Devil's Dream

by Shayne Silvers

  The Necromancer grunted. “Well, I don’t have time for the media outlets. I have you. Who is this man and why do we care about him?”

  Renfield stammered awkwardly and I wanted to burst out laughing. The Necromancer hadn’t seen my face, even though it had been blasted all over the news. “I think he’s still at large, Lord Necromancer.”

  He grumbled unhappily. “That blood strumpet is more trouble than she’s worth,” he cursed. “Only useful because Dracula likes to hump her almost as much as he loves fresh blood.”

  I blinked, feeling deliriously pleased with myself at learning I had killed Dracula’s bedmate.

  I heard the Necromancer advance closer, pausing thoughtfully. “I’ve always wondered why Dracula hates you so much, Renfield. The fact that no one knows the truth is what emboldens their cruelty. I’m sure you’re unable to speak of it, knowing Dracula’s penchant for privacy,” the Necromancer murmured, sounding bored. “Since you don’t seem to have a brain cell in your head, we may as well get this over with. Let’s have a look at the dangerous Shaman. I’m required to check the inventory before putting it on the plane for our trip back home.”

  I steadied my nerves, hanging my head low as I debated a dozen courses of action I might take. His boots stopped no more than a pace away from me.

  “That would mean now, Renfield.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Renfield stammered, likely having no idea what I expected him to do. “Just nervous, my lord.”

  The Necromancer sighed impatiently. “I’ll just do it myself!”

  His hand grabbed the hood and yanked it off. Thankfully, the room was dimly lit so I didn’t wince on instinct. I slowly lifted my gaze, panting anxiously as I waited to confirm my suspicion—the suspicion I’d had the moment I first heard the Necromancer speak.

  The Necromancer stared at me, his smug grin rapidly fading into a visage of horror.

  I stared at him, narrowing my eyes, recalling that night so long ago when my tribe had been attacked. When I had felt magic blanket the area, blocking me from sensing the attack soon enough to prevent it.

  “It’s so good to see you again, old friend,” I snarled, twisting my wrists so that the fake, knotted rope binding my wrists fell to the ground.

  Nero—the world’s first warlock—stared back in utter shock, dropping the hood.

  “Sorin…” he breathed, his voice shaking. “You’re alive.”

  “Just in time to watch you die, traitor.”

  And I lunged for his throat, wanting to rip him in half with my bare hands.

  My old warlock friend, Nero, was Dracula’s Necromancer.

  My old warlock friend, Nero, had betrayed me and destroyed my family.

  I was truly going to enjoy this…

  41

  I slammed into a wall of solid air and snarled viciously. A lamp came flying from behind me and struck Nero in the jaw, causing him to stumble and release his shield of air. I lunged through his magic and gripped him by the throat, snapping my fangs at his face. My hand didn’t rest on flesh, but a wide band of metal around his throat.

  Nero stared at me—not in fear, but in shock. “How?” he rasped.

  I slammed him down to the ground so fast and hard that the back of his head struck the wooden floor first, his boots thumping to the ground two full seconds later. His eyes rolled, dazed by the blow, but he didn’t cast any magic at me. I punched him in the side with my free hand, breaking one of his ribs to jar him back to his senses with pain.

  Renfield picked up the discarded lamp and slammed it down into Nero’s knee with a sharp crack that broke bone and shattered the lamp, causing the Necromancer to squeal in agony.

  “Why?” I demanded, baring my fangs as I stared into his eyes. The eyes of a man I had once called a friend. One of my two best friends.

  “It wasn’t me, Sorin,” he wheezed, clutching at his broken rib and knee, whimpering. “But I know how this looks—”

  I picked him up and flung him into the marble fireplace. He grunted as his back struck the mantle, knocking the breath from him before his body crumpled to the floor. Still, he didn’t cast any magic at me. The only magic he’d thrown had been a wall of air to keep me back, but he’d simply stopped trying after that.

  He stared at me, holding his palms up in an innocent gesture, gasping through his numerous injuries. “Lucian and I came back to find the camp destroyed. Deganawida told us you died, Sorin. What the fuck?”

