#11 - Mysteries Explained

By Adam Koeth

This issue is recommended for Mature Readers only!

Whistler leaned back in the padded chair, waiting to see if Blade would sit down across the table from him. When the silent hunter refused to sit down, Whistler began his story.

"A few years back, Dr. Strange attempted to expunge all vampires from the face of the planet," said Whistler, drawing from his expansive memory. "Despite appearances, he failed. Miserably. The vampires knew that they had been exposed to a close call, so they decided to lay low for a while. The clan leaders--"

"Explain," Blade gruffly interrupted.

Nodding, Whistler continued. "Clans are groups of vampires that band together, either because they have a common goal in mind or because of the way they bring in new vampires. For example, the little girl and her followers down in Florida were a clan. Jean-Paul heads up a clan of subterranean vampires, who skulk about in the sewers of almost every major city across the world."

"These clans are worldwide?"

"Yes," replied Whistler, peering out the small kitchen window. The sun was still hanging in the sky, but was slowly but surely falling towards the horizon. "The clans are worldwide. Some of them are specific to a certain country. There's a clan of vampires that are native to India, for example. You'll never see any of them outside that country." Elizabeth returned to the room, fiddling with the shirt that she had been wearing during the attack in the cemetary. It had a bullet-hole in it. "At last count, there were fourteen clans throughout the world, and probably some that we don't know about. Our...explorations into the Amazon have been cursory at best, so we don't know who...or what...lives and hunts there."

Blade frowned. How could he not know of these...clans?

"A few clans have become extinct over the past few years, thanks to our efforts and the efforts of solo hunters such as yourself. Deacon Frost was the last of his clan."

"How do you track all of these clans? And if you know about them, why don't you put an end to them?" Blade inquired.

Whistler grunted. "We have a large network of human and supernatural agents across the globe, trying to keep track of all of the clans. As for putting and end to all of them...the task is pretty much impossible. We're trying to get as many as we can, but our organization isn't THAT big."

"We try to recruit in every city we go into, but sometimes people just don't understand what we're trying to do," Elizabeth said, joining the conversation. "That, or they're too ignorant or fearful of what might happen to them if they joined the hunts."

"Eastern Europe especially," commented Whistler, watching the sky turn to hues of orange and pink. He glanced at the two revolvers on the kitchen table in front of him, knowing that he would need them when the sun set. "Dracula has definitely put the fear into the people who live there. Superstitions thrive there, and sometimes we have to fight harder to combat fear than we do the actual vampires."

Elizabeth nodded her approval to this.

"But, we do the best we can," Whistler sighed. "It's an definitely an uphill battle, especially when the vampires find allies of their own. We're not the only ones who employ magicians and werewolves."

"I've never even seen a true magician, besides Strange," said Blade, skeptical of the story he was being fed. "How many magicians can there be in the world?"

Elizabeth snorted derisively. "Thousands. Some only have a rudimentary knowledge of magic at best, or use their power for personal gain...playing the stock market, taking over companies. Others know far more than they should."

"Dr. Strange is the best known to us, of course, because he handles the big stuff," said Whistler, watching as Blade fiddled with the handle of his sword. Up until know, Whistler wasn't sure he believed that Blade was in possession of the sword. "But there are others. When we find one working for vampires we basically shoot to kill. Magicians are much too dangerous to be turned to the dark side."

"So all vampires belong to a clan?" Blade asked, returning to the previous topic. The hunter was still unsure that he believed everything they were saying, but he had seen too much in his lifetime to simply dismiss their story.

Whistler shook his head. "No, not all of them. There are a few that run alone, or in small packs. These are the easiest to pick off, but the hardest to find. I remember once, I got into a confrontation with a group of bikers near Sturgis, South Dakota, only to find out that they were vampires." Whistler smiled at the memory. "They didn't go out without a fight, that's for damn sure."

"Dracula is a pariah," said Elizabeth.

"Pariah?"

"It's what we call the lone vampires," replied Elizabeth, poking her finger through the hole in her shirt. The bullet had, miraculously, only grazed her shoulder. "They're not necessarily outcasts from vampire society, but they don't usually associate with others. Dracula hunted down and killed most of the vampires in Bulgaria, Hungary, and parts of Poland in the early part of the 20th century. Needless to say this didn't make him any friends in the clans."

