by Quincy Allen
She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the back of her hand.
“Have you ever fed on a human?” Jake added a bit of venom to the question, and it made him feel sick inside. He wanted to stop, wanted to hold her in his arms, not tear her down. But before he could do that, he had to be certain that he was not being used.
Moisture glistened in her eyes, sparkling behind the veil like gemstones. Her gaze lifted from the ring and locked with his.
“Yes,” she replied flatly. “And I’ve lost count of how many. What’s more, I enjoyed feeding on every single one of them … delighted in it even.” Her face and voice were a mixture of emotions. Anger, pain, guilt, even a sort of lust.
The answer surprised him, and there wasn’t a trace of a lie in her. He had expected her to say she’d fed on a few, expressing guilt and need.
“So you admit to being a cold-blooded killer.”
She stood and stared down at him, and for the first time since he started, there was a trace of defiance in her. “I admit to being what a monster made me, Jake. And when monstrous men come for me, come for the Book of Ebliss and my very blood to fuel the madness of Orfeo, then I set free the monster he created and let it gorge itself on them … wantonly.” She narrowed her eyes. “Like those men in Chung’s basement.” The smile that flitted across her face was that of a beast, a wolf in green lace. “I tore them to pieces and drank from what was left. And make no mistake … I have no regrets about doing it.”
To his surprise, Jake felt even more respect for the woman. He considered what she’d said for a few heartbeats, thinking what he might become if he had lived her life. When it came right down to it, he’d taken what the war turned him into and literally became a killing machine whenever he thought it was necessary. He didn’t hesitate, he just pulled the Peacekeeper faster than any man could and killed the son-of-a-bitch who forced his hand.
“I suppose I can understand that,” he finally replied. His tone easing. “I’d probably do the same thing myself … or worse.”
She turned away, stepping up to the railing and staring out across what little of Roswell lay between them and the desert to the east. After a few seconds, she turned back to him. “It doesn’t matter what you think you understand about it, Jake. Please, forgive me, but you couldn’t possibly comprehend what it’s like … what it’s been like for four hundred years.”
That stopped him cold. She was right. The sheer scale of her lifetime was beyond his comprehension. He nodded his head. It was his turn to look down, and his eyes drifted to the back of his left hand. He lifted it and gazed at the black leather that covered gears and metal and magic. He slowly closed his fist, listening to the soft whirring of gears within.
“Tell me something,” he finally said, looking up at her. “You knew all along that Szilágyi, and possibly others, would stop at nothing to get their hands on you and this … Book of Ebliss, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I said as much, Jake.” There was neither guilt nor apology in the affirmation.
“And you know about Shadowcat’s oracle? About a golden soul with singular vision?”
She fixed her eyes on Jake, and her face was imploring. “Yes.” He found in her eyes a distant glint of hope set over an ocean of despair four centuries in the making.
“So you picked me because you think I’m this golden soul?”
“I can only hope, Jake.” She stepped up to him, everything about her posture and features was open … truthful. “When I first arrived in San Francisco, Qi spoke of you fondly … well, more than fondly.” She smiled a bit wickedly. “When she described you to me, your metal limbs and your ocular, I thought immediately of Shadowcat’s song.” She started to reach out her hand but withdrew it quickly, uncertain of his feelings.
“So you used me?” There was an accusation in his question, but a gentler tone than what had come before.
She could tell he was easing up, so she relaxed somewhat herself.
She shrugged. “After a fashion,” she replied quietly, even humbly, “I suppose you could look at it that way. But ask yourself this: Can one really use destiny? Or are we all merely victims of it?” The question stopped him cold. It was obvious that she believed herself to be a long-suffering victim of destiny. He thought back to the crows that had influenced his life, had foretold of destruction and change. “Qi’s description of you gave me the first glimmer of hope I’ve had since this all began.” She let out a long, drawn out sigh. “I’m so tired, Jake.”
The tears in her voice broke his heart.
