“Because the sun’s up.” The words were logical, still they felt wrong. What had Samael said? That Jorick was “behind.” Behind where? Was he going to catch up? If only she could concentrate!
With nothing else to do, she went back to her rooms and sat on a yellow cushioned chair. Yellow. Everywhere was yellow. She’d never been fond of it, and certainly not for decorating. From the look of the furniture, she doubted the designer had been creative. Traditional China seemed to be the motif.
She tugged absently at her robe. Where had it come from? Like the furnishings it seemed appropriate for a period drama. How had she gotten there? Who had dressed her?
Her thoughts were interrupted when the women shuffled into the room carrying large trays. They managed to bow under their burdens and quickly set several dishes and a pair of chopsticks in front of her. The taller one asked, “Is there anything else that the mistress requires?”
Mistress? Katelina blinked at the title. “I’m not sure I can use chopsticks. Do you have a spoon?”
The women looked at one another and the taller one murmured, “The restaurant.”
With a nod and a bow the other scampered away. Her companion bowed yet again. “We apologize.”
“There’s a restaurant?” Katelina’s stomach rumbled.
“Was,” the woman said hesitantly. “It still stands, but the master will turn it into something else. He has done much already.”
“Where are we?”
“The master’s villa,” she said at last.
It wasn’t much of an answer. Katelina wanted to push, but she couldn’t stand the terror in the woman’s eyes.
The rice was cold before the other girl returned, huffing and puffing, and waving a spoon.
They apologized for the wait, then stood, hands clasped behind their backs, as Katelina tried to eat. Finally she dismissed them. Better to eat alone than with an audience.
The sun sank lower and the women returned with lanterns. They lit them, then bowed their way out.
Katelina’s thoughts wondered to Jorick again, then slipped away. She tried to remember what she’d been thinking about, but Samael walked through the door. She met his eyes and the room disappeared. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears like a heavy drum. When he finally turned his head, she found she was standing in front of him, her fingers brushing his cheek.
She jerked back. “I’m-I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to apologize for. The fascination will disappear once you have been changed.”
She heard the rustle of his robes and chanced a look as he took a seat at the table. Though his long dark hair hid his face, she still couldn’t look away.
“I had thought to wait until our victory to share the gift of the ancients with you, but your frailty has become apparent. It would be better to secure your immortality sooner rather than later. You will need to be purified first.”
“How?”
“There are rituals,” he said dismissively. “They will take three nights. The altar to the night god should be completed by then.” He traced the rim of a bowl with his fingertip. “We should begin tonight.”
Without thought she agreed.
He stood and motioned her to follow. She obeyed, her attention so focused on him that she barely noticed when he led her outside and through a complex of dark buildings.
“There are three phases to the purification,” he explained as they walked. “Mind, spirit, and body. The body is the last step, when one is cleansed of mortality and all that it entails.” He paused. “It has been long since I last saw the rites performed, and though this place is suitable, it is not perfect. Some things must be improvised.”
They moved to a covered walkway and Katelina looked away from him long enough to see a giant stone gate. Its triple archways were packed with rocks and rubble. Bits of what looked like silver turnstiles stuck out of the debris in odd places, and she wondered what the mess was.
“To stop them from coming in,” Samael said to her thoughts. “This is a complex of some kind, built long after my time. No longer used, human peasants have been allowed to come and go at will, wandering the grounds and palaces. Now they will come no more.”
As if sent by Samael, images of people snapping photos, reading signs, and milling down tree lined paths popped into her head. It was a historic site turned tourist trap. Or had been. That explained the restaurant and the hotel. But what about the human servants?
“They were here, so I kept them.”
The conversation ended as they stepped into a dark building. Two men, possibly father and son, hurried through the door behind them. They bowed low, then quickly lit lamps to reveal a pillared room.
A second set of men appeared, carrying a pair of cushions and some other items. As they hurriedly arranged them, Katelina wondered how they knew what to do. Was Samael speaking to them silently? No doubt he could call them from a distance if he chose.
“Of course.” Samael motioned to one of the cushions. “Sit.”
It was only one word, but with it came the knowledge of exactly what position to take. She knelt on the pillow, hands in her lap and back straight.
Samael knelt across from her. With a wave of his hand her eyes snapped closed. The word “relax,” or at least the sentiment, echoed through her. The heavy scent of incense filled her nose, and she wondered if that was part of the original ceremony or one of the improvisations.
