One (Rules Undying Book 6)

by R. E. Carr

  “Don’t you care?”

  Merlin raised a brow. “Should I? Oh, you are under the impression that I care about the outside world, aren’t you? I used to look around every so often, but I’m past that now. I prefer to focus on my experiments and let my children do as they wish. Now that Arthur is back and Lorcan seems to be restored, events shall play out as they are meant to be—”

  “I don’t understand,” Gail said. Merlin pointed to the staircase. He waited until they had made it all the way to the second floor before he spoke again.

  “Everything comes with time. You’ll find that the longer you live, the less you care about. I have successfully completed my finest experiment—I have brought the dead to life. Compared to that, everything else feels rather like a letdown. Having someone new to talk to, a new disciple interested in my work, might help me pass the time again.”

  “The world is going crazy, and you just sound so . . . so damn bored!”

  Merlin nodded and took a sip. The ice clinked again. “Running low. Anything you want to know before I go back to my experiments?”

  “I want to know all about your experiments,” Gail blurted out. “How you brought back the dead? How you did it all?”

  “Now really, child, I can’t explain all that in the time it takes to finish a drink, and quite frankly, I don’t think you will understand it yet.” He started walking ahead of her.

  “What did you do to Ren Matsuoka to turn him into Arthur?” Merlin stopped and tipped his glass to her, then waved at her to hurry up.

  “You know something, don’t you?” he asked coyly.

  “I know about Project Zero. The sheriff stole your notes, and then Javier and I stole them from her. I know about Long Beach and you dumping my uncle into a giant blender, and I have read more of your messy notes than I care to ever read again. I learned about trehalose and cystic protein structures until I was blue in the face, but your notes were missing a few key pieces of information. I got what you were trying to do, but I want to know how you managed to preserve Arthur for so long without a host. That bit of information was pointedly missing so much so that I think you either forgot to write it down or—”

  “Or I never preserved him at all?” Merlin asked. “Clever girl, follow me. You might not realize it now, but you inherited a very subtle and powerful gift.”

  “Spitting flammable acid?” Gail offered as they approached a hotel room door that was painted black. Merlin raised a brow.

  “Now that is interesting, but no.” He pulled out his keycard as well as typed something on the number pad, making certain to block his access code with his body. “My youngest, dear Mina, she possesses a rare intuition, if you will . . . a preternatural recognition of patterns and general emotions. She can read a room as easily as you would read a novel and pick up the subtlest of hints as to where to go and what to do. Her sons don’t seem to have the gift; but then again, most of the powerful abilities tend to skip generations.”

  “This doesn’t answer my question,” Gail said flatly, shaking her ice cubes in front of him.

  “Save it for another round, please.” Merlin opened the door for her. Gail’s eyes widened as she saw a chair with restraints built into it facing a wall of screens. A VR headset sat on a table, while empty IV hooks glistened in a corner. She darted past Merlin and picked up the top DVD that rested in a stack by the chair.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she whispered as she turned it over to see Richard Harris staring back at her.

  “It’s surprisingly one of the more accurate ones. My boy loved to sing,” Merlin said with a smile. “It is important to provide multiple points of context. An infant vampire is ever so malleable. Usually, it imprints upon the host’s thoughts as they die; but if you know what you are doing—”

  “He’s not Arthur,” Gail said, sinking into the chair.

  “Yet he is. What is a man but his memories, his experiences, his very feelings? You of all people should know that memories can be altered and removed. Did you also know that they can be recreated? Certainly, it takes skill and time, but both of those are things I have in abundance.”

  “You . . . rebuilt Arthur, but the blood . . . the transfer in Long Beach . . . oh god.”

  Merlin smiled condescendingly at her. “Child, belief is one of the most powerful tools a vampire has at his or her disposal. To finalize the process, Ren simply had to believe he was Arthur, and so did everyone else.”

  “And you just told me this. I could tell everyone.”

  “Then I won’t tell you any more of my secrets. I won’t teach you another thing, and your curiosity will never be sated. Girl, I can see it in your eyes. We are ever so much alike, and I think you want to know everything. Am I wrong?”

