SANGUINE PRIMA
ARTEMIS
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Isaac rushed over to a corner and retched, emptying his stomach of his last meal. For once, Artemis was happy he didn't eat much.
None of his soldiers so much as blinked. Considering how much they enjoyed poking fun at Isaac, that said something all by itself. Artemis suspected they were only barely holding back their own bile. Thankfully, he was able to control his stomach.
The entire building looked like a slaughterhouse that had never met a safety inspector, and then had hosted a riot. Horrifically mutilated bodies were staked to the walls with various implements, from broken-off chair legs and crowbars to swords and spears. There were a few beds scattered around the floor, with corpses tied to the bare frames with cruel metal wire. In some cases, the victims had been carefully skinned, with strange patterns etched into their muscles or bones.
Blood was everywhere. The walls, the floors, even the ceiling, dripping slowly down like gentle rain. And the smell... the bodies hadn't been here long, so there wasn't the cloying scent of rotting meat, but the air was suffused with the sharp iron scent of far too much fresh blood.
“General,” Artemis said calmly. Isaac was expected to be weak. He had to be strong. “Report.”
The recently-promoted General Soun, a thirty-year-old Cambodian and former car thief, nodded a little shakily. “Yes, sir. We've cordoned off the entire block. The Norwegians have started a light assault to the west, but we're holding them off well enough.”
“What about the media?”
“They're with the English, to the south. We've sent orders that they're not allowed in until they relinquish their weapons.”
Artemis sighed. “That's unlikely to happen any time soon. We'll have to issue a statement.”
“Yes sir, I thought you might say that. I have Lieutenant Fitzgerald writing up a draft as we speak.”
Fitzgerald was a relatively new addition, both to the city and to Artemis' forces. The various countries of the world still dumped their criminals on the city every few months or so. It was the main reason they were staying afloat despite their ridiculously high death rates. The irony of Fitzgerald was that he had been sentenced for plagiarism. Copying stories other people had posted on the internet for free and selling them elsewhere under a pen name and reaping the profits. Now, he was the closest thing Artemis had to a spin doctor.
Still, that wasn't important right now. “Do we know who did this? The Albanians? The Armenians? Can't be the Germans...”
The general coughed. “Ah... yes. We know exactly who did this. Perhaps you remember Stefania Dumitru?”
Artemis frowned. “Yes, that Romanian murderer who thinks she's descended from Dracula. She got a reduced sentence due to her insanity, I believe.” It still wasn't clear whether Dumitru was really off her rocker or just using a convenient famous name to garner attention. She certainly wasn't actually descended from Dracula, though. Artemis hadn't studied Romanian history in too much depth, but to the best of his knowledge Dracula hadn't had any children. And if he had, they would likely have been killed by his enemies shortly after his death.
“Yeah, that's her. The thing is...” He glanced over at Isaac.
Isaac struggled to his feet. “I can handle this, Soun, thank you.”
He looked much older than he had even a few months ago. He had been playing around with the toy maker, and had used it to add some cosmetic changes, such as wrinkles and gray hair. He probably thought it would make him look more like a scientist.
He took a deep breath before speaking. “You remember those night vision eyes I made? Not actual eyes, of course, just a virus that alters—”
“Isaac,” Artemis said.
“Yes, well... Dumitru and her gang bought them. They can all see in the dark now.”
That was... not much of a concern. An extra factor to worry about, true, but hardly worse than anything else they had. Isaac did have a tendency to panic over minor things.
But still, Soun seemed at least as worried. Artemis nodded for Isaac to continue.
“Dumitru has renamed herself Striga. There's an accent mark in there somewhere, but I'm not sure—”
“A striga is a Romanian witch,” Artemis interrupted before he had a chance to completely derail himself. “I imagine she has a reason for naming herself after an ugly old woman?”
“Well, it's a witch or a vampire. She is clearly going with the vampire interpretation.” He coughed lightly. “You see... she and hers have named themselves vampires.”
Artemis frowned again. Dumitru... Striga... seemed to have chosen an interesting way of defending herself: Fear. The Romanians had been hit hard recently. Artemis supposed if you were going to form a gang to protect your people, it made sense to choose the most well-known mythological creature of your country. If she did this right, she could terrify her enemies into making mistakes.
