The lights of the space terminal were dimmed to simulate the night cycle. The rows of empty benches and the wall of windows looking into the coldness of space gave the room a deserted atmosphere that Deacon rather enjoyed. He ambled across the room to the section of seats near terminal 72A and stood looking out the windows, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
There were ships docked here and there along the length of the station, but they were all as dark as the terminal he stood in. As he stared into space, he heard the trudging footsteps of a weary traveler. Turning his head slightly, he watched the person coming closer out of the corner of his eye. The last thing he wanted right now was company.
The man stopped beside him and put his hands in his pockets. “Quiet night, isn’t it? Are you waiting for someone?”
Deacon kept his arms crossed over his chest, but turned to face the man, his trenchcoat brushing the tops of his boots. He smiled widely, revealing the long, sharpened fangs that were the mark of his vampiric heritage. “Actually… yes, I was.”
The man paled and stumbled back, crossing himself as he turned to flee. When the man had run out of sight, Deacon chuckled and turned back to the window. A few minutes later, his eyes were drawn to a movement off to the left. A ship was nearing the docks.
He grinned and slipped the edge of his trenchcoat aside, drawing his Colt Glazer and checking the pistol’s energy level. He casually stepped behind a column and waited for the ship to dock. The sound of the inner airlock doors whooshing open broke the silence in the terminal and Deacon tensed, his pistol held ready.
He heard the footsteps of four men in heavy boots and the lighter steps of their prisoner, then the airlock whooshed closed. They were making it too easy for him. He edged around the column as the footsteps neared, waiting until they were in line with him so it would be harder for them all to shoot back. Then he drew in half a breath and spun around the column, his Glazer raised.
He fired on the near man without hesitation, the laser leaving a smoking hole in the policeman’s chest. The others trained their weapons on him, one of them shouting orders and another reaching for a comm unit at his belt.
The young woman who had been surrounded by the policemen raised her manacled hands into the air, spreading them as far apart as she could. Deacon aimed his pistol at the link connecting the manacles. The laser easily cut through the metal, sending sparks showering down onto the girl, who turned her face away.
With the link broken, the girl drew herself up, her orange prison jumpsuit and short black hair whipping around her as if a hurricane blew through the terminal. Her eyes began to glow and she raised her hands again, chanting in a language few people in the galaxy understood.
The policemen started to panic. One of them shot wildly at Deacon with a pulse rifle and one of the shots seared through his trenchcoat into his right shoulder. He glanced down at the wound with a grimace.
Electricity sparked from the girl’s fingertips and the wind around her died off suddenly. She brought her arms down in a graceful arc, her eyes still on fire. With one final word, the flash of lightening lit up the terminal and the three remaining policemen were speared by three separate bolts. They screamed and shuddered, falling to the floor with mingled thuds.
Deacon rolled his right shoulder, easing his muscles as the wound healed. He strode forward and stopped in front of the girl, who looked up at him with a cold expression as the magic faded from her eyes. The corner of his mouth curled up slightly into a humorless smile. “You’re younger than I expected.”
Her eyes bore into him and she let a few moments roll by before she answered. “I assume you are the vampire?”
He pulled his Glazer up and checked the energy charge. “At your service, missy.” Holstering the pistol, he extended his arm to her.
She looked down at it and rolled her eyes. “Just lead the way. I need to get out of these clothes.”