  Gail looked at the traces of liquid still in her glass. “I think I’m going to need another drink.”

  40

  “We’re losing her.”

  “How can you lose what is already lost,” Georgia whispered. A numb, cold wave passed through her body as she sank deeper and deeper into the floor. Occasionally, a beeping sound would pull her back from the darkness, preventing her from drifting into a truly peaceful sleep. The grating, condescending voice of Merlin liked to intrude from time to time, trying his best to mansplain her situation as blood oozed out of her shoulder.

  “Do you have any idea how miasma works, Georgia? How the osculum oblivio works? All you have to do is remember what you are asked to remember, and the PKMZeta inhibitor does the rest. Your mind is content to rewrite its own narrative to fit what is expected, what is logical . . . what is right. You don’t even need vampires to do this. You’re doing wonderfully on your own, child. Now, tell me all you know . . . about vampires.”

  “They’re assholes,” Georgia replied flatly, her eyes snapping open. Merlin stood beside her, dressed in scrubs and a pristine lab coat. The rest of the room remained a blurry approximation of any set of a Hollywood medical drama. The beeps came from a machine that fed constant streams of scary-looking numbers and wavy lines. Georgia tilted her head to see garish flowers and a stuffed tiger in a Red Sox T-shirt.

  “You’re in a coma, Georgia,” Dr. Merlin explained. “You are dying. The closer it gets to the end, the weirder you allow it to become. Tell me all about the vampires, and we will make them go away.”

  Georgia moaned softly. Her shoulder throbbed, and her head began to spin. “It all started when my roommate used my phone to get a kinky hookup. I ended up getting a job with a decrepit, toothless vampire who liked stealing my negligees and jet-setting around the globe with his insecure, but way hotter, best friend. I met a nice guy—but then he got turned into King Arthur, so I pulled a total Guinevere—who I apparently look exactly like—and ran off with my Lancelot, named Steve. Oh, and at some point, I got shot and stuff, but I got better.”

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?”

  “I left out the hallucinogenic vampire semen,” Georgia muttered. She coughed, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Still, the scratchy sheets made her skin crawl just enough that she kept waking up.

  “You’ve been shot, stabbed, lethally injected, cut open, had your heart removed, and been stitched back together like a ragdoll. Don’t you think it’s time you finally admit that you are dead and move on?” Merlin asked with a sigh.

  Georgia nodded and started to sink a little more into her comfy bed. The beeping became softer and softer. At that moment, however, the door opened and an orderly came in to clean some of her blood that was dripping onto the floor. Georgia could just make out red Chucks and a distinctive shuffle.

  “You know, if you have to explain to someone that they are dead, then you’ve probably made a mistake, Merlin,” she said, grabbing her chest as she felt a surge rippling through her body.

  Georgia gasped and fought desperately to draw air into her lungs as she bolted upright to a sitting position. Finally, she coughed enough to break the deadlock of dried blood and mucus in her airway and ga
gged repeatedly as the color slowly returned to her skin. Sparks coursed along her arms and legs, and she wheezed until she sounded like a hyena being tickled half to death. She collapsed again, banging her head on the floorboards. A pair of concerned brown eyes stared down at her, his pale hands crackling with electricity.

  “You really need to stop dying like this, mi amiga,” Javier said, shaking his head. “Also, your tumor, it may have explotó. Lo siento.”

  “Meep,” was the best Georgia could choke out as her system rebooted.

  “You look terrible,” Georgia could hear as Javier lifted her up onto her bed.

  “Gracias, Capitán Fabuloso.” Georgia let out a moan as she saw the disgusting crater around her collar where the bulge had once been. Javier tilted her head away and gave her a consoling grimace. A moment later, she cried out as his spit sprayed the wound. Tears rolled down her face as all she could think was, “Maybe I should have stayed dead.”

