Chapter 82: Shakedown

Brontë shed his leather jacket and hoodie, left only in a white tank top and black cargo pants. Under the swaying light of the singular bulb in the basement, he looked like a horrifying false image of a mannish thing.

The shadows played a game of peek a boo with his frame under the moving light.

One second he was there. Muscles tense and eyes plain. Blackness slithered within his veins. The metal coating on his nails and canines shinier than a new car.

Then the bulb swung away— to the far side of the basement, illuminating the back corner and stairway.

Suddenly he was in shadow. His eyes reflected the scarce amount of light. More Eyes opened in his dreads like the head of Medusa. His veins lit up like Christmas lights. Behind him red and yellow eyes watched. White teeth smiled. A skull ignited.

The Vampire tied to his chair watched, cracking a smile quickly, "You guys supposed to scare me?"

Robbie threw his hands up, "I told you! He literally lives around this. We should've just got him breakfast at this poin—"

"Change of plans." Mr Knight came down the stairs soundlessly, rolling up the sleeves of his clean white button up and rolling his shoulders.

He slapped his hands on the Vampires shoulders.

"Hey!— what are you doin—" The Vampire's protests were quickly interrupted as Mr Knight lifted the pale skinned bald Vampire off the ground.

"Getting you some fresh air. I hear Vampires love the temperature around this time of year."

"Who told you that?!" The Vampires voice faded as he was dragged up the stairs.

"I… I don't know actually. I'm schizotypical— there's a chance nobody told me but my altered brain chemistry. Only one way to find out."

Everyone followed Mr Knight as he dragged the Vampire up to the main floor.

"We playing bad cop worse cop?" Robbie questioned

Blade tapped the young Ghost-Riders shoulder, "Whatever gets the job done."

Mr. Knight headed for the door. The Vampire thrashed all the way down the long dark halls. First in doubt that they'd kill him, then panicking as Mr Knight grabbed Bronte's jacket and threw it over him and kicked him outside.

He rolled in the chair. Portions of his skin burning as the morning suns rays cut through the fabric and burned his undead flesh to flaky embers.

"AHHHHH!!!" He spun and rolled in the chair. As he tore and mushed up the grass his binds gained an ashy green tint.

Brontë moved. Blade caught his arm.

"Unless y'all got another Vampire on standby, he got the point."

"I hope you ain't sympathizing, slim.." Blade looked up at him from beneath his shades.

"No. I'm ready for some information. If I wanna see shit squirm I can go back to the sewers."

Blade let go with a chuckle, "Bring him back then."

Brontë stomped his way out into the front yard.

Mr. Knight stood over the thrashing Vampire.

"You got Vampire ash on my coat." Bronte commented.

"AHHHHH IT BURNS!!!"

"It's a right of passage." Mr Knight commented, still staring down at the Vampire through emotionless masked eyes.

"OH GOD HELP ME! FUUUUUAAAACK!"

"Why do I feel like you're lying?" Bronte questioned.

"Because I've only ever presented myself to you as a distrustful enigma. Blondilocks on the other hand has been talking about you for a year so the contrast within the team makes me even more discomforting to you."

"PLEASE! GET IT AWAY!"

Brontë blinked twice, "So… when you have the suit on you're a… psychologist?"

"More like a surgeon." Mr Knight replied as Bronte picked up the Vampire and took him back inside.

Now in the living room, Bronte tore his jacket off the Vampire in a blur of steaming leather and ashes. The smell made his stomach turn.

The Vampire sat, wild eyed and hissing. Gashes on his arms and legs glowed with burning embers.

Brontë slapped him. The hissing conveniently stopped.

"WHAT! Dammit none of you have asked a single question! Just him!…. Daywalker trash!"

Blade hung back, seemingly uncaring.

Brontë glanced at Blade once before turning his attention back to the Vampire.

"I told him everything I know!"

Brontë hesitated for a moment, confused by Blade and the rest of the teams approach to this before retaining focus. It didn't matter what they were doing he needed answers, "Tell me what you told him."

The Vampire's face twisted up in confusion, "What kind of business are you running here? Where's the com—"

Brontë slapped the Vampire again.

His head swiveled back to face Bronte only to find Bronte's fist rested over his leg.

He popped two of his claws and let the third at the top of his wrist slowly descend.

"Information. Now."

"Ok! Ok!" The Vampire relented, "Like I said before! We're all kept separate for this exact reason. Were told if we get caught were dead anyway. If we don't know anything even better. He keeps us apart. Our lord is smart…."

"Who is he?" Bronte questioned knowing exactly who he was.

"Varkis."

In his head it sounded like Daken.

"This one's the real deal. Not Romulus. Varkis. He's gonna end the sun."

"He told you that?" Bronte questioned. Noticing how the Vampire became more animated at the mention of Daken's pseudonym. He could hear his muscles tighten and his toes curl in his shoes. That was good. He could play on that. He'd done it before with Mutant supremacist gang members in South America. And Russia…. And. Nevermind.

"It's as the story goes." The Vampire spat.

