The Hellfighter Express

chapter 10

I

Screaming, the two Noblemen were pitched to the rear. As Annette, too, flew into the air, Pikk grabbed her by the arm, and before his eyes the bulkhead loomed closer. He planted his feet with strength enough to offset the shockwave. Annette stopped in midair—in truth his pull was perfectly balanced with the push of the shockwave, leaving her floating, but to Pikk it seemed nothing less than a miracle. And he continued to think so even after Annette quickly fell to the floor, and, once he’d confirmed that she was okay, he turned his eyes to his ankle—which he could see had a pale, disembodied hand wrapped around it.

“Th-that’s—?!” the boy stammered, eyes wide.

“D’s left hand. You probably remember my voice,” it said to him.

“D?!” His name had the same effect as spring water sipped out in the blazing heat.

“That’s right,” the hoarse voice replied. “Okay, let’s hustle. Those two will be on us in no time!”

“Hell, I know that. Are you okay?”

Annette nodded yes.

“Okay, now let’s find an emergency door and get outta here.”

The left hand protested Pikk’s suggestion. “No, we stay inside. He’s looking for the grand duke.”

“He—you mean D?”

“Bingo.”

“But we can’t stay like this. For starters, why’d the train make an emergency stop?”

“I don’t know that, either,” the hoarse voice replied.

“Here they come!” Annette cried shrilly, pointing up ahead.

From the other end of the corridor a pair of figures were taking shape, and they were filled with madness.

“Go back,” the left hand said tersely. “There’s a stairwell on the right. Climb it.”

Panting for breath, they finished their climb at a vast hall. Luxurious sofas and a bar were arranged along a row of oversized windows. As Pikk surveyed their surroundings, an incredibly soft melody flowed into his ears. The musicians assembled at one end of the hall were bringing life to their golden instruments. However, their outlines were somehow indistinct, and the background bled through them. They were three-dimensional projections—phantoms. After thousands of years, they finally had an audience before them. The song was so beautiful and their performance so splendid both Pikk and Annette forgot that they were being pursued and listened for a while.

Pikk soon returned to his senses, however, and seeing that the door to their right was fairly close, he shouted, “That way!”

The figure in formalwear who’d bounded over from the stairwell landed soundlessly right in front of the boy. When Pikk turned to look, he found Annette standing stiff as a board, and before her stood the man with an air that called to mind a monk.

“Shiiit.”

Pikk’s eyes darted down by his feet, but he found neither hide nor hair of the left hand.

“It’s just about time to end this game,” Benelli said, nasty incisors visible between his lips. “Before we bring you back to the grand duke, we’ll twist off a few of your limbs—or better yet, one of your breasts. Yes, come to me.”

Around the man who’d so resembled a monk there lingered an air so unearthly it made Annette’s blood run cold. The great scythe on his back glittered to the lachrymose melody.

“Stay away from me,” Annette groaned, on the verge of passing out.

“Keep it together. You bastards lay a finger on the little lady and you’ll be sorry!” Pikk barked, his threat echoing vainly through the hall.

Gorshin stepped forward. But his body swam in the air. Though he tried to maintain balance through a series of hopscotch-like jumps, his trailing leg shot up high and he tumbled forward. Just as the grand duke had done when chasing after Pikk and Annette.

As Benelli looked down at the floor in amazement, a gleam shot up from it to pierce his left eye. What the Nobleman saw was the exquisite left hand that’d come free of Gorshin’s leg. The iron skewer spat from the palm of that hand was the same one Benelli himself had once used. On this left hand!

The regenerative powers of a vampire would be enough to instantaneously reconstruct the ravaged lens and retina. And yet the blood loss and hellish pain from Benelli’s eye persisted.

“Run for it!” the left hand shrieked at Pikk as it sailed through the air. This bound was accomplished purely through the flexing strength of its fingers and joints. It clamped onto Gorshin’s face just as he was about to pick himself back up, with white smoke coming from it at the same time and Gorshin arching back in agony. Before the Nobleman could attempt to pry the limb free, the left hand clambered down to the floor. Bright blood spilled from the tiny mouth that’d formed in the palm of the hand, swiftly dissolving the floor. Within its own “body” the left hand had manufactured a powerful acid—or rather, blood that carried a corrosive poison.

