I ran for the ladder leading up to the entrance to the cavern and my sword, but it was too late. I felt the fangs enter my neck like needles of red fire, the blood draining from my body as surely as my life drained away. Strangely, at the same time my life left my veins, I felt something enter and begin growing inside me, a living thing.
As panic surged through me, I tried again for the cavern entrance, but my body had no strength. I slumped to the floor and the world went black.
I sat bolt upright in bed, fighting with the duvet which had managed to wrap itself around my legs. Shit, shit, shit. I glared blearily at the clock. 4 a.m. Way too early.
I flopped back down on my pillow and touched my neck with the tips of my fingers. Smooth skin. No blood. Gods, it had felt so real.
It was like reliving my own attack. Except that’s not how it happened. I hadn’t been digging in an underground tunnel by torchlight. There hadn’t been two corpses, only the one vampire. And I’d never held a falchion sword in my life. I certainly wasn’t male. Or a knight.
I rubbed my nose. This was way too weird. Just a dream, that’s all. A really weird dream. I shut my eyes and willed myself back to sleep. It was a long time coming.
Majicks and Potions was on the northeast side of town, sandwiched in between a used car lot and a burger joint. It was a ramshackle building with a huge Third Eye painted dead in the middle of the wall above the entrance and arcane symbols in day-glo colors scattered around the rest of it. It looked like it had barely survived an attack by spray paint.
The bell above the door jangled merrily as I entered the shop. That, at least, was normal. Nothing else was. Row upon row of shelves lined the room, jammed with crystals, colored glass bottles, bowls of candles, and gods knew what else.
The place reeked of incense and the stereo system was playing something I was pretty sure was a pan flute and wind chimes. Maybe even a gong in there somewhere. Chinese/Andes fusion gone horribly wrong. I like fusion music, but I wasn’t sure you could call this music. I winced as a dulcimer was added to the mix.
The shop was otherwise empty. No customers and no Eddie. Not even a bell to ring for service, so I decided to wander. There was a second room toward the back. It, at least, looked somewhat normal. Books, mostly, and a few packs of tarot cards, some CDs, DVDs and other knickknacks. The books were all on various spiritual and magical topics. I picked one up. Sex Majick: Majickal Spells and Potions for a Fulfilling Sex Life.
Hmm. Now there was something that might come in handy, if I actually had someone to have a sex life with. I slid the book back onto the shelf.
Maybe there was something in here about Sunwalkers. Doubtful, but one never knew. I quickly scanned the shelves. There was an entire section on mythical creatures. Lots of stuff on vampires. Most of it utter rot. Nothing at all on Sunwalkers. Too bad.
There were two doors along the wall to my right. I turned the knob on the first and pushed the door open carefully. Toilet. Always good to know where the nearest toilets were.
The second door led to a storeroom. Instead of the antique wood shelves out front, back here they were cheap metal and filled with boxes of unpacked goods. There was a proper work desk stacked high with books and papers, nearly drowning a PC that looked at least 10 years out of date.
Still no Eddie. I was starting to get a little concerned. People didn’t just open up their shops and then leave. So, either Eddie was bloody stupid, or something was wrong. Maybe he knew I was there and was hiding or something. Yeah, right. I was so scary. I gave myself a mental head slap.
I cleared my throat. “Ah, Mr. Mulligan? Eddie Mulligan? Cordelia Nightwing sent me. Eddie, are you here?”
A head popped down from the ceiling. I nearly let out a yelp. Fortunately for my sense of self-respect as a badass vampire-hunter, I held it back.
“Oh, hey,” said the head. “Didn’t hear anyone come in. Cordy sent you, huh? Haven’t seen her in a while. Crystal ball must be working a treat. Be right down.” The head disappeared before being replaced by a pair of feet, followed by legs, and then the rest of what I presumed was Eddie Mulligan.
He dropped to the floor and turned to face me, dusting his hands off on his trouser legs. He was short. A good five inches shorter than me, and I wasn’t exactly tall. A fringe of curly gray hair surrounded a cherubic face, set off with a burgundy bow tie at his throat, which unfortunately clashed with his mustard yellow vest and olive green pants. He was either color blind, or he liked to make an impression.
“Mr. Eddie Mulligan?”
“Yep, that’s me,” he said, holding out his hand.
I took it. His grip was firm but not hard. The grip of a man secure in himself and at one with the world. Cordelia was right. I could sense the gift in him as surely as I’d sensed it in her.