Original Art by Gealach - deviantART site • Used With Permission

Chapter 1: Corinna

Corinna couldn't remember a time in her life when she'd ever been this fucking afraid.

She sat in an abandoned warehouse, naked and shivering, covered in . . . well, goo. Or something. She didn't know what the hell the clear stuff was, but it was cold. She sure as shit knew that.

She also knew that she was going to die.

Corinna tried to be clinical and detached about it, but it wasn't every day that she faced her own mortality. Or really, had it thrust in her face so gleefully. She closed her green eyes and could see the thing's teeth, the image forever burned into her mind.

"Forever," she snorted. "I'm so dead. Why am I even in this city?"

Corinna won a trip to Roseburg accidentally. She was the fifty-seventh caller to the radio station, and her request to hear "something other than goddamn Mariah Carey" was swept away by the enormous amounts of good cheer the DJs were putting out for her as the winner.

"Where, exactly, is Roseburg?" she'd asked. Then, after a bit of thought, "Will I be able to drink the water there?"

The DJ laughingly told her that, no, it would be best not to. She didn't know that, no, he was not kidding. As promised, her bus ticket arrived at her flat door on Friday, giving her just over twenty-four hours to get ready for a "wild, wild weekend in Roseburg!"

On the bus, she sat next to a black-haired girl named Morgana. To go with the raven-black hair, she also had black lipstick, black fingernail polish, black pants, black socks, a black Opeth t-shirt and black eyeliner.

Morgana had also won a contest.

"It's wonderfully dreary there," she told Corinna after the bus lurched into movement. "I'll be going to spend the night at the ruins of Gammon House. They say it's been haunted since the end of the 19th Century. Not too long ago, it burned down for no reason." Morgana closed her eyes. "If it's anything like it says on the internet, I will find a place there with an emptiness that will match the void in my own soul."

Corinna smiled. "That kind of optimism will kill you."

Two hours into the bus ride, Corinna couldn't take it anymore. The batteries in her MP3 player had died the day before and it slipped her mind to get new ones, so against her better judgment, she turned back to Morgana to talk.

"So . . . is there anything else to do in Roseburg? I mean, besides the, uh, haunted house thing?"

Morgana turned her kohl-heavy eyes to Corinna.

"I doubt it very much. There are the regular touristy things, a mall and a theater. I think there's a museum. But you want to know what Roseburg's real attraction is?"

Not, Corinna thought, if it excites you this much.

"Yes," she said. "Desperately."

Morgana smiled crookedly, as if it wasn't something she did often enough to be good at. She leaned towards Corinna, looking up and down the aisle before saying anything.

"Vampires," she whispered.

Deflated, Corinna sank into her seat a bit. "Right. Uh, vampires. I should have known! I think I saw that on the Roseburg Chamber of Commerce website." Her voice drifted off as she looked out the window, looking at the setting sun.

Vampires, she thought with a mental sneer. Give me a break, already.

Corinna peered out into the empty night, wishing that she'd listened. Or that the black-haired bitch had been wrong, wrong, wrong.

Can't be vampires, she thought. Vampires don't exist. It's just some guy, amped up on meth or something.

Her watch and phone were gone, so she couldn't check the time. Cloud cover was thick enough that the moon was completely obscured. Corinna shook her head and looked around the warehouse for anything useful. She found a pair of burlap sacks under a pile of plywood, and a roll of twine sitting all by its lonesome in a dark corner. A jagged nail sticking out of a broken pallet gave her a cutting tool. A half-hour later, she had a makeshift dress that itched like hell.

Still, while she was making a bit of clothing, she wasn't thinking about her impending doom. And the toughness of the burlap helped her focus her emotions. By the time she was clothed, Corinna found herself more than just a little mad.

As a matter of fact, she felt downright furious.

"Cocksucker," she whispered, thinking about the man with the sharpened teeth. What was he, some kind of overzealous Anne Rice fanboy? She felt the bruises on her forearms. Whatever he was on, it made him strong. She looked down at the broken pallet, eyeing the nail thoughtfully. With a shrug, she bent down and pulled on the piece of wood. A strangled cry of strain came out of her before anything happened, but when it did, the length of wood tore loose with a screech of rusty nail.

Corinna hefted the meter-long club and grunted. After deciding that getting splinters or cutting her hands would not do, she used a leftover scrap of burlap to wrap around one end. The single nail glinted in the wan light.

