This Side of the Grave (Night Huntress, #5)(59)
Mencheres and Vlad melted away into the woods as well. Once I reached a good vantage point, crouched behind a rocky formation about forty yards away, I stared back at where we left the ghouls. Lots of trees were in my way, so I couldn’t see them exactly, but it looked like the four ghouls still stood where we’d left them, not even talking, and sure as hell not running. I shook my head. Damn handy power Mencheres had—if you were strong enough to control it, which I hadn’t been.
We didn’t have too long to wait. Less than twenty minutes later, we heard another vehicle pull up very close to where the van was, from the sounds of it. Then the casual, genial chatter of its occupants as they congratulated each other on killing two young vampires that morning.
Son of a bitch. No need to wonder if these were the rest of the group!
I crept closer, because they made enough noise to cover the soft sounds I made. Clearly they sensed no danger. Dark satisfaction filled me as I heard one of them jokingly ask what the others were looking at.
“What’s the matter, Brent?” a voice laughed. “Cat got your tongue?”
That was too priceless an opening for me to leave hanging.
“Not yet, but I can make an exception,” I said, straightening to my full height as I strode toward them.
Mencheres’s power beat me, whooshing past and cementing them in their places before they could even gasp at the vampires popping up from the woods. Even though I recognized the practicality, a part of me was disappointed. Fighting them would be a great way to release some of the stress that had been building, but it wouldn’t be a real brawl unless they could hit back.
When I drew within touching distance of the group that had now grown by seven, something white caught my eye, distracting me from lamenting that Mencheres’s power took all the sport out of capturing them.
“You’re wearing fangs around your neck?” I blurted, snatching at the necklace that hung from one of the Hell’s Angels wannabes. Sure enough, eight fangs were strung on a silver chain, and the sight of them pissed me off into temporary speechlessness.
Vlad didn’t seem as perturbed. He appeared to the left of the group, wagging his fingers at them almost playfully. “Here I’d always found drive-ins boring, but you’re going to make this one fun for me, aren’t you? Mencheres, give them the ability to speak, though if any of you screams, it’ll be the last sound you make.”
No one needed to tell me that this was about to get messy, and there were too many of them for us to take back to our rented town house.
“We need to get all these people out of here,” I said, adding, “something that won’t make the eleven o’clock news,” as an important afterthought. Sure, Mencheres could clear this entire outdoor theater complex in a matter of seconds. But people might pause to wonder why their car was suddenly flying through the air, or why every huge movie screen crumbled into a ball, and we didn’t need that sort of publicity.
Mencheres gave me a pointed glance. “I know how to be discreet,” he said, before vanishing in a blur of speed.
I contained my snort with the utmost difficultly. It wasn’t that long ago that Mencheres demolished a section of Disneyland in front of stunned witnesses, or changed Kira into a vampire on a video that was later blasted all over the Internet. Yeah, essence of discretion, those things were.
“So, boys . . .”
I turned around to see Vlad striding along the jagged circle of ghouls, still held in place by Mencheres’s power even though the other vampire was out of sight. He touched each of them, the reason not lost to me. Whatever Vlad touched, he could burn.
“Whoever tells me all about your little gang gets to live,” he went on. “Whoever doesn’t talk . . . well, you can figure out what’ll happen, I’m sure.”
Flames sprouted around his hands for emphasis. A few of the ghouls grimaced, figuring out who Vlad was. Only one male vampire was infamous for wielding fire, and Vlad’s reputation would have been anything but soothing to them.
“There’s still too many people nearby,” I reminded him. Bonfiring some of the ghouls was bound to draw attention, even through the bushes and trees.
“Then Mencheres had better hurry,” Vlad replied, his tone hardening. “These fellows still aren’t talking, and having my commands ignored is what you might call a pet peeve of mine.”
One of them made weird grunting noises, flapping his lips in the oddest way, but the others stayed silent. Vlad sighed.
“No one believes you’re serious until bodies start to fall.”
Then he moved so fast that I wasn’t even sure what he was doing . . . until I saw the four new crimson necklaces some of the group was sporting. Their expressions went abruptly blank, eyes rolling back, but their bodies stayed upright and their heads stayed on, even though nothing but Mencheres’s power kept them glued to their necks anymore.
I blinked at Vlad’s efficient brutality, but it wasn’t a shock. Bones would have done the same thing. I might dislike killing enemy combatants if they couldn’t fight back, but these ghouls were involved in trying to stir up a clash between two species that would leave thousands dead at least if they were successful. That meant my personal preferences had to be set aside.
“Those guys got off lucky. The rest of you won’t,” I said quietly. “In case you haven’t figured it out, that’s Vlad Tepesh you’re looking at, and as for me? I’m the Red Reaper, and I’ll bet you’ve heard of me.”