A Guide to Vampire Hunting: ...and other failures (Alchemy Inc. Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  A Guide to Vampire Hunting

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  “The Proper Care and (Mis)Handling of Dangerous Magical Artifacts”

  Soundtrack

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction, Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination are used fictitiously and are not construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright Janus Alexander 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotes to be placed in articles and reviews.

  Cover: Creative Paramita

  Editor: Brook Ellen West

  A Guide to Vampire Hunting

  …and other failures

  For Jacqui…

  “We’re all Mad here…”

  - Lewis Carroll

  i love you always

  Chapter 1

  Amelia sat down on the roof ledge idley wondering what makes a person jump, and swinging her legs back and forth. She scanned the darkened streets. In rhythmic thumps she tapped the heels of her scuffed steel toes against the brick. It felt like she had been sitting here for years. Years, in this very spot. Probably the brick below her was dented from her constant tattoo. A stone engraving of her guilt and sorrow dug in through the darkness of a decade.

  Amelia rolled her eyes at her thoughts, it hadn’t really been a decade, but it felt like it. Somehow she craved some sort of proof of her dedication to the cause, some sort of proof of her penance.

  Though Amelia felt like she’d been sitting there for years, it had really only been four. Not the long ten years her sister had spent on this perch, watching her enemy. The worn stone at this spot, recognition of her sister’s crouched steel toes anxiety, burnished the roof and made Amelia feel closer to her.

  Amelia looked out and was disappointed that it was a quiet night. Just like every night. She glanced up at the stars and huffed out her breath to watch it turn into a white puff of steam and rise into the air.

  She stood and shook her legs out to get the circulation flowing. Sticking her hands in her black leather Goodwill biker jacket’s pockets, Amelia brought out the scarred hunting knife Mona had favored. Mother had given it to Mona on her thirteenth birthday - the blade recognition that she was now a Dagda hunter.

  Amelia plucked the sharp blade out from its leather sheath and crouched into the first form of offense in blade combat. She moved through the motions of the forms in mimicry of those she’d seen her mother teach Mona. Mother’d never bothered with Amelia. Amelia was a dud. A witch without magic. As far as her mother was concerned she was a stain on the family’s bloodline.

  Amelia sped up her forms to try to match a basic practice, thrust, block, sweep, strike. But as she darted the knife toward her imaginary opponent, she stumbled and the knife went skittering away.

  “You’re dead.” Amelia sighed bitterly in mimicry of what her mother would have barked if she’d made such a mistake in front of her. “A hunter who loses their blade may as well be a corpse.” She mocked in mother’s condescending tone. Amelia walked over to where Mona’s dagger lay and stuffed it back in her jacket.

  She sat back down and hunkered into her coat, settling in for another long night of failure. More shadow chasing in the bad part of town. Amelia huddled into the warmth of her jacket’s stiff oversized body. The scent of the old leather tickled her nose and created a warm cocoon for her to hide in. She’d just peek her eyes out the top of the collar, and get the rest of her body warm. Taking deep breaths Amelia puffed in the captured body heat inside her coat. In, out, in, out…

  *

  Kristoff Kuryankin watched the Dagda hunter as her head bobbed repeatedly and finally fell, the sound of her heart beat slowing to a resting pace. He had only planned on looking over the famous gargoyle-witch of Nikolais’s neighborhood briefly, but after the humorous attempt at hunter’s forms, he had to admit he was curious. What kind of Dagda fell on her ass while doing a simple thrust? The girl was harmless to her prey, but she would probably hurt herself if allowed to continue her vendetta.

  Kolya had told him about the little Dagda runt, with an almost fond voice. She’d staked out a dangerous vampire territory so faithfully for so many years - even the vampires she hunted found her amusing. She really should have stuck with her art Kristoff mused, she was very talented from what he’d seen of her college portfolio. He realized digging into her life like that was a bit stalker-like - but one always should be prepared when faced with a new element.

  Shaking himself from his flight of fancy, Kristoff straightened himself out. He wasn’t actually there to entertain himself at the poor thing’s expense - he needed to know what she knew about the murder. And what she knew about what was going on with the Italian clan.

  Kristoff nodded to himself and put on his favorite hat, then strutted out into the night -wondering how long it would take his prey to notice him.

  *

  Amelia woke with a start. Embarrassed, she realized she had fallen asleep on the hunt again, and was disgusted. Amelia glanced across the street at Nikolias’s building, and watched for a moment. Wherever Nikolias was hunting, it wasn’t near his den.

  Digging in her back pocket, Amelia flipped out her favorite zippo and began to flick it off and on pensively. But all that did was give a soft ticking noise to her wait, echoing off of empty brick walls like a metronome. With a growl, Amelia felt around in her coat and pulled out her dying pack of Lucky Strikes and shook out a battered cigarette. She really was trying to quit. Putting it to her lips Amelia lit it and puffed, across the way a light went on in someone’s bedroom and almost immediately turned back off.