"Come on back now, you son of a bitch."

When the bus finally ground to a halt at the Roseburg City Station, it was all Corinna could do to keep from flinging herself down and kissing the asphalt. She'd only tried one other time for not-weird conversation from Morgana, and she found out that they were staying at the same hotel, paid for by the radio station.

At the taxi stand, they agreed to split cab fare to the place, the Roseburg Arms. It sounded ritzy, and Corinna was looking forward to getting there, maybe grabbing a bite to eat. She toyed with the idea of inviting Morgana, but not for long. After only two trips into the conversational abyss, Corinna decided that The Desolate One could find her own food. Looking at the town, she thought the weekend would be dreary enough without anyone talking about the emptiness of their soul.

Her good cheer about the hotel lasted until they got there. Like everything else in Roseburg, the Arms was just this side of being condemned. The red brick facade was covered in a light dusty film, and the material of the overhand for the main entrance was faded well past its prime. At least four of the windows facing the street were boarded up.

"My cup runneth over," Corinna muttered as she got out of the cab. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Morgana smile, but when she looked again, saw nothing. A smile, on that face? She considered. No. If she'd smiled, there would have been a scream.

The clerk behind the desk was so listless, it seemed as if it would take well over an hour to check in. Getting a key from him took the rest of the night. Directions to the closest eatery rounded out the rest of her lifetime. Corinna looked at her watch. No, only fifteen minutes.

This was going to be a long weekend.

As she waited at the elevator to go to her room, she overheard the clerk telling Morgana that they didn't have a room for her. Morgana countered, telling him to check under the radio station's account, which he did. When the elevator pinged, the clerk looked up and called out.

"Wait, miss! Hold on a second."

Corinna looked at the clerk, then back at the elevator.

"It'll only take a minute, ma'am," the clerk said.

Blowing air up past her bangs, Corinna went back to the check-in desk.

"What is it?"

"Well," the clerk started, a slow flush creeping up his pale neck, "it seems that the radio station booked you two for the same place. It's a suite, not a room. I guess since you won the same contest . . ." he let his voice trail off, wincing a bit.

Corinna rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. I doubt we'll be seeing much of each other, anyway."

The nail in the end of the board made a nice whistling sound as it swung through the air.

Corinna practiced moving the stick around, first like a baseball bat, then like a golf club. Each time she swung, she imagined either Morgana or the fruit-loop with the pointy teeth on the receiving end. She grinned. Just wait until they—

Her thought was interrupted by a sound in the darkness of the warehouse. It reminded her of a tarp being pulled off of something. A slithering sound, low going to high and stopping.

"I'm going to kick your asses," Corinna shouted to the dark corners of the warehouse. She shivered. A tink of metal-on-concrete came from behind her, and she whirled, club at the ready.

"I'm serious," she said, slightly more quietly. "Kick your ass so hard your dog will feel it."

A whoosh of moving air off to her left. Corinna spun, bumping the pile of boards with her bare right foot. Her toe began to throb immediately. She looked down and saw a dark spot on the concrete floor, more welling up at the tip of her toe. I'm bleeding, she thought. But I didn't hit my foot that hard. Then she wondered when her last tetanus shot was.

"Mmm," came a voice from the darkness off to Corinna's right. It was raspy, as if the throat that it came out of was lined with gravel and sand. "I can smell that, my little chick. You should be more careful in the dark."

She shifted her grip on the club and tried to ignore the tears running down her cheek. The anger she'd felt just a minute before melted away as the rough voice worked its way inside her ears, bringing back the intense fear she thought had gone away.

Another tink of metal-on-concrete, behind her again, and she turned.

Nothing there.

Something brushed her hair. Corinna turned back, suddenly face-to-face with the vampire.

She screamed.

Corinna slammed the phone into its cradle probably a little harder than the manufacturer had intended. The handset cracked in response.

"Fucking one-horse towns, I swear," she said.

"Are you still looking for a place to eat?" Morgana asked from behind her. Corinna turned to look at her weekend roommate, who had just gotten out of the shower. Her black hair was glistening, black eyeliner and lipstick still as black as before the wash. Even against the white bath towel, Morgana's skin was pale.

Corinna sighed. "Yes," she said, irritated. "Not one place in this town serves manicotti, can you believe it?"

