Redeemer of Shadows

by Redeemer Of Shadows(Lit)

  Ginger quickly recovered her composure to sneer down at him. She turned, whipping her head in the wind to look at Hathor. Quietly, she murmured to the unconscious woman, "As for you human, you will see your beloved Servaes die. Then tomorrow night, I will come back for you. You will be mine."

  "You will not touch her!" Servaes hollered.

  Lazily Ginger walked back into the tunnel, ignoring him. She shut the old iron door behind her, not bothering to lock it.

  Servaes turned back to Hathor. Her eyes were open, tears glistened in their depths. She tried to smile for him, but couldn’t.

  "Hathor," he began. The name was like a sorrowful plea. "I --"

  "Shhh," she broke in. She shook her head, her eyes glowing with the fine mist of her vampiric life. "I regret nothing. If I am to die, let it be with you."

  Servaes didn’t answer. There was nothing he could say. Hathor turned her eyes to the sky. Quietly, she whispered, "Such a beautiful night."

  "Oui, mademoiselle," Servaes admitted. He looked at her face, desperate to help her and unable to do so. He turned his face to the sky. Closing his eyes, he used the last of his strength to call out to Jirí, to anyone who might help them.

  * * * *

  Hathor knew the moment Servaes passed out next to her. She could hear his mind calling out. She didn’t talk to him or interrupt him. Then, when his thoughts stopped and his head lulled to the side, she tried to call out as he had. She pulled against her bonds, praying for a way to break through them.

  The ties were too tight. They didn’t move. She watched the moon travel over the earth, slow in its progression. She heard the call of birds, lonely so late at night. The stars twinkled. One shot across the heavens. She could see nothing beyond the enclosure but the sky.

  As the hours wore on, she grew tired, unable to direct her haphazard thoughts. She could feel dawn approaching. It prickled her skin in warning. Servaes was still asleep. She willed him to stay as such. If death was to be painful, she would rather he not experience it. She studied his face for a long moment. Then, when she turned her attention back to the sky, she noticed a lone figure crouching on the low roof. She froze when she recognized his green cloak sweeping about him in glorious folds and waves.

  "You," her voice cracked hoarsely. At her notice, the man stood. He took a step off the stone jutting up from the ground, marking the top of the enclosure. He walked with leisurely patience, forward over the grass. She couldn’t see his face beneath the hood, but she detected a smile.

  "You have changed, little one," he whispered. He didn’t appear to move, but Hathor felt as if a hand caressed her face softly.

  Hathor nodded, mesmerized by his words. She caught the glint of his green emerald on his hand as he moved it lazily through the air. Then, with gentle swiftness, she felt his cheek brush and press against her own in a tender caress. When he pulled away just as fast, she could see the subtle shine of his gaze as he studied her. "I smell him in you."

  Hathor nodded.

  "And I smell you in him. Very strange," he admitted.

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  "I imagine I am your great-grandfather," he mused. He leaned over Servaes to study his face. Seeing him completely asleep, the vampire removed his hood. Hathor stared at him. His long black hair was straight, reflecting the deepest color of midnight. The locks disappeared beneath the green cloak. His eyebrows arched rigidly on his pale skin, his lips carved as if from stone. He had a long aristocratic nose, very defined. As he looked at her, waiting for her to take in his face, he studied her from solemn, exhausted brown eyes.

  "Will you help us?" she asked.

  "Yes, little one," he stated. "I will help you. Your blood has helped me."

  He leaned over, unfastening Servaes’ restraints with barely an effort. Then doing the same for her, he lifted her from the ground. She gazed lovingly at Servaes before turning back to him.

  "Thank you," she whispered. Her eyes shone with gratification.

  "He is changed, Hathor," the vampire whispered. His hands rose to touch her cheek, his caress on her skin like that of a lover. The length of his nails raked over her neck and shoulder. Hathor was enthralled. He looked nothing like the skeletal creature that had come to her on the balcony. Quietly, he said, "Something is not the same in him. The young ones do not sense it. They are stupid, ridiculous fools. But I can smell it on him, and I can smell it in you. Tell him when he awakes. Tell him he is different, special."

  "Will he be all right?" she asked.

