"We'll head out after Opal gets done in there."
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Going south?"
"Yetta ... I think."
He chuckled, "No more specific than that, hmm? Are you afraid I'll tell Haffef about your plans?"
She looked at him. Her expression reflected something wiser than the twenty-some years she appeared. "I know you'll tell him."
His smile vanished, and he looked down. "I can't help it."
"I know."
The wind sent a dusting of snow over the stoop.
He handed her back her flask. "Seems almost no point to drinking it anymore. I never get drunk. Do you?"
"Nope." She tucked it into her boot. "It tastes bad."
"Well, it's alcohol."
"I know what whiskey tastes like. I thought maybe it went bad, but you weren't disgusted by it—"
"Oh, you gave it to me because it you thought it has gone bad? Thanks."
She smirked and stared out at the sky again.
"Perhaps you prefer the taste of blood now, over the taste of alcohol?" he hissed, annoyed with her.
"If I do, Jules, I promise you'll be the first to know."
He sat down next to her and flipped his dark hair over one shoulder. "There are times when I think you're going to say something actually worthwhile. It just never seems to happen."
Cameo laughed quietly to herself. "How can one respond to that? Except perhaps in verse?"
"No!"
"Ah, yes, let's see if I remember it now. One of Bellamy Roucherquimp's best—"
"Don't."
'Round and 'round
the maypole
delusions of my past
shades
and mirrored memories
silhouettes and shadows
cast-
"It rhymes!" He jogged down the steps and then turned on her. "I warn you, I am armed."
"Yes, as am I ... with poetry ... and a dagger."
"And a sword."
"And a pistol. Oh, and another. Avamore's guards certainly were very generous with their loot."
Jules laughed and then sighed. "Is that fop ever coming out of there?"
"Well, I'm not leaving until he does."
He cursed Haffef silently.
* * * * *
"Who's the good doggy? What a good doggy."
Kyrian watched as Caith was knocked into a snow bank by a large black and tan dog.
"You really want this treat, hmm?"
"He's still playing with that mutt?" asked another young man of about Kyrian's age, sitting down beside him. He had long, kinky black hair, dark skin that contrasted with his white woolen coat, and a blue sash. Blue on white; these, Kyrian knew, were the colors of the Temple of the Sky.
"I think he might be smitten."
The man in the white coat laughed. "I could believe that. Those Temple of Faetta guys are so into animals ... and plants. I caught him healing a tree the other day. Or maybe it's just Caith. He seems a little crazy."
Kyrian turned to look at him. "You must be Carrington."
"Yeah, that's right," he said as he clasped the lad's hand in greeting. "And you're Kyrin?"
"Kyrian."
Carrington looked him over. "You don't seem like a funeral guy."
"Oh, no ... well, I had an apprenticeship at the Temple of the Moon, but I was planning on becoming a priest of the Sun. It was never really my intention to be a priest of the night.... It was just, my grandfather was, so I, I went to live with him and ended up studying there."
"Grandfather, hmm? Your grandfather was a priest? I didn't think they allowed that sort of thing."
"Yes, they do. He was a widower and joined later in life. Of course he couldn't heal, but he could perform funerals and that sort of thing."
"And your grandfather supported your plan to join the Temple of the Sun?"
"Yes," he smiled. "We talked of it quite often."
Carrington looked back out at Caith and the dog. "Are you still in touch with him?"
Kyrian thought of Cyrus, and instantly the spirit of his grandfather was beside him, one hand on his shoulder. "Yes."
"My mother is with me, as well," Carrington stated calmly. "She drives me crazy. Always worried I'm going to be injured in battle."
"You aren't a healer? I assumed everyone here was."
"No." He grinned. "I don't want to take those kind of vows. I'm a warrior; I destroy the undead, send them out of this world and to the dead realm they should be inhabiting. That is my purpose in life."
