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Stacked Deck Ch. 01

By: JPhantym



Prologue

You know at the end of any really good action thriller or really bad horror movie, the hero is sitting there amidst the smoldering rubble of a building he had to blow the hell out of just to give the baddies a proper send off? Then some gorgeous woman starts shoving her way through the crowd of onlookers so that she can embrace her poor knight in shining armor, while he lets loose a great sigh of relief?

The part they never tell you, is that you get penalized for the destruction of said building. Or that you get to spend the next thirty-six hours in an interrogation room, trying to explain what the hell happened. Never mind that it all went so fast that you just don't know which end is up. 

Oh, and that gorgeous woman?

Chances are she doesn't even exist, or she's in love with your best friend.

Hollywood is so full of shit.





Chapter One: "Know when to fold 'em"

"And so ladies and gentleman, I present to you your new Toreador Primogen. Sophia Davies." Diego St. Dior beamed proudly. There was a round of eager applause as every eye in the ballroom fell upon her. She gave a gracious bow and waved autonomously to the crowd. Diego positioned his arm possessively around her waist. "And I would also like to announce that she has graciously consented to be my bride." 

Sophia's eyes darkened, if only for the briefest of moments, then twinkled with a congenial smile. They stepped down off the dais and commenced with the duties of handshakes and forged smiles.

"Do forgive me, darling. I'll be back in a moment." She whispered into Diego's ear and wandered off into the crowd. She slipped unnoticed into the second floor bathroom and locked the door behind her. Resting her head against the door, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and bit back a scream of frustration. Turning quickly on her heels, she went over to the sink and stared gravely into the mirror.

"Diego, you greedy son of a bitch. How dare you pull such an arrogant stunt? You will pay dearly for this," she whispered to her reflection. She checked her mascara and reapplied a fresh layer of burgundy lipstick, wiping away a smudge with the edge of her pinky. Straightening her cocktail dress and taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and re-entered the party. Her golden eyes searched the crowd and found Diego huddled in a corner, talking animatedly to Dimitri Chernovich.

Sophia slipped quietly out to the balcony of the mansion, the raucous din of the party pummeled hungrily against the glass behind her. She leaned against the railing and gazed wistfully out across the bay. Just upon the horizon she could see the silhouette of one of the casino boats. Positioning her chin on her slender shoulder, she glanced toward the downtown boardwalk. From here, all of the torches and lamps cast a pale golden aura upon the township she'd come to know and adore. She closed her golden eyes for a moment and concentrated on the sounds of the "Pirate Days Festival" that was now in full swing, the screams and laughter emanating from the carnival rides. She couldn't help but chuckle longingly to herself. 

After several moments of collecting her thoughts, she drew a deep breath of the night air and turned to re-enter the gala affair. A flicker of movement on the roof caught her eye. Her gaze intensified in the gloom. She strained her ears for any sign of movement and thought she could hear a light rasping breath. In the blackness, two red eyes snapped open as the wispy shadow descended upon her. The scream caught in her throat as the shadow enveloped her.

Diego swept the curtain aside and searched the balcony for his fiancé. A glimpse of the grim reaper flashed briefly before him as it vaulted over the balcony railing and loped across the yard like a rabid beast into the surrounding trees. He quickly threw open the door and ran out. Bracing himself on the railing as he cried out her name in desperation. He pulled his hand back and gazed in horrid contemplation at the dark stains on his trembling hands. His voice stuck horridly in his throat. Wedged into the railing at his feet was a broken five-inch stiletto heel.





Thomas Ballentine strode cautiously through the twisted maze of back alleys behind the shops just off the central boardwalk. The laughter and screams of the annual pirate festival echoed forcefully off of the stone walls, through the dusk, modifying them into something almost surreal.

He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the little paper card. Glancing back and forth between the card and the inadequately hand painted sign above the door. He braced himself and moved up the steps, satisfied that this was the place. He could hear the faint sounds of an acoustic guitar coming from the short hallway as he opened the steel door before him. Gathering all of the feigned confidence he could summon, he straightened his dress shirt one last time and knocked on the door.

"Entrée." Came a voice as smooth as silk.

"Hi...um...Mr. Phantym?" Thomas stammered as he peered around the door. "My name is, uh..."

"Thomas Ballentine. I know. I sent for you specifically," the man said soothingly.

He set the guitar in its stand and casually rose from his chair behind the desk. Wiping his palm on his tattered jeans, he reached across the desk, offering his hand.

Ballentine shook his hand earnestly, taking note of its strength appraisingly. He cast a casual glance about the room, taking in the blatant disarray. The file cabinet drawers were randomly open and boxes were stacked in each corner. There was a pile of crumpled papers on the desk.

"Jamus Phantym," the man declared brightly. "Pleased to meet you finally. I've been reading about you a lot in the tabloids of late. Apparently we've been moving through the same social circles for some time now. Odd, that we never actually met."

"Thank you, Sir," Thomas said timidly. "The pleasure is surely mine."

Jamus gestured toward the opposite chair. "Please, take a seat."

"And please, call me Jamie. I hate standing on formality, so you can drop that "Sir" shit," he said, lowering himself into his chair.

He swung his sandaled feet up onto the desktop, tilted his head back and his pale hands rubbed at his bleary eyes. He raked his fingers through the shoulder length mane of midnight black hair and let out a huge sigh.

"Alright, let's get right into the meat of it shall we? I'm sure you've at least heard the rumors floating around town about the string of missing people," he said, staring idly at the grimy ceiling tiles. 

Tom nodded silently and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Tom...may I call you Tom?" he asked, gazing directly into his eyes. "Tom, I've been working on this case for some very dear friends of mine and, I hate to admit, it's got me stumped. I've been chasing my tail for three months now. To be quite frank...I need the help of someone who's not afraid to delve into the...let's say "darker" aspects of the paranormal. I need the area's best psychic, my friend. I need you."

Tom stepped out into the warm night and tilted his face skyward. His nostrils were assaulted by the nauseating smell of salt air, gunpowder and soured alcohol. The conversation played again through his head as he stepped out onto the boardwalk. He took a left on Main Street and made his way back to his home on the Upper West Side of the island.

He rubbed his temples and took a deep breath as he walked up to the two-story stone dwelling, a remodeled remnant of Spanish occupation. A sudden breeze sent a shiver down his spine as he fumbled for his keys. He jammed the brass one into the lock and twisted the handle. A wall of cold air and the scent of sandalwood washed over him as he opened the door. Setting his keys on the long table by the door, he unbuttoned his shirt and walked to the phone. 

He pressed #2 on the phone, the number of the Chinese take-out place a couple of blocks away.

"Hi Robert, can I get the chicken lo mien tonight? Delivery please. Thanks."

He hung up the phone and stepped into his bathroom, stripping off the pale blue shirt along the way. He tossed it into the hamper and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face. Looking up into the mirror he could see the dark circles under his eyes staring harshly back at him. He leaned his forehead against the mirror and swallowed hard. His mind's eye replayed again the vision he'd gotten from shaking Jamus' hand. The ship at sea, the cold darkness, the flash of teeth all came rushing in. And blood, so much blood.

He wiped his face with the hand towel and flicked off the light, stepping back into the hallway. Regaining his composure, he walked into the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator. The faded and torn picture of Diana, his mother, smiled at him from its spot on the freezer door. A bitter-sweet grin played on his lips as he withdrew the carafe of chardonnay from the door. As he was taking a glass out of the cupboard, there was the timely knock on the door.

"Be right there, Donnie." He called out.

Upon arriving at the front door, he placed his hand upon it, instinctively. Fingers splayed across the cool iron, he could "see" on the other side. There was Robert's teenage son, Donnie, who made deliveries as a summer job. As usual, he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, impatiently. Tom opened the door and grinned at him, holding out the two twenty dollar bills.

"Did you pass the preliminaries this week?" He smiled.

The boy nodded and grinned impishly.

"And to think, your father still thinks that bike is a waste of time. Keep the change kid."

He returned the bow to the boy and watched as he made his way down the flight of steps, two at a time. Tom locked the door behind him and sat down on the floor at the small living room table. Opening up the container, he inhaled deeply the aroma of his hot meal, his mouth immediately watered and his stomach let out a snarl. He hadn't realized he was that hungry. He glanced over at the clock on the VCR and grimaced, he hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was now 10:15p.m. Fixing the position of the chopsticks in his hand, he dug in.

Yumi leapt up onto the arm of the couch, reaching out, her delicate paw brushing his shoulder. Insistently she meowed in his ear.

"No honey, this isn't for you," he stated as he lovingly scratched the bridge of her nose. "I'll feed you in a moment."

He finished the last of the container and got to his feet. As he walked to the kitchen, Yumi skillfully looped between his feet, stating frantically that she was hungry. He rinsed the plastic container in the sink, tossed it into the recycling bin and opened up the cupboard. He poured some dry food into her dish and set it on the floor. Crouching down, he scratched her behind the ears. She mumbled something very near English and crunched away at her food like it was her last meal on earth.

"I met a very odd fellow today, Yumi." He stated as he stood up. "I think I may go to work for him."

He cocked his head slightly and grinned. "He actually seems quite decent."

...For a Vampire.



Jamus was sprawled out at a booth in the back of the bar, dressed in pretty much the same clothes as earlier that night; jeans with the knees cut out, brown leather sandals and a painfully lurid Hawaiian shirt. His dark tresses were disheveled and covering most of his pale face. The shock of gray on the right temple caught the light in such a way that it was almost ethereal. He was skimming through the headlines of the local paper, catching up on the news that the editor thought was fit to print.

He winced as a woman sat down on the opposite side of the booth. Her golden locks barely concealing what her low cut blouse refused to.

"Nik," he stated blandly without looking up. "What can I do ya for?"

She cast him an icy stare from across the table. 

"You know goddamned well what I'm here for, so stop playing coy. You don't pull it off well anyway."

"Hey, don't get snarky with me, Sparky. He's your husband." He carefully folded the newspaper and set it aside. 

"Yes, but he's your brother." Her mercurial eyes started to well with the onset of tears.

He sucked in a deep breath and bit his lower lip. 

"Look, Nik...it's like I told you last week. I haven't seen or heard from Jess in over 5 years. You know how well he holds a grudge. It could be centuries before he forgives me." 

Jamus laced his fingers before him on the table and rested his chin on his thumb tips. His powder blue eyes gleamed in the dim light. 