  The vampire chuckled. He nodded slowly. A strand of his hair escaped his cloak, pulling forward to wrap around his face. "Yes, my little one. He will be fine. But he is altered from what he once was. The others may not understand it."

  Hathor stood transfixed. She could feel the old power in the being before her. He could take her over completely if he so chose to do so. His pale lips came forward, brushing along her mouth in a soft kiss. His eyes closed briefly. His lips held still along her mouth. Slowly, he pulled back to gaze at her once more.

  "Why do you help us when everyone else seems to want us dead?" she whispered. He could feel her fear. But he also felt her bravery.

  "Only these fools want you dead," he said, motioning to the door leading down to the vampire den. His gaze never left hers. She could see his eyes turning green to probe within her. She could feel him gliding with ease through her mind, plucking whatever secret he wanted from her. Finding her fear, he drew it forth inside of her, focusing on it. "You will worry no more about the ones inside. They will not be coming out again."

  "What would you do?" she asked, breathless. He drew the little bead of her fear out of her until all she felt was a gentle calm.

  She received no answer to her question. But she could see the subtle shift in the vampire’s face. He was going to kill the young ones -- all of them. However, for some reason he was sparing Servaes and herself.

  The vampire let go of her face, drawing back like the drifting of linens on the breeze. His cloak folded around him. The door behind him opened. A small corner of his lips curled at the side, devilish and handsome though deadly in intent.

  I spare you because you are my children. I punish them because they broke our laws. Hathor heard his distinct answer to her unasked question clearly in her head. She shivered as the cloak folded in on itself, disappearing with him into the darkness.

  As soon as he was gone, Hathor rushed to Servaes’ side. She shook him gently. "Get up, Servaes, hurry."

  Servaes moaned, looking up at her face.

  "Are we dead?" he asked with a tired moan.

  "Yes," she answered with a happy smile filled with hope. "Now get up before we burst into flames."

  Servaes instantly sat up. His eyes narrowed in confusion.

  "I’ll explain later. Now, hurry. We have to get our coffin and get out of here." Hathor tugged on his arm. "There isn’t much time."

  Servaes nodded, coming to his feet. Taking control, he led her by her hand over the top of the mound. Hathor glanced at the door leading back within the passageways. Servaes ignored it, refusing to risk going back in. He led her silently past trees and stone buildings. Then, coming to a graveyard, he whisked along old gravestones finally stopping at a mausoleum.

  "What are we doing here?" Hathor asked, frightened. He turned to her, motioning for silence.

  I hid my spare coffin in here after I left your house. Servaes motioned for her to stay. He disappeared behind the old gravestones only to reappear carting his coffin behind him. Help me.

  Hathor pulled a side of the coffin, lifting it in her arms. She could see the strained lines of Servaes’ face. She could see that he was weak.

  "Do you need to feed?" she asked him. "We can stop if we have to."

  "No," he answered a little too sharply, leading her through the streets. He concentrated on hiding them from the eyes of others.

  Progress was slower than usual, but finally they made it to the front lawn of Kennington House. Servaes collap
sed on the front step. Hathor hurriedly made her way to the front door. It was locked. Pulling the cord, she rang the bell frantically, trying to wake her aunt.

  "Here," Servaes mumbled, tired. He lifted his hand to unlock the latch. The door swung open. Hathor peered inside. Just then, the light switch came on.

  "What --?" Georgia began, half asleep. The woman saw her niece’s pale face. An immense smile broke out on her features as she rushed forward. She pulled Hathor into her arms. "My dear, you’re alive! I was so worried."

  "Georgia, we need your help, please. The sun will be rising soon. We need a place to rest." Hathor pulled her aunt back from her, turning to direct her attention behind her to where Servaes sat wearily on the step. Georgia detected the change in her niece, but was not scared. The old woman noticed the coffin with a start.

  "Yes, yes, of course," the woman answered. She waved her hands to usher them inside. "Hurry, come on."

  Hathor nodded in appreciation. Stopping, she sensed something familiar about her aunt. She turned to look at her in curiosity.

  "Come on, Hathor," she said. "Look at him. Help him up."

  Hathor obeyed, going to Servaes. He waved off her attentions, standing on his own. Then, lifting one end of the coffin, he waited for Hathor to grab the other side. They hauled it into the house.

