by Aderyn Wood
It had been a strange day. Nathaniel had got them off the boat, and Georgette revealed she’d heard where Amynta had a headquarters nearby. She’d been right, and they’d hidden here, in this residential building in some small riverside town since they arrived just before dawn. Nathaniel had showered and changed clothes. He found a new coat too and transferred his diary to the clean pocket, checking the page with the sketch of Asha briefly, matching it with the images from his dreams. While Georgette had slept he’d explored the so-called headquarters, a lavish basement apartment really, with a double garage that housed a Jeep with a full tank.
He’d returned to Georgette’s sleeping form. She snorted a loud snore, nearly waking, before rolling over and snoring once again.
Nathaniel shook his head slowly. She was far from the hostage she was supposed to be. She didn’t cower at his every instruction, rather she eagerly anticipated his directions and asked questions about how he was feeling and whether he was strong enough, for fuck’s sake!
The wound in his arm tingled where the lance had sliced through his skin. The pain remained only slight, but the bleeding continued. Amynta had been right, it would never heal, not even with a feed of blood as nutritious as Georgette’s had been. Georgette had tended it for him and bandaged it, which seemed to have slowed the bleeding at least.
What am I doing with her? Her closed eyes rolled, and she snorted once before the regular heavy snoring began again in force. She’d filled him in, just as eagerly about all she’d learned while on the boat with Emma and that priest. Emma’s presence was close, Nathaniel could detect her sure enough, but there was something different in the scent. It was hard to place at first but then it came to him with a wave of nostalgia. It was sunshine. Pure unadulterated sunshine. She was feeding off someone very special indeed, and if Nathaniel’s suspicions proved correct, it would mean Emma’s death.
A new urge arose in him. One that he’d felt before a couple of times over the centuries – the urge to kill a very different kind of rat – the priest. But this time, the urge was also different. He didn’t so much as want to kill the rat as take him hostage and bring him to the mysterious destination that pulled on Nathaniel with increasing intensity. The same kind of want that made him bring the lance.
Georgette must go with him too. Amynta had wanted Georgette as bait, to ensure her hold on Emma and the priest. The slayer was determined to meet whatever was about to play out in the desert and she wanted Emma and the priest there with her. Perhaps Georgette would provide him with some leverage if Amynta got her clutches on him again.
Nathaniel frowned. He was eager to get going again. Georgette had declared they would be rendered useless if she didn’t get her sleep, and she promptly made a nest with a blanket on the sofa and slept within a heartbeat of laying down her head.
Nathaniel had also slept, but only for an hour or two, and once more he’d dreamed Asha’s story. Her lover, the pharaoh had arranged for her to become an initiate in the cult of Hathor, an idea to raise her status and have the court accept her as his concubine.
The image of Asha’s sketch lingered in his mind and he was tempted to bring out the diary once more to look upon the real thing. What he’d really wanted was to return to the world of sleep, so that he could continue Asha’s story, but Georgette’s blood had energised him.
He focused on the big woman once again. Her blood was filled with a richness that reminded him of buttery cinnamon. Normally such spices repulsed him, but now it brought to mind the aroma of plum pudding and spiced cakes that used to fill the kitchen and feasting hall of his father’s manse during Michaelmas. He suspected he could survive several weeks without another feed, just on the worth of Georgette’s vitality.
The pull on his stomach tugged and he placed a hand on his abdomen to disperse the tension. He turned and paced once more, impatient with the sudden force that made him want to leave this place, now. Outside, the sun was setting, he could feel it in his blood, and the urge to get moving burned through him.
“We best get going,” a voice croaked behind him.
He turned to see Georgette sitting up in her nest of blankets her hair a frizz of blond curls. The pink lipstick she was wearing had smudged so that some of it coloured her cheek. She got up and went to the bathroom, appearing ten minutes later showered and attired in the black guard uniforms identical to Schleck’s henchmen.