  “I should be dead, not her,” she heard beside her. Despite her pain and injuries, she raised a brow and looked over to the other half of her bed where one Steven James DeMarco was sleeping fitfully. He had managed to steal all of the covers and her favorite pillow. A tear rolled down Steve’s cheek as he trembled and reached out in his nightmare. His hand landed squarely on Georgia’s shoulder, prompting a bloodcurdling scream—a scream that was echoed the moment Steve opened his eyes and stared right at the gory, emaciated, stitched-together Georgia. He jerked away and landed face first on the floor, taking her comforter with him.

  “Well, that was awkward and unexpected,” Javier added unhelpfully from the peanut gallery. To make matters even worse, Georgia’s door burst open and a confused and half-naked Mr. Lambley skidded into view. Javier had to shield his eyes from the glow off the ginger vampire’s pasty skin.

  “Why is there blood all over the floor?” Mr. Lambley asked, pointing to the puddle. He blanched at the gelatinous vampire remains quivering and melting into the varnish. “Dear god, man, did you just cut out part of yourself?”

  Steve struggled desperately with the bedding he was currently entangled within, while Javier and Georgia sat in the middle of the fracas, waiting for anyone to notice their bloodied bodies. “Javier, turn off your miasma,” Georgia coughed out.

  “It does not work that way, mi amiga. Once the gland goes, it’s not turning off until it explodes, and it is still attached to me, so—”

  “Then get out of here so they can see me.” She fought for breath again, this time blood bubbling between her lips.

  “I do not think that is a good idea. Insane grieving vampiros—”

  “Dying hurts, but I get better,” Georgia wheezed. “Just give me . . . a chance . . .”

  “They won’t see you. The damage from the miasma is already—”

  Georgia snarled at him, flopping her good arm weakly. One set of stitches on a recent wound began to split. Javier cringed and spat on that too, prompting another yowl from Georgia. “Ok, if you insist,” he said, darting to the door with surprising grace for a one-legged man.

  “I saw her . . . I saw her, and it was horrible,” Steve cried out as he finally pulled free. He slipped again and gasped at the gore on his hand. “What did I do? Damn it, what did I do?”

  Mr. Lambley just shook his head and surveyed the mess while Steve shook and stared at his hand. “I saw her, Geoffrey,” Steve repeated a little softer than before. “It was like she had been chopped up and stitched back together, like the bride of Frankenstein. Her blood was everywhere. Wait a second, there is blood everywhere—” He lifted his fingertips to his lips. “How is this possible? How . . .?”

  Georgia gurgled again. It took every bit of her remaining energy to lift her fingers towards the stunned Steve. He shook his head and refused to look her way. “Damn it, Steve,” she wheezed, just before falling back into unconsciousness.

  Georgia gasped as her eyes opened once more. She blinked a few times at the brilliant sunshine. Soft blades of grass poked through her fingers. She sat up and smiled as she saw a friendly face grinning right back at her. “Hey, Sweetheart.”

  “Steve,” she whispered as she reached over to touch his sun-warmed face. The moment her fingertips brushed his skin, she felt stubble. As she blinked she saw a face both familiar and alien—a rugged-looking blond man with a scar cutting through his eyebrow. His features looked like a mix of Morgan’s and her own. Tears rolled down Georgia’s face. “Please no, not again,” she begged.

  “Don’t be afraid, Sweetheart. It’ll be OK. I promise it’ll be OK. Look.” He pointed, and Georgia turned to see an awkward little boy with glasses and a terrible cowlick running around with a dead ringer for Georgia—only with a decidedly more feminine fashion sense. “Go play with your mama and your brother. Play as long as you want, Sweetheart.”

  “It’s cold, Daddy,” Georgia heard her own little voice say. “It’s so cold, and I don’t wanna be cold anymore.”

  “It even gets cold in Georgia,” he replied, smiling slightly sadly before mussing her hair. “Come on, don’t you want to play . . . just for a little while?”

  “I’m tired, Daddy. I had dreams about monsters.” Georgia slumped against him. “I know what you’re going to say, too.”

  Her dad winced ever so slightly and gnawed on his lip before saying, “You don’t have to be afraid of any monsters, Sweetheart, not now and not ever again. Monsters can’t hurt you.”