“Unlike wounds from humans,” the hoarse voice remarked, “these don’t heal easily. Should be that way for a couple of days. I hope they enjoy the pain.”

A deeply wrinkled guffaw shook the elegant melody.

As they listened to the fleeing footsteps of the pair, Gorshin and Benelli were powerless to do anything. It was several minutes later that Benelli extracted the iron skewer and Gorshin got to his feet. In Gorshin’s melted ruin of a face, his left eye alone was tinged with a hateful vermilion hue.

“Mustn’t let them escape.”

“After them!”

Their words pared down by rage, the young Noblemen were about to rush to the door on the far side of the room when an aura gusting up from behind the pair stopped them.

Before they could turn to look, a deep voice said, “Nobles, eh?”

The pair turned around.

Two figures stood by the stairwell. From their garb it was easy enough to tell they were either itinerant warriors or Hunters. But what sent tension and surprise shooting down the two Noblemen’s backs was the aura of the pair and the fangs that peeked from the thin smirks on their vermilion lips.

As if putting the query to the darkness, Gorshin said, “You two are Hunters?”

“We were,” said a black face. It wasn’t a matter of skin tone. The man’s whole face was covered with whiskers. His ears were pointed, like inverted fangs, and his hands were also strangely hirsute. “No, I guess even now we still are,” he continued. “Seems you boys used to be kin to Lord Gillian, isn’t that right?”

Nothing from the Noblemen.

“But the air of evil you radiate isn’t the same as Lord Gillian’s. Someone fed on you, right?” said a pudgy man with a short spear in hand. He had an old-fashioned revolver tucked through his belt.

“Lord Gillian? I see. He was our leader. However, Grand Duke Drago is our master now,” Gorshin replied. Both his voice and his eyes quavered with a feeling that bordered on consternation.

In truth, both he and Benelli were at a loss as to how they should deal with these new arrivals. Though they’d started off as foes, both men had received the kiss from Gillian, so they were now their kind. However, now the two young Noblemen weren’t Gillian’s compatriots, but were in service to Grand Duke Drago. Still, Gorshin and Benelli couldn’t say for certain that that made them adversaries. Gillian’s aim—the capture of Annette—was also the goal of the grand duke’s subordinates. It wasn’t wholly unreasonable to say they might yet cooperate.

The pair before them seemed to feel the same. The hairy one said, “Lord Gillian’s blood carries memories of the name Grand Duke Drago. Never thought we’d hear it here, though. Seems he’s quite a strange character, and you say he’s here?”

“Indeed. Though it is unclear why he’s risen again, it would seem it was to repeat some experiments from the past. Toward that end he desires the girl. The two of you must stand down.”

The two intruders had listened in silence, but at that point they both grinned. Stark white fangs poked from lips that seemed too red for any man.

“We didn’t quite know what to do with you boys, but now you’ve just made it real clear. As in, this is where we throw down.”

Following up on what the hairy one had said in a beastly tone, the other added, “Lord Gillian will have that girl. You boys are the ones who’ll have to stand down. No, you don’t really need to do even that. Right here and now, we’ll make it so you can’t stand down or stand in our way.”

The pudgy man gave the short spear in his right fist a light spin, then braced it with both hands with such skill Gorshin’s breath escaped him. His eyes as well as Benelli’s gleamed, and their bodies burned with the lust for battle. The Noblemen, too, wanted nothing more than to fight.

“Leica Slopey’s the name,” the hairy young man said by way of introduction.

“I’m known as—the Confessor. You’ll see why soon enough,” the pudgy man told them in a stocky tone.

“Fitting names for servants,” Xeno Gorshin said, licking his chops. “We are not in the habit of giving humans our names, but as you have Lord Gillian’s blood in you, we shall introduce ourselves. I am Xeno Gorshin.”

“They call me Benelli. You may take that to your grave.”

“Is that all?” the stocky man with the short spear—the Confessor—blurted out, though it seemed a non sequitur.

