by Mandy Lee
Katia let out a little nervous laugh and placed her hand over her racing heart. “I’ve never met a vampire before. At least, I don’t think so.” She smiled wryly.
The vampire laughed, her jade green eyes alight with good humour. “You’re new to this world, hunh? You’re figuring it out though; not everything is as it seems. You’ve probably come into contact with us before and just didn’t know it. Most of us live and work topside because it’s so easy for us to pass for human. I’m Mara, by the way.” She extended her hand again.
Katia reached out and took Mara’s hand. Her skin was baby soft, but so cold that Katia couldn’t help a small shiver from racing through her body. Looking her new acquaintance in the eye, she introduced herself, “I’m Katia. I’m just down here to check on my friend Sergei. I’m guessing you’re the one that helped him. If you are, I owe you big time.”
Mara tossed her wild mane of corkscrew-curled fire-engine red hair over her shoulder. She glanced over at a table set up against a far wall. Twisting her hands nervously, Mara shifted her eyes back to Katia. “Yes, that was me. It’s actually the first time I’ve turned someone, and he was already so far gone…I just hope this works.”
Katia nodded. “No matter what happens, I appreciate that you tried. I don’t imagine this was in your plans for the night.”
Mara shook her head, red hair bouncing around her. “No, absolutely not. Baal came tearing in here with your friend in his arms. I was the only vampire in the bar at the time. He begged me to turn him.” She gave Katia a sad smile. “I never thought I’d ever turn anyone, especially when that person wasn’t able to make the choice…” She trailed off, looking far away as though she were remembering something from the distant past. Shaking herself back to the present, Mara looked Katia directly in the eye. “I didn’t get a choice, so I hope he doesn’t wake up hating me for this.”
Reaching out, Katia took Mara’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Thank you. It must not have been an easy thing for you to do. Can I see him?”
With an appreciative smile, Mara nodded and motioned for Katia to follow her. As they approached the table, Katia sucked in a sharp breath. Sergei was laid out like a sacrifice. What skin she could see looked like a roadmap of pain. Black and blue bruising, gaping red slashes, and burn marks stood out in sharp contrast to his deathly pallor. His skin had taken on a greyish cast, his chest was still, his lips blue. Tears began to leak out of Katia’s eyes as she realized that she was looking at her best friend’s corpse. A cry escaped her lips as she reached out to touch his arm. He was cold — cold and dead. And it was because of her. The tears came in earnest now, streaming down her face as she sobbed and dropped her head down to rest on the stillness of his chest.
As she cried, a gentle comforting hand rubbing her back. She cried until her tear ducts ran dry. Speaking quietly, Mara tried to comfort her. “He looks better than he did when Baal brought him in. I know that may be hard to believe, but his injuries were much more severe. They’re healing which is a good sign. We cleaned him up too. We put him in a clean pair of scrubs we got from the hospital where I work. I’m a surgeon. I thought it would be easier for him to wake up clean, not covered in his own blood. It can be disorienting at first.”
Katia looked at Mara quizzically. “A vampire surgeon?” She shook her head. “Never mind, that’s hardly the strangest thing I’ve heard recently.” Katia paused and looked back down at Sergei’s prone form. “I can’t even imagine what he went through,” she said with a hitch in her voice. “What will he be like when he wakes up?” She asked, reaching out to smooth back a lock of hair off his forehead.
“He’ll be the same person you knew before. The turn doesn’t change who you are at heart,” Mara replied. “It’s a different world now than it was when I was turned. With blood banks and synthetic plasma, all he’ll really have to worry about is a change in diet. He’ll also need to get really friendly with sunblock if he plans on going out during the day.”
“You can go out during the day?” Katia asked, shocked. “I thought vampires died in the sun.”
Laughing, Mara replied. “Pop culture has actually really helped to keep us hidden from the world. We don’t turn to dust in the sun, we’re just very sensitive to UV and burn very easily. Silver doesn’t bother us, nor do religious icons or garlic. We have a reflection in the mirror, and we most certainly don’t sparkle like some books and movies would suggest.”
“I’m guessing the whole turning into a bat thing is bullshit too, right?” Katia said jokingly.
“Afraid so. We’re not a particularly showy species really. I mean, aside from the fangs and the liquid diet, the only bonus prizes are increased strength and speed.”
“You said that the world is a very different place from when you were turned,” Katia said thoughtfully. “Do you mind me asking how old you are, or is that question kind of taboo?”
“Let’s just say that I’m officially an antique. Age isn’t something that comes up often in our circles. Most demons and fae creatures have long lifespans. Then there are immortals like vampires and angels. There are others as well…” Mara looked over at Katia, narrowing her eyes as she took her in. “You’re something different.”
Katia nodded and replied quietly. “Yeah, I’m something different all right. I just found out what I am. I didn’t get a choice about it either.”
Mara sighed and took Katia’s hand. “I’m sorry about that. I know what it’s like to have the life you know ripped away from you without warning. If you ever need a friend, I’d like to be one.”
