Grace O’ Mercy had a quarter of an hour to get home before being immolated by the dawn’s early light.
The Phantomhawk Memorial Emergency Room had been especially busy tonight: a dozen members of the Latin Princes gang had showed up with crippling, though not mortal, wounds. Unwilling to identify to the police who did the damage, Grace figured that Messenger must be starting up his “Scared Straight” summer program.
The young nurse hustled out the front entrance of the ER, knowing she didn’t have time to take a bus or a taxi. Once she was clear from prying eyes Grace planned to stop moving like a human and travel home in a manner more befitting her kind. An even heartbeat and a voice like chains being dragged across gravel stopped her.
“Hey, you the night nurse?” the man double parked in the loading zone asked. He was big, six and a half feet tall in his steel toed boots, and broad. He wore a navy blue pea coat, buttoned up all the way. The inappropriate summer clothing and the wicked humidity combined to plaster what hair he had to his massive head. The man had a cauliflower ear and a nose busted more times than Bobby Brown, and would have terrified Grace if she hadn’t been transformed into the top of the food chain some years ago.
“Johnstantine sent me,” the brute continued, holding open the rear passenger door, “Hurry up.”
“Do I need to go back and get my bag?” she asked.
“Nah, I got a kit.”
Sighing and silently cursing the aforementioned Johnstantine, Grace stepped into the car. She noticed the windows were made of tinted glass, which would provide some protection from the sun’s deadly rays.
Springs squeaked as her driver plunked into his seat. He looked into the rearview mirror, then caught himself. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Use that blanket for cover until we get there.”
Grace wrinkled her nose at the fabric, “It smells like a dog peed on it.”
The man’s face twisted into a smirk, “You wish it were a dog,” and pulled out into the early morning traffic.
Once under the coverlet Grace decided to get the specifics, “What’s hurt?”
“Asrais. Got caught in a spring trap set in the Fowler Street sewer line.”
The nurse was skeptical, “What’s a Water Lover doing in the city? I thought they stayed in the Sound.”
He snorted, “You’re behind the times, ain’t ya? Divers have been hunting the Sound for beasties the past month. Doin’ a damn good job clearin’ em out, too.”
“I hadn’t heard. Who’s doing it? The city?”
“Nope,” the man turned down an alleyway and stopped the car. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze out the half-open door, but he did, and then swiftly walked over to a manhole cover. Prying it free with a shrug of his shoulders, he then went back to get Grace.
“Stay under this,” he opened a travel umbrella from his coat pocket, “At least until we get underground.”
Grace dropped down first, into fetid water that rose to her shins. The stranger followed.
Pulling out a halogen flashlight, he gestured with its beam down the tunnel, “This empties out to the main line about 500 yards down. Another 500 yards towards the ocean and we’ll find the Asrais.”
“Is that where Johnstantine is?” Grace’s preternatural vision could see the insides of the tunnel as if it were day, but the oppressive stench and sound of rushing water hampered her other senses.
“Right. You think he’d come down here and slog through this shit?” he shook his head, “That’s what I’m for. You too, I guess,” the man gave her a curious smile, “Name’s Simon, by the way.”
“Oh. Hello, then, Simon. We better get moving,” the nurse took the lead.
The main sewer line was roughly 35 feet across with a narrow guard-railed walkway on each side. The ceiling was two feet above their heads, though it was higher above the water, which was now about four feet deep and rushing at a moderate speed. Grace spotted the translucent form of the water fairy floating listlessly in the current, anchored in place by a savage looking contraption caught on her right calf.
“Pretty, ain’t it? Like somebody carved a jellyfish into Sophia Loren,” Simon observed.
“We need to get her out of there. I’d go, but, ah-“ Grace tried to explain.
“I know: rushing water,” Simon began to shuck his clothes, “Lucky you.”
Once the man was down to his skivvies, Grace noticed the abundance of scars and burns that were gouged across his body. The thug caught her looking and smiled unctuously, “See something you like?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just meat to me,” Grace shot back with more vehemence than she expected.
