#10 - Whistler's Hunter

By Adam Koeth

This issue is recommended for Mature Readers only!

A procession of men, women, and children passed through the cemetary, each one with a mournful look on their faces. At the head of the procession was a brass band, playing a mournful dirge. Four sturdy, able men, surrounded by the rest of the group, carried a casket towards it's final resting place in New Orleans' Cemetery No. 5.

Blade and Elizabeth Van Helsing paused, paying their silent respects to the passing casket. The man at the head of the procession, holding a gaudily-colored staff in one hand, glanced over and nodded at the hunters. Blade and Elizabeth nodded back.

Finally, the procession was past. Elizabeth cut her way through the thin trails, passing headstones, statues, and massive family mausoleums. Blade followed silently, his patience wearing thin. She had been leading him across most of New Orleans all morning, claiming that she was throwing any pursuers off the trail. King had been following the two, but since Elizabeth was taking her sweet time, the vampire probably had to find a place to rest as the sun came up.

"He'd better be here," Blade commented dryly, adjusting his sunglasses. The sun was especially bright today, shining down onto the city from a cloudless blue sky.

Elizabeth sighed. "He'll be here."

The two wound their way past more statues and headstones packed closely together. Finally, Elizabeth stopped. A man was sitting with his back to them, a long white ponytail hanging over the back of the bench he was sitting in.

"You're late," the man said, not bothering to turn around.

"I think we were being followed," Elizabeth said nonchalantly, not bothered by the man's somewhat rude demeanor. "I had to throw our pursuers off the trail."

The man turned around, looking up at Elizabeth and Blade. His chin and cheeks were covered with a thin white beard, and wrinkles lined his face. His eyes, however, shone brightly with knowledge and an eagerness to do good.

"So you're Blade, huh?" Whistler said, looking the vampire hunter up and down. "It's nice to finally meet you. Elizabeth has told me a lot about you."

"That's only because you had her follow me."

Whistler chuckled. "Yes, I did. But I had a very good reason."

Blade paced around the corner of the bench and stood, arms folded across his chest, the sun shining off of his long leather trenchcoat. "You'd damn well better have a good reason. I have a job to do, and standing around here with you isn't helping me get that job done."

"Hear me out," Whistler said, leaning back on the bench. For a moment, Blade wondered why there was a bench in the middle of the cemetary. Then, it hit him: it was someone's headstone. "We've been watching you for a while now, and I must say that we're impressed. Your handling of Deacon Frost...again and again...was very professional."

"Who's 'we'?" Blade inquired, unhappy that Frost had been mentioned. The vampire turned demon had been a constant thorn in his side, until he finally (hopefully) destroyed him.

Whistler nodded, even as Elizabeth behind him was glancing around. The funeral procession was returning from it's trip to the grave. The slow, oppressive dirge had been replaced by a light, upbeat tune, celebrating the spirit's movement to a better place.

"We are a group of vampire hunters," Whistler began, trying to make himself heard over the roar of the band. After a moment, the band and the funeral procession had moved away, once again leaving the trio in silence. "I assembled the group in 1974 after a...personal tragedy involving vampires. It was only two other people and myself back then, but it's grown considerably since then. Now, we employ men and women of all ages and races, werewolves, mages--"

"Say what?"

Whistler chuckled again. "C'mon Blade, you know that there are other things that go bump in the night than just vamps. Hell, you even met two of our werewolf agents back in Florida."

Blade nodded. "The two that helped me out at the motel."*

(Back in issue #5- Adam)

"Yes," replied Whistler. Suddenly, he perked up, as if he had heard something. "Elizabeth, please tell me you brought a gun."

"I have several," Elizabeth said, peering around the cemetary. Her view, however, was obscured by the tall mausoleums and statues. "As per usual."

Whistler got to his feet, grunting a little with the effort. He pulled a duo of pistols out of a holster on his belt, quickly checking to see that they were loaded and ready to fire.

"What's going on?" Blade asked, unholstering a small semiautomatic machine gun that he had tucked away in his coat. Whistler glanced at the weapon and nodded, duly impressed.

"We have company," replied Elizabeth, before the world erupted.

Bullets seemed to hurtle at the trio from every direction, slamming into the headstones and into the dirt. Blade, Elizabeth, and Whistler each ducked behind three different vaults, waiting for their assailants to show themselves.

A man dressed in black sped around one of the mausoleums, bringing his rifle to bear on Blade. Before he could fire, however, Elizabeth was shooting. The man fell to the ground, a small red hole in the middle of his forehead.

