Divine Night

by Melanie Jackson

  She halted mid-step.

  “But, surely they aren’t…” She stopped. She had been going to say human and then found she couldn’t. But of course that was what they had to be. She didn’t believe in aliens or monsters, and these were not any kind of animal she had ever heard of. They were diseased, mutated perhaps, but surely human. The dark and storm had just confused her senses. Her eyes and ears were lying. She just needed to look again and she would see the truth.

  Of course, if they were human—no matter how diseased and mutated—did that mean she had just committed murder?

  Harmony began to feel a bit ill, but before emotion ran away with her, Alex intervened. His mental touch was gentle, reassuring, as though he had laid a steadying hand on her arm.

  “Human? Maybe once upon a time. They are what the locals call vampires, but I think that they are also some kind of ghoul. Designer ghouls are his breed of choice, though he traffics in zombies if he hasn’t time to make a ghoul. We’d be better off with zombies.” Alex exhaled, letting some of the rigidity leave his body.

  “Zombies? Like flesh-eating monsters? Or do you mean those poor drugged souls that voodoo priests bury alive and then dig up once their brains are gone?” She knew what the word usually meant, but for some reason couldn’t quite accept what Alex was saying. It was beyond what her rational brain could accept. “But this is a disease. Isn’t it?”

  He took a moment to answer.

  “Yes. I don’t mean zombie like in the movies. None of these creatures is like anything dreamed up in Hollywood. I use the words ghoul and vampire because that’s what the locals call them and I don’t have better words to describe what they are.”

  That was better. Still terrible, of course, but within the realm of reason. Disease was awful, but she could deal with it.

  “So these are…what? Genetic experiments? Illegal ones? Maybe something dreamed up by terrorists?”

  “Some are genetic experiments,” Alex said carefully. “But some are surgical creations—involuntary ones. Look at the legs on this creature. Those aren’t human.”

  Reluctantly she did. It was dark, but she could see enough to be horrified. The only image she could come up with was an ostrich. The scars showed every stitch plainly.

  “Emu,” he suggested.

  “But that’s not possible,” she said, horrified. “It’s against the laws of nature. The human body would reject—”

  “And yet it is here.”

  She shook her head slowly. She was thinking that she had put armor over her emotions years ago as a way to deal with the stress of her work, and usually it offered enough protection. But this horror had gotten inside her, and she could feel its corrosive visions eating at her resolve and at her reason. It was as though someone had taken away the underpinnings of her universe, that she had suddenly discovered that the sun was gone forever, or that gravity had disappeared.

  “And no one knows about this? I mean, I’m in touch with a lot of people down here and I haven’t heard anything about a disease or surgery that could cause this…this kind of mutation.” The creature in front of her had had its lower jaw blown off, and its black tongue hung down like a necktie. The tongue also seemed to have some kind of stinger or needle on the tip. Could it be some kind of ritual piercing? She knew that there were sick people who were into body mutilation, but she had never suspected that anyone could carry things this far.

  “You have to go back to the Aztecs to get a clear account of things. They knew about these creatures.” Alex spoke calmly.

  “Vampires and ghouls?” She was skeptical.

  “If you don’t like the term vampire or ghoul, try Jabberwocky or Bandersnatch. Lewis Carroll’s names for monsters were as well suited as ‘vampire.’ ” Alex went on quickly, returning to the medical explanation she seemed ready to accept. “As for no one knowing about this, you’re right. It isn’t common knowledge. I don’t think there was an IPO on this venture, given how very illegal this kind of experimentation is. Our evil genius isn’t exactly a practitioner of mainstream medicine anyway.” Alex added softly: “I wonder if the Dark Man knew about any of this.”

  “The Dark Man?”

  Alex shook his head. “We haven’t time for more explanations just now. Do you still have ammunition?” He waited as she checked the gun.

  “Two rounds.”

