by Juniper Hart
Dozens of women had already congregated in the spot, most carrying babes in their arms. Almost instantly, a wall of Ottoman soldiers drew toward the Souli women, swords drawn, prepared to attack.
“Come away from there, you fools!” one of the soldiers howled. “If you come to me now, I will show you mercy!”
Yet the women had other ideas and Lara watched in horror as they began to grin, maddened by fear and grief. Slowly, their feet began to rhythmically move to the beat of an unheard drum, a song from the heavens overtaking any last bit of sense inside them. Closer to the edge they danced, their steps that of the syrtos. As if rehearsed in some horrific thespian theater, they began to sing a low, melancholy wail which would haunt Lara for centuries to come.
“No!” Lara screamed as her mother joined the freakish display, suddenly understanding what the women intended to do. They would not submit to the bloodthirsty soldiers. They would claim their own lives and die with honor.
A strong arm encircled her waist and drew her back, Pascal’s horrified face mimicking her exact thoughts as she gaped at him. Lara looked back toward the village, but the warriors drew closer and there was nowhere to run. Through her peripheral vision, her mother disappeared off the side of the jagged rocks, her face serene as if she felt nothing but peace then.
With a superhuman strength, Lara broke free from Pascal’s grasp and rushed after her.
“No!” Without thinking, Lara flew off the cliff into the unforgiving Ionian Sea.
When she opened her eyes again, she had been ravaged by pain in every area of her body. There had never been such agony and surely one mere mortal could not endure such a shock.
Screaming for mercy, she jerked her body in agonizing spasms, her eyes burning until suddenly she saw Franz hovering above her. He seemed to float like an apparition and Lara was certain she had died and was being escorted to the afterlife.
Will I be met at Heaven’s gates? Will Mama be there too? she wondered.
Her mind was fragile, breaking, but before she could make sense of any of it, Franz whispered.
“Shh,” he murmured, collecting her in his arms. “You are safe, you are safe.”
Uncomprehendingly, she stared at him, unsure of why God had sent such a strange-looking angel, familiar as he was. His face drew near and she recalled how surreal his eyes seemed against the night, as if they were floating orbs in themselves, and only then did she realize that they were hovering over the rocks.
Both subliminally and consciously, she became aware of a metaphysical occurrence overtaking her fragile, broken body. Abruptly there was a stabbing pain and she fell into darkness once more.
The memory was still fresh and sometimes, the pain was as vivid as it had been two centuries ago. So much had happened since then, but Lara could still smell the salt of the sea.
As Lara stared at Franz, she was brought back to that moment, the moment he had taken her mortality from her without giving her a choice—ensuring that she was bound to him forever.
“You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days,” Franz growled.
“Get myself killed?” Lara snorted in reply to his warning. “I would love for nothing more.”
Again, she had not meant to speak her mind so freely, but the words were out and Franz’s reaction was expected. He grabbed her roughly and drew her toward him. Instantly, she regretted speaking her innermost thoughts aloud.
“Is that what this is about? You are vying for death? You would rather be composting in the cold ground than experiencing the world?” he snarled. “You’re still harboring resentment toward me for saving you? Your bitterness is getting old, Lara. You and the others are ungrateful, bitter.”
Lara yanked her arm back and glared at him, swallowing the bile in her windpipe.
“Is that what we have been doing for two centuries, Franz? Experiencing? I can’t speak for you, but I am cold constantly. Would it be much different if I spend my days decaying above the ground or below?”
Fury lit Franz’s eyes but to Lara’s surprise, he maintained his temper. He released her arms and laughed forcibly.
“Well, darling, I loathe that I’m the one to inform you of this yet again, but you are destined to rot away above the earth for eternity just as I am. I didn’t have a choice in the matter either, or have you forgotten?”
How could I forget? Everything I do is a reminder of what I’ve become.
Wisely, she did not speak the words aloud.
Lara responded by walking from the room but in her mind, she had other thoughts.
I’m not destined for anything yet, she thought grimly. Nothing is carved in stone, certainly not this hapless existence.
Her mind traveled to the lead case in her bedroom and fleetingly, she felt hope spring through her blood before it was gone again and she was left feeling nothing at all.
8
Pascal had reacted impulsively, almost prepared to snap her neck before he had seen her face. There was an expression in her eyes, one filled with longing and desire, and as he grabbed her, a strange electricity had flowed through him.
He had felt a jolt of surprise as he stared at her lovely face, his guard faltering slightly.
“Lara?” he choked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Pascal pulled her close, trying to examine the details of her face with careful deliberation. He wondered if he was just too drunk or if he was really seeing what he thought he saw.
As Pascal locked gazes with her, his eyes searching her ethereal orbs, he realized he was clutching her too tightly and she squirmed against him.
It’s not Lara. It’s someone that just looks like her.
After that, his memory faded completely. There was a flash of darkness and she was gone as quickly as she had come.
I didn’t see her. I was just hoping for some semblance of the tribe somewhere. Whoever that woman was, it wasn’t Lara…was it?
