Malice and Madness (The Hunter Vampire Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  MALICE AND MADNESS

  The Hunter Vampire Chronicles

  Part 2

  JULIET BOYD

  Copyright © 2017 Juliet Boyd

  All rights reserved.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and situations portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any reference to an actual event, product or location is used in an entirely fictitious manner.

  Discover my other work now at

  www.julietboyd.com

  For Shay and Clyde.

  Thank you for the little pockets of light in a world of madness.

  Chapter 1

  It was a clear night. A waning moon sat low in the sky, but it was obliterated by the artificial lighting, that slightly yellowish glow given off by the lampposts that blurred your perception. It was difficult to find anywhere there was a significant shadow. Anywhere to hide.

  And yet Rag had no idea where Malice had gone.

  He slowed to an amble, let his senses reach out across the unmistakable stench of city nightlife, searching for some sign, some clue, some hint of her personal signature. Eventually, he caught it. The relief came out as a sigh. He wouldn’t have to go back to the others and say he’d failed, when they’d put their trust in him, when he’d smugly, and slightly menacingly said, ‘I’ve got this.’ He smiled. The kind of smile that could send you to hell.

  The scent led him on a circuitous route that ended up at a manhole cover in the middle of a semi-industrial street, where those less well off had to put up with a daily influx of workers, noise and, sometimes, unsavoury aromas — sewers aside. He’d been in the sewers before, but it wasn’t somewhere he relished visiting. Who would? How bad would it be to say he’d failed? But he hated the looks. The ones that said, ‘You’re not pulling your weight,’ just because he sometimes wanted to do his own thing.

  He took a deep breath, lifted the manhole cover, and lowered himself down into the dark void of icky.

  Acute senses were not the best in this kind of situation, not all of them.

  A layer of unsavoury water covered the floor of the tunnel. A layer that would make silent steps impossible. He listened intently and heard the faintest whisper of footfalls. He headed in that direction. What was the worst that could happen? He came face to face with a sewer worker? He tripped and landed face down in the water?

  There was some light from the widely-spaced lamps attached to the arched ceiling, but sewer tunnels had a habit of all looking the same. They were like a desert landscape, or one of those never-ending straight roads. They lulled your brain into infinite boredom through lack of stimulus. And following a sound through endless tunnels was like finding the real face in a hall of mirrors. He really didn’t want to use his sense of smell.

  He ought to go back, into the land of the mostly living. He ought to do anything but carry on.

  But the glory of catching her by himself. He needed that.

  He turned a corner and her presence hit him in sledgehammer fashion. He upped his pace.

  Another turn and the tunnel felt as if it were going down, which was odd, because the watery sludge wasn’t sliding in that direction.

  It wasn’t just that. Everything started to look weird. It had to be the fumes, or toxins. It certainly wasn’t normal.

  For instance, ahead of him looked as though the tunnel was getting narrower and lower. As if it were disappearing into infinity, more than would be natural. Like an idiot, he lowered his head to compensate. He couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t any need, he tested it with an outstretched arm, but the illusion was too great, as if it had been painted on. They called that something. Trump thingamajig? The false image pressed down upon his senses. The whole experience made his steps wobble. He wasn’t going mad. Except, he might’ve been.

  Lack of blood. He did need to feed soon. It had been more than one day.

  He’d been following her for a whole day?

  He should’ve given up. Shame was one thing, lost causes another.

  He turned.

  He couldn’t make himself retrace his steps. He felt nauseous. Odd.

  Rats began to scuttle around his feet. They looked marginally tasty. He grabbed for one and missed, tripped and fell to his knees. He realised there were a lot of them milling around. They seemed to be congregating at the end of the tunnel, as if this were the place to go. Each one stared at him, sniffed, and then turned away.

  “Yes, I stink of shit,” he said, “but so do you.”

  He sat there for minutes, unable to will himself to get up, in the stupid tunnel that wasn’t what it was. Where everyone died trying to get out and the rats were able to feast on the remains for weeks. More like hours, given how many of them there were. Death by rat. It didn’t sound pleasant. Death was never pleasant. He ought to know. He’d seen it many times.

  Also, been there, done that.

  He pushed himself up and as he did so, a rat bit him. He squealed and kicked out and shouted. Rage turned him. He was going to get Malice if it killed him, but the rats would get it first.

  He blinked.

  The rats were gone.

  He looked down at his hand. There was no wound.

  “It’s already healed.” But he wasn’t sure.

  He began to walk forwards, as he couldn’t turn back.

  At the end of the tunnel was a door. By the time he got to it, he was on his knees again. Crawling, when he knew he didn’t have to, because the ceiling looked as if it were dipping down so low, he couldn’t not. So screwed up. So ridiculous. Head not in the clouds but down on the ground. Knees wet. Covered in slime. Hands the same. Too late to worry about the smell. But it felt safe to crawl. Comforting in a strange kind of way.

