The Savage Vampire (The Perpetual Creatures Saga Book 5)

by Gabriel Beyers

  “Ah, I see.” The corpse stared with unblinking eyes. “Blind them and we’re free to escape. So, how do we do that? I’m guessing these Watchtower blood-suckers aren’t aboard.”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “So, what do you propose we do?”

  “We’ll get to that.” Sebastian wagged his stubby finger at the dead man. “Tit for tat. I gave you information. Now, you give me some.”

  The Necromancer gave an irritated grunt. “We’re running out of time. You know as well as I do that once those three get what they want, we’re worm food. But hey, I love playing twenty-questions.”

  Sebastian could tell where this partnership was headed. “Can you reverse what you did to Jerusa? Can you reunite her with the ghost you banished?”

  “If I choose to, yes. But not from here. Why?”

  Sebastian needed to tread lightly. “There is a terrible evil out there, and it’s only a matter of time before it finds us.”

  “Is the girl this terrible evil?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “No. She’s the only one who can stop it. But not if she isn’t in her right mind.”

  The dead man’s eyes lit with a violet light for the briefest of moments. Sebastian didn’t have a good feeling about that. Something had piqued the Necromancer’s interest.

  “I can help her,” he said. “But I need to be close.”

  “I’m not so sure being close to Jerusa is a good idea. She’d kill you rather than look at you.”

  The dead man’s face sagged a bit. Sebastian couldn’t tell if the Necromancer was bemused or if his powers over the corpse were waning.

  “You’ll have to distract her, then. All I need is sixty seconds with her.”

  Sebastian didn’t buy it. “Why would you help her? What’s in it for you?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a fan of dying. I’ve avoided that little appointment for a long time now. I don’t want to die at the hands of you blood-suckers any more than I do some terrible evil lurking about. Don’t mistake my offer for altruism. It’s self-preservation.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The dead man glared at Sebastian. “So, what do we do? And don’t jerk me around. We don’t have much time to plan this out. Once the sun sets and our charming hosts wake up, I won’t be able to animate this meat sack. If they clean your cell before next sunrise, we’re screwed.”

  On that point, Sebastian agreed.

  “The Watchtower must be exterminated. Obviously, we can’t do that, but I know those who can. I tried to contact them a few times, to let them know where the Watchtower is being held, but I’m not sure how well it got out. Now, the sea water and this steel box are blocking my telepathy, so we must find another way to reach them.”

  “So you’re one of those psychic vampires, too, huh? And you’re willing to kill all your buddies just so you can escape?” A broad smile spanned his face. “A man after my own heart.”

  Sebastian fought back a snarl. He detested the Necromancer. Had he been inside the cell, and not speaking through the dead man, Sebastian would’ve been tempted to hurt him a little.

  “I need you to open this cage.”

  The Necromancer made a curt little laugh. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Not my problem. I don’t care. Open the door, bust a hole in the wall, rip the ceiling off. I just need a few minutes of open air to send a coherent message.”

  It was the Necromancer’s turn to sigh. “I’ll see what I can do. If we pull this off, how do you propose we survive? If we stay here, those other vampires will kill us.”

  “The timing will be tricky, but I know a man who can extract us; though he won’t be thrilled to see you, I’m afraid.”

  “That guy in the cemetery who just appeared from nowhere?” asked the Necromancer. Sebastian nodded, and he made an unimpressed noise. “I don’t much like him, either. Why would he come here to rescue us?”

  “He’s in love with the girl you cast your spell on. Maybe I’ll just tell him you’re here, wait for him to come to kill you, then catch a ride with him off this boat.”

  The Necromancer smirked. “Then his girlfriend will never be reunited with the ghost. The terrible evil kills the world. And nobody wins. Like it or not, I’m your only hope.” His smirk melded into a haughty smile.

  “Why so pleased with yourself?”

  “I kinda like being the hero. Having the fate of the world resting upon my shoulders. It’s… refreshing.”

  Sebastian refused to believe the Necromancer alone held the power to reunite Alicia and Jerusa. He could think of one other way, but it was a fool’s errand. Far more treacherous than attempting to escape.

