The Ghouls

By Daniel Beers

Tristan and his group have fled from one coast to the other. Led by the mysterious Mr. Loth, the Network has more reason than ever to hunt them down. But something is wrong in the city. The Vampyr have all but vanished. The group relies on human allies, called Ghouls, to help them uncover some harsh truths and hidden secrets. What they discover will change the world of Vampyr forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Beers
• Release date: Apr 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311598257

Daniel Beers

Daniel Beers lives with his wife and son in Tacoma, Washington.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The priest’s hands were a little shaky. Not overwhelmingly so, just enough for him to notice. He walked with a determined gait to the podium, no real hurry in his step. It was in the Order’s best interest for him to look confident, even if he was anything but. As he reached the lectern, he gripped it with both hands, his fingers turning white almost instantly. The Order stared up at him. Their eyes looked wild in the flames that lit the room, like their very souls were open to him, ready to do whatever bidding was asked of them without question. His anxiety was unnecessary of course. He was with friends, with true believers of the path. Only the best of the best were allowed admittance into the church proper. Aside from a little harmless stage fright, he really had nothing to fear.

Well, at least not yet. The fear was for later.

The church itself was small, having the ability to seat no more than one hundred people. The ceiling was high, allowing a speaker's voice to echo appropriately. The windows were tall, though plainer than most, the stained glass only simple designs, almost too dark to let light in. The rows of pews were on either side of the center aisle, the center marking the tombs of ancient masters of the Order. Some of those masters have been dead for millennia. They were the true heroes, when the world was dark, when the future was so formidable.

But dark times are coming again, he thought anxiously. Let us hope these souls present can live up to their predecessors.

The church was a safe place. It had been sanctified ten times over by the most powerful, the most worthy. There were no strangers here. Only the Order. The Order of the Blood of God. Famulus Sanguis Deus. Men the priest knew better than his own family. Men that would kill for him. Men that would die for him.

The priest took a deep breath, his hands still gripped to the lectern with the strength of a warrior of God. He smiled at the congregation, a small, toothless one, and began.

Friends, he said, his voice not showing the discomfort he was feeling. It was strong, unwavering, and absolute. It was the voice of the power that had been bestowed upon him by the Almighty Himself. With that newfound strength, he found the words with greater ease. I'm sure by now you are all aware of what has become of our friend and brother. I know that your very faith has been tested, just as mine has, over the events of our short lives. I know that many of you have questioned the existence of Vampires in this world, of the Undead and the evils that they represent. I used to be one of them myself. There was a time where I thought of the stories as mere allegory, a means to get you young folks to eat your vegetables and not sneak away to drink the sacramental wine. Let me tell you know that this could not be further from the truth.

The priest's audience was deathly quiet. Several of the Order readjusted in their seat uncomfortably, some made the sign of the cross. But all in all, they were frightened. The priest thought that they were not nearly frightened enough. Perhaps this was for the best. He needed to uplift them, not scare them. Their mission was likely to end in tragedy, but why dwell on that? Faith, honor, and courage were the values of the Order. Why not help them with it? Why not encourage bravery in a time where it would be needed? That was the way of Daniel, the way of Moses. Strength through faith. Courage through wisdom.

I have seen, with my own eyes, these abominable creatures. I have witnessed firsthand their strength and ill regard for humanity. I have lost someone very important to me to their… their siren's song. Because that is what it is, is it not? The devil's promise of immortality? Brothers, this is why we fight, this is why we train, and this is why we have devoted our lives and souls to the cause. It is our duty to cleanse the world of evil. It is our responsibility to seek justice. It is our pledge to God Himself to do His will.

The men looked a little more confident. Frightened but confident. He could not ask more from them. He felt a comforting sense of pride well within him. Nothing sinful of course. Just content with his charges.

I know that many of you knew Tristan.

The name brought about every pair of eyes locked upon his. He knew there were whispers. He knew there was gossip. The masters of the Order never said much about losses to the younger crowd. Exponentially so on so crucial of a loss. But it was time to come clean. Before any memorable battle, the general told the whole truth.

I say knew, because Tristan is dead. He was killed by one of the creatures he had sworn to rid the world of. Tristan is dead. Now let there be no mistake of that. Let me say it once more, Tristan. Is. Dead!

There was some head shaking, some silvery tears in the eyes of the ones, but still he had their utmost attention. The truth was out now. Any fool's hope was diminished. Now was the time for action.