Head down, drying her hair with a towel, Morgana said, "Well, there's one place. But I doubt you'd want to eat there. You seem more like a fast-food type of girl. I can almost smell the MSG death on you."

She couldn't help it. Corinna laughed, hard. Wiping her eyes, she smiled and thanked Morgana. "If they've got it, I'll eat it. Lead on, dark lady."

An hour later, she found herself at a brick-fronted restaurant, called "The Luna." The door was very narrow, standing next to a stained-glass window depicting what looked like some sort of sacrifice. The look of the place was enough to make Corinna rethink eating there, but as a customer left, she caught a whiff of marinara sauce and her stomach growled.

"That," she said to Morgana, "smells like a little bit of heaven. Dinner is on me."

They ordered from a pale, balding man with horrible breath. The dining room was small, only five tables, and the low lighting made the room seem more intimate than it was. Excited as Corinna was, it was a couple of minutes before she noticed that, although forks and knives were moving around on plates, there wasn't a lot of eating happening.

Maybe it's us, she thought. Strangers in town. Must be scary for the locals, hah.

A short while later, the food arrived and all thoughts of anything but consuming fled her mind. Corinna was in the middle of a particularly tasty bite when she heard Morgana sigh with contentment. She looked at Morgana's plate and saw a small (getting smaller) piece of steak, awash in an island of its own blood.

"You like it rare, huh?"

Morgana stopped in mid-chew. One corner of her mouth came up in a semblance of a grin, and Corinna was almost in shock that her face didn't burst into flames.

"Yeah. There's just something about a mouthful of meat and blood that does it for me." Morgana laughed, a thoroughly unpleasant sound. "Perhaps if you try it, you might like it."

Corinna started to reply, but all of a sudden her brain wouldn't work. She thought she heard Morgana's laugh, and everything went black.

Running.

Corinna was running for her life. The man with the fangs (for she still refused to think of him as a vampire) had come out of nowhere and she took off. Out of the warehouse, through an alley and down an empty street, she ran.

She had vague recollections of people crowding her, the man with the fangs and Morgana in the fore. Taunting her, ripping her clothes off. She remembered the fanged man well: almost six feet tall, spiky black hair, and he wore one of those horrible faux-leather jackets. This one was red, with zippers everywhere. He laughed, and Corinna could smell the decay on his breath.

He'd talked to the other figures, calling her "the rabbit," and they'd laughed. He said something about the winner of The Chase getting the prize, but they would all win.

Another half-formed memory of being dunked in a fifty-five gallon oil drum filled with that cold goo and people going apeshit over it. She remembered Morgana whispering in her ear that the goo would bring her blood up, or something. Corinna spun at the word "blood" and punched Morgana in the nose. Clawing and screaming, she ran. Somehow, she'd made it out of the back of the restaurant and down a back alley, stumbling around, disoriented.

Then the Chase began.

First, it was the man with the fangs. No matter how fast she ran, how many corners she turned, he seemed to be just one turn ahead of her. Jumping out of the shadows, snapping his very white, sharp-looking teeth at her. There were others, just shadows along the periphery of her vision, but He was always there, like a nightmarish jack-in-the-box.

Corinna had screamed often, at first. She screamed and ran past tired-looking people closing up their shops. Why didn't any of them do anything? Where were the police? No help was coming, she finally realized. And then, when she got to the old, empty industrial park, she figured out that she'd been herded that way by each sudden appearance of the man with the fangs.

There would be no help here. Not a whisper of it. No witnesses, no bystanders. No hope.

When she finally made it to the warehouse, it was her first chance to catch her breath. Her only chance, so far.

She fled from the warehouse, running again after getting the goo off her and dressing in burlap. The district she was in looked like the rest of the town, only worse. The entire area felt like a ghost town, devoid of signs of life. If business had ever been here, it had long since dried up and blown away. A part of Corinna's brain mused that the lights were probably only on because someone had forgot to kill power to this part of the city. The rest of her brain focused on running.

Trash cans tumbled over behind her, and Corinna turned to look. A lid was spinning like a quarter in the middle of the street. She turned back to look where she was going, and there he was in the street, reaching for her, the overhead light turning his red leather coat to a garment of blood.

"No!" she screamed, swinging the club at him. She swung all the way around. To her eye, he hadn't moved or ducked . . . he just wasn't there when the wood got to him.