Blade sighed. The sun was almost fully set, casting an eerie glow over the buildings in the French Quarter. Some partiers were already out on the streets, drunkenly singing songs at the top of their lungs. They say that New York is the city that never sleeps, but New Orleans ran a very close second.

"What about Stoker? Was his novel true then?"

"To an extent," said Whistler. "Bram Stoker got most of his story from a vampire, and certain...creative liberties...were taken with the story. While frightening, the novel pretty much assured everyone that vampires weren't real at all, thus giving the bloodsuckers some breathing room. It was a good plan on their part."

"My great-grandfather knew otherwise," Elizabeth chimed in, a sour look on her face. "He tried to convince people that Stoker's book wasn't totally fiction, but they wouldn't hear of it. The Victorian English weren't too keen on him spouting nonsense about vampires and such."

Whistler leaned forward. "In the end, it got him killed. Dr. Van Helsing had survived an encounter with Dracula, only to be ambushed by Jean-Paul and his vampires on a trip into Paris."

"That's why I have to kill him," said Elizabeth simply.

"So how are you the last Van Helsing?" asked Blade, his mind slowly coming to accept the story. "Rachel was supposed to be the last, and she was taken by Dracula himself."

Staring out the window, Elizabeth frowned. "My father liked to...sow his wild oats. He got my mother pregnant on a trip to Chicago, then left her." Her memory flashed back to a time when she was very small, sitting on her mother's lap, watching as the dark-haired woman cried. She didn't understand why her mother was crying so, or why, almost every day like clockwork, the woman burst into tears. A few years later, she found out the truth about her father and what he had done. "After he left my mother, he had Rachel with another woman. So, technically I'm the half-sister she never knew, but I'm still a Van Helsing."

"Why didn't you take your mother's last name?"

"I grew up a Van Helsing," Elizabeth replied quickly. "My mother took my father's last name, even though they had never married. So, I'm a Van Helsing."

Blade remained silent.

"Now you're pretty much caught up," Whistler said, getting to his feet. The sounds of revelers outside had grown, even as the sun was dipping below the horizon. As Elizabeth finished her story, the last vestiges of light left the day. "I suggest you get that sword ready," continued Whistler, checking to make sure that his guns were loaded. Elizabeth hurried out of the room and returned a few moments later, guns tucked amidst a belt of sharp, wooden stakes. "We're about to have company again."

The apartment's front door cracked under the weight of heavy boots, falling to the carpeted floor after a few shots. Frank Drake stepped into the room, randomly sending a nearby vase crashing to the floor. A cadre of vampires swarmed into the apartment behind Drake.

"Howdy, Blade!" Drake said.

"What are you up to, Drake?" asked Blade, whipping his sword out of it's hiding place. He shrugged off his long coat and tossed it away. Blade scanned the group of vampires, noting that some of them looked much different than the others. A few he recognized from his short time as Jean-Paul's captive.

Drake grinned, his canines gleaming. "I'm here to kill you, Blade."

Blade snorted. "You're more than welcome to try."

Suddenly, the sliding glass door leading from the small living room to the apartment's porch smashed inward, showering everyone with glass. Hannibal King swept into the room, his long brown cloak whipping behind him, his red eyes fixed on Drake. Petra stepped in behind King, giving a casual nod to Whistler.

"It's old home day part two," Drake cracked, greedily licking his canines. One of the vampires surged forward, only to find himself impaled on Blade's sword. The vampire swiftly turned to a pile of ash at Blade's feet. "Now see," said Drake, turning to face his vampiric cohorts, "That's why we wait for my signal."

"Bring it," Elizabeth snarled.

Drake slowly turned his head around, a mad grin spread across his pale face. "Little girl, you'll get your turn. Boys," Drake said, his grin spreading wider. The vampires tensed behind him. "Let's do this."

With that, the battle was joined.

Two new arrivals stepped past the splintered door frame, ignoring a small group of curious onlookers from the surrounding apartments. Ra-Tet grinned at the carnage, watching as his forces, combined with those of Jean-Paul, swarmed into the apartment.

"It'll all be over soon," said Ra-Tet, staring at Blade in action.

"Yes," Jean-Paul said. He stood, almost mesmerized, as Blade swung his progenitor's sword, lopping off vampire heads and limbs. Many of his clan were falling to the hunters, but he didn't care. All he wanted was the sword. "Yes, it will be over soon. Very soon indeed."

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