There is a creature that may look like him, walk and talk like him, even recognize you and call you by your Christian name. I assure you, this is not the same man. This is not our brother anymore. What you may see is not a man at all. He is a demon. He is one of the many subjects of the Devil. It is in the best interest of your brothers, your Order, and to Almighty God Himself that he be put down with great prejudice. If you see him, do not let him speak to you. If he gives you a chance, you use it and put an end to his misery. His soul will thank you for it, I assure you.

He paused for effect and scanned the room once more. A few of the men were clearly surprised by his harsh words. Some had only heard of Tristan before, but there were others there that knew him quite well, had trained and lived with him, had prayed with him. The desolation and sadness that some of the men felt was almost palpable.

"Now the real work is going to be where to locate the vampire called Tristan. He was last seen on the east coast of North America in the company of two others. Our sources say that there is something of a civil war brewing and the three had to relocate. I'm going to need eyes and ears on all areas of North and South America. It is likely they will flock to major cities to blend in. I have assignments for each of you. After the service, please come forward and Brother Gabriel will pass them out to you. Any news, no matter how slight, must be relayed back to us. It is not your place to decide what should and should not qualify as necessary information. Please do your part.

Now, let us pray.

The priest closed his eyes and recited the Lord's Prayer in his befitting deep voice. The rest of the congregation followed every syllable to such a point that it sounded like one massive voice. If the priest was ever fortunate enough to hear God's power, he assumed its thunderous enormity would be similar. When the prayer was finished, he walked back to his chair alongside the lectern and sat down. He half-listened to the rest of the service as the dizzying endorphins that rushed through his system slowly dissipated. He had performed his duty well, and with great honor. While never wanting to feel prideful, he did take a lot of comfort in knowing that his words inspired and educated the men of the Order. He was much too old to be traipsing about the world looking for those cursed lost sheep. His job now was to lead, to read between the lines and make educated decisions.

Tristan had done a real number on morale. Ten soldiers of the faith massacred in the blink of an eye. He had seen pictures of the damage, of the wanton carnage and destruction Tristan had made. He had trouble digesting his meals for a week after. It wasn't even the blood or the gore. It was more the fact that one of the best soldiers of the Order, the one who had shown so much promise, had become even stronger. Knowledge of the Order's tactics with the speed, resiliency, and the physical endurance of a vampire was a devastating combination. He wondered if the founders had ever thought of such a scenario. How could they? He searched and searched within the ancient texts for anything resembling it, hoping that it could shed some light on what to do next. But to no avail. The Order of the Blood of God was going to have to devise an entirely new plan. A new and untested one.

When Brother Gabriel uttered his scratchy Go in peace that ended the service, the priest stood up and made for the back. He wasn't sure if he had it in him to receive and discuss the issues at hand with anyone. He needed to rest, maybe even break out the aged Kentucky whiskey he had hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk. The mere discussion of Tristan's misguidance had put a little spook in him. He couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but he had a foul feeling about the whole thing.

The End of Days, he thought. The world is coming to an end. Are you truly ready, Father?

He shook the thought away as he clenched his fists.

As he headed down the hall towards his office, he heard a man call to him.

Father, the voice said. It was a weak, stifled voice. Half a moment please.

Desperately trying to hide his annoyance, the priest turned to the man who had hurried as quickly as his old legs would allow to catch up with him. The priest forced a pleasant smile and put his hands behind his back. Yes?

I enjoyed your speech, the man said smiling. His teeth were rotting and yellowed. You have a way with words that could put courage into the most craven of men.

Thank you, the priest replied. I hope the message was clear.

Oh it was. It was indeed.

The priest smiled again and turned slowly towards his office once more. He felt bony fingers on his arm, causing him to turn back to the old man.

Do you know who I am? the man asked.

The priest sighed and nodded his head. Of course he knew the man. A rush of overwhelming sorrow consumed him. He had pretended not to, of course. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt that the matter was much too sore still to be broached.

I have been running this whole sorry state in my mind for months now, the man continued. I would like to propose something to you.

Propose? The priest felt an odd twinge in his stomach. The man’s voice was far too stoic for his taste. No emotion when there should be. While it was wise to make decisions based on logic and reason, there still had to be an element of emotion for it to be good and true.

About Tristan. I think I may be able to help you.

The man reached in his pocket and took out a small object. He showed it to the priest.

The priest’s eyes widened. He was unable to hide his surprise. Is that what I think it is?

The man nodded slowly.

Where on earth did you get it?

It doesn't matter. What matters is what I can do with it.

The priest was agitated now. This wasn’t right at all. He had a sneaking suspicion as to where this was going and he didn’t like it one bit. And what do you think you're going to do with it?