He tried to make sense of how he had come to be home, sneaking in under Kyla’s watchful eye, no less. Everything about it was bizarre and yet as the day progressed, Pascal was no closer to the answer he hoped to find.
After getting out of the shower and searching his room, he scoured the room for any evidence of where he had been. Even after sleep and bathing, his mind was not as sharp as he had hoped.
I was definitely at Molly’s Pub last night. That much I remember. Kyla would have seen if I were home before that and she was annoyed.
Pascal had been partially relieved to discover that Kyla had left while he was in the shower but another part of him was unnerved by the fact that she had given up so easily.
Is she off to tell Anatoli about my indiscretions like she said she would?
He couldn’t imagine it but if Kyla did make good on her threat one day, he knew he’d have no one but himself to blame.
But she won’t. She cares about me too much.
The thought made him feel guilty but not so guilty that he didn’t dress and head back out of the tiny house.
If Lara was still in Cape Town, he had to find her—assuming she wasn’t just an illusion.
Cape Town’s city center was alive with its normal array of drug dealers and pimps, the Cape Town Special Housing on Darling Street a dazzling display of police cars and addicted prostitutes lining the lobby. It was a sight he knew well, not for the working women or the police but as a spot for feeding.
The dregs of society had served to keep him hidden in those early days, when he had tried to blend in with the South African landscape, particularly when Kyla had been watching him constantly. These days it was less necessary, but Pascal felt oddly at ease inside the walls of the co-operative housing. He casually waited in the entranceway for a tenant to leave before slipping in, uninvited. No one paid him any mind, not that he had expected any kind of attention. After all, he was no odder a presence than the woman high on meth in the vestibule or the screaming couple assaulting one another in front of a uniformed cop and their toddler. He had l
ong since learned to detach himself from the heaviness of human suffering, knowing that the mortals mostly did it to themselves.
To them, he was merely a dark figure passing in the night, no cause for concern or deserving of any attention. Of course, no one knew why he was really there. Maybe if they had an inkling, they would have paid more attention.
Or maybe they would pay less attention, he mused, allowing his nostrils to guide him through the halls. Pascal forsook the notion of taking the elevator, lest there were cameras in the lifts, although he highly doubted the probability. That area was, without a doubt, one of the seediest parts of the metropolis and the government housing was simply the icing on the scum-crusted cake.
As Pascal stole up the urine-soaked stairwells toward the fourth floor, he stepped over two semi-conscious bodies and averted his eyes from several others who were jabbing needles into their veins. The entire scene was both upsetting and angering.
He could not help but think of how desperately his family and village had wanted to live all those years ago but had not been afforded the chance.
Meanwhile, these humans waste their lives, their gifts, like they have a million chances.
He knew he couldn’t dwell on that. It would only serve to make him furious.
Pascal opened the door to the fourth floor and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. A large Syrian family was waiting for the needlessly slow elevator to arrive, their children playfully chasing one another through the corridor, calling out cheerfully to each other.
They abruptly froze in their tracks at the sight of Pascal as if his face and piercing eyes paralyzed them in their shoes. The children could not board the hoist fast enough as it arrived, still casting furtive looks in his direction as the chipped doors closed behind them.
They’ll never come forward. They are already too afraid here as refugees, Pascal thought with confidence, making his way to apartment 410, where the scent was taking him. He hand-picked his feeds, watched them, studied them, and got to know them before attacking. He knew that the men he picked to feast upon were hardly pillars of society.
Or at least that was what he told himself.
Pascal wondered if he was trying to justify his actions, but he pushed the notion away. He didn’t need any more justification. He could not change who he was, but he could ensure that he only took out the nadir of society.
I didn’t ask to be who I am, he thought grimly. But if I’m going to be a monster, I’ll be the best monster I can be.
He tried the doorknob at the apartment, and it gave way easily in his hand. Pascal wasn’t sure why he found that surprising. It wasn’t as if there was anything worthwhile to steal from anyone living in that building. Maybe he had been expecting more resistance to his cause, but he didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Cautiously, he pushed open the door and eased his way into the short front hall. He could hear a television blaring from inside the apartment and he made out the shadowy outline of a woman in the kitchen on his right. As if warned by an internal sense, she jerked her head up and a gasp escaped her parted lips, her eyes resting on Pascal as the blood drained from her cheeks.
Pascal brought his fingers to his mouth in a gesture of silence, pulling a long, shiny knife from the depth of his black jacket. It was for show more than anything, a way to quiet witnesses without having to attack them full-on. Women and children were always off limits to him, even if his fellow tribesmen did not follow the same protocol.
Franz would just take out everyone.
He wondered why the regent had popped into his mind in that moment.
Because you’ve got Lara on the brain, he realized. Shame and humiliation flushed through him, but Pascal refused to let the embarrassment stop him. Whatever had happened with him and Lara was quite literally ancient history.
Anyway, he had a matter directly in his face with which to deal.
The woman’s eyes widened with fear.
