by Clark Hays
“Maybe that only applies to people who are bored,” Sully chimed in. “If you’re bored, any kind of change seems exciting and new. I have been alive for what, twelve hundred years, and I am constantly amazed that I have yet to grow bored. Of course, I am always trying to find new things to keep my interests up.”
His conversation with himself lasted so long, Tucker began to wonder if vampires needed oxygen. Lizzie stared icily ahead as they pulled up in front of Dad’s. Tucker felt a vague sense of making a mistake, that he needed to say something to reassure her, but decided that, as close as they were, she should be able to tell that he was sorry and hadn’t meant anything and was just tired from driving all day.
The door to Dad’s house cracked open and the barrel of his old ten-gauge goose gun poked out. “Tucker, that you?” he called out.
“Yeah.”
“You ain’t a vampire now, are you?”
“Naw.”
“If you are, I’m gonna shoot you right now. I didn’t raise my kid to be no vampire.”
“And what exactly is wrong with being a vampire?” Lizzie asked as she appeared beside him.
“Aw, Lizzie,” Dad said, the gun barrel dipping. “I didn’t mean nothing by that.”
“I should hope not,” Sully added as he crawled out of the truck. “We’re not all like those awful vampires you met before. Some of us are quite civilized and rather enjoyable to be around. I must say, I love your cabin. It’s so charming. It reminds me of this little hunting chalet I used to stay at in Austria whenever the viscount and I went after stag or fox. It was remarkably warm and on those lovely Austrian nights …”
“Tucker,” Dad said, “who’s that?”
“That’s Mr. Sully. A friend of Lizzie’s.”
“Does he ever shut up?”
“Only in the daytime,” Tucker said.
Dad nodded and opened the door, motioning them in. “Well, come on in. Coffee’s on.”
“Reckon it’s been on for a week now,” Tucker said. “I almost hate to ask, but do you have any of them beans you promised?”
FORTY-ONE
At this point in his life, Lazarus no longer enjoyed the sophisticated veneer of city life. He had rarely visited the Manhattan compound in the past, but spent much time in New York, drawn by its easy hunting cloaked in shoulder-to-shoulder anonymity. At least he had the comfort of coming to a place he knew well. He wished his task here was one of a reunion of old friends rather than a confrontation between bitter enemies. Had things turned out differently seven hundred years ago, that might be the reality.
Lazarus rang the bell and the door creaked open warily. A vampire Lazarus did not recognize poked his head through the narrow slit between door and frame.
“What do you want?” the young vampire asked menacingly. He was rough-looking, unshaven, with greasy black hair. Downright ugly, thought Lazarus, as he considered Julius’ low standards.
“I wish to see Julius.”
“Go to hell,” the greasy vampire said and started to shut the door. In less time than it took for his eyes to widen in fear, Lazarus pulled the door off the hinges.
The vampire stood motionless, suddenly afraid. “You are one of us,” he whispered. “I thought you were Adamite.”
“Your master’s training has always been woefully inadequate,” Lazarus said. “How could you not sense me?” Julius’ underling did not respond, frozen. “Never mind, it’s none of my concern. Fetch Jenkins for me.”
“Jenkins no longer has responsibility in this household,” the vampire said.
Lazarus felt his cold blood chill. Jenkins no longer protected? Something was seriously amiss. His patience exhausted, he pushed the upstart aside and walked into the compound. The vampire had enough sense to press the alarm buttons so that as Lazarus entered the gardens, he was immediately surrounded by a dozen vampires and several brutish Adamites, all heavily armed.
Lazarus was merely annoyed. It had been too long since his last visit and obviously these minions had not been told there was another vampire every bit as powerful and strong as Julius. From their perspective, he was simply a fat old man breaking into the fortress, someone they could have a bit of blood-sport with.
He sighed. The events of the last few days had tired him, the plane ride here was particularly bumpy, and he was not in the mood for a fight.