That's what I think you and I should discuss. Now how about you and I chat in your office? Maybe share a little of that whiskey you have stowed away.

The priest reluctantly nodded his head, took the man's arm into his, and walked to his office.

Feeling the awkward bony arm around his, the priest stared at the stone floor as they inched down the barren hall. The End of Days. Maybe John had it all wrong in Revelations. Maybe it wasn’t going to be locusts and fire. Maybe it was merely spawned by a bad decision made by a clandestine group of monks and priests.

And maybe, just maybe, the seals themselves were the misdeeds of men.

He shivered as he recounted the words of the Sixth Seal in his head. Revelations 6:12. The sun turned black like sackcloth made of goat hair, the whole moon turned blood red. The black sun. The blood moon. Pure allegory, to be sure, but there was certainly more to it than that. After all, there would be more darkness before there was more light. And there definitely was going to be more blood.

This is a bad idea, he thought. By God, this is a bad idea.

Fighting the urge to say so in the middle of the hall, he chose to let out a long breath.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 2

Rolf opened the double doors and shut them behind him. The room was dark, a darkness that he had never gotten used to after all these years. His electronic tablet glowed just enough for him to watch his feet walk across the wooden floors. He silently counted twenty-seven steps. Once there, he took a sharp right to another set of doors. He felt around for the knobs and gave them a sharp jiggle, a clear sign that he would be entering in a minute’s time. The sixty second warning had been used for generations and rumored to be a life-saver one more than a few separate occasions.

As he counted to sixty in his head, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the sheer blackness. The next room would be a bit lighter, though not by much. He hoped the blinds would be open so he would not trip on the short flight of steps that led down to the meeting area. Mr. Loth would no doubt be finishing up his breakfast. And for that he would need a couch.

After the minute passed, he opened the doors gently. A relieved smile crossed his face as he saw the dim skyline of the city glowing through the windows. Mr. Loth was in a pleasant mood. This provided even more relief, because Rolf was not so eager to deliver his evening messages. He spotted Mr. Loth, nude as was usual when he ate, sitting on the carpeted floor in front of the couch. An equally naked young woman, a woman Rolf had chosen especially for the evening, was sprawled on the couch, her right leg bent awkwardly towards Mr. Loth. A single drop of dark liquid oozed from her inner thigh to her outer ankle. Rolf felt a need to let Mr. Loth know about the impending stain on his carpet, but thought better than to disturb him while eating. He had seen this go very wrong for certain individuals. Instead, Rolf chose to wait until he was spoken to. After all, Mr. Loth was aware of his presence well before he walked in.

He looked at the woman’s face. Even in the dim light he knew she was going to end up being one of the weaker ones. He doubted she was going to survive breakfast. It was strange that you just didn’t know who was there for the long haul and who was going to check out early. He had been told by his father, and very likely his father had been told by his own, that it wasn’t necessarily the weight or girth of the woman. It was simply whether or not they had the unconscious will to survive. He had seen thin ones last for weeks, larger ones dead in minutes. When it came to Mr. Loth, without the will, there was most certainly no way. Still it was sad so see such a pretty one go so soon. He had been saving her for months for any potential need to deliver bad news. She had all the features that Mr. Loth usually cared for. Dark hair, eyes on the larger scale, broad shoulders, a voluptuous chest, the hourglass figure. He didn’t care for the skinny-minnies, no sir. He liked women the old fashioned way. A woman’s woman. A mothering woman. Rolf thought that he had hit the jackpot when he saw the one likely now dying on the couch. In Mr. Loth's book, she was a perfect ten.

As Mr. Loth began to stand, Rolf’s concern was confirmed. The woman, though still beautiful in every way, was no more. The already pale skin had turned the kind of blue that was almost phosphorescent. The blood from the gaping wound Mr. Loth had created on her inner thigh had slowed and begun to coagulate. The drip that he had noticed earlier had already dried up, no longer a risk to staining the carpet.

Mr. Kalb, Mr. Loth said, his voice not necessarily deep, though firm enough to demand undivided attention to anyone within earshot. I am sorry to say that some maintenance is in order. He turned towards Rolf, his massive erection pointing disturbingly at him. Mr. Loth never cared for his own modesty. Rolf figured that anything that old wouldn’t.

Rolf pretended not to be bothered by what he saw. He nodded visibly and made some notes on his tablet with a flourish of hand gestures. Not a problem, sir. I’ll arrange for its disposal.

Its.

