Vintage soul dc-2

by David Niall Wilson

  Donovan chuckled. “It’s true. I can show you a few more tricks with the buttons, if you like.”

  Amethyst grinned, leaned in, and kissed him deeply. “I can’t wait,” she said.

  Donovan grinned in return, then added, “And don’t forget to feed that damned bird.”

  Amethyst stepped out into the night. Donovan stood in the lobby, alone, and a few moments later he was joined by Johndrow and Vein.

  “It’s time,” Johndrow said softly.

  Donovan nodded. The three stepped out of the building and climbed into a long, sleek limousine waiting at the curb. When they were seated, Donovan noted that Kali was driving, and that Vein sat beside her in front. He smiled. He’d known Johndrow and Vanessa for a very long time, and the old banker, Joel, had been with his Ligaya for centuries. It was almost as if Vein had heard his words to Amethyst and determined to make use of his own recent lessons. Somehow, Donovan thought he was witnessing the beginning of a very long union.

  They drove in silence, winding through sparse traffic and taking back roads whenever possible. It wasn’t really necessary to maintain a low profile, but this night, of all nights, none of them wanted to be detained for any reason. Kali drove slowly and carefully, and before long they pulled into the private garage far below Johndrow’s penthouse suite. There were few other vehicles present, and only a single guard watched from the shack near the elevator entrance.

  You couldn’t see it with the naked eye, but Donovan sensed the level of security that cloaked the building. Stine might not be around to supervise it, but his people had been working overtime. Every possible contingency was blanketed in wards and charms. The air crackled with the energy of it, and Donovan carefully avoided touching anything, lest he inadvertently set off some safeguard.

  It was a somber group that piled into the private elevator. Though Ezzel was destroyed, or banished, there were still clouds hanging over the city that would be hard to erase. Johndrow and Vein had been through more in the past week than they’d seen in the past hundred years. Kali bounced her mood off of Vein’s, and held her peace. She glanced at Donovan once or twice, her gaze calculating, but she said nothing. All of the younger vampires realized what he’d done for them. He could have fulfilled his obligation by entering the building and trying to save Vanessa, but instead he’d chosen to help them first. They hadn’t said anything too him — not even an apology for their earlier attacks and accusations, but they owed him, and all of them were aware of it.

  The elevator stopped and they stepped into Johndrow’s hall, where it had all begun. There was no trace of Stine’s death remaining. The penthouse was as opulent and decadent in both decor and ambiance as ever. Donovan had never been inside the home, and he stared about appreciatively. It had taken a lot of years, and a lot of money to make a haven so comfortable, and so secure. He hoped that the invasion and kidnapping would drive home the value of it all and keep Johndrow and his people attentive. It was never wise to accumulate wealth you weren’t willing and able to spend the time to protect.

  It wasn’t his concern. Donovan had his own security considerations to look into once he’d completed the service asked of him. He followed Johndrow down a long hall, through the main room, where he knew the party had taken place.

  They stepped through another doorway and filed down a long, narrow hall. There were doors to either side, but none was open. There was no sign that light had ever penetrated here, and Donovan suspected that few who still breathed and still possessed their own blood had ever been admitted there. The air was chilly, and he shivered.

  At the far end they paused as Johndrow produced a key ring and opened a set of double doors. He entered; Donovan and the others followed. The doors were closed behind them. The room was absolutely dark. Donovan heard a rustle. It might have been the material of a jacket, or pants legs rubbing together. It might have been shuffling footsteps. He waited, and though he did not believe he was in any danger, his heart pounded. That pounding reminded him of whom he stood among, which increased his nervousness until it seemed like the blood was crashing through his veins, too hot and too loud to be ignored by those with the hunger.

  When a match was struck, and a candle lit, the light was bright enough in that absolute darkness that he had to blink his eyes to clear his sight of the strobing video echo of the flash. The room took on boundaries and the interior assumed shapes and shadows. He saw the others standing nearby, and in the center of the room a long, ornate bench. It was draped with cloth that he could not make out the colors or designs of, and piled with pillows.

