“You were weakened by the demon. I never should have left you there. He must have returned to attack you,” Aeron said with unexpected emotion and tenderness.
Leto dispassionately watched the scene. Aeron had shown no concern about Dexios, so why should she care for his children?
“I apologize for my condition. I would have fed, but…” Lorelei swayed on her feet, appearing child-like and delicate. The usual menace that exuded from her was absent.
Leto turned her face away to hide her smirk. The girl was playing Aeron, but he was too foolish to see it.
“You will feed from my own private stock, Lorelei. I am as much to blame for this as you. I should have realized how much the demon-fire had affected you.”
When Leto returned her gaze to the vampires, she was amused to see Aeron lift Lorelei as if she were a child. The girl wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her face against his shoulder.
“We must discover the true name of that demon and vanquish him,” Aeron said tersely to Leto, then swept out of the room.
Resting one hand on the doorframe, Leto watched the vampire rush to the staircase at the far end of the hall. The wolves joined her at the door and nipped at her fingers lovingly. The pungent fragrance of magic and smoke filled the air and Leto whipped about.
Siana the Oracle floated before the fireplace, her pointed toes barely grazing the white carpet on the floor. The gauzy fabric of her Grecian dress clung to her damp flesh and beads of moisture flecked her black hair. The long streak of white hair was plaited and adorned with gold chains and precious stones. Beneath the scarf wrapped around the Oracle's head, orbs of pale blue fire burned where her eyes should be.
“Siana,” Leto whispered.
With a delicate twist of her fingers, Siana summoned the doors to close.
They clanged shut.
Leto remained with her wolves just inside the room, waiting with both excitement and trepidation.
“She’s going to open the chest and unleash what’s within,” Siana whispered, her delicate pink lips barely moving.
Smiling rapturously, Leto pressed her hands to her bosom. “At last…”
“Are you so foolish, Leto? You know the power of prophecy and the hidden meanings they contain.” Siana drifted toward Leto.
“Who do you serve, Siana?” Leto asked, agitated.
“I serve the gods.”
“Then, no, I am not foolish for you serve me.”
Swirling about Leto, her gown fluttering like white wings, Siana tilted her head. “Yours is not the only voice I hear.”
“They’ll twist the very fabric of the universe to have their vengeance,” Leto answered confidently. “The scales will be balanced at last.”
“How do you know that the balance will suit you?” Siana’s body drifted upward like smoke from a fire.
“It will suit me.” Leto knew that the prophecy may at long last bring her own days to an end, but she was prepared.
“Then we shall see what will be.” The Oracle’s body sifted into mist and dissipated into the shadows.
* * *
“Drink the blood, Carlotta,” Armando ordered yet again.
The emaciated vampire stared with disgust at the bottled cow’s blood resting on the kitchen counter in Armando’s apartment. “I can’t.”
“You will.” Armando scooted it closer to her bony hands. “You need to heal the worst of your wounds.”
“There’s hardly any power in it,” Carlotta protested.
“But enough to help you.” Armando leaned toward her. “Do it for your son. You need to be in your right mind tomorrow when you leave Houston. If you go mad with the hunger, you will put yourself at risk along with Francisco.”
Cloudy eyes flicking to the teenage boy moodily prowling around the swanky apartment decorated with a mix of antiques and modern furniture, Carlotta grunted, then lifted the bottle to drink. A few gulps emptied it. Obviously repulsed, Carlotta shoved it away. Armando immediately replaced the bottle with another.
“It’s cold!”
“I don’t have time to heat it to your desired temperature!”
“Don’t yell at my mother!” Francisco snarled.
The open floor plan of the apartment allowed Armando to see the boy hovering near his workspace. The array of computer monitors was dark. Armando hadn’t written in weeks. He wondered if he ever would again. The abandoned computer and the book sitting on its hard drive were part of another world that Armando no longer felt a part of. One phone call would kill his author alter-ego and release him fully into the world of the vampires. The thought brought both relief and regret.