Another ten minutes, they were in the Jeep. “Which way?” Georgette asked as she looked at her face in the rear-view mirror and reapplied the lipstick that she took from her coat pocket. Then she opened the packet of strawberries she’d taken from the refrigerator in the apartment and popped one in her mouth.
Nathaniel gave her a heavy frown. “I’ve never before had a hostage worry about applying lipstick.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, Old One.” Georgette raised her eyebrows at him.
“Why are you so unafraid?”
She shrugged. “I’m a cop. I’ve been trained for these kinds of situations.”
“Unlikely.”
“The night wears on, vampire. Do we continue south?”
Nathaniel stared at her a moment longer. Once again, she radiated not one ounce of fear. “Yes, south,” he replied as a renewed pull tugged at his core.
As they travelled, Georgette resumed her chatter. “There’s something I haven’t told you."
“I find that difficult to believe.”
Georgette gave him a grin. “You’re getting a sense of humour, Chartley. That’s good. We’ll be friends yet you and I.”
Friends? He drew back his lips and forced his teeth to morph. The incisors grew sluggishly and only to a fraction of their potential length.
Georgette glanced at them. “Impressive, but save your energy for what’s to come.”
“And what is that, Georgette?”
Georgette focused on the road as she munched another strawberry. “I don’t know, though I’m beginning to piece the clues together. It has been quite the puzzle, but like all puzzles, with time and thought, the answer reveals itself. On the boat with Emma and Michael, I learned a few things. For one, they have formed a dangerous kind of bond. And I think you might know something about that.”
“She is grooming him.”
“Oui, but it is something more. They both grow unexpectedly stronger.”
Nathaniel narrowed his eyes on her. “You think there is something about your priest. That he is a particular type of… entity?”
Georgette glanced at him. “Like the Sanguis Sicarii?”
“Who are you to know of such things and survive?”
“Just a regular policewoman trying to protect the innocent.”
“You are most… irregular.”
Georgette smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But there’s is more I learned. While on the boat, Michael, the priest as you insist on calling him, he had to perform an exorcism.”
Nathaniel’s mouth fell open ever so slightly.
“Thought that would get your attention. It was one of the waiters. He became possessed of a daemon who wanted to get to Michael.”
“To kill the priest?”
“Perhaps. Or deliver him a message.”
“What message?”
Georgette stared at him. “To leave Emma.”
Nathaniel looked at the road and wished Georgette would do the same lest they drive off a cliff.
“It makes me wonder. Why would a daemon want Michael out of the picture? Or, is Emma that important for what is to come?”
Nathaniel wondered too. Was Michael truly Sanguis Sicarii? His mind flicked through its history, back to the conversations with Gavius. The old Roman had discovered their existence, these natural-born slayers were rare, many going mad with their gift, or killing themselves in its use. The taint in the blood was tempting and even the best vampires found it impossible to resist, but too much and such blood would render the vampire dead, never to heal.
“Well, what do you
think? It must mean something!”
Nathaniel grew irritated. Georgette was still looking at him and not the damned road, and if she continued much longer they’d crash. “The human’s ego is beyond comprehension. Spot a star falling and you wonder what it means. Have a series of coincidences and you wonder what it means. I’ll tell you what it means. It means nothing. The universe does not have a path laid out for you, nor for me. We mean nothing to the universe.”
“Agreed. But the daemon is no coincidence.”
“Watch the road, Georgette, you are merely human.”
The car slowed, and Georgette pulled into a carpark. They were in a small village and a cafe was open in front of the square, its neon light flashing, affronting the world with its ugliness.
“Why are we stopping?” Nathaniel asked.
“I’m hungry, Monsieur, and this little cafe makes the best koshari this side of Cairo.”
They travelled for another few hours. Georgette chatting all the while so that Nathaniel felt sure his ears began to ache. She’d laid bare all the evidence she’d been busy acquiring over the last year or so. Possibly more. She’d been open about her endeavours to uncover the mystery of one prophecy or another, as she insisted on calling it. “The final reckoning.”