  “All of this is pointless if I can’t get a message out of this cell. Let’s conquer that beast first, before we move on to saving the world.”

  “Well, the locks only disengage when one of the Grand High Blood Suckers gives a DNA sample. Even with all the tricks up my sleeves, that’s going to be a tall order. What else we got?”

  Sebastian rubbed his asymmetrical face with his tiny, twisted hands. “Perhaps, I could use you as a conduit?”

  The dead man’s face puckered. “Come again?”

  “You don’t possess a vampire’s mind, but let’s face it, you’re hardly human. And you’re able to bridge the steel walls with your powers.”

  “No,” the Necromancer said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Hear me out. Your mind is inside this room, but it’s also outside. If you’d allow me to enter your mind in here, then I could use your presence on the outside as an antenna.”

  “Are you deaf,” the Necromancer shouted. “I said, no. It ain’t gonna happen. So drop it.” The dead man’s eyes glowed purple, and for a moment, he seemed unable to control the muscles in his face.

  “Why not?” Sebastian spat back at him. “It may be our only chance.”

  The magic animating the dead man seemed to be running out. The corpse lay prone on the floor, no longer able to lift his head, and the Necromancer’s voice sounded further away.

  “This body is not my own. I stole it, as I have countless others. When one has traveled as I have, it leaves you vulnerable. If I allow you to enter my mind, you might accidentally cast me out. Without another body to leap into, I’ll die. I refuse to take such a risk. Even if it means the end of the world. So stop asking.”

  Sebastian buried his murderous rage deep down. He was good at that. Hiding the truth. “Well, that’s all I have.” His voice remained calm, unconcerned, yet all the while fantasizing of the many ways he could separate that foul soul from that perfect body. “If you have a better plan, I’m all ears. But, remember, we’re running out of time.”

  “I’m tired.” The Necromancer’s voice seemed miles away now. “I need to rest. I’ll get back to you when I come up with something.”

  The corpse fell limp and said no more.

  “Wait. We need to figure this out.”

  But the Necromancer was gone.

  The sun sank beneath the western sea, dragging behind it the dark curtain of night. Sebastian lay upon the cold steel floor next to the corpse. He couldn’t say what was worse, the suffocating darkness, the maddening silence, or the rank, festering stench of the dead.

  For three days and nights, he sat with the corpse, but the Necromancer didn’t return. Had the High Council found out about their conversation? They wouldn’t dare kill the Necromancer. Not until he placed their deviant souls within divine bodies, anyhow.

  Sebastian stood to his feet. He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to. The corpse had swollen and unfortunately popped, spilling vile fluids everywhere. Still, he took a deep breath. Madness surrounded him like the darkness. He had no physical strengths to boast of, no vampiric weapons, other than his well-honed mind. If he didn’t keep his wits about him, the High Council would win.

  On the third night, about an hour before sunrise, footsteps sounded outside his cage. The biometric locks disengaged, and the doo
r swung open, bathing him in delicious fresh air, and scalding bright light.

  Sebastian fell to the floor, splashing in the muck, gasping with each breath, while shielding his eyes. It had been such an intense change from the putrid blackness that, for a moment, he thought the High Council had blasted him with UV light.

  His senses quickly readjusted, and he realized the bright blueish light spilled forth from common halogen bulbs.

  If a few weeks in the dark had affected him in such a way, what would a year do to him? A decade? The thought of a century terrified him. How long ago had he ordered for that beautiful fledgling with black curls and stormy green eyes to be locked inside that metal coffin?

  Sebastian was suddenly thankful that Divine Vampires can’t remember their past lives. Otherwise, Silvanus would’ve come seeking his revenge the moment he awoke from the stone cloak.

  Sebastian had framed Silvanus’s maker, a vampire named Ballentine, by falsely informing the Hunters that Ballentine meant to start an uprising. The Hunters never questioned his word.

  Ballantine had been a reprehensible creature, worthy of death many times over, but he had had an excellent taste for choosing fledglings.

