LEGIONS OF THE DARK (VAMPIRE NATIONS CHRONICLES)

by Billie Sue Mosiman

  Once they were in her small living room, he entered her mind fully. This caused her to stiffen and become as still as a statue. His own frail body also froze, waiting for his mind to return to it.

  Inside Bette's skull he rifled through the area that held her lifetime of memories, shunting aside those that were too personal, those that concerned her childhood or her parents or her friends and relatives. He searched diligently for the memories that had to do with her work. She was a bright woman; he admired her and would not touch anything in her mind that would change her too much if he could help it. Of course there was always the chance of an accident when doing such delicate operations, but Mentor took special care because of the goodness he found in the woman.

  It took several long minutes before he located her work memories, and then he went through them gently, stirring them this way and that until he found the exact ones he needed. She had memories from textbooks and classes taken at a university. These memories were tangled up with flashes of meetings with the man who had been in her house the night before, when he was much younger. When they both were much younger.

  She had volumes of information stored about hematology and her lab work involving blood. If he ruined too many of these memories, she would never be useful as a scientist again. He meant to be careful, realizing he was trampling among stored data that she needed in order to fulfill her life's training.

  And then he found what he needed to expunge. He moved through a memory of lifting a long computer printout close to her face and noticing the shipments from Strand-Catel. There was confusion surrounding these memories, like clouds shrouding a summer moon. She was not sure what the data meant and it left her befuddled. He took these memories and folded them the way one folds a newspaper, then he stuffed them behind a set of memories that dealt with other blood banks. For her to recall them again, she would have to have a traumatic brain injury that might possibly jiggle them loose, but even then it was an improbability. In other words, short of near fatal injury to her brain, she would never remember them again.

  He lifted every memory he could discover that had to do with Strand-Catel and folded and stuffed until the whole inquiry she had started had been swept clean and put away in very deep storage within her brain.

  On his way out of her mind, he almost tiptoed over to the area of memory that held personal data. He was tempted to look in on the love she had devoted to the man who had spent the night with her. But he knew that was snooping. It was an urge he should not indulge. What he might find there would no doubt throw him into a conflict about his own lack of a love life. It would depress him. Better to stay out of this woman's love affairs and leave before he caused some kind of accidental and irreparable damage.

  He stepped out, hovered in midair just for a moment, and then reentered the skull of his old body. Just as he did, the woman collapsed forward into his arms. Her eyes were closed and he checked to see if she was breathing well. She was. She was sleeping like a newborn.

  He lifted Bette and carried her to the sofa. Then he made her comfortable with a pillow under her head and smiled down at her slight body.

  "You see? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

  He left the house, happy that it had been so easy. He was reasonably sure he had not harmed her, except for taking away the memories that would get her into trouble with Ross. He walked down the sidewalk through the neighborhood the way he had come. The gang was gone, and the drug-addicted homeless man was missing from his stoop. Even the children had fled the street. The neighborhood seemed to have emptied, and he expected it was because they had unconsciously felt the danger he represented. They had gone inside their homes and bolted the doors. He smiled, showing his teeth. He thought how wonderful it was to be able to command this much power over not only the sweet, unassuming Bette, but a whole neighborhood of people who might not have even seen him. Without catching sight of him, their instincts knew something was walking close by that they did not want to encounter in the darkness of the night.

  Mentor had seen a bus stop near the edge of the neighborhood. He decided he would take public transportation over to Ross' house to tell him the news. Mentor had not been on a bus in years, though in the past he had loved bus rides very much. Leave the driving to us, he sang in his mind. Yes, he would do that. Sit back and watch mankind moving from this place to that unaware that in their midst rode someone who, with very little effort, could mesmerize every one of them into a catatonic sleep.

  He must never separate himself too far from man, he knew. He must renew his study of man and their modern ways, or he could not hope to be of service to his youthful charges like Della Cambian.

  As he rode, he watched an old Asian man fiddle with a leather pocketbook attached to his belt loop by a chain. He listened in on a conversation between two young women who seemed more interested in their dates this weekend than in anything else in the world. He moved his attention among the passengers, letting it pick up this and that observation until he wearied of their daily cares and frustrations, their minor joys and triumphs. Finally, he settled back in the seat and rested, leaving the driving to them.

  ~*~

  Alan woke just as Mentor left Bette's house. He whispered a curse and sat straight up in the seat of his car. He gripped the wheel and gritted his teeth as he watched the old man come down the walkway and turn up the sidewalk. How could he have fallen asleep! It was as if something came over him, blowing out the candle of his awareness. It might have been because he ate too much dinner. Used to canned goods, a real meal often caused him to grow drowsy. But he would not have fallen asleep tonight, not when he had to watch Bette's house and keep her safe.

  He cursed himself as a fool again and turned in his seat to watch the old man saunter down the walk beneath streetlights and crape myrtle trees that grew along the sidewalks. The street was eerily quiet, with no one else around. Had that been the stranger who'd frightened Bette the night before? Or was he just an old friend who had stopped by for a visit?