"Nikky, I love you both, but you've got to sort this shit out on your own. I think this is one case where blood is not thicker than water." He sighed deeply.

Nikasha folded her arms across her chest and sat back against the booth. The corners of her lips started to quiver and she quickly moved her gaze to the candle on the wall. Tears started to stream down her pale cheeks.

"I just feel so helpless. All of our friends are disappearing. And you, me...any one of us could be next. Something has to be done. You heard Seryn last night. We are all in danger." Her body started to tremble slightly. She swiped her hand angrily at the tears streaming down her face.

Jamus choked back his words. He'd never once seen her lose her composure in the near 150 years he'd known her. The events of the past month clearly had her shaken. She was terrified to the core. They all were. Since the dawn of the "Breed," the only threat to them came from the humans who wanted them destroyed, and over the years they'd nearly succeded in making them an endangered species. But this was something new. Something different. Something dark and evil.

Nearly three months ago an ally had come to him to seek his help. His wife, one of the political hierarchs known as a Primogen, had received an envelope, shoved under her door. There were no words written on it and all it contained was a tarot card. The Page of Swords. The next evening when he awoke, she was missing. A few weeks later, Cyril Diggs found The Knight of Swords under his door. He'd also disappeared. Six days ago they lost Sophia Davies, the new Toreador Primogen. At her apartment they'd found The Queen of Swords. 0She was the betrothed of Diego St. Dior, the Prince of this providence. Jamus knew without a doubt that soon there would be another card, one for Diego himself. The timing was ripe, too. In two days would be more than a full moon; it was the fabled "Blood Moon." This was going to be bad, very bad. Whoever...whatever was causing these disappearances had ties into the old magicks. That much was glaringly apparent. 

Now, his half-brother's spouse sat across the table from him quaking in fear. No, it wasn't fear. It was terror. And he could absolutely understand why. Her lover and protector was nowhere to be found. If it could happen among their quiet little coven, it could be happening amongst any other. When last Jamus had heard from Jesse, he'd just been offered the position of captain to the Gangrel clan in Windstone Falls. 

"Nik, maybe you should go up north too. You know, be with him. I never understood why you stayed down here when he got the call, anyway." He reached his hand across the table and set it gently upon hers. She looked up to him with her enchanting eyes and shook her head.

"No, up there I'm an outcast. At least here I have family. And I can find some way to help." She took a deep breath, relieved that this current bout of anxiety had passed and then took a sip from the jewel-encrusted bottle that she'd brought with her.

"Besides, you might actually stumble on to the truth of the matter and I'll have to bail your skinny ass out of trouble again." She forced a smile and he returned one of assurance. He was glad to see her smile; it had been far too long since the last one.



Tom winced as four feet pressed into his chest, seeming to weigh in at five pounds each. Golden eyes beamed quizzically as he opened his. Yumi pressed her face under his chin insistently and purred. 

"Awright, I'm up...I'm up." He threw the sheets aside and she launched off his chest to the floor. No sooner had he swung his feet down, she was yeowling instruction at him.

"I'm under the impression that you're hungry again. Didn't we just do this?" He stumbled to the door, his head reeling.

"Yumi, why the hell did you let me drink the whole bottle last night? You were supposed to cut me off," he muttered.

As he trudged his way to the kitchen, Yumi worked on her game of speed bump, yowling all the way. 

"You don't need to practice that... you are quite good at it already. I know... I know...I'm working on it. Gods."

Two hours later he was working on his second cup of coffee and perusing the file that Jamus had given him the night before. His brow was furrowed in concentration. He'd been staring at the same photograph for the last hour. He shook the cobwebs from his addled brain, stood up and stretched. The bones in his shoulders popped from disuse. 

"Yumi my dear, you are on your own for lunch. I've got work to do."

He grabbed his gear, locked the door and stepped out to the road. Looking both ways, he reached out his arm and hailed a cab. After a few side trips for supplies, he gradually made his way to DarkWalk Investigations. 

Ten blocks away a pair of battered cowboy boots shuffled down the steps of the bus. Devon Walker dropped down to the sidewalk of the bus station with a pronounced thud and drew down the brim of his hat, glancing casually around he smirked.

"Why in the hell would a vampire choose to live on an island?" he drawled as he squinted behind his aviator style sunglasses. He looked around, shrugged his wide shoulders and headed toward the boardwalk.





Tom knocked sheepishly at the large oak double door, looking around behind him cautiously as the twilight crept into place. When no immediate answer came, he knocked a little harder. A very tall, very thin man opened the door and leered at him.

"Yes, may I help you?" droned the man in a rather salacious tone.

"Yes. Sir. My name is Thomas Ballentine. I'm an associate for DarkWalk Investigations. I was wondering if I might come in and speak to..." He flipped the pages on his little notebook. "To Mr. Dimitri Chernovich?"

The tall man opened the door wider and ushered him into the massive foyer.

"Please have a seat in the study. I'll let Mr. Chernovich know you are here," he said, sweeping his long arms in an arc toward the second door on the left. Then he strode off up the cascading double stairs.

"Creepy Lurch-looking fucker," Tom muttered as he made his way to the study, taking his time to brush his fingertips along the priceless works of art along the way. Images of crusades and battles and thieves in the night filled his head.

"I guess there is money in being a Primogen," he smiled whimsically to himself, meandering through another tall oak door. As he stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, he gaped in great interest at the amount of books on the high cedar shelves that rose to the high vaulted ceiling.

He adjusted his wire-rimmed frames on the bridge of his nose as he felt the presence of his host coming around the corner to the door.

"Mr. Ballentine?" The voice was cold and venomous. Tom turned toward the door to find a rather slight man, seemingly in his late sixties. He puzzled for a moment at how someone that looked so frail could pose such a threat as the dark aura he saw surrounding the man.

"Mr. Chernovich," he cleared his throat. "Perhaps I might have a few moments of your time?" He proffered his hand cautiously.


Stacked Deck Ch. 01



Chernovich held his hand firmly in his jacket pocket, a slight quiver of displeasure played at the corners of his lips.

"I believe we can dispense with the pleasantries, Mr. Ballentine, I've neither the time nor the patience to deal with your...kind. And while I will be forever grateful to Jamus, I can't abide the presence of a...well...mundane in my home. So please just make your queries and be off on your merry, insignificant way."

Tom steeled his resolve and smiled sweetly.

"Sir, I assure you that the last thing I wish to do is desecrate your beautiful home. All I wish is to find out what happened to your wife. So if you would please, be kind enough point me in the direction of where she was last seen, I can get on with my work and be out of your gray, thinning, lifeless hair."

Chernovich's eyes went wide with furious loathing as he pointed sharply toward the glass doors that opened out onto the veranda.

Tom stepped out onto the veranda with his back to the contemptuous little man, a smile of triumph curled on his lips. He reached out his hand and brushed his fingertips along the doorframe, the railing and the small breakfast table. His eyes went vacant and he stopped dead in his tracks. Instinctively his psychic shielding tightened around him defensively. The strongest, blackest void he'd ever encountered pounced upon him like a starving animal. The only thing he could glean from the residual sensation was predatory glee and murderous satisfaction.

"Lord and Lady...what the hell is this?" he gasped.

Regaining his senses he yanked his hand back quickly. His tread so quick that he didn't even hear the front door slam behind him as he bolted for the sculptured driveway.



"What the fuck did you just send me into?" Tom's voice cracked as he screamed.

Jamus wheeled in his chair and faced the young man who'd just burst into his office. His eyes tightened threateningly. When he saw the terror deep in Tom's eyes, his face slackened into something comforting.

"Christ, Tom, you look like shit," Jamus said soothingly. "Ol' Dimitri didn't try to eat you did he?"

"Stop joking around! That was some seriously evil majick I just stepped into." Tom forced in a deep breath and tried to regain his center. His legs starting to buckle beneath him, he dropped onto the threadbare couch under the window. Jamus reached into the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a silver flask. He tossed it to the troubled young man. Tom caught it, but just stared into the golden falcon embossed on it.

"Take a swig or five kid...it'll do you good," Jamus cooed.

Tom twisted and flipped the cap, drew it to his lips and stopped. He looked dead into Jamus' eyes nervously.

"Don't worry, it's just scotch," Jamus chuckled as his brow rose. "Well, 20 year old scotch at any rate."

Tom drank in a long pull from the flask, nearly choking. The liquid was like fire in his throat.

Jamus leaned back in his chair and scratched absently at the stubble on his chin. After a long silence Tom lowered the flask into his lap.

"Mr. Chernovich wasn't a problem...nasty and mean...but nothing I haven't dealt with before." Tom spoke, unsure that his voice wouldn't quiver. "What is a problem is that thing that's taking your friends." 

He took another sip and leaned forward, placing his forearms on his knees. The flask hung loosely in his fingertips. "Jamus, this is bad, really bad...I mean...demon bad. The blackest of hells. I have never come across anything like this. It was like a pit of despair. Hunger. Need. And definitely not from this realm."

"Sounds like you found our Nightflyer," came a soft voice from the corner.

Tom nearly dropped the flask as he lurched to his feet. His eyes were instantly drawn to a petite woman perched casually atop of one of the filing cabinets. He pulled the psi-bolt back into himself, having nearly sent it across the room on instinct.

"Tom, this is Sherry." Jamus chuckled, " but we just call her Mouse."

Tom settled back into a less defensive posture and took an appraising look at the woman. She would stand at most, maybe 5'2" and was perhaps a little too gaunt, like she hadn't had a good meal in days. Her hair was neon pink and cut in a skater's "McSqueeb"- with the right side chin length and the left side close-cropped. Her ears had multiple piercings, as did her bottom lip. Her skinny arms were covered in tribal tattoos. The brightest of greens eyes were glimmering in the dim lamplight. She was wearing torn olive drab cargo shorts and an obscenely red half tank top. She swung her bare feet back and forth lazily. What Tom couldn't comprehend however, was how he hadn't noticed her until she spoke.

"She works with us in an underground movement that protects runaways," Jamus said at last. "A guardian, if you will." 

Mouse lifted her right arm in a lighthearted salute. Tom glimpsed the tattoo on the inner forearm. It was the symbol of a Guardian, someone who is sworn to protect the innocent.

Tom jerked his head from the reverie as the word finally sunk in. "Nightflyer?"