"I've been waiting for you for months, my pretty little Valkyrie," the rough voice said from behind her. She spun and he grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing with inhuman strength. His pale, watery eyes bored into her skull as he spoke.

"I saw you at a nightclub in your shitty little town, and I knew there was something special about you. Found out about you, I did. Corinna MacManus, age twenty-five, single. You're of Irish and Scandinavian descent, and even in this age of the Cross and the Crescent, you still hold to the old beliefs. You also love that radio station and hate, hate, hate Mariah Carey." He laughed, and the small hairs on Corinna's neck straightened out.

"How easy it was to snare you in our little trap. Lure you to Rottenburg, make you the object of the Chase. For what? To snare the Pope whelp?" The man spat. He leaned close, licking the side of her neck. He shivered, eyes rolling back in his head.

"To hell with the Chase. To hell with Pope. To hell with Johnny. I've got you, and there's no one here to stop me." He tilted his head back and opened his jaws wide, wider than Corinna thought possible. She knew what was coming next, and closed her eyes against it . . . but she was furious.

Her body was in agreement with her emotions, apparently.

The club in her right hand swung up between the vampire's legs (that's what he is, he's a vampire, oh my god I'm so dead) and whacked him with a significant thump. The angle her arm was at didn't allow for much momentum, but the vampire jumped all out of proportion to the strength of the hit, letting go of Corinna's shoulders.

He howled, bending down and holding his crotch. "Ah, you fucking bitch! What the hell was that?"

Corinna didn't bother answering. She gripped her club with both hands and drove it into the vampire's head with everything she had. Three things happened.

The vampire's scream changed pitch from an angry roar to squeals of pain. There was a flash of light and heat, blowing him back, ten metres down the dark roadway. And there was a thrumming in Corinna's arms, a feeling of Power, and a Voice in her head.

Daughter of Thor, glad am I that thou hast come into thy birthright. Wield this weapon of wood, a long-misplaced part of the Thunder Oak, in the name of righteousness and for the glory of your gods. Yea, I know that you keep the faith, and for that I will do as I can to aid thee. I, Odin, so swear it.

Corinna came to, still standing in the street and gripping the piece of wood with both hands. She felt heady, light. She positively vibrated with energy. The vampire lay on the ground, writhing in pain and making mewling sounds.

"Right," she said, hefting the piece of wood. The vampire looked up at her through a haze of pain.

She advanced on the creature. "I am Corinna MacManus. Daughter of Vikings, daughter of Celts. And I will wield this righteousness all over your fucking skull."

The vampire screamed.

Corinna sat on the curb, cleaning her fingernails with her teeth and trying to take stock of the situation. She ticked off points with her left hand while she chewed on her right.

One: Vampires. Holy shit.

Two: Holy piece of wood, slash, Odin is real. Holy shit!

Three: The Chase. What the hell is it?

Four: Pope. Who the hell is that?

Five. She sat for a bit, staring at her thumb as if it had an answer for her as to what point five should be. Sadly, it did not. She shifted her gaze to the stick, sitting next to her on the pavement, the wrapped handle resting on her foot. Corinna could feel the Power there, humming along. There was an answer to it in her blood, she could tell.

A glance off to the left brought the remains of the vampire in view. Blinding red rage had taken her over as she'd brought the wood down on it, over and over. A flash of light and fire exploded every time she hit the body, until there was no more unlife in it.

"I need," Corinna said to the night, "a cigarette."

Why stop at one cigarette? If she had one, she might smoke the whole pack. Matter of fact . . .

That thought resonated with her for a second. The whole pack. Why did that bounce around in her skull so? The whole pack?

Corinna sat up straight as the realization hit her. The whole pack. Not just a vampire. A whole load of vampires. Holy fuck, maybe a whole town of vampires!

"Point five turns out to be a real motherfucker," she whispered to herself. She grabbed her stick (in her head, she had already christened it the Thunder Stick) and stood, looking around frantically. Sounds in the dark between buildings got louder. There was a laugh here, a hiss there. Footsteps. She backed up to the corrugated steel wall of the building behind her and began walking against it sideways.

The streetlight ahead went out. She could see movement there, shapes in the shadows. Glints of light off of bits of jewelry, laughing teeth. The group surged forward, always draped in shadow, as if light wanted no part of what moved there.

She raised the stick in front of her, breathing hard.

"Alright, then," she yelled at the darkness. "Have a go, if you think you're hard enough!"

