“If you would follow me, the king is waiting for you,” Merlin’s voice snapped like a whip.
That reminded Hunter of Huthwiat’s vampires. They seemed to always stay out of his line of sight. Now that they were behind him, he turned, and was rewarded, or punished, with their eyes squarely fixed on his. They had doll’s eyes which showed no emotion, only reflecting back whatever image they were looking upon. How old were they? There was something very primitive in their facial structure. He was again struck by the resemblance between the two. The one to his right nodded. The mannerism was timeless. He was telling Hunter to turn around and keep going.
Hunter was not a squeamish man, nor one of sentiment, but carrying a head around did tend to put one a bit on edge. As he walked, the sound of their shoes echoed down the hall, and he pondered things, such as did the vampires smell the blood inside? Had someone cleaned the head to make it more presentable? Would Huthwiat lift it up by the hair and wave it about? Hadn’t Salome requested the head of John the Baptist? Maybe a silver serving tray would be provided to display what was left of Walter Ayres.
After a lifetime of slamming against the unpleasant wall of reality, he had his own way of dealing with tense situations. This involved humor. Whatever worked, right? He’d worked with officers who didn’t have an outlet. Slowly, like a public toilet, things started to back up. The explosion from all those repressed emotions could be a career ender.
Hunter worked to keep up with the procession. He wanted to explore, to stop and look at the art and sculpture around every corner. He felt like he was in a vast museum with unknown treasures. Everything was enormous. The doors could easily accommodate a horse and rider, and probably had at some point. It was overwhelming and somehow comfortable at the same time. He couldn’t imagine how something this large had been built, probably slowly over many years. It was timeless and contemporary. If Caesar, Catherine the Great, or Henry the VIII walked down this hall they would probably feel at home. Yet it was contemporary enough to house a modern billionaire, and probably contained more high-tech surveillance equipment than Buckingham Palace and the White House combined.
He thought he could see where they were going; up ahead there was an immense, open space. He almost stopped. How could this be? It looked like one side of the room was completely open to the sky. As he proceeded further, the floor stepped down onto another level, and he could see more clearly the floor-to-ceiling windows ahead. How could the vampires be out in the light? Filters, his mind registered. There must be protective film over all the glass windows.
Hunter looked around. Even to his untrained eye, it was clear that no expense had been spared. Exotic woods were inlaid into the wall panels, marble lined the floor, and the glint of gold leaf embellished designs were carved and painted throughout.
Merlin was the first to completely enter the space, then Huthwiat, and then the rest of the procession. Once inside, Hunter didn’t try to hide the awe he felt. To his right was a round table. He placed the box on it, not caring if it was respectful or appropriate.
He did a 360 and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. He wasn’t an emotional man or a religious man, but what he felt looking up the many stories to the ceiling caused his eyes to well up. It was glorious. A sky had been painted high above. The ceiling was domed, and the painted clouds, sun and birds were vibrant and exquisite. There was a ring of balconies about midway up. He looked down at his feet. The floor was black marble or granite, he wasn’t sure, but he could make out bright areas which must be stars. He looked back up at the balcony and hoped to one day see the view from there. Above was a bright noon day, and below a moonlit sky.
It took him far longer than he liked to admit to venture towards the far edge of the room. He wasn’t a fan of heights, and the closer he got to the brink, the more nervous he became. The front part of the room – really it was the size of a warehouse – was filled with large display monitors on one wall with round, library-type tables disbursed around. In the middle section were conversation areas of sofas and chairs. He had walked through all this to now stand at the boundary between room and sky. He reached his hand out and touched the window. It wasn’t glass, but some sort of composite, probably bullet proof. He pressed his forehead against the composite and looked down at the valley below. The room cantilevered out over the side of the mountain.
He felt a sudden unease and listened to that portion of his lizard brain which said be cautious. Before, there had been a smattering of talk in the room. Now it was silent, like a tomb. Slowly, taking in everything, he looked towards the entrance. Hunter knew without anyone having to tell him that this was the king they had come to see. He strode into the room, with two dark and menacing vampires, Hunter assumed, flanking his sides. There was a slight acknowledgment between the king and the Elder’s vampires. It was imperceptible really, but Hunter felt they were silently communicating.
The king was a mountain of a man. He was handsome in that cleaned-up barbarian type way and fit this gargantuan space as surely as it fit him. His dark suit did nothing to hide the hardened body underneath. Once again, Hunter was drawn to the vampire’s eyes. They were a cold steel color, not black and not blue. They were like lasers penetrating down into the marrow of Hunter’s bones. It took all his self-control not to rip his gun out and empty it into this creature. Meirta’s head whipped around to look at him. Her expression was a mask of worry.
“It has been too long.” The Elder was the first to speak, and floated over to hover in front of the king.
The king did not bow or nod or do any sort of respectful acknowledgement that Hunter could decipher. The king did turn his head towards the table where the box sat waiting.
“You honor me with your presence.” The king’s voice was deep, clear, and strong.
