To Protect and Serve Ch. 05

Proofread by FernieLyn

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This story is a bit wordy and fairly long, so if you are looking for immediate gratification, you might want to look elsewhere.

The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between these character and events and any real person or events is strictly coincidental . . . and pretty darn impressive seeing as it is a science fiction story. Do not reproduce or copy this story without the consent of the author.

This story is based in an alternative universe, where history took a different course than the one we are used to. In this world, the creatures which we now believe to be legends have walked alongside man for the duration of our existence. Vampires, werewolves, wizards, witches, sorcerers, and a host of other beings share our world.

The following story contains, in one chapter or another, lesbian, homosexual, heterosexual, anal, group, sci-fi/fantasy, non-human, and BDSM sexual activity. There may be some erotic horror in there somewhere as well, but I haven't made up my mind.

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Shamira found Henry waiting in the garage, his head under the hood of the Lincoln Blackwood he loved to drive. "You wanted to see me? At a highly inappropriate moment?" she added, giving him a meaningful glare. She had been in the middle of her "spider therapy" with Banshee when he had crept up behind her and lightly tapped her on the shoulder, freaking her out like nobody's business. Needless to say, she had left that session more freaked out about arachnid's than when she had gone in.

"Yeah" He replaced the dipstick and closed the hood. "Remember Tabitha Grunholdt?"

"One of Shane's donors, right? The judge's wife?"

"Yeah, her."

"What about her?"

"We're going to kill her."

Shamira had been looking over the cars in the garage when her feet stopped moving. "That's not funny."

"Wasn't supposed to be," Henry said with a cocked grin. "Early next week was when I was thinking. We want to make it as painless as possible of course --"

"You've got to be shitting me! Why would we kill her? No, I'm not --"

"Calm down," Henry said. "It ain't like she's gonna stay dead."

Shamira paused for a moment. "He's bringing her over? Vamping her out?"

"Yep. Don't tell anyone yet though. Shane's going to make the announcement this weekend."

"You ass!" Shamira said, punching Henry hard in the arm. She almost knocked him over.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry," she replied. She didn't mean it. "So why her? Is that common? Bringing over a donor?"

"It's not unheard of. Tabitha's a good catch, and we already know she'll fit right in."

For some reason, Shamira felt a barb on that comment. She hadn't exactly been making the transition easily. "So why her? I mean, you were a sheriff, Banshee's an assassin, Reaper was special ops, Clara's just hot as hell --"

"And Clara is a fast thinker and a shaman to boot," Henry added. "Shane always has a reason. Tabitha is actually a doctor, and served in the Army for fifteen years. Then she did the whole Doctors Without Borders thing, which is where she met her current husband. Actually, she met Shane there too. She'd seen some stuff in her travels that exposed her to our style of life anyway. She can fire a gun, stitch you back together, and has a shrewd mind for politics. Her marriage of convenience to her husband has gone on long enough anyway, and they've both been looking for a way out."

"He doesn't know about her though, right?"

"Nope. From what I understand, he'll be genuinely distraught. They might not be having sex, but they are friends. So quick and painless would be best. Public would be good, just to make sure there's no suspicion cast on the husband."

"No fire, no decapitation, and no bystanders getting hurt," Shamira said, rubbing her chin. "That really only leaves gunfire. I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she muttered.

"Get used to it. This is your world now. Why not a car accident?"

"Maybe, but they're too damn unpredictable. It might just maim her, the car might ignite, or something else. I'm assuming that there's only so my much that a new vamp can recover from?"

"You've pretty much nailed it. Sniper?"

Shamira had pretty much figured out that she was being tested at this point. Henry probably already had something in mind. 'Fine,' she thought, 'he wants to try me, then he can try me.' "I would say random shooting. A mugging attempt gone wrong. A sniper would be too headline making, as would a drive-by. Drive-by would be messy anyway and have too many options for collateral damage."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "A mugging?"

"A mugging."

He grinned. "Excellent choice."

"But how do we put her in a place where we can pull it off and get away? Downtown maybe? Vine City?"

"Let's head downtown and wander around. Walk the streets and see if someone jumps us. If someone does, then we know we're in a bad area."

"Your logic is amazing," Shamira said with a smile.

