The rest of us remained sitting, arrayed around the living room on Guthrie’s comfortable furniture. Ironically, while all of us were bloodstained and rumpled, Nigellus was the only one still suffering the physical effects of the brutal fight. Rans, Guthrie, and I had all been injured—fatally so, in their cases. But the energy to heal us had come from a combination of vampiric strength, and strength borrowed from the two demons who held all three of our souls bound.
Every few minutes, a fresh puzzle piece would drop unexpectedly into place inside my mind, cutting briefly through the haze of grief stifling me.
I’d flirted with the idea of asking Nigellus to bind me so I could get out of Hell the first time I visited, when I’d still been coming into my power and wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it out on my own. But at the time, I’d already been bound to Nigellus through the medium of my life-bond with Rans. He could have helped me through the gate whenever I’d asked. I just hadn’t known that I could ask.
Similarly, Rans was free to come and go from Hell at will, as long as Nigellus escorted him. My dilemma of separation from him had been utterly unnecessary. It was even possible that I’d be able to take Rans through the gate myself now, if I powered up sufficiently before the attempt.
When Nigellus had tracked me after Myrial kidnapped me in California, he hadn’t been following a beacon on the cell phone I’d borrowed from Edward. He’d been following his bond with me through Rans. He knew where both of us were at all times. Between my connections with Nigellus, Myrial, and Albigard, I might as well have a freakin’ GPS chip embedded under my skin.
But at least I wouldn’t have to worry about Myrial anymore. Not for a good, long time.
So many things made sense now... but there were still some huge questions to be answered. And apparently I wasn’t the only one to think so.
“You wanted to talk, Nigellus,” Rans said. “So talk.”
I could feel the tension in Rans’ body. His fingers lay twined with mine, resting in the valley formed where our thighs pressed together as we sat side by side on the sofa.
“It’s about bloody time,” Edward said under his breath... and I still wasn’t sure how to feel about the revelation that the old man had, in fact, known all along about Nigellus’ secrets.
The demon of fate settled himself deeper in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests and fingers steepled before him. He was regaining his strength already—feeding, I knew, from the turning of the universe around us. Presumably, the confluence of so many momentous events in such a short time would be a banquet for a being such as him.
Nigellus drew a deep breath, and spoke.
“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a war. And wherever there is war, there will also be those who consider winning to be worth any price.”
SEVENTEEN
The City of Amiens, Northern France, 1798 A.D.
EVEN TO A BEING with Nigellus’ talent for divination, the human city of Amiens seemed an unlikely venue for history’s turning. With its smoky lamplights and gutters overflowing with filth, it was not even truly a hub for the current proxy war raging on Earth—it merely happened to be the current location of a particular individual Nigellus desperately needed to find.
Of course, the individual in question might, in fact, become the hub of a much wider war in the future... if Nigellus was successful in locating him before it was too late.
The towering, four-story facade of Amiens’ cathedral dwarfed the quaint cottages and shops surrounding him. The structure irritated Nigellus. It was one of countless similar ones that had sprung up on the continent over the past few centuries, in response to the sly propaganda war against the demons being waged on Earth by the Fae. But the cathedral was not his destination tonight.
Flickering firelight and the buzz of spirited conversation emerged from a tumbledown tavern located somewhat off the main thoroughfare. Nigellus strode in without hesitation, ignoring various suspicious looks from the patrons. His eyes scanned the interior, effortlessly cataloguing the swirling patterns of human interaction. It took only moments to hone in on a dark-haired presence lounging in the shadows, lurking at the edge of a table full of impassioned humans debating strategy and politics.
No doubt the debaters would have been quite alarmed to discover that they were sharing a table with a creature of the night, possessed of an unbeating heart, mesmeric eyes, and an unquenchable thirst for blood. As it was, they were probably too busy wincing at the appalling English accent that still tainted the vampire’s French, even after more than two decades spent stationed here in the Somme.