  Hathor led the way into the formal dining room, barely looking at the large table as they moved the coffin past. Georgia shrieked behind them. Suddenly, the other side of the coffin fell, jerking her arms down. She turned to find Servaes on the floor, unconscious. The coffin splintered with its hard landing.

  Georgia rushed to the vampire’s side. She pressed her wrist against his forehead to feel for a temperature before pulling away, realizing he wouldn’t have one. Hathor was immediately next to him. She brushed back his hair.

  "What is wrong with him?" Georgia asked, frantic.

  "I don’t know. He hasn’t eaten for days," she asserted.

  "Should I --" her aunt began to offer her arm with a worried frown.

  "No," Hathor said, thinking of the old creature’s words. Servaes was different now. "I don’t think he will eat."

  Tears entered Hathor’s eyes as she stroked back his hair. She could feel the exhilaration of the approaching sun. She opened the lid, revealing the torn and bloodstained satin inside of the black coffin.

  "We’ll just have to sleep here," Hathor stated. She pulled under Servaes’ arms, fighting to get him into safety. Georgia helped what she could. Fitting him inside, Hathor whispered, "I will see you tomorrow at dusk. Put a thick blanket over us in case the coffin is broken. No sunlight can get in. Don’t let anyone in the house and whatever you do, don’t open the lid."

  "Yes," Georgia whispered with a hurried nod. Her face shone with concern and love for the two vampires as she rushed to get the blankets.

  Hathor closed the lid over their bodies. Servaes’ eyes still hadn’t opened. She pulled his body close to her, exhausted. He didn’t stir. She lovingly placed her hand on his chest, feeling for the faint beating of his heart. Closing her eyes, she let loose a weary sigh and tried to find her rest.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The sun perched its head above the side of the earth, casting about the orange glow of a beautiful day over the city of London. Its life-giving golden rays hugged the storefront windows, glaring off the shiny panes. Light glittered over the water of the Thames, touched the majestic lines of the many bridges, and lit up every roadway and turnabout with brilliantly contrasted shadows. But, for some, the crisp morning was not magnificent. It was death.

  Ginger’s eyes rounded in surprise, her scream waking all of those around her from their mesmerized trance. Her body pressed desperately into the pile of vampires she rested upon. Those beneath her fought to be free. Their claws dug into her back, tearing through her flesh until her blood spilled down over them and she couldn’t move.

  Lamar, in a panic, shot straight up from the ground, bursting into a ball of flames as a ray of morning touched his skin. He flew through the bluing sky like a fireball, exploding into ash with the flair of a yellow popping firecracker. The ash of his remains fluttered to the ground like falling snow.

  Ginger screamed again, crawling her way through the haphazard bodies around her in the deserted street. As the warm globe streamed higher to chase its gleaming death after the vampiress’ feet, flaming corpses shot out in all directions. Pale skin burned red, bubbling and melting from bones made of dust. Some lighted afire and others burst apart like a terrible explosion. The feathery ash of their remains drifted to the earth, dusting over lampposts and stone, sweeping across the alleys and statues. The last of their mournful shrieks were carried away on the wind, forever silenced and forgotten.

  Ginger howled again in agony, scrambling back from the sun, trying to find solace in the shadow of a tall building. But in her haste she crawled too far, coming out from beneath the dimness into the sunlight. The sun found her face. She couldn’t escape. The skin peeled back from her bones, like the rotting decay of old fruit. Her head loosened from her shoulders, rolling back on the pavement, blazing with fire. Her body puffed into a cloud of ash, disappearing into nothingness.

  Before the full globe had risen completely to claim the heavens, all but one died a fiery death. Ash and dust covered over the city street like a thick blanket, flowing over the bricks like water as the wind brushed up the debris. Vincent was the only survivor, crawling from the pile into the shade of the alley, up the side of a brick wall. The sun lit against his foot, decaying his leg until only a bloody stump remained. But his body survived, his arms pulling him into the ceiling of the passageway leading into the Vampire Club. Scrambling down to the tunnels below the street, Vincent found his agonizing rest within the tomb of Ginger’s pink coffin.

