by Greg Cox
Leaving a scene of utter carnage behind him, he strode out into the night.
Tanis wrested another dusty tome from his bookshelves. He slapped it down onto the table in front of Selene and Michael. After blowing a thick layer of dust from the moldering volume, he opened the book to a specific page. A woodcut illustration showed a pack of wolflike creatures running wild through a medieval village. The shaggy monsters looked even less human than any werewolf Selene had ever encountered. Artistic license? she wondered.
Apparently not.
“These weren’t the lycans we know,” Tanis explained. Having been informed of Michael’s hybrid nature, he directed his next remarks to the young American. “Disgusting as your contemporary brethren may be, they are at least evolved to a degree. These were raging monsters, never able to take human form again. It is only the later generations that learned to channel their rage enough to mimic humanity at times.”
He flipped the pages until he came to another illustration. This one depicted a single werewolf taking on an entire contingent of medieval Death Dealers. The beast looked larger and more powerful than the other early lycans. Judging from the artist’s rendering, the lycan’s fur was lighter in color as well, perhaps even as white as snow.
An albino werewolf? Selene speculated. She had never heard of such a thing.
“William’s appetite for destruction and rampage was insatiable. He had to be stopped, before he infected the entire continent. And so, once Viktor’s army was turned, creating legions of vampires under his sole control, he tracked down and destroyed the animals created by William. And, finally, after a long and bloody campaign, captured William himself.”
Tanis slammed the book shut. He plucked another tome from the shelves. “Then they locked him away, Viktor’s prisoner for all time.”
Thus were born the Death Dealers, Selene realized, and we’ve been hunting the lycans ever since. “Why let William live?”
“The same reason Viktor never conspired against Marcus. Fear.” Tanis opened the book, scanned a few pages, then snatched up a third volume from the stacks. “He was warned that should Marcus be slain, all those in his bloodline—including Viktor—would follow him to the grave.”
Selene thought she understood. “So, in Viktor’s mind, William’s death could very well mean the end of all lycans… his slaves.” She wondered why Viktor had continued to keep William alive even after the lycans had risen up in revolt. Perhaps as a concession to Marcus, to keep peace within the coven?
“Yes,” Tanis stated. “A clever deception, but one Viktor was hardly willing to put to the test. And so Marcus was protected at all costs. By keeping both brothers alive, Viktor ensured—so he believed—the livelihood of the bloodlines. Both species.”
Tanis leafed through the book, looking for a relevant passage.
A faded etching caught Selene’s attention. She jammed her pistol into the pages like a bookmark, bringing a halt to Tanis’ hasty page-turning. He backed off and let her take custody of the hefty tome. She slid the book around so that she and Michael could get a better look at another medieval woodcut.
The black-and-white etching depicted a time of war and plague. Mounted soldiers, clad in the armor of the Middle Ages, rode past a mass grave that held a jumble of lovingly detailed skeletons. Scythe in hand, the Angel of Death hovered over the morbid scene, but Selene was more interested in the unique crest that adorned the shields of the armored soldiers. The crest incorporated an ornate letter C that reminded Selene of the stylized letters emblazoned on the Elders’ tombs.
C for… Corvinus?
Michael saw what she was looking at. “Vampires?”
Tanis shook his head. “Mortals… men loyal to Alexander Corvinus.”
“Alexander?” Selene recognized the name, of course. According to Singe, Alexander Corvinus had been the original immortal, a fifth-century Hungarian warlord who had somehow survived a devastating plague that had killed everyone else in his domain. In Alexander, the virulent disease had mutated in an unprecedented fashion, granting him eternal life. Years later, so the story went, he had fathered his infamous three sons.
And so our long war began…
“Indeed,” Tanis confirmed. “The father of us all.” He reached for the book. “If I may?”
Selene nodded, and the historian took back the volume. He quickly flipped the pages to another illustration. Unlike the previous woodcuts, this was more of a technical blueprint, like one of Leonardo da Vinci’s sketches.