  Alan was torn between rushing into the house to see about Bette or following the man who had come from her house. He decided to see about her as fast as he could. She was his primary concern. He rushed across the street and into her house. When he found her sleeping, he touched her face, felt the pulse in her wrists, and, satisfied she was all right, he hurried out the door again.

  He had to follow. He was as drawn to the old man as if there were an invisible rope attached to him that was pulling him along.

  He started the car and put it into gear. He turned his car around in the empty street and cruised slowly toward the old man. He had not closed in on him before he saw the man sit down on a bus stop bench. In the distance a bus lumbered toward him. Alan pulled into a parking spot at the curb and waited. He'd make another U-turn in a minute and follow the bus. Something told him he must know where the old man was going. Whether he was Bette's friend or foe, there was something magnetic about him that made Alan want to get closer to him. He was very curious about the old man's destination.

  16

  Ross lived in a modern ranch-style home at the edge of Dallas. He had bought twenty acres so that he would have no close neighbors. He had hired the best of the city's architects and given him enough money to build a castle, but what he created was an oddly shaped monstrosity sitting out on the edge of nowhere, it seemed to Mentor.

  The bus lines did not extend to Ross' property, so Mentor left the bus and walked two miles in the night to reach the place. Sometimes he walked like this, rather than travel supernaturally. The night was tropical and balmy, the sky overhead so clear that once he was out of the city's interior he could see the stars. He was happy he'd decided on the walk where he could spend a little time tuning himself to nature's rhythm.

  Just as he had enjoyed the hour-long bus ride across the city, now he reveled in the cooling night air. The houses and lights dwindled until darkness settled over the long vista. Mentor took solace from the sounds of night birds, the slither of
snakes through the green grass that grew along the highway, and the sparkling clarity of the air he breathed.

  He knew Ross was at home, could sense him there, even at this distance. Once he reached the house, he marveled, shaking his head at the overwrought construction. A peaked roof soared two stories tall, and from the entrance portico two wings spread out on each side. With a little squint of the eyes, the house looked like a giant predatory bird squatting in the low grass, its wings extended. In the rear was an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a full tennis court, and a long sleek building that Mentor knew was Ross' own indoor handball court. Ross was nothing if not extravagant. But it was all for show. Ross did not need to exercise. He swam in the pool sometimes, Mentor knew, but he rarely used the other facilities.

  Mentor shook his head in consternation. He always felt that way when he visited Ross' home. While the Naturals worked like slaves in the human world in order to buy blood from the Predators, Ross lived like a king off the profits. He had no compunction about the inequity involved. He had chosen to be a Predator and excess was in his nature. Still, it saddened Mentor to see one of his kind so obsessed by possessions that he would take so much without giving back any more than the bare sustenance the Naturals and Cravens required to stay alive.

  Cravens lived on welfare and their wits, handing over what money they could scrounge to Ross' people. And here Ross was, living like a king.

  He would only stay a few minutes. He did not feel comfortable beneath the two-story ceilings that ended in an overhead vault of glass. The collected artwork on the walls was disturbing to Mentor, since it probably belonged in a museum instead of a private collection. He'd never inquired, but he suspected some of the paintings were original masters, procured illegally. The imported rugs and the modern, garishly colored, stilted furniture that Ross preferred only deepened Mentor's feeling that everything was on display to make visitors feel insignificant.

  Also, he had checked on Dell during his bus ride and found that her parents and little brother were frantic with anxiety. Dell had sneaked out of the house after dark, and they did not know where she had gone. They had tried to contact her telepathically, but she apparently had blocked out her family. They had been sending messages to Mentor for more than an hour, asking if he would find her. They knew Mentor, with his greater powers, could get the job done.

  Mentor, hearing Dell's family calling for him, went on a mental search and, after little difficulty, found her outside of the city. She was with the horse her parents had bought as a gift. He must go to her and explain things. Though he understood her need for solitude and the companionship of the new pet, she should not worry her family. He was also concerned about how wild and free she was acting as she rode alone through dark woods. She was giving in to the dangerous part of her vampiric nature.

  Once a Natural took to the wild, it was only a matter of time before giving in to the blood call. Even a Natural might take to random kills if she did not stay close to the human community and continue living as she always had. If Dell ever gave in and listened to the call her soul made for abandoning the real world, she would be a renegade and lost to her family forever.

  Ross met him at the entrance, swinging wide the twelve-foot-tall, ornately carved door to let him inside. "Did you take care of the woman asking questions about Strand-Catel?" he asked without preamble.

  "Yes," Mentor said. "She won't be a bother to you again."

  "Good! I was about to take a swim. Care to join me? I have extra trunks."

  Mentor was inside before he saw two women sitting side by side on Ross' sofa. He knew from their scent they weren't vampire. Had he not had his mind on Dell, he would have known they were there before Ross admitted him.

