Who’d become a vampire hunter?

Who’d become a vampire hunter?

The ones who don’t stand by and do nothing

The crew of the Artemis are an eclectic bunch, but they have exactly one thing in common; they fight to save your ass from something you don’t even believe in.

Most people think that vampires are a European danger, bred in the slums of the Old World. It’s not a word commonly associated with the Caribbean. But near the Equator, day and night are predictable; darkness comes fast, and people come out after dark to enjoy the cooler air. It’s a vampire’s paradise – and before the land around the Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico was divided by modern borders, it was better known as the Spanish Main.

Francis Hardy is Bahamian. Son and grandson of Islands fishermen, he’s lived on and near the water all his life, and he’s the public face of the Artemis when she’s ferrying rich tourists to see the beauties of the Bahamas.

Francis isn’t much given to talking about his past, or how he ended up leading a team of vampire hunters. If pressed, he’ll admit to having worked as the strongman in a floating circus when he was younger, but now he’s an old man in a profession that doesn’t generally lead to a pension.

  • Age: 48
  • Born: Commonwealth of the Bahamas
  • Height: 1.80 metres
  • Weight: 115 kg
  • Languages: English
  • Favourite food: Lamb curry
  • Never drinks: American beer
  • Music: Latin pop – Manu Chao is a top pick but then again so is Shakira
  • Quote: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself
  • Most often grumbles about: People who think the earth is flat
  • Personal quirk: Likes to know what’s in whatever he’s eating

Kim Marruci mixes a great cocktail, and she’s the favourite when the charterers want to learn to surf. She keeps a note in the log of how many bad pick up lines each charter group lays on her, and Francis calculates the ‘extras’ bill accordingly.

She was on an exchange year in California when she got news of of her brother’s death, and if he hadn’t left a package to be delivered to her in the event of his death, she would never have known how he died.

Rather than assuming he was doing drugs, or trying to sell it to a tabloid magazine, Kim walked into a hunter safehouse in Sint Maarten a week later and has never looked back.

  • Age: 24
  • Born: Italian Republic
  • Height: 1.69 metres
  • Weight: 64 kg
  • Languages: Italian, English
  • Favourite food: Sushi
  • Never drinks: Vodka
  • Music: Nordic heavy metal – Skalmold and Clickhaze are somewhere in all her playlists
  • Quote: “My eyes are up here.”
  • Most often grumbles about: Charterers
  • Personal quirk: Likes anything that smells of patchouli or sandalwood

Sean Kosinsky handles the barbecues on the beach and makes sure that the beer doesn’t stop flowing. Artemis is the first boat he’s ever dealt with smaller than a cruise liner, and learning to sail isn’t coming easily to him.

He was kidnapped out of his North Carolina college frat house when a clan master was looking for a new plaything, and only a very timely hunter raid on the shelter where he was being kept saved him from slavery or being Changed.

  • Age: 22
  • Born: United States of America
  • Height: 1.86 metres
  • Weight: 86 kg
  • Languages: US English
  • Favourite food: Poached eggs
  • Never drinks: Absinthe
  • Music: Anything from Mozart to Rachmaninoff
  • Quote: “Assuming direct control
  • Most often grumbles about: Boats
  • Personal quirk: Corrects everyone else’s log entries to US spelling

Mary Cox works as chef and tour administrator for Artemis‘s charter tours – and team medic the rest of the time.

She was studying medicine at Edinburgh University when she and a friend were attacked by a fledgling vampire on the way home one night. The hunters saved her life, but were too late for her friend. She and Francis have worked as a hunter team for over five years, which makes them the senior team in the area.

  • Age: 37
  • Born: Scotland, United Kingdom
  • Height: 1.58 metres
  • Weight: 57 kg
  • Languages: English
  • Favourite food: Hawaiian pizza
  • Never drinks: Whiskey
  • Music: Country and blues – Fats Domino is up often on her playlists
  • Quote: “When Robert Burns said ‘A man’s a man for a’that’, he’d never had to deal with charterers
  • Most often grumbles about: People grabbing plants and corals without checking if they’re poisonous
  • Personal quirk: Hates having to wear sunscreen

Jean Vignaud can handle Artemis under sail as well as Francis can, substitutes for Mary in the galley, and climbs the rigging the way most people climb the stairs to bed. Because he’s not a people person, he tends to work as a deckhand on cruises.