“If I had a dollar every time I heard that,” Simon didn’t finish his thought, however. Instead he vaulted the guard rail and splashed down into the water. Grace watched him pry open the trap that held the Asrais. Before the current could take her away he grabbed her and waded back to the catwalk. He handed the Water Lover to Grace, who easily lifted it. She had her safely on the floor and was examining her by the time Simon was out of the water.
Slipping on a pair of gloves, she began her examination. The nearly comatose Asrais suffered from five puncture wounds on her leg, varying in depth from three-eighths to a full inch. She also detected the presence of a pulpy orange material in each wound, “Rowan berries,” she muttered before cursing.
“What’s that?” Simon was using his coat as a towel in an attempt to clean the grime from his body.
“Poison, for her,” she reached into the bag, “You have spring water in here? Not holy water.”
“’Course. Just check the labels,” Simon shined the light on the pair. The Asrais instinctively flinched.
Grace dabbed the spring water on a cotton cloth and began cleaning the wounds. She didn’t know how much good it would do: the toxin had probably spread through out the nymph’s body. The young nurse’s knowledge of fairy anatomy was based mostly on trial and error, of years spent helping creatures- no, people, like this. A troubling thought crossed her mind.
“What are we supposed to do with her, once we tend to her wounds?”
“Good point. This ain’t exactly a ‘catch and release’ sitiation, is it?”
It was then that Grace heard the sound of a motor. Someone was traveling against the current by boat.
“Simon,” she hissed, just before the rattle of automatic weapons fire echoed throughout the tunnel. A Zodiac raft roared around the bend, manned by a trio of people in commando attire and wielding carbines.
“Run! Back to the side tunnel!” Simon scooped up the opaque figure and shepherded Grace away.
“Those bullets, they’re silver,” the vampire could smell the damnable metal.
“Silver tipped with a cold iron core,” Simon corrected, “These guys know what they’re doin’.”
Indeed they did, for a second team of mercenaries had set a napalm charge at the junction point of the two tunnels. Grace tripped it, and avoided certain death only by transforming into her bestial form and leaping to the tunnel’s ceiling. The explosion caught Simon and the Asrais and sent them sprawling into the water.
Three more men, these wearing gas masks and wielding pistols came down the tunnel. They fired at Grace, who skittered clear with blinding speed.
“Batons out!” one man shouted through the smoke and flame. Clubs with pointed ends telescoped in their hands, “Second team, hold your fire!”
Out of the corner of her eye Grace saw the boat barrel ever closer. Instinct took over and she dropped down onto the lead agent. With razor claws she tore at his throat, only to howl in agony as the man’s neckline was covered by silver cord as sharp as piano wire. Still the damage was done. The man collapsed in a geyser of blood.
The other two men advanced, brandishing their weapons expertly. One managed to jam his weapon in her side before she ripped his arm off, again cutting herself on the strategically placed wire.
The group from the boat had made it to the junction. They primed their weapons and fired, tearing their fellow soldier to shreds and hitting Grace with several bullets.
Then the raft bucked the men it carried off of it and into the water. Simon poked his head up from the water.
“This way!” he shouted to Grace as he pulled himself into the boat. One of the men slashed at him with his knife but Simon caught him by the wrist and snapped it with a twist of his own.
Grace stumbled towards the raft. One of the men thrown from the boat had landed on dry land. He pulled a pistol and tried to fire. Grace kicked the gun away. Reaching down, she dragged him by the belt onto the raft.
Simon used an oar to beat the last man’s head in. Then he went to the engine and started it, directing the vehicle further upstream, hopefully away from any more attackers.
Grace cradled the last man’s head in her lap. He seemed to be in shock. She was cut, burnt, and losing strength. With a surprising amount of tenderness she removed the man’s mask.
“Please,” he begged, “Please, no.”
“Don’t do it,” Simon said from the back of the boat.
“I’m… I’m weak,” she whispered, “I need to feed.”
