Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter. Mission #2: Surf's Up Page 3

  “Newquay.”

  “Indeed. Surfer’s paradise, tourist central. In the summer, the beaches throng with families from up North.”

  “Aye. That’s why I avoid Newquay like the plague. Too much noise, too many people. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not good with people. But I suppose all those people on the beach would make quite the buffet for Water Nymphs. But it’s winter; surely there’ll be no-one there?”

  At Heimlich’s nod, Otto pressed another button, the next slide appearing. A flyer, advertising an event taking place later that very week.

  “The Tough Bastard Surfing Competition,” the Master of Magic read from the screen. “Every winter a large group of nutjobs descend upon Fistral Beach to ride the stormy waves for two days of competition. A dangerous and frankly stupid endeavour at the best of times, let alone when there’s a shoal of Nymphs about.”

  “How do you know there’s gonna be Nymphs there?”

  “My Scryers told me.”

  “And how did they find out?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  Brian thought hard, recalling the gutted chickens, the tarot cards, the Ouija Boards, all the other nonsense shenanigans he’d witnessed in Heimlich’s own sub-section of the Sanctum, the Scrying Chamber.

  “Not really.”

  “Then shut up. Trust me, there’ll be Nymphs, and with it being cold out, they’ll be hungry too. Surfers get swept off their boards all the time in this competition; last year, three of the numpties died. So a few thrill-seekers going missing and ending up in the bellies of our aquatic friends wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion. They’ll no doubt seize the chance.”

  “Fair enough. So how am I supposed to find them and stop them? I’m no good at fishing.”

  “You won’t be fishing. You’ll be surfing.”

  Brian stared.

  “I can’t surf. I’ve never stood on a surfboard in my life.”

  Heimlich laughed.

  “No, but XII was partial to the sport. And the ring passes on his skills to you.”

  “Really? XII, a surfer?”

  Brian looked doubtful, recalling the lined face and grizzled demeanour of his predecessor. He hadn’t looked the surfer type, as far from it as possible in fact. Just picturing that serious man perched precariously on a board, trenchcoat flapping behind and Beach Boys blasting out in the background, was enough to cause Brian to chuckle. As if summoned like the Candyman or Beetlejuice, the translucent spectre of the man in question appeared in the mirror behind Heimlich, a wry grin on his usually grim face.

  “It’s true,” the ghost told him with a shrug. “I was almost pro at one point.”

  “You’re talking out of your ghostly arse,” Brian replied, fixing the spectre with his disbelieving gaze.

  The four Masters stared at him, Heimlich turning to look behind him and seeing only his own reflection looking back at him.

  “Who are you talking to?” Gertie asked.

  “No-one,” Brian answered, as the apparition faded with a ghostly laugh of amusement that Brian knew only he could hear.

  “You’re a strange one,” Heimlich told him.

  “You’re the strange one if you thinking I’m going anywhere near a surfboard in a Cornish fucking winter. You been up top lately? Even the waves hitting this Mount are the size of houses! I’ll be knocked off in a heartbeat. So unless the ring gives me the ability to breathe underwater… Wait, does it?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “Besides,” came Friedrick’s voice now. “You won’t be getting knocked off; Frank and I have been working on a surfboard of our own design. Your feet will remain quite planted.”

  “Great. That’ll be really useful when I’m upside down.”

  “Calm down, lad. The board will be quite uncapsizable too.”

  “They said that about the Titanic.”

  “The Titanic didn’t capsize,” Friedrick corrected him. “It snapped in two.”

  “Reassuring, thanks. Anyway, if you’re going to tool a board up with your famous gadgets and gizmos, why don’t you just go the whole hog and make it radio-controlled? That way I can surf from the warmth and safety of Bertha while eating a tray of chips.”

  Friedrick glanced hopefully at Heimlich, who shook his head.

  “That’s not how surfing works, Helsing, and you know that,” the Master of Magic replied.

  “I don’t know how anything works anymore.”