  “Good. Waithere. If anything moves, shoot it. I have petrol and flares in the jeep. And a mask and gloves for you and some sanitary wipes. We’ll take some samples, then I’ll roll the bodies into the crypt and burn them; then we can go.”

  Harmony let the words vampires and ghouls and his plans for illegal cremation slip by without further comment, being much more concerned with the thought of being left alone in a place where monsters lived that could survive being shot in the head and heart.

  “I’m not waiting here alone! And don’t you need a mask and gloves, too—if this is a disease?”

  “I don’t know. I shouldn’t. I am supposed to be immune to such conditions, unless…” He shrugged his right shoulder and looked down at his gore-spattered shirt and grimaced. “But, you’re right. Best not to take chances. Everything has changed. I need more information before I do anything. And we need to get you out of here before they find you again.”

  “They?”

  “The rats, the ghouls, the storm—take your pick.” He swiped at the clots on his shirt.

  “Oh. Right…But you’re really safe? If so, thank God for small miracles. But how is it that you’re immune? Is it—oh, geez!” She looked at her blouse, now freckled with gore, and backed up a step. “The contagion isn’t airborne, is it? You can’t get it from casual contact?”

  “No, this disease isn’t casual. You have to exchange body fluids to get it.”

  Harmony forced herself to breathe.

  “Then how are you immune?” she asked.

  “This is the hair of a dog that already bit me. In Greece.” He rolled his shoulder carefully. “And as I said, I don’t think it can be spread except through blood-to-blood contact. If it were airborne, everyone in town would be infected. We’re safe.” He glanced toward the vault. “Relatively.”

  “Right.” Harmony exhaled. “So, you mean you’ve actually been inoculated? There’s a vaccine for this? Can I get it?” Wild thoughts about secret government experiments on third-world populations raced through her head. It was crazy, paranoid to think that way, but she liked that idea better than the thought of supernatural vampires that had begun to sprout in her brain.

  “Not inoculated, but exposed long ago—and I lived through it. At least, it was a form of this disease. A less lethal one, I think.”

  “Did it change your eyes? I’ve been meaning to ask you about them. They’re beautiful, but I’ve never seen eyes so dark.”

  Again the pause as he weighed what to say. She wondered if he would believe her if she told him she wasn’t given to panic and that he could trust her with the truth, however disturbing.

  “Yes. All of us who had Dippel’s treatments have eyes like mine. It is a sign of our exposure and change.” Alex moved toward the door.

  “Dippel?” Realizing her feet were cold, Harmony looked about for her shoes. She had dropped them when Alex handed her the gun.

  “The Dark Man. I’ll tell you about him later.” Alex opened the church door carefully and the main brace fell to the floor. He was favoring his left shoulder. It was only then that she realized he had actually smashed open the church gate, dislodging the heavy iron latch with his body. It was one more shock on top of many.

  “Alex, how did you…?” She gestured at the door as words failed her. It was three inches thick, made of solid wood planks. Not even the king of Hollywood kung fu movies could have broken through it.

  “Another side effect of my condition is that I am very strong. Just as they are. That is why you must shoot them from a distance. You are not strong enough to best them in a hand-to-hand fight.” He looked at her, clearly willing her
not to take fright now that she knew some of the truth about him.

  “They’re like you?” she asked.

  “Not hardly. I haven’t been surgically mutilated. But we were exposed to this condition through the same person. We have some of the same…side effects.”

  “I see. You’re psychic, aren’t you? That was you in my head, helping me shoot.” She didn’t mention that he had been in her head when they were making out, a conduit for the sexual attraction that flowed between them. Eventually she would want to know about that—but not now.

  He waited patiently, a long-fingered hand resting against the ruined door. The smell of the corpses was beginning to pollute the air. A quick glance told Harmony that they were already rotting. Just like in the vampire movies. Only, way less attractively. They weren’t turning to dust but rather to goo.