  “Yet here you are,” I snarled, holding out my hands to indicate his richly furnished chambers.

  He nodded guiltily. “Lucian stayed behind to defend the Americas and build a new pack. I went to Europe to hunt Dracula down. I…” he trailed off, looking sick to his stomach. “I failed, Sorin. He caught me.” And Nero very carefully tapped the collar around his throat, hissing suddenly—as if merely touching the collar with his finger had caused excruciating pain. It took him a moment to regain his breath. “He sent me back to betray Lucian,” he finally whispered. “I had no choice. This collar prevents me from disobeying Dracula. I’m just a puppet—” His eyes suddenly widened with panic. “Oh, no! You have to get away from me before he senses—”

  Nero’s body abruptly stiffened in an entirely unnatural way. His head flung back and he rasped in pain. Then his body stilled and grew relaxed as if he’d fallen asleep—or died.

  I shared a quick glance at Renfield who shook his head. “No idea…” he murmured uneasily, shooting his attention back to Nero.

  My old warlock friend slowly rose, sitting up. His face was utterly calm and relaxed, and his eyes were suddenly solid red, his pupils gone. They narrowed upon seeing Renfield. “What is the meaning of this, stable boy?” he snarled suspiciously.

  But his voice no longer sounded like Nero. It was cold, sinister, and dripping with the arrogance of a self-righteous emperor. A voice I would recognize anywhere for its unique baritone.

  Dracula.

  He turned to me and visibly flinched, blinking rapidly. Then he leapt to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “You!” he snarled in that same voice, hobbling on Nero’s broken knee.

  “Dracula,” I growled, my claws flashing out. The collar apparently allowed Dracula to possess Nero’s body. Which was an incredibly efficient way to rule two hemispheres.

  “Sorin, my old friend,” he mused, his lips curling up into a macabre grin. “You just won’t die, will you? Perhaps you would like to join your friend? I have another collar especially for you.”

  I seethed, panting as Victoria Helsing’s blood seemed to scream within me, begging to avenge her father. My inner demon railed against my control, wanting nothing more than to skin Dracula alive. Neither cared that Nero was stuck in the middle.

  “Let Nero go and face me yourself, coward,” I hissed.

  “This answers so many questions, Sorin. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

  “Come to me, Dracula. Face me in person. I will wait for you.”

  Dracula grinned. “Oh, I will. Now I have a reason to come to New York. But not yet. First, I think I’ll watch you kill your old friend, Nero.”

  And he laughed a terrible laugh as he lifted up a hand, preparing to hurl devastating magic at me. Faster than I could blink, Renfield darted in front of me, slicing off Nero’s hand at the wrist. Dracula laughed, even as Nero’s face contorted in agony—giving me a horrifying juxtaposition. Nero’s body and soul were being tortured, and Dracula was not letting him address it, using his body like a puppet.

  Before I could think about what I was doing, I tackled Nero to the ground, gripping the collar with both hands. Dracula’s voice spilled out of Nero’s mouth. “No! Stop!”

  Dracula beat at me with Nero’s bleeding stump, causing Nero blinding pain but not caring about his host’s injuries. Dracula was perversely enjoying it. We struggled, rolling over across the floor as I tried to tear off the collar. Renfield dove in, pinning my foe’s shoulders down as I loomed over him, flexing every muscle as my claws squealed agains
t the cold, seemingly impenetrable metal. But with Dracula’s constant squirming, I couldn’t get a proper grip.

  Then the crucifix necklace fell from beneath my shirt, the chain having snapped in our struggle. The crucifix fell onto Nero’s forehead…

  And Dracula—not Nero—squealed like a stuck pig.

  Renfield redoubled his efforts, trying to keep Nero still as he thrashed and bucked in a desperate attempt to get the crucifix off his forehead. I gripped him by the throat and slapped my palm over the tiny, simple cross.

  It began to smoke, searing Nero’s flesh as it grew hot to the touch. And then it grew hotter. The scent of scorched flesh didn’t solely belong to Nero. My own palm blazed with fire, and I sensed Victoria’s blood fighting to freeze it and save me the pain.