  How had Mona really done this every night for ten years? Sitting here all night waiting for the action to find you. It was well known that this neighborhood was infested with vampires - so where were they?

  At home laughing their ass off at her casing dark alleys all night in the shivering cold. Amelia allowed herself a moment of wistful recollection. Four years ago she’d be out with her other friends from studio class and her boyfriend. They’d be getting drunk at a cheap dive bar on rail tequila - only to go to an equally cheap dance club afterward.

  But once Amelia took on the responsibility for avenging Mona’s death, she’d been too busy to pay attention to friends - or relationships. After only three months of coming in at sunrise and sleeping through classes - her boyfriend informed her she was ‘a drag’ and ‘going down the drain as an artist.’ He predicted that
if she ‘didn’t get over her little obsession’ she’d eventually be forced to drop out of school. He’d been right, a few weeks later she’d been expelled and she hadn’t done a piece since. Now, she was dedicated to one cause and one only - and until she had fulfilled her crusade she’d continue as she’d begun.

  Amelia snorted. Look where that had gotten her. The only daughter of the Dagda clan without any real knowledge of hunting, hunting nothing, night after night. Amelia flipped her cigarette butt at the window box of the apartment across from her, a game she had developed over her many nights.

  Unfortunately, this butt went awry and fell to the street below. Which would have been fine if she hadn’t heard a very masculine roar follow the descent.

  Amelia bent over precariously at the waist and watched as a man muttered and cursed, knocking sparks off of his hat. Then, unfortunately, he looked up.

  “Uh, I’m sorry about that!” Amelia cringed and called down. The stranger didn’t seem to give a shit about her apology, glaring up at her.

  “What the HELL are you doing up there flicking cigarettes at passing strangers?!” He snarled. Amelia paled. Shit.

  “That is...” She sputtered scrambling for a reasonable response.

  The man’s eyes seemed to glitter angrily up at her from the three stories below.

  Amelia was speechless, she couldn’t think of some clever excuse like her sister would - her sister would probably have melted into the shadows and escaped.

  Then, momentarily, she felt stupid. Normal people didn’t sit on rooftops hunting vampires all night. Normal people would either be drunk or on their way there - or at least in bed. “...I needed air.”

  The man below, whom she could barely see, radiated scorn and disbelief. “Well, I needed my hat.”

  “Ummmm.” Boy was she on point tonight. Standing she decided to come down and face him. She hopped over to the fire escape. Amelia carefully let the ladder down and slid along it like a fireman’s pole, dropping into a messy crouch at the bottom.

  Amelia straightened out and went to linger in the mouth of the alley. “Can I buy you a new one?” She cringed. Maybe she could use the grocery stash for this week - she didn’t really need to eat anyway.

  Mona was definitely rolling in her grave right now.

  The man, who had looked so frightening from above was worse down below. Too tall, too good looking, too…alpha. His lips were pressed so tight they were white lines marring what could have been sensuous curves, eyes black as pitch narrowed - and he gripped the brim of his hat so tightly his knuckles stood out…

  Shit…

  The man stalked to where Amelia stood with her hands tucked behind her in her back pockets, chewing her lip nervously. For a moment he just towered over her, then knocking the hat against his thigh impatiently, he said “Allright. Do you have four hundred dollars on you?”

  Amelia’s jaw dropped. Four hundred? In this neighborhood? Was he a drug dealer to be waltzing around in a 400 dollar hat - or just a grifter? Snatching the hat, Amelia sneered. “THIS is not a four hundred dollar hat, this is…” She turned the hat over to read the name of the manufacturer. “A Gucci!….…” Amelia looked back at the hat then at the man who raised an eyebrow. She shoved the hat violently back at him. “It’s a knock off.”

  He raised an eyebrow to the hairline of his longish layered ink black hair. “This is your version of being sorry?”

  “It’s fine. There’s not even a hole.”

  The arrogant man turned the dove grey wool over to show her a burned spot next to the band.

  “Four hundred you say?” She ground out. He cocked his perfectly groomed head challengingly and nodded.

  Amelia stuffed her hands into her inner jacket pocket and produced a wad of ones and fives. Yup, there went her ramen budget. Amelia shoved them at him. He looked unimpressed. “Look,” snapped Amelia. “It’s fifty dollars. All I have right now. I’ll give you the rest when I can.”

  Hesitantly, as if worried the money had been soiled by her sweaty palms he took the sloppy wad and eyed it. “Fifty dollars in ones and fives? Dare I ask what you do for a living?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business. But I am NOT a stripper.”

  His eyebrow raised. Fucker. Couldn’t he just talk instead of making derogatory eye expressions? “I’m a barista.” He looked confused. Of course with the money to own a Gucci hat he probably had no idea that the person who served him his triple shot skinny hazelnut latte with extra foam had a job title. “You know.” She gritted out, “I make coffee.”

  “Oh. Of course! I apologize if I was insulting. But a young lady out on the streets at night with such odd currency seemed …Well, at any rate, I apologize.”