Though there were parts of her story that remained sealed in mystery. Like why she was so unafraid of him, and how she’d found out about vampires and the likes of Amynta and Schleck in the first place. There were secrets buried deep within Georgette’s prattle that remained hidden when he probed her mind with his own.
“Do you know Gavius?” Georgette asked.
A rush of nostalgia gripped Nathaniel as he recalled his old friend. “Yes.”
“You’ve read his treatise on Dark Ones?”
Nathaniel stifled a smirk. “No.”
“It was through him I first learned of the prophecy. Well, he was the one who began to piece it all together. The clues from the bible, from the Dead Sea Scrolls, from ancient hidden tombs. From all sorts of sources. The End of Days has a meaning. It means something after all.”
Nathaniel scoffed. “Means something… Didn’t I convince you before? You rats are something else. There’s over seven billion of you on this planet now. You do realise that? And yet you foolishly believe when something happens, that it has to ‘mean something’, like the entire universe has been created for one individual in one moment of time. Can’t you see how foolish that is?”
Georgette gave a bemused smirk. “Of course I do. But I am not talking of such folly now. I know I am meaningless as far as the universe is concerned, and I have no issue with it. I rather enjoy being meaningless.”
Nathaniel scowled at her.
“But this is not to do with me. This is to do with life. It is an end-of-days prophecy and it is about to play out!”
A stab of pain shot through his core, as the tug pulled with a strong wrench. Nathaniel cried out and flung a hand to his stomach. His fangs extended for a second before the panic subsided.
“What is it?” Georgette looked at him with alarm.
“Stop the car,” Nathaniel hissed.
“Why?”
“Just stop the damn car.”
Georgette slowed and turned the car off the road. Outside was nothing but rocks and desert and a charcoal sky scudded with clouds. The moon glowed in a halo of gold in the east.
Nathaniel got out of the car.
“Where are you going?” Georgette asked as she grabbed her over-shoulder bag and followed. Her heavy steps on the road ringing like thunder in his ears.
“You have the lance?” Nathaniel asked, his hand clutching the pull in his abdomen.
“Oui, in my bag.” She was nibbling another damn strawberry.
“Good. We go on foot.”
“Into the desert?”
“Try to keep up.”
Georgette had no trouble keeping up. For a big woman she was remarkably fit. Though she slowed often enough to rummage for a strawberry in her bag, or a drink of water. The woman was a walking food storage unit.
She was noisy though, and if it wasn’t her heavy steps and cinnamon-scented breath assaulting Nathaniel’s delicate hearing it was her voice with her never-ending prattle. He had a mind to end her noisy life right here in the desert so that he could finally get his much-valued peace and face whatever was to come without being irritated. But Amynta had valued Georgette for a reason, and he would find out why. She could be used for some kind of leverage even, and Nathaniel would walk away from this end-of-days scenario. If nothing else, she would be good for a feed if he needed it. No, he wouldn’t kill her. Not yet anyway. He walked ahead to get some space between them, though, unbelievably, her prattle didn’t stop and he realised Georgette was talking through her theories to no one but herself, only stopping now and then to throw another cinnamon-dusted strawberry in her gob.
He touched the lance wound on his arm. The blood now seeped through the bandage. He would need nourishment sooner than normal.
“Aghhhhhhh!”
Nathaniel spun, his eyes morphing to hunting vision. Georgette was screaming as two shadows attacked her. Powering his legs he flew to her in one long leap. But by the time he’d landed on his two feet as soft as a cat, Georgette seemed to have the situation under control.
She’d thrown some object from her huge shoulder bag and the acrid stench in the air told Nathaniel exactly what it was – holy water. She must’ve had an infinite supply of the stuff. The shadows were vampires, Young Ones, a woman and a man. Next Georgette pulled a stake and charged a vampire with it, roaring in one long bellow as she plunged the thing into the vampire’s chest. It exploded into blood and ash, which fell all over Georgette.