At the center of the diagram was a drawing of Sonja’s pendant. Sketched around the pendant was what looked like a locking mechanism embedded within a reinforced stone door. Tanis borrowed the real pendant from Michael, then gently laid it down atop the fragile parchment. He clicked the hidden switch and watched in fascination as the delicate bronze blades slid out into the open once more. “The Lost Pendant,” he said in a hushed tone, “still functioning after nearly six centuries.”
Selene grew impatient. She had already seen this trick before. What did any of this have to do with her own fragmentary memories? She tapped the sketch of the lock. “What’s this?”
“You should know.” Tanis gave her a cryptic smile, as though he was enjoying a private joke at her expense. “It’s the door to William’s prison. The prison your father was commissioned to build.”
My father? Unbidden, the buried memories came rushing through her brain:
…the dungeon was damp and cold. Along with her sister, little Selene perched atop a stack of wooden crates as she playfully painted a shining sun on the wall of a stone passageway. A seashell held their bright yellow paint, which was a mixture of tree sap and ground-up dandelions. Selene used a hog’s-hair brush to add the sun’s bright rays. Less than a foot away, Cecilia used the red paint, made from powdered madder roots, to add some cheerful flowers to the blank stone wall.
The passage echoed with the sound of picks and hammers pounding away at solid rock. Sweating laborers hauled carts of debris up to the surface. It looked like hard work to Selene, who was glad she didn’t have to do it.
Her father strolled by, calling out instructions to the work crew. He paused to smile at the two girls. Twinkling brown eyes inspected their handiwork. “What beautiful paintings,” he said warmly. He grinned at them through his bushy brown beard. “How lucky I am to have such talented artists as daughters.”
Selene beamed back at her father. She was proud of him. A master mason and smith, he was in charge of constructing these new dungeons beneath the mighty fortress above. He clutched a roll of parchments in one hand. A mason’s compass was tucked into his belt. Selene knew that his was an important and demanding job. Not every man would be up to such a task.
Lord Viktor must think very highly of my father, she thought.
…many days later, she watched intently as her father inserted the open pendant into a decorative impression on the wall. Stone ground against stone as hidden machinery came to life. Invisible gears engaged behind the wall, and a section of seemingly solid stone split apart, revealing a shadowy alcove leading to a staircase whose upper steps were shrouded in darkness.
Selene shuddered at the thought of where that staircase might lead. Even as a child she knew what a dungeon was, and a hidden dungeon struck her as many times worse. She couldn’t imagine who could possibly be so bad as to deserve being locked away and forgotten forever.
…the pendant rested in the little girl’s hands. The shiny metal blades projecting from the device reflected the flickering candlelight. Selene thought she had never seen anything quite so beautiful.
A heavy thud caught Selene by surprise. She spun around, terrified, only to find her father gazing down at her with an amused smile. She let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, she had been afraid that an ogre or brigand had found her.
Her father bent down so that he could look her in the eye. “Oh, so you’ve been the one keeping a watch over this for me, have you?” His affectionate chuckle assured her that s
he was not in trouble for borrowing the pendant. “Much obliged, darling. I’ve been searching everywhere for this.”
He kissed her forehead, then gently took the pendant from her hand….
The memories hit Selene like a wooden stake through her heart. She turned to Michael for comfort, shock and distress written all over her face. The icy mask she had maintained throughout her interrogation of Tanis was melted away by the volatile emotions bubbling up inside her. At the moment, exposing her vulnerability to their prisoner was the least of her concerns.
“What is it?” Michael asked anxiously. He gently took hold of her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Tanis knew, even if Michael hadn’t figured it out yet. “She now understands why her family was killed.”
Selene didn’t want to believe it. She had thought Viktor had attacked their home at random, merely to indulge an illicit craving for human blood. She had never connected the slaughter with the pretty pendant she had once played with as a child.
“That was many years later,” she protested. “I was nearly twenty.”