He took another look around the room with fresh eyes. The blood was splashed everywhere, but it wasn't random. Strange sigils and ancient Sumerian runes were etched near the bodies, and he slowly realized that every corpse had a wooden stake thrust through their heart.
“Any word on the gang affiliations of the victims?” That would be the last piece of the puzzle. The Germans had been encroaching on Romanian territory most recently. They would be the most obvious target of this stunt.
Soun stepped forward again. “Well, yes and no, sir. Rather, we've determined that there was no known connection between the victims, other than the fact that they all lived in this building. Striga seems to have just killed them because it was convenient.”
Artemis cursed under his breath. “Why can't anyone in this city ever send messages written in something other than blood?”
The general winced. “Funny you should mention that, sir. There's something you should see on the thirteenth floor.”
He led Isaac and Artemis up, past twelve more floors of the same unbridled carnage. Artemis realized quickly that the blood dripping from the ceilings wasn't blood that was on the ceilings—rather, it was dripping through from the floors above.
Killing “Striga” was edging higher up his list of priorities with every floor they climbed.
The thirteenth floor, however, didn't seem any different from the others. Yes, it was horrifying. Another few dozen people staked to the walls and flayed alive. The entire room, redder than tomatoes. Isaac was retching in the corner again, though at this point he didn't have anything left to hack up.
But as the leader of Necessarius, Artemis needed to be on top of things at all times. He scanned the room, searching for whatever it was that Soun had considered so important.
Were the bodies laid out in some specific pattern? Not that he could tell. Were there more victims than the other floors? No, if anything there were less. The blood on the walls—
Ah. That was it.
He turned around and peered behind the elbow of the stairwell, the part he hadn't been able to see coming up. As he suspected, there was a message written there in the blood of the dead.
“Luna sângeros este în cer,” he read aloud. “Vampiri au crescut.”
“The bloody moon is in the sky,” Soun translated. “The vampires have risen.”
A declaration of war. Lovely. “Any information on how many of these 'vampires' we're dealing with?”
“A hundred, at least. Likely more,” Soun said reluctantly. “Considering the amount of manpower required for something like this, we could be looking at nearly a thousand.”
Artemis frowned. “Terrible as this is, I doubt it would take that many.”
Soun looked uncomfortable. “Ah, sir, you seem to have missed an important part of the message. That's my mistake, Mary Christina was the one who answered the phone, and I should have known she would just summarize—”
“General,” he growled. “Enough backstory. What am I missing?”
He swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir... see here?” He pointed at something below the message that Artemis hadn't noticed before, mistaking them as just more bloody scribbles.
“1 din 13,” he read. He narrowed his eyes. “One out of thirteen.” He turned back to the general, who quivered a little, but didn't falter. “There are twelve more buildings like this?”
Soun just nodded.
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“So all of our efforts to contain this have been meaningless.”
“So it seems,” Soun said. “I did send men to secure two other sites, but that was before we knew the full extent of the problem.”
Artemis squeezed the head of his cane tightly. They had a genocidal psychopath with a small army on their hands, and now everyone knew it. This would hurt morale.
Right now, they had more immediate concerns. “Send out scouts,” he ordered. “Find the other skyscrapers, and contain them. We need to clean these places up. Start collecting the bodies and scrub down the walls.”
Just as Soun nodded, the lights went out.
Artemis heard the Cambodian curse. “It's them.”
Of course. Now that they could see in the dark, their first move would always be to kill the lights. This gave them a large advantage over anyone else, especially since it was only the three Necessarians in the room—and Soun was the only dangerous one.
Artemis heard an animal-like hiss from behind him. He turned to see a dark shape in the very dim light leaking in through the windows, prowling in a crouched position. It saw him too, bared long and sharp glistening canines, and leaped towards his throat.
A rifle barked from behind him, the distinctive four-round burst of a Necessarian Saint Euphemia, and the Romanian howled as he took the bullets to the chest. The man half-limped, half fell down the stairs, whining like an injured dog.
Artemis had not promoted Soun for no reason. He was quick on his feet, both mentally and physically, and a dead shot. He'd be able to handle one or two “vampires” easily enough, even in the dark.
“Sirs, we need to move. There could be more.”
