by Jan McDonald
Lane frowned. “That’s good but unnecessary. I made a call to a friend. His private plane is waiting for us in Cardiff. They have a lead on us that needs shortening.” She looked thoughtful. “If you’re really up to it, you can come with us. If not, as I said, stay away. We can’t afford any more liabilities.”
Beckett’s face relaxed and almost made it to a smile. “Okay, Slayer, let’s go.”
“Do you think you could stop calling me that? It sounds kinda stupid.”
“Look, kid, you’re no Van Helsing, we all know that, but you’d better get your head around this if you intend getting on that plane. There is a high probability that you won’t be coming back. In fact, none of us may get back.”
Darius opened the car door, his expression grave. “So, what are we waiting for?”
They remained mostly silent throughout the drive to Wales International Airport, each of them contemplating what may or may not lie ahead. Darius’s thoughts were on Andrei and how he may possibly succeed against him. Beckett’s head was full of Kat, her kiss and the promise it once would have held; a million years ago. Lane’s mind was flitting between the black silk masked vampire and the Ancient One that awaited them. She knew that eventually Santorini would lead her to him.
All of them knew it may come to the ultimate sacrifice; that they may have to pay the highest price.
A uniformed pilot awaited them at the airport door, he took their passports and ushered them towards a VIP lounge. The private jet was ready for them at the gate with a fifteen minute window for take-off.
Beckett turned to Darius, “Last chance, Slayer. No one will think any less of you if you walk. It even crossed my mind briefly. So, as I have said so many times in my previous life, ‘Speak now, or forever hold your peace’. We can’t afford for you to get in the way when things get rough. And they will. One way or the other, there’s going to be death. So if you come, you’re in it to the end. If you can’t do that, then leave now. No harm, no foul.”
Beckett’s voice had been hardly a whisper, his face remained impassive but the stormy grey eyes had turned to granite.
Darius took in a deep breath and turned away from Beckett, his eyes closed, then almost immediately swung round to face him. His face had hardened to his accepted role and Beckett could see determination in his eyes.
And something else. Something dark.
Darius didn’t speak, and the nod of his head was imperceptible, but for a fragment of time he locked his eyes into Beckett’s and the understanding was clear. They would stand together.
Then, something was wrong; a fleeting feeling of unease, leaving Beckett shaken. Then it was gone; as quickly as it had arrived, the feeling vanished, but it left behind a legacy. He began to perspire and tremble and his vision blurred. There was a high pitched whine in his ears and he grabbed at Lane a moment too late to prevent himself crashing to the floor.
Reaction was immediate. People backed away, an alarm sounded in the distance and running footsteps brought two burley security guards on top of them. A sign of the times.
Darius knelt at his side as Lane yanked at his shirt, ripping off buttons as she fought to get him more air. Her fingers searched for his pulse. It was there, weak but there. She blanched as she noted his heart rate. Not only was his pulse getting weaker, it was also slowing down, beating less than twenty times a minute. Her stomach tightened, she had to get him out of there.
Beckett opened his eyes and walls carouselled around him as the sensation of being pulled out of his body through his stomach overwhelmed him. Lane grabbed on to him and squeezed his arm so hard the pain allowed him to focus on her momentarily.
The security guards were talking into radios and the empty space around them had grown, and, thankfully, someone had killed the alarm. Lane looked at the guards to discover which of them would be the most difficult to influence. One still had his back to her, radio to his face; the other was a younger man with the physique of a Welsh prop forward was looking directly at her, waiting for answers. She had no choice. Her eyes met his and grabbed the root of his consciousness. She had to be quick.
Clouds formed in his mind and drifted around his head. He hadn’t even felt the moment when his will had been relinquished to her control. It’s all right. He’ll be fine. He’s diabetic, I’m his doctor. He just needs some space and an insulin injection.
The other guard turned around, his radio at his side. “There’s an ambulance on its way, madam. In the meantime, may I see your boarding cards?”
Prop Forward touched his arm. “No need for that, Jo. This lady’s his doctor. He’s diabetic and needs an injection.””
His partner appeared to be going to say something, then changed his mind. His shift was almost over and he had a long awaited and hard worked for date with the girl of his dreams from the information desk, so getting involved in any ‘incident’ that would require lengthy paperwork in triplicate before he could leave held little appeal.
“You sure?”
Prop Forward nodded. “Yeah, sure. See you later.”
“Madam?” he persisted.
Lane smiled at him. She knew how to work her womanhood when necessary. “It really is okay. But he needs his injection right now.”
She tried implanting the thoughts that they should both just leave them alone but Beckett’s condition alarmed her and she became disconnected.
Still appearing doubtful he gave in. “If you’re sure …” he nodded at his partner. “Okay, see you later.”
Lane didn’t have the luxury of feeling relief as he walked away. She knew what the matter with Beckett was; the virus had taken hold again. She made a grab at her bag and pulled out a case holding a syringe and a small vial. Beckett’s only chance was another shot of the Anti-HVV. Without ceremony but with extreme precision she jammed the needle into his arm and pushed hard on the plunger of the syringe. Her vampire senses heard his heart rate steady before any physical signs were apparent, then imperceptibly his colour returned and the thready pulse began to strengthen. She allowed herself to breathe again.