"I like to think so." He looked her over, his grin growing.

"What?"

"Well, if we're going into the bad area of town to look for trouble, don't you think we should look the part?"

Shamira's eyes narrowed. "What did you have in mind?"

An hour later, Henry and Shamira were walking the streets and neighborhoods near the Georgia Dome. At the dominant's insistence, the submissive was dressed in her finest prostitute-wear, which included knee-high boots, a mini-skirt with an emphasis on "mini," a pink tube-top with no bra underneath, and a matching fuzzy vest. The weirdest part . . . Monique had all these items in stock.

'The girl's got too much damn free time,' Shamira thought. She and Henry had split up to scour the area, but were keeping in touch with inconspicuous wireless earpieces.

"Find anything yet?" Henry asked politely.

"I think I've passed a couple of guys who might give me a nasty rash by proximity, but I'm not seeing the best spot. It would help if I had some context for why she would be in this area in the damn first place."

"Calm down, pet," Henry told her. "Don't forget that I'm in charge."

"Yes sir," she replied, growling into the phone. "Would it be impertinent to mention that I am dressed in a manner that might entice a cop to question me which could lead to --"

"I have no doubt of your ability to get away easily. You're downtown in the middle of the night, and you're a shadow jumper."

'He's probably already got a place picked out,' she thought as she turned a corner. 'He's just doing this to humiliate me.' She stopped. 'Maybe that's the whole point of this trip.'

"Why did you stop?" came his voice.

"Are you watching me?!"

"Always."

She smiled. So he liked to watch, huh? She started to prowl again, a little swagger in her step and wondering where Henry was. She didn't bother to look for him. She noticed an increased amount of attention from the few motorists and pedestrians that were out and about. But she stopped again when she found a spot.

"Sir, what about here?"

There was a pause. "Why there?"

"She goes to the Fox for some event, parks down there," she said, pointing to the lot she meant and assuming he could see her. See the ATM over there? Free-standing with a dark alley no more than fifteen feet away. She walks past the alley, gets grabbed . . . shot." Her already cool blood chilled a bit more.

"Problems?"

"No sir."

Henry sighed into her ear piece. "Don't lie to me, Shamira."

"I'm sorry, sir. I know that she'll rise again, but --" she just couldn't continue.

"It's okay," he said soothingly. "One shot through the heart and she'll be dead. It'll hurt, but she wants this to happen. She'll be happier with us than she was with her old life. You of all people should be able to sympathize with that."

Shamira bit off a retort, wanting to say that her old life had been great. But she would have been lying. She'd been dying slowly, and it took getting killed to find a life that might make her happy. "Yes sir. Anyway, that alley leads away to North Ave., where we could have a getaway car waiting."

"Good idea, but no getaway cars. Too easy to trace. What we need is someone who can vanish without a trace."

"Banshee? I heard she's good, but --" Shamira's eyes shot open. "Wait, you're not seriously saying --"

"You," Henry said calmly. "You shoot, step into the shadows, and you're back at the house. No chance of getting tailed, no leaving a trail behind. I like the location though. Believable."

"Henry . . . I mean, sir --"

"I actually prefer Master," Henry told her.

"Master, I don't know if I can --"

"Shane trusted this job to me, and I say that you do the job. You're a good shot, you've got the ability to get away . . . you're the perfect choice. Shane will agree with me, because he trusts you. Shane cares for Tabitha, so he needs this to go right. That means using you. And you realize that your abilities make you the perfect person to help with all of the upcoming creations."

"How many is he planning?!"

"Three. And he's bringing in an orphan vampire from Europe, but he won't be here until next month. Shane needs his troops and he needs them soon, especially if we're going to move against Shane's enemy in the South."

"We're all in the South," Shamira muttered. "What's this guy's name anyway?"

"Andrew Lacroix. He's a full vamp, but not yet a vampire lord. He's the political lord down in Savannah, and he seems to think that he had more of a claim to Atlanta than Shane. Hell, he wants all of Georgia. Don't ask me why, since Atlanta is enough to handle, and certainly too much for that twit. I wish Shane would just send Banshee and Reaper after him, balls to the wall. Okay, there might be collateral damage, but what can you do? But hey, this is what makes undeath worth living, right?"