It was only natural that Benelli furrowed his brow.

The Confessor continued, “Hear me out, everyone. My father was Xeno Milco, and my mother Beatrice Mesclure. However, I am not my father’s child.”

Gorshin’s breath escaped him once more, and he shot a glance at the monk.

“What sort of prank is this?” Benelli asked the man. The Nobleman didn’t seem agitated. His expression didn’t change until the Confessor continued.

“My real father was a human man who served my ‘father’ before I was born. His name was Kosuth Dorre. Before entering my father’s service, he was a vagrant loitering in the nearby village. He raided the garbage for scraps to eat and shit in the woods or the stream. Xeno Milco hired my real father for one reason alone—he was paying to use him as a stud.”

This was a “confession” that anyone could tell would not go unpunished.

Benelli’s face blackened with rage. “You bastard . . . Shut your mouth. You’re lying . . . Lies! My father was Xeno Milco. Pure Greater Nobility.”

“That I don’t deny. Xeno Milco was, without a doubt, a Greater Noble. A man who could move mountain chains with a single hand. But not a single drop of his bold, highborn blood runs in my veins. The genes that make me what I am come from the lowest scum of the human race—that of a garbage-eater. In a manner of speaking, I am a charlatan passing himself off under the name of a great Nobleman.”

That was why he was known as the Confessor? How did he know Benelli’s secrets?

When the bizarre and horrible “confession” reached this point, the Nobleman went berserk.

“Stop it. Stop it!”

With that scream the great scythe flashed out, but the Confessor deflected it with his short spear, and as he made a massive leap back, the pudgy man then hurled his weapon. The power of being made a servant of Lord Gillian had been added to his original skill, and his short spear took Benelli right through the heart as the Nobleman was on the return swing of his scythe.

Staggering, Benelli yanked out the short spear. Fresh blood spewed out with astounding force, splashing the scythe where he’d dropped it on the floor.

“Don’t forget,” the Nobleman said, almost murmuring the words, “’Benelli’ means ‘the Grim Reaper.’ No matter what blood runs in my veins.” And sending up a bloody mist he fell.

One was slain—confidence and the thrill of victory lulled Leica and the Confessor.

“Leave this to me,” Leica said, stepping forward. And when he did so, he saw red jewels spill from the mouth of the remaining Nobleman in formalwear—who didn’t so much as glance at his compatriot who’d been reduced to dust.

Instinctively sensing danger, the two former Hunters split up, one going in either direction. The beads Gorshin had blown at them split into two groups, with each following one of the targets. Though the Confessor made it down the stairwell, Leica was too slow. As he was racing for the stairs, one of the beads burst right in front of him; bright blood streamed from his mouth, nose, and ears, and he was left clawing at his chest and throat as he practically tumbled down the stairwell.

“Lousy monsters,” was all Gorshin spat, though it hardly seemed appropriate coming from the likes of him.

His eyes fell on the dust-covered robe that lay beside him. Would he offer a prayer? No, he kicked at his friend’s remains like a man possessed.

“Filthy imposter! It is only fitting you should meet your end at the hands of those poor imitations!”

And having shouted that, Gorshin bolted off toward the door on the far side of the room through which Pikk and Annette had disappeared.

II

Pikk and Annette had finally come to realize that this train wasn’t merely a means of transportation, it was its own little world. It was simply too big. It was more like a huge hotel than a train, and more like a town than a hotel.

In what appeared to be a factory the boy looked up to find his field of view filled by things that could’ve been either enormous pistons or bars repeating bizarre movements that clearly bore no relationship to the laws of physics, but when Pikk saw that the motion of one would transfer to another his eyes went wide.

“What the hell is this? Some kind of factory?”

“It’s the engine room.”

The reply came from his back, and the boy bugged his eyes. Turning his back toward Annette, he asked, “Is there something on me?”

“The left hand—it’s clinging to you,” the girl said, her voice sounding hollow. Although mentally she’d been through the wringer, the actual cause was physical exhaustion.

“When did you latch onto me, jerk?”

“Don’t make a big deal about this,” the hoarse voice replied. “I couldn’t have been very heavy!”

