Doubtless, someday in the future, in some nook, Mrs.
Flowers would find another thank-you note: this time along with something that was literal y invaluable - something exquisite and priceless and probably from a dimension quite far from Earth. That was how Sage operated.
All was quiet above. The humans were relying on their animal companions to keep them safe. Damon gave the root cel ar a single look around and saw nothing more than a dim room completely empty except for the safe, which he now closed.
Dumping his own paraphernalia into the pil owcase, he patted Saber, who was gently snoring, and turned toward the steps.
That was when he saw that a figure was standing in the doorway. The figure then stepped smoothly behind the door, but Damon had seen enough.
In one hand the figure had been holding a fighting stave almost as tal as it was.
Which meant that it was a hunter-slayer. Of vampires.
Damon had met several hunter-slayers - briefly - in his time.
They were, in his consideration, bigoted, unreasonable, and even more stupid than the average human, because they'd usual y been brought up on legends of vampires with fangs like tusks who ripped out the throats of their victims and kil ed them. Damon would be the first to admit that there were some vampires like that, but most were more restrained. Vampire hunters usual y worked in groups, but Damon had a hunch that this one would be alone.
He now ascended the steps slowly. He was fairly certain of the identity of this hunter-slayer, but if he was wrong he was going to have to dodge a stave launched straight down at him like a javelin. No problem - if he were stil a vampire.
Slightly more difficult, unarmed as he was and at a severe tactical disadvantage.
He reached the top of the stairs unharmed. This was real y the most dangerous part of climbing steps, for a weapon of just the right length could send him crashing al the way back down. Of course a vampire wouldn't be permanently injured by that, but - again - he was no longer a vampire.
But the person in the kitchen al owed him to climb al the way out of the root cel ar unhindered.
A kil er with honor. How sweet.
He turned slowly to measure up his vampire hunter. He was immediately impressed.
It wasn't the obvious strength that al owed the hunter to be able to whip off a figure eight with the fighting stave that impressed him. It was the weapon itself. Perfectly balanced, it was meant to be held in the middle, and the designs picked out in jewels around the handhold showed that its creator had had excel ent taste. The ends showed that he or she had a sense of humor as wel . The two ends of the stave were made of ironwood for strength - but they were also decorated. In shape, they were made to resemble one of humankind's oldest weapons, the flint-tipped spear. But there were tiny spikes extruding from each of these "spear flakes,"set firmly into the ironwood. These tiny spikes were of different materials: silver for werewolves, wood for vampires, white ash for Old Ones, iron for al eldritch creatures, and a few that Damon couldn't quite work out.
"They're refil able,"the hunter-slayer explained. "Hypodermic needles inject on impact. And of course different poisons for different species - quick and simple for humans, wolfsbane for those naughty puppies, and so on. It real y is a jewel of a weapon. I wish I had found it before we met Klaus."
Then she seemed to shake herself back into reality.
"So, Damon, what's it going to be?"asked Meredith.
Chapter 8
Damon nodded thoughtful y, glancing back and forth between the fighting stave and the pil owcase in his hand.
Hadn't he suspected something like this for a long time?
Subconsciously? After al , there had been that attack on the grandfather, which had failed to either kil him or to erase his memory completely. Damon's imagination could fil in the rest: her parents seeing no reason to blight their tiny daughter's life with this gruesome business - a whole new change of scenery - and then giving up the practice in the provincial, protected little town of Fel 's Church.
If they had only known.
Oh, doubtless they had made sure that Meredith had had self-defense and various martial arts training since she was a child, while swearing her to absolute secrecy - even from her best friends.
Wel , now, Damon thought. The first of Shinichi's riddles was already solved. "One of you has a lifetime secret kept from everyone." I always knew there was something about this girl...and this is it. I'd bet my life that she's a black belt.
There had been a long silence. Now Damon broke it.
Your ancestors were hunters too? he asked, as if she were telepathic. He waited a moment - stil silence. Okay - no telepathy. That was good. He nodded at the magnificent stave. "That was certainly made for a lord or lady."
Meredith wasn't stupid. She spoke without glancing away from his eyes. She was ready, at any instant, to go into kil ing mode. "We're just ordinary folk, trying to get a job done so innocent humans wil be safer."
"By kil ing the odd vampire or two."
"Wel , so far in recorded history saying 'Naughty, naughty, Mama spank'has failed to convert a single vampire to vegetarianism."
Damon had to laugh. "Pity you weren't born early enough to convert Stefan. He could have been your grand triumph."
"You think that's funny. But we do have converts."
"Yes. People wil say anything while you're holding a pointed stick at them."
"People who feel that it's wrong to Influence other people into believing they're getting something for nothing."
"That's it! Meredith! Let me Influence you!"
This time it was Meredith who laughed.
"No, I'm serious! When I'm a vampire again, let me Influence you not to be so much afraid of a bite. I swear I won't take more than a teaspoon. But that would give me time to show you - "