  “And that is why you need training. Now away with you to the Bestiary with Otto. There, he’ll tell you everything you need to know about Water Nymphs. And if you don’t want to end up fish food, I’d pay some attention to what he has to say.”

  Chapter Four:

  Hall Of Horrors

  It had been a long time since he’d been in this room, Brian thought. Not since the day he’d first set foot upon St Michael’s Mount, in fact. And it was for a reason; the Sanctum of the Helsings, hidden in the bedrock below the castle, held many bizarre and terrifying secrets in its various rooms, but none more so than the Bestiary. Like a museum, it was, all glass display cabinets and information plaques. Though where most museums would only have the odd skeleton or two amongst the exhibits, this was a veritable smorgasbord of the dead. And no normal dead, at that.

  As Brian followed the eccentric Master Otto through the hall, he kept his gaze firmly on the man’s back, not allowing his eyes to wander lest he catch sight of the many horrors on grim display all about. Most of the creatures in their cases he had already read about in the Welcome Pack, but reading about such dread monsters and seeing them in the flesh were two completely different things. Passing a titanic black skeleton, its every bone engraved with runes and with huge horns branching out from a fanged skull, he felt a shiver. That was a Baron of Hell, or so he’d been told last time he’d been here. Which of the Helsings had slain such a beast, he wondered? How could such a creature even be killed? Even the lifeless bones seemed to exude an aura of evil and bottomless power.

  “Here we are,” Otto proclaimed. “This is the preserved corpse of a Water Nymph.”

  Brian allowed himself to look upwards now, knowing that if he were to survive this mission then he’d have to at least know what he was looking for.

  “Oh. Well, at least they’re distinctive.”

  The embalmed body, looking perfectly preserved thanks to Otto’s ministrations, was human in size and female in shape. Slender, yet curvaceous, alluringly so, in fact, with apple-green skin that looked almost rough like that of a shark. Huge, almond shaped black eyes twinkled even in death, from below a long train of kelp-like hair. From behind her soft looking lips, pointed teeth could be seen, perfect for munching on an errant surfer.

  “This is their true form,” Otto continued. “Composed mainly of fast-twitch muscle fibres, very much akin to the Merman you saw me working on that first day, lending them staggering strength and speed. Their eyes are large, enabling them to see in the murky gloom of the sea. Yet it is their sense of smell that warns them of danger… or prey, for smells carry a long way in the water.”

  “True form?” Brian asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer but knowing that really he should.

  “Aye. Nymphs are shape-shifters. They can, at will, transform themselves to look like humans. That way they can mingle on land, scope out their targets. Of course, they tend to feed mostly in the water. They’re partly magical in nature and derive a great deal of their strength from being in the seas and rivers. Corner one on land and they’ll be a much easier prospect.”

  Brian nodded. Find them on land, if he could. That would make life easier. But where would a Water Nymph frequent in Newquay? Pubs? Bars? Most vampires he’d thus far met seemed to enjoy socialising, were Water Nymphs perhaps the same, despite their even more alien nature?

  “How am I supposed to recognise them if they look like humans most of the time?”

  “Firstly, the ring, as it does with
vampires, might give you some warning. Secondly, the way they move; being composed of fish meat, they have a tendency to move in that fast, twitching manner, like a hyperactive toddler, never sitting still for a second. It should stand out a country mile.”

  “And what do the males look like? Have one of them on ice?”

  “There are no males. Water Nymphs are entirely female.”

  “Well, how do they breed?”

  “Parthogenesis.”

  “Partho-what?”

  “They can spawn without mating, like many other animals do in the absence of a mate.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem like much fun.”

  Otto chuckled.

  “Oh, they still have all the bits, for some strange reason. Look here.” He pointed between the creature’s legs just as he had done with the Merman, what seemed like a lifetime ago, and Brian turned away with an exasperated sigh. “Everything works as it should, but they tend to get their fun in other ways. Water Nymphs all but buzz with energy and need an outlet, and occasionally that outlet is dance; they’re notorious ravers. Not only does it help them let off steam and eye up potential prey, but also their movements don’t stand out as much when they’re mingling with drug-fuelled ravers hopped up on ecstasy.”