“What the hell are you? And why are you stuck on D?”

“Because someone stuck me there.”

“Who?”

“Never mind that, the enemy’s getting closer!”

The boy and girl became stone statues.

“I know, you think you’ve run pretty far already, but there’s more than just the grand duke and those other two after you. The ones who got on a little while ago probably are, too.”

“Got on? You mean during that stop?”

“When else?”

“But how could they stop this beast?” asked the boy. “Was there an old station left or something?”

“Somebody must’ve had power enough to make it stop.”

Pikk fell silent. Fear was giggling somewhere around the scruff of his neck. The being who’d halted the train was now onboard and coming after them. He felt like an animal pursued by a pack of a thousand huntsmen.

“Where’s D? If we keep going this way, will we meet up with him for sure? This train’s like a whole damn town!”

“I’ve got faith in him.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“To hell with you,” Pikk said.

“We’ll run into him sooner or later. It’s fate. Believe it.”

“That’s a load of self-serving bullshit!”

The furious boy reached both arms around to his back, but the left hand deftly evaded them. When Pikk was finally out of breath, the hoarse voice said to him, “Let’s take a rest here. Missy over there’s out of juice, too.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Pikk said, slumping to the floor.

Annette was already lying down, the result of a double punch of fear and fatigue. Sweat dripped from her pale forehead.

Down on the floor the left hand snapped its fingers. A schematic of the train appeared in midair.

“Our present location is here. That freezer compartment would be about there. Wow, that’s like three-quarters of a mile. A hell of a distance.”

The left hand put its thumb and little finger together against the floor. Most likely this was a habit it had when it was troubled. To Pikk it looked like the hand was sitting cross-legged, which the boy found amusing.

Still, this creature had to be more than just a living hand, judging by the skill it’d shown in tripping the grand duke and knocking over Gorshin. It must’ve been the hand that’d saved him and Annette from flying through the air with the force of the train’s emergency stop. However, a hand normally had power because there was a body to support it and allow it to perform various feats. The boy couldn’t imagine how it could’ve stopped the two of them when they were thrown into the air. All he could think was that it could do it because it was D’s hand.

“You all right?” the boy said to Annette.

“Yeah,” she replied, but she was panting for breath.

“Sorry. I’ll put you on my back again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the girl said, staring at Pikk. Her eyes had a light that defied explanation. “You’ve already carried me so far. I’m sorry, I must’ve been really heavy for you.”

“Don’t sweat it. If I couldn’t walk around with a girl on my back, I wouldn’t be much of a man!”

In his zeal he showed her his pearly teeth, but that was as much as he could muster. Pikk slowly slumped over and immediately began snoring.

“He’s shot to pieces,” said the hoarse voice. “You’ve gotta be pretty beat, too, but the kid’s ten times more worn out.”

“All for me . . . But why . . . Why do all this for me?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I guess that’s just how humans are. And it ain’t just because you’re a woman. The squirt isn’t the sort to just leave anybody weak in a bad spot. And when it comes to the woman he loves, I think he’d gamble his life and soul in battle and still die with a smile on his face. No matter how selfish the object of his affection might be.”

Annette gazed at the profile of the slumbering boy. She looked at him in a way that said if she took her eyes off him, she’d lose him. Cracked lips murmured something. And hot on its heels came a flood of tears.

“That is correct,” said a soft female voice that flowed up from behind them, but even then the girl wasn’t surprised.

The left hand turned itself around.

Beneath rows of silently working pistons, Countess Genevieve was headed toward them in a dazzling dress. On reaching the pair and the disembodied limb, the Noblewoman halted and looked down at the boy. Her eyes had the same light as Annette’s.

“As you just said, he has gambled his life and soul—and did so to safeguard your life and soul. Two thousand years ago,” the Noblewoman said as if she were singing the words, “the directors of the Noble Mental Research Center in the Capital were forced to make public a certain conclusion as a result of long years of experimentation toward destroying the human psyche. Listen well, little miss. They said, and I quote: Though the human mind may be driven mad, it is impossible to destroy. For it is supported by the soul. What saved you is something that glows in the heart of that dirty, uncouth little boy, the soul that we call humanity. No one can see it, the person who possesses it may not even realize it, but even once life has left them it will continue to make humans glow with humanity forever.”