Mouse dropped down off of the cabinet with a light kick and landed gracefully on the floor. She hitched herself up atop Jamus' desk and tucked her knees beneath her chin, head cocked slightly askew.

"A Nightflyer...is a demon. Kinda like a vampire..." she glanced at Jamus whimsically. "Only it doesn't feed on blood. It eats souls." Her voice was chillingly joyful. "Major bad conjure. I feel sorry for the silly shit that brought it across."

Tom unconsciously drew his arms around himself. A soul eater...good Gods. Now I remember the name. My mother once told me a story about how she had faced one when she was younger. How it nearly killed her, but I thought it was just that...a story.

"Well, I'm outtie...is that all the update you needed Jamie?" She sprawled playfully across his desk. He nodded silently as she rolled over and off to land on her feet. 

She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I'll get back to you when I find the prick." She grabbed her board and scampered off out the door, turned back and looked directly into Tom's eyes. "Nice to meet you Tom. Catch you later, cutie." She cocked a finger at him and fired with a click of her tongue.

Tom blushed deeply as she turned on her heel and left.

Jamus pinched the bridge of his nose, holding the imminent headache at bay, as Tom took another sip from the flask and gathered his next thought very carefully.

"What did she mean by 'Our Nightflyer?" Tom said finally as he offered the flask back to its owner.

Jamus reached across the desk and took it, replaced the cap and tucked it back in its drawer.

"About six months ago, some of her runaways started to disappear from the safe houses. One of the bunkmates was coming back from the bathroom and as he rounded the corner, saw this black "smoke" as it surrounded one of the victims. It floated out the window, with no trace of it or the victim left behind." 

He sighed deeply. "Mouse has been chasing the rumors ever since." He rose from his desk and stretched noisily. "C'mon laddie buck. Let's go get a real drink."



The summer rains pelted the windowpane in a vicious torrent. The wind howled ferociously at its restraints just outside Tom's bedroom. A horrified scream snapped Tom awake and he looked wildly around the room, his chest heaving with desperate breath. Only to realize that it was his scream. He sat up in bed for what felt like an eternity, cold sweat trailing down his back. Finally gathering his senses back into him, as the tendrils of the nightmare retracted back into the dark corners of the room, he swung his legs off the bed and ran his fingers through his damp hair. He walked out to the kitchen on wobbly legs, narrowly missing Yumi's tail as he made his way in the dark. She gazed at him reproachfully.

He fumbled for a glass out of the dish drainer, filled it straight from the tap and swallowed more than half in one gulp. As he took another deep breath, the feeling of cold blackness finally started to drain away from him. Swallowing once more, he set the glass on the counter and made his way into the living room, flicking on the lamp as he passed. Tom sat down on the couch with his feet tucked protectively beneath him.

It was just a dream. That's all. Brought on by that story in Jamie's office and that story my mother told me. That's all it was. But his rationale did little to shake off the terror that still lingered. 

Yumi announced her presence softly and curled up on the back of the couch behind his head, tail flicking him in the ear. Tom sat and stared blankly at the coffee table. 

I've got to get a grip on my fear. I've got to be stronger. It's what I am. What I have to do. Unconsciously, he rubbed at the "ribbon entwined sword" tattoo on the inside of his right wrist. His thoughts trailed to the young woman he'd met this evening. Her face was drifting to the surface of his memory, pushing the last of the dark remnants back into place. Another Guardian in this town. I'm not alone after all.

"Jamie! Open the goddamned door!" came the fervent yells and pounding from the hall of the apartment above his office. "I found him, I tracked the bastard." 

He turned down the volume on the television and strode quickly to the door. He unlocked the padlock and opened the door to find a soaking wet Mouse glaring back at him.

"You're wet. Is it raining?" he chuckled.

"No genius, liquid sunshine...now let me in!" She punched him hard on the shoulder and wheedled around his lanky frame. She shook off the black hood from her head and glowered at him. "Freakin' storm of the century out there."

Jamus went to the gas stove in the kitchen and lit the fire under a teapot. "So what did you find? Hey, hey! Not on... the ...couch." He shook his head mirthfully and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed gazing at her with a feigned scowl as she plopped down with disregard.

She shrugged off her hoodie and took a deep breath. "Okay, so I was talking to Chuck and he starts tellin' me about this creeper that's been stalking about out on the docks. Which last time I checked, was a certain someone else's turf. Anyway, so I go down there around 11 and lo and behold there's this gruff out there actin' like he owns the place. I tuck back and hide and watch as he goes and feeds on this drunken "Barbie". Stupid bitch. Fucker's a Breed. Sure as shit."

"Mouse?" Jamus held back a chuckle. 

"Hmmm?" Her green eyes snapped up to look at him.

"Take a breath?" Then he turned off the stove and poured two cups of tea. "Then what?" he asked as he stepped resolutely over to the shivering girl and handed her a cup.

"Well," she gulped some of the steaming brew, burning her tongue. "Then I track him down to Barrett's and he starts acting like he's king shit there too, tossin' about names and such. Claims to be a biggie in the upper colonies." She set the cup down as realization dawned on her. "Dude...we gotta go. He's still there."

"I agree." He nodded and set his untouched cup on the table. "But not you. You stay here and keep from catching a cold. There's supplies in the fridge."

Jamus reached into the wardrobe by the door and snatched his leather biker boots from under a pile of dirty clothes. He sat on the floor and pulled the boots up over his jeans. Reaching for a hidden drawer inside the wardrobe, he withdrew an eight-inch sheath containing his favorite knife and tucked it into his left boot. As he was heading out the door he pulled on a faded black t-shirt. Mouse gave him a wolf whistle.

Jamus slipped stealthily down the bridal path of Grady Thompson Park, ducking behind the trees and checking behind him ever few yards. Visibility was steadily improving as the storm started to pass overhead. He could now see the lights from Barrett's just up ahead. He kept his eyes locked on the door as he crept forward and peeked around an Australian pine.

A dark shadowy figure dropped out of the tree above him and pinned him to the ground, teeth gnashing violently mere inches above his face. Jamus drove his knee full force into what he assumed was the creatures groin with a sickening crunch. He leaped nimbly to his feet and took a defensive stance.

A rasping groan escaped the lips of the attacker as it assumed the fetal position and tried very hard not to wretch.

"You still... fight... like a fucking... girl, Jamie." Whimpered the foe. 

Jamus nudged the shadowy figure over onto its back with his thick boots and shook his head at the improbability of who lay before him. "And you're still a pussy who can't take a hit." He leaned over and offered his hand to the crumpled man.

"Wait...lemme catch mah breath first." He rolled to support himself on his knees, head to the cold wet grass.

"C'mon Devon, we don't have time for this. I've got work to do." Jamus stood back up and rest his hands impatiently on his hips.

Devon waved him on. "S'okay...not your fault I've got...had bigger balls than you."

Jamus reached down and yanked him up by his elbow, hauling him behind one of the Hibiscus hedges. He crouched down and looked Devon squarely in the eye and whispered, "Seriously, you alright?" He looked carefully over his shoulder at the door to Barrett's and then back to the face of his old comrade.

"Yeah man, Nik's nailed 'em harder than you," he croaked.

"I don't mean that dickhead...I mean...you know..." Jamus nodded to the full moon in its first phase. "That time of the month."

" Oh yeah, that...got it covered. Granger developed a serum that helps keep it under control." Devon twisted around and looked for his hat, finding it hung up on a lawn sprinkler across the sidewalk. "So what's the job tonight?"

"Runaway snatcher. He's holed up in Barrett's over there." Jamus nodded to the rundown little tavern near the 7th street canal. "You still hang out with Granger?" He rolled his eyes pathetically. 

Devon developed a huge grin on his face. "Still doing charity work, eh? Can I play too?"

A wide grin spread across Jamus' face "Well, since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful." Jamus turned and started off once more down the bridal path a steady clip, while Devon scooped up his hat and secured it arrogantly atop his head. Upon reaching the run down little tavern, Jamus skidded to a halt with his back to the wall. He nodded toward the door and then to Devon as he slid in at the other side, crouching down low. The Lycan nodded in agreement. 

"Reminds me of that time in El Paso," Devon whispered just under the sound of the jukebox beating against yellowed, greasy windows. Jamus grinned and shook his head as he straightened his shirt and reached for the knob. He threw open the door and strolled in nonchalantly. His eyes narrowed as he tossed out a warning of impending havoc to the proprietor, seemingly challenging him to object. Barrett lowered his eyes respectfully and went back to wiping down the bar.

Passing by the cluster of tables in the center of the tavern, Jamus meandered past a rough huddle of Breed playing poker. As he took a seat in a booth a few feet away, he found that he did not need to eavesdrop very hard. Mouse had been right. The one with the shaved head was very boisterous about his level of importance. Barrett set a small ceramic bottle and a shot glass atop the counter. He nodded in Jamus' direction when Nancy, the waitress, gazed at him inquiringly. She placed the bottle on her tray amongst the assorted other drinks and wove her way skillfully through the tables, placing drinks before the patrons.

Jamus nodded to Nancy and slapped down a crisp twenty-dollar bill as she set the bottle and glass on his table before him.

"Keep the change, hon," he murmured, never taking his eyes off of his target. She smiled politely to him, pocketed the extra twenty and made her way back across the tavern. Jamus pulled the cork out of the bottle, filled the shot glass and spun it idly between his hands.

"Yeah, like a was saying, I'd have kept the girl and taken her to the boss but he doesn't want morts anymore. So I just drained her and dumped the dregs off the dock. They'll probably attribute it to another drunken accident at the festival." Said the brute in an abrasive voice. He glanced across the table and saw Jamus draped in his booth and looked at him perplexedly.

Jamus raised his shot in tribute, slammed it back in one swallow and winked at the man. Tipping the bottle again, he refilled his glass.

"Hey Lenny," the man leaned in a whispered. "Who's that guy over there in the booth?" 

"Huh? What guy, Gregg?" Lenny whispered back, casting wild looks over his shoulder.

"That one. The one with the white streak in his hair...where the fuck did he go?" Gregg stuttered.

At that moment, Jamus was walking behind the behemoth. Lenny shot to his feet and backed away at the sight of him. In one fluid movement, Gregg was on his back as Jamus kicked the chair legs out from under him and placed his knee into the thug's chest. A stylishly ornate knife was pressed to his throat.

Jamus bared his fangs viciously and yelled, "Just one chance to get this right! Who are you working with and where are the hostages?"

