Chapter 7
The Van Helsing Institute was headquartered in a rambling Georgian estate set on seventeen acres in the horse country of Connecticut. For the last eighteen and a half years it had been Peter Van Helsing's home and school. In time, he would no doubt take over the reins of the company, following in the footsteps of his ancestors. Or so he thought until he crossed Cally's path.
Peter moved gingerly across the room to the huge mahogany desk in front of the fi replace. If he walked too fast, his newly cracked rib made it feel like someone was jabbing him in the side with a spear. He was glad his father wasn't around, because he still wasn't sure what he was going to tell him about what happened. Peter glanced up at the portrait of his great-greatgreat-grandfather hanging over the mantelpiece. Dressed in a dark cravat worn with a wide turnover collar that was fashionable in the 1830s, the infamous Pieter Van Helsing seemed to regard his most recent descendant with a disapproving stare.
A twinge of guilt almost as sharp as the pain in his ribs caused Peter to look away. He dropped his eyes to the sea of folders fi lled with printouts, reports, photographs, and newspaper clippings that covered the desktop. Even though much of what was in the aging manila binders had long since been digitized and transferred into the Institute's computer system, his father was an old-fashioned man and preferred having the actual documentation close at hand.
As Peter moved closer, he heard the sound of chains rattling. The gargoyle lifted its head from the rug by the fi replace with a growl so deep Peter felt it more than heard it. About the size and general build of a bull mastiff, the creature had leathery, grayish-green skin and batlike wings growing from its shoulders. It sniffed the air, and the rumbling growl disappeared, replaced by a friendly whine of recognition.
"Do you want a treat, Talus?"
The gargoyle's hairless, lizardlike tail began to slap against the rug in anticipation as Peter fl ipped open the lid of an old wooden cigar box. He plucked one of the dead mice from inside by its tail and tossed it to the drooling beast. Talus snapped the morsel out of midair, then looked back expectantly at Peter.
"One's enough." Peter laughed, wagging a fi nger in admonishment. "I don't want Dad blaming me for ruining your supper!"
As if on cue, the doors to the offi ce opened and Christopher Van Helsing, president and CEO of the Van Helsing Institute, the world's oldest secular supernatural extermination service, entered the room. With his shock of wavy gray hair and the intense, deeply preoccupied look he always seemed to wear, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Beethoven.
"Peter!" Van Helsing said, hurrying forward to greet his wounded son. "My brave boy! How are your ribs?"
"Not too bad, I guess," Peter said, wincing at his father's embrace. "The doctors at the emergency room said I cracked one pretty good, but nothing's actually broken. I'm going to the infi rmary in a bit to have Doc Willoughby tape me up. I'm just waiting for him to fi nish taking care of Big Ike and Drummer."
"I'm glad to hear you're okay. In any case, it's a good thing we Van Helsings heal pretty fast, eh, son?" his father said.
"Yes, sir," Peter agreed.
"Are you up to talking about what happened in the subway?"
"I guess so, sir." Peter shrugged.
"Is something the matter?" Van Helsing frowned, surprised by Peter's lack of enthusiasm. "The last time I saw you, you were all pumped up about going solo for the fi rst time."
"It's just that you were counting on me, and I feel like I let you down, sir."
"It's not just your fault the mission failed, son," his father replied. "The whole thing was a cock-up."
"Yes, sir," Peter murmured, his eyes dropping to the fl oor.
"Speaking of which . . ." Van Helsing strode over to his desk and punched the intercom. "Tell Remy I want to see him in my offi ce. Stat."
"Yes, sir," a female voice replied. "He's on his way."
As Peter's father moved to sit down, Talus perked up.
"Who's happy to see Daddy?" Van Helsing asked as he scratched behind the beast's batlike ears. "Yes, it's you, Talus! You're happy to see Daddy, aren't you?"
"I just gave him a treat," Peter warned his father.
"Don't let him trick you into thinking he's starving."
"I'm a sucker when it comes to this beast, and he knows it," Van Helsing said with an uncharacteristic chuckle. "It's hard not to get attached when you hatch them yourself."
There was a light knock as Remy stuck his head inside the offi ce door. "You wanted to see me, boss?"
Van Helsing nodded and motioned for the other man to enter. His smile was gone, replaced by a scowl.
"Indeed I do, Remy. I sent you and the others out on what should have been a relatively simple ambush - of a young girl, no less. I would like you to tell me how it is my best fi eld operative is in critical condition after being electrocuted, my strike team leader has a dislocated shoulder, and my son is covered in rat bites and suffering from a busted rib."
Remy swallowed so hard his Adam's apple nearly disappeared. "Boss, I can explain what happened! We had things under control, but before we could move to take down the target, a group of oldies showed up. . . ."
Van Helsing raised an eyebrow. "Adults or fl edglings?"
"Fledglings, as far as any of us could tell. They seemed about the same age as the stormgatherer. There were at least three suckers. A male and two females."
"Slummers, no doubt." Van Helsing shook his head in disgust.
"One of the females mixed it up with the target. That's what triggered everything. Next thing we know, we're in the middle of a whirlwind. Big Ike made the call to take out the Old Bloods before they could gang up on the stormgatherer."
"Did he succeed?"