  It definitely wasn’t the kind of door you’d expect to see down in the sewers. Wood wasn’t known for its long-term, rot-resistant properties, when faced with the waters of human living. And the lock was ornate. Like you might find on some fancy door in a stately home. A castle, perhaps. A fairytale one where everything was beautiful, not a thing out of place.

  And there was a sign. It said ‘Welcome.’

  Someone with a sick sense of humour? Convenient for him.

  The door was locked, of course. There was no door mat. That would’ve floated away. There was no plant pot. Not much would grow down there, apart from some disgusting fungus monster. Top of the frame?

  He reached up. Even though the door looked small enough that he could reach, it was way beyond the length of his arm.

  The distortion kicked his brain.

  He vomited pure blood.

  That didn’t happen often.

  He crawled vertically up the door, one handhold at a time, on the fancy panelling, until he was standing again. He kept his eyes focused on one spo
t and felt around until his fingers touched something cold, metal. The relief was overwhelming. The kind of relief that released all the tension from your body, brought forth a sob, and made your legs collapse. That did have a benefit. He was now closer to the lock without having to go to the effort of crawling down. If he could just manage to get the key into the hole that was … somewhere in front of him. The nausea rose again.

  He closed his eyes and let his hands find the lock. He fumbled the key into place and choked out in maniacal glee when it fitted. It clunked loudly as he turned it, and the door swung open.

  Malice had better be through here, or his anger was going to reach epic proportions.

  Chapter 2

  Flynn’s eyes widened. “Why in the name of everything that’s sane, would he go down there?”

  Bones shrugged. “I’m sure he wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. He never did like the sewers.”

  Flynn stared at Bones for a moment. Did she want to know? No. There was no time for stories. “Well, I’m not going down there. You can if you like. He’s your blood brother.”

  Bones wasn’t very good at sneering. She couldn’t help herself laughing.

  “Tell Ellie I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “But his trail, you won’t be able to find it down there.”

  “We’ve been together long enough. I’d know his scent anywhere.”

  “Even in amongst,” there was no polite way to put it, “shit?”

  He didn’t reply.

  She watched until his head was beneath the level of the road, then turned, only to nearly trip over a rather large, scowling cat. Cat might’ve been a generous description of it. It looked more like a rag carpet that had been rolled in mud and decorated with plant debris than anything living. It hissed at her, hitting a silent top note (for humans) that dug into her mutated brain and caused a stabbing sensation so great she couldn’t concentrate on what the creature was doing. She clasped her head and screamed soundlessly. By the time she’d recovered, it had gone.

  “A little excessive,” she shouted, but then animals didn’t much like their kind, unless they were half-vampire themselves.

  She started to head back, but something unsettled her senses. It was as if she were being watched. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, everyone felt like that at some time, but it wasn’t something she could ignore. The members of the monster community were beginning to hear about their mission, she was sure of it, and they’d be out to get them first. They might even gang up, like some of them had back in Midbury. It probably wasn’t wise to be anywhere by yourself, but she had no desire to be chaperoned the whole time.

  She did a fast spin, scanning her surroundings. She did it again, slower, just to make sure. There was a slight distortion in the air, a little like a heat wave on the horizon, except it was the middle of the night.

  She stared at it for the longest time, but it didn’t move. It was possible she was imagining it, that she was seeing something there just because she was a little jumpy, but she didn’t think so.

  This was a problem. You couldn’t fight something you couldn’t see. She tried to conjure up a reveal spell, but nothing changed. She thought she’d done it right, but she could no longer be sure.

  She backed away with measured steps until she got to the end of the street. It hadn’t moved.

  She ran.

  ###

  Ellie unlocked the padlock to the abandoned storage container and entered. The room, if you could call it that, was sparse. It echoed with every movement. Not any more. She emptied the contents of the carrier bag onto the floor, forgetting about the staple gun. She gritted her teeth until the noise had subsided.

  It didn’t take long to cover the inside with fabric. She’d chosen a restful blue, to go with the piece of carpet she’d found in a skip down the road. All they needed now were some chairs and a table and they were all set. And somewhere to put all the blood bags and tablets. They’d all thought a whole year’s worth of tablets at once was excessive, but Flynn had gone on and on about them going on and on.

  And electricity. That would be nice. Charging phones and laptops in cafes was not ideal.

  The place wasn’t exactly luxury, but it was no worse than a barn, and at least they could walk to the shops. No more death-trap cars for the moment. Public transport instead. Sometimes, you had to grin and bear it.