"I ain't tellin' you shit!" Gregg grunted. Jamus tossed the knife lightly in the air and caught it by the tip of the blade, flicking Gregg in the mouth with the hilt.

"Who and Where?" Jamus asked with an eerie calm.

"Go fuck yourself," the Goliath spit back.

"I'm not fucking around, Gregg. This is your last chance." Jamus shook his head. "Tell me or I spill your blood. And in here..." Jamus arced his free hand in a flourish. "This is no place to let that scent out."

Spitting broken fangs and blood, Gregg blurted out, "Fine! Fuck it! Why should I care? I'm working with a Lycan named De..." The door crashed open and Devon fought his way through. Enclosed in his burly arms was Mouse, flailing wildly, kicking and screaming. He had a sawed off shotgun held under her chin.

"Aw goddamn it Gregg, I thought you were better than that." Devon shook his head disappointedly. He drew the shotgun away from the squirming girl and lined the sight to Jamus heart. "It wasn't supposed to go down like this Jamie...never like this."

Jamus glared at him viciously. "You slimy son of a bitch. Let her go!"

"C'mon Jamie, don't be like that...it's just business." The Lycan half shrugged. Mouse took the distraction as her cue to do something. She bit into his restraining arm and kicked back, driving her heel into his already tender testicles.

Jamus flipped the knife once more and with inhuman speed slit Gregg's jugular, leaped to his feet and charged the were-wolf. Barely ducking out of the way as an errant shot went off hitting the huddling Nancy full in the chest. All of the younger generation of vampires lost control at the coppery scent, fangs flashing in wicked abandon. They began tearing into the wounded victims. Nancy was nearly dead instantly. Gregg's screams were squelched by the sound of ripping and tearing flesh.

In desperation, Devon threw the girl directly in Jamus' path, knocking them both to the ground. He limped out the door toward the safety of night. Jamus laid her gently to the floor and launched himself toward the door, chasing after the Lycan, cursing the betrayer with each footfall. He stopped just outside of the light and listened carefully for signs in each direction. Nothing. And why should there be? I taught him all he knows. He kicked at a loose stone in the path and swore a curse that only Satan himself, had ever heard.

He wrung his hands through his soaked and tangled tresses and kicked at a chair as he re-entered the tavern. Letting out one final roar of frustration, he straightened and assessed the damage. Barrett and his goon squad of bouncers were already peeling off well-fed Breed and tossing them aside like rag-dolls. The still feeding vampires were hissing with the greatest contempt. Barrett stopped and stared down into the now lifeless eyes of Nancy. And wept unashamedly.




Stacked Deck Ch. 01



Jamus crouched down next to Mouse and quickly became alarmed that she was still not moving. He shook her lightly at first, then more forcefully as his panic grew. 

"Dammit Mouse! I told you to stay put!" He shouted. His own guilt starting to quake in him, he'd known damned well that she wouldn't. He pressed his ear to her chest, hoping for a heartbeat.

"Ferris Bueller you're my hero," coughed the petite form in his arms. She winced as she started to laugh. "D'we get 'im?"

"Sherry," he whispered gently. "He got away. How bad are you hurt?"

"I'm fine...just fine. An' dammit, don't call me Sherry." She sat up and white hot flash blurred her vision, a scream of agony caught in her chest. Jamus quickly looked behind her and saw a piece of broken table leg poking out of her lower back. He quickly hid the petrified look on his face. "Yeah, kiddo. Just fine." He scooped her up into his arms as carefully as he could muster and stalked out the door. It wasn't long before shock made her pass out as he trudged on through the night.



Stacked Deck Ch. 02



Chapter Two "Know when to walk away..."

"Now just take the chalk lightly in hand and start your circle." That voice was so soft and soothing. His mother was smiling at him with that tone of unconditional love, combined with beaming satisfaction. It was the eve of his thirteenth birthday and his mother had decided that it was high time that he learned how the majicks worked. Shortly after midnight this morning, his powers opened fully to his true potential. The floodgates had opened and washed frightfully over him. All Tom really wanted to do was go out and hang with his best friend, Ernie.

"Mom, I'm really not comfortable with this," he said, staring at the staggering lines on the floor before him. He had watched her perform the protective circle for years and knew all of the special hand signs in and out. He had been preparing for this day since he was old enough to comprehend actions and words. His mother had seen to it. Although he knew what it was...what he was destined to be, he hadn't been looking forward to it. All that he knew as fact, was that he would never be normal.

"You can do it Tommy, it's easy, " she cooed gently. His tongue was poking out the side of his lips as he concentrated on trying to make a perfect circle on the oak floor. A deep smile lined her face as she watched him. Instead of taking away from her, time seemed to be adding to her ethereal presence. She was still so beautiful.

The now complete circle began to glow a soft blue as he stood there. A look of pure bemusement crept onto his face. He paused for a moment to try and remember the new signs she had just taught him moments ago. His lips muttered the gentle chant that would complete the spell.

He tried desperately not to flinch as the circle pushed quickly upward and created a dome around him. He knew to expect this, but it had caught him off guard nevertheless. A brief moment later he regained his composure and smiled brightly at his mother. She returned the smile proudly, but her eyes started to betray the infinite sadness that was locked away deep inside. "I wish your father was here to see this day."

Tom had never known his father, only the timeless pictures locked away in that dusty old photo album on the bookshelf. His father had been taken from this earth before he was even born, one of Mom's investigations gone horribly awry. They had only been married a mere three months.

Surveying his surroundings and again, Tom locked his gaze with her. "Now?" He asked tentatively. 

She nodded and spoke softly. "Now."

Tom snapped to his feet at the thunderous pounding on his front door. "Thomas, open the door, " came a frantic voice from the other side. Yumi hissed with displeasure as she was tossed off of her chosen nap area, Tom's chest.

He put out his psychic "feelers" to check for destructive intentions. All that he got back was dread sorrow. He unlocked the bolts and threw the door open. Jamus was standing there on shaking legs, staring anxiously upon the unconscious face of Mouse.

"Gods, Jamus. What the hell happened?" Tom could see that she was still breathing, her slight frame heaving gently.

"Tom," Jamus forced a smile, "I need permission to cross the threshold."

"Oh shit...sorry...forgot the rule. Come in," he said hurriedly as he reached out and scooped Mouse into his arms, quite surprised by how light she was. She was thin, but surely she would weigh more than this. Careful not to touch the makeshift stake still imbedded in her lower back, he carried her over to the couch and propped her up.

"I need you take care of her, Tom. I'll explain later. I've got some hunting to do." The most bizarre darkness crept into Jamie's eyes and Tom's shields tightened protectively.

"But...I'm no doctor... and I'm certainly not a healer, " Tom protested. "H...how did you even find where I live?"

"I followed you the other night after you left the office," Jamus said hastily. "Just do what you can for her...No doctors. Got it?"

Tom was exceedingly baffled and he nodded vacantly. "Got it...no doctors."

Jamus turned on his toes and made to move away. He stopped and looked back at Mouse with sorrow in his eyes, then in an instant was gone.

Followed me? Well, that explains why I was so itchy coming home that night. He gazed down at her gentle face, brushed back the stray strands of defiantly pink hair with the gentlest of touches. Stray thoughts blinked through his mind. You are rather beautiful. He was drawn into her peaceful face. Every line. Every delicate curve. Every gorgeous imperfection. His thumb unconsciously brushed across her full pouty lips.

Her emerald eyes fluttered open and she took in a deep breath.

"You wanna do that...you're gonna have to buy me dinner, handsome." A pained smile widened those luscious lips. Those incredibly kissable lips. 

Christ on a biscuit, Tom, get a hold of yourself, this isn't eighth grade!

His voice cracked ever so slightly, "Hey there. You wanna tell me what happened here?" He couldn't help but look deep into those eyes.

"I was bored...so I thought I'd experiment with pain for a while," she chuckled, and then winced as white-hot fire shot through her. "Aw, Fuck! Really... stepped in it this time." 

Tom winced in empathy. 

"Awright. Now let's see what we can do about this. Can you sit up a bit, hon?" he queried as he helped her lean forward. He winced helplessly from just out of her view. "Okay. Not so bad...just a sliver."

His forced joke got an agonized chuckle out of her. "You are the worst liar I've ever met. Let's just yank it out and call it foreplay." 

Tom was struck speechless and blushed. He eased her to her feet and guided her gently to the kitchen. She leaned forward and braced herself against the counter.

"Okay Lancelot...grab a clean towel...this is gonna suck," she quipped readily.

Tom stood dumbfounded for a moment. She's way stronger than I would have imagined. He trotted off to the hall closet and grabbed a towel, then darted into the bathroom for his hurricane emergency first-aid kit and moved swiftly back to the kitchen. He set it on the counter beside her. He looked into her eyes for direction; she was grinning uncertainly around the wooden spoon clenched between her teeth. 

She nodded adamantly and he drew a deep breath to steady his nerves. He put his unsteady hand tentatively to the table leg, and then he took it in full grasp. Her emerald eyes bore into his and she nodded affirmatively. And he pulled as hard and fast as he could. 

She was right...this sucked.

Jamus skirted his way back down toward the bay, keeping as close to the shadows as possible. Not that it would do him much good. Devon was likely to smell him from miles away and he knew it. He also knew that this would be the last time they ever met. Devon had gotten greedy many times in their sordid past. A past filled with scams and long hard trail rides through the uncharted prairies of the "Old West". Once upon a time, he might have let it go. Once upon a time, he didn't have someone he cared deeply about. But this time Devon had crossed the line.

He was now in the tree line that he expected the Lycan to have taken and he started looking carefully for the signs of where he may have gone. He smiled menacingly at the set of footprints in the freshly saturated mud amongst the trees. 

Getting sloppy in your old age, Devon. Or were you just in too much of a hurry to save your hairy ass? He gazed straight ahead through the trees to the lights forcing their way through the dense foliage. The carnival. I've got you now, prick. He smiled in feral glee at the thought of what was to come. 

Devon Walker held his hand to the stitch in his side, trying desperately to catch his breath as he leaned against the maintenance trailer.

"God dammit, Jamie. Of all the towns, why did you park your skinny ass here?" he muttered harshly. "All I needed was a couple of hours. Time to clean up after Gregg and take him out of the equation. I could have been so wealthy, but no...you had to be here. SHIT!"