Ransley Thorpe looked up sharply, having sensed Nigellus’ presence mere moments after Nigellus sensed his. He carefully set down the flagon of sour-smelling wine he’d been holding for show, a look of wariness crossing his sharply drawn features at the demon’s unexpected appearance. Nigellus jerked his chin toward the tavern’s back entrance, indicating that they should speak away from curious eyes and ears.
To his credit, the vampire didn’t hesitate before turning to the man and woman sitting next to him. He spoke a few quick words to excuse himself, and a moment later, he was at Nigellus’ side. Wordlessly, the two of them made their way to the door and the dark alley beyond.
Nigellus gave Ransley a brief onceover. As befitted the role he was currently playing, the vampire was dressed in the current local fashion of waistcoat and breeches, with a long, slim-fitting overcoat, boots for riding, and a messily tied cravat. All of it was made from plain fabrics and showed the wear of hard use; none of it was ostentatious. As most successful vampires tended to be, he was a predator dressed up in lamb’s wool—a dangerous, razor-sharp blade wrapped in softest velvet.
And after tonight, he would be alone in the world.
Unaccustomed anger churned in Nigellus’ chest as he contemplated what was to come. It was a foolish reaction, particularly for someone who drew power directly from such confluences. Sentimental. War was war, and if anything, the Fae’s latest gambit should engender grudging admiration from him. Not this sense of... regret.
Ransley turned to face him as the tavern door clattered shut, cutting them off from the life and light inside. His incisive blue gaze flickered over Nigellus’ expression, missing nothing.
“Well, Nigellus. This is certainly unexpected,” he said mildly. “I fear I’ll have to withhold judgment on whether it qualifies as an unexpected pleasure until after you’ve explained what’s going on.”
There wouldn’t be any pleasure involved tonight. Not for either of them.
“No time for that, I fear,” Nigellus said grimly. “Come with me. There is an urgent matter that must be dealt with.”
Ransley frowned in surprise as Nigellus gripped his upper arm and jerked them both into the space between physical dimensions, pulling them across a vast, burning expanse of saltwater despite the drain such travel placed on his reservoir of power.
When they slipped back into reality, Ransley yanked his arm free rather abruptly, wincing in the unexpectedly bright sunlight filtering through the oak trees surrounding them. He looked around, taking in the complete lack of civilization and the radically different time of day.
“An urgent matter, you say?” His gaze fell on Nigellus again, a dangerous inner glow kindling behind his eyes. “Perhaps you’d better start talking. There were several ‘urgent matters’ underway back in France, as well. My unexpected absence could pose a problem for our allies.” He frowned. “And where in god’s name are we, anyway? It’s blistering out here.”
The area around them had no name, except among the handful of natives from the Nisenan tribe, who called it, simply, ‘home.’ But at the moment, the land’s designation—or lack thereof—was far from the point.
“The Council has received new intelligence. The Fae have perfected a magical weapon never seen before,” Nigellus said, without preamble. “If it works as intended, it will destroy every vampire in the human realm. They intend to deploy it imminently, and ther
e has been no time to implement any defense against it.”
He watched as Ransley’s expression cycled through several emotions, from ‘is this a joke’ to ‘that’s not possible’ to ‘Nigellus doesn’t jest about such things.’
His lips parted, but it took a moment before words emerged.
“How...” Rans said, only to shake his head sharply, cutting himself off and starting again. “Why? If this is true, why tell me? Why bring me to... this place?”
Nigellus breathed deeply, taking in the unspoiled Earthen air, rife with the scents of bountiful life... so different from Hell’s austerity. Birds twittered and sang around them. Leaves rustled in the breeze.
When his gaze fell on Ransley again, it held the full force of his will behind it. “I wish to make a bargain with you, Ransley Thorpe. Your soul, in exchange for my personal vow not to allow your race to perish to extinction.”