How lovely the poppies are, he thought, and how unusual to be blooming this time of year. But the flower beds were in dire need of weeding, the beautiful pale-orange treasures choked to death. He bent to touch their delicate petals, disappointed this once extraordinary garden was in such disrepair. As he drank in the scent, his senses blossoming, fully heightened and completely aware of the group moving steadily toward him, jeering and threatening.
Unexpectedly, but welcome to Lazarus, the leader of the vampires suddenly fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground. The rest of the guards looked on in amazement, then quizzically followed suit as their leader bellowed at them in terror to kneel or be certain of never being resurrected again. Thank goodness, thought Lazarus, immensely relieved. He would be able to avoid at least one fight.
Jenkins emerged from the house. He was pale and drawn, his skin hanging loosely and his once-sparkling eyes weary and blank. He was reinvigorated at the sight of Lazarus, but it lasted only an instant before the weight of his own flesh seemed to press him down, his back bowed in submission to the demands of his body.
Lazarus moved quickly to his side, recognizing the signs. “Jenkins. Why is he doing this?”
“Sport, I would presume,” Jenkins said. “It would seem he has ascertained my loyalties.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have sent for you.”
“During his feeding ecstasy, he mumbles about preparing his flesh for new power.” Jenkins labored to finish his last words, breathless with fatigue.
“Has he said anything else?”
“Things that make no sense to me,” Jenkins said. “Mostly about Miss Vaughan and her blood, a new world order. He occasionally mentions Elita, cursing she is of the serpent line. I wish I could tell you more, but it is difficult to maintain consciousness during the feeding.”
“Please forgive me,” Lazarus said. “I never thought Julius would stoop to using those under our protection so callously. I should never have let it come to this.”
Jenkins nodded. “I served you well, didn’t I? I helped her, Miss Vaughan. I helped her escape.”
“You have done more than I ever expected and we are all in your debt,” Lazarus said. “And now let me repay you. Leave now, and I will ensure that you have safe passage. One of my men will take you to Vesu. He can bring you back to health. Then you can have anything you desire.”
“I have no wish or need other than to serve. It is my fate, my choice.”
“Then I would be honored to have you in my personal service in New Mexico.”
For an instant, it looked as if Jenkins would cry, then he collected himself. “One more thing, Master Lazarus. Julius fainted during the turning of Miss Vaughan.” Quietly, he turned and walked toward the door. Lazarus watched until he was outside the compound.
“I would have given him to you. You needn’t have stolen him,” said a voice quietly from behind. Lazarus turned to find Julius smirking at him. “I’ve known for some time he was loyal to you. It something of a personal challenge, a game, to see if I could sway him.”
He stepped closer and motioned for the prostrate vampires to rise and disperse. “All this power sometimes makes existence a bit tedious and we, you and I that is, must invent games to entertain ourselves.”
“And did you win?” Lazarus asked.
Julius smiled demurely. “Alas, I realized Adamites can be so stubborn when an ideology, no matter how faulty, motivates them. So I changed the rules, changed the entire nature of the game. He has served me well these last few weeks. So few Adamites lead such healthy lives. His blood is of rare quality. I’ve never felt better.”
J
ulius was glowing, his lips full and red, his skin pale and radiant, his hair silky, his body trim and fit. Lazarus felt a pang of jealousy. How did the vampire stay so damned thin?
As if reading his mind, Julius said, “You’ve gotten fat. How amusing.”
“Let’s go inside. We have much to talk about.”
“Actually, Lazarus, I can sum it up in a few words, and I’d prefer to do just that to minimize the time I must spend in your bloated presence. Correct me if I’m wrong at any point. Our queen has managed to make contact with you and is on her way to your compound. You, in your quaint, chivalrous manner have decided to protect her. And you are here to threaten me in hopes of avoiding a showdown. Am I right so far?”
Lazarus didn’t answer.