  “Yes—after a fashion. But the psychic abilities are not from the…disease. Or the other changes that have happened to me over time. Not entirely. I have always been…gifted.” He paused a beat and then added: “Like you. And that’s why we are in particular danger. I believe we were deliberately targeted by the man who reinvented—or reengineered—this ancient plague. Those creatures wanted to capture you and to kill me. At least, that’s what I believe. They wouldn’t have been so careful with you had they wanted you dead.” He seemed to add this bit to himself.

  His words chilled her, but she didn’t doubt them. Now that she had time to look inside, this was what her gut was telling her as well. How else had that creature known her name? And how had they found her? She had only just arrived in Mexico. Had she been followed? And if so, why? And then there was the strange voice, the unanswered questions that were causing a logjam in her mind.

  “Why not capture you too? You’re psychic and…different.”

  “Because they knew they’d never take me alive.” He was calm when he said this, but the words were still horrible. “As you may have gathered, I know—intimately—the man who is responsible for this. I…I encountered his father many years ago when I was looking for a treatment for blindness…and got something else altogether.”

  She gazed into the blackness of his eyes.

  “Is it an accident that you found me here?” she asked finally, putting a hand over her nose and mouth, trying to shut out the odor. It didn’t work, though. The vile scent was sly and had a certain filthy robustness that she knew would cling to her clothes even after she washed them.

  “I did not know of you before tonight, though I think I sensed you earlier,” he said. Then choosing his words carefully, he added: “But as to whether it is blind luck that we should meet now…well, I have never thought that luck is particularly blind. Good or bad, I believe our fortunes are guided. But enough of this. We have to move now. Danger still stalks us. Our enemy will send others after you the moment he knows that something went wrong here.”

  “Okay. I don’t want to wait around for a face-to-face with whoever dreamed this disease up. So I’m going to take you at your word about all this.” She definitely needed more answers, but Alex was right; this wasn’t the time or place to indulge in long conversations.

  “That’s best. You really don’t want to meet the man responsible for this.”

  Harmony took a last shallow breath and then stepped out of the church. She looked about quickly, but the streets were empty.

  This time she managed the walk toward the inn on her own. The last side effects from the tequila had been burned from her body by the fires of panic. Though she peered cautiously in every shadow and listened with all her might, there was no sign of the rats and scorpions that had been rioting in the street. All was peaceful, washed clean by the violent rain.

  If only that were true of her mind.

  They moved swiftly through the drying streets, in spite of Harmony’s high heels. Alex was thinking hard about what had just happened and what it might mean. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio—as the world’s secondgreatest dramatist had said—and perhaps vampires really were almost routine down here, so no one was upset about them living in the church crypt. But he couldn’t accept that these hybrid ghouls were part of the local ecosystem. Unlike the stories of vampire priestesses who lured strangers to the lake by night, there were no legends about ghouls—no folktales, no Aztec art, no ancient artifacts. No, these creatures might have been the local death god’s priestesses once upon a time, but they were Saint Germain’s creatures now.

  Of course, that rather begged the question of what had happened to the local godling who had made these vampires: Tezcatlipoca—Lord of the Smoking Mirror, god of sorcery, nighttime, and storms, the shape-shifting trickster, the Great Tempter, the vampire-maker. Surely he wouldn’t have surrendered his priestesses willingly. Was Saint Germain strong enough to kill a god and take his worshipers? The thought was chilling.

  “What’s that building across the street?” Harmony whispered, her words a welcome interruption. She stared hard at the small square that had only one small window and a narrow door.

  “A jail—let’s hope we don’t end up in it.” His tone was absentminded as Alex scanned the stone facade. His senses said it was empty. “Even if they know about the monsters, I can’t imagine that the locals will be happy about a spot of arson in their church. We’d best do what we must and then be away this very night.”

  “Have you ever been arrested?” The question was tentative, but not fearful.

  “Many times and in many countries.”

  “Oh, are you with Amnesty International or Greenpeace?” she asked optimistically, obviously still hoping for a logical explanation that fit in with her understanding of the world. He didn’t blame her, though it would be easier for him if she could accept what was really happening.