  I stared down at Nero, watching his eyes, waiting for the red to disappear.

  Dracula panted hoarsely, cursing my name, my wife and son, my friend Lucian, but most of all, Nero.

  I leaned close. “I’m coming for you, boy,” I promised him.

  “You’ll never get near me! I own the travel industry! I will crash every plane and sink every ship leaving your shores!” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips as the red began to fade and slip away. “I own everything! I will throw the world at you, Sorin Ambrogio!”

  I stared into his eyes, smiling sadly. “I actually pity you, Dracula. Because you bought your own façade. You, who stood on the shoulders of a giant and convinced yourself that you were actually flying. Well, the giant is waiting for you. In New York City—which is now mine!”

  Dracula’s eyes danced madly, wildly, furiously. “I will kill every vampire in New York City! On the spot—”

  And Nero’s body suddenly slumped, falling unconscious the moment Dracula was finally banished. I flung the crucifix across the room with a snarl. I stared down at Nero and the cross branded into his forehead. I glanced down at my palm to see an identical scar, shaking my head angrily as I thought on Dracula’s parting threat. Then I gasped in understanding.

  Seeing Nero’s wrist still freely bleeding, I quickly grabbed it, spitting my venom onto his wound to halt the bleeding. I shot Renfield a panicked look. “You have less than sixty seconds to collect as many vampires as you can find and bring them to Hugo’s desk. After that, they are all dead.” Renfield nodded, racing out from the room in a blur. I closed my eyes, pulled deep on my augmented blood, and cast a protective net as far and wide as I could—covering maybe a hundred paces. I hoped it was enough to save some of the vampires from the curse Dracula was no doubt already performing. These vampires had the answers I needed, which was why Dracula was willing to kill them all—to keep them from me.

  I quickly searched Nero’s collar until I found the original clasp. It had been fused over with melted metal, judging by the burn scars on Nero’s neck, but I knew there was still a weak point beneath or Dracula never would have gotten it onto him in the first place. My muscles bulged as I strained, fueling my strength with Victoria’s blood. I screamed, the metal growing hot in my hands before it finally snapped in a resounding crack like a felling tree.

  I couldn’t be sure that Nero hadn’t been lying to me. That he hadn’t called Dracula himself. But I knew his injuries would keep him unconscious for a good long while.

  I felt a lead blanket of death abruptly press down upon the entire building and I cursed.

  Dracula had begun.

  42

  I hissed at the sensation even though I knew it wasn’t lethal to me or Renfield since we weren’t bonded to Dracula. The curse would only be able to kill his own bonded vampires. The reason I’d never been able to do such a thing to save my own empire was because Dracula had been influencing them with his blood long before I knew about the coup. That was the only explanation.

  Because I’d secretly tried to kill them all—much as he was trying to do now—and I’d failed.

  I dashed out of the room to find Hugo wincing against the unseen force.

  I sliced my wrist and held it over his mouth. “Dracula is trying to sever all bonds to his American vampires. You have less than thirty seconds before I can no longer hold him back.” Then I bit into his forearm without permission, sucking down a quick gulp of his blood. There was no time for anything else—do or die. I tore my fangs away and released him as he frantically began to gulp my blood. I withdrew my hand. “My name is Sorin Ambrogio,” I said hurriedly, realizing I hadn’t officially told him yet. “Swear your undying fealty to me. That you will faithfully and loyally serve me, and only me, until death do us part.” He repeated the oath faster than I had, panting at the effort. I latched onto our shared blood and forced it into submission with a snarl—not having the time to do it gently like I had with Renfield. But it worked, the sensation of fire and ice actually making me hiss in pain.

  If I hadn’t had Victoria’s blood in my veins, it would have been impossible.

  Hugo’s shoulders slumped as Dracula’s pressure instantly backed off, no longer a threat.

  Renfield rounded the corner, dragging two overly pretty men by their overly pretty hair.

  Hugo muttered an annoyed curse to see the chosen survivors as Renfield kicked the back of their knees, sending them to the ground with a thud. Then he yanked their hair back violently. “Aristos and Valentine were all I could find, Master.”

