Divine Night

by Melanie Jackson

  “Alex?” she finally whispered.

  “Just wait. We can’t be certain.”

  Certain of what? she wanted to ask.

  The food came right away and smelled good enough, but Harmony found she suddenly had little appetite. She stared at the soup and imagined there were foul things floating in it. Alex hadn’t said anything, but she knew he was unhappy with something too.

  Harmony looked about discreetly, peering in the open door. Besides the bleached-out old woman, there was a bony old man inside the cantina, mending what looked like a fishing net by the light of an oil lamp that smoked obnoxiously. Harmony would have thought the task would go more easily if he came out into the daylight, but the old man seemed to prefer the shadows. It wasn’t until later that the fact that they weren’t any where near the ocean or even a lake crossed her mind, along with the question of why a net might be wanted. Also, there were power lines in town. Why weren’t they using electric lights? Perhaps the storm had caused a power outage. Of course, if that were the case, wouldn’t more people have their windows open to let in light?

  Yes, Harmony shared Alex’s unhappiness with their surroundings, though she couldn’t explain why. Perhaps it was these unsmiling people who looked as if the hard earth had worn them down, abrading their minds and bodies, taking their…what? Humanity? Alex hadn’t said anything, but she wondered if he sensed something else. Had Saint Germain been here as well? Was it his taint she sensed?

  She looked to her right, down the small alley that ran between two buildings—homes, she assumed, since they bore no business signs. Though it was late morning, the alley still clung to unfriendly shadows.

  Harmony shivered in spite of the heat. Not all darkness was sinister; she knew that. She had in fact always loved the night, had felt that it protected her in her work. But something about this darkness was sullen, even predatory, and it was watchful.

  “Is this town…?” She stopped, unwilling to voice her question since it sounded so paranoid. “Is that old woman on drugs?” Harmony whispered her query, hoping it was something so simple.

  “No. I asked myself that the first time I saw…a place like this. It was in Greece during a local power squabble—a town that had been overrun with…a disease.” Disease. After the previous night, the word would always mean something different to Harmony. “I know drugs are a natural assumption given our era, the region, and these people’s seeming state of ill health. And there are so many drugs to abuse down here, and most users tend to be multipharmic, so it can be difficult to know what combinations of hellbroth someone might be taking. There could be some very strange symptoms. But I haven’t seen a hint of marijuana or mushrooms or any injectibles since I crossed the border. So, no, I believe this is a disease and not drugs.”

  “Saint Ger—”

  “Don’t use his name. Not here,” Alex interrupted, and then smiled ruefully. “Walls have ears. And I’m feeling superstitious this morning. Let’s not risk summoning him if he should be nearby.”

  Harmony shivered at these words, but didn’t argue that Alex was being superstitious. The town made her feel less than rational.

  “But is it the disease? Are there…?” She looked about again, feeling her skin pull tight as she thought about what might be lurking in the shadows. “Is there a clinic here—someplace where the disease might be…festering?”

  “No. And I don’t smell any things. But this town is located along the same river as Cuatros Cienegas. I think that perhaps some of the…” Again, he paused to select a word. “Some of the older contagion may have reached here.”

  “You mean…?” She stuck out her tongue and flipped the end up and down.

  “Yes, I think Smoking Mirror’s priestesses have been feeding here. Heavily—perhaps because their other feeding grounds have been taken over. I wouldn’t be surprised if these two are the last ones alive. That suggests either unusual desperation or boldness on the creatures’ part.”

  “Why don’t they leave?” Harmony asked, feeling distressed and flabbergasted. She pulled her blouse away from her chest and flapped it ineffectually. It was now buttoned up high enough to be considered demure, but Alex’s appreciative eyes still flicked over her.

  “They can’t. The vampires’ grip on their minds is too strong.” His bleak words were at odds with his warm look.

  Frowning at him, Harmony dropped her blouse. This was no time to be having lascivious thoughts.