Artemis nodded, though he couldn't see him. “You're right, of course. Isaac, get up.” Artemis' fragile bones, even reinforced by the toy maker, still weren't strong enough to lift Isaac to his feet, but Artemis shook his shoulder. Isaac flinched, but when he realized it wasn't an enemy, Artemis heard him shakily standing upright again.
“I need to check on my men as well,” Soun said. He cracked open a small glow-rod, illuminating them all in a soft green light. It wasn't much, but it would help. “I'll take point.”
Artemis let him lead without comment. This was his area of expertise. Artemis had no place second-guessing him.
Artemis almost expected to run into the man who had attacked them on the way down, but he seemed to know better than to try again. They didn't see anyone at all until they exited the building and walked out onto the sidewalk.
It was like a scene out of a nightmare. There were no lights other than muzzle flare as his men defended themselves. Screams tore the night, both the sharp hunting screeches of the Romanians and the terrified cries of his own men.
Soun didn't so much as flinch. He just cracked a few more glow-rods, tossed them around, and started shooting any vampires that got too close.
“Fall back!” he called. “Into the trucks!”
The soldiers rallied, retreating to the safety of their bulletproof red-striped black vans. Being attacked by creatures out of a horror movie had panicked everyone, but his men were trained well enough to obey orders even in the worst of situations.
Isaac had finally regained most of his wits, and managed to help Artemis into the back seat of one of the vans. Soun slipped into the passenger seat, and a young woman moved behind the wheel and started the engine.
The Romanians screamed at us as they drove off, but that was about it. They hadn't brought guns—probably to increase the fear factor a little—and they weren't fast enough to catch them.
Artemis rubbed his forehead; he was sweating buckets. “Soun, update.”
“No casualties reported yet, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time. At least all five vans are behind us, so that's a good sign.”
They were at the head of the pack. Artemis glanced back through the rear window and realized he was right. They wouldn't know for certain until they got back to NHQ, but this at least meant they had enough men left to drive the cars. Could have been worse. Almost was, actually. If the ambush had managed to kill them...
Artemis shivered. He needed to do something. He and Isaac were the linchpins of Necessarius; kill them, and the entire system would fall apart—and with it, the hopes of the city. They needed a new system, better suited to replacing one or both of them.
His musings were cut off by the driver slamming on the brakes, bringing the van to a screeching halt after ten feet of drifting. Behind them, he heard the other vans doing much the same, and there was the sound of at least one crash. He glanced back again. Third van back. It was just dented, but it could have been worse.
Artemis gripped the seat in front of him, cursing the lack of foresight that had left him without a seat belt. “What the hell was that?”
The driver just nodded at the road in front of him. Artemis followed her gaze, and saw...
A young brunette woman laying in the street, in a pool of what appeared to be her own blood.
He felt his heart stop. He knew who it was. Even though she was lying face-down, the short-sleeved shirt and old jeans were a dead giveaway. No one else would be dressed like that in the middle of the night.
“Christina!” Artemis cried, bolting out of the van as fast as his weakened legs would carry him. He barely heard Soun calling for him to get back in the car.
He collapsed at her side and gingerly touched her neck. There was a pulse. Good. But other than that... he couldn't see a wound, which was a bit odd. With the way the Romanians were acting, he would have expected them to go for her neck.
“Mary Christina,” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
She moaned pitifully, and tried to position her arm under her to lever herself up.
“Don't move,” he ordered, taking her hand in his.
Isaac sat down next to him, all trace of his normal exuberance gone. “He's right. We'll get you loaded up in the van, take you back home, and get you fixed up, I promise.”
Artemis glared daggers at him. “Unless she is lutum informis, yes?”
Isaac winced, and Artemis immediately felt terrible. “Come on, Artemis, I'm sorry about that... Besides, she's not. The only ones in the city besides you are that Hearing boy and Anupama Sharma.”
Before Artemis could apologize, however, he heard Soun behind him. “Sirs, I need you to step away from that woman.”
He looked up and was surprised to find three men plus his general standing in front of the van, weapons ready. “Soun, what are you doing? It's Mary Christina. She's one of us.”
But Soun wasn't about to give up that easily. “Sir, we have no proof it's her. This could be a trap.” Gunfire echoed from further behind them, and he cursed under his breath in Khmer. “We don't have time. Please sirs, if it is her we'll make sure she's taken care of.”