Five centuries as a vampire had, in the end, done little to keep Ransley’s thoughts from showing on his face. Nigellus watched as instinctive revulsion at the idea of binding his soul gave way to panic at the thought of his fellow vampires’ deaths, imminent and en masse. Perhaps Nigellus should have felt flattered that disbelief over the outrageousness of his assertion didn’t even make a moment’s appearance in Ransley’s expression. Instead, Nigellus just felt vaguely ill... not to mention, old.
So very, very old.
“How will binding my soul enable you to save my people?” Ransley managed eventually.
“It will not,” Nigellus said. “As I specified, it is merely the price of preventing your race’s permanent extinction. Though I fear there may not be much time left for you to make the decision.”
Ransley’s face had gone ghostly pale in the dappled sunlight. He backed away a step, breathing hard. “You’re asking me to trust you, not only with my soul, but with my entire species.”
“Yes,” Nigellus replied simply. “Choose now, Ransley. I wish there were more time for you to do so, but time is a luxury we no longer have.”
The vampire’s chest rose and fell rapidly, drawing lungfuls of air that his body couldn’t use. He pinned Nigellus’ gaze with his glowing, vampiric one, as though he could somehow overpower a demon’s will and determine the truthfulness behind Nigellus’ words. Such an ability was far beyond his kind, however, and it always would be. It was also unnecessary, in this case—since Nigellus had spoken nothing but the exact and literal truth.
The reverse was not the case, of course. If it came down to it, he could overpower Ransley’s mind with relative ease. Nigellus was still unsure what action he would take, should Ransley refuse him. No doubt the Council would have words for him if he failed to perform his task successfully, but the idea of removing Ransley’s free will in such a matter rankled.
“God help me... if that’s what it takes, you can have it,” the vampire whispered hoarsely. His eyes flared brighter. “Take my soul, and save them. But as Hell is my witness, Nigellus, I will hold you to your vow.”
Nigellus gave a single nod. “Your agreement ensures that my vow can be upheld. Now, come.”
Again, he clasped Ransley’s arm, but this time the distance they traveled was negligible. The cavern had been almost directly beneath their feet—its only entrance a hole in the ground that had claimed the lives of many careless humans and animals over the millennia. Bones decorated the floor of the largest chamber, encased in ever-increasing layers of limestone as time turned around them.
Nigellus’ destination lay yet deeper beneath the earth, however.
The gate between Hell and the human realm sat in a passageway so dark even vampire eyes struggled to see. An eerie moaning sound whistled through the caves and galleries, bringing to mind the lamentation of lost souls. Ransley tensed beneath Nigellus’ hand.
“That noise—” he began.
“The natives would tell you it’s the restless spirits of those who’ve fallen to their deaths in the cavern,” Nigellus said, ushering him toward a pile of boulders leading to the weak spot between realms. “In point of fact, it’s a result of the difference in air pressure between the underground space and the atmosphere above, being forced through a narrow opening like a musician’s breath through the reed of a particularly large and melancholy flute. Come.”
The entrance to Hell had many layers of protection, but none of them would be visible to Ransley, and none were a barrier to Nigellus. He led the dazed vampire up the tumble of fallen rocks and pushed him through the threadbare hole in the human world, following directly behind. Had he been human and reliant on air for life, he would have breathed a sigh of relief as the barrier slid closed behind them and the familiar environs of Hell surrounded him.
Ransley stood frozen in front of him, relief nowhere to be found in his bearing. Unsurprising, perhaps, as the guards on this side of the gate had immediately ranged around the vampire in a half-circle, weapons raised.
“Stand down,” Nigellus said, and waited for the other demons to lower their swords and pikes. “My companion is a guest, and shall be treated as such for the duration of his stay. Has Baalazar left for Earth yet?”
“He has, Nigellus,” the most senior of the guards reported. “Do you wish us to direct him to you when he returns?”
“Please do so,” Nigellus replied. “We will be in my quarters. No one else is to disturb us unless there is news related to the Fae weapon.”