“I just want this to be over, one way or the other.” She turned away from him and stepped back to the railing once again, staring out to the east. “You know, I haven’t seen the sun in over three centuries. Not a sunrise; not a sunset. I’ve endured nothing more or less than being hunted day after day in perpetual darkness. If that isn’t hell, I don’t know what is.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake offered as he stepped up behind her.
“It’s a half-life I lead. Sometimes, on nights when it’s really bad, I think about just sitting outside one morning and watching the sun come up one last time.”
“What keeps you in the darkness?”
She was silent for several heartbeats, then her knuckles whitened as she gripped the railing.
“Spite.” She almost spat out the word, and it carried with it three centuries of hatred. “Every time I wake up to another night in that godforsaken box, I know with certainty that the swine is either dead or as trapped in a living hell as I am … unequivocally denied the one thing he wants most in his unholy existence.” She turned and faced him, tears streaming down her face. “That’s what sustains me, Jake. That’s what has kept me going all these years. Pure, seething spite.”
In that moment, Jake understood what Shadowcat meant.
The Lady Corina Dănești would never give up, never cave in, never budge one inch to the creature that had so horribly misused her. Here stood a woman stronger than anyone he’d ever known. He had to admit that toughing out four hundred years was probably beyond him. He reached out his hand, gently pulling her toward him. She didn’t hesitate. She fell into his arms, holding him tightly, and he felt her shuddering with sobs as he wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to push so I would know the truth. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as destiny. But whether there is or not, I’ll do what I can to help you see this thing through.” He placed his hands on the sides of her face and tilted it up, looking deeply into her eyes. “I swear it.”
She laughed—a single, shining sound of hope—and the tears flowed. In that moment, the fire in Jake’s heart was set loose; it burned brighter and hotter than it ever had before. He knew it was insane to feel the way he did for a woman … a vampire … whose destiny would probably lead everyone involved to an early grave, but the symmetry of the situation, the possibility that there might have actually been a higher purpose to the loss of his limbs filled him with a hope of his own.
He kissed her. There was nothing else that would have filled the space between them. In that instant, as their lips met, the fire roared within them both, and they wrapped themselves around each other. The heat fueled their passion. She started pulling off his belt as he pulled at the laces of her corset. They drifted toward the bed, garments falling one piece at a time.
The two of them spent the next several hours kindling and rekindling the flame that now sustained them both. When they were spent, exhausted and wrapped together in bed linens, Corina told Jake about her childhood. Before his eyes her reservations dropped, and for a short while she was the young girl she had been … long ago.
But the inevitable moment they both dreaded finally came. A cuckoo clock in the hallway cried four times. There were no tears. There was no despair. They rose from the bed, gathered their clothing, and dressed quickly … almost like soldiers girding themselves for battle.
Jake led her out to the balcony, where they both stared to the east. T
he horizon was showing only the slightest glimmer of an approaching dawn. The thought of Corina getting caught in the daylight made him uneasy.
“You better go.”
“I know, but I don’t really want to. Kiss me, Jake. One last time. I fear that Szilágyi is about to make his final move, and neither of us may survive the ordeal. Kiss me like there is no tomorrow, because there truly may not be.”
He did. They got lost in that kiss for longer than either of them realized.
Without a word, the air turned chill and Lady Corina Dănești turned to smoke in Jake’s arms. The smoke receded over the balcony and disappeared into the darkness, drifting off toward the blacksmith’s.
Looking over the ramparts of the city, Jake said a silent goodnight to her as the mist disappeared into the darkness. The thought of her lying within her reliquary, trapped like a caged bird, filled him with sadness. Tears welled up in his eyes. He resolved to bring an end to her hell, no matter what it cost him. He turned his gaze to the east, his arms resting on the railing and a growing breeze stirring the sweat-dampened curls of his black hair.
The horizon brightened. Black shifted to mauve as golden highlights in the clouds drifted into hues of lavender and rose. Streaks of clouds glowed like molten bronze that had laced its way across the skies over the Free Territories.
An idea formed in his head, so Jake committed every detail—every nuance of color and texture—to his memory as best as he could.