A brick came whirring out of a sidestreet and hit her knee. She yelped and fell, dropping the Thunder Stick. It clattered to the sidewalk and bounced into the street. Corinna stared at it for a second.

Then they came boiling out of the darkness.

Vampires, an even dozen of them, ran for her, howling and laughing. Corinna stood and turned to run, but her leg collapsed when she tried and down she went. One vampire was in the lead, her slicked-back blonde hair looking like a helmet as she leapt, crossing the remaining distance entirely airborne.

Something whirled down to meet her halfway, and she screamed as it thudded into her torso. The vampire landed in a squealing, twitching heap in the gutter at Corinna's feet, clawed hands grasping at a shiny handle that protruded from her chest. Every time the vampire would jerk on it, steam would billow from her hands and the wound. The vampire screamed.

Corinna, having not been raised a fool, scrambled for the only thing that night that had given her any hope: the Thunder Stick. She did so unnoticed.

"He's here," several of the vampires in the street shouted to each other. "Rush him, rend him," others agreed, but not one took another step. The collective focus of the group kept switching from the rooftop above Corinna to the squirming vampire on the sidewalk.

"Well?" a male voice asked from above. It was followed by a metallic click, sounding like a hammer being drawn back, and then a shifting, sliding noise, as a sword being drawn from a sheath. "Like the girl said . . . have a go."

Corinna picked up her weapon and a sense of peace washed over her. Her fear evaporated, as did the pain in her knee. In that clarity, in that moment of enlightenment, she knew what the rest of her life was going to be focused on.

They were standing right down the street from her.

She stood, stick in the air, shouting an inarticulate challenge. The vampires turned their gazes to her, and the uncertainty that had been in their eyes at the demise of the first of them turned to fear. Awe. Terror.

Corinna shouted and slammed the Thunder Stick into the skull of the writhing vampire at her feet. At the contact, the vampire's head burst into flames and a nimbus of lightning played around Corinna. She stood and raised her weapon again, her eyes completely white. The sky rumbled in response.

"Run," she hissed.

She felt more than heard something land on the sidewalk, and the vampire crowd turned as one and fled back into the darkness.

"That is a serious piece of wood," a voice said behind her.

Corinna turned to see a man standing there, a tall, lanky figure in dark cargo pants and dirty coat. One toe of his boots reflected light that his face hid from within a pulled-up hood. All that was visible of his features was a stubbled chin and an amused smile. He held in one hand an old-style revolver, and in the other a beat-up looking machete.

"Excuse me," he said as he bent to retrieve his bent knife from the ashen remains of the vampire, holstering the gun. "Kukri," he said, holding it up for her to see. "Good for lots of things, really good for them. Silver-plated handle, so they can't just catch it and throw it back." He looked her up and down. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone suit up in burlap before. Is it . . . what, holy burlap?"

Corinna stood mute, the blankness of her eyes slowly fading back to bright green irides.

The figure watched. He cocked his head. "This isn't shop talk for you, is it?" he asked after a moment.

She shook her head slowly. "No," she said.

The lips inside the hood pursed as the man thought. He shook his head once, and then nodded . . . then nodded again, as if deciding something. He sheathed the knife and put out his hand.

"I'm Gabriel Pope. We should get you somewhere safe."

A net came down on both of them.

Gabriel and Corinna, wrapped in a leather fishing-style net and trussed together with a rope, were hustled into the back of an ice truck. During the course of that, at least two vampires had leapt back, cursing and slapping at their stomachs and arms where smoke was rising.

"He's more trouble than his old man," one of them said, throwing punches at the bundle of two.

Corinna's breath came hard and fast, sending plumes of vapor up in the cold truck. Her eyes rolled, trying to see everything at once and noticing nothing at all. She finally closed her eyes and grit her teeth, softly whimpering.

"If you're faking," Gabriel whispered to her, "keep it up. If they get whipped into a frenzy, they're more likely to make mistakes." He looked at Corinna more carefully. "Okay, so you're not faking it. Even better."

The back of the truck slammed shut, leaving them in darkness. Corinna gripped the Thunder Stick and shook, hoping for a burst of warmth and confidence like before. Nothing happened. Animal sounds came from her.

This night can't get any worse.

As the truck rolled through the streets of Roseburg (Rottenburg, did that vampire call it?) Gabriel kept rolling around in the net, moving his arms and grunting. It got so that she couldn't stand it.