  The women wore bikini swimsuits and seemed to be in a stupor, their eyes glassy and out of focus, barely registering his presence.

  "What are they doing here?"

  "Oh, them," Ross said, flicking long delicate fingers in the women's direction. "My dinner companions, that's all." He grinned and Mentor shuddered.

  Ross would play with them as if they were puppets and when he tired of their company, he would take them one by one, having his way with their bodies before draining them dry.

  "I don't know how you live with yourself," Mentor said, moving again for the door. "I'm leaving now."

  "Well, hell, if you weren't going to stay, why didn't you just call?"

  "I wanted to walk. I didn't know you wouldn't be alone."

  Ross stepped to the door and held it as Mentor exited. "Your sensibilities bore me, Mentor."

  "And the lack of yours bores me." Mentor did not turn back as he left the house.

  A low growl came from Ross suddenly and Mentor turned back to him. "What is it?"

  "Did you bring someone with you?"

  "I certainly did not."

  Ross swung his head from one side to the other, peering out from beneath a frown. He looked like a buzzard, checking for prey. "Are you sure no one came with you?"

  Mentor now looked about too, scanning the property. He sensed a human, but he did not want Ross to know it. He did not want more bloodshed. The two women inside were already doomed. Why give Ross another?

  The human was male, a lurker, near the windows. Let Ross take care of that, if it came to it. If he saw something he shouldn't, Ross would know that as well. For right now, Mentor would not divulge the human's whereabouts. "There's no one," he said, lying easily, waving away the idea with a gesture of his hand. "Go back inside."

  "Are you sure you won't have a taste of my lovelies before you go? When was the last time you had a warm meal?"

  Mentor heard his laugh, and it followed him down the driveway to the highway. If he had his way, all Predators would be wiped from the face of the Earth. They not only preyed on mankind, but they were truly heartless creatures. They were too fully engaged in the world, taking from it all earthly delights and then discarding their dead as if they were refuse for a landfill. They controlled the Naturals by being their only supply of blood, and if given the chance, they would murder every Craven who came near them.

  Mentor wondered why God in heaven had ever allowed them to exist, but he wondered, too, why any of them existed and why God had no answer for him. Just as there were criminals and humans without souls walking among the normal population, there were the unholy and despised living alongside the Naturals. There was no good reason for it; it simply was how things were arranged. Mentor felt he would never really understand it all until the day he no longer lived on the planet. Whenever that would be. . . .

  Sometimes he worried. He tried to be religious. He tried to believe in a Supreme Being. He hoped God was there, looking down, taking notes on his conduct. He had done evil things, but he'd shown regret and tried to mend his ways. He worried, still. For if there was a God, there might be a Devil, there might be hell.

  Waiting for him.

  He shrugged off the thoughts, relentless as they were, and turned his attention to the human hiding near Ross' house. He tried to send him a warning, but seemed to be blocked from telepathically reaching the man. The stranger's fear crowded his mind, keeping it locked solidly against outside interference.

  So be it. The curious always got what they deserved. The man never should have gone near a vampire's house.

  Now he must go to Dell, thirty miles away, and speak to her about the rebelliousness that had overcome her since she had been given the horse. It was not the horse, per se, that had triggered it. She probably would have acted this way no matter what. Many of the young ones made mistakes, unsure of themselves and their powers, confused by their new lives and the changes that were taking place.

  He spent half his time trying to teach them control. He could not have them turning out like Ross. There were quite enough unruly, unfeeling vampires in Dallas already.

  He was not too far from Ross' house when he gathered himself together and changed so quickly it was like a lamp turned off in a room. One moment he was walking a
long the side of the road and the next he had vanished. What he had really done was take to the skies with such speed his movement would have blown away a supersonic fighter jet.

  ~*~

  Alan thought he might have made a pretty terrific private investigator. He tailed the bus easily enough, watching for the old man to leave when the doors opened, but once his target was on foot, that was another problem altogether. He parked on a deserted street where small businesses were closed for the night, entrances barred by heavy black iron grilles and metal curtains that rolled down to cover wide windows. Here, roving dogs nested behind trash bins, and people scurried home to be safe from the night. Alan turned off the headlights to sit in the darkened car. His heart beat fast. He felt both scared and elated. He was in a frightening part of town, but he was excited by the hunt.

  He watched the old man move deeper and deeper into the lonely darkness that spread out from the edge of the city into fields and pastures and farmlands. Where could he be headed and why?

  Alan had to know. He had come this far, following the bus on its circuitous routes through city streets, and now he had to make another decision. Did he leave his car and walk, too, keeping his distance so the other man did not know he was being followed? Or did he give it up as a bad job and drive back to Bette's house?

  He looked at his wrist watch. It was almost eight p.m. He had told her he would be back by nine. He had an hour. He might as well finish what he had begun. Besides, he hadn't walked anywhere like this in ages. Except for health-conscious joggers, did anyone walk anywhere anymore, he wondered? Now he wished he'd been more athletic.