Michael looked upon the little redheaded vampire with pity. She had fought like a true warrior would have. He raised his sword, and a hint of blade under the filth caught the red gleam of the crimson sun. With swift accuracy he swung it downward in a violent arc until it struck the target with earthshaking force. As it fell, the angel’s voices faded away and the song ended.
31
Celeste’s raised an eyebrow as she looked over the two women chained to posts in the center of the same garden where the funeral rites had been held. “Have you brought me virgins to sacrifice, then?”
Matteo’s smooth voice reminded her of the smooth surface of a tranquil lake. Though it seemed even and calm, a great depth of darkness lay beneath. “Evil is so rarely a bloodless dove or a living lamb. We have brought you women, yes. Virgins, no.”
Her laugh was light but she was acutely aware of the dark thirst spinning around him in a tangible cloud. “Well, we shouldn’t keep our little friends waiting.”
Both Rebekah and Sarah had regained consciousness and were none too pleased to find themselves gagged and tied hand and foot to the large wooden poles. They struggled in vain as Nicholi and Drew dragged a third woman toward the last post. Her blonde hair hung raggedly in her pale face and spittle clung to her chin as she screamed obscenities. The strangest thing was the faded gold tattoos that covered her flesh. When she turned her head, both women froze in their struggles at her sightless, milky eyes.
The girl did not struggle when her binds were securely fastened but before the gag could be set between her teeth she screamed out. “Mother! I know that you can hear me. You will burn for this, Mother, as the witches before you have burned. You turned your back on us and now the ghosts of your daughters will haunt your every moment. I am witch, I am power. You may have cast me from the coven but my darkness is my power.”
Nicholi, not caring for the words or their meaning, shoved the thick cloth into the witch’s frothing mouth. His eyes slid over the captives in cold appraisal. The large Russian instantly fixated on Sarah’s beautiful hazel irises, soft cheeks streaked with tears, and lovely full lips painted a luscious red. His movements were quick but his handling of the human was gentle. Her evil did not condemn her to pain, only her position in their plan.
She tried to scream around the gag but the sound was muffled and useless. Rebekah struggled hard to free herself as well, either in an attempt to save the girl or escape. The fighting and attempts to call out for help were useless. No one could escape Vajdahunyad or the occupants who lived within.
Nicholi sank his fangs into the side of Sarah’s slightly perfumed neck. Blood and lavender filled his senses and he rode the bloodlust with gentle ease. Nicholi nearly pushed her to the point of no return before he pulled away and removed the cloth from her mouth. Biting down with brutal force, he tore open his wrist and shoved it to the girl’s red lips.
As they shared in the bloodletting, he did not take her gruesome memories of clients smiling for her camera minutes before they met their death. Instead, he plucked the chord hidden deepest inside and brought up the pleasant memories she hid and buried so that her guilt would not touch her. He allowed her to walk the peaceful path of an existence that she would never know again. She drifted into the pleasant memories as he took from her all that he could. Her heart slowed with each mouthful that he savored.
As soon as the first taste of his blood had danced on her tongue, Sarah felt the fire take a hold. Her nails dug into his indestructible flesh as she sucked at the wound. Her starved body shook and trembled as she devoured all that Nicholi could give. He felt the change as it happened and held his position until the heart gave the final beat before he tore himself away.
As the newly born vampire struggled through the loss of her final human ties, Nicholi called out into the night. “We are ready.”
From the shadows, the vampires and witches came. Hooded figures with pale skin, hooded figures with golden eyes. They moved into a circle around the posts and the single stone altar that had been left for their purposes. Matteo emerged from the shadows, Jenda in his arms. She had begun to fade in and out again, her body moving rapidly from solid to transparent and back again. The white of the nightgown she wore nearly matched the ivory of her bare feet as they peeked out below the old-fashioned lace hem.
He laid her on the altar, covered with a simple black velvet panel instead of flowers. The torches came to life, stretching the shadows of the Coven and Clan so that the scene resembled a meeting of the Druids. The flicker of light glinted off the necromancer tools that lined the right side of where Jenda lay. From the outer ring, Meredith and Celeste stepped forward. Even the captives fell silent as Meredith opened the book of blood and bone and began to read.
