by Amy Cross
"It's done," he says, a shiver passing through his body. How many people, in centuries to come, will curse him for having ever completed this work? He knows there will be many who despise him, who speak the name Gothos with venom on their tongues.
The book has come to him in a series of visions. At first he thought he must be going mad, but over time he came to realize that he had been chosen to act as a channel for forces he could never understand. They demanded that he write these words, and now these words will haunt vampires for many centuries. The book will be fought over, and many will try to destroy it. This is the book that contains the truth about the destiny of the vampire race, and it does not make for pleasant reading. Even as the old man looks at the leather cover, he sees a dark red stain begin to appear. The book itself knows that its history will be bloody, but the book seems pleased with this fact, as if it expects to enjoy the pain it will cause. It is, Gothos sees finally, an evil thing, but perhaps it can also be used for good.
"Are you sure there are no mistakes?" Cassandra asks. She has been lurking in the shadows all this time, watching the old man as he writes, hoping against hope that something will interrupt his work.
"No mistakes," the old man says, sighing. He slides the book toward her. "Everything written in here will come to pass. It must do. It's a prophecy. It came to me in dreams, and I was compelled to set it down in words. I am the book's servant."
"What is her name?" Cassandra asks.
The old man smiles. This is the question he was hoping Cassandra would not ask, but also the question that he knew she could not ignore. "You want spoilers?"
"What is her name?" Cassandra asks again, more firmly this time.
"Abigail," the old man says, the smile leaving his face. The name has a certain weight, echoing through the centuries. She will not be born for many years, but this child is already important. "Her name is Abigail."
"A strange name," Cassandra says. "And what is her mother's name?"
"Sophie," the old man replies. He sighs. "I've seen her in my dreams, and may the gods have mercy on her soul."
Cassandra steps over to the table. She runs a hand over the book's cover, but she doesn't dare to open it. "Is she deserving of Patrick's love?" she asks sadly.
"She is," the old man replies. He stares at Cassandra, understanding only too well the pain that courses through her heart. For so many years, she has longed to be the one who Patrick loves, yet she knows that this can never be the case. "Don't take this as a slight," the old man continues, hoping to ease Cassandra's sorrow. "Patrick still holds you in high esteem. You are one of the few people to whom he will really listen."
"Patrick will fight against this," Cassandra says, her voice filled with steely determination. "He won't just accept the prophecy. He'll rip this book to shreds if he gets the chance. He tried to deny the last prophecy, and we both know how close he came to succeeding. This time, there will be no stopping him. If anyone can do it..." She pauses, her voice trailing off. She hopes against all hope that this time Patrick will be able to defeat destiny itself, but at the same time she knows that this can never happen.
"Of course," the old man replies, "but Patrick's fight is itself part of the prophecy. It's all in the book. He will fight, and he will lose. Everything is set out as it must be. The old prophecy came to pass, and now the new prophecy has been written." He stares at Cassandra, seeing the look of fear written across her face. "You know this is how it must be," he says finally. "Humans might live freely, shaping their own futures, but our species is tied to a very different set of forces." He pauses, not sure whether he should continue. "Then again, there might be a way -"
"Don't say it," Cassandra says.
"But it's true," the old man insists. "The prophecy is a living, breathing thing. There might be a way to dissuade it from pursuing its full course. It Patrick truly loves this girl -"
"Which he won't," Cassandra says, interrupting.
"He might."
Cassandra nods sadly. "He might," she says. "But he won't." Cassandra is one of the few who truly understands the fate of the vampires, and who recognizes that their glory cannot last forever. She has seen in her dreams that the vampire race will rise so very high before plunging deep into a darkness from which none of them can ever escape. It is this story that the Book of Gothos sets out.
"Leave us alone for a moment," the old man says, staring at the book.
"There is no time to -"
"Leave us alone," the old man insists.
Cassandra sighs. "I will return in a moment, Gothos. There is no time to waste." She puts a hand on the old man's shoulder, and then she steps outside. It's a dark, moonless night and the stars are bright. She knows that in centuries to come, those same stars will look down upon acts that take place as a direct consequence of the things written in the prophecy. Considering all the pain that will be caused by the book, she wonders if perhaps she should destroy it as soon as she gets the chance, but she knows that the book provides order and control, and that without the book there will be chaos. For all its evils, the book must persist.
"It's time to leave," she says a few minutes later, as she returns to the old man, but he can no longer hear her. To her horror, Cassandra finds him dead on the floor. His body has been ripped to shreds; his blood has poured out onto the ground, and in that blood sits the book. Looking around and seeing that there is no-one else nearby, Cassandra stares at the book and finally understands its true power. The book is alive, and it has chosen to kill its father. Carefully, Cassandra steps over the old man's body and picks the book up. She knows that she is in no danger, because the book needs her to carry it far from here. Looking down at the old man's body, Cassandra vows that the name Gothos will live on throughout all of time.