He straightened himself once more and looked around nervously. He leaned off the structure and squinted off into the distance. Toward the trees. He drew in a deep breath and on the breeze smelled his own death. He was coming. 

Damn, he's fast. He pressed back against the trailer and screwed his eyes shut tight. Think, dammit. Think! He held his breath. Got to get into the crowd. Got to confuse him. He launched himself around the corner and shoved a group of high school girls out of the way, his footfalls splashing carelessly through the mud.

Devon barreled around the Tilt-a-Whirl and was thrown off balance as his shirttail caught a stray tie rod. He fought with it for a split second and regained his balance. 

He could feel the enraged eyes boring into his back: He'd been caught. He doubled over and willed the serum to lose its effect. Snapping upright, he let loose a terrifying howl as the transformation began to take over. There was the sound of bones popping as they reshaped and stretched, of cloth tearing. The fur grew out at an alarming rate, and his eyes glowed like a raging sunset.

Teenagers screamed and huddled and ran all around him, disbelieving what their eyes told them.

Devon turned and launched himself up the girders of the Ferris Wheel, hauling himself up in frantic leaps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dizzying flash of shadow. 

Then Jamus was wrapping his arms around the Lycan's neck in a chokehold.

"You son of a BITCH!" the vampire snarled in his ear. It was a sound unlike any the earth had ever heard. 

The Lycan clawed at the empty air, his fangs gnashing wildly, while Jamus planted his foot against a girder and pushed off with a straining groan. The two immortals plummeted toward the ground, twisting and struggling for dominant position. Vicious growls and excruciating yelps filled the air as fangs and claws and rage flared. They connected with an impact so hard, that Devon sank two feet into the mud and Jamus was bounced three yards from the crater.

Devon was the first to recover. He rolled and catapulted himself at Jamus with a roar so loud that the approaching police sirens were barely heard.

Jamus drew his knife and, with all his weight behind it, thrust it into the Lycan's ribcage.

Devon's eyes grew wide with shock. The ornate silver knife was buried to the hilt and starting to hiss and singe the surrounding flesh. He backed away and the blade pulled free with a nauseating grinding against bone.

Jamus' eyes were illuminated red with hatred and lethal rage. "Fucking dead, Devon! You greedy, traitorous bastard!" he spat inhumanly. 

A shot rang out and both their heads snapped in the direction of the shouting officers. 

Jamus kicked high into Devon's jawbone and spun into a fighter's crouch. Another shot rang out and caught Jamus high in the shoulder; he glared and hissed at the officer with the utmost contempt. 

Devon roared disdainfully at the cops, then turned to look at Jamus, his eyes betraying sorrow and regret. He turned and fled toward the pier.

Jamus spat a foreign obscenity. He clutched his shoulder and leaned back against the base of the Ferris Wheel. Three police officers closed in on him warily with weapons drawn.

"Get down on the ground and place your hands on you head!" shouted the bulkiest of the policemen, his pistol aimed steadfastly into Jamus' face.

Mouse was snoring lightly on the couch. She shifted uncomfortably and pulled the blanket up under her chin. 

Tom ran his fingers under the cool water of the kitchen sink. He stared vacantly into the swirling vortex of the drain. Satisfied that the water was as cold as it was going to get, he tightened the drain; poured in a cupful of bleach and dumped the handful of bloodstained towels to soak.

The "surgery" had gone well enough. The chunk of table leg had just penetrated the meat under her ribs and had missed anything major. It had looked far worse than it was. He had been really squeamish about his needlework, though. Right up until she'd called him a pussy. A chuckle erupted from him, at that particular memory of the evening's events. 

He turned off the faucet, topped off his coffee cup and tiptoed softly into the living room. Squatting next to the mahogany coffee table, he moved his wire rims up atop his head, leaned back with his head against the arm of the couch, heaved a sigh of release and rubbed his temples. The clock on the adjacent wall chimed quietly, alerting Tom that it was now 3 am. He lowered his glasses and cocked his head aside, gazing upon the sleeping woman on his couch. She twitched and, with a soft moan, rubbed her nose.

His brow creased as he stared analytically. Sliding down to a seated position on the floor, he reached for his coffee cup; his fingers toyed lightly around the handle. 

Why such a strong attraction to her? I mean, she's definitely beautiful...a little underweight perhaps, but beautiful in her own unique way. So why am I feeling it so strong? He pulled the cup to his lips and blew lightly across the surface. This is a tourist island. Half naked women everywhere. So why, am I so drawn to her?

Pushing away these near adolescent thoughts from his mind, he decided that if he was going to be awake at this ungodly hour, he would give the case files another perusal. 

He tossed the file for Revella and Dimitri Chernovich aside dismissively. He scanned through the recorded history of Cyril Diggs. Sipping his coffee, his brow furrowed with intensity. Cyril was from the vampire clan known as the Tremere, one of great heritage and aristocracy. Cyril was also one of the region's thirteen "Justicars", a high-ranking deliverer of Breed justice. 

The realization of how complicated the covens of "the Breed" were made his head spin. He thought about "Uncle Andre," a dear friend and ex-lover of his mother's. Andre was a vampire. Growing up around the supernatural, things such as this were rarely shocking. But still, there was so much that he had never inquired about. So much that he had left to learn. 

He rifled through the photos and came across one of the Tarot card that had been left behind at Cyril's home, "The Knight of Swords". His mind raced around all of the possible meanings. Was it in the meanings of the cards? Or perhaps, hidden within the card titles themselves? These were the two thoughts that came up most to the forefront of his mind. He adjusted his glasses.

A cloaked figure floated from out of the shadows surrounding Diego St. Dior's mansion, past the hypnotized security guards. He stepped silently through the halls and laid the majickally charged tarot card upon the red velvet chair in the drawing room. The King of Swords would soon exchange hands and call the Night Flyer to collect the last of them.

Now the final piece is in play, the dark figure gloated as he fled back into the night. The master will be so pleased with me.

Jamus awoke to the rattling against the bars of his cell. He peeled his forearm off his face and lifted his head from the dreadfully uncomfortable bunk.

"Jamus Phantym, " yelled the guard at the door. "You've made bail. Apparently you do have some friends in high places." 

Jamus swung his legs to the floor and stretched, his joints creaking noisily.

"About time, I was afraid I'd have to eat the crap you call breakfast around here," he said wryly. "How is the mayor anyway?"

"Shut up and get out here, " growled the guard in resentment. "One of these days your ass isn't going to be so lucky. I, for one... am getting really tired of seeing you."

Jamus blew a kiss. "Aww, Stelinsky, I din't know you cared. Oh, by the way, how is your wife?"

"Fuck you Jamus, go collect your shit before I decide to lose your paperwork, " the guard threatened.

Officer Stelinsky stepped aside and Jamus moved to the cell door as it slid open, grinning victoriously. He bumped into the officer deliberately and snatched his wallet. As he approached the main desk he dumped the wallet into the garbage can, mere moments before the janitor grabbed it. He signed the paperwork and emptied the contents of his envelope onto the counter. 

"Hey, Trisha? What happened to the three hundred dollars from my wallet?" he inquired. She just shrugged. Jamus rolled his eyes and muttered, "Fabulous. Well, thanks for the bed, I needed the rest." 

He stuffed his things hastily into his pockets and wandered off to the door with a yawn. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and shook his head. It was four o' clock in the morning and the sun would be rising soon. 

Thank heavens this isn't a movie. I'd be toast, he thought to himself. Feeling slightly weaker with the approaching dawn, he fumbled with the choices of going home for the day, or visiting Diego St. Dior and giving his report. Diego would be getting ready to hit the hay, so he decided to the same. What he had to tell could wait. But first, a little side trip to check in on Tom and Mouse.

Out on the waterfront, a warehouse door opened slowly. Devon limped in and shut it behind him. He was soaking wet, pissed off and showing signs of exhaustion. He crossed the cement floor, bare feet echoing through the building, and headed for the safe in the corner. He deftly turned the combination lock and reached inside for the black velvet bag. Unrolling it on the floor, he loosened one of the syringes and, taking the plastic cap in his teeth, pulled it off and spit it aside. The elixir within smelled like month-old bacon grease. He recoiled at the pungently unpleasant odor and winced as he injected the cold liquid into the vein in his arm. Leaning back against the safe, he rested his head against the cool metal and closed his eyes.

"So, Walker," slithered a voice like molten iron, "has our little problem been taken care of?"

Devon's golden eyes quickly opened and he adjusted himself against the safe. He peered around the shadows and sniffed the air for the source of the disembodied voice. A shrouded figure floated out of the concealing shadows. His face was indiscernible from within the hood.

"Yes," Devon conceded, "but there were...complications. Gregg is taken care of, but it didn't go as planned. Jamus Phantym was hunting him as well. And that Guardian showed up and turned the whole thing into a major clusterfuck."

The dark figure crossed its pale arms at its chest. "No concerns there, Phantym is busy grasping at straws. That little Guardian bitch is reported to be out of commission, thanks to your apparent ineptitude. What does concern me is a new player in this little masquerade." 

The figure leaned in closer. "I have a new task for you, " he sneered. "There is a psychic by the name of Thomas Ballentine involved now. This man is more majickally powerful than even he is aware of. I want you to track him and kill him."

Tom's head drifted back and then snapped forward as he dozed off. He forced his eyes to widen as he looked blearily around his apartment, getting his bearings. He glanced back at the file in his hand and continued to read: 

Subject #50672-02

Seamus Aaron Spectre A.K.A. Jamus Phantym.

Born to British Lord William Spectre and Lady Elspeth Spectre on September 10th, 1670.

Brother to Elizabeth (Deceased) and half-brother to Jacob a.k.a. Jesse (see file photos)

At the age of nineteen, young Seamus joined with a crew of a merchant trade ship. It was here that he was "turned" by a rogue Malkavian (identity unknown). As soon as he had come to terms with his newfound powers, he turned to the then lucrative business of piracy. Having honed his skills he and his crew became very notorious throughout the decades and earned him the nickname "the Dark Phantom."




Stacked Deck Ch. 02



He disappeared until the late 1800's, where he had joined up with a Lycan (see photos and entries for were-wolf, lupine and Garou) by the name of Devon Walker and founded the band of outlaws "the Twilight Stalkers." It was here that he adopted the name of Jamus Phantym. Shot and left for dead in a bar brawl over a woman; he was taken in by a Gangrel by the name of Damien McCready and given the blood bond that changed his Tribe status. It was this weakened condition that gave the distinguishing feature of a white streak of hair at his right temple, a sign of his true age. (See file photo #1204)

Thought to be deceased until he re-emerged in 1986. He took odd jobs and drifted from town to town in the mid-west.