Simon grabbed the man by the leg and dragged him into his own grasp. He wrenched his neck to an impossible angle and then tossed his body overboard, “I know, but these guys are under orders to drink ten glasses of holy water a day. That won’t digest well.”
He took up a knife and sliced it across his wrist. Simon reached forward and offered the bleeding limb to Grace, who stared, dumbfounded. She shook her head.
“Woman, you better chow down! I didn’t just cut myself open to watch you get finicky!” the man shouted over the engine. Still, she wouldn’t budge.
“Fine, go ahead a curl up into a little ball of self-pity. Let down those who need you. Hell, let me bleed to death right here, all because of your morals.”
“You’d let yourself die?” Grace asked incredulously.
“It’s not like I have a frickin’ choice. Johnstantine said I have to protect you with my life, and until my curse is lifted I have to do what he says,” Simon started to look unsteady.
Slowly, Grace eased towards Simon. She took his hand in hers gingerly.
“Thank you,” Grace breathed, before bringing his wound to her lips.
Simon felt an awful rush of vertigo as the vampire began to drink his essence, “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure there’s enough left over for me.”
And then things went dark.
Epilogue :
“Grace, love, you’re looking absolutely ace!” Con Johnstantine proclaimed from his seat in the Phantomhawk Memorial cafeteria. He stood to give the woman a quick buss on the cheek, then pulled back a chair. Grace, her tray laden with food she wouldn’t consume, reluctantly sat.
“What do you want, Con?”
“Just checkin’ up on ya. Wanted to make sure you came out all right on the other end of that botched rescue job.”
The night nurse winced at the memory of her failure, “I’m fine. How’s Simon?”
“Who?” Con lowered his voice, “Oh, you mean Killer Shrike. Sodding idiot went and got hisself pinched, that’s how. Was carrying water for that so and so Balefire, during the blackout business.”
“Oh.”
Con didn’t like the troubled look on the brunette’s face, “Hey, now, don’t start feelin’ sorry for him. He’s barking mad. Would have just as soon killed ya, if it weren’t for the geas he’s under.
“I just suppose I have sympathy for anyone under a curse,” she replied, but dropped the subject.
Johnstantine coughed, “I want you to keep everything on the down low for a while, Gracie. Dark days ahead. Those blokes that you fought are part of something big: a new player in town who has a major hard-on for the supernatural. I’m startin’ to think it was you they were after all along.”
Grace tried not to sound worried, “I’ll be careful. I always am.”
“Good,” the mysterious Englishman rose and patted her shoulder, “’Night, Gracie,” and turning up his collar, he strode out.
Footnotes, Wonderful Footnotes
I suppose the timeline of this story would almost have to be before Night Nurse #1, since events are mentioned as occurring after it that took place during Al B.’s introduction of the character. Speaking of whom:
Grace O’ Mercy is the lovely and talented Night Nurse. A vampire of mysterious lineage, though I’m willing to be dollars to donuts her past is tied up in a Hooded Hood plot somehow. Even though she’s a member of the evil undead she’s actually quite pleasant, helping out various residents of the Parodyverse when she can. Apparently she does some freelance work helping the mystical underground that lives in the twin cities as well. In the “Night Nurse” movie she will be played by Linda Cardellini.
Simon is Simon Maddicks, aka Killer Shrike. Normally a ruthless and incompetent supervillain, he has been cursed to follow the orders of Con Johnstantine, which usually puts him at odds against some supernatural threat. He is surprisingly capable in this story, maybe because he’s not wearing his topknot. In the film he will be played by Michael Ironside circa 1986.
Con Johnstantine is Con Johnstantine, irritating English occultist who seems to know everyone and everything. In the movie he will NOT be played by Keanu Reeves, oh no no no no no. He will be played by Sting, also circa 1986, just like Alan Moore intended.
The mysterious goons’ mysterious master is up for debate. Though I have my suspect and think in the film version he should be played by a seriously bulked up Ben Kingsley.
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