  “You know, I think maybe you should consider taking up some safer hobbies—like bullfighting or cliff diving. Maybe Russian roulette,” she suggested.

  “It’s just the heat bothering you,” he answered. But she knew, as certainly as if he had warned her, that he was speaking for ears other than hers. A moment later the old woman stuck her head out the door and looked at them for a moment. “California has spoiled you. You’ll feel better in a few days.”

  They both turned their heads sharply when they heard an odd clicking sound coming from between the buildings. A moment later, a painfully thin dog appeared in the alley Harmony had been watching. She stole up to their table on uncertain feet, her body trembling. She looked at them with eyes that pleaded. She was clearly starving. Just as she had been yesterday. As she would be tomorrow if no one helped her, and if she did not actually die before the day was over.

  Alex looked down and made a sound that was a mixture of pain and anger and frustration. He set his dish on the floor, moving slowly so he didn’t frighten her. He needn’t have bothered. The dog wanted—needed—food so much that she would have accepted a beating to get it.

  “Poor bitch,” he said softly to the mutt as he tore up his tortillas and added them to the broth. “But don’t worry. You’re coming with us. I will not leave you in this damned town to die with the rest.” He said damned like he meant it.

  This announcement should have surprised Harmony but didn’t. Had he not picked her up in much the same manner when he saw that she was in trouble? Anyway, hadn’t the original Alexandre Dumas always been a soft touch when it came to animals?

  Hearing that thought, Harmony blinked. Where had that idea come from? Surely she wasn’t thinking that Alex was really Alexandre? He couldn’t be. Really, they looked nothing alike. And she didn’t believe in reincarnation. It wasn’t amazing that this Alex liked animals. Many people did.

  “Will we have trouble at the border if we bring her?” she asked distractedly, putting her own dish down for the dog. She reached out slowly to give a gentle touch to the bitch’s silken ears. Troubled brown eyes shifted her way, but just for a moment. Food was all-important.

  “No. I have chartered a private plane for my return trip. It will meet us in Guaymas where I can leave this poor creature with a friend. The plane will take us to Mexico City. From there a private jet will take us back to…” He trailed off.

  “To?” she prompted.

  “Cornwall.”

  “Why Cornwall?” she asked, curious but unalarmed. Cornwall, Mexico—it didn’t matter anymore, as long as it was far away from ghouls and vampires and whatever diseases made them.

  “It puts an ocean between us and whatever is going on here. And it’s very private. I have a home there. It’s actually an island.”

  “You own an island?”

  “Yes.”

  “And a jet?”

  “No. That belongs to a friend of my publisher. I do not actually care for airplanes—nor they for me. Particularly the smaller ones. I use them only when I have no other choice.”

  “Hopefully it’s not the friend who knew someone here.” She reached down and caressed the trembling dog again. Its ribs were easy to count because much of the hair had fallen out. This degree of starvation hadn’t happened overnight. Harmony wasn’t an expert, but it would have been days, maybe even weeks if she had scavenged for scraps, for a dog to get that thin.

  “As a matter of fact, it is. And it wasn’t just anyone who lived here. It was his grandmother and an elderly uncle.”

 
; “Not—?” She jerked her head at the inn door.

  “No, not them.”

  Harmony shook her head.

  “This isn’t good. I don’t think your friend is going to like anything you have to say about what’s going on here.”

  “No. And I am aware of a certain irony in this situation. It makes me wary. Still, I think this is a better option than using a commercial airline.”

  “I’m not arguing, but why are you wary?”

  “I have just recalled that my friend Esteban Rodriguez, among other things, sits on the board of the Dippel Corporation.” Harmony started to speak, but Alex shook his head in warning. “I don’t think he’s involved. But I will say nothing to him. For now.” Alex shook himself. “Are you done with breakfast?”

  Harmony looked at the empty bowls and the dog’s grateful expression and said: “Yes, I think we are.”