She brushed back the stray silver hair that clung to his forehead in the film of perspiration that coated his face. His eyes were moving back and forth at a tremendous rate beneath his closed eyelids, and his breathing was erratic. Flashing thoughts of Beckett’s history and images of the night she had sat with him as they watched his sister rise from the dead, a vampire with the most horrendous of potentials, and the subsequent beheading and removal of her heart. The night he had stopped being a priest and turned his back on his God.
Beckett, you poor sod. You don’t deserve any of this. What did you do to piss off the Fates this much? She was stroking his forehead when he opened his eyes at last.
Her breath came out in one long exhalation of relief.
The uniformed guard turned to his radio and reassured the security centre that all was well; the diabetic man that had collapsed had responded quickly to his insulin shot and at Lane’s insistence he cancelled the ambulance.
Beckett tried to stand and found it harder than he expected, losing his balance as the walls still swam around him even though he felt stronger by minute. The shaking and sweating had stopped and the whine in his ears was down to a tolerable buzz.
The pilot was at Lane’s elbow in that moment and steered her and Beckett to his left. Darius strode ahead.
“We can board straight away; our slot has been brought forward.” He handed runway passes to the security guard and, before he could question Beckett’s condition, they were out of the side door and heading towards the aeroplane.
Half way up the steps, Beckett’s legs began to shake again. His look to Lane said ‘It didn’t work.’
The interior of the plane was luxurious and Lane pushed Beckett down onto a plush leather sofa as once again he slipped into unconsciousness. Feeling for his pulse, her eyes betrayed her alarm. His heart rate was so fast she could hardly count it and every now and then there was a long pause between beats as hi
s heart muscle seized.
She was losing him.
Darius remained pale and quiet, his eyes haunted by memories of his own family experience now being played out in front of him in Beckett. His brother, Andrei, was going to pay dearly – whatever the cost, because he knew he couldn’t face a future without putting an end to the horror that had kept him from sleeping for the past ten years. He knew there were others, and that there would always be, but he knew his soul would never rest while Andrei walked.
Lane’s eyes had never left Beckett’s face. He was still with her, but his heart continued to beat at an unsustainable rate; he would have a heart attack very soon unless it slowed down. There was nothing else she could do. She didn’t dare give him any more Anti-HVV; there was no way he would stand up to it. What she had given him would either work or it wouldn’t. She paled as the thought fixed in her mind, ‘Oh God, please don’t let me have killed him.’
As if in response to her panic, Beckett opened his eyes again and Lane noticed his pulse rate slowing by the second. 200 – 160 – 140 – 120 – and settled at around 90. Lane shook her head. With all he’d been through in the last thirty-six hours, Beckett should not have survived.
He stirred and lifted his hand onto hers. “S’okay Legs. I’ll be all right.”
Lane shook her head and struggled with her emotions. “Beckett, I don’t know how long this will last. If the first time is anything to go by, only hours. I doubled the dose … I had no choice … so maybe a bit longer. I don’t know if your body will withstand another.”
“I was dead if you hadn’t, I know it. Maybe I should be. I don’t know anymore.”
“Second guessing God?” she asked quietly.
Beckett closed his eyes. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. Our fate is our own; there’s no God, no heaven and no forgiveness. We do what we do and pay the price. Here and now.”
Lane sighed. “Okay, Beckett. I just meant that … well, maybe it’s time to stop blaming yourself for Grace.”
“So, what’s in this magic Anti-HVV then?” He snapped, ignoring her comment.
Lane shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if it works, I only came by it a week ago. I know it has been developed by one of our own kind. Its aim is to prevent the Latent turning. I know you weren’t a Latent, Beckett, but it was a last chance. Nothing else was working. Did I do wrong?”
“I don’t know. Did you?” He was exasperated. “Hell, I’m sorry, Legs. It’s been kind of rough.”
“Tell me about it. You think you can sit up? Your pulse is almost normal and you’ve got a good colour. How’re you feeling?”
“A bit of deja vu, I think. Like the first time, all of a sudden I feel okay. A bit tired maybe, but that’s all.” He looked intently at Lane. “So, what do you think that means, doctor?”
“I don’t know Beckett. And I’m not going to try and guess.”
Darius stood up and began prowling around the compartment. He had a wild look in his eyes when he turned on Beckett. “Well, if you want to know what I think, I think the damn stuff not only isn’t working, it’s having the opposite effect! I think you’re turning.”
“Well, as it happens we don’t want to know what you think. You’re here under sufferance and because we both think you need keeping an eye on. For your own safety of course. So, sit down, and shut up,” said Beckett, dryly.
Lane put her hand on Darius’ shoulder. “I think maybe you should sit down. Get some rest. I have no idea what is waiting for us over there.”
He appeared about to protest, but thought better of it. The glint in Lane’s eye belied her softened tone.
Lane smoked continually during the remainder of the journey.
“Hate to tell you this, Legs, but it’s illegal to do that anymore. He nodded at her cigarette.
“So, sue me.”
