The cellar was filled with candles. A large coffin dominated the floor. Its silver furnishings glinted like something from a horror movie. Posters of those very same 'B' movies covered the walls. Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee stared from the walls. Anthony Hopkins' rendition of the duel-scarred Van Helsing studied her until she began to feel like Lucy, trapped in the unforgiving tomb.
Reminding herself that she was the slayer, Shade wandered over to a bookcase and ran her fingers along the book spines on the top shelf. Each one related in some way to vampires. A desk nearby was littered with papers. A skull held them down. From the teeth it had obviously once belonged to a vampire. She pushed it aside with distaste and flicked through the papers.
More vampires, but the papers made no sense. She scanned a yellowing newspaper clipping. 'Escaped vampire gunned down,' the headline screamed. She felt an ache in her chest as she thought of Damien and she threw the clipping aside. She picked up an official looking document and tried to understand the language. Complex, scientific jargon, it meant nothing. Something about retroviruses, activators and genomes. She threw it aside and ransacked the pile for something she could understand.
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