  “My name is Sorin Ambrogio,” I snapped hurriedly, feeling Dracula’s dread power swamping over the building with greater malevolence. I fought back as best I could, redoubling my efforts to shield us for one more minute. “Dracula is trying to kill everyone. Swear fealty to me, and you get to live.”

  They nodded without hesitation, lifting their arms. I bit into each of their wrists, took quick gulps, and then tore my other wrist open. I held my arms over each of their mouths so they could drink my blood. Then I repeated the oath with them.

  Once they swore fealty and I bound our magic together—doing them both simultaneously—they collapsed in relief. I, on the other hand, stumbled at the stabbing pain of fire and ice, gasping hoarsely. Renfield caught me by the shoulders, steadying me for a few moments.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, shaking my head as the pain faded.

  My three new vampires stared at each other, looking bewildered. A palpable hush suddenly pressed down over us, like heavy cloud cover drifting across the full moon.

  Death quietly fell over New York City, and I knew every vampire with ties to Dracula had just died. It was stunning in scope, but not surprising as a tactic.

  “Why would he do such a thing?” Aristos whispered.

  I grunted. “He knew I could steal your fealty. He wasn’t punishing you, he was trying to prevent me from gaining an army.”

  They suddenly seemed to recognize me. “You…are the man from the news.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yes. The man Mina Harker tried to frame for murders he didn’t commit. She died under mysterious circumstances upon meeting me at an auction.”

  Renfield chuckled and they shot him an instinctive, reprimanding frown.

  “I am the world’s first vampire. The man who turned Dracula.”

  Their eyes widened incredulously, but they didn’t dare voice their doubts. Not less than a minute after I’d just saved them.

  I smiled as I watched the machinations and politics begin to start, their eyes narrowing as they sized each other up, vying for power. Unbelievable. They were about to realize that I ran things quite a bit differently than Dracula.

  That I refused to make the same mistake twice.

  As the three newly saved vampires were still sizing each other up, internally preparing their pitches to inform me how they could serve me better than their colleagues, I shot Renfield a macabre smile, holding out an inviting hand for him to handle it as he saw fit. The three noticed this, frowning warily.

  Instead of answering their curious looks, I turned my back on them and began walking back to Nero’s office. “Renfield is my number one. Before you comment on my decision—ev
en respectfully—you should think extremely hard on how you’ve treated Renfield over the past centuries. And you should know that I trust him implicitly. Enough to close this door right now and leave you three in his most capable hands.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Come see me when you’ve finished getting them in line. I want to know what they’ve been doing for Dracula and the Necromancer. Immediately.”

  “Yes, Master Ambrogio,” Renfield said, dipping his chin. For the briefest of moments, his eyes met mine, and no amount of words could have relayed how grateful he was for my trust.

  For the second chance I had given him.

  I nodded back, acknowledging the silent thoughts. “That will be all, Master Renfield.”

  I let the door click shut behind me.

  I stared down at Nero’s unconscious form for a few moments, thinking. Then I stepped over his beaten, bloody, and burned body, and sat down in his chair, kicking my feet up on top of his desk. Deganawida’s journal sat on the corner, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  But I didn’t touch it.

  A strange device with a pad of numbers and a retractable attachment that looked eerily similar to the call icon from Nosh’s expensive phone sat atop the desk. I frowned at it for a few moments. Then I pressed the order of numbers to call Stevie’s phone, curious how the device worked. Nothing happened. I scooped up the attachment and heard a rapid series of beeps from within. I held it to my ear, grinning as it began to ring in a familiar fashion. I grunted victoriously, waiting for Stevie to answer.

  Victoria answered instead, sounding frantic. I smiled. “Sapphires and moonlight,” I murmured. “It is done…”

  I heard her responding purr through the phone, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. We spoke for about two minutes before she cut me off and told me she was coming to see me in person. I smiled eagerly. “That sounds delightful.”

  She hung up before I could ask about Nosh.

  Renfield opened the door, peering inside. “I have them gathering pertinent information that I thought you might want to see, but it will take them some time.”