by S J Williams
She screamed, making the note as high and as loud as she could, directly in his ear. Bartholomew flinched back, shaking his head like he was trying to flick water out of his ears. She scrambled off the bed and slammed into the door, her ankles wobbling dangerously on her heels.
Bartholomew recovered too quickly. He jumped over the bed so fast, he was a blur to her eyes. He slammed into her, crushing her between him and the door, knocking the air clean out of her. He lunged again with his teeth and, this time, there was nothing Effie could do to stop his fangs from piercing her neck. The bite wasn’t clean. Effie felt her flesh tear under his ripping jaws. One hand scrabbled weakly at his back, at the door, at empty air.
She couldn’t breathe. She was drowning in agony that felt like it was sparking from her neck to her toes. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t think.
I’m dying, a terrified voice repeated over and over in her head. I’m dying. I’m dying.
With that thought came a realisation that did more to stop her heart than Bartholomew’s mouth at her neck.
Sebastian. She was leaving him again.
Sebastian had let Henry take the lead, trusting his friend’s hound-like ability to chase down the psychic traces of his quarry. He had led them down a narrow passageway and into an even smaller tunnel which they had had to scramble through, backs bent double. The tunnel had opened out into a back passage behind the hôtel. Henry had spun to the left, Catarina and Sebastian hot on his heels, only to come to a screeching halt at the edge of a road.
“Damn it.” Henry shouted, looking up and down the road. Cars slid along its length. “He planned this.”
“Of course he planned it.” Catarina snapped. “He’s been one step ahead of us all the way.” She looked more furious at herself than anything else.
Sebastian looked around. There was a valet lounging against the side of the neighbouring building, a lit cigarette an orange beacon in the shadows. Sebastian slipped into his mind, rifling feverishly through his memories.
One stood out. A dark haired man leading a woman in a long evening gown, diamonds sparkling at her throat. It was the diamonds that had interested the boy. Fantasies abounded in his mind of all the things he would do if he were rich enough to buy a necklace like that. The man walked up to a waiting taxi and ushered the woman inside, not letting go of her arm. The valet wasn’t sure that was necessary but who knew how these rich toffs thought? Probably didn’t want to lose sight of his investment.
The man leaned forwards, giving directions to the taxi driver. The valet lost interest, his attention slipping to the car. It was a nice one, one of the new taxis that had started appearing in the city. Some kind of exclusive car and chauffeur hire. Though, if he was going to hire a car for one of these occasions, he’d go for something a bit flashier, a Lamborghini or a Ferrari. He got to drive them sometimes, his mind drifting to some of his better memories and wondering if he would be missed if he sneaked round the back for a smoke.
Sebastian left the boy’s mind. The memories had barely told him more than he already knew or could have guessed. Except for two crucial things.
“He went that way.” He barked to the others, pointing west towards the river. “They left fifteen minutes ago.”
“Did you get any details about the vehicle?” Catarina asked, guessing what he had done.
Sebastian shook his head. “Not enough to be a lead. But I did get the company.”
“How can that help us?” Henry asked, a frown of confusion creasing his forehead.
“It’s an exclusive one. They’ll probably keep track of their vehicles.” He said, whipping out his phone to search for the company.
It didn’t take much to persuade the company they wanted to help him, not after they worked out who he was or, more specifically, how much he was worth and which function he was attending. Another car was promised to come to him within minutes.
The company was as good as their word, the car turning up promptly seven minutes later. Seven minutes of agony, pacing and providing entertainment for the bored valet.
Sebastian slipped into the driver’s mind even as he was sliding into the back of the car, Catarina and Henry close behind him. What he found there was more than useful. This driver not only knew which colleague had been assigned to Bartholomew, he also knew the location of the drop off. Latching onto the memory of the driver’s surprise and disdain that one of their cars was required to deliver to such a low class hotel, Sebastian followed the train of thought to the hotel name and its location.
The car moved off from the kerb moments later, following the same route Bartholomew’s car had taken earlier.
Dropping out of the driver’s mind, Sebastian turned his attention to the road, nudging the impulses of other drivers and changing the circuits on traffic lights. A slightly less legal use of his talents.
They were already too late to intercept Bartholomew before he could lock himself in a room alone with Effie. Sebastian could only hope Bartholomew’s long term plans for Effie meant the vampire wouldn’t do too much damage to the source of his investment. That hope didn’t stop him from imagining all the other things the vampire might do to his prey once he had her in a confined space without witnesses.
He had the door handle in a white-knuckle grip, ready to spring out the moment the car stopped.
The hotel the car finally arrived at was indeed in a seedy neighbourhood in central Paris. None of them had any quips to spare about Bartholomew’s stingy taste as they barrelled out of the car and into the lobby.
Henry froze the instant he walked through the door. His eyes flashed gold again.
“Fifth floor. Room 508.” He said shortly to the others. He led the way to the stairwell, practically flying up the steps.
“Blast these shoes.” Catarina cursed behind him, then Sebastian heard a clatter as her shoes fell back down the stairs.
A door with a large number five loomed into view. Henry burst through it, almost tearing it from its hinges. Sebastian pushed through behind him. He scanned the corridor, looking for a sign to room 508.