Because he rarely discusses anything more personal than the slogan on his T-shirt, the fact that he became a vampire during the reign of Charles IX of France isn’t commonly known. Why and how he chose to renounce being vampire is something even his partner doesn’t know, but his record on killing vampires is exceeded only by Francis’s.

  • Age: 463
  • Born: Kingdom of France
  • Height: 1.73 metres
  • Weight: 78 kg
  • Languages: Latin, French, Provencal, Spanish, Italian, Dutch, English
  • Favourite food: Ginger beef on Shanghai noodles
  • Never drinks: Smirnoff Ice
  • Music: Anything by Dire Straits
  • Quote: “Money for nothing is good.”
  • Most often grumbles about: Powerboats
  • Personal quirk: Rolls his own cigarettes but never usually smokes any of them

Cristina Perez-Batista can sail the Artemis, lead snorkelling tours, or teach charterers to surf behind a dinghy. She doesn’t like having to deal with people but fakes it well enough when she has to.

She jumped ship aged fourteen when her father decided to sail back to Europe, and lied about her age successfully enough to get jobs as crew for a few months before she was picked up ashore by enforcers under the aegis of a sub-clan of Changar. She managed to engineer her own escape and get far enough from where she was being held that Jean came across her before the enforcers did.

  • Age: Nearly 19
  • Born: Kingdom of Spain
  • Height: 1.66 metres
  • Weight: 65 kg
  • Languages: Spanish, English
  • Favourite food: Anything with seafood
  • Never drinks: Beer
  • Music: Anything but classical
  • Quote: “Work is the curse of the drinking classes.”
  • Most often grumbles about: People on boats who know nothing about boats
  • Personal quirk: Hates wearing shoes
Death is for the Living – excerpt

Death is for the Living – excerpt

Death is for the Living – Prologue

Everything was dark, but this time, she was sure she was awake. There was a damp breeze on her cheek, and a soft surface under her. By contrast, her body was burning. The air smelled of earth and rot and wet leaves, and it was silent except for her own raucous breathing.

She lay there until she began to wonder if it wasn’t another fever dream, and then flinched as a voice broke the silence a little way away.

“And she was the only one, you sure of that?” It was a woman’s voice, with an Islands accent, slow and unhurried; not one she had heard before.

There was a pause, one that reeked of reluctance, and a male voice replied. “Alone and unbound, and several kilometres from the house. I thought she must be a fledgling, but…” his voice trailed off, a faint French accent evocative enough that she could almost feel the shrug.

“Not yet,” the woman’s voice agreed, and her tone was darker, grimmer. “You think she has the strength for this fight, boy, or are we just saving trouble for later?”

“I think she will stop fighting when she is dead, this one,” the man’s voice said. There was rock-solid certainty under his tone, such utter surety that she wished, briefly, that she were that sure. Absent memories, vision shut down, and fever tearing through her, fighting seemed about as impossible as levering her eyelids open.

Her throat was bone-dry, and she longed for liquid even through her throat and neck felt as though they had been savaged. She couldn’t remember why that might be.

She was suddenly aware that there was a presence beside her, blocking the flow of air, and a hand clamped onto her shoulder. It triggered a flash of rage and thirst combined, and it was enough to let her move, to flinch away, swing her arm. She had almost bitten him, and couldn’t remember why that would be a bad idea.

He was long gone by the time her retaliation completely failed to connect, the cooling breeze again moving over her face. It made the thirst worse.

Through the pounding in her ears she heard his voice: “Tu vois. She fought; she did not bite.”

There was a rustle of cloth. “Indeed I see. Make sure it her struggle you see and not your own. If she survives she may not thank you for it.”

There was a longer pause, as her heartbeat slowed and the lancing pains from the movement quieted with it, and she wondered absently why he didn’t just walk out. His desire to do so was almost as thick in the room as the smell of the jungle.

“Then let her choose,” he said at last. “She has earnt that much, at least, non?”

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