The Dark Edge of Night
an excerpt

Walter pocketed the keys to the storage lockers they rented as they left the Greyhound terminal, followed closely by his brothers, Elias and Jakob. For the first time in five years they stepped foot on to the streets of Chicago. It was a bittersweet reunion for them, filled with painful memories. The Wolfbrothers were back in the Windy City and few who knew them would be comforted to see them returned.
He could almost stir the tension he felt in the air with a finger. It flapped at the edges of his long black trench coat like waves breaking on the reef and his forearms rippled with goose bumps.
The street lights crackled high above and the crisp late autumn air smelled like ozone and fear. The handful of people trickling in and out of the bus station at the late hour wove a wide path around them.
The mysterious note that they received in New York City had put them all on edge. It warned of strange events in motion and spoke of the family that they sought. There were only three living that knew that secret, or so they thought.
“What do you think?” he asked, turning to Elias.
Elias rubbed at his shoulder and cocked his head as if listening to something. After a few seconds, he said “It’s safe, for now.” He clicked his tongue, a sign that he was impatient with something. Their cold blew eyes locked on each other. “For how long, I can’t say. It’s not very clear.”
Walter nodded. “Let’s get moving then. We can find shelter at Old Saint Pats until daybreak.”
“Are you sure they’ll let us?” Jakob said. “The diocese was eager to see us leave the last time.”
Walter grinned. “Who said anything about asking for entrance?”
People could be found wandering the streets in any large city at any time of of the day. Tonight that seemed limited to the ever present homeless, not even drunk college students crawling the pubs or late night revelers on their way home after a night on the town.
The church was less than four city blocks from the bus station, but anything could happen in that short distance. A pair of cabs were parked at the curb, waiting for a late night fare. Travel by car would be quicker but none of them felt comfortable with the idea of being crammed into a tight space any longer than necessary.
Walter set the pace, a long stride learned in their days on the farm before the invention of modern transportation, leading them west and north towards their destination. Jakob was right about the diocese. They would not be happy when they learned that the exiled hunters had returned but they would inevitably cross paths with the church’s new pack dogs.
He drew them short before the underpass that lead into the heart of the inner city. The flesh of his right arm tingled with fear and sweat and power. His brothers felt the same. They spread out beside him and Elias pushed his right sleeve back and thrust his arm forward. The image of a wood and brass nautical compass, one of the tattoos they all shared, glistened in the waning light. The needle, normally faded into the background, stood prominent and proud, pointing into the darkness in front of them.
Water dripped into a puddle and rats scurried. Their noses flared at the bitter scent in the air, like moldy incense burning. They were walking into an ambush.
They shed their cloaks and let them flap to the ground behind them. Their bare chests were covered in tattoos like the compass, each with a specific purpose. A shared thought echoed in their heads, another gift of their bond. “We hunt.” Like the feral dogs their prey feared, they leapt forward towards battle, eager snarls on their faces.
Walter moved to the east side of the underpass, his brothers to the west. Their eyes quickly adapted to the darkness, letting them see as clearly as their prey. On each side a dark figure hid in the shadows, unaware of what danger they were in.
Walter hit the figure at a dead run, knocking them both to the ground. They rolled to a stop, Walter with his back pressed against the cold cement. The man’s hands held Walter’s shoulders to the ground as he looked down with cold, dead eyes. His teeth curled back into a snarl, revealing sharp, bloodthirsty teeth, but the confidence of his early advantage melted from his face and became one of pain and confusion.
Two tattoos on his chest, a clove of garlic and a vial of holy water, tingled at the vampires touch. The man pulled back, giving Walter the opening he was waiting for. He sat up suddenly, sending his forehead crunching into the man’s nose. Wet warmth dripped on his face. He rolled hard to the left, sending his victim flailing for balance.
Walter got to his feet first and pulled a wooden stake out from his belt. The classic tool of his trade, a polished nine inch shoot of black ash, inscribed with runic markings of strength and accuracy.
The vampire was on his knees and rising slowly, hands covering his bloodied face. Walter reached him in two strides, pulling him the rest of the way up with his left hand and slamming him against the side of the underpass. His right arm swung forward, piercing the chest slight off center.
Bone crunched and blood sprayed out from the sudden change in pressure. Walter held his hand to the vampires chest and stared into his eyes as the light faded from them and gravity pulled the dead weight to the ground.
He leaned over the body and removed his stake. For the first time he noticed the clothes the vampire was wearing. Khaki pants and a sports jacket with a formerly-white shirt underneath, like he was on his way to the club when the call came in to stake out the bus station. Walter wiped the stake clean on the sleeve of the jacket and stood up. His brothers were returning.
“Any problems?” he asked.
“None,” Jakob said, handing Walter his cloak. He looked down at the body at Walter’s feet. “You?”
“I barely broke a sweat,” Walter said.
He shook his head and frowned. First the note leading them back to Chicago and now the welcoming committee. It couldn’t be coincidence. Something had the vampires on edge. They were never this aggressive.
An engine running near redline roared from the direction of the bus station. They turned to look as a faded yellow Mustang drove passed the intersection. Brake lights lit and the tires squealed as the car skidded to a hault.
“I think it’s time we got moving,” Elias said. The car was reversing.
Three city blocks doesn’t seem that far, but when you’re being chased by a car full of vampires in the middle of the night with who knows how many reinforcements on the way, it feels like forever. They ran at full speed, past bar patron and police officer smart enough not to ask any questions. The mustang followed closely behind but didn’t seem to make an effort to overtake them.
Old Saint Patrick’s church was one of the oldest buildings in Chicago, surviving the great fire of 1871, and it was surrounded by vampires.
Contrary to popular culture, not all vampires dress in black and have white, pasty skin. The dozen men and woman standing between Walter, Elias, and Jakob and the sanctuary of the church would have fit in on Wall Street just as easily Adams Street in the middle of the night.
A tall man stepped out of line and walked towards Walter, not a trace of fear showing on the chiseled lines of his tanned face. He stopped in front of Walter and met his hard, cold gaze.
The tension on the street was thick. Walter could feel the hairs standing on the back of his brothers necks. They were ready to attack, if he gave the signal. A dozen well-prepared vampires would be a challenge, even for them.
“We’ve been expecting you,” the vampire said. His nostrils flared and Walter wondered if he shouldn’t have wiped some of the blood off his face. “Couldn’t you have traveled by something a little faster than a bus?”
Walter forced his face to remain calm. Whoever had written the cryptic note to them knew one of their deepest secrets and had apparently sent a dozen killers to meet them here. Walter didn’t like being out-maneuvered. Either he had finally lead his brothers to their death or a major event was happening in Chicago and they were standing in the middle of it.
The vampire reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper and twine. After a moments hesitation, he proffered it to Walter.
Walter cautiously accepted the package and the vampire took a step backwards. “I have a message from your sister,” he said. “The time for a family reunion is long overdue. If you come to her willingly and serve her, she will see to it that you are well-rewarded.”
Waves of heat radiated from Jakob, the youngest, and the only thing he could sense from Elias was curiosity. “Why should we believe you?” he said.
The vampire nodded at the package in Walter’s hand. He snapped the twine and let the paper fall free to the street. In his hand was a small, hand-carved wooden doll that he carved for his baby sister for her fifth birthday.
“I assume that has gotten your attention, hunter,” he said. “Consider my mistresses offer. It’s more generous than anything your mother can provide.”
Walter wanted to rip the arrogant smile out of the bastard’s face but his mind reeled with shock at the revelation that their mother and sister, taken by vampires more than a century ago and assumed lost, were still alive.