The Eyes of the Sun: The Complete Trilogy

by Christina McMullen

  “Ugh, terrible handwriting,” she commented. “I can’t make out half these words.”

  “Let me take a look,” Fausto said, taking the diary from her. “Well that’s why. It’s Old Occitan, similar, but not French.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” I commented.

  “It’s an endangered language, but it is mainly used in the region where vampires originated, so it is not surprising.”

  “Can you read it?”

  “I can,” Fausto confirmed. “Do you mind if I take it for study?”

  “Please do,” I said, somewhat relieved that Andre hadn’t spoken up and claimed knowledge of the language. The book was old, so I doubted there were any references to me in there, but I still felt more comfortable with Fausto’s impartiality for the translation.

  We dropped Lisette and Fausto off at headquarters and arranged to meet the following evening at Andre’s apartment. By the time we got home, my ankle had swollen uncomfortably and I was growing nervous. When I tried to take off my boot, the pain was too much and I stumbled onto the sofa, cursing and crying.

  “Lucy, what’s wrong?” Andre dropped to the floor and gently moved my hands away from my foot so that he could examine it.

  “I sprained my ankle back in the tunnel, but it’s not healing,” I said with slight panic. “Abe said stress was weakening my immune system, but this is crazy.”

  “Well you haven’t given it a rest all night, so there’s no need to panic yet,” he said gently and tugged at the boot. After several attempts and some creative swearing, the boot came off, revealing a horrible purple and black monstrosity. My ankle was swollen so badly that my toes were nearly blue from the lack of circulation. “I don’t think that’s a sprain, you might have broken it. I can set the bone and wrap it. You should be fine in the morning.”

  While Andre went to look for the first aid kit, I noticed the scrapes on my palm were still fresh, which was even more alarming. A minor scrape usually healed instantly, but when I rubbed at the angry red line, I drew fresh blood. My first instinct was to panic, but I took a deep breath, wiped the blood on my pant leg, and reminded myself that I had just gone through an incredibly stressful day.

  “This might hurt,” Andre said with a disarming smile as he set down the first aid kit and gently picked up my leg.

  “Wait,” I said, realizing what he was about to do. “Are you qualified to set a bone?”

  “No, but I set my own ankle and femur last year when I fell from the balcony. Just hold still and um, I don’t know, bite something.”

  “Bite something? Augh!” My scream at least drowned out what was likely a sickening crack as Andre yanked my ankle in two different directions. The pain was intense, but I did feel the pressure on my toes immediately decrease.

  “The worst is over,” he said apologetically and wrapped my ankle in a pressure bandage. “Don’t try to put any weight on it.” He stood and held his hand out to help me up. I stood, wobbling on one leg, until he wrapped his arm around my back and lifted me off the ground.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Exercising my right to be a big, strong man for my damsel in distress,” he said with a wink and carried me up the stairs. “And perhaps practicing for when I get to carry you over the threshold.” After helping me change, he kissed me and left the room.

  “Where are you going?” I called, already drifting off to sleep.

  “I’ll be up in a minute. I’m just going to check in with Evan and let him know what we’ve found. I also want to check with Abe about your ankle.”

  By the time I awoke, the sun had already set again. Andre was asleep next to me. I didn’t know when he had gone to bed, so I didn’t want to disturb him, but getting up on my own proved to be a bit difficult. As soon as my feet hit the floor, it was obvious that my ankle hadn’t healed yet. I reached for something to steady myself, but I misjudged the distance to the wall and found myself on the floor, awkwardly wedged between the dresser and desk.

  “Lucy, what happened?” Andre was up and out of bed in a heartbeat.

  “I guess my ankle hasn’t healed yet,” I said with a grimace, taking his offered hand to get up.

  “We need to talk about that,” he said. “Come on. Let me help you downstairs and I’ll get us something to eat.”

  After settling me on the sofa with my foot propped up on an ottoman, and determining that the only edible items we had were a couple of energy bars and some coffee, Andre sat down next to me and gave me a strange look.

  “Okay, just spill it,” I said, knowing that look meant he had something to tell me that he thought I wouldn’t take well.

  “We’re heading back tomorrow morning,” he said carefully. “I talked to Abe after you went to sleep and he told me that Cynda broke her arm in gym class right after we left. She’s not healing either. When he checked her blood, the enzyme was almost completely gone. He can’t find anything else wrong with her and the fact that the same has happened to you has raised everyone’s suspicions.”

  I could see why. Neither Cynda nor I were under that much stress. “What kind of suspicions?”

  “No one said anything concrete, but if it’s genetic, it wouldn’t make sense for Cynda to be experiencing the same symptoms now, would it? You don’t remember coming into contact with anything or anyone strange, did you?”

  “No stranger than normal,” I said. “But don’t we have more to do here? We haven’t even looked into this supposed Elder yet.”

  “Your safety is more important,” he said fiercely. “Besides, if your vampire friend is to be believed, we’re wasting our time here anyway.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “I don’t know. But Fausto sent me a message not too long ago. He says there’s some interesting information in that diary Damien gave you. We’ll discuss it when they come over here this evening. In fact,” he checked the time, “they’ll be here in a couple of hours. I’m going to go get us some more substantial food and I’m going to pick up some painkillers for you.”