"Yes . . . sir," she said, letting her amused exasperation come through. About that time, a car slowed down. "Great," she muttered.

"Hey there," a young Latino man said. Shamira heard talking in the shadows of the car. "Mamacita, you've got it goin' ON!" the driver continued.

Shamira was on the verge of rolling her eyes and walking away when that annoying little voice filtered into her ear. "You're dressed like a whore," Henry told her remotely. "Play the part."

'Son of a --" She managed a smile. "I've got it all and more," she said, doing the half-closed eyelid thing that the guys from vice always talked about. The kind of thing that working girls did to try and get out of being cited or arrested. 'Actually, this is kind of fun,' she decided. She put her hands on the top of their beat-up Cadillac, exposing a generous amount of cleavage.

The driver and his three passengers were looking at her like kids at a nice piece of candy. "I dunno," one said from the backseat. "Lots of muscles. Sure she's not a guy?"

That stung home for Shamira, who had dealt with accusations of "manliness" for many years. Without even thinking, she stepped back and pulled up the front of her mini-skirt to expose her black thong. "See any man parts?"

"God no," another passenger said.

"Hey," the driver said, "how about a freebie? It's my birthday! Almost."

"Hmm," came Henry's voice through the headset, "wouldn't it be interesting --"

Shamira noticed something . . . wrong . . . in the darkness on the other side of the street. One moment she saw nothing, and then it was like someone flipped a switch in her eyes, like staring at one of those hidden images in the posters. Shadows at night weren't unusual, but these were moving in a most unnatural way. Shadows that didn't seem to be cast by anything.

"Hey, what's up?" the driver asked. "You gonna --"

"Cop," she said quickly. "Just saw him turn the corner back there. Better split." She actually felt a little disappointed that the game was ending. "Try again in about an hour if you're still up."

"Thanks lady!" the driver said, pulling away from the curb.

"I didn't see any police, " Henry said. "Are you trying to --"

"Something's wrong down here," she said. "I'm seeing shadows move, but I can't see what's casting them."

Henry was suddenly all business. "What do the shadows look like?"

"They're . . . blobs. I can't describe them any better, but that's what they are."

"Did you bring a weapon?"

"I've got my snakewhip belt, and a 9mm in the purse."

"Silver bullets?"

"Do we have any bullets that aren't?"

Henry dropped from a nearby rooftop, almost scaring the hell out of Shamira. "Where are they?" he asked.

"Right there," she said. "Can't you see them?"

"No," he replied, then looked at her. "Are you sure --"

"Yeah, I'm . . . fuck, they're moving." She cocked her head. The shapes were moving oddly, moving back and forth as if . . . "They're trying to get over here," she said. They're shying away from the light, and . . . why not just fly through the sky? If they're afraid of light --"

"Crap," Henry muttered. "Dark Pools. Nasty monsters. They blend completely in the shadows, and they're basically like big hungry mouths. Shine light directly on them and they dissolve, but people generally can't detect them until it's too late. Someone had to have summoned them, but . . . wait, why can YOU see them?"

Shamira shrugged. She looked around and noticed that some things seemed crisper. "Strange. I never noticed it before, but vamps can see stuff better in darkness than in light, can't they?"

Henry's eyes slowly opened wide. "No, they can't. Vamps can see just as well at night as during the day, but not better. Fuck, you've got Shadow Sight too! Unfair!"

"Huh?" Shamira felt her response was brilliant.

"Shadow Sight! It's another shadow Aspect. I can't be sure right here, but I'm willing to bet you just developed the third of the Shadow Aspects. Damn it, I don't even have one Aspect!"

"Can we concentrate on the evil buggers trying to eat us?"

Henry was grumbling. He was fascinated by this development, but Shamira had a point. "I'm willing to bet that Lacroix sent them."

"Why us? Why not Shane?"