“I take your silence for assent, dear chap. But know this: you shall fail.” His tone turned acidic and his eyes burned. “You beat me once because I underestimated your resolve. I won’t make that mistake again. You have hidden her from me these last three decades out of spite, pure spite. Nevertheless, despite the best intentions of you and her insipid mother, I turned her. You failed in the most critical part of her protection, my fat, pathetic former friend. All that is left is drinking her menses and she becomes totally irrelevant. You can have her when I am through with her. Do with her as you wish, make her your consort, eliminate her, I don’t care. But be warned, nothing will stop me from having her blood. It has been ordained. I am fulfilling the prophecy of Revelations.”
“I will kill you first,” Lazarus said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Julius said. “You have been unsuccessful for centuries.”
“You misunderstand, Julius. I have never tried to kill you. Until now, you have posed no real threat. You have been nothing more than a game for me, too. A means to combat eternal boredom. You served a useful entertainment purpose. I, too, am changing the rules now. The stakes are too high. The accumulation of your atrocities merits your destruction. You have surrounded yourself with the very evil we are ordained to absorb, cultivated it. You have sickened the word of Malthus,” Lazarus said quietly, but with conviction.
“No,” screamed Julius, enraged. “I have upheld His word while you have weakened it, infected it with the foolishness of the Adamites. We are not meant to balance good and evil for the sake of their world, the Adamites exist for our desires. Good is weak. Evil is strong. In the final battle, we will, we must establish the proper order of things. With the queen’s blood, I shall have the power to do just that.”
Lazarus shook his head. “My Father’s house is a great house, noble and powerful as yours once was.”
“You will not stop me,” Julius said. “You interfered once, when I was young and foolish, but I learned my lesson. I have planned this for the past seven hundred years while you slept in ignorance. Your western solitude has softened you, left you weak.” He pointed at Lazarus’ prominent belly. “Proof my plan is already working.”
“I will hide her from you.”
“You can’t. I can sense her.”
“A lie.”
Julius smiled triumphant. “The power came during the turning. At first, it was weak, too weak to help me find her when Jenkins let her escape. But in the last few days it has become stronger. By the time her special blood flows, I will be able to find her anywhere in the world. While I certainly have no need of proving this fact to you, I shall do so simply for my own amusement.”
“How?”
“I know where she is this exact moment: Sully will not make it to New Mexico. At least, not if he remains by her side.”
Lazarus felt a pang of worry for Sully, but kept it to himself. Slow thoughts crept into his mind. Had he let sentiment get the better of him? He loved Constance, and by extension Lizzie, but he may have made a fatal mistake in not turning her himself. He allowed Julius to gain a connection to her that he lacked. He said none of it, of course. He did have Lizzie physically and of her own volition, or at least he would very soon. That would count for something.
And Julius had fainted during the turning. Was there a chink in his armor?
“She will be under my protection and will not under any circumstances be released to you,” Lazarus said.
“I will allow her to stay with you until two days before her blood starts. Then I come for her. With my army.”
“You won’t succeed. If I must, I will kill her myself.”
Julius scoffed. “Come now, we both know you won’t do that.”
“Have you forgotten the past so easily?”
Julius laughed coldly. “No, no, you need not remind me. Those events are forever etched in my mind. But you know as well as I that you have regretted it ever since. You may have killed the only other woman to have this power, but how it has haunted you all these years. Now you have a chance to redeem yourself. You love her. You didn’t even know the other one, despite the fact she was your own daughter.” Julius paused to gauge Lazarus’ response to this painful memory, taking great pleasure in the emotional distress.
He continued in his reminiscences. “MaryAnne was such a sweet child, such a surprise you accidentally birthed the power, you and your little messiah. She was so young, such glorious golden eyes. I could have easily molded her to my will. She would have been an excellent figurehead. Her blood would have given me the world.”
His eyes misted over with the memories. “I remember that night vividly. You were still powerful, not yet flabby. The locals fled in terror as you and your men descended on the caves. I was caught unaware. When you drained her just hours before she gained the power, how she cried out to you, begging you to spare her. I even told you who the mother was and still you drained her. She didn’t even know why. She had no idea that she had the power of Uncreation in her blood; but then, neither did you. MaryAnne. You do remember how she cried out?”