The guard dipped his head. “Very well. I will see to it.”
Ransley straightened his cravat with a tug and dissipated into vapor, swirling past the circle of guards to land behind them. Nigellus didn’t comment on the small gesture of defiance. Ransley was no doubt fully aware that had he been an enemy infringing on Hell’s territory, rather than an ally, the guards would have had weapons slicing through the place he rematerialized faster than he could avoid them.
Vampires were useful allies, but they were not equals. Not in the arena of raw power, at least.
“Please—allow me to escort you to my home, where we may speak further in private,” Nigellus said graciously, not missing the faint air of desperation in the glance Ransley sent toward the invisible gate they’d just traversed. He would, of course, be familiar with the same stories as the rest of his race—Hell was a one-way door. Anyone could enter, but only demons and those bound to them could leave.
And he had just agreed to let himself be bound. Anathema, to a vampire.
Ransley gave a tight nod in response. Nigellus transported them directly to the suite of rooms he maintained, carved into Hell’s native rock over the course of eons. The familiar surroundings offered him little comfort on this particular day. Empty and echoing, they felt too much like the inside of Nigellus’ mind as he contemplated what the successful deployment of the Fae weapon would mean... both for the wider war, and for the person standing in front of him.
He released Ransley’s arm and let air trickle out of his lungs slowly, more aware than usual of the guise of humanity he held wrapped around his true form. “Be at ease,” he said. “I will retrieve the crystal so we may proceed with the binding.”
Ransley looked at him sharply. “You didn’t bring it with you?”
He shook his head. “Such objects are too valuable to transport carelessly. Wait here; I’ll only be a moment.”
He returned to find Ransley standing stiff but composed, his back to the room and his eyes fixed on a sinuous sculpture carved into the wall—a combination of artwork and structural support that Nigellus had always found personally pleasing.
The crystal nestled in his palm thrummed with potential. Ransley turned, as though sensing the sudden charge in the atmosphere. His gaze moved unerringly to the small stone—translucent, and with facets sharp enough to cut.
Another being might have asked if all this were really necessary, or railed against his fate. Ransley only asked, “Will you be reaping me immediately afterward, then? Only, I’d prefer to have an idea of what to expect, going in.”
“I w
ill not be reaping you at all, dear boy,” Nigellus assured him. “That would quite defeat the purpose of the exercise, I assure you.”
Ransley swallowed, then nodded. “If you say so.” He pulled a small blade from his boot. “Very well. I... offer myself to you, Nigellus, in exchange for the vow you made me. Is that suitably formal, or shall I also take a knee?”
The attempt at insouciance sounded forced, but Nigellus did not begrudge Ransley the attempt. “Unnecessary. This will do admirably.”
Ransley steeled himself before raking the blade across his palm. Blood smeared the crystal as he slapped his hand down on top of it, trapping it between them. Misgivings writ large on his face, he pulled away and handed Nigellus the little dagger.
Though he could have willed the blood from his own palm without benefit of a blade, Nigellus accepted it and sliced a small wound into the base of his thumb. It welled up, mixing with the vampire blood coating the magical stone. The crystal flared with brilliant ruby light. With a feeling of inevitability, Nigellus crushed it in his fist, and allowed the broken shards to sift to the floor.
He met Ransley’s eyes with a timeless gaze. “Your soul is bound, Ransley Thorpe. None can tear asunder what magic has constrained.”
Ransley blinked, his brows drawing together. The vampire’s lips were pale, like those of a human who’d been left too long in the cold. “I feel no different.”
Nigellus cocked an eyebrow. “Nor will you.” He drew breath to offer further reassurance, only to pause as fate shifted around him. More than ten thousand souls cried out as they slipped into the void, ripped from the world under a magical onslaught more powerful than anything the human realm had seen in millions of years. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring.
“Nigellus?” Ransley’s voice snapped like a whip.
“It’s done,” he said heavily.
The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set Page 99