  By the time the human mortals awoke to bear witness in the streets, the ground divulged no evidence to the deed but for the settling of gray dust that couldn’t be disconcerted from that which was carried there by the wind.

  * * * *

  Hathor felt a lurch beneath her hand, jolting her awake. Her lids were heavy, exhausted. She moved her palm over Servaes’ chest to feel his heart beating. It was a scant rhythm compared to the normally strong thud. Turning her weary eyes, she saw him clearly in the darkness. His lips were parted, his lids closed. She could feel his heart slowing drastically beneath her, winding down like a breaking toy.

  "Servaes," came her tortured whisper. She pulled closer to him, lifting her hand to shake his face. His eyes fluttered. Crying, she asked, "What’s wrong with you?"

  "I," he began. He closed his eyes and swallowed. "Something happened when I changed you. I changed myself."

  "Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?" she questioned desperately. Her hands flew over him, helplessly trying to find a way to save him. "Here, take my blood, just enough to last through the day."

  "I," his voice trailed off into a slight whisper of air escaping his lungs. His words were a cracked rustle, as he whispered, "I am dying, chéri."

  "No," Hathor cried out desperately, shaking him when he would close his eyes. Unnatural tears poured from her loving gaze. She could feel what he said was true. With each word she uttered, the more desperately she wept until her words were an excruciating whisper, "Stay with me. Stay awake. You can’t go. You can’t leave me alone -- not now! Not after all we have survived. Servaes, please, I can’t live without you. Drink from me."

  "I cannot," he whispered back, unmoving. She watched his face gray with dust. Hathor was afraid to touch him, scared that he would disappear into a cloud of mist if she pressed a finger to him. "Call out to Jirí once it is dark. He will help you."

  "Don’t talk like that. You just haven’t eaten. You need blood." She didn’t even stop to think before she pressed her wrist to his mouth, smothering it against his lips. His skin felt soft, too soft. Insistently, she ordered, "Take mine. Bite it."

  "I cannot," he whispered. "My fangs are sunken into my mou
th. Your blood must be too weakened to sustain me now. You have not eaten either."

  "Then I will find you someone," she declared in a hurry. "You just hold on."

  "No," Servaes protested, as she made a move to lift the lid. His hands trembled as he lifted them up to her. His eyes pleaded with her to stop, to come back. "You cannot … the sunlight. It will kill you."

  "I have to try. You will not last until dusk." Hathor ignored his protesting and the feeble attempt of his skeletal hand to stay her. She cracked open the lid, fearful of what she would find. Seeing that Georgia had indeed covered them with several thick blankets, she sighed in halfhearted relief. She crawled out as carefully as she could.

  Before she shut the lid, she heard Servaes whisper, "Je t’aime, Hathor. I love you."

  A gasp left Hathor’s lips with a cry of pain. She felt moisture stinging in her eyes, eyes that were not supposed to cry. The tears kissed her cheeks like stars. Her gaze glowed eerily with her power. Nodding, she whispered back, "I do not regret a moment. I love you, Servaes. Hold on. I will find a way to help you."

  Hathor shut the lid, pulling the blankets carefully around her. It was slow moving as she tried to make her way along the floor. She couldn’t lift her head to look about, and she couldn’t hear her aunt. She could feel the sunlight trying to peek into her darken void. It burned into the blanket, warming her skin with a fiery heat.

  Hathor felt Servaes’ body convulse weakly in the coffin. A single thread of emotion bound them together. She felt his death coming. His body was slowly turning to grave dust, and she felt her world ending with him.

  "Georgia!" Hathor yelled, her hoarse voice rising in muffled desperation through the thick blanket. In sudden insight, she sensed the woman and followed her instincts to the gardens.

  Hathor slowly progressed through the kitchen, crawling to the screen door that led to the back yard. Feeling the door give, she pushed forward with her head to hit it open. She crouched carefully down on her feet to pass over the sun-warmed stairs, holding open the door with her head. Her limbs trembled, feeble in their movements. She could detect the damning heat of the bright sun on her back, soaking dangerously deeper into the blanket, searching for a hole in which to sting her. The darkness surrounded her like a black blessing. Wretchedly, she yelled, "Georgie, help me!"