“She needs to feed. There is no room for argument.” Returning his gaze to Carlotta, he said in a terse voice, “I will force you if I must.”
With a growl, Carlotta grabbed the bottle and consumed the sticky, cold blood within.
Francisco shoved the office chair away from the desk, letting it roll across the floor and bang into the wall. With a ferocious scowl, Francisco returned to his mother’s side. The teenage boy’s amber eyes were filled with anger and fear. Though the vampire was nearly as old as Armando, the creature would forever be trapped with the mind and body of a teenager. How terrible to be forever caught in the throes of adolescence. A slight sliver of compassion pierced Armando’s heart, but he hardened himself against it. He’d give the vampires shelter for one day, but they had to leave at sunset.
Armando was in low spirits and in no mood to babysit the two other vampires. The emptiness within his chest was devouring him and he was lost without Vanora’s presence to fill him. She was his exquisite love and pain. That she was most likely lost to him was unbearable to contemplate, or accept. After the long centuries of embracing his inhumanity, the awakening ember of his soul was unbearable agony. The man he had been while at the side of his Master would have yearned to extinguish that spark, but Armando now fanned the ember into flames. Once he had told Vanora he was a monster with a human heart, and the truth of those words resounded within him. Perhaps, in the end, the darkness would swallow him and separate him from Vanora, but he was determined that she should live in the light.
With disgusted sounds, Carlotta hurled the bottle into the sink. “I don’t know how Roman lived this way.” Tears sparkled in her black eyes as an agonized whimper escaped her reddening lips. Carlotta covered her face with her hands, her diamond engagement ring catching the light from overhead. “Oh, God…how much more must I lose?”
Francisco embraced his mother, attempting to calm her.
Carlotta’s emotional outburst too closely resembled Armando’s own pent up feelings. Instead of consoling her, his anger zeroed in on her. “You brought this on yourself! All this misery!”
Slapping her hands against the granite countertop, Carlotta glowered at Armando. Though the cold animal blood wasn’t as powerful as human, she appeared not as corpse-like and it was obvious her strength was returning as cracks spread along the counter from beneath her palms. “Don’t you dare say such a thing to me! My misery is because of you!”
“You cannot blame this on me,” Armando shouted, determined to deny the suffocating might of his guilt.
“From the moment I met you I played your game! The game the payos demanded of me!”
Armando bristled at the word used by the gypsies to describe those outside their community. “This is not about you being a gitano!”
“All you payos used me. You wanted me to be your fiery, seductress, so I was! Putting on the mask you gave me provided a home, money, and security! I pretended to be what you wanted while cursing you for never loving me! I loved you so much it burned in my soul and yet you threw me away for your precious wife! Did you even care what would happen to me?” Carlotta’s dark eyes burned like obsidian fire.
At her side, Francisco was silent, but clearly agitated.
“This isn’t about the past!”
“Yes, it is, Armando! It will always be about the past, because we are vampires!
We are ruled by our pasts! We will be destroyed by our pasts! Can’t you see that? I was foolish enough to believe that you returned to me out of love. I accepted your offer of immortality because I thought you loved me! But you never did! But Roman loved me! He saw beyond the mask I learned to wear for so long and he loved me. He loved my children! He would have been a good father to my children!” Carlotta clenched her hands into fists until blood seeped from her palms. “Roman is dead. My youngest children are dead. All that remains is my pain and my son. And even he is not completely mine.”
“Mother,” Francisco hissed, his amber eyes darting worriedly toward Armando.
“Don’t say it.” Armando’s voice was lethal with its warning. “I do not want to hear the words. I do not want to even consider your lies. All you do is lie. It’s all you have ever done!”
Weeping openly, Carlotta shoved back her dark hair with bloody fingers. “For you…I always lie for you…”
“I’m not your son,” Francisco said vehemently to Armando. “I’m not.”