Nathaniel turned to take care of the other one, but Georgette was already on him, her arm wielding another weapon, the lance, its gold resembled an orange flame in the weak moonlight. She sliced the Young One’s throat and he fell to the ground, gagging and drowning on his own blood which spewed forth. The wound, like Nathaniel’s small cut, never healing.
“Georgette,” Nathaniel said, astounded at the words about to leave his mouth. “Are you all right?”
Georgette looked at him, her breath fast, but she gave him a smile. “Oui, Monsieur. It seems someone is trying to stop us. Shall we continue?”
Chapter 20
In the dream, Asha weeps over the prostrate form of her lover, the pharaoh, who bears a mysterious and fatal illness. His skin is grey, his eyes yellow. With every new day his weakness grows, and he takes another step toward death. But Asha’s resolve is not broken. The sycophants who seek to wrest power hover too close to her lover now. But in the deep hours of night, Asha makes her way to the pharaoh’s chambers and curls up beside her lover.
“What if I told you of a way for us to be together, forever in eternity. You may die in this life, but I have made a promise to deliver our souls to one who will ensure our never-ending life together.”
The pharaoh’s eyes open, and his lips move. “Let it be so.”
For once when I open my eyes the dream remains. My heart lurches at the thought of Asha losing her lover. I yearn to help her, to help their love.
In the next moment I think of my own lover and a smile returns to my face. I long to see him. It has only been a few hours, but I want to touch him, to breathe in his scent.
I stand and dress and note the splatters of blood on the bedsheets. Increasingly I find it difficult to restrain myself when I feed from him. His blood is like a drug and I am an addict. I yearn for it.
The familiar thread of concern winds its way through my mind, but if Michael has suffered from the loss of blood it doesn’t show. Quite the opposite in fact. I reach for him with my mind and a small flutter of alarm flourishes when I realise something is wrong.
I pace to the window and open the shutter, but a bloom of dull daylight penetrates and scorches my skin sending a spiral of smoke up through the cabin. I gasp and close the shutter, shaking my hand. The burn heal
s in seconds and after a minute it’s as though I had never been burned at all.
It is strange that I have not slept through the day. Usually, my body wakes of its own accord near dusk. But it is not yet dusk. The pressure that pulls at me tugs so strongly I double over and clutch my abdomen. This time it does hurt, the pain isn’t a bad one, but it is a pain nevertheless and it entices me inland. It is time to leave the river and go into the desert.
I reach for Michael once again. He is troubled still. Some other essence intercepts his, and its familiarity is a concern. I clench my jaw. Amynta.
I nearly bound out of the cabin and up the steps to the main deck, but the daylight bounces through the passage from outside and I am immediately weakened.
I look at my hand again. The pain when the light burns is strong. As painful as any burn I experienced as a human – more so, for my flesh actually catches fire. But I wonder at a certain possibility. How long could I traverse the outside world in daylight before I burned to nothing but ash. Perhaps I could make it to the upper deck where I know Michael lurks. Perhaps I could survive long enough to assess the situation and to ensure Michael is safe from all danger.
I turn to face the door to the outer deck, and make up my mind to try, but at the very moment the cabin door opens and Michael stands before me, daylight caresses him and he shines like a star. I watch him for a second before my skin begins to scald all over and I throw my hands in front of me and scream.
“Emma!” Michael rushes forward and shuts the door. The pain subsides immediately. “What are you doing here? Let’s get you back into the cabin.”
His picks me up and I am surprised by his strength. Has he always been so strong? I marvel at the way he walks so swiftly with me in his arms; how he places me so gently on the bed, without a hint of exertion.
I look up at him to smile, thinking momentarily that we should forget all our troubles and resume our lovemaking. Flashes from the dream recur and lifts my mood.
But all my anxiety rises when I see the concern on his face. The fear emanates from him and that, blended with his tantalising scent makes my front teeth extend automatically. I clench my jaw hard.