  The air was scented. There were no braziers; it wasn’t incense. Bowls of herbs and spices lined shelves on the walls. Fresh flowers were strewn about — lilies, Donovan thought, though he only felt them as his feet broke the stems and trampled the blossoms. The scent was of lilies and roses — and something else.

  There was a stench underlying it all, a rotten, sickening tang of decay that even the multitude of flowers couldn’t overpower. Somehow the sweetness of the blossoms mixed with that horrible stench was worse than it would have been on its own. Donovan tried not to breathe too heavily. He stepped forward to stand beside the table. Vein stepped up opposite him.

  Kali stood at the foot of the table, furthest from the others. Johndrow assumed a position of authority at the head. Someone further back in the shadows lit a second candle, and Donovan was able to make out more details. Vanessa’s remains had been laid out carefully on the pillows. With great caution she’d been positioned with her hands across her breasts in a death pose. The skin, scarecrow sticks that had been her legs lay limp and misshapen. The silence held for what seemed an eternity, and then Johndrow spoke.

  “I have no words sufficient to thank you for what you have done,” he said at last. “What was taken from me — from us,” he gestured briefly at Vein, and the others who stood further from the table, “was irreplaceable. A life as long as mine is subject to many horrors, as well as joys. The horrors can last an eternity, and the joys can be extremely far between.”

  Donovan listened politely. He didn’t require a speech; the two of them knew what had been accomplished, and somehow, with the rotting bones and flesh of the one he’d been sent to save lying in front of him it all rang hollow and empty.

  “It is time,” he said softly.

  Johndrow nodded. Someone stepped up behind him and placed two objects in his hand, then withdrew. Johndrow held them, glancing first at one, and then at the other. Donovan thought the vampire smiled, but in the dim light it was very difficult to tell. There was a white flash of fangs.

  He held out his hand, and Johndrow held out the first object that he’d been given. It was the vial Asmodeus had snatched from the circle; the vial that contained the essence of what had once been Vanessa. Donovan took it gently from the old vampire’s hand, glanced at the second object Johndrow held, and frowned. He needed nothing more than the blood for the ritual.

  “I’ll explain this in a few moments,” Johndrow said. “Please, continue.”

  Donovan put his questions aside and cleared his mind. His presence wasn’t strictly necessary for this ceremony. Any of Stine’s people, or possibly even Johndrow himself could have met the tenets of the simple ritual. It was an honor, he knew, something that most mortals would never experience. He did not fool himself into believing this made him anything special in the eyes of the undead. They had their own ways, and their own society, and he was not a part of it — could not be a part of it without experiencing death and dark rebirth, but he was respected. It was a memory to add to his long string of adventures, a moment to share over firelight in years to come. It was also a sign of trust.

  He raised the vial before him and lowered his head. He turned to where Kali stood at the foot of the table, the South, and spoke the proper invocation, calling on elemental spirits and archangels alike to guard the proceedings. He turned to Vein, repeated this action, and did so again by turning fully away from the table. At the end, h
e turned to the North, and to Johndrow. He spoke clearly and closed the protective circle about them. The room rippled with — something. It was a sensation slightly different from any in his experience, but he didn’t dwell on it. In this place, other powers were not far removed. The circle was complete, and if such a thing was possible, they were safe within that ethereal boundary.

  “I must ask you all,” he said softly, “not to move. Some of you are standing within, and some of you without, the circle I have drawn. Do not move, or that circle might be broken.”

  There was no sound. No one spoke in assent, but neither did they move. Donovan hesitated only for a moment, and then turned back to Vanessa’s remains. He slid his hand down under the pillow directly beneath her head and lifted gently. He moved very slowly and deliberately. If he jerked, or stumbled, it could be disastrous.

  When he held her head at an angle above the table, he turned to Johndrow and held out the vial. Without a word, the old vampire unscrewed the top. Donovan brought the open vial to the cracked, dried remnant of Vanessa’s lips. He whispered softly. What he recited was a very ancient version of the last rites, but the words were spoken in reverse. He’d memorized the incantation long years in the past, and reciting them brought a stream of images and memories to haunt his thoughts as his voice, soft yet firm, carried through the small chamber.

