A Taste of Crimson

by E. M. Knight

  Yrak reaches behind him, and in his hand appears a strange black sack. It was obviously not there on his body a second earlier.

  He tosses the bag to me. Automatically, I reach out to catch it. The moment it hits my hand, the unexpected weight of it makes me lunge forward awkwardly.

  Yrak and Cierra both keep a straight face, but I know they’re laughing at me.

  Damn them both to hell.

  “In there are the bits and bobs used to feed them. Most of it comes from the remains of stronger demons hunted by me. Demons have a hierarchy, as well, and the weaker do not feed on the strong. By giving them such nourishment, they will treat you as a god.”

  I look at the rag in my hands, not even wanting to look inside. I can all but feel the poisonous fumes emanating from it.

  “That food stock will cost you the equivalent of another twelve demons,” Yrak smiles. “Which, lucky for me, is going at twice the usual rate.”

  So much anger builds inside me for being so blatantly ripped off, it’s incredible.

  But I keep my mouth shut, because I know I am in no position to barter.

  “So, you’ll take them?” Yrak asks, even though I know it’s not a question. “Excellent. Let’s go into my office where we can discuss terms.”

  He waves one hand lazily through the air, and an oily black portal opens. It only reaches up to my shoulders.

  I know he did that on purpose.

  “Go on,” he says. “Step through.”

  “Her first,” I say, nodding to Cierra.

  “Fine by me,” she says under her breath, then ducks down and disappears.

  “Your turn,” Yrak tells me.

  I have to crouch down to fit, and do it grudgingly. The moment my body touches the void, a terrible suction takes me.

  A second later, I’m catapulted out to the other side.

  I stagger and almost fall, the open wound pulsating with pain. When I catch myself and look around, I am hit by an incredible sense of awe.

  We are on the peak of a mountain—and the top is above the roiling clouds. The sky above me is perfectly clear, a more perfect blue than anything found on earth.

  There are two suns, clustered close together. Their rays do not burn.

  For a moment, I am absolutely astounded. I had assumed the constant cloud cover was what made passage through this world possible. Now, as I stand here, I understand it is the nature of the suns.

  The realization will be forever etched in my mind. It is not light itself that harms us, but the specific sort of light made by the burning elemental composition of Earth’s sun.

  These two suns must have a different atomic make up, serving no threat to our kind.

  As I’m coming to grips with the implications of all of that, Yrak steps out, and the portal closes. He gives me a knowing look before proceeding forward.

  He gestures with one hand again, and a small hut appears before us. I do not think he conjured it; it was simply camouflaged.

  He opens the door and walks through. I follow, and Cierra comes last.

  The inside is just a single room, but densely cluttered.

  There is a desk on the opposite side. Yrak jumps up onto it, then down onto the chair.

  He turns and offers us our seats. Two short stools appear by the desk.

  Again, without complaint, I take one, Cierra the other.

  Once I’m seated, I take a proper look around.

  The space is littered with all sorts of paraphernalia. I had to step over half a dozen scattered objects to reach the stool. There are half-open books, various scrolls, and random glass bottles and jars. The shelves, which take up every inch of the walls, except for where the door is, are filled with more books and odd trinkets. The objects are strange in the sense that I cannot get a good look at them. Every time my eyes try to stop upon one, they sort of slip over, as if the items are protected from being seen.

  The desk itself is a mess of papers, maps, rulers, and pens. There is an hourglass filled with black ash. There is a globe made entirely of silver. It takes conscious effort to resist the effects of the metal, being as close to it as I am.

  The shelves behind Yrak hold the most interesting items.

  There, I see rows upon rows of small glass jars, the sort used for storing herbs. But inside each is a moving, roiling, twisting mist that appears, bizarre as it may seem, to be trying to break out from the container.

  Yrak notices me looking. He smiles.

  “Curious?” he asks. He reaches back, his arm stretching out to double in length before snapping back to him, one of the jars firmly in his hand.

  He places it on the table between us, then nudges it forward an inch. I do a double take when I realize the mist inside is in the shape of a struggling woman. She bats against the glass, mist coming together to give her form before dissolving, then coming together and dissolving again.

  “And here we come upon he most important thing,” he says. He taps the container. “Life.”

  I glance at Cierra, and am shocked how clearly desire for what’s inside the jar shows on her face.

  Yrak yanks the little jar away. He brings it to his nose, screws open the lid just a bit, and inhales the mist deeply.

  I see the figure of the woman open her mouth and scream as she’s sucked into his nostrils.

  A tremor passes over the imp. For a brief moment, his presence flares, uncontrolled, and it’s so much stronger than anything I’ve felt before, that a very real sense of awe overcomes me.

  It’s shuttered away soon after. Inwardly, I scowl, detesting the feeling of being so far below someone else.

  Yrak sets the small jar back on the table. He taps it with one long, gnarly finger.

  “The cost,” he says.

  Something has changed about his mannerisms. He seems more… languid now, like a big cat after a feast.

  I look from the jar back to him. “What?”