The words flowed from the coven leader in a fluid and strange tongue as she circled Marguerite. If the elder witch cared that it was her own daughter that was about to feel the sting of her athame, she showed no signs. Marguerite, however, began to thrash and curse the minute she heard her mother’s voice. Her wails were no longer more than half words and tearful objections.
Meredith’s voice deepened and the incantation burst from her in guttural spasms. She pointed the athame toward the sky and toward the ground. As it had done when Meredith had blinded Marguerite as punishment for her crimes against Vajdahunyad, a golden arc of dust clung to the air in the wake of the ceremonial knife. Matteo knew that it was a sign of building magic and, even as he pitied the girl, he rejoiced in the knowledge that the spell would have tremendous power.
Celeste chose the chalice that stood at the foot of the table. Her clear voice rose over Meredith’s chants. “A witch by heritage and roots, she who lies in the kingdom of the beast shall be drawn here by the blood of her ancestors.”
Meredith, showing a mother’s love for the first and last time, kissed her child’s forehead before she ran her blade across her throat. Marguerite’s soul shattering scream ended in a wet gurgling noise before the young witch fell silent and her blood poured into the waiting goblet. Celeste carried the newly filled cup back to its place and when her eyes met Matteo’s they burned red across the distance.
By the time Celeste selected the cup next to Jenda’s chest and moved to stand before Sarah, Meredith had already begun to circle the new vampire and her chant had never paused. The girl had used her fangs to sever the gag and she growled while she snapped her teeth in the air. Animal instinct and newborn bloodlust had turned her into little more than a wild beast. Her antics did not give Meredith or Celeste pause.
When Meredith’s hand shot toward the sky and then pointed toward the ground, she held a wooden stake carved with golden runes. Celeste’s voice rose once more. “A vampire by blood, she who is cast into the nether regions shall be drawn here by the blood of her blood.”
The stake pierced Sarah’s heart and she howled with indignation. Celeste’s eager hand held the cup up to catch the blood once more, some of it spilling down her lily white hand. She hurriedly brought it back to the table. No longer seeking out Matteo to reassure him of their magical workings, her bloodlust was overpowering her senses.
Rebekah, the human girl, had gone into shock before Marguerite had finished bleeding out. Her large brown eyes seemed wider than physically possible as she stared slack jawed into the air. Her fragile mind had broken under the strain of all she had seen and learned in the last few hours and all she had left were the simple payers that she mumbled breathlessly to herself. Matteo found it ironic that the konzum lanyok prayed for forgiveness for many things but not the murders that she had committed.
Meredith circled, Celeste stood ready with the cup, and the throaty chant went on and on. Matteo’s idle curiosity wondered what type of death the young girl would meet. He was not surprised when Meredith held Celeste’s hand as she once again pointed the athame. The Lady of Vajdahunyad spoke once more and the hunger that consumed her could be heard in the timbre of her voice. “Born human, the child of light who walks in darkness shall be
drawn here by the spark of humanity that still remains.”
Meredith caressed the girl’s neck in a sweet looking gesture and Matteo barely caught the glint of the dragon’s tooth she wore on her thumb. The metal ring, fitted to the top knuckle and extending out to a sharp point, punctured the main artery in the girl’s neck. Celeste held the cup below the wound and filled it to the brim. Her eyes focused so intently on the small puncture that she nearly overflowed the cup before Meredith took it to place by Jenda’s head.
The feeding was quick but the act itself struck Matteo as deeply disturbed. He could not imagine feeding so passionately in front of so many but Celeste didn’t seem to care. Her face was almost completely hidden by the curtain Rebekah’s rich brown hair formed. Matteo fastened his attention on the human’s face, mesmerized by her frozen look of fear. He hated that his mind tripped down a mental path that explored the idea of being a prisoner of the body as the world and its evils ravished away the last vestiges of life. Only when the girl’s eyes went dead did he look away.
