipped my other hand behind my back, wrapping my fingers around my sidearm’s grip. Its steely weight was almost a comfort as I continued to lock eyes with the monster in front of me, gesturing again with the lighter as it continued to flame.

“So what are you doing here?” Tanchovsky asked after a moment.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not particularly. You’ve descended to my town, stirred things up while I’ve been trying to deal with a delicate matter. Forced me to come here, reveal myself. What am I to you? Just an obstacle for more territory? Is that why you’re here, attempting to burn me out of house and home?”

I smiled a little, giving him a flash of gritted teeth. Shifters and vampires didn’t exactly have the best rapport, and sometimes overlapped when it came to hunting grounds. Rogue shifters had been known to brush abrasively against vampires and other creatures of the night. Most of the time, those little conflicts turned into blood baths.

“I’m here to wipe you off the face of the earth,” I replied, jaw still tightly clenched. “Figured that’s enough explanation on its own, monster.”

He stood as still as a statue made of flesh. “Monster?” he asked. “Monster? I haven’t been called one of those in years. I haven’t slain a man or woman in nearly a century, not since I opened the slaughterhouse. Monster? Is that what you truly think of me?”

I sneered, my lips pulling back from my teeth as I narrowed my eyes at him. “Not a monster?” I asked. “People missing, strings of dead animals, their skin missing? Ring any bells?”

His eyes, as red as coals, narrowed tightly till they were just pinpricks of burning light as they peered out at me from the seemingly impenetrable darkness. This time, he did shift his weight. “Accidents,” he replied. “Merely oversights. It shouldn’t have happened, but it’s under control now. How does that make me a monster?”

The lit Zippo in my hand continued to sputter, growing hot around the flames as I held it out and away from me. “Killing humans is unforgivable, Tanchovsky. So I’m here to put you down.”

He smiled a little, but there was nothing about that expression that seemed lighthearted or happy. Just knowing. “If you do that,” he said slowly, “I’ll simply kill you. I’ll break your neck, your legs. Before you have a chance to regenerate the damage, I’ll have torn your heart from your chest.”

Hand still behind my back, I tightened my grip on my sidearm. “Think you can take me, then?”

“I think,” he said, “that I won’t have to worry about even fighting you. That you’re just going to give up willingly.”