“Please, take whatever you want!” she begged, waving her hands before her as if to ward him off. “Don’t hurt my baby!”
Pascal didn’t have a chance to speak a word before a voice called out.
“Who are you squawking to? I’m trying to watch TV in here!” a man yelled from the neighboring room. “Keep your voice down, Jackie.”
Swiftly, Pascal advanced into the living room where he faced a brawny, drunk man. He looked more or less the same as he had when Pascal had last seen him at the bar in Devil’s Peak Estate.
He’s just a little less bruised than he was when I left him that day, Pascal mused grimly.
“What the fu—?” the man started to say but before he could finish, Pascal was atop his bony frame, neck drawn back as he exposed the man’s jugular. The woman began to scream but it was the child’s cry which froze him in mid-movement. As if in a daze, Pascal turned his head to look in the hallway where a boy of no more than four stood screaming, his huge eyes wrought with fear at the scene that he was witnessing. Shocked at the sight of the boy, Pascal released his father and backed away, momentarily at a loss for which way to go.
A dozen daunting memories overcame him as he saw himself as a boy, watching the soldiers storming Zalongo and taking out his family.
This is not Zalongo and that boy is not me or anyone else. I am not a boy.
“Get off him!” the woman howled, rushing to beat at him. “Get out!”
Abruptly, he whirled, his heart hammering as he raced from the apartment. The screams of the woman and her son followed him down the steps and echoed in his head well after he had turned onto Darling Street, collapsing against the bank to catch his breath.
He was appalled to discover that he had tears in his eyes and Pascal blinked them away furiously, trying to regain his composure.
What the hell was that? I’ve never faltered during a kill before. What has gotten into me? It was seeing Lara, wasn’t it?
Pascal made a decision after finally gathering his breath, his composure still badly shaken. He couldn’t leave the family to describe what had happened. He would have to go back and finish the job but after the heat died down. The man’s death would go down as an unsolved homicide, another degenerate removed from the streets. There would be no investigation, only some minor formalities on behalf of the police. The only one who might miss the man would be his wife and child.
And they’ll be better off without him. I already know that, he thought.
With a backward look at the apartment unit, Pascal continued down the street, stealing away in the shadows and completely oblivious to the glowing brown eyes following his every move.
9
The plan had been for Kyla to return home and try to figure out what Dex’s warning had been all about but when she had arrived back, she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to get Pascal out of her mind.
She had made a half-hearted attempt to call Anatoli, but the witch hybrid had not answered or returned her call and as evening fell again, Kyla found herself growing antsy and unable to sit still.
I should go back and check on Pascal, she thought but it had less to do with ensuring he was all right and seeing his face. She hadn’t felt right since leaving his house and in hindsight, she wished she’d stayed. The combination of the call from Dex and Pascal’s strange behavior had not sat well with her all day.
She decided to head back toward his house before darkness fell entirely and she lost him again.
Yet as Kyla pulled onto his street, she caught sight of him slipping out of the house and her heart began to hammer.
She knew he was up to something, and she could guarantee that this wasn’t “job hunting”.
There was no need for him to do that, after all. He was well cared for as a Sleeper, whether or not he held a job. Anatoli had seen to it that all her trainees were fine. The work was more to ensure they blended in with their surroundings. They received a paycheck whether or not they were activated.
And the time for Pascal to fit in had long since passed
. He already had half of SAPS looking for him in one way or another.
With her brow furrowed, Kyla trailed after him at a safe distance. Pascal mounted a bus leading to the center of town and Kyla remained behind him, her heart beginning to thud with concern.
I should have just put a spell on him, she thought angrily. She’d had the thought before but this time, it was serious. She was tired of chasing after him.
Tonight, I’m putting an end to this, once and for all.
Kyla almost laughed at herself. It was a noble thought but as long as there was the elephant in the room, hovering between them, there would be no end to this game they had found themselves in.
Not unless she put an end to it.
She parked her Rabbit once she realized that Pascal was headed to an apartment building and paused, pursing her lips. If he was about to feed—or worse, meet someone—she didn’t want to be witness to that.
But she was there now, wasn’t she? What other choice do she have?
There was a choice, of course. She could get back into her car and drive away. She could go home and try to get to the bottom of the phone call with Dex.
But Kyla did none of that and her heeled boots made no sound as she made her way into the building. She had already lost sight of Pascal, but she could sense him there, nearby. Her heels made no sound over the stained, filthy carpet. She made her way to the stairwell at the far end of the hall, instincts driving her along.
This was ridiculous. She had no business being there.
But there was laughter in her head. Her only business was Pascal those days and if that was where he led her, that was where she would go to follow.
She found herself on the fourth floor and immediately made her way toward an apartment without hesitation. Pascal had not fully closed the door and Lara gently eased it open, watching him interacting with someone as he pressed his finger to his lips and flew further into the unit. She drew inside, wrapping her sweater about her body, overcome by a sudden burst of cold. Something she didn’t understand was about to transpire and she was torn between wanting to watch and fleeing.