Samael raised his voice in a sing-song string of words. Though she didn’t understand them, she wanted to listen forever. Each sound was perfect, beautiful, and she soared and sank with the rhythm.
The words died away and she felt sorrow at their absence. It disappeared when he touched her head. Electricity crackled across her scalp. In her mind she could see a fuzzy pink blanket and a tiny pair of feet, as if she was lying down looking at herself. A woman’s voice cooed in the background and a man leaned over her, smiling. Katelina recognized his face from the framed photograph her mother kept on top of the TV.
It was her father.
Scenes raced by on fast forward. Her father was there, then he wasn’t, replaced by flowers and a yearly trip to the cemetery. People came and went: family, friends, teachers, classmates. School years rose and fell like autumn leaves on the wind. Her best friend Sarah cried in her arms. Graduation caps soared. Russ and Janine Telkes were all over one another in the car in Smith’s parking lot. Patrick looked at her with haunted eyes. Jorick stormed through smoke and blood. His face was grim and his long black hair whipped around his shoulders. Then he disappeared, replaced by an empty ache.
The room came back into focus and she realized she was crying. The tears weren’t just for Jorick, but for everything. Her father’s death. Her friend’s misery. All the times she’d fought with her mother. All the people she had disappointed, and who had disappointed her. The times she’d hurt someone and been hurt. Her jealousies. Her insecurities. All the pettiness that made up her world.
“None of it matters,” Samael said. “It is like dust that accumulates to obscure the truth. Clear it away to make room for more important things.”
He gestured and her eyes closed. Once more, his voice rose and fell in its sing-song refrain, and she relaxed, spellbound. The words came to an end and he laid a hand to her head. She gasped as lightning sliced through her. The world—or her perception of the world—stretched to infinity. A million stars wheeled in an all-encompassing sky and billions of lives pulsed across the planet, like tiny flames: flickering, dimming, dying, igniting. It was more than she could comprehend.
The depth of field narrowed. Most of the lights disappeared into the blur of the background. The remainder glowed fiery white, with a few that were throbbing points of golden yellow. One was brighter than the others. It seemed to grow and grow, until it filled the world, or else became it. There was nothing but the golden light. Nothing else mattered.
Milky images began to take shape in the center of the glow, like a crystal ball. They sh
arpened until she saw two men with long black hair and similar features. One was taller and broader, the other more scholarly. Though their names were lost, she knew they were brothers.
They bowed to the gods. No, not gods. Vampires, hiding under the guise of mythology.
The men were replaced by two women. One was beautiful and the other plain and plump. She looked to her companion with dark, jealous eyes. Like the men they had no names, but she knew who they were: the brothers’ wives.
The women faded. She watched through the smaller man’s eyes as he touched first his wife, then the other. Jealousy, anger, hurt. The beautiful woman’s stomach swelled with a child. The plump woman screamed. A door slammed. He knelt before the gods again. A trail of crimson leaked down his chin.
The flashes moved faster. Moments of inadequacy, anger, powerlessness. His wife was gone and he was alone with only duty. Loneliness, longing, blood. Three women appeared, each one beautiful. Though kinder, they were no replacement.
The name Kanghui surfaced, and with it the feeling of identity, of some importance. Then his wife was back, but unsatisfied. He and his friend took power and crowned themselves. He chose not to be the king, still she had some command. Screams. Blood. She gloated while the lesser suffered.
It ended in war. Through the haze of fire and misery he could see the truth, see her true nature, and he surrendered. He begged forgiveness and Nuwa gave it. But she was furious. There was darkness and the faraway cries as the three women were slaughtered with gloating laughter. Katelina’s mind burned with hatred.
She drowned in the blackness and struggled to breathe. There was nothing else. No light. Nowhere to go. No escape. Helpless. Trapped. Suffocating. On and on it went for an eternity. Then there was the taste of blood. The tiny pinpoint of white light fluttering in time to a mortal heartbeat, glowing in the darkness like a beacon, bringing life.
Katelina understood. Not just the visions, but everything. A thousand mysteries were solved, a thousand questions answered. She understood the world, the cycles, the connection. The meaning. The reason.
The visions fell away and the pillared room came into focus. The link was severed, their minds separate. The shock was like being stabbed through the brain. Thousands of years screamed inside her, and her vision tinted crimson. Her head pounded like it would explode. She pressed her hands to her ears to try to hold it together. A shriek of agony echoed through the chamber.
Then the world went black.
Children of Shadows Page 36