For many years after this moment, Cassandra is the guardian of the book. She carries it with her everywhere she goes, from Paris to Rome, and on to Constantinople and London. As the vampires wage their hidden war against the spiders, Cassandra keeps the book well-hidden. Eventually, however, as the spiders are defeated and the first stirrings of the vampire civil war are felt, Cassandra recognizes that she must find a better place to keep the book locked away. She takes it first to Ireland, where she attempts to persuade Black Annis, who is living there under the false name Azael, to be its custodian; Black Annis turns her down, fearful of the book's power, so Cassandra journeys back to England where she finally forces the Tenderling King to take responsibility. His hands trembling as he takes stewardship of the book, the Tenderling King is unable to turn down Cassandra's request.
From this moment, the path of the book becomes muddied and it disappears from recorded history for many years. During this time, some come to believe that the Tenderling King had found a way to destroy the book, but others know better and assume that he has merely found a place where it can be hidden far from the eyes of the vampires. To this day, it is still not known where the book was for these centuries. It is as if it simply did not exist, yet it must have been somewhere. It must have been doing something...
Sophie
Today.
Patrick tries the door handle again, but the dead-bolt holds. The door itself seems pretty strong, so there's at least a sliver of hope that Patrick can't just break it down. Still, as I back away from the door with Abigail in my arms, I realize that we're trapped in here. We can wait as long as we want, but there's no food or water and - at some point - I'm going to have to open that door and go back out into the tunnel. It's just a question of when we finally open the door and surrender to Patrick.
Abigail starts to cry. I try to soothe her, to get her to relax, but she's screaming now and her cries echo in the small room. "Please," I say to her, "be quiet." I look over at the door and imagine Patrick standing out there, listening to his own daughter crying. Is this really what he wants? Is he so determined to get her, at any cost, that he'll listen to her in distress? "Are you hungry?" I ask Abigail quietly, whispering to try to avoid behind heard
by Patrick. "I don't have anything for you."
In a desperate attempt to calm her, I try to find a way to feed her, but it doesn't work. I don't have any milk for her, although she at least stops crying for a moment during the attempt. As I give up, she starts crying louder than ever, as if I've annoyed her. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."
The truth is: I'm a terrible mother. Abigail was taken from me when she was born, and we never got a chance to bond. I can't expect her to be just dropped back in my arms, and for everything to be okay. That bond that a child and its mother establish during the first months can never be replaced. Abigail probably doesn't even recognize me as her mother. To her, I'm probably just some person who's carried her down into a cold sewer system, and who now taunts her with failed attempts to feed her. She's still crying, still calling out for someone else. Maybe she wants a better mother.
Suddenly, for the first time, I have a flash of memory. I've never been able to remember being pregnant with Abigail, or giving birth to her, but now that I can look into her face I feel as if something's coming back to me. Perhaps it's all my imagination, but I have a memory of being in some kind of cave, with snow outside. My belly is huge and my body is convulsed with contractions. I'm all alone, but I have a feeling of Patrick being somewhere nearby. There's...
No, that's all I remember.
Is that how I gave birth to Abigail? Alone somewhere, out in the wilderness. I guess it makes sense. Patrick doesn't exactly seem like the kind of person who'd make a good midwife. I look down at Abigail and, as she cries, it's hard not to feel that she's had a terrible life so far. I'd give anything to be able to change that, but what hope do I have when her father's an insane vampire and he's standing right outside that door, waiting to kill me and take Abigail away to raise her in his own image?
"We'll get out of this," I say to her, but she just keeps crying. She's calling out for someone to come and save her, for someone to take her to safety. She wants to get away from me. My own daughter, and she hates me.
The door handle turns again. Patrick's still trying to find a way into this room. What will he do if he succeeds? I guess he'll take Abigail from my arms and then kill me. He'll probably leave my body to rot down here, undiscovered, just as he's left Nimrod out in the tunnel. I guess eventually a sanitation worker might stumble across me. I try to imagine the face of some guy as he walks into the room and finds my corpse on the floor. Closing my eyes, I hold Abigail tight and pray that she'll stop crying.
Eventually I open my eyes and I come to a decision. Bizarrely, I remember something Shelley told me once. Damn it, I miss Shelley. I don't know where she is, but I wish I could talk to her. Once, though, she told me that if you're in a bad situation and there seems to be no way out, the best option is to do the exact thing that scares you the most. Just march straight into the danger and hope you can come up with another plan. That, Shelley told me, is the only option; otherwise, you just end up hiding until the danger overtakes you.
I stare at the door handle.
If I do what Shelley suggested, that means I have to unlock the door and face Patrick. I'm certain he plans to kill me. After all, that's what Nimrod said, and I came to trust Nimrod implicitly. There's also the matter of the prophecy. But at the same time, maybe my best option really might be to go face to face with Patrick and try to change his mind. Sure, it'd be a huge risk and it would mean pretty much placing Abigail in his arms, but what other choices do I have? If I stay in this room, I'll eventually die and Abigail might die as well.
I take a deep breath. What would be worse for Abigail? Dying now, or facing a life with Patrick?