On August 19, 1996 he disappeared from his job as a Black Jack dealer in Reno, Nevada. Rumors have circulated that he'd received a letter from his half-brother Jacob, requesting that he come to South Cape Island. The contents of the letter or its existence are unconfirmed, believed to be destroyed in a suspicious apartment fire. His half-brother was believed to have been murdered shortly after. (Disproved in 2001)

He arrived three weeks later in South Cape. Taking over Jacob's business, "Phantym's Place", an upscale nightclub. He remodeled the building into a blues bar and opened up "DarkWalk Investigations" in the back room of the club. It was at this time that he grew very close to his sister, Nikasha Phantym (CLASSIFIED-UNSTABLE. See files)

Current Status: Confirmed. Still resides on South Cape Island.

"It's all lies ya know," came the quiet voice. 

Tom snapped his attention toward the front door and nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw Jamus standing with his arms crossed, leaning casually on the doorframe. 

Jamus took a step inside. "If those clowns at "the Society" knew the half of it, we'd all be in trouble."

Tom looked puzzled for a moment. "I'd prefer it if you knocked." He set the files aside and got to his feet, his knees protesting vociferously. He limped over to the door, as circulation returned painfully to his legs, and peered cautiously around Jamus and through the open doorway. 

"You look like hell. Come on in."

The vampire nodded in Mouse's direction with concern in his icy blue eyes. "How's she doing?" he whispered. 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Tom cocked his head aside. "I was scared shitless," he conceded. "But I think she's gonna be fine."

"Well, her kind does tend to heal fast," Jamus murmured and ushered Tom to the kitchen.

Tom leaned with his back to the counter, his confusion obvious. "Her kind?" 

Jamus chuckled lightly. "You still haven't figured it out, yet?" He draped his arm over Thomas' shoulder. "She's Bastet, little buddy."

"A Bastet?" Tom echoed. And then, the meaning of the word suddenly dawned on him. "A were-cat? Lord and Lady...is there no one in this town who's normal?" He scratched pensively at the stubble on his chin. "Ah, no small wonder then. It's one of the natural charms of her Tribe..."

"Huh?" Jamus chortled, as he looked Tom straight in the eye. "What are you babbling about?" He turned and gazed distractedly into the sink full of soaking towels.

Tom shook his head absently, "It's nothing...just putting pieces together." Or rather, why I'm feeling this attraction to her so strongly. It's a natural jinx.

Jamus shook his head with a smile, "I'm gonna go...I need to rest a bit." He wandered back toward the door. "I'll see you at the office after dusk? We need to discuss some things."

Tom nodded in agreement, as he watched his new friend shuffle doggedly toward the door. "I'll see you then. Stay safe." 

After Jamus quietly shut the door, Tom secured the bolts. He turned and leaned against the door, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He stared toward the couch and shrugged. "Go figure."

The ferry's horn blared out its intentions and Tom made a mad dash for the docks. He didn't feel like waiting for the next one and he certainly wasn't going to take the public bus system to the mainland, a thought that made him shudder with distaste. Besides, in the time it would take by bus; he could hit the library and get his "special" supplies. The fact that it was also a gorgeous morning was just an added bonus. He had trouble reconciling this breezy morning with the storm and a deadly fight of the night before. Hastily, he paid for the ticket, took his change and trotted off to the gangplank. 

Once aboard, he wandered about for a few moments taking casual note of his fellow travelers. There was the balding, techno savvy businessman with the blue tooth in his ear; who stared blankly at his blackberry, having still not learned all of its intricacies. Two seats over, there was that frail old lady with the mustache, thicker than most men's. Across from her, sat the young woman whose arms were covered in classic oriental tattoos and bangles; Her shirt stated proudly that "Of course it hurts, pussy".

Tom leaned across the railing and watched as a pod of dolphin held a race with the seagulls and the ferry. The ferry was obviously going to come in last place. He steadied himself as the ferry pulled into the mainland port and tied off. He ambled into the line and disembarked as they all milled into the busy streets. Tom took a quick sidelong glance that confirmed what he had already suspected. 

He was being followed by the lupine known as Devon Walker.

Jamus' head had just hit the pillow a scant 15 minutes earlier when the phone rang. The answering machine would get it, but still he cursed at himself for having not turned off the ringer. Again. He rolled over and screamed into the pillow in frustration.

"Jamus...are you home yet? Pick up the phone," said the shaky voice on the other end. "Listen, um...this is Nik. I've been trying to reach you all night...it's St. Dior...he's gone missing."

He launched out of the bed and ran for the phone, nearly dropping it as he fumbled with the receiver.

"Whoa, hey Nikki I'm here. I'm here," he said quickly. "What was that you were saying?"

"Oh thank the gods, Jamie. I was so worried, " she breathed frantically into the phone. "I'd heard a rumor that you were at Barrett's when the brawl went down and that you were dead. And later, that you were arrested again. What the hell is going on Jamie?"

"Never mind me," he cut her off. "What's this about St. Dior?"

"Diego's disappeared," she said breathlessly. "A tarot card was found in the drawing room of his estate. No witnesses, but the guards are all reported to be groggy. As if they were stunned or something."

"Nikki, listen to me," he said forcefully. "No arguments. I want you to get yourself out of town...now. Pack up some essentials and get your ass up to Windstone. Be with Jesse. Let him protect you."

She started to protest. But, he cut her off once more. "I can't afford to be worrying about you, too. The ship is about to hit the span. And I have to know that you are safe."

She vowed that she would and he could still hear her muttering maliciously just before the click as she hung up the phone.

The electronic bell chimed deafeningly as Tom stepped into the veterinary clinic and shifted the bags in his hands. While he'd only been coming to this office for a few months now to pick up food for Yumi, he knew the staff pretty well and was very pleased with the service. 

Today, there was a new assistant working and she seemed to him like a character in a comic book; very tan, with long blonde dreads pulled back in a loose ponytail, a hemp and bead necklace peeking out over her brown smock. On her right inner forearm was a tattoo representing the tree of life and her nails were painted in a dark brown. He found himself curious as to what the half concealed red t-shirt would have written on it's front.

He chuckled to himself as he reflected on his earlier conversation with Jamus. 

Out of curiosity he scanned her aura and found that she was in fact normal. She was a very earthy neo-hippie, but normal. Thank the gods.

Stepping up toward the front, he bent low and grabbed a bag of prescription food and set it on the counter.

She smiled at him sweetly and asked the name of the pet and last name of the owner. "Hmmm...let me see...Ballentine...Yumi...Ah, here we go. That'll be $15.96."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled a twenty from his wallet. "Here you go. Oh, and when is she due for her annuals?"

"Okay, still have...3 months on that. Will that be all today?" she said with a flirtatious smile as she returned his change.

Tom nodded and straightened the bills, facing them all the same way, before stuffing them into his wallet. "See you in a few weeks, " he sang out, oblivious to the way her eyes were drinking him in.

Stopping at the door under the guise of stuffing the cat food into one of his bags, he sent his feelers out to sense the were-wolf's location. He could sense the malice and the general direction, but the distance was much harder to pinpoint.

Nikasha Phantym grabbed a pile of clothes from the wardrobe and stuffed them inelegantly into Jesse's old duffel bag. She stopped as she came upon one of his dress shirts that he'd left behind. She pulled it close and held it to her cheek, his scent wafting around he like a ghost. She bit her bottom lip and carefully folded the shirt, setting it atop the rest.

Jamus had sounded frightened. That was a sound that he would never utter. Ever. And, while she fought with herself over staying and helping or running up north to be with her spouse, that was a sound that she would heed well. She zipped up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. 

As her hand grasped the knob there was a knock at the door. She peered cautiously through the peephole and smiled.

"Oh...it's you, " she said delightedly.

From the rooftop of "Fred's Big & Tall," Devon glared across the street at the lanky young man coming out of the Vet's office. He'd been tracking him for hours now as he went from store to store. 

If this guy is supposed to be so goddamned powerful, then why does he not seem know that I'm following him? I'm pretty sure that look on the ferry was one of recognition. And... I'm pretty sure he's connected to Jamie. Outside assistance maybe?

Devon rubbed his temples in frustration. He hadn't eaten since that truck stop in the Florida Panhandle yesterday. He hadn't slept in nearly a week. And, to top it all off he was missing a few pints of blood, thanks to Jamie's handy work with that knife. 

Dammit! I never meant to have another face-off against you, Jamie. I thought all that was put behind us.

He turned again toward the street below and a shiver of panic flared up his spine. His quarry had given him the slip.

Oh, you are good at this aren't you? Not to worry...I know where you live.



Stacked Deck Ch. 03



Chapter Three: "When the dealin's done"

Nikasha threw open the door with a huge grin and launched herself out into the hall. "Jesse!" She squealed with delight, wrapping herself around her husband, lean thighs gripping tight to his waist as she kissed him longingly. 

He laughed playfully as she smothered his face in kisses, his strong arms holding her tight to him. There was such a close resemblance to his half-brother, although with certain differences. 

Jesse was a few inches taller and his dark hair was long and straight, usually kept back in a loose ponytail, and there was no gray streak to belie his age. It was also of note that even though they once had the same icy blue stare, Jesse wore a black cloth eye patch. He'd lost his left eye in a tangle with a Lycan about 50 years ago. Normally, it would have grown back; but as it was ripped out by a dark creature of the night, this was not to be the case. 

His loving gaze fell and his stance stiffened as he stared into her eyes. She slowly slid back to the floor, her own face darkening. Jesse took her hands in his, brow furrowing with unasked questions. Drawing a deep breath he steadied himself.

"Jamie called me last night," he finally said. "He told me what's been going on down here. We need to get you out of town...now."

Nikasha's eyes fell to the floor. "I just finished packing. But, now that you're here...shouldn't we stay to help?" She raised her pleading gaze to her spouse.

He bit into his bottom lip in consternation. "You misheard. I said we need to get you out of town." He gazed deep into her eyes with all his will. "I'm staying to help, but I can't be worrying about you while I do. The jeep is parked around the block. I need you to take the keys and drive up to Windstone." He steeled himself, knowing full well that she would protest and loudly.

