Tuesday, November 11, 2014

18 - ‘Come gentle night…’

Kemp looked at the shop and then at Trevor. “A voodoo store?”

Trevor nodded as he opened the door. “Owned by a friend of mine with special talents. It’s the perfect front for what he does.”

“If you say so.” Kemp looked around at the shelves filled with bottles labeled with strange names, dolls---made of wood, Spanish moss and maybe other things he didn’t really want to think about---candles and ritual kits. “But I thought we were coming here to get me a weapon.”

An older man stepped out from behind a curtain at the back of the shop and Kemp froze, sensing vampyre. He relaxed slowly as he realized the man was a dhampir.

“Trev,” the man exclaimed. “Damn I haven’t seen you in like forever. How goes it man?”

“I’m still alive, which is more than I can say for a handful of our enemies. Mycroft, this is Kemp. He’s sort of my... protégée I suppose.”

“Mycroft as in Sherlock Holmes’ brother?” Kemp asked with slight laugh before remembering his manners. “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

“You as well, young man, and no, not in reality,” the man replied with a grin, “The name is the result of having a mother who was a fan of Conan Doyle. I consider myself lucky she didn’t name me Sherlock. That honor went to my brother.”

“And your sister is Irene?”

“If I had one she probably would be.”

“Wait a minute, you have a brother?”

Mycroft nodded. “He’s quite human. I’m the outcome of mother’s liaison with a vampyre, although she says she didn’t know that’s what he was. It was a bit of a shock when my abilities began manifesting themselves.”

“And your father…”

“Is no longer around, though that’s not my doing. He ran afoul of a pair of vampyre hunters long before I could have gone searching for him.”

Looking between Trevor and Mycroft, Kemp said with great sincerity, “I guess I was lucky. My father is one of the good ones. He married my mother and they’re living happily ever after as the saying goes.”

“If I’m not being too inquisitive has he turned her?”

Kemp shook his head, saying, “No,” and leaving it at that.

Mycroft didn’t probe further, asking instead, “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Trev?”

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