There was something that made him feel so genuinely uneasy about dehumanizing the once drop-dead gorgeous woman that now lay like a piece of veal on the couch, a couch that held so many others like her before. He remembered his own father stressing that particular bit of advice home before his apprenticeship was complete.

You’ll never live with yourself if you start giving them names or other means of identifying them as human, he had said. They are not human. They are cattle. The sooner you comprehend that, the sooner you’ll be able to sleep at night.

The sleeping had been no problem for Rolf. The initial shock of the first dead body he had seen had long since worn off. If there was any guilt that remained when he went home for the day, it was nothing that a little aged single malt scotch couldn’t take care of. One drink or four drinks, he had always been able to set the compassion aside. But there were always one or two women a year that he pitied to the point of shame, the kind that made him question why his family did what they did for a living. It looked like this particular one was going to be one that would require a few fingers from his extensive scotch collection.

She was a soft one, Mr. Loth said, as if in passing, the way someone would dismiss a bad piece of fruit. A pity. I liked her.

I figured you would, sir, Rolf said forcing a smile. She fit all of your criteria.

Mr. Loth chuckled and glanced down at the body. Yes she does, doesn’t she? Ah, me. If only she was a virgin.

Well that’s a lot harder to come by these days, sir.

Mr. Loth laughed a little harder at that. Most definitely. The good old days are long gone. I recall your great-great-great-great-great-great uncle refusing to deliver me anything but. He was a watcher, you see, and would pleasure himself as I took that virginity away from them.

Rolf nodded. He had heard that story before from his father. Since then, his family considered it inappropriate to be around Mr. Loth while he participated in his revelries. He had also heard that Mr. Loth was at first disappointed in the family's decision and punished them with the crossing of the youngest daughter in the family. Her whereabouts were to this date unknown, a sore subject to all parties.

But it does not do to dwell on the past, Mr. Loth mused as he walked to his dresser. He chose a black silk robe and slid into it. What was done is done. I assume you have report?

Rolf nodded again and relied on the tablet to avert his eyes from Mr. Loth. The projections Mr. Loth released felt less intrusive when he avoided eye contact. Not that there was anything Rolf could do about it anyway. Fighting a projection was like fighting to breathe under water.

AS-423 has installed a new Overseer as per your request, Rolf read verbatim from his notes on his tablet. The previous Overseer has been successfully entombed for a time of no less than twenty-five years.

Mr. Loth nodded his head and sat down at his enormous desk. I assume the entombment occurred without incident?

No sir, Rolf replied. The altercation destroyed six Vampyr. It seems he put up a bit of a fight.

Tsk, tsk... Poor Li Wen. Will you ever learn? Very well. Make it one hundred and twenty-five years. Mr. Wen knows better.

Very good, sir. Rolf made the updates in his notes. He didn't think the new Overseer would have any problems with adding to Li Wen's sentence. Li also destroyed three of the new Overseer's ghouls, a bit of knowledge that Mr. Loth didn't care about, but an added reason for the new Overseer to extend the punishment.

AF-23? Mr. Loth inquired.

The Overseer thanks you for your gift, and sent five newborns and their mothers to the Pen.

Are they being breastfed?

I would not have accepted them otherwise, sir.

And would you say they are very black?

As black as they come. All children were delivered vaginally and the clitorises of the mothers are clear of any third party damage.

Rolf heard the light, excitable inhale Mr. Loth gave when he was looking forward to something. Five tribal African women and their babies might as well have been Christmas morning. He wondered if any of them would live to see tomorrow, but pushed the thought deep down.

Maybe so, Mr. Loth said. I will inspect them of course, but I'm looking for some old fashioned ghouls to pass the time. If all goes well, they will live long lives.

Rolf winced despite trying not to. Mr. Loth read his mind without a second thought. He cursed his stupidity for thinking beyond the current moment. Stewards have been literally torn apart for much less.

These meetings have not been a problem for you, have they? Mr. Loth asked.

Rolf looked up at the Vampyr and stared into his eyes. The glimmer that came from them was more terrifying than any conception of hell he had ever heard or conceived before. He forced a smile and made a dismissive wave of the hand. Not at all, sir.

Mr. Loth nodded his head and motioned for Rolf to continue.

You have a video teleconference at 3:30 with the Five in SA-144 about some hunters holing up in Bogota.

Cancel it. Tell the Five to deal with it themselves or I'll administer an Overseer to handle the problem. Fucking oligarchies... Next item.

Rolf bit his lip. He had saved the worst for last. All his preparation for the night had led up to one last item. He took a breath and allowed only the slightest pause.

NA-12, he said as he