Chapter Seventeen
Unwelcome Guests
“Cromwell must have sent everything he had that day. One play, and it all revolved around one man.”
~ Jake Lasater
Cole leaned back in his chair, one hand propped against the end of the Thumper, an astonished look on his face. He held a cup of coffee hovering halfway between the table and his mouth. He and Jake were the only people in the White Mare dining room. Jake couldn’t tell if Cole was shocked, appalled, horrified, or all three. He’d just related the details of his conversation with Shadowcat and his evening with Corina, and Cole’s reaction had him baffled.
“She didn’t bite you, did she?” Cole asked slowly.
Jake hesitated. “That’s kind of a personal question, don’t ya think?”
Cole sighed. It was way too early in the morning for bullshit. “Did she bite you or didn’t she?”
Jake’s eyes shifted around evasively as he tried to remember the details. “Well …” he said slowly, “I don’t know.… maybe … not hard enough to hurt, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t leave any marks. It’s all kind of blurry.”
Cole cinched up the bandana around his neck and gave Jake a suspicious look, peering closely at his riding partner’s eyes, trying to see if they were changing color. “You do know how vampires make other vampires, don’t you?”
“Cole, up until yesterday, I’d never even heard the damn word. How the hell would I know about their birds and bees? I figure they do it just like we do. Lord knows Corina and I did just that … and then some. I ain’t worried though. I had a sheepskin.” Jake smiled, thinking he was being clever.
Cole looked at Jake as if he were the dumbest ox on the plantation. “I’m not talking about making baby vampires, ya numbskull. I’m talking about a vampire turning a man into another vampire.”
“Oh.” Jake blinked his eyes a few times as his brain processed the fact that he’d been with a vampire … and it slowly dawned on him that he could have been turned. “Neither of them got around to talkin’ about being turned.” Jake looked at Cole sheepishly. “How do they do it?”
“Morón ni siquiera sabe,” Cole muttered under his breath.
“Okay, okay! So I don’t know,” Jake replied. “And I ain’t no moron.…” his voice trailed off.
Cole gave him a yes you are look.
“So how do they do it?” Jake asked again.
“They bite you, you idiot!” Cole shouted.
Jake blinked a few more times … remembering in as much detail as possible everything that happened with Corina. “No.… can’t be,” he said slowly.
“How many vampires have you known, Jake?” Cole’s tone was sarcastic.
“Well, I’m guessing just the two … Shadowcat and Corina. They both seem like decent folk to me.” Jake sounded almost defensive. A thought struck Jake like a hammer. “And Quinn …”
“What?” Cole asked.
“Quinn! That son-of-a-bitch back in Denver … the guy who kicked all this off, remember?”
“Oh, shit!” Cole nodded. “With everything that happened, I forgot all about him.”
Jake locked eyes with Cole. “Quinn was a vampire.” He remembered Quinn’s eyes, and the claws, and the strength. “Had to be.” He pulled the Peacekeeper out of its holster, remembering in detail how it had turned Quinn to ash. It’s nice to have an ace in the hole for a change, he thought.
“See?” Cole interrupted his thoughts. “You’re making my case for me.”
“Oh, come on. Quinn was a hired killer. He was doing his job like we do ours. Besides, you’ve known Shadowcat for years, and you never had any issues with him biting you. Did you?”
“Shadowcat’s a different story … because I’ve known him for years. You don’t know shit or shineola about Lady Dănești … not really.”
“That’s not true, Cole. My guts tell me I can trust her.” There was no bullshit in Jake’s tone, and Cole knew his riding partner well enough to know that tone of voice. He’d trusted his life to Jake’s instincts on more than one occasion.
Cole nodded, conceding the point, but just barely. “Remember me telling you about Tante Lid?”
“Yeah, sure. She gave you your sight.”
“I said she used to hunt ghosts and demons, but she also used to hunt vampires. There are a few covens down around New Orleans—a lot fewer because of Tante Lid.” Cole locked eyes with Jake. “Vampires are dangerous, Jake. Down there they’ve killed more people than scarlet fever.”