At some point Annette had sat up, and now she was staring at the countess. It resembled in no small part something the Noblewoman and the girl knew only from legends of the distant past, a scene of the common people listening raptly to the words of a priest in a place called a church out in the grassy countryside.

“Now, come with me,” the countess urged. As Annette eyed her anxiously she told the girl, “Whether it be to leave here or to see that gorgeous Hunter, I shall lead you wherever you wish to go.”

“Do you know where D is?” the girl asked.

“I knew where you were.”

“Okay, let’s stick with her.”

The left hand sounded almost glib, and that decided it for Annette.

“Get up.”

The left hand clambered onto the boy’s forehead, and Pikk soon awakened. One look at the countess and he braced for bare-fisted combat, but after Annette explained the situation he reluctantly came to terms with it.

“I don’t trust no Nobles, but in this case we ain’t got a choice. Pull anything funny, though, and I’ll run you through the heart where you stand!”

“Understood, my fine boy.”

“Shut up, and stop smiling.”

Once the boy had managed to make it to his feet, the countess suddenly turned and looked back the way she’d come. Every inch of her gave off tension—and a sense of horror.

“You feeling that?” the left hand asked her. “Somebody with an incredible aura is headed this way. And you can bet they’ve noticed us.”

“Who?” Annette asked, her face instantly growing paler.

“D,” the left hand and the countess said in unison.

“Or so I’d like to tell you, but this is a lot worse,” the hoarse voice continued. “This is someone with about as much power as D, but not a Noble. Of course, they ain’t human either.”

“Fall back—flee to the rear.”

Perhaps sensing something in the countess’s tone, the left hand inquired, “A friend of yours?”

“Yes. One of the ‘failures’ from long, long ago. For more than five millennia the grand duke and I conducted experiments here, and occasionally it resulted in something like this. Flee, and be quick about it. What’s headed this way is the most fearsome sort of living dead in the world. And it is of our making.”

“What the hell is that?” Pikk asked, rubbing his eyes.

Making a puzzled expression, the countess said, “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Ah, the shock must’ve been so great you’ve completely forgotten. You have no memory of those who writhe in the train’s basement. Thank God for that. If God exists, that is.” In a stern tone she then told the stupefied Pikk to go.

III

“What are you gonna do, ma’am?”

“Ma’am?” The anger lingered on her face for only a moment, but the countess seemed to detect something in a doorway where nothing could yet be seen, and she gave both Pikk and Annette a push on the shoulder.

Just then a figure lurched into view. It was a man, nearly six foot eight and completely naked. A pair of vacant eyes were set in his rustic face. Long, thick chains dangled from the fetters he wore on either wrist. The man had wrapped those lengths of chain around his hands time and time again. Dragging along the floor at the end of each chain were roughly a foot-and-a-half square chunks of what looked to be stone.

His muddied eyes reflected the countess and Pikk. Perhaps his bizarre brain made some sort of decision, because in the blink of an eye his demeanor became colored by madness and murderous intent, and the man pressed forward with broad strides.

Countess Genevieve stood in front of him, barring the way.

“I will not let you pass.”

The Noblewoman’s tone was actually rather soft and sad, and the man halted and gazed at her with wonder.

“I remember you, Shank Pomerolo—you were a schoolteacher, were you not? It was we who made you this way. And I wish I could allow you to destroy the train, to kill me, to do whatever you desire, but there are children I must see set free—though telling you as much will only anger you, I suppose. You wanted to be set free, too. Both he and I have agonized over this for five thousand years. I am sorry. It can hardly serve as an atonement, but I must have you go back to sleep again.”

And as she said that, her lithe form flew through the air like a butterfly.

The man swung his left hand. The chain with the block of stone attached whistled as it arced through the air. Impact—the instant it appeared to take place, the countess’s body flowed up as if borne on the wind, going over the man’s head. And as she landed on his shoulder, she still looked like a magnificent butterfly. However, as she hauled back to strike with the golden dagger in her right hand, every inch of her was sheathed in an aura of murderous intent.