But she didn't. Instead, she pulled him inside and locked the door behind them.

Tom set the sacks on the dinette table that he used more for stacks of papers and bills, than to eat at. He put away the three-pound bag of cat food in the cupboard. He was smart enough to know that if he opened it and put it in the Tupperware container, Yumi would mistake the gesture as time to eat. He glanced about and noticed that his faithful companion was sprawled on top of the sofa in that curious upside down position. He quietly removed the various mystical supplies from the sack and put them over on the makeshift alter with delicate care.

Passing Mouse as she slept away on the sofa, he slipped stealthily into the bathroom and washed his face with a hot washcloth. It had been such a long twenty-four hours. He gazed up into the mirror, his eyes were red and the dark patches beneath them were prominent enough to imply that he had a broken nose. Glancing at the little travel clock on the sink, he decided that he had just enough time to grab a quick nap before he would meet back up with Jamus at the office.

Without bothering to change clothes, Tom stepped into his bedroom and peeled back the covers. He burrowed himself deeply into the plush pillows and closed his bleary eyes with a deep yawn; it was only two to three heartbeats before he was fully asleep.

Mouse awakened from the couch and crept in to use the bathroom. She smiled to herself as she heard the light snoring from the adjacent room. She took a shower and was careful to avoid the makeshift stitches. She winced slightly as the hot water began to soothe her aches and pains away. 

After drying off, she snuck into Tom's room and borrowed one of his looser t-shirts. She looked over her shoulder at him as she appraised herself in the full-length mirror on the door and then curled up into the bed behind Tom, draping her arm around his waist. Nestled in quietly, she went back to sleep.

Diego St. Dior's eyes fluttered open, the pressure on his lids heavy and viscous. His vision was a reddish blur and he grasped the realization that he could not move. He gazed about him frantically and pulled and tested at the restraints. The thick duct tape around his mouth blocked his anger and terror. He shuddered in a futile attempt to free himself.

He finally calmed himself enough to gaze around at his surroundings. He peered through the oozing blood and hopeless dark to his right; strapped down to a small alter in similar restraints was his fiancée Sofia. Diego shot her a look of pleading question, but she only lolled her head to the other side with exhaustion.

"Good evening Diego...so kind of you to join us, " came the voice from the shadows. It was a voice utterly devoid of light. "I trust you slept well?"

There was a heavy crunch as the power was thrown and overhead lights slammed down, highlighting the victims in a vulgar, raw intensity. They were all strapped atop movable, alter-like examination tables. Five victims set in meticulous distance from each other, forming the tips of the dimly glowing pentagram on the floor.

The man in the dark robe stood behind the glass enclosure on the second floor, his arms folded behind his back as he surveyed the room below. A sinister smile toyed at the corner of his lips beneath the shadowy folds of the ceremonial hood. All was coming together as planned. The Blood moon was fast approaching. All five sacrifices were in place, ready to amplify and draw down the power that was rightfully his. That fool Jamus Phantym was out chasing red herrings and shadows. The only thing that could possibly get in the way would be the psi that Phantym had employed. Soon he would be out of the way; Walker would see to that. Though proving to be more inept by the moment, he was a were-wolf. Surely that would be enough to remove the psychic from the equation.

The mystical lights from the Pentagram on the floor began to brighten steadily as the night approached. All the key players were in place and feeding into the power source. The dark one smiled delightedly, within mere hours, the transference would be complete and he would be a God among men. From the shadows behind him, his servant entered and stood tall with fingers clasped before him. 

"Master," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Walker has just reported in. The psychic gave him the slip about two hours ago. However, he is returning to the island to finish the job at Ballentine's home. He says that it will be over just after sunset."

"Excellent," the dark one hissed and waved his servant away. "Go and prepare for our guests."

Tom's eyes snapped open and he listened carefully. He was suddenly aware that his left arm was tingling and a light breath touched his ear. He turned his head aside and gazed in confusion at the sleeping face beside him. 

Again the alarms rang through his head. Someone or something had tripped the protective spells he had placed on his apartment when he'd first arrived those many months ago. He squirmed out from under her and brushed lightly at her cheek. She moaned softly and shifted a bit.

"Mouse...Mouse, wake up," he whispered softly and cupped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes flew open and her brow furrowed. "Someone's here. We've got to get up. Nod if you understand." 

She nodded and started to slide off the bed, just as the glass from the bedroom window sprayed inward with a loud crash. Tom rolled and pressed himself tight to the floor. The Lycan planted himself in the middle of the bed as it collapsed beneath his weight, claws tearing at the sheets as he let out a fierce howl. Tom pulled himself to his feet and instinctively gathered the blue light from the air around him and fired a psi-bolt into the werewolf's chest. 

Devon slammed against the hard, stone wall with a sickening crunch, then snarled and launched himself at the sorcerer. Tom crouched as the Lycan sailed over him, claws tearing at his shirt. Devon charged again with an angry roar, this time pinning Tom to the floor. The werewolf wrapped his meaty fingers around Tom's throat and pressed hard. Tommy's eyes began to turn red as the flow of oxygen was cut off. He tried to focus all his energy into his palms, preparing to fire a pair of bolts into the Lycan's chest at point blank range. His sight began to blacken around the edges.

There was a pained yelp and the Lycan's eyes grew wide in astonishment. Devon looked down in disbelief at the smoking silver tip protruding through the center of his chest. He stood and reached desperately behind him, trying to withdraw the silver-bladed sword from his back. He looked frantically around the room and saw the steely gaze of Mouse as she stood defiantly before him. He lunged at her in pure animal rage. She spun on her heel and her other foot caught him forcefully in the throat, sending him careening toward the stone wall again, driving the sword into him all the way to the hilt. 

Devon stood there for a moment in complete shock. His form began to change before them as he clutched the blade of the sword in his chest. His dying eyes penetrating her soul with untainted hatred. He slid down the wall and crumpled lifelessly to the floor.

"Payback's a bitch," she panted as she turned to check on Tom. She knelt down beside him and placed her hand on his back as he sat there coughing and trying to catch his breath. "You okay?" She asked quietly. Tom nodded as she helped him to his feet.

Tom stood, hands grasping his knees as he fought to regain his breath. He staggered over to the corpse of Devon Walker and examined the body. He found a cell phone in the Lycan's pocket and hit redial. 

"Walker? Tell me you have some good news for once," said the smooth voice at the other end. "The Master grows impatient."

"Tell your Master...that Mr. Walker is no longer on his payroll," Tom growled into the phone. "Tell him I'm coming for him. This ends tonight."

He tossed the phone down at Devon's lifeless body and pulled the sword from his back. Silently he raised it and in a fluid swipe, took the Lycan's head. He wiped off the sacred blade as he stepped out into the living room, his eyes ablaze with determination. Moving steadily, he took the scabbard in hand and slid the blade into place. He slung it over his shoulder and unbolted the front door. He turned to Mouse, who was following a few steps behind. She stopped dead in her tracks.

"Is this the part where you tell me that I have to stay put?" She glared at him defiantly.

"Quite the contrary," he forced a smile. "I'm gonna need another Guardian for this."

She smiled brightly and asked, "So where are we going?" 

Tom opened the door for her and locked up behind them. "To the docks, " he said flatly. "Take me to where you found that vampire that was working with Walker."

Jamus crouched at the edge of the gutter atop the roof of a warehouse on the waterfront. He was feeling weak and ravenous. He'd realized a few hours ago that he hadn't fed in days. His fingers wrapped tightly around the aluminum of the gutter and he smiled in feral glee as he heard the scream from below. 

"Right on time," he whispered to himself. He kicked off and plummeted to the concrete below, his boots making a near silent thud as he landed. He backed up into the shadows as the woman came scrambling past. He kept his gaze on her back and reached out taking the pursuer by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the concrete blocks of the warehouse.

"Hello there...meat," he hissed as he lifted the man off his feet and pinned him to the wall. The thug's eyes went wide in confusion and the pistol dropped from his fingers. Holding the man by the throat, Jamus lifted his leg and brought it into the man's sternum. The man crumpled to his hands and knees gasping harshly. Jamus slipped up behind him and with inhuman speed grabbed the man by the hair and snapped his head back. Keeping him in tight embrace, he sank his fangs into the man's throat and completely drained him of his life.

Jamus took the eighty-five dollars from the man's wallet and stuffed it into his front pocket. He lifted the corpse up over his shoulder, carried him over to the edge of the dock and dumped him unceremoniously into the bay. He rubbed his hands together and smirked silently to himself, before retreating back into the shadows.

A few yards away, a door creaked open and a tall man dressed in a charcoal gray suit stepped out into the night breeze. The man looked around cautiously. Satisfied that it was clear, he withdrew a cell phone from one of his pockets and flipped it open. 

Jamus strained against the breeze to hear the conversation. He jumped silently to the next rooftop over, trying to get closer. A moment later the man in the suit clicked the phone shut and furiously kicked at an empty cola can, sending it sailing across the lot. The man flipped the phone open again and dialed.

"It's time. Bring them in," he said forcefully before closing the phone and stuffing it back in his pocket. He stood guarding the door with his hands clasped before him. Jamus leaped silently up onto the roof and watched carefully.

Twenty minutes later, a silver Hummer pulled up to the structure and two men slid out and opened the side door. One of the men leaned inside and yanked a passenger to the concrete. Fiery red tendrils of hair covered the woman's face. She flicked her head back and spat defiantly.

"I'm really gonna enjoy ripping your fucking throat out," she snarled.

Jamus' eyes narrowed as soon as he saw her pulled to her feet. "Nikasha..." he growled to himself. The other man grappled at another passenger. The man lurched out of the Hummer and caught his captor in the chin with his knee, driving him sprawling to the pavement. With hands tied behind his back the dark haired captive dropped to his knee and crushed his assailant's throat with a sickening crunch. The dying man twitched as the nerves in his neck severed.

"Jesse, behind you!" Jamus screamed, just as Henchman Number Two brought the butt of a shotgun down on Jesse's neck, knocking him unconscious. Jamus hurriedly scrambled off the roof and charged at the man. The henchman raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. His shot fired wild as his legs were swept out from under him. Nikasha brought the heel of her boot down on his face, shattering his nose. The shotgun skittered across the pavement.