  Sebastian gave the Hunters the time and location that Ballentine meant to turn his human pet, with the implicit instruction for the fledgling to be brought to him before his first feed. The idiot Hunters obeyed, right down to locking the fledgling in an iron coffin.

  Though Sebastian’s psychic powers were unrivaled, he still couldn’t see all ends. How was he to know the ship carrying the fledgling would get caught in a tempest and be rent in pieces?

  The iron coffin sank to the bottom of the sea, and not long after, that team of Hunters met their doom, because of some unfortunate faulty information about a group of savages.

  Sebastian hadn’t felt a single molecule of guilt over that affair until just now. He cared nothing for Ballentine, or that pack of Hunters. Good riddance. But now, after weeks of being locked in his own steel coffin, the regret for what he had done to the poor fledgling gnawed at his soul.

  True, that fledgling had, many centuries later, awoke as a Divine Vampire, and by his own blood, he created Jerusa Phoenix. And if his visions were correct, and destiny spun their way, Jerusa was the only being that stood a chance of destroying the cataclysmic abomination that Suhail had become.

  Perhaps it’d all come out in the wash, as they say.

  “Enjoying your companion?” Othella asked, her eyes flicking to the rotting man on the floor.

  Sebastian managed a smile. “Oh, yes. We had quite an interesting conversation a few days back.”

  Othella’s cruel eyes became slits. She glanced over her shoulder at Mathias. “Call for the slaves. Tell them to clean this cell.”

  Mathias nodded, but then stormed off, his handsome, ruddy face sour at being ordered around like a common servant.

  Othella turned her eyes back to Sebastian. “Though I’m tempted to let you linger in this putrescence, I cannot abide such filth so close to where I dwell. When our task is complete, perhaps I will bury you with a heap of the dead.”

  Mathias returned with a group of humans who looked mortified by the task they were being commanded to perform.

  Sebastian looked from Othella to Mathias to Cot. He tried to hide the panic in his eyes, but he wasn’t sure he was successful. The last three days had put a significant handicap in his game.

  “It’s almost sad,” he said with a haughty laugh.

  “Tread lightly, Dwarf,” Othella warned.

  “It’s sad just how easily you three imbeciles are to manipulate.”

  The High Council bristled at the insult. This was going to cost him. But without the corpse, Sebastian couldn’t communicate with the Necromancer.

  “I mean, you leave me in here with that rotting bag of meat. Of course, I hate it. It’s disgusting. But all I have to do is tell you how much I love it, and you rush in to take it away.”

  The three shared a look of perplexity. This was a real stretch, even by Sebastian’s standards. Double reverse psychology. Cot and Mathias would most likely fall for it. Othella was about fifty-fifty.

  “Sometimes, I pity you. But then, I’m reminded what vile, heinous, blood-sucking primates you really are. So, do my bidding, you insufferable lackwits, and clean my quarters for me.”

  Othella darted at Sebastian with such speed that her feet never touched the puddle of decomposition polluting the floor. She crossed the tiny space like the goddess of death, smashed Sebastian in the face with a devastating uppercut, driving him into the steel ceiling of the cage. She ricocheted off the back wall and landed in the exact spot she started from before Sebastian fell back to the fluid-coated floor.

  Othella had shattered his jaw with the uppercut. The steel ceiling had turned the rest of his skull into a jigsaw puzzle. His brain had once again escaped being rendered a lump of pulp, which was good because he didn’t fancy going savage. Yet, it was also bad, because the firing neurons sent scorching blasts of pain throughout his entire diminutive form.

  “Dump the corpse overboard,” Othella commanded the humans. “Then wash down his cell. I can’t abide that stench any longer. And be quick about it.” She looked to Cot. “Make sure he doesn’t escape.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Cot answered through clenched teeth.

  Sebastian laughed. Or maybe he didn’t. It could’ve just been in his head. Escape, he thought. I’ll be lucky if I survive.

  He attempted to sit up—mostly, to pull his face out of the dead man’s fluids—but all he seemed able to do was wiggle his fingers and toes.

