With the Vampire Queen Katherine on the move, it didn't take long to dig out exactly what "Crimson Apocalypse" was—and who the vampire behind it was.
Deacon Frost.
A vampire.
Leader of the so-called new generation of New York's vampires.
He belonged to Dracula's line, which split its members into "pure-blood" and "mixed-blood."
"Pure-blood" meant personally turned by Dracula.
"Mixed-blood" meant those turned by the pure-bloods rather than Dracula himself.
See?
Even vampires classify mixed blood as inferior.
The pure-bloods fancy their lineage noble and life exalted, so they call themselves pure-bloods. Thirteen such pure-bloods in New York cobbled together a "Council of Elders."
Deacon Frost served under that thirteen-member Council.
If those thirteen were the parliament, Deacon Frost was the frontman they pushed out to run the stage.
He was the one pulling the strings behind Crimson Apocalypse, the cult used to lure in soft-headed humans.
He also engineered the blood thralls embedded in New York's law-enforcement—people who envied vampire immortality and willingly became their servants.
Most importantly—
This mixed-blood, Deacon Frost, had big ambitions. He'd been secretly cracking a "blood scripture" to call down the Blood God's power, become the Blood God, and overthrow the Council.
Granted—
That last bit wasn't from Katherine's legwork but from Hawk's memory the moment he heard the name Deacon Frost.
Because Deacon Frost is a Marvel character.
You'll usually hear another name alongside his—
Blade.
But…
At Hawk's current tier, Blade wasn't really someone he needed to talk to—and Hawk didn't want to anyway.
Simple reason:
He was tired of that whole grimdark vibe.
Katherine finished her report and glanced at the quiet Hawk. "Do you need me to—"
"No."
Hawk shook his head again. He looked toward George, who had just hung up and was walking back like nothing was wrong, then at Gwen, still fully in character, comforting her weeping brothers, Howard and Simon. He smiled. "She wants to play—so let her play."
Since Gwen didn't want him to intervene, he wouldn't.
He'd only asked Katherine to scout so he'd have contingencies ready—
For the moment his fiancée got bored of the game, or realized she couldn't keep it up, he could appear at once and close the net for her.
Thinking about George's earlier call with that vampire, Hawk watched his fiancée perform, a playful look lifting the corner of his mouth.
His gut said it wouldn't be long—maybe by eleven tonight—before Gwen's plan went sideways and she'd beg him to flip the table.
Looked like he could negotiate multiple uniforms and positions again.
Appearance fees didn't come cheap.
Hawk smiled.
That evening, while the two of them ate dinner at 521A Palm Street, Hawk told Gwen about the call: the vampire had "invited" George to come open a gift that night.
Gwen, portioning beef onto Hawk's plate, blinked. "Dad didn't tell me."
"Really?"
Hawk raised a brow and grinned. "I thought you knew. Looks like your dad isn't letting you play, Gwen."
She rolled her eyes. "He's worried about me. That's why he didn't say."
"Fair enough. My mistake—sorry."
He let it drop.
Gwen set the beef on his plate, glanced at the suddenly silent Hawk, parted her lips, then chose to keep quiet as well and pulled a salad bowl close to mix.
Clatter—clatter—clatter—
Clink!
She set the spoon down, looked up. "Where is Dad going tonight?"
Hawk kept his face smooth, though the corner of his mind smiled. He blinked. "Hmm?"
"Where is Dad going?"
"Hudson Meatpacking."
"Hudson… what is that?"
"A pork-processing plant near the Hudson riverfront. Inside, it's a vampire hangout."
Gwen hissed. "He's going there tonight?"
Hawk nodded. "Yup. The vampire said he'd sent George a gift—and would only show himself if George accepted it."
The look on Hawk's face gave Gwen a bad feeling. "What gift?"
"No idea."
Hawk shook his head. "You told me not to take part till you asked. Your game."
"It's not a game. It's Dad's case."
"To me it's a game."
He shrugged, then added with a glance, "If I had to guess the gift? Dinner. For George."
Gwen's brows rose. "Dinner?"
"Vampire dinner."
"…"
She stared at him, then bit her lip, slid his plate toward herself, and picked it up.
Hawk lifted his fork, meeting her eyes as she stole his food.
Gwen smiled brightly. "Hawk."
"Mm."
"What time tonight?"
"Eleven."
"Can you take me there?"
"Tag me in?"
"What?"
She blinked, then waved her hands. "No, no. I just thought—could we watch from nearby? If something happens to Dad, you could—"
"Sure," Hawk said, cutting her off with an easy answer.
"Uh…"
The clean, no-haggling acceptance threw her.
"You don't want me to—"
"Don't need to."
Hawk's grin broadened. "We should finish up if we don't want to miss it."
Gwen, a little suspicious, returned his plate.
He accepted it with a courteous thanks.
She kept side-eyeing him as she ate her salad.
She'd even prepared to pay him with three uniforms—
But Hawk hadn't asked.
Very un-Hawk.
And…
There was something fox-bright about his smile tonight, like a weasel who'd already cornered its mouse.
Spit, spit—she wasn't a mouse.
