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Son of a King

When women begin showing up dead all across Toronto with distinctive puncture wounds on their necks, Vicki Nelson, PI, is on the job – along with her 450-year-old vampire partner. But if he’s not behind the attacks – who is? A strange, young couple new to the city could hold the key to discovering the truth. Handling two kinds of vampires was hard enough. Just how many different sorts were there? Second story in the “Different Sorts” series FINAL CHAPTER -- NOW POSTED!

ATTENTION READERS: DO NOT STEAL MY STORIES. Someone has stolen some of my stories from this website and posted them as their own on fanfiction.net. It is plaigarism, it is stealing and it is illegal. Read, enjoy -- but don't steal. Second story in the “Different Sorts” series -- takes place after "Different Sorts." Crossover with Buffy and the new “Blood Ties” series on Lifetime. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

5. Chapter 5

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 1860   Review this Chapter

* * *

Not everyone was happy with the plan. Some parties wanted to take more action, more quickly. But Buffy insisted – this was how things would go. And both Angel and Spike were there to back her up. They’d been by her side through too many battles to doubt her strategy. Bella and Edward were on her side as well, trusting her even from what little experience they had working and fighting with her.

But the others were frustrated. Both Vicki and Mike wanted to stop the vampire or vampires before anyone else got killed. They both thought like cops – like homicide cops – and though their desire to prevent any more murders was genuine and noble, running into action would do no one any good. And Henry just insisted he should just go in alone and take care of the vampires on his own.

“I’m strong,” he said. “I can handle them.”

“No, you can’t,” Buffy said. “And they’re stronger. Trust me. We’re doing it this way. I’ve fought too many battles to screw up on something like this.”

She stood, gathering a small arsenal of weapons and stashing them on her body – the sword on her back, the crossbow over her shoulder, a stake strapped to her ankle – and another in her pocket.

“Angel and Detective Celucci will pair up to patrol the red light district. Vicki, Bella and Edward – you three will also patrol – but let Angel and Mike take the lead. You’re backup. Got it?” All three nodded. She turned to the other vampires. “Spike, you and Henry are with me on the streets. We’re going in for recon – and recon only, Henry.”

She made a point of staring at him until he acknowledged her instructions. “Any questions?” No one responded. “Good. We meet back here at dawn.”

* * *

Angel spotted him first. The man in the suit and tie stood out in the crowd – though not by his dress. There were other finely dressed men shopping for sex on the corner that night. But this man, this one in particular – in the charcoal pinstripes with the messy brown hair – stood out to Angel’s other senses. They were senses akin to those he’d possessed as a vampire. They were part of being a champion. And he could tell that this man was their killer. There was a certain glow that only Angel could see. But as soon as he pointed him out to Mike, the detective could see the difference as well. It was not an obvious distinction – something subtle and without words to describe it. But real nonetheless.

Over the two-ways, Angel described him to the others – and they, too, recognized him.

But though they watched him from the shadows, they did not move in – they were on strict orders. Only Buffy, accompanied by Spike and Henry, moved into the night. They walked without purpose and without pattern, blending into the shadows and the crowds – all the while tracking the man that now stood out so well, thanks to Angel’s observations.

Outside the triple-X theater, they paused. Spike fumbled with a cigarette for show. But without seeming obvious, they were actually watching the man – their suspect – as he propositioned a girl.

It was a redhead tonight. She wasn’t exactly chubby, but she had curves and a little bit of meat. There was an abundance of cleavage spilling over the top of her blue vinyl top and a little dimple of fat peeked out the bottom of her barely-there mini skirt – poorly camouflaged by ripped fishnets. But her face was gorgeous. It was perfectly done up with makeup, but it was the kind of face that you could tell that she was beautiful – even without all the powder and mascara.

The man approached her with purpose, as if he’d chosen her before seeing her. He did not linger or look at the others – just strode up to her and leaned in, whispering into her ear. Whatever he said, the redhead threw back her head and laughed – her titian waves bouncing as she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“Sure, okay,” she said, still chuckling. She took one last drag off her cigarette, then snubbed it out on the brick wall. She twined her arm around the man and walked with him down the alley.

After they’d disappeared from sight, Buffy strode after them swiftly – Spike and Henry on her heels. She knew this was not the time to fight – she had to leave this vampire alone, if they were going to find the nest – but her fingers wrapped around the stake in her pocket all the same, if only for comfort. As they rounded the corner, she nudged her companions and began laughing. It had to appear as if they were just strangers out for the night.