Looking around the room, I see all sorts of chemicals and cleaning items. I'm sure I could find a way to kill us both, probably painlessly. Then Patrick would eventually break into the room and find us both dead. He'd know that I beat him, that I got both Abigail and myself away from him. For a moment, just a brief moment, I feel as if this might be the best option, but then I realize I could never do such a thing. As Abigail continues to cry, I realize there's no way I can kill my own daughter. Even if death would be preferable to a life with Patrick, I can't actually bring myself to do it.
Which means...
I step toward the door. Patrick hasn't tried the handle for a few minutes, but there's no doubt he's still out there. He's probably waiting for me to surrender.
I take a deep breath. Damn it, Shelley, you'd better be right about this.
I reach out and slide the dead-bolt across, and then I turn the handle and open the door. For a moment, I hope that maybe there'll be some miracle and Patrick won't be out there waiting for us. But he's there. Standing straight in front of me, staring straight into my eyes, I come face to face with him.
Abigail finally stops crying, staring up instead at her father.
"Here we are," I say, my throat dry from fear.
Slowly, he reaches out to take Abigail, but I move her away from his hands. "I'm her mother," I say firmly. I have to choose these words carefully, because they might be the last ones I ever say. I take a deep breath. "I'm her mother," I say again, trying to sound like I'm not scared, "and you can't have her."
The Book of Gothos
1886.
Evangeline LaCroix leads a disliked family member over to a bookshelf in the LaCroix family home in Oxfordshire.
"This book has been in my husband's family for many years," Evangeline says, heavily pregnant as she slides the ancient book off a shelf. She is due to give birth any day now, but her husband Edward has brought visitors to the house and Evangeline - as a good wife - must play the host until she goes into labor She has undergone a difficult pregnancy so far, and she feels weak, but she has a duty to entertain her husband's guests, and she is determined not to let him down. "It's strange," she says, opening the book and looking through its pages, "but I have never been able to decipher the words."
Her cousin leans in to take a look. "How old is it?"
"Ancient," Evangeline says. "Even Edward is not entirely sure how it came to be in his family's possession. It just seems to have arrived somehow, passed down through the generations even though nobody in the family has the slightest clue what it says." She opens the book and shows her cousin the text on the pages. "We've had some of the finest literary scholars take a look, and none of them have any idea what the book is about."
"What a wonderful mystery," the cousin says, her voice filled with wonder.
"Quite," says Evangeline. "I have to say, I'm of two minds regarding the book. On the one hand, it is a marvelous heirloom. On the other hand, I sometimes feel as if..." She pauses. "I'm sorry, ignore me. I have a tendency to become quite emotional at times."
"Go on," the cousin says. "What troubles you?"
Evangeline takes a deep breath. "Sometimes I feel that the book is almost alive. As if it watches me from the shelf." She smiles. "What silly notions we have sometimes."
"We are women," says her sister-in-law. "It's in our nature to be a little foolish. But it is all in good humor."
"Perhaps," Evangeline says, unable to take her eyes from the book, "but I have a very firm belief that in some way, this book shall outlast us all and play some role in the world. Look here." She shows her cousin the outline of some kind of dark stain on the book's cover. "I have been trying to determine the nature of this stain," she says. "There are several similar marks on the internal pages. I have come to the conclusion that the book has at some point been soaked in blood. And yet the stains seem different at different places, as if the book has been soaked several times, in the blood of many people."
"Stop it," her cousin says, laughing, "you'll have me up all night through fear."
"I'm sorry," Evangeline says. "I can't talk to Edward about it. He's been very closed to any talk of the supernatural since... Well, since I became pregnant."
"Curious," her cousin says, enthralled by the book. "It looks very old and important. You must have it appraised. It might be worth something."
Evangeline smiles. Her cousin always thinks of money first, never giving thought to other types of value. "The book's power has nothing to do with earthly qualities, I fear. The book seems safe on this shelf. Perhaps it is content to sit and observe us. And besides, we have no need of the money," Evangeline says, smiling.
"Not even to rebuild Gabriel Hall?" her cousin asks.
Evangeline closes the book and puts it back on the shelf. "We shall not be rebuilding Gabriel Hall," she says, all humor gone from her face. "That place shall remain burned for all of eternity."
Her cousin smiles, amused at having apparently caused some distress. "I must say," she continues, "both you and Edward seem to become rather unsettled whenever Gabriel Hall is mentioned in conversation." She pauses. "You know, some of us were talking, and we don't entirely accept the story about what happened. Did the whole place really burn down thanks to the misuse of a single candle?"
"That is what we said, is it not?" Evangeline replies, feeling extremely uneasy at the mere mention of that dark night at Gabriel Hall. The night when Patrick came and burnt the place down; the night when strange creatures came out to play...
"If I were you," says her cousin, "I would rebuild the place. With a few minor modifications, of course."
Evangeline shakes her head. "We shall not be doing that."
"Then sell the land," her cousin continues, insisting for some reason on pressing the subject. "At least gain some value from the place."
"We cannot," Evangeline says. She and Edward decided long ago that they would not allow some other poor soul to purchase that land and perhaps fall victim to the dark forces that seem to exist there. The land will simply sit barren, unused by anyone. "We shall keep the land," she says, "and that is that."