Armando and the boy glared at one another with perfectly matched expressions. “No, you’re not. You’re Carlotta’s.”
Armando turned away, not wishing to see the teenager’s face anymore. It reminded him of other times and other wounds. At this point he didn’t even care if the boy was his blood, whether half-brother or son. Already he was weighed down by the loss of Vanora and he was not of the mindset to deal with anything else. The power of the coming day dragged at Armando’s limbs and mind. Emotionally drained, he gestured toward the bedroom. “In there. The sun comes.”
Increasingly weary, Armando escorted the bedraggled vampires to the secret compartment tucked into a wall. The entrance blended seamlessly into the surface and was opened by a mechanism on the far side of the room hidden in the pattern of a painting. Francisco looked into the space that was large enough for a twin mattress and small console of security monitors. Stooping down to fit into the three foot high doorway, the teenager shot a worried look over his shoulder at Armando.
“How do we know you’ll let us out?”
“It opens from within. You can even lock it so that I can’t open it.” Armando sagged against his dresser, too tired to argue. “The monitors will come on at sunset. They’re infrared, so if a vampire is in the apartment, you’ll see them by the cold spot on the screen. Don’t come out if you see more than one.”
Without a word, Carlotta crawled into the hidden chamber. Her sobs were instantly muffled by the soundproof walls.
“And where will you be?” Francisco demanded.
“I will sleep out here. I have no one to fear. It’s my Master who rules the city now.” Armando shrugged a shoulder. “I have never been safer.”
“I hate you.”
“Good.”
With one last glower, Francisco crawled inside and pulled the door shut behind him. It instantly vanished into the smooth wall.
In a near stupor, Armando trudged to his bed, pushed aside the heavy drapery, and fell onto the coverlet. A part of him wanted to weep, but there’d be no consolation in that indulgence. Though he knew he shouldn’t do it, Armando reached into his pocket and switched on his phone. The battery was low, but it didn’t matter now that the sun was breaching the horizon.
Are you safe, he typed and sent the message.
Yes, are you? came the almost immediate reply from Vanora.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had a feeling she’d been waiting to hear from him.
Yes, but he wants me to take you to him.
Can you resist the edict?
Armando winced at the words on the screen. Slowly, his fingers pressed the letters on the screen.
No.
The pause that followed seemed to stretch into eons, then Vanora responded.
I hate him.
We’ll find a way.
Yes. I love you.
Armando struggled to type in his last message as sleep tore at his mind.
Love you…
* * *
Sheila pressed her knuckles to her lips. The edge of the counter bit into her buttocks, but she didn’t pay attention to the discomfort. Alone in the darkened kitchen, she fought to sort out her emotions before she fell apart. The loss of so many friends weighed on her soul, but the interaction she’d witnessed between Vanora and Alexander left her feeling disconnected from the man she loved so much.
Vanora knew Alexander’s voice.
Sheila had never heard it.
Was it petty to feel so much jealousy? Alexander loved her. Vanora loved Armando. But for a brief moment ,she’d seen a connection between the two that had felt like a stake through her heart. They’d shared something she never could with Alexander. It was irrational to feel like she did and she knew it, yet she couldn’t stop feeling as though she’d loss something precious.
“What is she doing?” Tracy slipped through the shadows into the kitchen.
Angel followed in her wake. He was fully healed and glutted on the blood of humans.
How far they had all fallen from Roman’s teachings. It hurt to acknowledge the truth, yet they really had no choice. To fight to survive meant they needed to be strong.
“A ritual,” Sheila answered.
“I know that, but what for?” Tracy was dangerously on edge, but Sheila couldn’t blame her. If Alexander had died instead of Ben, what state would she be in right now?
“To uncover the core of her power.”
“But are we sure she’s a witch?” Tracy looked skeptical. “It’s not like we ever saw her do any magic.”
