12 Downtown
She was done with Adam Trajan.
After Honi and Pappi had harangued her for two days, she tried to call him. Not to apologize but to offer a chance to air things out. The call rang several times and went to voicemail. Graciously, she waited an hour and tried again. Two rings and voicemail. He had to be sending her to voicemail.
There was a bit to unpack but it all boiled down to the fact that Adam had to work for someone. Yes, He could have just used his father’s money to make a whole lot of connections but he didn’t play that way. He watched. He observed. He had to report.
Ophelia was almost certain that he reported to Abigail.
What did that mean, though? Ophilia knew that Abigail was a power and a threat but she hadn’t nailed down the why or how. Getting close to Eddie was supposed to get answers and then her feelings had muddled that situation up and now she was terrified that something would happen to Eddie because of her investigation.
And then came Adam. Smooth and connected. With all the answers.
Did Abigail know what he was doing? Did she know how much he had helped? How much agency did Adam have or did he have the same sort of mind-fuck brainwashing that the wolves had?
Mr. Leeds and Pappi perceived Abigail as a threat. Of course they refused to divulge the details, only that the presence of Pappi, Mahin and Monsieur Portier would cloak Mr. Leeds and hide him from Abigail. There were details there that she was not privy to but pulling details out of any of those . . . people was impossible. Abigail did not consider Pappi, et al a threat. Ophelia even suspected that Abigail had something to do with how her little terrible trio had become trapped in aging bodies. But Abigail considered Mr. Leeds a concern. At least, according to Mr. Leeds and the terrible trio. They all agreed that the current situation would keep Abigail at bay.
Adam had put that together quickly. His reaction to Mr. Leeds had been extreme and at the time, she thought she was witnessing a mental breakdown. Yet even in the middle of all that his brain had twisted on a puzzle and he had the answer and a part of her seriously admired that level of intellect.
He had to report to Abigail but he wasn’t reporting. After his meltdown, she waited anxiously for an attack, an all out assault on the Asylum by the wolves or a sniper shot from his team. A day passed. She patrolled the grounds and changed up her routine. Another day passed. Honi and Pappi had insisted that she call and make things right and she had to admit that an attack seemed unlikely.
Was he reporting or not?
Then she called and got sent to voicemail. She hated that. More than anything.
So this was her, done. Adam Trajan could have Abigail and anything else that was not the Asylum. If she wanted Mr. Leeds or the Asylum, they could attack blind and she would give them a war that might surprise them.
Besides, bleeders and eaters had sulked back into Perdition Falls. Frank hadn’t kept up his end of the deal. News reports popped into her feed describing some brutal attacks on the worse side of town. Then there was the “mauling” by a pack of “dogs” on the darker end of Northside.
Bleeders and eaters. Frank had promised he would keep them off the streets. But the interesting part? It probably wasn’t Frank. It was Adam’s friend. But Frank had turned Adam’s friend so as far as she was concerned, it was Frank’s fault.
Although, if she killed Frank and flushed the friend out and killed him, was she really done with Adam Trajan?
Maybe not.
Nonetheless, she couldn’t leave bleeders and eaters on the street or have some rouge vampire creating them. She was done with Adam Trajan but she was really done with vampires. They had to go.
She unpacked her rifle and took it to the range behind Big Billy’s Bass Shop just outside of town and zeroed the scope to eight hundred meters. Then she worked through a couple of boxes of ammo to practice, pausing in between to text Norman.
Find Frank.
By the time she finished the second box, she had an answer.
Tomorrow night. Party on the Patio.
Perfect. Ophilia assumed she would have to hit him on the street. The roof of his favorite club would be so much better. She needed a roost on top of a building about eight hundred meters from the club and she would have him with less mess and fuss than an open street assasination.
A quick online viewing of satellite maps and she had her roost. Frank’s favorite club was the Brass Lantern, a four story structure in the heart of downtown. It was in one of the older buildings if not the oldest and it loosely embraced it’s Victorian heritage with steampunk aesthetic draped in neon. Fine dining on the first floor with an old oak and red velvet laced lounge on the second, a club on the third floor and an event room on the fourth floor with access to the rooftop patio. Supposedly, there was a speakeasy style bar in the basement with blackjack tables, slot machines and roulette wheels and Ophelia wouldn’t doubt it with Frank’s connections to old Vegas. She knew for a fact that Frank loved the restaurant and often reserved the fourth floor for special occasions and meetings.