Kyrian was beginning to wish his grandfather had helped him with more of his studies. "I hadn't begun my studies at the Temple of the Sun—"
"No, Sage mentioned that to me. She said you weren't planning on becoming a priest now. I hope it's not since you saw our rag-tag little group here."
"No, it's not that."
"A lady?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's my downfall. Too many lovely ladies to tie myself to a vow of purity."
"Well.... Sort of."
"I knew it!" he laughed.
Kyrian lowered his eyes. He was actually thinking of Cameo, and he didn't want to. If he thought too hard, he knew he'd be able to pull her closer to him, and he didn't want her to join them. "So we're going to take on a vampire?"
Carrington stopped laughing. "Uh, yeah, yeah .... That's the plan."
"He lives in Ponth?"
"That's what the word is." He pointed down the road, "Just south of here. Lives in the woods they say."
"They?"
"The rural people. They are having the most trouble with him. He's settled in there recently, I gather, and now families are being callously slaughtered one at a time. There will be a funeral and the next night someone else is found dead, drained of his blood. That's how we heard of it, well, Sage heard. She could feel the sorrow coming out of that area, and then she investigated herself, and now she's called all of us to her."
Kyrian sat with his chin in the palm of his hand, resting his elbow on one knee. "How are we going to destroy him?"
"Turn him—"
"Well, yes, but then what? How can we destroy something that vanishes the moment we're near?"
"Don't you know? You turned a vampire not long ago."
The lad pulled back uneasily, slowly folding his arms in front of him as if cold. "The situation was different. I didn't destroy him."
"Hmm ...." Carrington pulled on a blue mitten and batted his hands together to get warm. "Gibson and I'll have to kill it then."
"Who's Gibson?"
"He's a military man out of Lockenwood. He's investigating the deaths because it's been getting out of hand, and the local sheriff brought it to the attention of the crown, so they sent Lieutenant Gibson Reynard. He's on his way to Ponth to have a look around, and we'll be going with him."
"When?"
"A day or two, I think."
"Why did he stop here?"
Carrington shrugged, "Hospitable place to stay. Safe. Warm. Rumors of a an attractive, young acolyte named Sage? Probably any of the above. He's ... a man of war. He's not like us; he's killed people. Once you take a life, you just aren't the same anymore, your energy changes, your aura feels different.... You know what I mean?"
"Yes." Kyrian's voice was small. "But you're a warrior?"
He smiled, "Not in the same way. I'm trained to face down undead, but I've never taken a person's life."
"This sounds like a lovely conversation to interrupt."
They looked up at Caith, who wore a long, dark cloak coated in snow. The dog who had been playing with him was now on his heels.
"So," Carrington looked down at the snow, and then back up at Caith, slyly smiling, "you're going to feel free to jump right in and interrupt it?"
"Ha, ha, ha, good one. I did, as a matter of fact. Has anyone seen Sage?"
Carrington elbowed Kyrian in the side, "Mmm hmm. She's inside making candles."
"Oh, is she?" Kyrian spoke before Caith could reply to the in
sinuation. "Does she need help?"
"Oh, there we go. Looks like the new guy is going to beat you to her, Caith."
Kyrian and Caith surveyed each other warily.
"Uh, no, no .... It's not like that," Caith said.
"Right." Carrington stood up and headed for the temple door.
"Where are you going?"
"To see Sage."
"What? No!" Kyrian and Caith ran after him.
* * * * *
It was night. The wind was bitingly cold, and the snow blew up and around Cameo, Opal, and Jules as they made their own path through Lockenwood forest.
The view ahead was difficult, but as Opal turned to the right, he was able to make out the glittering eyes of his companions. They seemed to be able to see where they were going when he had no idea.
"We need to find some shelter!" someone said. Opal believed it was Cameo, but really had no idea because the wind was so strong, and the snow was pelting his face so hard that it stung.
"Where?!" was all he said, yelling to be heard about the din.
"The first place you see!" Cameo replied.
Suddenly Jules plowed ahead of them through the snow at a supernatural pace.