None of them spoke further until the small plane landed in Kozani airport. Andrei and Kat had all flown into Thessaloniki, restricted by commercial airlines and flight; Lane and Beckett had made up for their lost time by landing at Kozani and now had a chance of catching up with them.
Kat’s transformation had been rapid. There was no denying now the vampire within.
Andrei had watched her carefully, admiring her beauty which was enhanced in every way, but aware of a defiant streak that he would have to curtail in her before he took her to the Ancient One. The final part of her transformation had been the ultra-rapid healing process and so the livid weals of purple and red that had covered her face had faded within an hour and her swollen and split lips had returned to their ruby fullness in only moments. Andrei alone would know of the beating that she had received at his hands for defying him and challenging his authority over her.
She was subdued and sullen during the journey to Greece and Andrei had made it clear to the stewardess in the first class compartment that they didn’t want to be disturbed. They would want no food or drink during the flight. Kat spoke to Andrei only when he spoke to her. She was sullen and not about to forgive him easily for the rough treatment but, at the same time, she knew that she needed him and she resented that fact.
It was late in the afternoon when they landed at Thessaloniki airport and Kat’s heart had soared as she saw the familiar Byzantine church spires as they came in to land. The euphoria was only temporary, though as she was suddenly filled with a dread that bit into her soul. The reality of her condition and its origin hit her like an icy shower. Long-buried memories, only recently awakened by Lane, flooded her. Images of an ancient vampire entombed in silver and erotic scenes that sent shivers through her entire body.
Andrei tuned into the thoughts that tumbled around in her head. He frowned as he struggled to subdue his slowly rising anger and resentment at having to part with Kat. She fascinated him and enchanted him in a way that no other female had ever done, human or vampire. Perhaps the Old One would tire of her and she would return to him. They would make a powerful pair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Santo stood at a distance from the monastery of Agios Georgios watching the late afternoon sunshine reflecting in the upper windows, creating the illusion of fire. He sensed the activity within, the anticipation and the general business that spoke of visitors. The following day was the first of the two feasts of Agios Georgios, the patron saint of the region, whose uncorrupted body lay in its silver shrine in the chapel of the monastery. It was the day that the people from the region came to pay their respects to their saint whose body had not decayed in death because of his goodness in life – or so they believed. It was the day that the silver padlocks were removed and the silver bolts drawn back and the heavily ornate silver side of the shrine lowered to reveal the uncorrupted corpse of Agios Georgios, better known in the vampire community as Gregori.
The people came from the surrounding countryside with their gifts and their offerings of fruit, bread, coins and wine, as they had on that day each year for hundreds of years. And on that day Gregori awoke and rose from his self-imposed slumber and feasted not on their fruit or loaves but on the blood of his chosen innocent.
Sister Maria sat in vigil, as she had done for the last twenty-nine years, tied to the monastery by her vows of obedience and the knowledge that her destiny lay there, for good or ill. She prayed daily that it was for good.
She was uneasy that night; the air in the chapel seemed glacial and she was chilled to the bone. All day there had been a pervasive feeling of anxiety, reaching its peak with the arrival of a distinguished guest. And, from the crumbs of information she had gleaned, there were more expected. She was overcome with a sense of deep brooding from within the silver shrine; a faint movement, as if he was waking early. Her hands automatically went to her rosary and her lips began to move silently in their ancient prayers. She prayed to the Madonna for protection and for something else. She asked for the strength to do what had to be done, whatever that may be.
A light appeared in the gloom of the corridor and shuffling feet
announced the arrival of Sister Agnes. She was the oldest nun at the monastery, although Maria had never known her age. Her ancient face was etched with deep lines that made her appear timeless and, in the twenty-three years that Maria had been at the monastery Agnes had never missed a single vigil. It was they alone that held the Ancient One in his self-appointed containment, confined in silver. In all of those years it had always been Agnes that had unlocked the padlocks and allowed the heavy sides and top of the coffin to slide down and reveal their saint; Agnes that held the vigil on his feast days; and Agnes that locked the chapel doors when he had chosen the one who would provide the young blood that would give him sustenance for the following six months.
It was also Agnes that had cared for the donor, whose constant supply of blood over the previous thirty years had allowed Gregori to lay dormant, only waking on the two feast days. The donor was old and, infirm and on the few occasions that Maria had accompanied Agnes to his tiny cell, she had doubted he would survive much longer. He could barely lift his cadaverous frame from the mattress. Doubts rose in her and wormed their way into her being. Her vows within the Order prevented her from questioning what was told to her as the will of God, albeit as interpreted by Sister Angelique. It was hard to always understand what God wanted from her.
The old nun’s step seemed heavier, and she was moving even slower than usual. Maria stood to greet her old companion and to offer her arm. Sister Agnes shrugged her away without looking at her and didn’t speak as she moved painfully towards the stark wooden chair. After she had eased her stiff old frame into as comfortable a position as the chair would allow, she looked up into Maria’s cornflower-blue eyes and beckoned to her.
The middle-aged nun bent low in order to hear the old woman’s frail voice that was no more than a whisper and reminded her somehow of cobwebs.