She spotted a potential roost about eight hundred meters away on the top of a six story building that would have a clear view of the patio. Roof access was provided by an old school fire escape on the north side of the building that led to the alley that was open on both ends. No dead ends. It looked very promising on her phone.
Ophelia packed up the rifle and stopped by the shop to replenish her ammo. Big Billy himself pulled two boxes of ammo from the shelf. He looked every bit like the type of man that would own a military surplus and gun store with a long distance range behind it.
“No discounts on ammo,” he grumbled as he punched the sale into an older register.
“I know that, Billy,” Opheliah said as she dug for cash. “Any luck finding a solution to my neighbor problem? I really hate disturbing anyone in the middle of the night.”
“I think I’ve got a lead but I'm waiting for him to come by to talk about it,” Billy said with a pointed glance. “No need discussing such things through the interwebs.”
“Understood,” Ophelia said, nodding as she counted out cash. She had asked Billy to find her a silencer for her pistol. Not super illegal and available if you registered with the state but she could not jump through the legal hoops even if Adam Trajan had made her a real person.
“You realize it’s probably cheaper just to go through the proper channels,” Billy said.
“Yeah but then you don’t get a cut,”
Billy nodded as he counted the cash into the drawer. “Appreciate that,” he said.
Ophilia drove through downtown on her way home, zigzagging through the streets around the six story building that would be her perch. Everything matched the online map. She could stash the rifle behind the trash bins and then put the bike in one of the paid parking lots a block or two away and walk back. Potential glitch was having to sprint back to the bike afterwards. Or maybe she could stash the rifle again and catch a taxi. There were also two access points to the sewer but that was an absolute last resort.
She had options though.
The next day, she cleaned. Her room first and then the kitchen. Nervous energy radiated from her center and she couldn’t sit still. She checked the maps again and then cleaned the rifle and checked the scope. The rifle was an older model, about three or four wars old, bolt action, chambered to a .308. The scope was much newer, one of her first purchases when she started getting real paychecks.
A doubt arose, though, that tamped down the nervous energy for a moment as she finished with the rifle and scope. Should she even bother with this? Was Frank really her problem any more? He was obviously a concern to Adam so maybe she should bow out.
They were eating people.
And Frank would turn someone into a vampire for a price. How many vampires had he created? How many of Frank’s spawn roamed the world? How many were eaters? Bleeders were bad enough but eaters were the true monsters feeding on the living with an animalistic compulsion they could hardly control.
No, Frank had to go along with Adam’s friend. No one had charged her with protecting Perdition Falls but she could protect Perdition Falls. She had the capability so as far as she was concerned, she had the responsibility.
She showered with scentless soap and then dressed in black jeans, black boots and a black, long sleeved tee. She packed a bright colored tee and a pair of sneakers that she could throw on in case she needed a quick change. As the sun was setting, she fired up the bike and rode into downtown. She circled the building, watching the traffic and then spun into the alley and dropped off the rifle behind the bins. She hung out for a moment as the street lights switched on. The alley remained dark. Foot traffic on the sidewalks appeared light.
Ophelia checked the time. Still early but she didn’t have a clue how early Frank would be. She fired up the bike and eased over to a parking garage. On the walk back, she texted Norman.
Cop check. I’m downtown.
One unit downtown. Closer to Northside.
Keep me updated?
Will do.
Norman made his own money but she really needed to put him on the payroll officially.
Back in the alley, she pulled the ladder to the fire escape down and waited for a reaction. She had the sense that the building was largely unoccupied, especially after hours but there was no sense in taking chances. But what little foot traffic passed the alley openings on either end were oblivious and all of the windows of the building were dark. Ophelia recovered the rifle case, slung in across her shoulders and climbed onto the fire escape.
