89. Government Guy
Government Guy
“Vameer is back.” The newscaster says the words as they scroll across the bottom of the screen on repeat.
“Ever since The Reveal, there have been tales of a warrior class of vampires.” The image cuts to a video of the big motherfucker walking through the conference hall.
“No one’s been able to confirm this. But I think it’s safe to say that the campfire stories are true. ”
The video changes again, showing the stage. And I watch the recording for the fourth time.
“My brother and I share blood. But I do not share his restraint. Testing me would be unwise.”
I bring the bottle to my lips and swallow a mouthful of whiskey. The burn of it does nothing for the chill covering my skin.
“Mute it.” My voice is still scratchy from all the shouting I did in my car on the drive to the office.
I knew it was him.
I knew it.
But seeing him…
I take another swallow.
My phone vibrates on the surface of the table.
“Uh, it’s Johnson calling,” my favorite lackey tells me.
“Fuck Johnson.” I put the bottle down so I can dig the headache pills out of my pocket.
I hope this beast eats him for dinner.
I tap a trio of pills into my palm. Pop them in my mouth. Pick the bottle back up. And drink.
“You think he meant it when he said that thing about not having Volik’s restraint?” the lackey asks. “Or was that a joke?”
I turn and let him see how much I do not think that was a joke.
“But he can’t actually be worse than Volik, right? We watched him torch that other vamp’s head in the Battle of Versailles.”
“Battle of Versailles.” I scoff and drop into a chair, leaning my elbows on the table, cradling the base of the bottle between my palms. “Vameer is worse.”
“But—”
“You ever hear of the Battle of Amun?”
“No…” He shakes his head.
“Legend has it three hundred men died. In minutes.” I pull the bottle closer. “That’s the brother. Volik is the restrained one.”
Lackey is finally looking the proper amount of nervous.
My phone starts to ring again.
I ignore Johnson and pull the bottle closer. “Do you know what Interfector Mali means?”
The man across the table shakes his head.
“It means Killer of Evil.”
He swallows. “And the other name?”
“Melas Oneiros.” It feels like a summon, so I say it quietly.
“It means Black Dream. The Greek name for Nightmare.” That feeling of being watched sinks into the back of my neck.
“We have records of that name. As assassin from the early eighteen hundreds. But we didn’t know it was him.
” I pull the bottle even closer. “Until today.”
“So, what do we do?”
I blink at the man. “About what?”
He lifts his hands, his eyes looking a little frantic. “About Vameer. The damned Nightmare in a red fucking suit.”
“Noth. Ing. We do nothing.”
“But—”
“Do you remember those men who were sliced in half yesterday?” His face pales. “That was a team of highly trained government killers catching Vameer off guard. And you bet your ass he’s on fucking guard now.”
My phone starts ringing again, and we both stare at Johnson on the screen.
“K-killer of Evil. That means he just goes after bad guys, right?”
I slowly nod. “Yeah.” I take a drink. “Unfortunately, we’re the bad guys.”
I slide the bottle across the table.
The lackey grips it with white knuckles. “But it was Johnson. You and I, we didn’t do anything.”
“You see Vameer, you tell him that.”
“And if telling him doesn’t work?”
I look over at the screen and stare at the freeze-frame of Vameer. “Pick a god to pray to.”