"Will you stop that? You can't get this net loose."

Gabriel ignored her, working on. Eventually, he brought what looked like a minibar bottle up to his face and drank down what was inside it. He dropped the bottle and held another one up.

"Drink," he told Corinna, working the lid off with his fingers. She noted that he was missing at least one fingernail and his knuckles were heavily scarred. Gabriel flipped the lid away and waggled his eyebrows at her. Corinna drank.

She made a face. "What is that? It tasted like . . . nothing." She smacked her lips. "I was expecting, um, I don't know. An energy drink, maybe?"

Gabriel snorted. "Not quite. It's just a precaution." He looked at her, flat black eyes boring into her green ones. "Are you okay? You look kind of . . . flushed."

Corinna started. "Well, it has been an intrepid night." She closed her eyes, and something was tickling the back of her brain. "And, ah, they dunked me in some goop. Said it would bring my blood up?"

The dark-faced man grunted. "Alright. Here's what is going to happen whenever we stop."

Gabriel talked at length while the ice truck rolled on.

The doors finally opened again, and the back of the truck filled with jeers and cheers. A pair of biker gang vampires (funny how I recognize them now, right off the bat) hopped up into the truck and pulled the Corinna/Gabriel bundle out into the light.

The flickering, orange light came from a bonfire roughly the size of the Great Pyramid of Khufu. A platform of wood planks and scaffolding had been erected in an arc around one side of the fire. On it stood several vampires of different origin, gathered around an ornate chair where lounged another. This one was different.

The vampires on the platform (and gathered around it) were more-or-less easily lumped into a group of some kind: bikers in their leathers (like the two handling the net), rave-goers in shiny PVC outfits, black-suited and serious types, etc. The one seated on the chair, though . . . not so much.

He wore a pastel suit out of "Miami Vice" over wingtips. His hair was something out of a black-and-white gangster movie. The watch on his wrist was probably the newest thing coming out of Japan, though. He was a mish-mash of styles and times, and it appeared that no one was poking fun at him for it.

This one, Corinna thought, this one runs the show.

"That one is Johnny Fantôme," Gabriel said through gritted teeth. "He runs the bloodsucker show in this city. Old. Powerful."

Corinna nodded, watching everything with eyes wide open.

"Velcome to dis party of ours, Gabriel Pope. Und guest." Fantôme waved his hand with a flourish, and the audience gave a roar that promised horrors. The old vampire swished his hand from side to side, and the roar cut off as if it never was.

"Not too long ago, ve celebrated der, ah, retirement of one of Roseburg's finest, vun Lazarus Pope." Fantôme raised his hand to indicate the netted pair. "Und now, thanks to some vonderful planning ov Jacob Kasey, ve haff here his replacement. Take it avay, Jacob!"

Fantôme sank to his opulent seat, steepling his fingers in front of him while another vampire stood to cheers and applause. This one was tall, broad through the shoulders and stylish. His dark hair was close-cropped and he wore a three-day stubble with flair. His three-piece suit fit well, and he knew it.

He addressed the crowd with a sly grin. "I bet you're all wondering why I've called you here," he started and laughed. At a roll from Fantôme's wrist, the crowd laughed with him. "Every decade, we call a truce and get together for our little game, The Chase. Each Clan gets to show off their hunting prowess over five nights of merriment. We run, we chase, we hunt, we drink. It's good! And the best hunter always walks away with a very tasty prize.

"This year is different. Our associate Michael Randolph chose a very special young lady to be our rabbit, and I," he paused for emphasis, "arranged for the prize. You see him there, none other than the latest and . . . well, scruffiest in the Pope line, Gabriel! Give him a hand, everybody."

The applause was deafening, and the bikers picked up the bundle of Gabriel and Corinna effortlessly, carrying them to the platform. Their brethren stood by, AK-47s leveled at the net as Gabriel was unwrapped. Gloved hands relieved him of his weapons and guided him none too gently to the end of the platform, where a cage built of scaffolding materials was being raised.

Another of the bikers, a huge bald man, picked up the Thunder Stick, his skin protected by leather, and was about to throw it in the fire when Fantôme halted him.

"Brink dat over here, please."

The bald biker brought the stick over and stood in front of Fantôme, holding it out in his gloved hands for inspection. The old vampire looked at the wood carefully, narrowing his eyes.

"You want I should t'row it in de fire, boss?"