  “Then you’ll forgive the other three hundred and fifty?” She challenged. “For trying to ‘sully my spotless reputation’?”

  “I think not. Besides,” he smirked disdainfully, and looked her up and down, pointedly taking in the rip-kneed jeans, steel toe boots with steel showing in moons on the toes, ratty Stabbing Westward tee, and old motorcycle jacket. “Your reputation is still questionable, especially are your apologies. No, I will visit your place of work tomorrow for the rest of the money.”

  Amelia screwed up her face in disgust. She hated condescension, and she hated being told what to do, and she REALLY hated those traits in men. Especially hot ones. “There are thousands of coffee shops in New York. How will you find me?”

  “To maintain that spotless reputation of yours - you’ll be telling me. Correct?”

  Amelia wondered what Mona would have done in this situation. Then sighed. “Kathy’s Koffee. In Brooklyn.”

  “And your name?”

  Without thinking Amelia glared and out came. “Wha’dda you care?” Cliche. She winced painfully inside. The tilt of his eyes seemed to agree. “Amelia Dagda.” She finished weakly. For a moment what looked like amusement flashed in the man’s eyes, only to be replaced with detached blank. “And your name?”

  He seemed to consider if he wanted to be touching her, then finally reached out a hand. “Kristoff Kuryakin. At your service.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “Nice to meet ya Kris.”

  “Kristoff.”

  Amelia mimicked his eyebrow gesture from before mockingly and ignored his proffered hand. “Touchy.”

  Kristoff straightened and eyed Amelia. “Well then, I will see you tomorrow. When do you work?”

  “Five thirty.”

  He glanced at a Breitling watch. “In precisely four and a half hours? Then why are you out?”

  “Because I’m talking to your sarcastic ass.”

  “Temper Amelia.”

  “Oh God,” Amelia groaned, “Can I just leave now? I have a metro to catch and I want a shower.”

  Glancing at his watch again, Kristoff frowned. “I suppose you must, musn’t you. I will see you on the morrow.” With a turn, he dismissed her, stuffing his hat deeply into the pocket of a very nice camel colored wool trench - and strutted off.

  As soon as she thought he was out of ear shot, Amelia straightened up in a mockery of his stance. “I suppose you must, musn’t you?…” She sneered in a replication of his snotty aristocratic tone. “Tem-per A-melia…” And with that, she stalked off to the metro.

  *

  Kristoff stepped off into the darkness of an alley nearby and watched his prey, smirking at her impression of him. She was the oddest Dagda he’d ever met.

  Chapter 2

  Amelia banged into her small two bedroom apartment and was greeted by a yowl. “Oh! Sparrow I didn’t mean….” Amelia dropped to her knees on the mud-colored threadbare carpet and petted the huge Maine Coon cat currently complaining at her feet. “Come on bub, let’s go see what Jack is doing.” Amelia hefted the grey poof into her arms flipped the sole deadbolt on the pressboard door. Amelia walked toward a sliver of blue light coming from beneath the door in front of her. The door had a pirate flag and a zombie response team sticker on it and creaked when Amelia pu
shed it forward. As soon as the door opened the man in the far corner surrounded by computer screens looked up. “Luv, isn’t it past your bedtime?” The tall British goth inside snickered.

  Amelia let the cat jump from her arms and waltz over to hop onto his master’s lap. “I was busy.” Jack took a pull on a Monster energy drink and then tossed the empty bottle into the opposite corner of the room. “God! Jack! Don’t be such a slob!” Amelia walked over to the corner which was littered with barb-q potato chip bags (crisps he called them crisps! Bullshit limey…) and empty cans of Monster and Mountain dew. She bent over and began picking them up with a sigh. “I bought you a perfectly useable trashcan,” Amelia snarked, pointing to the empty bin across the room.

  “But then you wouldn’t need to come in here and bother me as often.” Amelia rolled her eyes.

  Jack, from what Amelia could tell, was a technomage with a job in ‘corporate security’ that kept him moving around the globe. In exchange for paying nothing but electricity and water, Amelia took care of his cat Sparrow and acted as live-in maid when he was there. The apartment wasn’t much, rather crappy actually, but the location - close to her shop on the outskirts of downtown - made the flop house pricey as hell.

  Amelia knew Jack could afford to replace the sagging plaid couch, buy un-chipped ceramic cups and paint the yellowing walls - he just chose not to. She might not have been stupid enough as to ask he what he did but he usually had “toys” worth millions lying broken on the floor. The one time she’d suggested cleaning his office up Jack had shrugged, ‘an artistic life is best led in squalor’…or some sort of nonsense like that. ‘Besides, what do I need with cups? I just use bottles’ he toasted her with some expensive craft beer dismissing her and going back to the holographic display on his desktop.

  “You’re a mite testy this evening.” Jack said over his shoulder as he returned to some sort of schematics he was manipulating in projected three-d form. “Finally caught yourself a fanger?”