More men came out from behind the headstones, and each one got picked off by Blade, Elizabeth, or Whistler. Some were wounded, some were killed outright. Blade picked up one of the fallen men's weapons and began using it, as his gun was quickly out of bullets.

"These morons couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!" Whistler shouted, pistol-whipping an attacker as the man tried to duck behind a headstone. Another dropped from the top of a nearby vault, brandishing a knife in his hand. Whistler pivoted just in time to send a bullet right into the man's chest. "Moron."

"They're leaving," Elizabeth commented, watching as a trio of black-clad men raced through the cemetary. She fired once, twice, but didn't hit any of the men. In an instant, they were gone. "And so should we."

"Definitely," said Whistler, tucking his guns away. Police sirens could be heard, becoming louder as the squad cars came closer to the cemetary. "C'mon, we have to get out of here before the cops show up," Whistler said, roughly grabbing Blade by the arm. Blade quickly shook free of his grip, but still followed.

"Who were they?" asked Blade.

"Human agents of a vampire," Whistler replied, leading the small group out of the cemetary. They slowed to a walk when they hit the street, not wanting to draw too much attention. "Looks like someone really wants you dead, Blade."

Jean-Paul sat in the dark, dank catacombs beneath New Orleans, lost in deep thought. His spy had brought back word of a gunfight in the middle of Cemetery No. 5. Someone else was trying to kill Blade.

"Master."

Jean-Paul looked up to see one of his vampire minions standing next to a stranger. The stranger glanced up at Jean-Paul and smiled, showing his long canines.

"Who are you?" inquired Jean-Paul.

"My name is Frank Drake," the stranger replied, taking a step forward. The other vampire tried to stop Drake, but the former Nightstalker pushed him away. "I have a message for you."

Leaning forward, Jean-Paul motioned for Drake to approach.

"Tell me your message."

Drake smiled. "I come with a message from my master, Ra-Tet. He wishes to propose an alliance between your army and his, in order to hunt Blade and his companions."

"Ra-Tet?" Jean-Paul frowned, leaning back in his heavy oak chair. He turned his thoughts back to a time when he ruled the underground vampires of New York City. Ra-Tet. Suddenly, Jean-Paul realized who this new vampire was talking about. His eyes narrowed as he replied. "Never. You tell your master that he can go to hell."

"He thought you would say that," replied Drake, his smile growing. "My master also wishes to inform you that if you do not accept, once he has finished skinning Blade he will come for you and your horde."

Jean-Paul pondered this for a moment. Dare he call down the power of a vampire that was older than he? He was not without his own resources and powers, but Ra-Tet and his minions were ancient and much more powerful than he.

"Tell your master that I shall think on it," Jean-Paul finally said.

Drake bowed, his eyes still fixed on Jean-Paul. This fool vampire was signing his own death warrant, whether he knew it or not. Even if they entered into an alliance, Drake thought to himself, Jean-Paul would quickly be disposed of once Blade was dead. "I shall inform him." With that, and a glare at the vampire that led him in, Drake was gone.

"Master, I do not think this is a good idea!" the vampire said.

"Leave me," Jean-Paul said in disgust. "Now."

The vampire slithered away into the darkness of the tunnels, leaving Jean-Paul to ponder the proposed alliance.

Whistler sat down, trying to catch his breath. He was in pretty good shape for a man of his age, but surprise gunfights always left him short of breath. Elizabeth paced back and forth in the small kitchen, while Blade simply stood across the room, glaring at Whistler.

"You're going to tell me everything, starting from the beginning," Blade said finally. "I want to know what you want with me, why you formed this group, what a 'clan' is, everything. Understood?"

"Of course," Whistler said, smiling through his labored breaths.

Elizabeth shot Blade a spiteful glance and left the kitchen, heading towards one of the bedrooms. Blade didn't really notice her leave,his concentration remaining fixed on Whistler.

"So what do you think of the place?" Whistler said, glancing about the room. Dishes, pots, and pans were scattered about the kitchen, normal fare for a bachelor. The rest of the apartment was just as messy, owing to the fact that Whistler truly had little time to attend to such mundane operations as cleaning.

Blade frowned. "Cut the crap, Whistler. Start talking."

Chuckling, Whistler got up, drew a glass of water from the sink, then sank back into one of the padded chairs. After taking a sip of water, Whistler said, "Alright. I'll tell you everything."

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