"We have been searching for you. When I saw the markers on your bone marrow in the database, I thought it might be you. I came searching for you."
"Why didn't you just tell me? Why all this sneaking around?"
"I had to be sure." He removed the filled vial, replacing it with another. "You don't understand, Darling—your father was the first mortal to ever learn to manipulate the dimensional passageways."
"Who can then? Vampires?"
"No, only gods and their descendants…and your kind."
"Gods!" I yelled. "There are gods?"
Issa removed the last vial and put a cotton swab over the needle as he removed it. "Yes," he answered. "There are gods."
Vampires, zombies, and now gods.
I was the descendant of a demon maker. My father was a warlock with knowledge beyond any others. Though, obviously he wasn't that good since I got lost…
I couldn't think; my brain was stuttering with information, and there was nowhere for me to turn. And then my lips were on Issa's. His were warm and accepting. I pushed him up against the desk, my fingers lacing into his hair, holding him tight to me.
Hands roamed up and down my back, one tangled in my hair. He moaned against my lips as I felt that energy source inside of him. That flawed yet powerful center gave itself to me, rushing out of him, filling me with its strength and easing my hunger…calming my mind.
Gunshots in the hall broke through the haze of my lust and I pulled away, looking toward the door, my vision vibrating.
The door burst open. Dimitri—eyes fiery blue—grabbed me around the waist and yanked me from between Issa's legs. I fell back, stumbling and almost falling to the ground. Basil caught me. Dimitri went to grab Issa, but Dr. Tor put up his hand, spoke quickly in a foreign tongue, and Dimitri fell away, holding the sides of his head and moaning in pain.
"What are you doing?" I yelled, pushing free of Basil and hurrying to Dimitri's side.
"He was in a blood lust, was going to kill me," Issa said, his voice sounding weak. "I stopped him." He leaned against the desk, his skin gray and eyes sunken.
"Stop," I said. "Please, you're hurting him."
Issa dropped his hand, as though it was too heavy to hold up anyway.
"Sir," Basil said, "we must go. The hospital has been fully breached."
Dimitri turned to me, his face back to that porcelain mask—his eyes ice blue again. I'm starting to hate that color. "Your time is up," he said to me. "I will take you back now." Cords stretched away from him, tight with tension and pulsing. They pull at him, control him.
"Come with me to my society," Issa said. "You can learn more there. We have all the records. More information about your father. There are labs there. We can work together to find a cure. You'll be safe."
I looked from him to Dimitri. "I have to go with him," I said to the vampire. "I have to find out what I am."
"I must take you back to Brad." The cords vibrated. Can I snap them?
"I'll let you feed from me," I said.
His expression shifted, his eyes flashing gray, but then the cords glowed brightly and his gaze shuttered. "Think about it," I said, stepping closer to Dimitri, pushing my hair back from my neck. "Don't you want to taste me?"
"Yes." He licked his lips, pupils growing.
"We'll just go to the society first, and then we'll go back to Megan. I promise. Just a couple of hours." I put my hand on his chest. He covered it with his, lips softening into an amused smile. The vampire can find humor anywhere. "I won't abandon Megan, Dimitri, but I have to find out what is going on. If I can really help."
"We will escort you," Issa offered.
Dimitri looked over my head at him. "We do not need your help," he snarled—the amusement turning to disdain in a flash.
"We must go," Basil said again, even more urgently.
Dimitri picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. My surroundings blurred. Then we were on the roof, back out into the night. Dimitri took a running leap, and with my head hanging down, I saw the legions of zombies flowing over the sandbags and into the open doors of the hospital below.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dimitri put me down once we reached the warlock society. I'd never gone down Adam's Way before, despite it being in the center of town and not far from my apartment or the clubs where Megan and I played. The building at number 67 was surrounded by a high stone wall, the top of it six feet above my head. "I've never noticed this place before," I said to Dimitri. "Isn't that weird?"
"No, they hide it," Dimitri answered.
"How?" I asked, looking over at him. His hair shone under the street lamps, the elegant cut of his suit catching the light in sharp lines. My breath caught as I stared at him—gorgeous as a statue, fierce and loyal—how did I get here?
"They use a cloaking spell," Dimitri said, looking over at me and cocking his head at my expression.
I cleared my throat, pulling myself together. “Sure," I said with a shrug. "A cloaking spell, why not?"
The decorative pattern on the iron gates swirled so thick I couldn't see through it. I ran my fingers along the grooves as Dimitri rang the bell. A small red light glowed on the panel next to a lens. They can see us.
"How may we help you?" came a voice through the speaker.
"Issa Tor sent us," Dimitri said, leaning slightly toward the speaker box.
"One moment," the voice responded.
A zombie stumbled around the corner, followed closely by another. Spotting us in the center of the block, they picked up their pace.
"Wait here." Dimitri blurred down the street. His form solidified in front of the zombies. One fell and then the other, their skulls pierced by a blade that shone in Dimitri's hand—he bent down to wipe it off on one of the zombie's jackets. Sure, that makes sense. Need to keep your weapons clean.