  It was odd being back in the city. Recent memories weren’t good, and they’d have to be careful not to be seen by anyone who might know them. They’d only come here because it was reasonable to think that the concentration of escaped monsters would be greater. The concentration of vampires always had been. Cities were abundant with food, after all. Most monsters weren’t vegetarians. Most monsters didn’t appreciate the tranquillity of the countryside. Most monsters wanted somewhere they could hide.

  Just as she was contemplating going back out to try to locate some furniture, Flynn bowled through the door and slammed it behind her. The noise was dulled a little, but you couldn’t dampen down a door if you wanted it to lock. She then proceeded to thrust the bolt across.

  “What about the others?”

  “They won’t be back anytime soon. There’s something out there.”

  Ellie automatically flicked on the torch, reached for the list, then stopped herself. Not everything was about their search.

  “What’s out there?”

  Flynn leaned back against the door, her eyes focussed on the ceiling. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see it. I’d just said goodbye to Bones—”

  “Goodbye?”

  “Yes. He was following Rag’s trail down into the sewers.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, when I turned around there was the ugliest cat you’ve ever seen. Made this god-awful noise as well. But that went away. And then I had this feeling I was being watched, and there was this … I dunno … haziness in the air. I’m sure there was something there. I could almost hear it breathing.”

  “Almost?”

  “You know, like when you’re holding your breath, but there’s still a slight spillage of air out of your nostrils, but it’s so tiny that you can hardly detect it?”

  Yes, she did know. One of the ‘benefits’ of being a vampire.

  “You were being watched by something holding its breath?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  Flynn was clearly freaked out by whatever it was, which was unusual for her.

  “And you didn’t use your magic on it?”

  “I tried to reveal it.”

  “And?”

  Flynn shrugged.

  Ellie did up the buttons on her jacket. “Well, there’s no point playing guessing games. Let’s go and see what we can find, and while we’re walking, you can think up a few other spells to help.”

  Flynn pouted, then nodded.

  The talk about sewers was going to have to wait until later.

  Chapter 3

  Bones could see the door. He knew Rag had gone through it, because there was no back-track on his scent. One trail. Unmistakable when you’d been with someone over a hundred years. Still, he couldn’t get to the door.

  What had been a small rivulet of water had first become a puddle and then much more than that, with him in the middle. It had risen up and up and up, in great gushes, until he had to tread water to be able to keep his head above it. It wasn’t the foul water you might expect. It appeared to be fresh and had nothing floating in it. That didn’t mean he wanted to take a mouthful.

  No matter how hard he tried to swim toward the door, he made no progress. The resistance in the water was like a brick wall blocking his path. But he had to keep moving, or he would sink.

  He wasn’t the only one in the water. A horde of rats carpeted the surface, their beady eyes keeping watch on what he was doing. They were all facing toward him, which was unnerving. He’d faced many monsters in his time, but this? Was it just a coincidence?

  When he felt the first tug
on his leg, just a small one, as if testing his strength, he kicked out, which caused a severe loss of stability. He thrashed his arms to counter it, splashing water on his face. He spat out the dribbles that teased at his mouth.

  The next tug was much harder. The strength of it caught him by surprise. He dipped beneath the water, thrusting his limbs toward whatever was attacking him. It didn’t let go. He peered through the gloom. And he saw rats everywhere beneath the water, swimming as well as fish. A writhing mass.

  They attacked in unison. Each one clamped their jaws on the first spare piece of clothing they could find. Down they pulled him, down into the depths of a never-ending void. There was no way to resist. His strength seemed impotent, and biting underwater was not to be advised.

  His lungs filled with water. His body began to convulse.

  ###

  The wash of clean, fresh air that hit Rag’s lungs was disconcerting — fresh as in no individual scents at all. No Malice, no nothing. There was daylight. The outdoors. The whole strange place that lay behind the door was outside. Beneath the ground. In a sewer. He had to be dreaming. Passed out, perhaps. He hadn’t dreamt anything so lucid since Flynn had messed with his head. She could be doing it now, for all he knew.

  But, on the small off-chance that he wasn’t dreaming … he’d just stepped into another world.

  He ought not to have difficulty believing that, given what he was, but he did. Portals to other realities were not something he could grasp. He had enough difficulty with the concept of infinity.

  He looked behind him. There was no door. He stepped back, felt around in the air — mime artist gone mental. Nothing. He couldn’t step out of it, even if it was a dream.

  What else to do than investigate?

  On first look, it seemed as if he was in lush, rolling, uninhabited countryside that stretched right out to the horizon, but on closer inspection, he could see little pockets of habitation. Individual houses, puffing smoke out of their chimneys, even though the temperature was quite warm enough without it. He didn’t feel the cold, but he wasn’t oblivious to the differences.