  “This is what you will pay for your army,” he says. Casually, he reaches down and pulls a drawer open.

  He pulls out another seven jars from there, each of them empty. He pushes them in my direction.

  “Take them,” he says.

  I have a suspicion of what they represent, but I must be sure.

  “You want me to pay you in souls?”

  Now Yrak leans back and looks amused. The fingers of one hand drum against the surface of the table.

  “If only it were that easy,” he says, gracing me with a pitying smile. “Not any souls, Logan. I require the souls of the strongest vampires. Only those at your level of might or higher will do.”

  I feel my body tense. “That is impossible,” I say. “Eight jars—there are not so many vampires on earth so strong. The closest to me still possess only a fraction of my strength.”

  “Ah, but there you are mistaken.” He beckons me closer. “Let me tell you a secret, King. There are hidden, reclusive groups of just such vampires all over the globe. It is your task to find them, capture them, and then extract their souls for me.”

  “How would you know they exist?” I demand.

  He laughs. “My friend, where do you think I came from?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cierra still staring at the rows of occupied jars on the shelf behind the imp.

  “You have been in the blood for a mere six hundred years, yes? Do you really think you are among the first?”

  “I only know of one vampire stronger,” I say.

  “One is not enough.” He runs his hand over the empty jars. “I require eight.”

  “I am King of the greatest coven on earth,” I tell him, starting to lose my patience. “If there were more powerful vampires than I, they would be known to me.”

  “As I said before,” he yawns. “Your coven does not seem so mighty if it needs my demons to destroy another.”

  “That’s different,” I hiss. “The Haven is ruled by a witch. She protects her people with magic. The demons are to rip through her defenses.”

 
“Perhaps you will discover a vampire or two of surprising strength inside, then,” he offers, toying with me.

  He knows he’s set me up with an untenable task.

  “I can think of five, maybe six others, who have potential to come close to me in power,” I say, my mind going to Morgan, Eleira, and my children. Plus, of course, Dagan. “But none of them can best me in strength, not even if they feed on the blood I’ve been drinking for centuries.”

  “The onus falls on you to deliver,” he says, dropping his voice low. “Fail this, and being added to my collection—” he gestures behind him, “will seem like heaven compared to what I will do to you.”

  I surge forward, gripping the edge of the table angrily. The wound in my midsection screams in protest, but I fight through the pain.

  “You are asking for something that cannot be done,” I stress. “It is not a question of my will. Nobody can turn iron to gold. You want me to get you the souls of vampires who do not exist.”

  Yrak glances over at his silver glove. He considers my outburst for a few moments.

  “And what if I showed you where such vampires could be found?”

  “Then I will do it,” I vow, seeing no other option before me.

  “Very well. I will aid you in this. But the aid does not come for free. Do you accept?”

  “What, you want more than eight souls now?”

  “No.” He smiles. “I just want half of them to be able to do magic.”

  He dangles his finger over the surface of the globe, and the terrain shifts to show a representation of Earth. Before I have a chance to answer, he spins it my way, so I am faced with the North American continent.

  Three points on the land start to glow. “These are the locations of the hidden ancients,” he tells me. He turns the globe again, so that now I am shown Europe and Asia. Five spots start to glow around the Mesopotamian valley. Another four dot the southern half of China. “And here are some more. Remember these locations clearly, Logan, for your ability to fulfill your end of our deal depends on them.

  I tuck the images of the Earth away in my mind. “Fine,” I say. “If you are convinced I can find vampires stronger than I there… I will deliver them to you.”

  Yrak nods. “Remember what I require for this knowledge. Half must—”

  “Have access to the Elemental Forces, yes,” I growl. The task grows harder by the minute. I meet his eyes. “You expect me to fail, don’t you?”

  “I wish you nothing but the best of luck,” he says glibly.

  “When I find these vampires… how am I supposed to get their souls?”

  “Cierra will help with the extraction,” he says. “I’ll leave the working details to you. Such things interest me little.”

  I hold out my hand to seal the deal.

  “Fine,” I say.

  He looks at my outstretched hand almost with disgust. He chuckles. “Do you expect me to just take you at your word?” Another smile crosses his lips. “I need a stronger oath than that.”

  From another drawer, he pulls out a long glass vial and hands it to me. “Fill that with your blood.”

  “What?”

  “Your blood,” he repeats, too patiently. “It must fill the vial.”

  “To what end?”

  “As insurance,” he says. “If you fail to live up to your end of the contract, having your blood will allow me to find you, summon you to me, torture you, and, eventually, perhaps after another few hundred years… kill you.” He snaps his fingers. “The blood, please.”

  Every self-preservation instinct inside me screams against doing it.

  “If I refuse?”

  “Then I’ll kill you now,” Yrak says, as carelessly as if he’s discussing the weather. “I won’t even torture you before. All things considered, refusing might be the smarter bet.”

  I snatch the vial to me, tear a fang into my forefinger and let the blood pour out.

  I thrust it back to him. He takes it and smiles.