Meredith’s strange song had become a backdrop, barely audible during the sacrifices. Once the three women hung lifelessly from the post, her voice rose once more. Circling the table, she lifted the first cup and poured the liquid over Jenda’s feet. Another lap, more chanting, and she lifted the second. Red on white, the blood stained the fabric and seeped onto flesh. The chorus continued to mimic words they did not understand with more belief than one could imagine. Finally, on the third walk around, the last cup of blood was poured over Jenda’s upturned face.
Matteo nearly came undone. He wanted to tear them away from her. He wanted to stop what they were doing. Jenda would not like this. She would hate that they had killed to give her life. She would hate that they had covered her in the blood of a human, evil or not. She was good. No matter what curses they laid on her, she was pure in her heart. The blood tears flowed down his cheeks as he continued to chant. Even as his mind screamed no, his heart wished for the magic to bring his beloved back to him.
Meredith stood at the head of the table. Her arms extended upward and her head tipped back so that her cowl slipped away and her silver hair hung free down her back. The words that she screamed into the dark sky seemed to catch in the wind. The syllables rose and fell as if riding the currents of the air. She lowered her arms, holding her free hand over Jenda’s body. Matteo knew that it signaled the time for the final step before Jenda could be awakened, and his body tensed.
“So I mote it, so it shall be.” The familiar words that ended the spell echoed against the silence and seemed to double back upon the rest of the Clan and Coven.
In return, their voices responded. “As it we mote, it be.”
Meredith sealed the ritual with the strike of her athame on soft flesh. “Freely given, freely received.”
32
Jenda squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to scream as the angel’s sword hurtled downward. A prayer that she never had time to speak hung on her lips. The aftershock of the blow forced her head downward and the tremors resulted in a tormented cry instead. Opening her eyes, shocked that she could still feel the horrible gut-wrenching pain, Jenda looked up into the angel’s face as he sheathed his sword and stooped to gather her in his powerful arms.
The familiar comfort and warmth engulfed her but did not drive away the acute torture of her many wounds as he shifted her. She thought of the blood that she needed to heal and she remembered the taste of summer rain and vanilla. Even the slight vibration of his powerful chest as he chuckled quietly made Jenda want to scream in agony.
“I am Michael, archangel, and you my brave little vampire will not be drinking anymore angel blood. Now look, see what you have accomplished.”
She turned her head, following his gaze, and saw that he had split the tree in half. A mist rose from the broken, twisted carcass and began to take form. Their bodies slowly unwound and became more solid as they released themselves from their eternal embrace. The couple that had been trapped for millennia was finally released.
The woman approached, and though Michael tensed, Jenda was not afraid. Her dark eyes, so much like Soborgne’s, bore into Jenda. “I am Lilith. Created by God in the same moment he created Adam. I am the wife of Cain, the marked. I am the mother of all vampires. I am the cursed. I was one half of the whole, which made God’s first creation. When I failed to be a subservient wife to Adam, God cast me out. Yet, he could not bear to destroy me. No matter my sins, he loved me as only a great artist can love his masterpiece. I am as I said, the mother of all vampires. I am nothing and everything all in one.”
Jenda understood the message. She had feared that God would allow her to perish in the demon landscape and had questioned his love for her. Yet, Lilith and Cain had been spared despite their digressions. Jenda wanted to sing her praises but she could not. Her maimed body would let her do little more than smile in understanding as Lilith spoke.
A light brighter than what the flight of angels had brought with them began to fill the area surrounding them and a window into heaven opened up. Jenda could see the mighty red-winged angels and the throne. She was so entranced by the glow of the Father that she almost did not notice Abraxos.
When her eyes fell on the angel who had given his blood and had given her the strength to fight against Andras, Jenda felt anger rise within her. Bound by chains and filled with shame, Abraxos’s eyes pleaded with her across the realms to help him. Jenda wanted to weep for him. The angels, the humans, and the vampires owed him their lives but he was fettered like a criminal.