With the monstrous strength of a vampire, it would’ve been possible not only to pierce the man’s heart but to rip it right out of his chest. However, a split second before the countess could bring the blade down, a black streak of lightning zipped by her eyes. Bright blood flew. Blood spilled from the throat of Countess Genevieve as she fell flat on her back.

The thing that’d just ripped her throat open braced both feet against a pipe a good sixty feet away and turned back in her direction. Noble blood dripped from the crimson-stained claws of its left hand, and the mouth below its pronounced snout exposed an alarming set of teeth. Who could’ve imagined that this was the true nature of the young man calling himself Leica Slopey—that he was a werewolf.

Giving a growl in a voice that was now that of a beast, Leica twisted his body around and, with miraculous jumping ability, bounded for the man. There was a whistle that left the air churning, and then with a brutal whump! the beast man was slammed against the floor. His face was flattened, and broken ribs protruded from his chest. Yet when the block of stone was brought down again without a moment’s hesitation, it sank into the floor, the werewolf beneath it having leapt clear with a skill that seemed unbelievable even for one of its kind.

Bright blood fell from the snarling maw. Undeniable lunacy filled his eyes. The way he’d just attacked seemed to be completely lacking in common sense. He seemed to be snapping at people entirely at random. And that was precisely the case. Leica had gone mad. Earlier, Xeno Gorshin’s blood beads had scattered virulent poison right before his snout. It had besieged not his immortal flesh but his brain. Now he was no more than an insane wild beast that would attack any living creature it saw and wouldn’t be satisfied until it had ripped everyone to shreds.

With a howl Leica pounced on the man. His wide-open mouth caught the man’s head, tearing it off on the first attempt. Giving the head one good shake, the beast spat it into the air.

The man extended his hand and grabbed it. The head was pressed right back onto the wound.

At the same time the werewolf reeled backward. When Leica had touched down from his leap, a dagger had pierced his chest.

“As I thought, you are no better than a beast. Do you think the Nobility mere prey?”

Due perhaps to the severity of her wound, Countess Genevieve murmured the words in a low, hoarse voice as she stood there covering her bloodstained lips.

As the werewolf fell he tried to extract the dagger, but as his hands had become a wolf’s paws, he was unable to seize the weapon by the grip.

Looking over at the man, the countess tilted her head to one side. Only a faint red line remained where the wounds had been aligned. Slowly the chains in both his hands began to spin. Slightly bowing her upper body, the countess struck a free-form defensive stance.

“What’s this?!” she exclaimed, her body convulsing. “Persistent beast, isn’t he?”

The man let the stone blocks fly with both hands. Skillfully evading them, the countess moved in a certain direction. The sight of her lightly slipping between the chains and their blocks of stone as they whistled through the air was pure artistry. And at a certain spot she halted.

Overhead, a block of stone arced down at her. That was what the countess had been waiting for. Directly below the block of stone was the head of Leica—the werewolf. His head caught several tons of pressure in an instant, and both it and his brains became one with the floor.

Spinning herself around in the same direction Pikk had fled, the countess said, “I shall see you again later,” and smiled at the giant ready to pursue her before dashing off with the wind swirling in her wake.

When the countess reached the doorway, Pikk appeared from the shadows and said, “Ma’am.”

“What are you doing? I believe I told you to flee. What of the young lady?”

“She’s got D’s left hand to protect her. That’s safer than being with me.”

“And you—why are you still here?”

Pikk made a doleful expression.

“You came back, is that it? You foolish lad,” the countess said with a sigh, but the boy gave her a stiff smile.

“I couldn’t help it. It’s what any man would do.”

“You truly are foolish, aren’t you—you humans.”

Her lovely voice flowed forward. As Pikk hastened forward to support her falling body, something glittered right by his nose. There was a dagger stuck in the countess’s back.

“Wh-wh-what’s this?” the boy sputtered.

“Could you pull it out? It’s too late to save me, but it would be slightly less painful.”

“Who did this to you?”