After only a moment's hesitation, Artemis nodded. He grunted with effort as he used his cane to struggle to his feet. Soun was right, and if his emotions hadn't been clouding his judgment, Artemis would have given the order himself. This was a perfect opportunity for an ambush. Even assuming this really was Mary Christina, the Romanians could be using her as bait, waiting for them to let their guards down before attacking.
Soun nodded to one of his men, who moved forward quickly but carefully. He knelt down next to the woman—his comrades keeping their weapons ready the entire time—and flipped her over as gently as possible.
The woman was a bit plain, but not necessarily in a bad way. Normally, she would have been quite attractive. But right now, with her long brown hair clotted with blood, her face covered in deep scratches black with dirt, and a bloody wound in her shoulder, she just looked like someone in need of urgent medical attention.
“Christina,” Artemis whispered. Then he shook his head; they needed to be quick. “General, get Miss Asimov into the van, if you would. I want the convoy moving again before more Romanians catch up.”
His men moved with the same military efficiency as always, pulling out a collapsible stretcher and strapping her in. After quickly binding her shoulder—which looked like a gunshot wound, oddly enough—they put her in the back of the van, and Artemis sat next to her on the floor, though Isaac took one of the seats. They were off again in less than ten minutes.
“When we get to NHQ, do you think you can patch her up?” Artemis asked.
But Isaac was distracted, drumming his fingers against the armrest. “Something's not right,” he muttered. “Red dusk, it's not right. I only gave twenty people those eyes. How are there so many of them?”
Mary Christina coughed. “Arty. She said...” She gulped down great gasps of air.
He gripped her hand. “Shh.”
She shook her head. “That woman... attacked. Said...” She coughed, and grinned weakly. “Her mother gave her the designs... for the eyes. And... a toy maker.”
Artemis frowned. “Her mother? Who the hell—”
Then he stopped.
No.
She wouldn't have been that stupid. She couldn't possibly have—
He pulled out his satellite phone and slammed the first number on his speed dial. Not that it mattered. There weren't really that many people in the city with portable phones. Mary Christina had an idea about setting up “cell towers,” but he didn't know enough about technology to understand the cost or implications. She had been planning on giving him a briefing tomorrow afternoon, though that would probably need to be put on hold.
After a few rings, the person on the other end picked up, and a sweet young voice spoke. “Hello? Mister Butler?”
He resisted yelling by an effort of will—that would hardly make her answer any faster. But he still didn't have time for pleasantries. “Did you give someone a toy maker and eye designs?”
“Uh-huh,” she answered immediately and guilelessly. “The sad lady with the black eyes wanted to let her friends see in the dark.”
Black eyes... Striga. It had to be. Or maybe one of her cronies, but it was definitely Striga's doing. “Where did you even get those?”
“I always know where everything is,” she said, a little indignant.
Well, she was a smart and cunning little girl. Yes, she had been tricked, but that was hardly unexpected, at her age. “Why did you give those things to her? They weren't yours to give.”
“She said they were,” she insisted. “She said I'm the Mother, so it's all mine.”
Artemis closed his eyes. That stupid “mother monster” thing. They had known things would change when they introduced the toy maker, but they hadn't expected something like this.
“Thank you for your help, dearest,” he said finally, not knowing what else he could do. “I'll talk to you when I get home.”
“Okay, Mister Butler,” she said cheerfully, and hung up.
He let the bulky phone fall into his lap. All their plans and security... wasted, because of one naïve and trusting child.
“Sir,” Soun said from the front. “I have news.”
Artemis didn't bother turning around. “Let's hear it.”
“Striga has made an announcement. She is offering the eyes to anyone who wants them, so long as...” He paused, likely reading something on the van's extremely expensive built-in computer. “So long as 'they are willing to fight for their freedoms.'”
Artemis snorted. “Coming from her, that means the freedom to take whatever they want.”
But he finally understood the point of all this. Getting the eyes and the toy maker, attacking the lab and Mary Christina, the massacres, this announcement... it finally made sense.
She wasn't warning others away. She was calling them to arms. Arms against who? Everyone, probably. But most especially Necessarius.
He shook his head. This was just one crazy woman and her followers. Kill Striga, and these “vampires” would no longer be a threat.
This wasn't something worth getting worked up over.