"Jules!" Cameo called.
Then Jules veered off to the right, vanishing completely into the whiteout.
"Where's he going?!"
"Maybe to find a shelter?!"
"For himself?!"
Cameo ignored the comment, unsure where he was going. "Jules!"
Chapter Four
"Hello, Ivy." It was the strange, tall man who had visited her once before.
She was alone in her home. As the girl glanced nervously around her rather meager surroundings, she wondered where she'd left her cooking knives, just in case her caller turned out to be untrustworthy. For one moment, she wrinkled up her nose when appraising the cleanliness as well.
"Oh, hello again." She smiled a fake, uncertain smile in his general direction.
He was standing directly outside the door. "You must invite me in."
Ivy suddenly met his eyes: the irises were so black, a stark contrast against his pale skin. She felt an urge to be polite. A few browned leaves tossed by on the crisp night wind. "Come in." Ivy stepped aside and allowed him to pass inside. "You must be so chilled. I can stoke the fire if you'd like."
He waved away the notion. "May I sit?"
"Yes, certainly." She shut the door to the little hovel.
Haffef took his ease in the one wooden chair that still had its back attached and rested his hands on the top of his black cane.
She sat on a broken chair that was now more of a stool and watched him as he inspected the ceiling, and at long last he settled back on her face. She had been trying to sleep when he knocked, so she could only guess how terrible she probably looked.
"You are lovely, as always," he said softly, and on cue, as if he knew what she'd been thinking, but she didn't believe that.
He chuckled to himself, completely relaxed. "You're Sir Terrence Penmbrander's daughter, aren't you?"
"Oh, now, what ... what would make you think that?"
"You are. Don't be ashamed; he was a heroic man in his time. He fell from grace, it's true, but when he was a knight, one of the elite of Shandow, he was a great conqueror. He helped expand Belfour's lands deep into the south, into Ponth. I have great respect for military. So talented in the art of warfare, so practiced in how to kill a man. It's really quite an art form."
"How do you know those things?"
"I remember him."
"He wasn't my father."
"You have a sister, as well: Gwendolyn. And up until recently your mother lived here with you, but sadly she passed away a year ago."
"Yes, that's true. Do you live in town? In Terrence? I don't think I've ever run into you before … well, the other day."
His eyes lingered on her gentle features, and then he favored her with a simple smile. "Ivy, I know who you are. You are Lady Ivy Penmbrander, a lady of the court in Shandow. Your father was Terrence Penmbrander—the town is named after him—and now," he turned to look at the sparse table before him, "you've been reduced to this life. Living in a hovel, working as a washerwoman, and your sister working in the kitchens of the palace in Shandow.
"You don't deserve this life. You're too good for it. You were born in a Keep in Shandow, born into a noble family. The gods willed it."
She leapt to her feet with tears in her eyes, angry. "Our relatives left us here! When Father died, they shunned us, they left us in poverty. If you're here to test my allegiance to the crown, you're going to be disappointed and might as well clap me in irons right now, because I don't have any love for the King or any of the unholy royal court either."
Haffef sneered. "I'm not necessarily a supporter of the Belfours, though I bear them no ill will. I'm simply an admirer of Lady Ivy."
Her eyes flicked up to meet his now. She was still in her bedclothes, a worn-out off-white shift that she hoped he couldn't see through. "Do you always find out this much information about a lady before you call on her in the middle of the night?"
"Only when I'm serious."
"About ... what?" She almost hated to ask, because she was a little concerned where this line of thought might be going.
"Oh, Ivy," he said at last, weary. "I'm not a threat to you. I could never be."
She had put the stool between herself and Haffef subconsciously, but as he looked down at the stool, she realized it was there. "Sorry."
He admired her young face thoughtfully. "When I'm serious about marriage."
"Marriage?" she whispered. The concept of marrying a strange man she had only clapped eyes on once before was uncomfortable, and yet very flattering. She had to hide a smile. He was clearly a man of means, and the idea of living in a house where she didn't have to beg for scraps of food from the local temple was an enticing one. Still, though, she had no concept of who he was, really ....