Johnny, apparently unconcerned with the stick, waved his hand. The biker turned and lifted the stick to throw it. The sky crackled, and the air was filled with ozone as a bolt of lighting shot from the sky, incinerating the vampire biker. The Thunder Stick dropped to the platform at his smoking boots and lay there. Johnny nodded his head.

"Leave it there," he said.

Corinna watched as the vampires loaded Gabriel Pope into the scaffolding cage. They jeered and taunted him, their hissing voices becoming more and more sibilant. Gabriel took it all, smiling the entire time. Sometimes he'd nod at jibes, or put on a scared face. Even in their moment of triumph, Corinna could tell that the vampires were working hard on controlling themselves.

Just like he told her.

She closed her eyes and knelt on the net where it sat on the platform, thinking furiously. Why didn't the stick respond to her in the truck? The first time she swung it at the vampire in the red leather jacket, she hadn't felt any kind of power then, either. But right when he was going to bite her . . . bam! Super-stick.

She tried to shut out the vampires' insults at Gabriel, but it was difficult. They sounded so angry, even when . . . when . . angry? Corinna nearly whooped. That was it! When she hit the red jacket vamp, she was fucking furious. Then after, when she put him away, it was all she could do to make herself stop hitting him.

Same with the blond vampire in the gutter. Corinna had just had about enough. It made sense to her. The Vikings had their Berserkers, the Irish Cúchulain fought in a battle frenzy. So, all she had to do was work up a good goddamn mad-on, and the Thunder Stick would work again. Clear as day.

If only she wasn't so scared.

She needed answers. Gabriel had given her a name and address on the ride here, said that she should take the stick to a woman named Meliad. He said that she'd be able to tell Corinna something about it. But why—

At a loud clanging noise, she opened her eyes to see Gabriel in the cage, sitting cross-legged and almost serene. He almost looked as if he was preparing himself to die.

"This is the family business," he'd said in the back of the truck. "I know the stakes."

Is he about to sacrifice himself doing something heroic? Corinna asked herself. That kind of made sense, too. One doesn't take on the forces of darkness with an easy retirement in mind. Well, that's not fair, she thought. He doesn't even know me.

Gabriel nodded to her once, and she knew. She knew. But the plan was what it was, and she would do what he told her. She put two fingers down her throat and began to retch. As she started to throw up, she punched one of the biker vampires in the back of the knee, and he fell over next to her. When he hit the deck, Corinna threw up on his head.

Bile and holy water flew out of Corinna's mouth, scalding the vampire. He screamed and hit her, thrashing around on the deck. She flew away from the force of the blow, but could see Gabriel reaching through the bars and grabbing another of the vampires from behind, as they'd turned at the biker's screams. He sprayed his mouthful of holy water on the vampire, screaming along with him as the fire coming from the creature of the night burned them both. In a flash, the vampire was charred enough for Gabriel to pull the beast through the bars and into the scaffolding cage with him.

The cage had a wooden floor.

Gabriel did what Corinna had, throwing up on the vampire and jumping back as the thing burst into flames. They burned hot, eating away at the thing as it flopped. In less than a minute, it had burned through the cheap bottom on the cage and Gabriel was free. He kicked out at the first vampire to reach him, the silver cap on the end of his boot almost detaching the monster's jaw from its face. Gabriel spun and planted another kick in its midsection, the silver and ash studs on his heel driving into the vampire's chest. It fell back and thrashed around, slapping at its middle.

Gabriel whipped his belt out of its loops and wrapped the loose end around one fist. The silver buckle glinted in the firelight. Vampires swarmed him as he spun, whirling the belt like a miniature meteor into their faces.

Corinna felt a surge of hope. We might make it! We might—

Hands grabbed her from behind and dragged her back. She couldn't see Gabriel anymore. The hands turned her around savagely, and she came face-to-face with the burned biker.

"Fucking bitch! Your blood is mine!"

He opened his mouth, fangs dripping with a clear substance. Corinna shouted, but without the Thunder Stick, she had no defense. His head darted forward, and she felt a tearing at her neck. Hot pain lanced at her, and she screamed.

And Corinna lost it.

Anger, bloody and beautiful, flooded through her. How dare this bloodsucking leech defile this daughter of Thor? She snarled and gnashed and fought, strangled cries becoming screams, slapping hands becoming bony fists . . . eyes draining of their green.