On the roof, she walked to the west edge of the building. There were surrounding buildings that could look down on her but most of them were dark and the roof she was on lay in heavy shadow. This would work. She looked toward the Brass Lantern. The patio lay open and obvious even without the scope. This would work perfectly.
Sweeping a spot free of debris, she stretched out and eyed the patio. Then she unpacked the rifle and attached the bipod. She was up on a platform that appeared to be part of the air conditioning system which gave her direct line of sight but it did leave her exposed. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be long though.
Ophelia looked through the scope, adjusting her body until she lay as flat as she could with the butt of the rifle in her shoulder. She could see the patio clearly but it was shrouded in darkness. Shapes moved, obviously adjusting tables and chairs. Then the colored lights slowly came up, illuminating an opulent arrangement of a longer table surrounded by chairs and some liquor carts. On the table, a black silk cloth covered a suspiciously human shaped object.
So it was going to be that kind of party.
She made adjustments to the scope. The wind was light from the south. Very light. The air temperature was mild just after sunset but there might be some updraft from the residual heat from the pavement below. A dozen other factors rolled through her head as she made final tweaks to her dials. She had maybe three shots. Most likely just two. Then she would have to run.
The shape on the table wasn’t moving. But they had to be alive. Eaters needed the blood to be flowing in order to feed and they snipped and bit from less critical body parts to keep the victim alive as long as possible. A skilled eater could keep someone alive down to the bone.
There was no reason for an eater to live. But vampires in general just needed to be exterminated.
The glass doors on the patio opened and Adam’s friend walked in, his arms spread wide and a glorious smile on his face. He wore a blousey, maroon shirt and dark, tight pants. Henchmen flanked him, the same sort of thugs she had killed at the Blue Bronco. He walked to the table and lifted the silk. The figure underneath writhed. Adam’s friend looked back at the henchmen to his left, laughed and dropped the silk. He moved to the head of the table and dropped into the largest chair.
A conversation began. Or more like exposition. He made huge sweeping gestures as he spoke. The henchmen stood and listened, their eyes drifting to the shape on the table. Definitely eaters.
He was an interesting target. Adam had asked her to kill him the next time she saw him and she said that she would consider it. He made eaters, so he needed to die. Or die again. But did she want to do Adam and Abigail that favor?
She was here to kill Frank. And if she killed Adam’s friend and called it a night, she was actually doing Frank a favor. But if she killed Frank and the friend got away, the friend would be easy to find. He was verbose and grandiose and sloppy.
The glass doors opened and Frank walked in, dapper in a well fitted, light colored three piece suit. He had henchmen as well, similarly dressed, but they stayed on Frank’s flanks. He walked to the table, looked at the twisting form and then pointed to it with his hands. The friend stood up and dramatically ripped the silk away, exposing a girl in a school uniform tied to the table.
There was only one school in town that did uniforms. Saint Joan’s Academy. That was a risk. The girl was gagged and twisted against her ropes, struggling to take in her surroundings. She appeared older, probably on the verge of graduation. Her blouse looked stained and torn and her pleated skirt rode up almost to her waist, exposing black shorts. The friend walked around the table, gesturing dramatically at the gift.
But Frank seemed livid. Through scope, Ophelia could see his eyes go black. He was pissed. Frank opened his hand to one of his men and waited for a knife. Frank cut the girl free and pulled her off the table and put her behind him. The argument intensified as the various henchmen squared off.
New problem: If she killed Frank, the girl would die. Still she dropped the crosshairs on Frank’s head. It had to be a headshot. A vampire could easily survive anything else. If a fight broke out, Frank might run. So she would lose out on Frank but she could still possibly get the asshole.
As she drifted her aim to the new target, the glass doors slid open again. Everyone stopped and turned to the door. Ophelia looked up from the scope. Movement at the corner of the building, on the outside wall caught her attention. She dropped back to the scope and focused on the corner.
A werewolf in hybrid form clung to the corner of the building like a mutant ape. It seemed to sense the crosshair and twisted its head to look at her. One of its eyes was a white marble bisected by a streak of white fur.
Eddie.
What was going on?