"Of course, I wouldn't know whom to ask for your hand. Your parents are, sadly, dead and your relatives are cut off."
"I guess I would be that person."
"The one I'd have to ask," he said in his velvety voice. "Yes, well ... would you consider me?"
"Um..." She looked away. Her face was full and pink and so fresh ... so full of life as she looked away. Her long, dark hair fell against her shoulder in a bit of a tangle, caught in the firelight.
* * * * *
Haffef stared down at the brownish bones laid out on his dining room table and felt the unwanted presence of an intruding thrall.
Jules stood before him, uneasy in Haffef's home. A seemingly deserted farmhouse, surrounded by acres of plowed fields, in the middle of nowhere.
He glanced over at the bones laying on the table to his left. They were laid out on a very fine linen tablecloth, and the rest of the room was in complete disrepair, the paint peeling off the walls, the floors creaking as if they would give way with one wrong step.
"Where is Cameo?"
"She's in Lockenwood forest. On her way to Yetta."
"Why isn't she here?!"
"I don't know."
"I called you both. Did she disregard my wishes?" Haffef looked down at Jules, who was doing his best not to make eye contact with his Master.
"We didn't speak. I came to you as soon as I felt the call."
The vampire stood in silence for a moment, thinking, seemingly calm, and then he lashed out. He was an inch from Jules in a second and knocked him to the floor an instant later. "I have little use for you; it was Gwen I wanted!"
Jules felt as if he'd been hit by a building. He wasn't quite certain what had happened at first, but then, before he could scramble to his feet, Haffef pulled him up by his hair and threw him out the half-opened door.
"Get out!" the vampire shrieked. "Get out!" He leapt onto Jules' back and punched him in the back of the head.
Jules moaned but attempted to stand again as the vampire helped to lift him to his feet and then
kicked him in the back so hard that the assassin felt something break.
"I want Gwen. If you ever come back here, I'll kill you." He flipped Jules onto his back and assessed his handiwork.
Jules' hands shook as he tried to protect his face. An instant later the vampire was gone.
The assassin had been thrown fifteen feet from the house and lay in the dirt. As he looked up, he could see a zombie not far from him, working the land, and then he refocused his eyes and saw figures milling about in the distance. Zombies. Hundreds of zombies, similar to Chester, still wearing the tattered remnants of clothes, all with farm tools working the Master's land ... acres of undead.
"Oh, gods," he sighed. "My soul is lost. My life has become this horror." He attempted to pull himself to his feet, but something was wrong; his body wasn't working. It was as if his legs weren't there. He tumbled back onto his belly. Jules looked about himself, at the cursed farmhouse behind him, the empty fields in every direction, and the undead working hard at tilling the already well-tilled soil in the night.
It was like something out of a nightmare, and he began to crawl through the dirt and snow, anxiously avoiding the mindless creatures wielding sharp implements above him.
* * * * *
"This isn't exactly the Lakestar," Opal grumbled as he sat down against the drafty wall of an abandoned barn.
Cameo set down her pack and shook out her wool cloak. "No."
"Well, at least you're here with me."
She smirked. "Flattery, Opal? Are you feeling better?"
He faked a smile and then lied, "Oh yes, yes."
"Your hands must be frozen."
Opal didn't reply or bother to look down at the useless things. He just watched her as she moved closer and dusted the melting snow from his collar.
"Whiskey? It will warm you."
He shook his head.
Her long hair was wet and stringy, and it rested against his chest as she fixed his hair and retied the large, black bow that held it in place.
"You look lovely," he whispered against her cheek.
She pulled back to look at him. She had indulged him with new clothes and new cosmetics, partly because she knew the complaining could only get worse and partly because she missed seeing him in full-blown dandy attire.
Cameo and the Vampire (Trilogy of Shadows Book 3) Page 6