Nikasha quickly turned around and pulled the knife out of the man's belt and slit the ropes, freeing her hands. She knelt beside him as he moaned and opened his blackening eyes. She roughly pinched the swelling flesh of his nose and brought her face to his as he screamed in agony. 

"Hey asshole. Remember me? Remember what I promised you?" she asked. "I always keep my promises." 

Her eyes glimmered in sadistic glee. She leaned down and kissed him full on the lips, lapping at the blood flowing across his cheeks from his shattered nose. Her eyes widened as the tendrils of madness enveloped her brain. A light rumble of laughter developed in her chest and grew into a demented cackle, as she took one slender hand and dug her nails slowly in around his throat. Fingers sinking deep into his neck, very slowly, she pulled. As the cords of his throat were ripped from flesh, his choking screams of terror and agony still managed to empty from his chest.

Jamus was at his brother's side, shaking him back to consciousness. Jesse's glazed eyes opened and blinked rapidly. "Jamie?" He croaked softly. "What're you doing here?"

"Helping to save your silly ass," he smiled brightly. "Not that Nikki doesn't have it under control." 

He cocked a thumb over his shoulder and chuckled. Abruptly, he twisted as a shot rang out and caught him in the shoulder. He landed hard on his side and snarled at his attacker. The man in the gray suit took a step forward aimed the 9mm pistol between Jamus eyes, a smile curled on his lips and he pulled the trigger. 

The pistol exploded in a burst of flame within his hand, shredding the flesh from bone. He cried out in pain, tucked it under his other arm and ran off into the night. Jamus cupped his shoulder and winced.

"Aw...Son of a BITCH," he grimaced. "That was just starting to heal." A flicker of movement caught his eye and he saw Tom standing there with raised hands. Tom slowly lowered his arms and nodded wordlessly. He'd hexed the pistol and made it jam. 

Jamus whipped his head around as he heard horrified shouting. He sprang to his feet and ran off hastily toward the commotion. 

As he rounded the corner and skid to a halt, he saw a black panther stalking back and forth. The man in the gray suit was cowering in a corner of a blocked alleyway, a dark stain down the front of his slacks. The moonlight came out from behind the clouds and Jamus could see, through the sleek fur, dark markings that resembled tattoos on its skin. He smiled to himself and turned away. 

"He's all yours Mouse, " he called darkly over his shoulder.

When he got back to the front doors of the warehouse, he found Tom, Nikasha and Jesse kneeling in a circle, discussing the situation and tending wounds. All four of them turned at the sound of the bloodcurdling scream echoing through the aluminum canyons, a scream that was cut all too unnaturally short.

Jamus smiled menacingly and nodded. "Let it be...Mouse has a new toy."

Tom's brow creased for a moment and then he went back to checking the lump on the back of Jesse's head. Jesse winced and scowled as he touched it tenderly. Mouse came back around the corner, buttoning up her jeans. Having returned to her more human appearance, she licked at the lips of her vicious smile. 

Tom got back to his feet and turned to her. He opened up his psychic shielding enough to read the surrounding area and shuddered as he was instantly flooded with pain, terror and darkness. This was the place they were looking for. He mustered up all his courage and tried to set aside the welling fear.

"Okay, here we go," he said defiantly as he gazed up into the night sky. The obscenely large moon smiled back at him as a shimmer of red began to cross its face. The rest of the group looked at him with concern. He cocked his head aside and thought about it a moment. All but Mouse, were vampires. They could not enter the building without permission from the resident. He suddenly realized he was on his own here.

Tom drew the sword from the scabbard and stepped over to the door of the warehouse. He turned and looked once more over his shoulder. "Mouse, get them to a safe house. Take care of them," he called out as he pulled his leg back and kicked the door open. There was no point in sneaking around. Whoever the mastermind behind this was, he knew Tom was there. Protection spells careened across Tom's shields, tossing him about and tearing at his gut; spells that made him feel like a frightened child left alone in the world. 

He steeled his resolve and pushed forward. His battered shielding remained intact and cast the spells aside. Tom's aura began glowing a bright blue, and as he came around a stack of crates, the bright, violet light emanating from the pentagram on the floor assaulted him. He gripped the hilt of the sword firmly and took a step into the light.

There, in the center of the symbol, stood a man shrouded in a black, hooded robe. The man raised his arms as he drew the rising power into him. The five captives screamed and moaned in agony from the altars as the energy was ripped away in brightly colored ribbons. A deeply menacing laugh erupted from his thin lips. 

All the pieces suddenly fell into place as Tom squinted through the bright light and caught a glimpse of the man's face. He took a step forward, raising the sword, pointing it accusingly.

"That's what this was about? A fucking turf war!" Tom snarled angrily.

Dimitri Chernovich raised his hands and slid back the hood. "No!" the man spat back. "It's about power...it's about regaining my youth! Taking back what was stolen from me. What is rightfully mine!" 




Stacked Deck Ch. 03



Through the large skylight, the moon cast a crimson pallor as the eclipse neared completion. A steady column of dark light thundered down into the center of the pentagram and the old vampire moaned in ecstasy as he raised his face to the sky. The writhing captives ceased the screams as they turned to ash. The lines of Dimitri's face began to tighten. His hair thickened and turned black as a ravens' wings as it cascaded over his shoulders.

"After all these centuries..." he whispered as he lowered his face, eyes closed tightly. "At last...it's all mine again." His eyes snapped open, menacingly soulless black orbs.

Tom lurched forward and charged the vampire, swinging the sword back as he twisted in the air ready to take Chernovich's head. Dimitri thrust out his clawed hand and Tom was cast aside like a child's plaything, slamming hard against the concrete floor. He shook it off and pulled himself back to his feet. His face was a mask of pure hatred and rage. 

"You impudent whelp!" Dimitri hissed. "You think you can stop me? You may be strong, but I'll devour your soul as well!" He reached into his robe and withdrew the small golden box containing the Tarot cards. He licked his lips as he glared at the young sorcerer, pulling both hands to the center of his chest.

Again, Tom lunged and penetrated the sacred circle, sword sweeping in an upward arc. Chernovich lashed out his arms and a burst of psionic energy flew from his hands. Tom was thrown back into a stack of crates, splintering them into shards. The sword went skidding off under a set of steel shelves. Tom gasped for breath and coughed. Reaching up he wiped the blood from his lips and flicked his hand, sending a spray of red to the floor.

"All right... you son of a bitch," Tom sputtered as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. "You wanna play rough? I can do rough!" He clasped his hands together and moved his lips as he chanted softly, summoning a bright blue ball of energy. As he pulled his fingers apart it grew larger and larger. In a wide side sweep he pitched the orb of light and caught Dimitri in the abdomen, sending him stumbling backward, out of the circle. Tom took another step forward and sent out a barrage of Psi-bolts, which sent the vampire staggering back further and further, pinning him against the wall.

Dimitri doubled over and held himself protectively as Tom steadily moved toward him. Tom stopped in dismay as Dimitri began to glow. The vampire's whimpers turned into a slow triumphant laughter.

"Is that all you've got?" Dimitri hissed as he rose to his full height once more. "It seems I sorely overestimated your potential... you pathetic...inconsequential...meat sack."

Tom took a step back as every alarm in his shielding network went off, making his ears ring and his head reel. He was suddenly paralyzed. Horror dripped down his spine as he came to the realization that he was about to take his last breath. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, readying himself to accept his fate. Dimitri spread his lanky arms wide and began chanting. He clapped his hands together and sent a shockwave of psionic energy at the young man before him. 

Time drew to a crawl. Tears streamed slowly down Tom's face as his short life flashed before his eyes. This was it, all the years of training and this was to be his fate. His first big confrontation and he was to die for it without making the slightest bit of difference.

"You can do it Tommy," his mother smiled gently at him. "It's easy...I trust in you. You will be the greatest of all Guardians."

The large bolt hit him like a freight train. Tom spun through the air with the impact, absorbing the Psi-bolt into himself and rooted his feet while taking aim with deadly accuracy. The wooden planks splintered and chunks of concrete exploded in a thunderous wake as Tom released the bolt back tenfold straight into his attackers chest. The walls of the warehouse bowed and blew out as Dimitri Chernovich was struck with the force of a concussion bomb.

The deck of Tarot cards scattered into the wind and fluttered to the floor of the warehouse. Tom stepped over to his tattered adversary and bent down. He reached aside and took a card in hand. The Death card. He charged it with a summoning spell and shoved it into the man's mouth. Then he rose to his feet and picked his way through the rubble, back out into the embracing arms of the night. He could hear the tortured screams as the Night Flyer approached and devoured the villain from the inside out.

Tom leaned against the cool aluminum wall of a nearby warehouse. He gripped his midsection in agony and crumpled to the ground. Sirens came screaming around the corner and the red and blue lights hurt his eyes as six patrol cars came skidding into the lot. He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes as the darkness took him in her gentle arms and lulled him to sleep.

Tom stepped out into the looming twilight. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath. Finally, fresh air at last. He stretched noisily, and waited for the feeling to return to his legs. A shrill whistle cut through the shadows and he turned with furrowed brow. His eyes narrowing as he reached out with his senses and found a cluster of odd sensations just off to the right.

There, in the shadows was Jamus, leaning against beat up old Ford Bronco II. Perched lazily atop the roof with a broad smile was Mouse. Tom took the steps slowly and limped his way through the parking lot, hands stuffed casually into his pockets, his grin growing larger with each step.

"So, I hear they didn't spank you with the damage bill after all, since it was a derelict warehouse," Jamus said with a sheepish grin. Tom just nodded.

"Wow, Tommy. You look like shit," Mouse said teasingly as she slid down off the truck and wrapped her arms around him, taking him in a strong embrace. She kissed him on the cheek and then took a step back and waved her hand in front of her nose. "And, you need a shower." 

Jamus slipped around to the driver's side of the truck. There was a loud pop and a rush of air. He quickly came back into view while folding the knife and shoved it in his back pocket with a smug grin. He offered his elbow, and Mouse, stepping between both men took them by the arms and wandered on into the night. With a curious look, Tom glanced over his shoulder and saw the vanity plate on the Bronco. "ToppKopp" it proclaimed. 

"Has to be Stelinski's truck," he chuckled.

"So, Tom, I was thinking... How would you like to join DarkWalk permanently?" Jamus asked with a tired smile.

"First things first. I need a drink," he said flatly.

The three of them roamed off into the sunset arm in arm.

© Jay Phantym 2007