She shifted back to the patio. Adam Trajan walked through the open glass doors. Frank held his hands up defensively and then pointed at the asshole. Adam said something. Calmly, of course. Frank replied by shoving the girl at Adam who smoothly whisked her from the situation and someone behind him pulled her through the doors and away. So he had one werewolf and someone else behind him. But what else? She did a quick sweep. Another werewolf on the roof in a crouch, ready to leap down. She could only imagine that Adam’s team was posted somewhere close as well. Then she spotted another wolf hanging just below the patio.
Three wolves, six vampires, Adam and his team. If this got violent, the chaos would be epic.
Her crosshairs went to Adam’s friend and then back to Frank. Adam was there. The girl was safe. The wolves were obviously with Adam. There was no way he expected a peaceful parlay.
So she could drop Frank.
Or she could do someone a favor. The crosshairs went back to the friend. How could that play out? The crosshairs drifted over to Adam.
How would that play out, Adam? Would you be grateful? Resentful? Would Abigail care?
Through the scope, she watched as Adam listened to each in turn, obviously in control. That offered an interesting opportunity. What if Adam wasn’t in control? What would happen if Abigail did not have Adam? Would it set her back? Would she leave them alone?
Ophelia blinked hard. It wasn’t even an option. Just a consideration in the midst of a tense situation. She was mad at him yes and, boy, did she have questions but she wanted him alive. The moment in the car, with the music and then the martini and then the dance and the kiss all rolled through her mind in a flash of feeling.
Her finger tightened on the trigger and she took long slow breaths to relax into her final shooting position. Adam turned to Frank, who was trying to step away from the argument. Frank was trying to leave. She slowly moved the crosshair back to Frank.
“Sister.”
Her finger twitched at the sound of Serita’s voice and the rifle fired. The glass door behind Adam and Frank exploded. Frank ducked and rolled. Adam immediately scanned for the source of the shot.
“Shit,” Ophelia hissed.
A voice echoed in the distance. “Contact, two hundred meters, my left. Suppressive fire.”
Automatic gunfire erupted from that direction. Bullets peppered down all around her as she rolled off her platform and took cover behind the parapet. Serita stood behind her, staring at the direction of the gunfire with a perplexed look on her face.
“Who is shooting at you?” she asked as more gunfire rained down. Ophelia lunged forward and grappled her into cover.
“What are you doing,” Serita said. “They are shooting at you, not me.”
“They are shooting at everything,” Ophelia breathed.
“That is inefficient.”
Ophelia risked a look over the parapet. Even at this distance she could see that the patio had devolved into a cloud of predicted chaos, with wolves and vampires tearing at each other along with some gunfire and general destruction. Then she saw the werewolf bounding across the rooftops towards her. Another spray of bullets forced her head down.
“Fuck,” she screamed. They had her pinned and a werewolf was on the way. She looked at the fire escape. Wide open and slow. She looked at the rooftop access door to the building. Heavy metal door with a deadbolt. If she pulled up the archanites, who were now amped up as it was, she could break through the door but it would take a minute.
No options. Pinned down. They were caught or dead.
“Serita,” she said, through clenched teeth. “You have to get us out of here.”
Serita looked at her, curled into the corner, with hooded eyes. “Promise to help me,” she said flatly.
Ophelia took another look. Adam stood at the edge of the patio, staring in her direction, oblivious to the storm of blood and fur behind him. The approaching werewolf landed on the building across the alley which was lower but that did not stop it. It leaped and Ophelia heard glass shatter beneath her. The wolf was in her building.
Bullets exploded a nearby brick, stinging the side of her face. She dropped down.
“What kind of help?”
Serita shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Promise me.”
The access door buckled but held. A muffled roar of rage echoed through the building below. One more hit and the werewolf would be through.
“Fine,” Ophelia said desperately. “I promise.”
Serita smiled and held up her pinkie. Ophelia swore and linked pinkies.
The door exploded and tumbled across the rooftop. A huge clawed hand gripped the tortured door frame. Yellow eyes glowed in the darkness above glistening white teeth.
“Hurry,” Ophelia whispered as the archanites reacted to the presence of a predator.
“Hold tight,” Serita said, transferring her pinkie promise into a full hand grip. Then she rolled into her and pulled them out of existence.