"Dark Pools are nasty, but they're ghostly creatures, and no match for a poltergeist like Jeremiah. They probably just started looking for the nearest members of Shane's house, and that would be us." He got an idea. "Stall them. I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Did he just say 'jiffy'?" she asked of no one in particular. Henry had taken off. When it looked like the Dark Pools were going to try and make their way around, Shamira stepped toward them, careful to stay within the beam of lamppost. She undid her belt, winding the business end around her hand. One of the shadows drifted as close as it could to where she was standing, and she lashed out with the whip. The tip passed harmlessly through it but, when the extending silver tip met concrete on the other side, there was a little bit of a spark. That caused the shadow to jump back, wary of her now. She was so proud of herself that she almost missed a second Dark Pool flowing from the other side when she stepped too close to the edge of the light.

She counted three . . . no, four Dark Pools, and all of them had converged around her location. Before, she could have taken one step away from the light, sank into shadows, and vanished somewhere else, but now she was somewhat trapped. Not that she would run even if she could, since that would leave four hungry demons slinking around downtown Atlanta. She was getting scared, but she was fine as long as the light stayed on. She stared at the pools of total blackness that surrounded her, and suddenly her eyesight . . . popped.

Like earlier, things became crisper, and all the little nuances hidden by darkness became obvious, and she saw all of the Dark Pools. These things that drifted across the ground were simply the mouths of the horde of tiny, chomping demons. Each Dark Pool was a colony of living, sentient appetite. They were called pools, but Shamira saw that their bodies were oceans, the shores of which bent off into some other world or reality in ways that made it hard to look at. Like all oceans, no one drop could kill, but the whole of it would consume, leaving nothing behind.

'Who the hell could have summoned things like this?' she thought. Then she heard something that scared her even more -- laughter. Somewhere, revelers were out and about, wandering around after getting kicked out of some bar or another. The Pools shifted, but seemed to be keeping their attention on her. But if some innocent wandered by now . . . Shamira had to think fast. She knew they feared the light, but did it hurt them?

She got her answer a moment later as a large black pickup truck came tearing around a corner.

"They still around?" came Henry's voice in her ear.

"They've got me kind of surrounded."

Henry hit the high-beams and roof lights on the truck, and the area began to glow. Smoke erupted from the Dark Pools, and for three of them there was nowhere to go. Shamira could see that as the edge of the Pools that touched this world burned under the light, they began to lose their hold on this reality, like a suction-cup after the air-tight seal begins to leak. One by one, they popped loose and vanished into whatever world they had come from until only one remained.

It still had enough grip to stay in this world, but not much. It had found refuge from the lights by skulking behind a trash can and a public Post Office drop box. Shamira could practically feel its panic. It was a hunter, not the hunted. It didn't know how to react. Shamira noticed how close it was to the alley. If it got in there, Henry couldn't follow it and it would vanish, and who knew what it might eat when it got free. Shamira saw the edge of the creature just before it made a crawl for it, and without thinking she reached out and grabbed it.

Her hands immediately started screaming in agony as the Pool bit into her flesh, but she didn't let go. She dug her stiletto heels into the ground and pulled backward. The Dark Pool stretched like taffy, some getting pulled into the headlights of the truck. It started to burn, dissolving out of one of Shamira's hands. Shamira looked at her hand, wondering how badly --

All she saw were little red marks, but no cuts and no bleeding. 'How is that possible?' Then it hit her. This was a creature of pure darkness . . . she healed faster the darker it got. Because it was made up of lots of tiny little mouths instead of one big one, it couldn't do damage to her fast enough to do anything but hurt like hell. 'Shadow Healing rocks!' she thought, reaching her hand back into the Pool and dragging the amorphous thing towards the light.

Henry backed up and maneuvered the truck to capture more of the thing in the headlights. Through her hands, Shamira could feel the thing screaming. She felt like a million needles were getting jammed into her hands, but she didn't let go until she felt its whole weight pulling on her. It was no longer trying to get away; it was falling. Falling back into its own world. She let go and, just like that, it was gone. She fell back on her ass just as a group of college students walked past her location, only half a block away.

'Thank God they didn't show up sooner,' she thought.

"Are you okay?" Henry said, getting out of the truck. He looked at her hands. "What the hell?"

She grinned. She held up her hurt but intact hands and explained her theory about what had happened. He just shook his head in amazement.

"You are . . . good grief," he muttered, his eyes still wide with amazement.

"What? You sound disappointed the damn things didn't eat me," she replied, mildly hurt.