The historian remembered it well. “The winter of Lucian’s escape,” he observed. “Your father knew too much. Too much for Viktor to risk, especially when Lucian had this.” He held up the pendant. “The key to William’s cell.”
The pieces started to fall into place, creating a hideous picture in Selene’s mind. A chill ran down her spine as the full implications sank in.
“And I’m the map.”
Tanis smirked, amused by Selene’s growing horror. “Yes, the only one still living who has seen its location. Viktor counted on you being too young to remember the site explicitly. But Marcus knows that the memory—and therefore, the exact location—of his brother’s prison is hidden away in your blood.”
Michael was still a few steps behind. “Why is Marcus looking for him now, after all this time?”
“The great covens are led by those still loyal to Viktor,” Tanis said with a touch of impatience, as though Michael should have been well aware of that. He seemed more interested in confronting Selene with the coven’s dirty little secrets. “Marcus was never a true equal amongst the Elders. Viktor used his followers to undercut Marcus at every turn, ensuring his own primacy.”
All of this came as news to Selene. Unlike Kraven, she had never had any interest in the coven’s often byzantine politics. As long as there had been lycans to hunt, she had been content to let the Elders govern the coven, each in their own turn, according to the never-ending cycle of the Chain. That there might actually be serious dissension among the Elders themselves had never even occurred to her. That was what the Chain was for, after all. She wondered briefly what part Amelia had played in this centuries-long power struggle between Marcus and Viktor.
Perhaps I don’t want to know.
In any event, Marcus was now the only Elder left. No wonder he felt free to go searching for William after all these centuries. All he needs is the pendant—and a taste of my blood.
“Now that Marcus is of… mixed nature,” Tanis continued, Selene having previously informed him of the Elder’s shocking transformation, “well, the coven will certainly never bow down to… an abomination.” He spit out the last word with disgust, then realized his faux pas. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Michael glared at Tanis, who offered a feeble smile in apology. Michael took back the pendant.
“That still doesn’t explain why Marcus needs William,” Selene pointed out.
Tanis shrugged and threw up his hands. “That I cannot say.”
Wrong answer, Selene thought. She clicked off the safety on her new handgun and lifted the weapon into firing position.
Tanis got the message. “But I know who can stop him,” he added hastily.
Selene lowered her weapon.
“Perhaps I can arrange a meeting,” Tanis volunteered. “In exchange for your discretion.”
She gave him a withering look. “Of course.” What a double-dealing snake, she thought. He gives vampires a bad name.
Ten minutes later, they were on the road to Budapest in a new SUV provided by Tanis. Another of Lucian’s gifts to the turncoat vampire, hidden away in a concealed garage beneath the old monastery. Selene assumed that Tanis considered the car a small price to pay in exchange for their leaving him alive.
I wonder which of us got the greater bargain?
Chapter Seventeen
Tanis dropped Grushenka’s lifeless body onto the heap of bones in the lycans’ lair, where it joined Olga’s corpse among the moldering ruins. Selene and that hybrid freak had finally departed, thank the Fates, leaving him to deal with the Death Dealer’s unfortunate victims. He wished there was time to give his paramours a more dignified burial, but the monastery was clearly no longer a safe refuge for him. And with Viktor dead at last, he no longer needed to worry about incurring the Elder’s wrath by leaving.
The sooner I’m out of here, the better, he resolved. He lingered in the squalid lair, thinking ahead to his departure. Choosing what to take and what to leave behind would be excruciating, especially where his library was concerned, but Tanis knew that he needed to travel light if he wanted to escape the bloody chaos that seemed to have broken out among his fellow immortals. He wondered where he could go to hide from the tumult. China maybe, or Australia? America was no good; Amelia’s followers in the New World Coven would be looking for a scapegoat for her death. I’m not taking the fall for that one. That was Kraven’s doing, not mine.