  Brian nodded at that; Neil had persuaded him to take a strange purple tablet once when they’d been out clubbing in town. Best dance session of his life; everyone a best-friend, every song a fucking classic. The energy he’d felt coursing through his limbs had seemed relentless. Too relentless, in fact; he’d spent the rest of the morning following the night out lying in bed, twitching and gurning, completely unable to go to sleep. He could well imagine how a strange fish-woman with her twitchy movements would be able to blend in with such a crowd.

  “So, let’s get down to the white-meat and two veg,” Brian suddenly declared. “What do I need to look out for in particular when I’m fighting a Nymph? Aside from those pointy teeth.”

  “Firstly, their speed. They’re fast. Faster, even, than vampires.”

  Brian gulped at that. The vampires he’d met so far had moved with eye-watering pace. Only the preternatural reactions lent him by the ring had put him on an equal footing. If these creatures were faster still, then how would he stand a chance? Could the ring ramp him up further? He didn’t know, and come to think of it, he still had very little clue about how the ring worked. He resolved to ask Heimlich the next time they spoke; though he liked to maintain a wary disinterest in all aspects of his new employment, if his life was going to be on the line then perhaps it was time he actually started learning something.

  “Right, so, they’re fast. That’s good to know. At least if I die, I probably won’t see it coming. Less time to be scared, which I suppose is a bonus. What else?”

  “Strength,” Otto continued. “The same muscles that lend them their supernatural speed also provide immense strength.”

  “Let me guess?” Brian sighed. “Stronger than vampires too?”

  “You shouldn’t be needing to guess, you should have read the stats in the Welcome Pack. But yes, you’re right; vampires have class four strength. Nymphs are class five.”

  “Brilliant. So not only can’t I run away, but when they get their hands on me, they’ll rip me apart like play-doh.”

  “Not necessarily,” Otto frowned. “I mean, you’re strong yourself.”

  Brian raised a dubious eyebrow.

  “I watched XII get manhandled the moment Cassandra got her sexy claws into him. Quite literally. And you say that these Nymphs are stronger than she is, and XII was certainly stronger than me.”

  “Wrong on both counts, Helsing.” At Brian’s confused stare, Otto continued, waving his hands like some over-theatrical conductor as he explained. “Cassandra is an outlier; she is a Progenitor, descended from ancient bloodlines and capable of siring powerful vampires herself. She is both faster and stronger than most vampire, or even Nymphs for that matter. She can trace her ancestry back to Drakul himself.”

  “Fair enough. But so could Kevin and I beat him while utterly plastered, so I’m not sure that counts for much.”

  “Bollocks!” Otto guffawed, or rather cackled like the mad scientist he was. “Did Kevinius really say that? What a bloody liar. He was a two-bit knock off, with watered down blood. I mean, come on; he lived in a van, for Christ’s sake. And he was in a tribute band!”

  “A cover band.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “God knows. Anyway, so even if Cassandra is stronger than the average vampire, why do you think I’m wrong about being weaker than XII? He was a badass. And I’m a lanky streak.”

  “Your physique has nothing to do with it, Helsing. The ring doesn’t make you stronger by swelling your muscles. It’s based on your chi.”

  “Alright, Miyagi, you’re starting to lose me now. You saying all that kung fu stuff about mystic energy is true? I thought that was martial-arts movie nonsense.”

  Otto rolled his eyes at Brian’s disbelieving tone.

  “Really? You’ve faced not one, not two, but three vampires and a banshee, and you’re taking the idea of chi with a pinch of salt? I mean, you’ve used magic man; you’ve teleported! Yes, chi is real. And in a youth such as yourself, it’s strong, far stronger than in someone my age and especially in someone as old as XII was. It flows through you, not quite water, not quite electricity, but there and capable of immense feats should you channel it. The ring acts like a transformer, turning your own natural energy into speed, strength and durability beyond your body’s natural limits.” Brian gazed down at the ring on his finger, as Otto continued slower and quieter now, as though attempting to convey the seriousness of what he was about to say. “As a Helsing gets older, they begin to lose some of their natural power and, as such, the ring’s influence lessens. When he was younger, XII possessed immense power. Even Cassandra stayed away from him, knowing that to fight him was certain death. And you, young hunter, are far younger than XII was when he first took up the mantle. Younger, in fact, than any Helsing since the very first. Within you lurks immeasurable potential. But only if you learn to harness it through training.”