  “Now we have a deal,” he says. He summons a black portal off to the side. “Shall I introduce you to your new army?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Dagan

  Near Beatrice’s Hideout

  I sneak to the edge of the camouflaged opening in the side of the mountain, Beth half a step behind me.

  She is certain Beatrice is in there. I remember the vision showed to me by the ancients of Beatrice’s awful creations. Disgust and revulsion fill me at the memory.

  I am fully committed to seeing them all destroyed.

  I look back at Beth. She gives a small nod of confirmation. I see the spot where the plane disappeared into the rock.

  I take a deep breath, readying my body for whatever we might find on the other side, and plunge through.

  The illusionary rock is… more solid than I expected. Pushing through it feels like pushing through a great torrent of water unleashed by a fire hose.

  The discomfort only lasts a few seconds, and then I’m through.

  Immediately, my fangs and claws are out, my senses scanning everything for the faintest hint of life. Lucky for us, the entrance is abandoned. Beatrice is much farther inside.

  Beth appears beside me half a second later. That blue glow surrounds her but disappears when she realizes there is no threat.

  Yet.

  “This cloaking was not done by the female half of the Elements,” she informs me. She sounds almost relieved to make that announcement. “It is the male half that protects the entrance.”

  “Great,” I mutter. “Yet another male sorcerer.”

  I do one more scan of the surroundings, then gesture for her to step after me.

  We stay close to the walls as we make our way down the path. The place feels oddly cold. Not cold in the regular sense of the word, but cold as in unwelcoming, devoid of life, dead.

  I do not like the atmosphere one bit.

  “Where is the plane?” Beth asks.

  I stop short. I’d been so focused on scanning for external threats that the absence of it didn’t even register.

  “I don’t know,” I say, looking back. The tunnel we’re in now is too narrow for a vehicle of that size. It should have been present in the initial stretch of the cave.

  “We have to be careful,” she says. “This feels wrong.”

  “I agree,” I say. “But there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

  “I hope we’re not walking into a trap.”

  “We most certainly are,” I mutter. Then I give her a grin. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Not the word I would use.”

  I smirk, and then continue down the ever-narrowing path.

  We must walk for a good fifteen minutes before the first hint of a presence hits me.

  I stop short.

  “What is it?” Beth demands.

  “I felt someone,” I say. “Didn’t you?”

  “No.” She peers deeper into the darkness. “Beatrice?”

  “I’m not sure. Be on your guard.”

  I offer a few words of thanks under my breath that I had Beth cloak us before we entered this place.

  Despite my absolute hatred for magic, I can accept it when it gives a strategic advantage.

  We prowl onward. I keep my senses on high alert, ever-vigilant for the slightest hint of another body.

  The presence I thought I’d felt does not reappear.

  We keep walking. The atmosphere in here shifts to become even more menacing.

  The closest memory I have of feeling something like this was back when I was still a human, a boy just short of puberty, and had gotten trapped underground by a sudden avalanche. It took two days to dig my way out, and by that time the whole village was on the other side searching for me.

  I push that memory deep down. Remembrances of my human days do little good.

  Ever so slowly, I start to get the distinct impressions of two beings, far away. The first, I immediately know is Beatrice. The second is someone new and, interestingly
, a human.

  “We’re getting close,” I whisper.

  Beth nods. She can sense the two of them just as well as I can.

  As we creep forward, one question springs to mind: what was the cause of that brief flutter I felt earlier?

  The inquiry is forgotten as we start to pick out snippets of conversation up ahead.

  “Yes, of course that is what we must do,” I hear Beatrice saying. Her voice initiates all sorts of angry feelings inside me, first and foremost the need to kill.

  I wonder absently how much of that is due to the influence having been exerted over me before.

  A man answers her. “Time is running short. The poison is spreading. I’ve given you what you asked. Now, you must give me what you promised me!”

  Beatrice’s shrill, amused laughter rings through the air. “Patience, dear friend. I can feel the poison in your body better than you. There are some days left yet.”

  “You already have everything.” He sounds angry. “You promised me this, Beatrice! Give me the Gift!”

  I motion for Beth to stop. Both of us stand still. I don’t want to risk our intrusion cutting off this conversation prematurely.

  “All things come to those who wait,” she says tenderly. “You’ve survived years with the poison inside you. I do not consider you so frail as you do yourself.”

  “Dammit, Beatrice, we had a deal,” he hisses. “I got you the obsidian. I got you Smithson’s blood. You could have gone out and done it yourself, but you would never have gotten past The Order’s defenses. I am the only one who could have retrieved it for you.”

  “Yes, that you did,” she says, a bit sadly. “Too bad the amount of blood is not enough.”

  “What the hell do you mean?” he roars. “I filled the vial exactly! I followed your orders to the letter!”

  “Yes,” she agrees. “But I may have been mistaken in my calculations. Now that I have it all before me, I can be more precise… and this amount is most definitely wanting.”

  “Not my problem,” he growls. “We had a deal. You had best make good on it, vampire, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” she cuts him off. “Kill me? Oh, I know you’re capable of that, given your immense abilities with illusions and such. But kill me, and you lose your only chance at eternal life.”