He didn’t wait for Henry to pinpoint the trail. He didn’t need to. He followed the scream.
The door to room 508 was locked when he reached it. Pressing his palm against the lock and sending energy zinging through the mechanism, he barged into the room and nearly fell over Bartholomew pressing Effie to the door.
The collar of the vampire’s white dress shirt was drenched in red. It was all Sebastian could see.
With a roar, he threw himself on Bartholomew, wrenching the vampire off Effie and slinging him across the room. Bartholomew’s back collided with the far wall and he slid down to the floor in a crumpled heap. He didn’t stay down, though. Springing up with a reptilian hiss, he launched himself, flying over the bed as Sebastian charged forwards. Huge claws burst from the beds of his fingernails as he raked them across Sebastian’s face. Sebastian ducked to the side, trying to get under Bartholomew’s slash, but couldn’t stop the vampire’s claws burying into his shoulder. Growling, he wrenched his shoulder away and caught Bartholomew by the throat, slamming his head down onto the hard carpet. Then, Sebastian seized Bartholomew’s hair with one hand, his lower jaw with the other and twisted.
With a sickening crunch, the jaw broke then tore clean from Bartholomew’s head. With a strangled gurgle, Bartholomew tried to scramble away, but Sebastian still had a hold on his hair and he used that grip to pull the vampire into a headlock. Moving too fast for the vampire to react, he twisted the neck then kept on twisting, telekinetic energy flooding from him to rip through the bones and sinew in Bartholomew’s neck. He roared again as the head tore away, spraying the room with blood.
“Burn this.” He snarled to Henry behind him, thrusting the decapitated head into his hands. “Burn all of him. We can’t let him regenerate.”
Then he threw himself down beside Effie, gathering her body to him and pouring all the energy he had in him into healing her. Her stuttering heart graduall
y regained a steady rhythm, but it was far too slow. She was barely breathing. Even with his support, it wouldn’t be enough. She had lost too much blood.
Catarina’s hands appeared in his vision as she laid them on Effie’s chest, adding her healing energy to his. She met his eyes when she felt the full extent of the damage.
“We’re too late.” Her voice was hollow with disbelief.
“Not for this.” He growled, feeling his fangs slide into his mouth.
Ignoring Catarina’s inarticulate moan of protest, he lowered his face to the undamaged side of Effie’s neck and bit down, injecting his venom directly into her bloodstream.
Effie stiffened in his arms, her eyes snapping wide open as she convulsed. He tightened his grip on her, willing the venom to work quickly. Even a few seconds more might have been too late.
At last, Effie collapsed against him, not moving, not breathing. The room was very still as all three of them waited, not daring to draw breath.
Then Effie’s chest began to rise and fall again, at first with a jerk and then more slowly, steady, as if in sleep.
The relief was palpable as they all let out a sigh.
“I hope this wasn’t a mistake.” Catarina whispered, her breath slightly short as if she was still having trouble getting enough air. The tension in the room ramped up again.
“It’s not a mistake,” Sebastian said, squeezing Effie closer. “She’s alive. She’s safe. Anything else, we can deal with.” He refused to even contemplate the possibility that he might live to regret those words.
Someone began to hammer at the door. Sebastian felt the mind of the security guard on the other side. The screams and shouts had frightened guests along the corridor who had alerted the hotel staff.
“Cheap hotels without soundproofing.” He muttered, not putting Effie down when he stood to go and deal with the guard, swiftly wiping the man’s memories and leaving him with the idea that he had come across a domestic argument.
“How are we going to explain all the blood?” Henry asked, piling both Bartholomew’s body and head in his arms with a look of supreme distaste.
Sebastian amended the guard’s memory to feature a very violent domestic argument. It wasn’t a particularly good job, but it got them out of the hotel, apparently being escorted by the guard. Sebastian altered the vision of everyone they met to remove the more suspicious sights of blood and missing body parts.
Catarina, the only one of them with her hands free, was on the phone, calling up one of the council cars used for dealing with wet work. It would mean an awkward wait on the pavement but the seedy neighbourhood would help with that. It was unlikely there would be many lingering tourists or passers-by to stop and gawk at them.
The car, a large dark van, was driven by Lucien himself.
“Get in.” He said curtly, his eyes only lightening for a moment when he saw Effie alive in Sebastian’s arms and felt the absence of grief in Sebastian’s energy. “How long since you killed him?” He asked, nodded at what remained of Bartholomew as they arranged themselves in the back of the van.
“Maybe ten minutes?” Henry looked at the others for confirmation.
Catarina nodded at him. “Closer to twelve now.”
“Then we’ve got just under an hour. We’d better hurry.” Lucien said grimly. “We don’t know what effect that elixir might have on his regenerative ability.”
Sebastian didn’t argue, even if the last thing he wanted to do was to go with the others to the council’s morgue and crematorium, situated underneath the hôtel. He wanted Effie in a safe room, in a comfortable bed, with a dressing on her neck for as long as it took for the regenerative powers of her altered blood to kick in.
“Forgive me love.” He murmured before he tore a strip from the hem of her dress to form a makeshift bandage that he pressed against her throat.
