There wasn't enough of him to identify, but Darius knew it was Lestat. He flicked the jacket open with the tip of the pen in his right hand and peered closely. The remainder of the clothing that covered the scorched, decapitated, disemboweled corpse was signature. The vampire had been using the same tailor for the last fifteen years. Darius rose to his full height. He was tall, over 6'3, and thin, his limbs long, almost spider-like. He wore a dark suit, a black coat over it. It was still dripping water. The rain in New Orleans had not let up for the last week and even now he could hear it slashing down on the tiled roof of the church, making it hard for him to think. He turned and was surprised to find that the priest was still present.
The man was freaked out of his mind. He believed that it was some satanic ritual that had taken place, desecrating the alter of the Lord. His eyes were closed, and Darius saw him mouthing silently.
Prayers will not help the damned, thought the black garbed man.
Darius left him to shit himself a bit more and continued have a look around. It was eerie. In a house of God, all the bloody tools of a torturer's trade lay carelessly scattered around the corpse. There was a blood covered hack saw, a spent blowtorch, some clippers and an empty canister of hydrochloric acid.
After completing a sweep of the church hall, there was still no sign of the vampire's head. The slayer must have taken it with him.
It was the first time this had occurred.
This whole mess was just plain fucking bizarre.
In none of the other vampire murders had the killer walked away with any of the body parts. Was Lestat different? Was this perhaps a trophy? Or did Lestat manage to get to the killer, thus causing this deviation in his M.O? And why torture? Previously the slayer had left behind only cleanly killed corpses. Sure, at times, when Darius came upon the scene, it was a fucking mess, but it was a quick kill - over in seconds.
The slayer had taken his time with Lestat. Was the torture purely for his excitement or own joy? Or was there a purpose behind it?
Darius had been trying to put a profile together, but this now caused him to re-evaluate his findings. Lestat was one of their kind's most deadly, ruthless and efficient killers.
At first, it had seemed that this was the work of another rogue vampire at war with his own kind. It had happened before, vampires with personal vendettas or age-old disputes, settling scores through violence. But then it continued. The targets seemed to be random at first, nobodies in terms of the hierarchy. They were scattered too: first in L.A, then Las Vegas, Phoenix, then L.A again. They were all killed by what seemed to be a sharp bladed weapon. After studying the cuts, Darius deduced that it was a Japanese Katana blade. Whoever it was seemed to have a penchant for the Blade movie trilogy. A vampire with a twisted sense of humour maybe?
A few months went by. The trail went cold, nothing more happened and Darius thought it was over. Then news came from Salt Lake City. This time a whole coven had been wiped out. A quick string of bodies appeared in New Mexico, then Texas. Once again they seemed random, so it didn't raise any alarms with the community.
The murder of Edward Cullen changed all that. Alucard himself contacted Darius. He was upset at the murder of Cullen. The two men had been lovers for over three decades. Alucard made it clear that Darius' career depended on the capture of the slayer.
And now Lestat de Lioncourt was destroyed. This individual was treading ever closer to the vampiric royalty.
More shocking and important to Darius was that the slayer had bested Lestat. He would never have imagined such a result.
Darius now knew, without a doubt that this killer was no mere vampire. The evidence at the murder scenes seemed to support this. None of the slain had stood a chance. The slayer had managed to end their existence with a minimum of effort. He was something else entirely, something far deadlier.
So who or what was at work here?
If he wasn't vampire, he was human, and a disturbing possibility began to evolve: the vampires had been discovered.
Or someone had talked.
Darius couldn't believe this was a mere man. For a human to take on a vampire, any vampire, meant certainty of death. Each of the species were deadly: Faster than the human eye could follow, hardy to the point of being invulnerable, amazing regenerative properties, and then there were the individual traits that each of the kind were able to develop over time.
No human could stand a chance.
Darius was frustrated. After all these months he was still no closer to the slayer.
And probably the most important question of all was: Why?
He had not even considered this yet.
Darius produced his cellphone, flipped it open and dialed a number.
The New Orleans Chief of Police answered.
"Cobler here."
"Cobler. Darius. You can send your people in. I am done here."
"OK."
Chief Cobler hung up. Darius pocketed the phone and turned once again to the priest.
"Thank you for your time, Father Connelly. The police are on their way."
The Priest nodded dumbly, not making eye contact.
He knows, thought Darius. Despite being so far removed from their original purpose in this world, the Men of the Cloth still retained an unconscious ability to sense the Darkness. The tall man's palled lips curled into a smirk and he crossed the large room, skirting between the pews.
He exited through the large wooden doors at the front of the Church, into the slashing rain of the storm.