Michael, sensing how distraught she was becoming, whispered into her ear. “Abraxos has fallen. Do not pity him. Though his deeds assisted you, he broke his covenant with the lord. A fallen angel is a fallen angel. No reason is beyond the judgment of God.”
The song returned and drowned out any other words that would have been spoken. The sound was clearer and more pure than any that Jenda had ever heard. Cold chills ran up her spine and goose bumps formed on her torn flesh. Jenda felt herself fading. Her body could not find the strength to heal. Too poisoned by demon blood and too weak to withstand any further stimulation. Forcing herself to hold on, she felt as if she was floating on the waves of heavenly hymn.
Another angel, as beautiful as Michael but fairer in complexion and hair, strode to where Soborgne still laid wrapped in Andras’s arms. Soborgne’s black eyes fluttered but did not fully open. Her lips moved to form one word. “Hottie.”
Jenda felt a stab of guilt as she realized she had forgotten her friend in the onslaught of ethereal appearances, but to hear the word, even as a desperately quiet whisper, lightened her own pain. Sobo, always and forever the rebel, would survive if God permitted. She would heal and live. If she could look upon an archangel in the presence of the Almighty and still find the steel to pronounce her opinion of his looks, she would have to be okay.
From deep within the light, a voice came. “Lilith and Cain, step forward.”
Jenda watched the man and woman step forward, beautiful, strong, and frightened. They clung to each other’s hands. In a way, Jenda was just as impressed by being in the presence of Lilith, the first wife of Adam, and Cain, the slayer of his brother, as she was to be in the presence of God and his angels. Even as she lay near unconsciousness in Michael’s arms, she felt peace knowing they would finally be free of their curse.
The voice gave Jenda chills and the tinges of pain came once more. “Lilith and Cain. I wish to welcome you back into the kingdom of heaven so that you may live under the laws of the realm and be as angels are. Do you accept me, your lord and savior, into your hearts and swear to me your unfailing allegiance?”
Lilith looked as if she could have screamed in joyous abandon but she held herself steady. “Father, we know that we have sinned and our downfalls have severed us from you. We beg forgiveness and we wish to turn away from our sinful past and return to you.”
Cain, with tears in his eyes, continued when she became too emotional to spe
ak, “God, be merciful to us, sinners both! We humble ourselves before you so that we may be exalted and once again bask in your glory.”
Together, the mother of vampires and her bonded mate walked into the light and vanished. Jenda and Soborgne were left in the arms of angels, to face their own fates. The light pulsed once, twice, and a third time. Jenda could almost feel the contemplation coming from its nucleus. She wondered what the good lord thought of her and her friend.
No voice came after the long pause, and when the warmth began to build at the tips of her toes, Jenda feared the worse. Trying to struggle away was useless. Her wounds prevented her from putting up much of a resistance and Michael’s embrace was as tight as the chains that held Abraxos. It wasn’t until the first of the heated sensation reached the torn and missing calf that she realized she was healing.
Falling against Michael’s chest and closing her tired eyes, Jenda let go of her fears and put her trust in the power of heaven. The pain came and went, flooded and waned. Yet, she remained silent and unmoving. She heard Soborgne moan and knew she too would soon be whole again. The heat that crawled through her badly battered body no longer brought pain. Instead a pleasant comforting embrace seemed to engulf her.
Soborgne felt herself sliding, being turned upright. She had felt no pain before the healing only because Andras had ripped her spine and nerves out of her body from tailbone to shoulder blade. However, as the wounds were knitted back together she had wanted to die. Had silently pleaded to be released from the horrendous torture she had endured. The slowly fading pain was nothing more than a residual tingle by the time Gabrielle sat her on her own two feet.
Her hand, free of the demon claws that had grown there, reached out and captured Jenda’s. The two stood side by side, ready to ask forgiveness and either be admitted into heaven or cast out to be condemned to an eternity of pain. The light from within the portal pulsated still and the angels’ song continued to endlessly flow.
Requiem of Humanity Page 61