“Her mother didn’t teach her how to control her powers, but…” Sheila hesitated. Should she tell what Vanora had whispered to her earlier? The vision of the temple, the three women, and bronze box sounded fantastical, but Sheila trusted in Vanora.
“Magic is serious stuff. If something goes wrong…” Angel said worriedly.
“Everything is wrong.” The bitterness in Tracy’s comment was ugly, but not unexpected.
“Aeron wants her and Vanora wants to know why. Her power is the key.” Sheila shoved away from the counter and hugged herself. “Vanora may be our only hope of survival.”
“She’s so young,” Angel said, bowing his head sadly. “So young to deal with so much shit.”
“We’re all dealing with shit.” Tracy leaned her head on Angel’s shoulder. “No one is getting out of this alive.”
The words hung like a beacon of truth in the darkness.
That thought saddened Sheila. She’d lived a long life with Alexander, but she was not ready to let it go.
Alexander entered the room and crossed to the sink to wash dirt off his hands. He’d been helping Vanora set up in the larger bedroom. Drying his hands on his shirt, he pulled Sheila into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. The coldness of his skin was comforting and she leaned into him. Even if she couldn’t hear his voice, she could feel his love. And that was enough.
Vanora could feel the gaze of the vampires on her. Clustered in the doorway nervously watching as she set up her makeshift fire pit, the vampires were silent. Alexander had brought some flagstones in from the backyard to protect the floor and the cast iron Dutch oven was filled with smoldering coals. The windows were open to let out the smoke and the room was very cold. Sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, Vanora huddled in the warmth of her coat.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Sheila asked, her voice slicing through the frigid air.
“No,” Vanora answered. She closed her eyes to check the details in the temple within her mind.
The three women were waiting for her to finish the preparations. The fire pit in the temple glowed fiery red and yellow. Checking on her own facsimile of the temple fire pit, Vanora was satisfied with her progress. The coals were no longer on fire, but suffused with incandescence.
“It’s almost sunrise. Maybe you should wait until tonight so we can protect you,” Tracy suggested.
T
racy and Angel were just behind Sheila and Alexander. Vanora had been surprised to see that Tracy had remained at the house, but with the sun making its appearance within the hour there wasn’t time to escape the city. Hopefully, the four vampires would depart at sunset. Vanora didn’t want to see them fall to Aeron’s army of minions.
“She’ll be fine. I’m here.” Greg crouched in the corner, elbows resting on his knees, watching with a scarily intense look upon his face.
“But how is a demon to be trusted?” Angel’s voice was laced with distilled hostility.
Giving Greg a pointed look, Vanora said, “He wants vengeance. He won’t do anything to derail his chance to see Aeron die.”
The corner of his mouth twitching, Greg’s eyes glimmered like the coals. “You’re smart, Snow White. You may just pull this off.”
Vanora rolled her eyes at the nickname.
“I’ve known Greg for a long time…” Sheila said cautiously. “If he swears on his cock not to molest, harm, or do anything I wouldn’t approve of to you, I’ll rest much easier.”
Greg snorted.
“What will swearing on his dick do?” The doubt in Tracy’s words reflected Vanora’s own trepidation.
“He’s an incubus. Swearing on his cock is like swearing on the…” Sheila hesitated.
“…Bible,” Greg finished for her. “But only if lying after swearing on the Bible got you struck with a bolt of lightning.”
“His power is in his…” Sheila flinched, gesturing with one hand toward Greg’s lap, clearly uncomfortable with the continued discussion of the demon’s sexual organ.
“Powerful penis,” Greg said with obvious glee.
“Will anything bad happen to you if you swear on it and break your oath?” Vanora concentrated on Greg, attempting to hear his thoughts. All she heard was the buzzing of flies. It was disconcerting.
“If I break an oath sworn on my own power, I vanquish myself. And that is not something I want to do, trust me. I like being on this plane of existence. A lot. There’s so much fresh pus-”
In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Third Season Page 4