  Alex rose, laid some money on the table, and then bent down to pick up the dog. She was still trembling, but bestowed a small lick on his chin as he tucked her against his chest.

  “Let’sbeoff, then. The sooner we are shut of this place, the better. I’m seeing shadows where shadows shouldn’t be.”

  Harmony didn’t need any further encouragement. They walked unhurriedly to the jeep, covered now in powdery earth, and opened the back door. To anyone else they might look like two tourists taking their time after a meal, but she knew that Alex was as tense as she was, muscles coiled, prepared for attack.

  The dog seemed happy in the back of the jeep. She sniffed a few times at the upholstery and then curled up, prepared to sleep off her first meal in days. Harmony wished that she herself could do the same, but knew that her body and mind were fully awake, flooded with lowgrade fear.

  “Alex?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your accent is gone. It seems to have disappeared in the night along with your linen shirt. You really look and sound like an American.”

  “I know. It seems best not to attract too much attention. A Frenchman would be too memorable here. Especially one so pale. I’ll have to apply the chemical tanner as soon as we can buy more. You may have noticed the smell last night when it burned away. It’s a bit like soggy cereal.”

  “Ah. I did smell something odd.” Besides rotting monsters. Harmony took a deep breath and watched as the town disappeared behind them in the side-view mirror. “Alex, I have a question. It’s a crazy question…I guess…but this whole situation is rather crazy. And I would feel better—at least I think I would—if I asked about this.”

  “Then ask. What is your crazy question?”

  “Well, it’s about the disease.” Harmony took another breath and looked down at her hands. They were bare. She did not wear a watch or rings because whenever you took them off, they left betraying marks. “You said that one of the side effects was unnatural strength.”

  “It is.”

  “And it gave you dark eyes.”

  “Yes—well, something did. My eyes were not always this color.”

  “Are there are other side effects as well?”

  There was a pause as Alex chose how to answer.

  “Yes, there are. Increased sensory abilities are one side effect—better hearing, better sense of smell and taste. Keen eyesight—most of the time. When it fails, it fails fast. And, as I explained, it has increased my psychic gifts as well. I…see auras around people. It helps me guess their mood and sometimes their intentions.”

  “I see. Those all sound like good things.”

  “They certainly do. But that isn’t all of it,” he admitted.

  “Would one of the other side effects of this disease be unusually long life?” She cleared her throat, and when he didn’t answer, she went on: “I mean, you talked about this god, Smoking Whatsit?”

  “Smoking Mirror.” She felt Alex look her way, but kept her gaze locked on her hands. She felt both vaguely afraid and ridiculous as she sneaked up on her real question.

  “You think that maybe he could still be alive, right? So the disease would have to have a side effect of long life.”

  “Perhaps. But not in everyone. Remember that he is the source of the local contagion. I think that long life is…selective in its victims. It depends on other things.” It was Alex’s turn to take a deep breath or two. “For instance, those ghouls we killed. It’s hearsay, since I’ve never kept one for myself, but as I understand it they can only live about five years—and that in a dry, cool climate. The process of disintegration—or rotting—of the grafted parts is slowed but not stopped. I don’t think Saint Germain has yet discovered a foolproof immunosuppressant that allows transplanted limbs—or other things—to survive indefinitely. The bodies eventually reject his add-ons and they return to death unless constantly reanimated. And that causes brain damage, since it is basically done with electrocution and we have a finite number of brain cells.”

  “But that’s because of what Saint Germain is doing with the virus or bacteria or whatever it is?”

  “Yes. No. Perhaps.” Alex’s hands tightened. “I just don’t know.”

  “Why does he do these things? Is it…” She wanted him to say that there was a logical reason, that Saint Germain wasn’t merely evil or insane. She didn’t know how to fight insanity, and it frightened her.