  Brian stood, pondering the man’s words. Ever since he’d first received the title Helsing, he’d always felt something of a fraud, unworthy of the mantle and all the powers, privileges and responsibilities it brought with it. The ghost of XII and the whispered words of Helsing the First had sought to comfort him, but the nagging feeling had always lingered that he was somehow less. And now he was to believe that he had the potential to be the greatest of them all? He felt the weight of history bearing down on his shoulders quite heavily.

  He lifted his eyes to Otto’s own and sighed.

  “Fine. So there’s a slim chance that they won’t kill me. Great, I’ll take that. But how do I kill a Nymph? I’m assuming there’s some convoluted method like with vampires? Stake through the heart? Decapitation?”

  Otto grinned.

  “Easier than that. Fire.”

  It was Brian’s turn to grin now, his mind flickering with images of a burning sword that even now resided in Bertha’s boot.

  “Oh, now fire I can do.” He grin faded momentarily, replaced by a frown. “Hang on, that’s all well and good if I manage to stumble upon a Nymph in the town somewhere. But I’m supposed to be entering this surfing competition aren’t I? How am I supposed to use a flaming sword in the water?”

  “Start listening, Helsing. I told you you’re not going to be fighting any Nymphs in the water. That would be madness; their agility is ludicrous in their natural element, they’d simply drag you under and drown you. No, you’re going to lure them to land. There you can fight them in your element.”

  “Gotcha, fair enough. Well, let’s hope that XII could surf as well as his ghost says he could.”

  Otto stared at him, confused, but then a knock at the door behind them. Brian turned to see Gertie stood there in the doorway that led into the hall, her face a mask of pixie
mischievousness that always sent a curious mixture of attraction and about-to-get-his-face-kicked-in dread through Brian’s heart.

  “If you’re going to be using your sword,” she said, “then I’d best show you how to do it properly. You swing like you’ve no bones in your arms and you telegraph so much you might as well serve two weeks written notice of each attack.”

  “Hey, my swordsmanship was enough to beat Kevin.”

  “Bertha beat Kevin. And besides, he was an idiot; he ran into your sword with his face. Hardly speaks of a master tactician now, does it?”

  Brian shrugged, admitting defeat. Besides, he’d only just been thinking how he would do well to start listening to the Masters. It was sometimes hard to think of Gertie as a Master, what with the two starting to hang out more often outside of work. Nothing yet had happened beyond friendly, sometimes flirtatious banter, and perhaps nothing ever would. In all honesty, despite her claims of being pansexual – whatever the hell that was – and always looking about her with a hungry gleam in her eyes, she’d yet to make a move on him. And if she was waiting for Brian to take the lead, well, she was barking up the wrong tree. He was less Lothario, more lethargic when it came to matters of the heart, or pants for that matter. But all the same, looking at her, all petite and bright and colourful, sometimes it was hard to see her as his teacher. He sort of felt almost… protective of her. Then he recalled the painful beatings he’d received at her hands before and almost instantly that feeling diminished to be replaced by wariness. Her smile grew, as though reading his thoughts through his very eyes, and that sense of apprehension deepened.

  “Come, let’s go,” she told him. “I’m sure Otto has one of his famous pamphlets to tell you everything else you need to know about Nymphs.”

  “I sure do,” Otto replied, withdrawing yet another laminated document from his pocket and thrusting it Brian’s way. “It contains quite a bit more information than the pocket bestiary in the Welcome Pack. Read it, it might save your life.”

  “I’m gonna need a folder soon for all this stuff,” Brian remarked dryly.