His mind raced, compiling a list of what to pack. He was going to need weapons, money, and a new identity. Too bad Olga and Grushenka had not survived their encounter with Selene; he was going to miss their company and their bodies, not necessarily in that order. It was a bloody nuisance, too, that Selene had stolen his only vehicle, but if he could just make it over the hills to the nearest mortal town or hamlet, he should be able to buy or steal a new getaway car. Then it was simply a matter of reaching an airport or rail station.
Maps, he thought. I need maps. He made a mental note to extract an atlas from his library, even as he winced at the thought of all his precious volumes he would have to leave behind. Just as well, he assured himself. I’ve spent enough time reading these past centuries. It was time he rejoined the world.
If he could just get away fast enough.
Crash! The sound of heavy doors flying open echoed from above. Plus, was it just his imagination or did he hear an ominous flapping as well?
Fear seized the historian’s heart. Leaving the bodies of his lovers behind, he ran frantically up the steps toward the moonlit corridors of the old monastery. Terror pursued him all the way back to the wine cellar, even as the fearsome flapping grew louder. Tanis knew only too well the source of that dreadful noise.
Marcus!
Tanis dashed across the cellar and slammed shut a pair of heavy oak doors. With no more caged werewolves to guard the monastery, the terrified historian was left to his own devices. He bolted the doors shut and backed away from them fearfully. Sweat dripped from his brow. His mouth went dry with fear. To think that less than an hour ago he had been lolling in bed with two beautiful, naked vampiresses…!
Something pounded on the other side of the door. Tanis nearly jumped out of his skin. He glanced at his weapons rack. Was there anything there powerful enough to stop a hybrid Elder? Tanis rather doubted it; according to Selene, Marcus had practically shrugged off the blasts of her pistol. Still, perhaps the UV cartridges might stand a chance?
He took a step toward his armory, but not quickly enough. The heavy doors buckled inward, then exploded off their hinges. They hit the floor with a resounding crash that stirred up a huge cloud of dust. Tanis stared with fear-stricken eyes as Marcus strode through the arched doorway.
The Elder looked just as Tanis remembered, aside from the demonic wings sprouting from his back. Tanis’ gaze was riveted by the unnatural wings, which emerged from the back of the battered leather overcoat draped over Mar
cus’ shoulders. Obviously, Selene had not exaggerated the extent of Marcus’ transformation, not that Tanis really thought that she had. Killing was Selene’s forte, not deceit. In many ways, she was the most honest vampire he knew, and this time was no exception.
Marcus had indeed become an abomination.
The Elder came between Tanis and his armory. Panic overcame the cowardly historian. He scrambled in the opposite direction, into one of the many underground catacombs connected to the cellar. The echo of his own footsteps pursued him as he raced randomly through the tunnels. Hanging cobwebs brushed against him, clinging to his face and hands. Rats scurried away from his slippered feet. He sucked at the musty air, unaccustomed to such exertion. His robe tangled awkwardly around his legs. A stitch in his side felt like a dagger in his flesh.
Tanis wished that he had never heard the word hybrid.
He rounded a corner, then another, then another. It was like a maze down here, he reminded himself. Perhaps he could lose Marcus in this murky subterranean labyrinth?
“Hello, Tanis,” said the Elder, directly in front of him.
Tanis suddenly found himself face-to-face with Marcus. How? Yelping in fright, he spun around and took off back the way he had come. Almost by accident, he stumbled back into the wine cellar. A long wooden table, laid out with copper plates and goblets, gave him something to lean against. Exhausted, he wasted a few precious seconds catching his breath.
“Tanis…”
He started, almost losing his balance. He turned around to see Marcus standing at the other end of the table.
“You seem anxious,” the Elder said. “Why do you flee from the very sight of me?”
Tanis was too frightened to form a coherent response. He stepped nervously away from the table.
Marcus flashed him a predatory smile. He took a seat and politely motioned for Tanis to do the same. “Please, sit. There’s no need for this to be unpleasant. I’ve always rather enjoyed your company.” Tanis hesitated, and glanced toward his recently depleted armory. The Elder’s voice took on a more threatening edge. “Now you’re being rude.”