  “Something like that,” he answered with a sudden grin as he glanced back. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve almost always ended up in jail for refusing to do things than for anything that I’ve done.”

  “You’re a conscientious objector.” She eyed the pistol dangling casually from his hand for a moment and then looked up at his face. “But not a pacifist.”

  “Sometimes I am both.” He decided that this wasn’t the moment to bring up the fact that he had fought several duels and even wars and had probably executed more men than most serial killers. “Let’s say that I am not ruled by dogma, and have learned to be flexible. I have one firm belief, though: war is usually wasteful. It’s a wholesale squandering of lives usually for the benefit of a few powerful men and their corporations. And yet, sometimes, it is the only option. This may be one of those times. This creature I am hunting—the one who re-created this disease and turned it loose on the world—he hates me. He hates all people. And he would kill us—or anyone else, indeed, everyone else—if there was some profit to be had in it. He might even do it just for sport. He is completely insane and amoral.”

  “And that’s why you want me away from here. Do you think he will eventually kill me if I stay here?” She clearly found this difficult to ask, though he had told her his opinion before. “And he’ll kill you, too, if you don’t leave here.”

  “I know he’ll eventually kill you if you stay, especially if he thinks you are important to me. He hungers after spiritual power—after psychics and other gifted people—and he believes that he gets his power by ritual murder of people like us. And if he can also inflict psychological torture and pain, he likes it even better. In this, he is also like a vampire, but one who feeds on psychic anguish. He may have wanted you just for fun before, but now? Killing you to hurt me would be the absolute apex for him.” Alex looked her in the eyes, thought of what had happened to Thomasina and also to Remus Maxwell, and said firmly: “I also know that I will kill him first if I get the chance. One of us will certainly die when we meet again. Maybe both. Either way, it isn’t something you need to see. Our quarrel is an old one. This isn’t really your fight. And I need you to be safe and far away so I can do what must be done.”

  H
e began walking again. Alex didn’t sense any immediate threat, but haste seemed wise since they had no idea when Saint Germain might return.

  She said slowly, “But I think it is my fight now, whether he intended it or not. He’s come after me tonight, and I take that very personally. And if it’s true that he’s after psychics, then you know he’ll never let me just walk away now that he knows I’m here and know about him. I’m not you, of course—not so mentally strong—but obviously he’s making a sincere effort to grab me.”

  “Harmony—”

  “Anyway, you need me to watch your back. You’ll have to sleep sometime and so will I. I think our chances of survival go up if we stay together. At least for now, until we know what’s going on.”

  She had a point. That she was willing to make it—and so swiftly and decisively—amazed him. Most women would have been packing their bags and screaming for a travel agent ten minutes ago.

  It shouldn’t surprise him. In spite of downplaying her role as The Spider, Harmony wasn’t one of the ineffectual theoretical types grown pale and squint-eyed from long weeks spent indoors, staring at columns of numbers from charitable donations and reading ecological books with footnotes in small typeface. Her figure was lean and exercised, her reflexes quick and sure. And she looked ready to wrestle what she saw as an environmental danger to the floor and grapple with it until it surrendered. With or without his help.

  She was also good with a pistol. Someone had trained her.

  It was difficult to accept and sometimes he forgot, but he was living in a new era where women were sometimes warriors.

  “Can you use a rifle as well?” he asked.

  “Yes.” The answer wasn’t hesitant. She asked calmly, “You say he’s insane, but how smart is this man? And what the hell is his name? Who are we dealing with?”

  “His name is—sometimes—Saint Germain. Down here, they call him Ramon Latigazo, The Whiplash. He’s some kind of local politico. And I don’t know how smart he is. That is an interesting question. He’s cunning, but as you probably know, you don’t have to be diabolically astute to be a villain.” He smiled ironically. “Of course, one’s career will last longer if you are. He’s been around a long time, so we must conclude that he isn’t rock stupid, even if he’s madder than the proverbial March hare.”