  “He does it because he has an affinity for the dead. They are the only ones who can tolerate him. Ultimately, I believe he is looking for a way to prolong his own life indefinitely. And perhaps a way to prolong the use of his dead army. Ghouls take time and effort to make. Zombies are easier, but they’re stupid and have no initiative. And the Dark Man’s treatment is not enough—alone—to sustain any of the…patients. Eventually the effects wear off and one must undergo the process of renewal again. He is looking for a way of avoiding this trial.”

  “I see.” She didn’t. “But Smoking Mirror and his priestesses—the untouched, pure ones—might live a long time.”

  “Yes, they might.”

  “And you, Alex? Will you live a long time?” He didn’t answer, so she asked quietly: “Have you already lived a long time because of this disease? Or because of the treatment you got?”

  Harmony finally turned to look at Alex. She studied his profile carefully. He glanced her way briefly, but she couldn’t read anything in his expression.

  “I know that the real—I mean, the first…Hell! I know the pictures of Alexandre Dumas always showed him to be a black man, heavyset, with light brown eyes. Your eyes are obviously different. Your skin too. But the skin and weight loss could be side effects of this disease, couldn’t they? Those—those priestesses were very pale and skinny.”

  “Yes. It could be a side effect.” Alex looked her way again. “But I don’t think my pallor is a side effect of that disease. It’s a side effect of the medical treatment I received from Saint Germain’s father. The two things are separate. Or they were until recently. Now I don’t know where one ends and the other begins. And the mix could be a genuine hellbroth in Saint Germain’s hands. Ghouls gifted with longevity. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “What exactly was that treatment?” Harmony asked. She was finding it increasingly difficult to force the questions out. “And why did you go to him if you knew he was…not ethical?”

  “I didn’t go to him. He came to me.” Alex raised a hand and then let it fall back on the wheel. “It doesn’t excuse anything, but it was during a time when I was in great financial difficulty. I was writing fifteen hours a day and my health was failing. I was going blind and I had ulcers. This Dark Man came to Italy where I was…exiled. And he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Couldn’t refuse?”

  “I was vomiting blood hourly by then, confined to my bed. And I had just found out that my ex-mistress—a suicidal Russian princess married to an old and dying prince—was having my child. Since I am the grandson of a slave woman from Barbados, and I was clearly a mulatto, there was a good chance that child would be obviously black as well. Something
completely unacceptable in Russia at that time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh, indeed. My other children and ex-wife were furious with me for going to the courts and having it put on record that I was this child’s father and not the prince. But if the prince disowned the child, or died—and if the babe’s mother succeeded in killing herself—there would be no one to see to the child’s interests.” He exhaled. “Harmony, it is hard to believe, living as you do in this place and time, but the fate of an unwanted child—even one born to a good family—was grim beyond telling. There were no child protective services, no welfare to intervene. If the unwanted bastards and orphans didn’t starve in the streets, they would be prostituted or else have to turn to thievery or selling drugs to survive. And people let it happen because they believed it was a moral judgment upon the bastards of the world.”

  “Alex.” She reached out and touched his hand fleetingly. His pain was palpable. She didn’t quite know how to assure him that she understood why he had done what he did, that this was why she went on being The Spider. It was to make the world safe for the children who were coming after them.

  “Don’t think about it, chérie. I don’t anymore. But I needed to be well—for this child. I needed to write so I would have money to go to Russia to retrieve him, and at that moment, I had none. I had been bankrupted—everything taken by the courts and my ex-wife during the divorce.” He looked at her and gave a wry smile. “And that was when the devil came calling. Maybe it was weakness—certainly it was unwise—but I was willing to listen to what he offered. He talked about a cure for blindness and my ulcers, not something that would…completely change me.”

  “And the treatments actually cured you?”

  “Oh, yes. My sight returned within a day. I was healthy again. Suddenly as pale as a noblewoman and black-eyed—and it turns out, sterile—but healthy otherwise.” He looked over at her again. His black eyes were calm. “So ask your real question, Harmony. Ask it so that I can put your mind at ease.”

  Harmony took a bracing breath.