No response. She was dead to the world. But, crucially, he thought, not completely dead. Not this time.
This time, he hadn’t been too late. This time, it would be Bartholomew who burned.
20
Effie thought she might be dreaming.
She was in a garden. A garden that was hauntingly familiar. And yet she could have sworn she had never seen it before. In the strange way of dreams, some details popped out at her while others remained indistinct. Elegant willows trailing their long, slender fingers into an ornamental stream glowed with vivid detail in the sunshine but she could have been walking through clouds as she approached.
A woman, petite and slender, was standing by the water, one hand caught in a spray of willow. She was waiting, Effie knew, for her. The thought filled her with such peace and love, the emotions buoyed her footsteps.
The woman turned to greet her, a smile blooming on her face. She was very small, or else Effie was much taller than in real life, Effie thought as she towered over the woman. The woman’s features became suddenly clear and Effie found herself staring into her own face. The dream Effie gave her a teasing smile, her mouth moving without any sound coming out. The words still made an impression, though, as desire flooded through her. They were finally alone.
The vision dissolved.
Effie blinked, staring around at her new location. A city, somewhere. A city in ruins.
The remains of wooden buildings lay strewn across dirt streets, their timbers blackened by fire. A few people picked their way through the detritus, their clothes rough, homespun and in a style that looked like it came from a history book. Not that this seemed odd to Effie. She barely noticed the people, except to pity them. This wasn’t her city. She was just passing through. She was always just passing through.
Effie stared out over the dramatically altered cityscape, her eyes falling on the ruined spire of a church. Distinctly, the thought rose in her mind.
Not even St Paul’s was spared.
With the thought came regret, guilt perhaps. Things had gone badly wrong. She wasn’t responsible for this destruction, but she felt culpable anyway. Things she had done or, rather, things she hadn’t done, had led to this fire.
She looked down at the ashes under her feet and was surprised again – as well as not being surprised at all – to see the ground so far away. Her legs weren’t her own, either, though the dream logic fought against this thought. In the dream, it was entirely normal that she had a man’s legs and boots.
This isn’t me, Effie thought in a moment of clarity before the dream threatened to sweep her up again. I’m looking at the world through someone else’s eyes.
Before she could fully grasp that thought, the dream changed yet again. The same place but a radically different city.
She was running through underground passages, dodging the legs of refugees who had come below to shelter from the bombs. The blitz.
This is London, the conscious part of Effie – the part who knew she was Effie – thought. This is London in the 1940s. Specifically, during the Second World War.
The dream Effie continued on, leaving the Underground tunnel where the Londoners were sheltering. She wasn’t alone this time. Another man, a friend, closer than a brother, ran with her, slightly ahead. Her brother knew where he was going, following a trace that no one else could see.
A trace that ran abruptly into a dead end.
The body Effie was occupying slammed into the wall, beating at it with fists that healed as soon as they were bloodied. Her brother caught one of those fists.
“Stop, Sebastian! Stop. There’s no point.”
She/Sebastian turned to see Henry’s face, alone in the darkness, his expression pained with the frustration that she/Sebastian felt.
Black rage welled up, along with a despair that she tried to quell but couldn’t. It threatened to overwhelm her.
At once, a competing emotion, a balm, soothing patience and compassion was shoved into her mind from an external force. It battened down the despair, even if it had little effect on the rage. That cooled into something hard within her. Something that felt almost evil in it
s ruthless intensity.
She/Sebastian nodded at Henry in gratitude for the relief he had provided.
It was Henry who pushed back the despair, Effie thought, independent of Sebastian’s memories – and she was sure they were memories – which had started to swirl again. She owed him more than she’d realised for keeping Sebastian sane all those years.
The memories kept coming, some only snippets, seemingly from any time or place in the last two thousand years. Few of the recent ones were happy. The best ones, she noticed with a pang, featured her. They made her heart ache, even if she didn’t recognise the events in Sebastian’s memories.
Or was that quite true? she thought, as she found herself in another city, another garden, both of which haunted her with a strange nostalgia that had nothing to do with how Sebastian saw them. She knew these places, she decided. She knew that, if she walked down that path to the right, she would find an arbour that she always went to when she wanted solitude, an arbour she would permit no one but Sebastian to enter. Sebastian turned his feet towards that path now. Effie was suddenly filled with doubt that what she had just thought was not, in fact, something she had picked up from his thoughts again.
I’m losing myself, she thought, slightly panicked. She could no longer be sure where her mind ended and Sebastian’s memories began.
The garden disappeared and more memories rose up, some throwing her into nightmares.
I want out, she thought desperately. I can’t take much more of this.
She considered beating against Sebastian’s mind, but she didn’t want to damage him when he was so bruised already by the ravages of grief.
She began to focus inwardly instead, creating a bubble around herself and filling it with everything that she was sure truly belonged to her. Only when she was certain she had some form of identity to stand as a buffer between her and Sebastian’s mind did she dare to focus on the memories again. She still had no idea how she had got caught up in Sebastian’s mind. His collection of memories didn’t seem to have any focus or conscious direction. It was like his brain was just cycling randomly through his life.