"Stories can be interpreted a thousand wa—"

"NOT this one…" The Vampire snarled.

"Religious zealots are always so annoying." Mr Knight commented from behind Bronte.

"How many of you are here in New York?"

The Vampire side eyed him, "You know…"

"I know what?"

"You know our strategy. Send a group after the hospitals to get the attention of the experienced hunters. Then send another group into the sewers for the Morlocks. The Guinea pigs. Testing out Mutant compatibility and whatnot. It'll make us stronger."

"Yea." Bronte nodded, "How many groups are like that. What parts of New York? Stop playing like you got leg room here." Bronte's encroaching anger heated his skin.

"You're not asking the right question."

"You're not giving the right answers. I don't think you know too much about your savior, Varkis."

The Vampire swallowed, , fighting off an offended rage. His sharp adams Apple didn't move despite the very human action, "Just think about it. Varkis has all these resources. You think his main focus is deformed Mutants in a sewer? You think that's all the great Varkis cares for!?"

"I know it's not. Good looks for showing me you know that too, though." Bronte replied.

"So much for keeping y'all apart." Blade grinned as he sat on the couch studying his sword.

The Vampire swallowed again and tried to shift in his seat. His bony limbs didn't budge, "No— I—"

"Mend." Bronte reached behind him.

Jack coughed as if on command. The saliva that spewed from his mouth hovered in the air and coalesced into a liquid orb. It traveled across the room and hovered in Bronte's palm.

"Hey what— what are you doing?" The Vampire leaned away from Bronte and the orb of Werewolf spit.

"What does the name Remus mean to you?" Bronte held the spit closer to the Vampires face.

"Ah!— I don't—"

Bronte's fingers moved like he were playing the keys of a piano. The orb of werewolf saliva flattened and extended until a liquid snake spun in his palm.

Like a viper it lunged and began slithering around the vampires neck.

"The name!" Bronte snarled.

Mend entered Bronte's mind, "U—"

"Shut up! Just be quiet." Bronte spat internally.

The Vampire cringed, "W-What does it mean to you? Huh? Now that I think about it I remember Romulus speaking of a boy with magic. Is Remus a ghost of your past?"

"Answer the question." Bronte growled. The creatures red eyes sent him back to Krakoa every time he blinked.

"Ask the right one."

Blade began whispering to Jack as Bronte swarmed the WereWolf. Still as cool and withdrawn as before.

"The Talocanians, The Neyaphem! What does Varkis want with them! How is he speaking with them? !"

His adrenaline ran like fire. He was tired of waiting— tired of questioning things that only led to more questions.

"Varkis is all powerful! You think grilling me is going to give you any advantage! Everything I tell you, he's planned for! WHATEVER YOU DO HES PLANNED FOR!"

The Vampire was only saying what he already thought at times.

Ilyana moved to intervene only for Bronte to tighten the liquid grip around the Vampires throat and run his claws through the undeads chest.

"ACK!" The Vampire smiled.

"Give me answers or I swear to every god I'll keep you alive just enough to feel me tear your skin off—"

"You keep asking where Varkis is, where Remus is, where are the Vampires…. Haha… you shouldn't be asking where we are. You should instead be asking where we aren't at this point?"

Brontë snarled and ripped the Vampire apart, slashing at the ashes as the undead erupted into dust.

Someone moved in the distance.

Brontë spun around, eyes white as clouds only to find a boy in a wheelchair at the top of the steps outside the living room.

"Gabriel! You gotta stay in your room when we're working, hermano." Robbie ran up the stairs to console his brother.

Brontë got to his feet, shaking off the memories.

Blade stood up.

"You were testing him?" Ilyana questioned.

Blade side eyed her.

"Why else interrogate the vampire twice?"

"I know you had your own questions. I wanted to know what experience you had in this type of enviroment. I also know you have a temper."

"You don't like asking questions?" Bronte said.

"People lie. Even when they don't mean to. Either way you did good. Your temper didn't get the best of you when it mattered. You're crafty enough. Now what's this about Nephilim?"

"I think we should skip that for now and consider what the Vampire just said." Mr Knight commented, "Where aren't we? Meaning the Vampire infest—"

In the distance a bomb went off.

"That can't be related can it?" Robbie questioned from the top of the stairs.

"Dammit." Blade sighed.

Everyone ran outside, partially expecting to see hell descending on New York.

It wasn't as intense… or gothic.

But there was smoke. And fire. And ash.

Bronte held his hand out and watched the tiny particles stick to his nails.

If it reached him from that far the concentration in the city was already too high.

And Vampires were worse than Lupines for one simple reason.

They could be made in the spur of the moment.

Everyone ran back inside. Robbie grabbed the remote off the couch and turned on the tv just in time to see a real time news broadcast of a hospital. Windows were covered in blood and walls were busted in, crumbling over fires and tossed bodies.

Every now and then a patient would run outside in a frenzy and burst into flames under the suns rays. It looked like chaos. The headline confirmed it was.

"Nation-wide rabies epidemic urging people to stay home and lock their doors."

"Ilyana take us to the Baxter building." Blade said.