  “No, they are hurting me! Every second, the pain is unbearable.”

  The image of her father tensed. He tried to continue, “You should play, and laugh and act like there isn’t any tomorrow, because you never know when there isn’t gonna be a tomorrow ever again.”

  “There is always a tomorrow for me, and each tomorrow is getting worse and worse. I know that this isn’t real, but I need help.” Georgia begged as she saw a tear welling in the corner of his inhumanly bright blue eyes. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be lost. I don’t care if you are just a dream, please. Please help me.”

  “Just a little bit longer, Sweetheart. Just dream a little bit longer.” His face slowly shifted—blue eyes darkened to brown while the blond became chestnut curls. “It was my fault, Sweetheart. All this pain and insanity was my fault. I just wanted to help, but all I ever do is make things worse.”

  “Steve,” Georgia whispered. She looked down and her childlike body had been replaced with the train wreck she was now. Though stitched, and hollow, and bloody, Steve still wrapped his arms tightly around Georgia and rested his head on top of hers.

  “When I begged and said I’d do anything to see you again . . . to hold you again, I never thought it would be like this. I know you should be careful what you wish for, but still I couldn’t help myself. I am so terribly sorry. I can still taste your blood on my lips, Georgia. I—”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Just see me. Wake up . . . and let me wake up from this nightmare. If you won’t, then I just want to rest . . . I want to rest forever because this . . . really . . . sucks. Jesus, even at the end, there are still lame vampire puns to be made.” She closed her eyes and started to fade into the cold.

  “Georgia!”

  “Georgia, how can this be?” she could just hear a tremulous British voice cry. She could feel hands touching her face, a cold body pressed against hers, and tears tainted with blood seeping between her cracked lips. The arms wrapped around her, and she collapsed against a strong chest with a comforting whooshing sound now filling her ears.

  “Ow,” she whimpered, even as she melted into a hug.

  “This is impossible!” Mr. Lambley declared. “Simply . . . impossible.”

  This time when Georgia drifted off, she smiled. She awoke a few hours later to the aroma of veggie broth and clean sheets. Green eyes stared with concern at her while Georgia took a moment to figure out what sort of dream sequence she found herself in now. She saw nearly black eyes and some well-oiled skin in the corner of what she quickly realized was a
hospital room. The sock monster raised a finger to his lips and gave a wink. She cocked her head a little and felt clean gauze against her skin.

  She tried to speak, but all that escaped was a pathetic wheeze. A shaken, ghastly Mr. Lambley took a few steps towards her bedside and hit a little button, so she could sit up a bit more. He then pulled over a tray and dipped a spoon into a bowl full of a clear liquid that smelled distinctly of seaweed and shiitake mushrooms. “The doctor said you should try clear fluids. Please, try a little, for me?”

  The pasty vampire spilled the first two attempts at getting broth into her mouth. Still, he took a napkin and wiped her mouth clean. The third try, he finally stopped shaking enough to pour a spoonful between her lips. Georgia managed a smile, which faded as she noticed the deep lines around Mr. Lambley’s eyes. “I am not very strong, I’m afraid, but after everything that I have done to you, and everything you have done for me, I have to try . . . to try and do better.”

  A tear rolled down his sunken cheek. He helped her take a few more sips. “You need to rest and recover. I will be right here . . . should you need me.”

  Georgia did her best to choke out, “Thank you.” Her heart sank as she looked up and saw an IV bag labeled Lazarus-1. The sock monster gave her a sad smile and tiny nod as Georgia began to recognize the pattern on the curtain and the familiar linoleum.

  Georgia closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She then gave a pleading look to Mr. Lambley who seemed to pick up on her unspoken question.

  “I’m afraid that Steven may have done something rather foolish . . . to save you, Georgia,” Mr. Lambley confessed. “I can’t blame him. I do not know what happened to you, but to see that you came home—” The vampire couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead he helped Georgia sip a bit more broth and a little water. He continued to sob softly while Georgia stared at the tablet by the door.

  “Here we go again,” Georgia whispered.