The Elder swung his silken mass of hair over his shoulder and ran his hand over the lustrous strands as one would pamper a beloved pet. Hunter felt handicapped by being human in this situation. He could not read the body language of Huthwiat and the king.
Hunter’s attention was momentarily captured by movement to his far left. Two guards opened pocket doors, revealing an adjoining room with a dining room copious with food and drink.
“Your journey has been long.” The king waved his hand towards the cornucopia.
Everyone seemed to relax then. The vampires moved into the room and almost smiled. They selected bottles, red in color, obviously blood, and poured the thick substance into wine glasses.
“I would like to introduce Detective Hunter. A new addition to my…” The Elder paused to pick the right word, then continued, “entourage. He has unique skills which will be needed.”
Hunter walked towards them. With each step he controlled the rage he felt towards the king. Why was he so completely out of control of his emotions? The feeling seemed mutual, or maybe that snarl the king sported was normal.
“This is most irregular,” the king said.
“Yes, isn’t it, much like your recent addition?” the Elder responded.
Touché, Hunter thought.
“An introduction to your human would be most advantageous,” the Elder said.
Hunter was now standing next to the Elder, who had a very Other glow about him. The king ignored the Elder’s request and turned to face Hunter.
He had to look up to meet the king’s eyes. In the testosterone filled world of men, this was never a comfortable feeling. Hunter knew he was the bottom dog in this fight. He saw a dark stain on the king’s collar. Was it blood?
“Well, what have you to show me,” the king growled at him. “Human.”
His hand was behind his jacket in an instant. If the Elder had not stopped him, he would have unloaded a magazine into the king’s face.
“Not well trained, is he?” The king turned his back and walked over to the table that held the box.
“He is resourceful and has his uses,” the Elder replied.
“And what would those be?”
“In time.” The Elder floated to stand opposite the king. “Ms. Ayres should be here.”
Hunter had assumed the Elder would be warmly received, even if it was a façade. There was bad blood between these two and he didn’t want to get caught in the middle, unless he was the one staking the king. He made a mental note to research exactly how vampires could be killed.
“Lily is no concern of yours,” the king was saying. “Whatever is to be revealed should be revealed to me, or not at all.”
Merlin walked over to the king and nodded towards a display screen. A light in the upper right corner was blinking bright orange. Hunter knew there were cameras placed about the room, and someone was now watching a live feed. That someone, he assumed, was Lily Ayres, daughter of the late Walter Ayres.
The two men eyed each other. Clearly Merlin was communicating with the king. Whatever the information was, it did not please the king. After a moment, a silent accord was agreed upon and he nodded to Merlin and faced the display screens.
Hunter was impressed with the setup. He hadn’t seen anything this sophisticated since working with New Scotland Yard on an international case between the U.K. and the United States.
“Carry on.” The king, impatient, glared at him.
The Elder’s face glowed. “Detective, if you would.” He pointed to another box, not the one with Walter’s remains, and nodded at Merlin. “I’m sure the detective would find it most helpful if you would display those.” The Elder continued, “We took the liberty of retrieving every piece of evidence, before destroying any record of what happened at the church.”
Where do you start to tell someone of the gruesome death of their father? Hunter knew she was watching somewhere, waiting, knowing already what he would say, just not all the particulars.
He decided it would be most kind to start with the worst. Would that be the head or the photos? He spoke to the Elder, his hand resting on the box. “Should I display the remains?”
The Elder looked to the king, who nodded. “Go ahead, show the remains,” the Elder said.
Hunter pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his coat pocket. He expertly slipped them on his hands and took a deep breath. “It is with my deepest sympathy,” he started, looking up at the closest camera.
“Speak to me.” The king’s voice sent an icy dagger down his spine. “I am your only concern.”
Hunter’s eye twitched. It was his tell when he was angry. “I speak to the next of kin. It is protocol.”
“There is no protocol but the one I make. Now speak to me, or leave.”
“Go ahead, Hunter,” the Elder said. Floating to stand between them, he looked at the king. “He has no knowledge of our rituals, do not take offense.”
Angrily, Hunter opened the box. The head had been wrapped in what looked like a silk scarf. He lifted it and placed it on the table. The material had stuck to particular parts of raw flesh and it took him a minute to unveil the head that had once sat upon Walter’s shoulders.
The king’s nose twitched as he moved closer to inspect Walter’s head. “Who did this?” he asked.
“More importantly, what,” Hunter replied.
The macabre presentation went on for another twenty minutes. The king was texting back and forth for most of it. It shocked Hunter to see a supernatural creature do something so mundane.
When Hunter was finished, he wrapped and boxed Walter’s head, like a carefully chosen Christmas present.
He debated whether he should divulge more information. On the plane, he’d noticed what he thought to be Walter’s handwriting of a few letters. He’d been steps away from showing Huthwiat this, but then had changed his mind. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided not to show it to him, but some instinct had told him it wouldn’t be wise.
The elder waved his hand in front of a screen and it flickered on. A newscaster, with perfect hair and teeth, was talking about Walter. A less than flattering picture of him was on the side screen.