My vision fogged. The street distorted. Tingles started at the top of my head and crawled down my body. Now I’m having a seizure? Great. I closed my eyes as a wave of nausea racked through me.
When it passed, I opened my eyes—I was standing in a formal garden surrounding a large and grand building, made of stone, with a central tower and large ornate columns. I'm inside the warlock compound. The front door opened, and a man wearing a blood red robe, tied at the waist with a thick rope, hurried down the steps toward me.
"Darling!" I heard Dimitri yell, his voice faint.
"I'm in here," I yelled, turning back to the gate. "Dimitri, can you hear me?"
"Darling! Darling!" he yelled again, his voice holding a desperate edge that sounded almost like fear.
The robed figure approached me quickly, his feet making hardly any sound on the paved paths. "Come," he said, motioning with his arm. "We must go inside."
"No." I backed up toward the gate. He grabbed my arm. "Let go of me!" I struggled against his tight grasp.
"Please," he said, his eyes wide with worry. "Don't touch the gate."
"Why?" I said looking at it.
"We must not let him in. Dimitri is very dangerous."
"Not to me, he's not. You on the other hand…" I looked down at where he held me to make my point.
His hazel eyes, magnified by his thick glasses, blinked rapidly. "Oh," he said. "No, no, I wouldn't. I couldn't hurt you."
"Then let go of me."
He glanced around the garden as if searching for help. "But"—he bit his lip—"you can't let the vampire in."
"I'm not staying without him."
A form began to materialize between me and the gate. Faint sparkles solidified into a man hunched down into his robes, as if gravity had a personal stake in pushing him into the ground. However, his sharp eyes made it clear that it’d take more than a law of nature to get him down.
The old man reached out and took my arm lightly—his hand gnarled and spotted with age. That strange sensation passed through me again, and I closed my eyes against the twisting world.
When the nausea passed and I opened my eyes, we were standing in a library the length o
f a football field. Wooden ladders ran on metal tracks, allowing access to the highest shelves. Large tables were dotted around the center of the space, green lamps illuminating their glossy surfaces.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Not to worry." He released my arm. His voice did not have the normal wavering of age I associated with men of his advanced years. "We are inside the building. Your vampire lover is not far. We will reunite you soon." He stepped over to a table covered in books.
"Why should I trust you?" I asked as he pulled one of the leather-bound manuscripts toward him.
He looked up at me, his brown eyes flashing in the warm light of the library. "Your father did."
I jutted my chin up, instantly wary. "Why should I believe you?"
He opened the book and removed a folded sheet of vellum paper. I could see black lettering though the thin paper. He handed it to me. "You must recognize his handwriting."
I took the sheet from him, not taking my eyes off his—they did not glaze as I expected. His lip twitched in a smile. "I have protected myself with a powerful spell that few know and even fewer believe works. If you were more powerful, it would not."
"Protecting you from what, exactly?”
His brow knitted and worry rippled through his gaze. "I have so much to teach you, but first, please, read the note."
I unfolded it gently, the paper's texture familiar. My father wrote letters weekly. He'd promised that someday he would tell me about them but…that day never came.
My breath caught as I looked down at his neat handwriting—written with the feather quill pens he let me help make.
Father used the feathers from the turkeys that we hunted. He'd choose the three longest from each wing. When I was very young, he let me remove the ribbing from the bottom portion, enough so that his hand fit comfortably. By the time I was seven and my hand steadier, he let me use the small knife to finish them.
"Cut the edge at an angle," he'd said, leaning over me, his breath on my hair.
My bottom lip between my teeth, I sliced the end of the feather at forty-five degrees.
"Perfect, Darling." There was a smile in his voice. "Now trim the end flat." I repositioned the feather, laying the longer edge down, then cut off the sharp tip. "Nicely done, now what?"
"Create the path for the ink."
"Yes, Darling, that's right. You'll be making all my pens for me soon," he said with a laugh. I almost heard the sound as I looked down at the letter addressed to me.
My Dearest Daughter,
* * *
If you are reading this, I am gone, and we did not have the time I hoped for together. As I write this you are by the fire, working on your math lessons. A strong and precocious girl of eight. My heart aches that you may someday have to read this letter—that we will be apart.
* * *
But do not be afraid, my Darling, for you are stronger than you know. Stronger even than your mother.
* * *
This correspondence is in possession of my oldest friend, Tyronios Templer. Listen to him, he can be trusted. Tyronios and his fellow warlocks have more knowledge about you and your kind than any other order I have come across in all the worlds. They will protect you until you grow into the powerful woman I know you will be.
* * *
Listen to Tyronios and learn from him. The Universe may depend upon you someday, my dearest darling daughter.
* * *
Forever,
Your loving Father,
Darconia Price III
A tear fell onto the thin paper, the ink under it blurring and distorting. I swiped at my face and looked up at Tyronios. "Aren't you a little late?" I asked. "I'm already a woman."
"I apologize.” Sadness flashed in his bright eyes. “We expected you to arrive here. But dimensional travel is always complicated and unpredictable."
A tear slipped down my cheek. "What do you want from me?"