“Thank you,” Katia said with a smile. “And we have someone in common now too.” She motioned toward Sergei’s body. “I meant to ask, why were you sitting down here on the floor? Why weren't you hanging out upstairs with B and Sam?”
“Honestly, I didn’t want your friend to go through this alone. Logically, I know he’s out cold right now, but he should have someone with him. Baal told me you might not be able to get here, so I stayed.”
Overwhelmed by gratitude, Katia leaned in and hugged her, marvelling that in this crazy new world she’d experienced more kindness and selflessness from demons than most humans exhibited in a lifetime. “You’re amazing. Thank you for taking such good care of him for me.”
The sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stone steps made both women turn as B appeared before them. Katia had only been in his company a couple of times, but in both instances he’d been a cocky smartass with confidence to spare. The man standing before them now looked shy. Turning her head to look at Mara, she saw a twin look of insecurity on the lovely vampire’s face. She’d begun twisting her hands together again, which was clearly a nervous habit. Smiling inwardly, Katia decided that if she and Luc came out of this whole debacle in one piece, she’d do her best to figure out if there was any potential there. Both Mara and B had gone out of their way to help her and her friend. Maybe she could do something to help them with a bit of matchmaking.
Clearing his throat, B broke the silence. “Katia, Luc sent me down here to get you. The two of you need to head out right away. We’re not sure if this is the best place for you guys to hole up. There are just too many demons coming in and out. Sorry you can’t wait around to see Sergei wake up, but we’ll find a way to get word to you when he does.”
Nodding, Katia turned back to Mara and gave her another quick hug. She joined B and they headed back toward the doorway together, though it didn’t escape her notice that he glanced back at Mara one last time before they moved out of sight.
Chapter Nineteen
The small white cloud puffed out in front of him as his breath crystallized in the cold. He stood silently gazing out the single window of his cell, the glass and wrought iron bars covered with frost and the oily black ooze that bled from the vines criss-crossing the opening, blocking most of the view. What he could see of the frozen wasteland beyond his window matched the state of his soul to a tee. Snow fell softly on the endless expanse of the blo
od-red lake. His soul was as empty as the landscape, his heart frozen.
He had no idea how long he’d been here; it was the only life he’d ever known. In his younger years, he’d spent hours spinning tales of where he’d come from, dreaming of the day that he would finally leave this place and experience…something. He was desperate for a taste of the world he read about in his many books, for contact with another living being, for a name. What other living creature didn’t even have a name?
He must have been someone at some point…belonged to someone. He had passed through many states during his existence in this place…sadness, hope, anger, and finally, resignation to a fate of eternal solitude and loneliness. The one kindness the Master had shown had been in teaching him to read. He’d been able to transport himself into a world apart from the dark, damp coldness that surrounded him. By the light of his candelabra, he had devoured thousands of books in his search for companionship and escape. The Count of Monte Cristo had quickly become a favorite.
He stepped away from the window and made his way back over to the small table in the center of the room. He picked up the dog-eared volume and flipped to a passage he’d read over and over. “He had so long ceased to have any intercourse with the world that he looked upon himself as dead.” He knew the feeling. It still startled him when he spoke aloud upon the Master’s visits; the sound of his own voice was odd and unfamililar.
He’d thought of suicide many times over the course of the years…always to be stopped by his one saving grace. The girl in his portraits. Who was she? He’d seen her in his dreams for as long as he could recall. Passing his eyes around the room he took in the hundreds of charcoal drawings. They started with the girl in childhood and followed her through her life to adulthood. Was she just a figment of his imagination, created by his mind to provide him with companionship? Why else would he draw someone that appeared to be aging in tandem with himself? In his dreams he felt as though he knew her. It was as though he were peering through the looking-glass directly into her life, living her experiences with her. The Master hadn’t been all that interested in his drawings until he’d begun pasting them to the walls of his cell. Now, he found them fascinating.
Frowning, he looked down at the newest drawing he’d produced. Shoving his tangled black hair back behind his shoulders, he raised the drawing so it was bathed in candlelight. This one was different from the others. It was the same woman with the long black hair and mismatched eyes, but this time she was gazing up into the face of a man. Closing his eyes, he thought back to this dream. The woman had always been alone before, in various settings, but always alone. Sometimes it had even felt as though she were staring right at him. This time she’d been distracted and upset, then suddenly the man had appeared beside her to comfort her. He was tall and strong, with light hair and gray eyes that had softened the moment they’d connected with hers. She’d looked at the man as though he could make her world right again.
He had never felt a romantic connection with this dream woman, but a kinship, a bone-deep feeling that she was somehow connected to him. As the dream played over and over in his mind, all he could feel was a crushing sense of loss, sadness and jealousy. He felt as though she’d been taken away from him somehow.
Laying the drawing back down on the table, he traced his finger lightly over her face. Would he stop dreaming of her now? Was this man standing beside her a sign that she would disappear forever? Should he put this one up on the walls with the others? A part of him wanted to keep it all to himself. That being said, it was a part of a series of drawings that encompassed his lifetime…and hers if she was even real. Rising from his seat and taking a small amount of sticky tack from the small container on the table, he headed toward the wall that contained his most recent portraits. He placed the newest picture right next to the last.