“Walter Ayres died last night of a massive heart attack. Mr. Ayres was a noted historian and one of the wealthiest men in the world. He is survived by his daughter, Lily Ayres. A private ceremony is planned for his burial.”
“Everything has been prepared, if it meets with your human’s approval.” The Elder pointed towards a small folder. “All should be in order.”
“Merlin will handle it from here,” the king said.
“So that’s it.” Hunter yanked the gloves off. “That poor girl is left without a father, and you two wrap everything up? This isn’t what I signed on for. I want to find this monster.” Hunter looked directly at the king. “And kill it.”
The king glanced at him like he was a pesky fly that wouldn’t leave a picnic. That only made him madder, to realize how insignificant he was.
“I propose that Detective Hunter remain here and continue to investigate. All resources he requires, I will provide.” The king spoke while looking at the screen.
Not what he had expected.
“He will need to have access to your human,” the Elder said.
An unheard negotiation was happening between the two of them. The king nodded.
“Meirta will stay with the detective,” the Elder said. “He is accustomed to her.”
“That will not be necessary. Merlin can handle him.” The king smiled. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of such a valuable asset as she.”
“A word in private,” the Elder said. His face had a hard edge to it, something Hunter had only glimpsed before. He wondered if Huthwiat’s image, the one he saw, was the true image of the Elder, or if Huthwiat projected what they saw because it was more palatable than his true form.
Everyone was politely ushered from the room while the king and the Elder continued with their conversation alone. Merlin quietly and efficiently closed the doors.
The Elder’s vampires held an unspoken conversation. Hunter made a mental note to ask Meirta about them. She had a smile on her face, and came to stand beside him.
“It looks like we’ll be staying.” She tilted her head and smiled at him.
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“It is,” she whispered.
Trying to ignore the way his body reacted to her, he asked, “What are they talking about in there?”
She gave him a look, the one you would use for the village idiot. “I can’t hear vampire minds, or that of the Elder.” She slapped him on the butt. Everyone turned around to look at them. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Before Hunter could respond, the doors Merlin had just closed flew open, and what felt like a huge gust of wind almost knocked him down as it blew past.
Chapter Twelve
Krieger strode down the long hallway to the map room. Throughout the evening, Lily’s nervousness had felt like an electrical current moving through his body. He wasn’t accustomed to her emotions yet, not able to gauge her exact level of anxiety or fear, but he did feel an intense terror when her heart rate spiked and then inexplicably drifted back to its slow and rhythmic beat.
The Vantor guards exchanged a worried glance. One of them spoke. “The doctor is here.”
“What happened?” Krieger asked.
“Lily was watching the presentation.” The guard looked at the floor. “She screamed and fell… and then nothing.”
The doctor stepped outside the doors. “She was nonresponsive when I got here.” His tone hardened. “What was done to her father and Gibson is too horrific to comprehend. Lily should never have been allowed to watch such a thing.”
“No.” The guard stood tall. “I’ve seen soldiers break down over less. Her eyes never wavered.” He bowed to the king. “Something else terrified her.”
“Your majesty.” Dr. Caanan stepped to the side of the doors, hunching slightly as the king turned to face him. “If I may have a word with you? I find myself in a very uncomfortable situation.” The doctor cleared his throat. “My family has served you as Royal Medicus for many generations.”
“You must consider her mental state.”
“Get to your point.”
“How much blood did you give her?”
“A few swallows.” He didn’t have time for this. He needed to get back to the Elder.
“Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps…” The doctor leaned back against the wall. “She fainted, but that’s not what has me concerned, it’s her…well maybe it’s best you see for yourself. Take things slower from now on.” Clearly unnerved, the doctor bowed and walked down the long hall.
Krieger watched the doctor’s back for a moment and then went into the map room. Lily was standing next to the fire, staring at a line of pictures placed on the wall.
“Stoke, decade after decade,” he explained. She turned slowly towards him, looking as beautiful and still as the statues in the public hall.
“Do you need me to call the doctor back?” he asked.
“No,” her voice was raspy.
He understood the doctor’s concern now.
“Walter, we never loved each other, but he didn’t deserve that.”
“The gods toy with us and give us what they deem for their pleasure.” He was angry at how much she meant to him, that his keeper had been butchered, and most of all, at the intrusion on his land by the Elder. “Rarely do any of us deserve what we are given, good or bad.”
“I want retribution. I want to know who did this.”
“We both shall.” Her reaction surprised him. He expected her to be a weepy mess of a woman, perhaps collapsed on the floor with grief, or too petrified of him to talk. “Why did you faint?”
She looked at him fully, without trying to avoid his gaze. The blood exchange had enhanced her eye color, and a halo of light emanated from her skin. His blood was accentuating traits dormant within her body.
“Answer me.” He took a measured step towards her.
“Or what?” She tossed her head back defiantly.
“The guard said you screamed and then fainted. Was it seeing Walter’s remains?”
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