Whether the vampire believed their act or not was questionable, but their presence deterred him from his task, nonetheless. He looked up startled as they walked towards him, their laughter piercing his ears. He held the redhead in his arms – he’d only just begun to get his fill. She was still warm and alive in his grasp. But here were laughing strangers in his dark alley, staring at him – as the hooker’s blood stained his lips and teeth.

He hissed, then let her go and ran.

“That’s our cue,” Buffy said, and began running after him – as silently as she could. She didn’t want him to think he was being chased. She was tracking him – she should be invisible and silent. Spike and Henry were by her side, she could tell – but only because she was the Slayer. They were even more invisible and silent then she was – thanks to their powers as vampires.

The pinstripe vampire led them surreptitiously down a few more alleys, around a couple corners, across a small side street, down another alleyway and into the sewer.

“Why is it always the sewer,” Buffy muttered under her breath. She glanced down at her pants – the $90 jeans that made her ass look so perfect – and lamented their impending demise in the sewers below Toronto. That was the price of being a fashionable Slayer – her clothes never lasted long fighting demons and vampires. Something always got the better of them.

Buffy sighed, then slipped below the streets after Mr. Pinstripe – followed swiftly by Spike and Henry.

They followed the vamp through a maze of oversized pipes and passageways – mentally memorizing the path. Eventually, he reached a staircase – leading down another level. Buffy stopped before they reached the top of the steps – listening through the grating. The glow of lights came up from the lower chamber, and they could hear the sound of laughter.

“Oh, look who’s back!” someone yelled.

“You look grumpy,” came another. “What gives?”

They heard Mr. Pinstripe growl. “I was interrupted.”

“But you killed her, right?”

No, I was interrupted. I’d barely gotten a taste, when some idiots came by – they saw the whole thing. I had to leave her there.”

Buffy risked a peak below. She could see Mr. Pinstripe, pacing back and forth. His face had not transformed at all – so she was guessing he wasn’t a vampire like Spike. He could be one like Bella and Edward – except then his bite alone would have killed the hooker, and he’d said she was still alive. That left Henry. Maybe he was a vampire like Henry. Unless there was some other breed of vampire that Buffy had yet to learn of.

Of course, Mr. Pinstripe wasn’t alone. The chamber below was quite crowded – almost like a club, but it was missing the music and the laughter. It was more like a meeting … like a congregation. Buffy made a rough estimate and by her count, there were at least five dozen vamps in that room alone. She’d been expecting a nest – but this was a small army. Far more than they were prepared to fight. They’d have to regroup. But before that happened, she wanted to hear more. This group was too big to be random; they were working on something – plotting something. She wanted to know what. Knowing their objective always made it easier to fight them.

“Well if you didn’t kill her,” someone said, “then the communion isn’t complete. You have to go back up there.”

“Tonight?” Mr. Pinstripe yelled. “I’ll be spotted. If that girl told anyone about me – they’ll see me a mile away. I won’t get near them without someone calling for the cops.”

“As if they could do anything to stop you,” another voice replied. “The communion is what counts. Let the cops come. They can witness the sacrifice.”

“Why can’t he just go back tomorrow night?” someone else asked.

“Because,” the last voice replied, “the communion must take place tonight. Each night – every night successively, or else the resurrection will not work. It must be tonight. He has to go back.”

“Fine,” Mr. Pinstripe said. He raised his hand, having finally stopped pacing. “Fine. But not now. Give it an hour or so – let the girls change shifts. I’ll go back when they’re less likely to recognize me. I’ll go back and I’ll get the communion. We’ve come too far – we’re too close to lose the resurrection now.”

“Yes,” said the previous voice. “It would be tragic if we lost our only chance … he’s waited long enough for redemption.”

“Three more nights then,” Mr. Pinstripe said. “Three more nights – and then the First will rise again.”

In the shadows above, Buffy stifled a gasp. She felt hot tears gathering in her eyes. She fought back against her body’s attempts to begin trembling. She had to control herself so long as they were still here, in the sewer. They could probably learn more if they stayed and listened on – but she’d heard enough. She turned and ran as quickly as she could without making a sound. Henry and Spike were at her heels. After they got out onto the street, Buffy sprinted around the block – back onto the well-lit main drag – and leaned against the brick building. Her chest heaved. She bent her head between her knees and vomited.

When she finally looked up – her arms clenching her stomach – she saw Spike, watching her carefully. He didn’t look much better than she did, and for good reason. Only Henry seemed confused, but Buffy wasn’t paying attention to him. She looked at Spike imploringly.

“Please,” she said, “take me home.”

He caught her around the waist as she stumbled and supported her weight as they walked back out of the shadows and into the night. They’d go back to the apartment, to meet the others. To face them – and tell them what was coming. The war that was being planned below the streets. To tell them about the First.

* * *