  “They don’t work,” I said automatically, but then blushed sheepishly. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to give them a try.”

  Chapter 13

  After Andre left, I called Cynda to find out what had happened to her. Apparently, she broke her arm by falling from a climbing wall in school. What was more disturbing was that she said she was still getting headaches and the only reason she fell was because she had gotten dizzy. Like me, she didn’t have any recollection of anything strange that might have triggered her illness. Something wasn’t adding up. As Andre had mentioned, if the issues were genetic, the fact that Cynda and I were experiencing them at the same time, rather than at the same age, seemed suspicious. Abe’s theory about stress made sense at first, but I had been under far more stress at other periods in my life and never suffered any ill effects. For that matter, Cynda spent her entire life running from vampires who were trying to kill her. If this was merely stress related, her abilities should have been suppressed long ago.

  Somebody did this to us. There was no other explanation. There was no way that this could have happened naturally, especially not when someone wanted me dead. But who and how were still a mystery. According to Damien, Delphine LaLaurie wanted my powers for herself. That made sense. After all, she wouldn’t have been the first vampire to go after my DNA in hopes of unlocking the secrets of my special abilities for themselves. But robbing me of the very abilities she coveted made absolutely no sense, so either Damien was lying or we were dealing with several unrelated threats.

  Andre returned with a bag of groceries from my favorite bakery, followed by Lisette and Fausto. Fausto looked as if he hadn’t slept since the last time we saw him.

  “This diary is quite disturbing,” he said, placing the leather bound book on the table in such a way that suggested even touching it bothered him. “Only the beginning was written in the old language. I’ve copied the pages and I’ll have the translation sent to you. They des
cribe a very interesting history that I’m not yet sure what to make of, but the rest of the book is written in English, so you can read it for yourself if you really want to. All I can say is that you are very lucky to be alive, Lucy. There are passages that I’m not sure you are going to want to read.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Given the age of the book, I hadn’t expected there to be any mention of me. I was lucky to be alive, but the way Fausto spoke made me think he wasn’t referring to the torture I endured in the ES compound.

  “Towards the end, you are mentioned along with the paintings. It seems he followed you around for a while, but when he learned you were named Lucy, he became obsessed. How he came to have possession of the paintings is never discussed, but he does go on at length about them and the artist. I almost get the impression he knew Arthur personally.” Fausto picked up the book and thumbed through the pages.

  “Listen to this: ‘The poet’s love, sickly sweet words of devotion, is a mere shadow of the purity with which Erwin loved the undeserving wench. Love is not a mutual understanding. Love does not bloom, as does a rose. Love is an obsession that drives one to destroy the object of one’s obsession, lest the object bring about one’s end. I have only the purest love for my sweet Lucy. Her death will be an act of beauty.’”

  “Okay, you’re right. That’s disturbing,” I said. “But it also makes no sense. Mods, especially the ES, are programmed to reject emotions of love, even obsessive, creepy, and misguided notions like the one Arthur had. Oscar admitted that his obsession with me was a new defect, something he’d never felt before. This is saying differently.”

  “Would it have been out of the realm of possibility that he was lying?” Andre asked.

  “I don’t know if he was,” Lisette said. “I mean, he’s not saying that he understands love, is he? I read that more as he was condoning the painter for destroying the object of his affection rather than embrace the romantic notions of love.”

  “I think Lisette’s explanation is closest to the truth,” Fausto added grimly. “He then goes on to graphically explain the tortures he would put you through, ending with vividly disturbing details of how you would die, and how much pleasure he would take committing these atrocities. He was confused by his feelings and acting in the only way he had ever known.”

  “Does it say when that was written?” I asked. While it was shocking, it was not incredibly farfetched to think that Oscar’s original intent was in fact to murder me. He had admitted that he took great pleasure in killing for most of his life.

  “You are first mentioned in May of last year.”

  May was two months before I even knew I was a vampire. I couldn’t help but shudder when I thought about how I had been stalked for so long without even realizing I was in danger. And to think, I had always prided myself on being observant and aware of my surroundings.

  “The last entry, which is the most disturbing, was written on the day he met with you, Andre,” Fausto said with a nervous glance at both of us. “He describes your obvious concern for Lucy’s life and how much pleasure he is going to take from destroying yours when he kills her. His plan was to have her mutilated remains sent to you.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “By that time, Oscar had already begun to question his programming. If he had plans to kill me, he had the perfect opportunity right there in the club after Mira tried to kill Andre. He had some sort of plan worked out where he was going to deliver me to the lab, but even the Elders saw right through him and he was punished for his supposed feelings for me.”

  “Or perhaps that’s what he wanted you to see,” Andre suggested. “Gaining your trust probably just added to the thrill he was getting from planning your death.”

  “But he never did gain my trust and he knew that,” I shot back. Once again, Andre was accusing me of feelings that were never there and I was tired of it. “He sacrificed himself to destroy the lab. Then and only then, did he have my trust, as much as that means to a dead guy. This has got to be a fake. The only reason I can see that Damien would say such things is to cause another rift between us and I’m not falling for it.”