She reached out, and the Thunder Stick shot from its spot on the platform to her open hand. She brought the blunt end up and into the vampire's ear in a burst of brilliant light and a gout of flame. It screeched and flew off Corinna and tumbled away. She stood, electricity flickering about her, and ran to the fallen vampire, bringing the stick down on it until the head separated from the body.

Corinna turned to the mass of vampires that surrounded Gabriel Pope. As she walked towards them, she laid the stick across the bite at her neck, wincing only slightly as the touch of wood from Thor's Oak healed her and burned away the vampiric filth left behind.

She stood, sudden wind whipping her blond hair away from her face, and pointed the stick with both hands at the ring of monsters. "Mjölnir!" she screamed, and a blue-white flash of lightning shot out of the end of the stick, taking vampires off their feet and flinging them into the bonfire.

Gabriel ducked as more came out, sending the monsters flying away, screaming in agony at the touch of holy light. She saw that Gabriel was clear, so she turned at the gathered mass of creatures, blank eyes blazing with fury. She was going to teach them a lesson. She was going to take their leader and fry, fry, fry him.

Johnny Fantôme was already gone.

No matter, Corinna thought. There's somebody here . . . that one.

Corinna leapt at Jacob Kasey with a shout, the Thunder Stick at her shoulder like a baseball bat. He cried out and put his hands up, and she swung. Another flash of light and fire, and his head popped off his neck, a line drive into the huge bonfire.

"You heard the lady," Gabriel shouted. "This party is over!"

The vampires fled.

They sat in Gabriel Pope's office on the third floor of the Fisher Building. Corinna, now dressed in clothes from her hotel room, was worn out. Gabriel was banged up, but couldn't stop grinning.

"A Valkyrie. This is awesome beyond compare."

Gabriel's assistant, a green-haired girl named Mel, sat barefoot on her own desk, holding the Thunder Stick, almond-shaped eyes closed. Gabriel and Corinna drank coffee while they waited.

Mel opened her eyes. "Wow," she said. "This thing . . . I can't even tell you how powerful it is. And from Thor's Oak to part of a pallet in this town, on that particular night?" Mel shook her head. "The odds are staggering. I can email you, if you like? It's a long story from Germany thirteen hundred years ago to here and now, and you've had a rough night."

"Divine intervention," Gabriel said, dunking his head to his cup as he drank. He turned to Corinna. "Perhaps you should take a look into your family history. Who knows?"

Corinna smiled. "I will. When I get home. No offense to you or your town, Gabriel—"

"Call me Gabe," he said.

"Alright, then. No offense to you or your town, Gabe, but it's time to leave. Past time. I just have one other thing to do." She laughed. "And I need an anger management class."

Gabe and Mel stood, shaking hands, laughing and hugging the girl. She felt a card being slipped into her pocket by Mel. "If you have any questions, or need help, give us a call."

"I will," Corinna said, and left.

She walked from the Fisher Building through the daytime streets of Roseburg, eyeing the citizens warily. She suspected that some of them, if not most of them, knew about the fanged menace that stalked the streets at night.

And she knew that the citizenry was ready to just do nothing. That offended her, but she could halfway understand it. But there was one other person . . .

Her key slid into the knob at the Roseburg Arms, and Corinna eased the door open. The sounds of electric guitar and synthesizers wailed through the suite. Both bedroom doors stood open.

A girl lay face-down on one of the beds, oblivious to the raucous sound being put out by the radio. Her black hair was spread out about her head, black-rimmed eyes closed in blissful slumber.

That was about to change.

Corinna picked up the radio and carried it over to the bed. She raised it over her head and smashed it into the wall over the prone figure of Morgana, who sat up with a yelp.

She saw who it was and laughed.

"Pity you ruined the party. Why are you still here?" Morgana saw the look on Corinna's face and laughed harder. "You don't scare me, you cunt. I'm not one of them—not yet—so your magic stick won't harm me."

Corinna slowly unwrapped the handle of the Thunder Stick, exposing the pointed end of it. Morgana's laugh caught in her throat as she realized something: the stick was still a weapon, and the woman that held it was very, very angry.

"You're not one of them," Corinna said, placing the end of the stick against Morgana's throat. "Not yet? No."

She shoved until the point clicked on the wall behind the dead girl.

"Not ever."

She walked out of the room, satisfied, scratching at a splinter in her palm.