Finally, on the drive to Hudson Meatpacking, Gwen couldn't help herself. "Hawk, aren't you supposed to ask how many uniforms?"
"Why?"
He glanced over. "I told you—if you ask, I'll help. Try trusting me a little more."
Her mouth opened. "Sorry?"
"Apology accepted."
He smiled and returned his attention to the road.
Please—if he took payment now, how would he charge later?
Everyone knows—
Free is always most expensive.
Free now. Priciest later.
Soon—
They parked on the riverside embankment across from the plant's scarred gates and vintage '90s factory bulk.
"We're here."
"Uh…"
Gwen looked around as Hawk left the car in plain sight opposite the entrance. "Won't they notice we're right here?"
Hawk shook his head. "No."
With the Reality Stone, he'd dialed their—and the car's—presence down to nearly zero.
If he wanted, he could run a guy over and bystanders would swear the victim flew through the air in a haunting.
He felt George's aura.
"George is here."
"Where?"
Following his gaze, Gwen spotted her father step out of a cab and walk toward the plant.
Hawk opened the door and got out, curious. "If George is here, what about Howard and Simon?"
Gwen, eyes fixed on George, answered as they moved: "He sent them to Long Island."
"Helen too?"
"No."
"Dad's worried they're still watching him, so Mom's at Detective Hale's place."
Hawk nodded. "Hale's solid."
"I know."
Gwen slipped her arm through his, eyes on George as he rapped the gate—ten paces from the two of them—and whispered, "You're sure he can't see us?"
Hawk didn't answer; the small side door by the main gate swung open.
A burly shaved-head Black man stepped out, scanned the street, let his gaze pass right over Hawk and Gwen, and fixed on George with mild suspicion.
"Who you looking for?"
"Cole invited me."
"Cole."
At the name, the man's wariness vanished. He opened the side door fully.
George stepped in.
The doorman scanned the street again, saw no one else, and shut the door.
Gwen, already inside with Hawk, stared at the man who'd looked straight through them. "He really can't see us."
Hawk gave a helpless smile. "That little faith in me?"
Gwen shook her head. "I trust you. That's why I asked you not to jump in—because with you covering me, I can afford mistakes."
"Then you're—"
"I'm providing emotional support. You can't tell?"
She tilted her head, those gem-green eyes blinking.
Hawk's mouth twitched—hard to argue with that.
The shaved-head vampire walked past them, gave George a quick once-over, and led the way. "This way."
George followed.
Hawk and Gwen stayed on their heels.
They passed through a bright cutting floor, where five or six workers manned band-saws over pork halves.
"These aren't vampires?" Gwen asked.
"They are."
Hawk knew what she meant. "Bottom rung. In Mystic Falls we saw Stefan—centuries old. And Katherine—five centuries, on the run but still financially free."
Every species has a bottom rung.
Stefan with an estate; Katherine with centuries of assets—those two were elite, the managers of the Wall Street types rather than mere traders.
These guys, sawing pig carcasses—
Let's say they're like the homeless who squat in parks and woods in Brooklyn.
Difference is, they'll be homeless forever.
He glanced at Gwen. "This also emotional support?"
"What?"
Gwen looked up with a bright smile. "No idea. But you're amazing, Hawk. Feels like you know everything."
Confirmed.
She was faking ignorance to boost him.
Hawk's mouth twitched again.
The guide stopped at a "cold storage" door, punched in a code, and heaved it open.
Instead of a freezer bay, a stairwell fell away into the earth.
George looked at the doorman.
The man simply gestured.
George drew a breath, put a hand to the rail, and descended.
The doorman began to swing the door closed—Gwen tugged Hawk and slipped through before it latched.
Alert now, George's honed new senses read the dark like daylight, and he could hear the muffled thunder of a club behind the door at the bottom of the stairs.
He reached the door, set his right hand on it, and pushed.
In the next instant—
A different world.
Wild bass.
Kaleidoscopic lights.
A dance floor of writhing vampires.
George's eyes narrowed on reflex.
God.
So many vampires?
Behind him, Gwen went wide-eyed. "There are this many?"
"It's fine. One Phoenix beam," Hawk said mildly.
Multiply this by ten, and it was still a single sweep to ash.
"Ha ha ha!"
"Captain Stacy."
"Hawk, look."
Gwen tugged his sleeve, pointing at a Black man in a black suit, white goatee bristling, who walked toward George laughing broadly.
Hawk nodded.
Soon, the white-goateed man had an arm around George, guiding him up a short stair past the raging floor to a second-level balcony and into a private room guarded by two stone-faced vampires.
The door shut, and the noise died.
George took the offered seat on a sofa and eyed the host. "You're not the one who called me."
"What?"
The man blinked, then smiled and held out a lit cigar. "I just run a club, Captain Stacy. I follow orders."
George took the cigar. "Whose orders?"
"You'll see."
The man leaned back and pulled a camcorder from his jacket.
A knock sounded.
Hawk and Gwen, standing against the wall, looked at the door.
A black-haired, full-figured woman in revealing clothes stepped inside.
She seemed to know exactly why she was there. She flashed George a sultry smile and glided over—
Next second—
She swept her long black hair aside, gave it a shake, and reached for George's belt.
…
(End of Chapter)
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