  Sebastian listened as the humans scurried into his tiny cell. One man vomited, adding to the already horrid stench. After a bit, his vampiric healing kicked in and his sight returned. The body was gone, but the floor was still slick with the fluids.

  Cot stood in the open doorway, albeit as far back from the opening as he could get. His arms were crossed over his thin chest and a look of vile disgust mangled his handsome visage.

  It clicked in Sebastian’s mind. The door. It was open. If ever there was a chance to get a message to the other vampires, now was the time.

  Sebastian tried to remain still, but his self-repairing brain sent jolts of neural-electricity zooming back and forth, and he couldn’t stop the tremors in his extremities. He needed to be subtle. Cot was no fool. He dared not even close his eyes to concentrate. If Cot detected what Sebastian was up to, he’d swoop in and crush his skull again.

  He pushed out with his mind, but the roar between his ears was deafening. The disembodied sensation that occurred when he connected to other vampires had always been a pleasant experience. No longer bound to this stunted form, he felt free to travel as he pleased. He was the wind. He was the sea.

  But not this time.

  The wind felt like a storm. The sea felt turbulent and angry. He searched for other vampires who were touched with the gift of sight. He needed to reach Celeste, the augur of the Crimson Storm. If she still lived, she would most likely be with Shufah. But right now, he’d take any mind that could hear him.

  Sebastian was too badly injured to hold the connection for long. He needed more time to heal. He also needed to focus without the threat of being bludgeoned. This message was going to be even more distorted than the one he tried to send the night Othella split up the Watchtower.

  In the distance, through the vast intangible expanse of the mental collective, Sebastian spotted a single, flickering light. He couldn’t make out who the light belonged to. It was weak. Unstable. This mind was dangerous, but it was all he had.

  Sebastian pushed toward the light, but the more he tried to grasp it, the further away it retreated. The owner of the dangerous mind knew it was being contacted, and they didn’t appreciate it one bit.

  He tried to explain to the mind about the Watchtower. How they were no longer housed at the Ice Sanctuary. He shouted the names of the three different locations where the augurs were hidin
g. But the distant light didn’t care.

  “Then help Jerusa,” Sebastian called out, hopefully only in his mind and not aloud. “Please.”

  The retreating light halted. It flickered brighter as it turned around. Then it drew a little closer. Whoever Sebastian had contacted, one thing was obvious. They knew Jerusa Phoenix.

  Sebastian tried to see the mind hiding behind the light, but there was too much working against him. The turbulent sea beneath him, the steel box surrounding him, his battered brains. More than that, however, was the mind itself.

  Though the vampire on the other end had the gift of sight, it was a weak one. They weren’t a true augur, that much he was sure of. Sebastian had the distinct feeling that this vampire had stolen an augur’s power, but couldn’t quite wield it.

  A moment of panic sounded in his scrambled head. Sebastian knew this vampire. Had peered into his mind before. Had Othella not shattered his skull, perhaps he could concentrate long enough to gain some clarity. As it was, he felt as though an important detail had dislodged from his brain.

  “Who are you, friend?” he asked the light, but it would not answer. “Do you know Jerusa?”

  The light blossomed from a twinkling speck of dust to the bright aura of a man. Sebastian could discern no features, but the sense of familiarity grew even more intense.

  “Jerusa is in trouble. She needs our help.”

  A voice, deep and troubled, sounded in the void. “The girl with the ghosts? She always needs help.”

  Sebastian smiled, and not just in spirit. The smile had found its way to his actual face, for the muffled, distant voice of Cot asked, “What are you so happy about, you vile little dwarf?”

  That wasn’t good. It wouldn’t take Cot long to understand what was happening.

  “Yes, Jerusa is always in trouble, isn’t she?” he asked the light. “Have you helped her before?”

  “Of course. Don’t you remember? We tried to save her. You, me, and the mouthy fledgling. But she died. Just like my wife and daughters.”

  “Victor,” Sebastian said with a gasp. “Is that you? I can’t see you very well.”