He gazed intently at the young woman in front of him and spoke aloud to her, something he never did when he was alone in his room. “Whoever you are, thank you for keeping me company all these years.” With that, he turned back toward the table, blew out the candles in the candelabra and moved through the darkness toward his bed. He climbed in and curled into himself as though it would help him disappear faster. Closing his eyes, he tried to will himself to sleep. Perhaps the cold would finally kill him tonight. Death could come for him while he slept…it would probably hurt less that way...
Chapter Twenty
Blood dripped rhythmically from the tip of the blade onto the stone floor. The steady drip, drip, drip soothed his anger. Sitting in his large leather chair, legs propped up on the top of the cracked desk, Satan surveyed what was left of his right hand demon. Pieces of skin and bone littered the floor. Voss’s severed head sat atop a marble stand staring blankly ahead, his blood trickled down the walls and pooled on the floor. In retrospect, it was a shame that he’d killed Voss; the demon had been loyal to him for centuries. But at the end of the day, everyone was replaceable.
Wiping the bloody blade on his jeans and setting it on the table, Satan drew the phone Voss had retrieved from his pocket and scrolled through the contact list to the entry that made his blood boil. Katia Andreyev had turned out to be a cagey woman. Oddly, her ability to evade him was a total turn on. She was obviously devious to have manipulated Lucifer into helping her so quickly. Perhaps once he’d finished the binding, he’d keep her as his personal pet. The things he’d do to her — just thinking about it brought a smile to his face.
They'd tracked her cell phone to that fucking ugly motel room only to find it empty. The signal died four hours ago; the last point of reference had been at The Devil’s Advocate. Voss had failed. He’d been warned not to show up in Halja without her. Once he got his hands on that weak-willed prick of an angel Lucifer, he'd make sure he experienced pain like he’d never felt before.
Rising from his seat, Satan crossed his office to an armoire. He had a visit to pay, and couldn't show up covered in blood. Opening the armoire, he rifled through the contents until he found a change of jeans and a clean t-shirt. He removed his blood-spattered clothing and tossed them into a pile on the floor. He hastily re-dressed and headed out of his office for the long trek down to the dungeons.
It was unusual for Satan to pay two visits to his prisoner in such quick succession, but he was at a loss for how to locate his quarry and the prisoner and his drawings were his only connection to her. As he walked, Satan took in his collection of priceless antiques and artifacts. None of them brought him any joy. They were useless trinkets in comparison to the one acquisition he really wanted...Katia.
Satan entered the room and focused his attention on the candelabra, the candles burst to life, flames leaping several inches from the wicks before returning to a normal burn. The young man blinked at the sudden light as he rose from bed. He looked oddly disappointed. Surely a visit so soon after the last would’ve made him happy. Satan shrugged off his musings. In the end, he didn’t really care how the prisoner felt; it was his usefulness that was of interest. Crossing the room to the most recent pictures pasted on the wall, Satan began a slow perusal — surely there would be some sort of clue here as to her whereabouts. There had to be something. As he moved along the wall, he saw the newest addition and froze, a smile spreading slowly across his face.
“I see you’ve added a new portrait to your collection,” Satan said, not removing his eyes from the drawing.
“Yes,” the young man replied simply.
“Who’s the man with her?” Satan asked, knowing exactly who it was, but eager to hear the artist’s reply.
He rose to his feet and crossed the room to join his Master in front of the picture. “I’m not sure. It’s the first time I’ve seen her with anyone else. He cares about her; that’s all that I know.”
“And did you dream of her while you were sleeping just now?” Satan asked, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of his voice.
The young man looked up at him, perplexed at this sudden enthusiasm. “Yes, I didn’t think
I would.”
“And what did you see this time?”
The young man frowned as he replied. “They were together again, but this time there was someone else with them. There was fog or smoke that kept getting in front of the second man’s face. The smoke was all around them...it didn't make much sense.”
Keeping his back to the young man, Satan’s smile grew until his face hurt. Amazing! His mental connection to her was clearly getting stronger. He could now see where she was and who she was with. He was abso-fucking-lutely going to exploit the shit out of this. Lucifer may think he was keeping Katia well-hidden, but nothing could hide her from a psychic spy. It was imperative his prisoner stay linked to her as much as possible.
“Draw as many of these pictures for me as you can and I promise to let you go free,” Satan said, turning to face his captive.
The prisoner looked up in confusion. “Why? After all this time, why let me go for the price of a few drawings?”
Satan shrugged, feigning an air of nonchalance. “Why not? They interest me. You’ve proven to be of little value, so I might as well set you free. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
Suspicion warred with hope in the young man’s eyes. Satan kept his expression as guileless as possible as he watched his prisoner’s inner struggle. Finally, it appeared as though hope had won out.
“All right, I’ll keep drawing for you in exchange for my freedom,” he said.
“Good man,” Satan replied. “I’ll leave you to it.”
With that, Satan left. As he walked back to his chambers Satan began planning exactly how he would torture every single person who had helped hide that damned Chimera from him. He threw his head back and laughed. It was good to be bad.