"It is not what I want from you, Darling, but what I am offering." He swept his arm toward the table of books. "This is everything we know of your kind."
"And what kind is that? What do you mean? " I heard myself yelling, the paper in my hand crumpled as my fingers curled into an angry fist—the beast inside me stirring.
The older warlock stayed calm, his eyes steady and voice even. "There are lots of names for your kind. Succubus, Daughter of Lilith, Dream Stealer, Heart Beater, Goddess, Queen. There is no end of names that the worlds create. Every one of them true somewhere, and all of them false in other places. But you, Darling, are now responsible for the next chapter."
He opened one of the books, flipping through the pages until he found what he wanted. "Come, look." He waved me forward.
I stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. Tyronios pointed at an illustration. At the center, a beautiful woman with long dark hair like mine stood at the center of a battlefield. She held a long staff; it penetrated the head of a victim at her feet. In the scene around her, figures pulled off heads, thrust swords through midsections, bit each other. It was bloody, horrible chaos in black and white, except for one bit of color—the woman's eyes: they were the same green as mine.
“Helen. She lived 10,000 years ago. Ruled an army of vampires a million strong. Conquered seventy worlds before reaching full maturity and giving birth to her daughter, Stella." Tyronios turned through the pages, stopping at another lithograph. This woman sat in a tree, surrounded by birds and animals that watched her with adoration. Same black hair and green eyes but a totally different woman—her expression was one of love and compassion, not cruelty and power. "Stella was the product of Helen and a woodsman she attacked, not realizing he was a warlock. Helen's pregnancy was unexpected, and when she died, her vampires expired with her, leaving Stella alone in the woods. She was raised by foxes." He pointed to a small grouping of foxes at the bottom of the illustration. "She never left her world."
"How many?" I asked. "How many before me?"
Tyronios looked up at me. "At least fifteen," he said. "But there is no way to be sure."
"How do you know any of this is true?" I asked. "If it all happened so long ago?"
Tyronios pulled over another book. "We cross-reference," he said. "We have books from many different dimensions, and if we find references that match in more than one, we think of it as possible. More than ten, we think of it as likely. More than twenty," he smiled, "true enough to trust."
"So I can travel between the dimensions?" I asked.
"You should be able to. I don't know how, though."
"What about vampires?"
"Not without help. Most of the ones in this world don't believe in multiple dimensions. They are small-minded, deeply religious, and dedicated to an ancient text that does not deal with the entirety of the universe."
"But they predicted the zombie apocalypse," I said.
Tyronios shrugged and smiled. "They believe in their own deities. One who will die for the sins of the undead."
"The undead? Does that include zombies and vampires?"
"Yes, in some worlds they also count ghosts and disembodied spirits."
"They think someone is going to die for their sins. I don't understand."
"The question of the soul, what happens to the soul of the undead, is debated in every world in the universe."
I raised my eyebrows. "Is it clear what happens to the soul of the just plain dead?"
Tyronios smiled and shook his head. "I suppose not. In this world, in the religion of most vampires, called Emmulisivity, it is believed that the son of a powerful God lives in this world, dying and being reborn, waiting for the rise of the zombies, so that he may be bitten and rise again. By sacrificing his own child, this God purges all of the undead of their sins and they inherit the earth, keeping all humans under their control, for their own pleasure and nourishment."
"What do you think? Do you think this savior is real, the prophecy?"
"We believe the 'savior' "—Tyronios made air quotes and his voice dri
pped with condescension—"is an egomaniac, a very ancient being, related to a God but not his direct son. He travels from world to world, following the scent of the zombies, dying by their hand and rising for his own ego. We do not believe the souls of the undead are saved by him. He enjoys the worship of the vampire. Some in our society even believe that he helps to spread zombism between the worlds for his own satisfaction."
"Wow," I said. "So you believe that he exists?"
"Yes, we are hunting him, in fact."
"You think he is here, in our world?"
Tyronios nodded. "Yes, but he will move on soon."
I picked up a book and flipped through the pages. Illustrations of dark-haired women in the throes of passion filled the pages. I stopped on one. The woman was between two men, one in front and one behind. She arched between them, her long hair streaming down her bare back. The woman's eyes were open, rays of green light burning out of them toward the top of the page. "Considered to be the best way for your kind to gain power," Tyronios said.
I closed the book, my cheeks hot, hunger clawing at me, the images in the book sparking that rapacious need.
"What does this have to do with now? With the plague that is destroying this city? Why do you and Issa and my father think that I can stop it?"
"Issa thinks your blood holds a cure. Your father believed your powers could stop the spread of the disease. I believe that Lilith, the first of your kind, started it. And you can end it."
“Go on.”
"Lilith would not be subservient to Adam," Tyronios explained. "Some legends say she left and others claim she was expelled. However, Lilith did not wander the earth alone, as Adam and God hoped. She met the archangel Samil, who coupled with her for centuries. In some worlds they are portrayed as evil—death bringers, harborers of doom, creators of the zombie apocalypse. In others they are remembered as freedom fighters, champions of equality, and two souls that loved as one."
Lost Secret Page 15