“The hairy one. He was a werewolf. As he couldn’t extract it with his hands, he gripped it with his mouth. He must’ve hurled it in the same manner.”

Though Pikk didn’t really comprehend everything the countess was saying, it was clear enough that her wound would be fatal.

“What should I do?” asked the boy. “Is there some medicine somewhere?”

“No, there isn’t. The tip of the blade reached my heart. I shall last a bit longer, but even you must understand that I’m finished, do you not?”

The boy had no reply for that.

“The reason I fled was because I thought to help you both escape before I am no more. Come—I shall lead you to D’s location.”

“You know where he is?”

“Essentially. You see, D gives off an air quite similar to that of the ‘failure’ just now. I believe I can locate him.”

“But you’re hurt real bad.”

“If I do nothing, the outcome will remain the same.”

“Okay,” Pikk said with a huge nod, gazing at the countess. His eyes gleamed with deep emotion. It wasn’t the sort of look humans gave Nobility. “Okay, let’s hustle back to the other two, then.”

As the countess was about to start walking, the boy offered her his shoulder to lean on. Looking intently at the little man, the countess thanked him.

However, when they raced back to where Annette and the left hand waited, they found neither of them there, only an expanse of floor splattered with fresh blood.

“But I told ’em to wait here! What’s with this blood?”

Even the boy’s tone was dazed, and from it the countess could sense his impatience. Wiping up some blood with the tip of her index finger, she licked it. She then closed her eyes, but quickly said, “This aura—it’s the grand duke’s.”

“What, him? How’d he know to look here?”

“He designed this train. Do you not think he can tell at a glance where everyone is?”

“Oh, I get it. Then the left hand was—”

“Most likely defeated. This is its blood. For the moment, be at ease.”

“Oh my God,” Pikk said, and he began to recite a prayer for the dead his mother had taught him. Then in a voice firm with resolve he asked, “Where is she?”

The boy had thought himself ready, but this required a whole new level of determination.

“The laboratory. Coarser tongues call it an operating room, though I believe that too is accurate.”

The two of them set off on foot. After five minutes advancing down a corridor that seemed like an opulent hotel lobby, Pikk halted. About twenty to twenty-five feet up ahead, he’d seen a lovely female head poke around the corner. Though the boy had instinctively pressed himself flat against the wall, the woman had quickly ducked back around the corner.

“You see that?” Pikk asked.

The countess nodded.

“Stay here. I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Don’t,” Genevieve said, but her words met only the boy’s back.

With stealthy footfalls he sprinted to the corner, peeked around it—and there was a man standing right in front of him. Over six and a half feet tall and with a powerful chest, his very presence overwhelmed the boy.

“What the hell?” Pikk blurted out in spite of himself.

The face attached to that muscular frame was that of the lovely woman he’d glimpsed a moment ago.

“Who are you?” the beauty’s red lips asked in a youthful, masculine voice. “What are you doing here? I’d heard that Grand Duke Drago owned this train. Is he still alive?”

“How about you—who the hell are you?” Pikk inquired even as he backed away.

“Me?”

The beautiful face donned a smirk. Pikk could’ve kicked himself for not noticing quicker. Never had he seen such an evil grin. This sissy face was rotten to the core.

“I’m Barry Dawn. I used to be a Hunter, but now I’ve received the kiss from Lord Gillian and serve him. Kid, why did the train start up? Who in blazes is on it?”

“Well, the grand duke started it up. Don’t know quite where, but he’s on it somewhere. But all that aside, you called yourself a Hunter and now you serve Lord Gillian—put the bite on you, did he?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

The lovely feminine face grinned. Seeing those lips, Pikk knew what fate had in store for him.

“Any others beside you?”

“Yeah,” Barry Dawn replied. “Three more—and all of us regret our past. Because we used to be so insanely dedicated to destroying something as wonderful as the Nobility.”

Pikk made a gagging sound as despair filled his heart. Friend or foe, everyone around him was a lousy vampire.

“By the way, kid, did you know you’ve got real nice color?” Barry Dawn said, his eyes beginning to blaze with red. “Truth be told, ever since I got like this an endless hunger’s been gnawing at me. Give me some of that blood of yours.”