  “I would agree with you, but that’s only the last handful of pages and from what I can tell, the handwriting doesn’t change at any point. Of course, you’ll want to have it analyzed,” Fausto said. “I think Damien knew this would be shocking and either didn’t care or finds it amusing, but I don’t think it was the reason he gave you the book at all.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Last night he said that it contained their history and that is what he wanted you to see,” he explained. “The first pages, the ones in Old Occitan, are supposedly copied word for word from a letter written by a man named Charles Pierre Blanc to his sons.”

  “Interesting,” I noted, wondering what direction this supposed history would take.

  “Indeed,” Fausto agreed. “If Damien is to be believed, we have a very interesting historical record of how The Eyes of The Sun came into being. According to this letter, early vampires who had lived in the mountainous regions of Europe were being hunted into extinction by Eastern Europeans who believed them to be demons.”

  “Wait,” I interrupted. “So they’ve always looked like that? I thought the outlandish appearance of ES vamps was a result of their genetic manipulation.”

  “They are,” he explained. “But early vampires looked quite different several hundred years ago. Their skin had a more reddish hue and their eyes were pale, not bright like ours. To early Christians, vampires looked like devils and they drank blood.”

  “I thought that preying on humans was something that came along with the modifications,” Lisette remarked. “Natural vampires have no such tendencies.”

  “Natural vampires, as well as regular humans and those of us with the enzyme, all evolved from a mix of both the original people,” Andre explained. “Our research suggests that early vampires hunted early humans, just as humans hunted animals. For the groups that were cut off from civilization, such as these, the need to hunt or at least drink the blood of humans would still be instinctual.”

  “Andre is correct,” Fausto said. “Apparently Charles Pierre Blanc and his tribe fled west into France. Parisians at that time, especially the aristocracy, were enamored with the exotic and the vampires played upon this fascination. A mutually beneficial relationship was formed. Vampires were wealthy because they had previously traded in precious minerals that they had mined from the mountains. With this wealth, they set up court and invited the privileged class into their social circles in exchange for the occasional bloodletting. If I am reading this correctly, the vampires administered what I suspect was opium or a similar drug to their human companions to minimize their discomfort.”

  “So what happened to make them turn on the humans?” I asked

  “They became power hungry,” Fausto explained. “Some vampires simply couldn’t see why they were sharing power with humans, who were weak and beneath them. So rather than take from the willing rich, they began to prey on the defenseless poor. Of course then someone got the idea to prey upon the favored humans of their political rivals and an all-out war began. Those who were appalled at the barbaric behavior organized into an army meant to take down the power hungry. They named themselves The Sun, choosing the symbol of life, which in traditional folklore is lethal to vampires. For The Sun, this was to symbolically renounce the legends and to send a message to their enemies that they were low class citizens for embracing and embodying the superstitions of peasants. The Sun was successful in that they killed enough of their enemies to drive the others to leave Paris. One of those who left, taking not only a large entourage, but Charles’ two sons with her, was Delphine LaLaurie.”

  “Hang on,” I interrupted. “LaLaurie came to New Orleans in the eighteenth century. I thought The Eyes of The Sun was much older than that. Evan said they expected the first vampires went to Paris during the renaissance and Oscar said pretty much the same thing
about the Elders.”

  “They very well could have,” Fausto said with a shrug. “The text is vague on when they first arrived or for how long they coexisted with the aristocracy. But on when the ES was formed, the letter is specific. According to this, LaLaurie and some others disappeared for several decades. When they returned, they were transformed. They were feared as demons, but they explained that their new appearance was the result of procedures that granted them superior strength, skill, and immortality. When The Sun organized an attack meant to drive them away for good, they failed miserably. Unbeknownst to them, half of their soldiers were in fact spies, working for LaLaurie under the promise that they too would receive the gift of immortality. As a final spit in their face, she named her new ruling class The Eyes of The Sun to remind her enemies that she had always been one step ahead of them. She had all members of The Sun killed with the exception of their leader.”

  “I’m guessing Charles was their leader?” Andre said with a hint of skepticism. I could see why he might be suspicious of the story, but personally, I found it fascinating.

  “Yes, supposedly, Charles formed The Sun when his wife was murdered by LaLaurie,” Fausto continued. “Instead of killing him, LaLaurie presented Charles with his sons, now grown men, also transformed into monsters, who had no recollection of who he was. Charles was imprisoned and given a front row view of the atrocities his sons committed. Near the end of his life, Charles wrote out this letter that he managed to pass to Oscar, who apparently copied it word for word into this journal.”

  “So if he knew then that LaLaurie killed his mother and ruined his father’s life, why did he stay on with the ES?” I asked.

  “The explanation follows,” Fausto said with a tense frown. “Upon reading the letter, Oscar became enraged and killed Charles. He defended his action by telling LaLaurie that Charles was trying to escape. He was so disgusted and ashamed by the message Charles had passed to him that he mentioned it to no one, copying it into his journal as a warning to himself. He goes on to worry that he would someday inherit the blood traitor’s defects.”