“Your assumption that I have any interest in reliving the past is grossly unfounded,” Lazarus said tightly.
Julius laughed again and began to mimic the voice of the girl long ago killed. In a soft whisper he brought the memory vividly to life in Lazarus’ mind. “Please, don’t kill me. What have I done wrong? I want to serve you. I will love you if you’ll let me.”
Lazarus glared at Julius. Both knew the murder of MaryAnne had been the greatest crisis in Lazarus’ life. In those days, Lazarus lived differently, with greater decadence. He had kept a harem, small but adequate, and while he was kind to the women and their offspring, he felt no bond. Julius took a girl child from one of the women, the only girl child born of that line at the seven hundred year mark, raised her, and then turned her at age thirty. Lazarus was unaware until the last moment such a child had been born in his dominion.
Now, in a way, he had as much at stake as Julius. Julius wanted Lizzie’s blood in order to create an empire. Lazarus wanted Lizzie’s blood to prove that he had not killed his daughter in vain, that he had not spent the last few centuries watching an insane vampire who threatened the world only in his imagination. He wanted Julius to be something worthy of opposition, worthy of the amount of energy their conflict demanded.
“In an odd way, I should thank you for murdering that innocent nymph,” Julius said. “Back then, the human world was still hopeful and ruled by misguided morality. I would have gotten little support when I took control. Now, with the shift in morality to the idolatry of money, I will have no problem attracting Adamites to my service.”
Julius laughed. “Just think of it. The silly young things clamoring to have me turn them into vampires. It will be far more, what’s the word, cool, than a nose ring. The Adamite world is imbued with apathy. Anything to excite their pathetic lives. As I told your dear Elizabeth, the time is right, and I shall seize it. It is so much easier to have willing victims, don’t you think?”
Lazarus was tiring of the grandiose monologue. He had changed in response to the horrible event so many years, bringing together strands of experience earned through the centuries into a wisdom, an understanding of the worl
d and the morality necessary for its survival. Waiting Julius out had always been difficult to do; now it was even harder to listen to his infantile posturing.
“By the way, you couldn’t kill Elizabeth Vaughan even if you wanted to,” Julius said. “Her power could be greater than either of us. She just doesn’t know it.”
“Impossible,” Lazarus said.
“The ancient voices from the Meta speak through her. I heard them at the turning. Ask her.”
Lazarus did not respond, but his mind was reeling.
“My moment has come, Lazarus. Nothing will stop me. I will come for her, I will take her and I will destroy anyone or anything that stands in my way.”
“You will never get inside my fortress. I have an army at the ready.”
“Please, don’t insult the very notion of army. My war machine is built of former Adamites who were bloodthirsty and ruthless, and those of the serpent line. Yours is a gathering of poets and judges. Who do you think will win?” Julius laughed.
Then he turned and walked inside the house, calling back over his shoulder, “And really, Lazarus, lose the weight. You look ridiculous.”
Lazarus left the garden and returned to the noisy city outside. The trip was worth it. As expected, Julius’ ego led him to reveal his entire strategy. The ancient voices? They had not spoken through him since the time of his resurrection more than two thousand years ago. As far as he knew, Julius had never heard them and could not understand their purpose or power. That is why he had fainted, Lazarus was sure of it.
The voices would know what to do, they would be able to guide Lizzie. The voices to the past, he hoped, would be considerably stronger than his army of poets.
FORTY-TWO
When the Wyoming sun rose, the shades to the spare room were drawn tight and Tucker had stapled a blanket over the whole window.
He crawled out of bed, stiff from driving. Pulling on his hat and boots, he wandered out into the kitchen, still in his underwear.
Dad had one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee and was using the other to guide mini powdered sugar-covered donuts into his mouth.
