Excerpt: Chasing Sunset (Redux)

The steps up to the top floor were caked with mire as Bina stepped, trudged, walked up every one of them. She led them at Ren's direction. She wouldn't have gone first otherwise, not for a million years, not this time. Ordinarily, she'd charge in, she'd destroy and bait and trap. But this time, something was Wrong.

She hesitated at the top of the stairs, staring down at the Hunters who had accompanied her, as if watching them, seeing them for the last time. Ren and River were busted beyond reason. It was up to her and Roxanne to take the brunt of this fight. She was ready. She just hoped to hell that Roxanne was, too.

Her hand rested on the doorknob, and she took a deep breath, filtering the Scent through her, trying to determine just where it was without having to go in. Something was Wrong, and she wouldn't be able to shake it for all the tea in China.

There was the flourescent green of Weisner's clan that floated through the air, permeated the building, but there was something else, something golden-sun yellow, that floated through, twisted around the air, coiling under the door. She stared at it, feeling she knew what it meant, but not able to clear her head far enough to gather her instincts and direct them appropriately.

There was a word from Ren, but she wasn't listening to him. She was listening to the Scent, feeling it out, trying to determine just how deeply it delved. She couldn't place it, though, no matter how much she looked at it, and time was wasting. She pushed the door open, followed closely by Roxanne, who was kitted out with her crossbow, and Ren, who was ready with his silver blade.

But two steps in, she stopped, and she stared, as Gerald Weisner was there, on the ground, staring up in horror at the man who stood, unscathed, above him. Man? No. No, he was definitely of the undead. He was the source of this golden yellow Scent. And he was Old. And he was killing Weisner a second time over.

He drove wood into Weisner's heart, and the thing exploded into ashes, fine as a seaside mist, and dolphins pushed through her head for whatever reason at all, and he turned to look right at her, and he smiled, and she staggered back a step, tears in her eyes, weeping, horrified all anew.

"Sabine," he said, his voice like spun silk, gentle and delicate. He wore the frock coat of the Victorian era in which he'd been turned, the jackboots, the long ruffled sleeves. He looked like a girled up version of Brandon, his gold-blonde hair like sunbeams in the flourescent lighting, tied back at the base of his neck in a short ponytail. "Herman's been looking for you," he said.

That was all that needed to be said before Roxanne fired off a shot at its chest. The bolt sang true, then bounced off its chest as though it were a brick wall. It turned an ironic smile to her, raising his eyebrows, then split a smirk that showed his teeth, elongated and bone-white.

"You're supposed to be dead," Bina breathed.

"But I am dead, Sabine," the vampire answered, smirking all the more broadly. "And in this new life, all the stronger still. You know that. You know. Herman must be pissed to see you shacking up with hunters. You always were his favorite slut. He'll be vastly disappointed."

Bina's eyes narrowed. River leaned over. "Beans, who is this joker?" he wanted to know.

"But of course. She wouldn't tell you, would she?" He smirked all the more. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Tiberius Pennysmith, at your humble service." He took a bow, exposing the crown of his head, and Roxanne practiced having no patience at all and took another shot at him.

The bolt actually twisted in its straight and narrow arc and drove sideways to a wall, where it embedded itself sharply.

"My duties here are finished, of course," he said eying the dusty remains of Weisner. "We were not supposed to meet, and so it will do me well to neglect to tell Herman about this... interesting development. It shows his cards quite transparently, and if you don't mind my saying--"

Another shot from Roxanne interrupted his sentance, this one dropping like a swatted fly from the air.

"Stop that," he sighed. "You'll annoy me. You do not want to annoy me."

"Yeah?" Ren cracked in. "Do you grow six feet taller and turn green?"

Pennysmith heaved a sigh and levelled his gaze at Ren, who met it, match for match. "Listen, you tiny brown man," he said aristocratically, "You are not worth my time. Move, or I will make you move."

Ren cracked a grin, his face splitting and rippling along the lines of his ancient scars, some from childhood, some from Hunting, some from something altogether different, suddenly a feral monster in his own right. "That's what we're here for," he seethed.

Pennysmith raised his eyebrows, then laughed openly at that.

River, from behind her, spoke up then. "Hey, fangface," he said, and Pennysmith turned, just as River lobbed a flashbang towards him. "Catch."