Jake looked a little worried, but he steadied his resolve. “I trust Corina, Cole. I gotta stand by that.”
“Trust her …” Cole replied a bit fatalistically. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “One of these days you’re going to get me killed, you know that, right?”
“I’m gonna do my best not to, I swear.” Jake grinned.
“Tante Lid always said beware of them with the bright eyes.” He looked at Jake. “And why, you may ask?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because they’re goddamn bloodsucking vampires!” He rapped Jake on the forehead in hopes of shaking loose some sense, but he started laughing to show there were no hard feelings.
The surprised look on Jake’s face faded, and he started laughing along when the thumping of something heavy coming down the stairs interrupted them both. They looked up to see Skeeter pulling her suitcase down the stairs, her duster dragging behind her.
“No one’s come to get us, Skeeter. You don’t need your suitcase just yet.”
Skeeter kept coming down. “I’ll be keeping this with me till we get home, if it’s okay with you, Jake.” She had an almost nervous look on her face. He figured it was because of a possible attack by Cromwell.
“Suit yourself, kiddo,” Jake said, shrugging. “You want some breakfast?”
“Naw … too nervous to eat.” She reached the base of the stairs, pulled her suitcase up and sat down. “I just can’t wait to get on board.” She was anxious when Jake had expected her to be excited.
“You okay, Skeeter?” Cole asked. He hadn’t missed her nervousness either.
“Fine, Cole,” she answered quickly. She set her hat on top of the case and went silent.
“So what did you and Lady Dănești talk about?” Jake asked. In the passion of the moment—or moments—the night before, he’d forgotten to ask Corina about it.
Cole almost choked on his coffee? “She talked to you, too?” he asked, wiping coffee off his shirt.
Skeeter nodded. “She came by late last ni
ght.”
“Did she bite you?” Cole asked, looking into Skeeter’s eyes and then peering closely at her neck.
Jake’s head snapped toward his riding partner, and Skeeter looked perplexed.
“Cole!” Jake moaned. “Let it go.”
“Why the hell would she bite me?” Skeeter asked, looking even more confused.
“Never mind,” Cole mumbled.
“So?” Jake blurted, changing the subject. “What did y’all talk about?”
Skeeter looked somewhat evasive. “Just stuff. She asked me about where I came from and why I was with you, Jake.”
“And?” Jake prompted.
Just then, Forsythe stepped through the kitchen door, a large coffee pot in his hand. “Refill, anyone?” he asked. He wore a rather subdued version of the Roswellian militia done in brown leather, with an Officer’s Colt strapped on one hip and his old cavalry sabre strapped to the other.
Jake and Cole both nodded.
“And …” she continued, glancing at her suitcase briefly. “I told her my story, or most of it anyway.”
“That’s it?” Jake asked, thinking there would be more to it.
“Pretty much.”
A distant explosion interrupted them. Moments later, a city siren blared across the city … and then another, closer this time. Everyone looked at each other nervously. More sirens shrieked, and then heavy gunfire erupted … a lot of it.
“Oh, shit,” Cole mumbled. A series of explosions thundered somewhere and then multiple zeppelin rotors roared overhead. Guns blazed in the air. Screams and shouts erupted across the city.
“It’s started,” Jake added.
Skeeter turned a ghost-white face toward the front door as someone kicked it open. Jake and Cole turned in unison, hands slapping pistol grips. They immediately recognized the man in the doorway as one of Pandora Celtica’s crew. He’d been standing behind Shadowcat when they first landed.
The man looked like he’d just stepped off an eighteenth century pirate ship. He had big black boots with puffy black trousers tucked into them, a puffy burgundy shirt, a black leather vest, and a wide-brimmed black leather hat with one side pinned up. A long feathery plume of burgundy flowed out behind the hat, and an intricate, gem-encrusted basket hilt with a blue tassel peeked up over his shoulder. “I’m Requiem, from Pandora Celtica!”
