Part Two.

“So let me get this straight. They don’t have a problem with sunlight, but they do hate garlic. They can’t mind-control, but they can hypnotise. And they don’t shape-shift, but they are generally speaking quite flexible.”
“That’s right.” Sol Drake nodded, sucking a greasy slab of kebab meat off his thumb. As he grabbed another handful of thinly-sliced lamb and stuffed it into his chomping mouth, Nick McAllister continued.
“Are they vulnerable to religious artefacts?”
Drake stopped chewing and shot Nick a confused glance.
“I mean, can you fend off a vampire with a cross?”
Nodding slowly in understanding, Drake continued eating, slowly masticating until he could swallow the whole mouthful in one go. Wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve, he grabbed the can from the dashboard and slurped. “Generally, yes. Anyone who was baptised before they turned, show ‘em a cross and they’ll leg it. Anyone raised jewish can’t bear the star of David, likewise with the other major religions.”
“…and atheist? How do you stop an atheist vampire?”
Drake chuckled. “You kick his fuckin’ teeth in.”
“Seriously? You don’t hit him on the head with a copy of Darwin’s Origin of the Species or A Brief History of Time?”
“Can if you like, but you’ll just end up with a pissed-off vampire with a lump on his head.”
“What about Scientologists?”
“Don’t know. Don’t think I’ve ever met one.” He wiped his fingers on his coat and rummaged in a pocket for a moment. “But I do know one thing.” With a little grunt, he pulled something out. “All supernatural bastards, they don’t like this.”
Nick looked at it, and his eyes widened. “That’s illegal, surely.”
“Solid sterling silver knuckleduster. Vampire, werewolf, banshee, they’re all fucked up by silver.” He turned the weapon over in his hands. On both sides were engraved all manner of religious symbols. He tossed it to Nick, before grabbing another handful of meat and jamming the rest of his meal onto the dashboard. A quick glance at his watch and he plucked the knuckleduster from Nick’s fingers. “Right, it’s time.” Half-turning in his seat, he looked at the two men in the back. “Taffy, Burnsie – ready?”
“As always guv,” DC Chris Jones, sometimes (unkindly) known as ‘Taffy the Vampire Shagger’ (not his fault: he didn’t know at the time until she tried to bite his cock off during a blowjob) replied, picking up his riot helmet and securing it on his head. Opposite him, the bear-like form of Rabbi James Burns hung the last of his protective amulets around his neck and nodded.
“Well what are we waiting for? Engraved fucking invitation? Let’s go!” Drake threw the van door open and hurled himself out, marching across the street with a bit of a swagger, quickly followed by the other three, towards a small semi-detached end terrace house. Though it was still fairly new, the place had already seen better days, the paint on the front door cracked and peeling, the garden overgrown with weeds and long grass.
Drake hopped over the garden gate, then motioned for Burns and Jones to go round the back. He paused for a moment to let Nick catch up, then cracked his knuckles theatrically. “You wanted to see magic? Well, here’s your chance. Take a couple of steps back son, this may get messy.” Taking a deep breath, he drew his hands together and slowly clenched his fists. Nick had been with the Paranormal Operations Unit for nearly six months now, and had still not had the chance to see Drake in action; not in this sense at least. While Drake had regaled him with stories of how he had started out as a third-grade Hexer and worked his way up to a sixth-grade battle magician, Nick had had little opportunity to see his senior’s skills put into practice.
“Ballista, double top.” Drake said with a wink. The Ballista spell, whilst normally reserved for long-range engagements, made a perfect battering ram when used up close. Though to be honest, Nick was expecting something a little more spectacular; some glimmers of star-like light glinting around his knuckles or something. Instead, there was nothing. Not even the faintest hint of a sparkle.
Drake threw a punch, stopping it short three inches from the door. His lips drew back in a sinister grin as he flicked his forefinger, barely touching the wood.
The door exploded, flying back down the hallway in a shower of splinters. Drake stepped over the threshold, drawing in a deep breath. “Nobody move! Police!”