Remy nodded. "He managed to stake one of the females. The trophy's being cleaned and prepared as we speak. After that, things went haywire. The storm gatherer ended up attacking Ike. Then the male stepped in - or fl ew in, rather. We wounded him, but not before he tried to yank Drummer's arm off."
"What about the second female?"
"She managed to escape. Like I said, boss, we had everything under control until the Old Bloods showed up."
"I see," Van Helsing said. "What about you, Peter?
Was the sucker who attacked you in the subway the same one Drummer reported seeing in the park?
Was she the stormgatherer?"
"I'm not sure," Peter said, shifting uneasily. "It all happened so fast. I barely had a chance to look at her before the rat jumped me."
"Did you see which train she was taking? Was she on the uptown or downtown platform?"
"Uptown," Peter said quickly. "She was defi nitely headed uptown."
"Very interesting," Van Helsing said, jotting down a note.
"Are you sure this girl is the one you've been looking for?" Peter asked as he watched his father take in the misinformation. Why had he lied? Peter didn't like the feeling, yet he felt compelled to do it for Cally.
"Son, I've never been surer of anything in my life. Remy, do you have any undercover agents working outside of Manhattan?"
"I've got operatives keeping tabs on this club in Williamsburg the stormgatherer was spotted at a few weeks back."
"Good. Have them reassigned to Midtown and the Upper East Side. If the grandmother is no longer in the picture, odds are the girl's become close with the father. Since we know who he is, it'll be easier to keep him under surveillance. He'll eventually lead us to her."
"Yes, boss." Remy turned and hurried out of the offi ce.
Peter glanced over at his father, who was scowling at the fragments of information scattered across his desk. Christopher Van Helsing pushed the various pieces of paper around with his forefi nger, as if trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle. Peter knew all too well that his father could go for hours without speaking when he was in one of his moods.
"I better be going too, Dad."
"No. Stay and talk to me, boy," his father replied without looking up. "We're close. Very close. Your grandfather, rest his soul, taught me that the most valuable tool in a vampire hunter's arsenal is his intuition. And mine tells me that we're on the right track, son. I can feel it in my bones. The stormgatherer is the one we've been looking for.
"She's the right age. And I can assure you, from personal experience, that the old woman could throw bolts with the best of them. It only makes sense that her ability would be passed along to her granddaughter, if not amplifi ed.
"If this girl is who I think she is - if she is what I think she is - then she is the greatest weapon the Van Helsing Institute has had the opportunity to use against the vampire race since Pieter himself."
"But what if she isn't willing to help us? What happens then?"
"If she or her grandmother, assuming the old woman's still alive, proves hostile to our plans, they will have to be terminated."
Peter blinked in surprise. "But I thought the grandmother was an old friend of yours."
"That's true," Van Helsing said, a fl icker of regret crossing his face. "I've known Sina Monture since I was a boy. She joined the Elites back when your grandfather Leland was running things. She was one of the most powerful white witches ever to work for the Institute.
"Sina was married to Cyril Monture, your grandfather's best friend and my godfather. Neither one of them was what you'd call young, so we were all surprised when Sheila was born.
"They spoiled the baby rotten, and of course she grew up to be one of those kids attracted to everything their parents are against. She was fascinated with vampires. Spent all her time watching movies about them, reading books about them - eventually, she went out looking for them. She even managed to fi nd herself a vampire lover.
"Poor Cyril had a massive heart attack when he saw his daughter being carried away by that fi end. He died in my arms.
"Sina was never the same after that. Then, two years later, without any warning, she quit the Institute. We had all assumed Sheila had been turned into one of the undead, but it seems the sucker kept her as his mistress. When she became pregnant with his half-breed baby, she decided to reconcile with her mother.
"I realized the child's potential as a weapon immediately and contacted Sina. She threatened to use her powers against me if I ever came near her or her grandchild. I knew then that the woman I once knew had been irreversibly corrupted, as are all who traffi c with vampires and their spawn."
"But - termination? Is there no other way?" Peter asked, trying not to show his revulsion.
"Better that than to have the girl fall into the hands of our enemies."
* * *
Peter's head was swimming as he left his father's offi ce. As a young boy he had told the usual fi bs kids tell their parents. But what he had just done was far more serious than lying about stealing cookies or playing ball in the house. Up until this point in his life, all Peter had ever really wanted was to hunt down and destroy vampires, just like his father and his grandfather before him, going back fi ve generations. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had been so excited about carrying out his fi rst solo mission he'd barely been able to sleep. But now all he could think about was Cally.
He could still feel the weight and warmth of her body pressed against his own. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her face looking out at him from the window of the Brooklyn-bound train, smiling as she waved good-bye.
Peter was both thrilled and frightened by the strength of the emotions coursing through him. His father claimed that vampires were capable of corrupting even the purest heart, given enough exposure. But that couldn't possibly apply to her, could it? She wasn't like the others. The fact that he was alive proved it. He needed to see her again the way a tiger needs to quench its thirst. But how? He knew she was living in Brooklyn, but where exactly? Suddenly he remembered Remy mentioning a club in Williamsburg she'd been spotted at that was under surveillance. It shouldn't be diffi cult to fi nd out the name of the place - he just had to ask Remy for the information. After all, who would suspect the boss's son, of all people, of being in love with a vampire?