  At first, nothing happened. The blood ran down the parched, ruined throat and they heard it trickling and dripping as it wound it’s way in and through, escaping through torn skin and staining yellowed, ancient bone a dark, shadowy hue in the dim light. Donovan paid no attention to the affect of the liquid, but concentrated on the words. There were not many, and he spoke them clearly. When the last syllable fell away to silence, he closed his eyes and waited.

  Something moved in his hands. It writhed and slid but he ignored the sensation. A series of wet popping sounds echoed through the room, and a sound very like the tearing of rotten fabric followed. The weight he held shifted and grew, but still he did not open his eyes. The motion in and around his fingers stopped, and he felt something warm and silky. The weight lessened, and then lifted away from him completely. Still he held his silence, and did not open his eyes.

  When soft fingers stroked his chin, he smiled, and when they slid down and he felt sharp nails tracing the pulsing vein in his throat, he finally opened his eyes.

  She sat upright on the table, cradled in the pillows. The stench had left the air, as if drawn from the room by a giant vacuum. Her lips parted, as if she was going to speak, and Donovan reached out to place a finger across them, silencing her.

  Pulling back very slightly, he turned, this time facing first to the North. He caught Johndrow’s fierce, triumphant smile, but did not hesitate to enjoy it. He turned away from the table, and then across to Vein, whose expression was unreadable. He turned to the foot of the table last, released the ward, and returned his gaze to Vanessa’s.

  “It is safe now,” he said softly. “You are safe. Welcome back.”

  She stared at him for a moment, holding her silence, and then glanced around the room at the others. Obviously the shadows that hampered Donovan’s sight held no such power over hers. She stretched then, like a beautiful, silky cat. Her clothing had fallen away when she was removed from Ezzel’s chains, and she luxuriated, pale, naked, and very much alive.

  “Donovan DeChance,” she said. “It has been a long time since I last saw you. My memory is hazy, but since you are here, I assume it was you who freed me?”

  Donovan nodded slowly. He was on new ground here. She was very old, very powerful, and after her ordeal, no doubt ravenously hungry for fresh blood. The others would do what they could, he thought, none of them wanted the type of battle that might ensue if she attacked him, but his fears were unwarranted.

  A small dark woman appeared from the shadows. She stepped timidly to the table, and with delicate grace she pulled back her long, dark hair from her shoulder and offered her throat. Vanessa watched her carefully. Her eyes glinted, and her limbs tensed, but she managed to control herself. She glanced at Donovan, almost an apology, then slid closer to the woman and leaned in. There was a gasp — pain? Surprise? The woman’s eyes rolled slightly and her mouth worked. Vanessa held her gently, but firmly. In a moment, with a shudder of effort, she pulled back. The woman stumbled slightly, but Donovan caught her arm. Kali stepped to her side and applied a soft cloth to the punctures in the woman’s neck and led her away.

  Donovan stood, riveted. The site of Vanessa feeding jolted him. There was passion in the act, a sensual quality he’d never expected. The woman had groaned in — what? Desire? Pleasure? She had offered herself freely, and been spared.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” Vanessa said, laughing softly. “A girl’s got to keep up her strength.”

  Everyone but Donovan laughed at this. Johndrow, unable to control himself, stepped forward and swept Vanessa into his arms. He lifted her naked body unceremoniously from the table and held her easily, gazing at her face as if he could drink her in and hold her there. He laughed, kissed her, and lowered her to her feet. She slid down his body, pressed close, and laughed gaily. Vein stepped around the table and slipped a robe over Vanessa’s shoulders. She thanked him with a nod.

  Johndrow turned to Donovan and held out his hand. Donovan shook it and met the vampire’s gaze.

  “Thank you,” Johndrow said. “You brought her back to me. I believed that she was lost forever. We could not have done this without your help.”

  Donovan smiled.

  “It was my pleasure.” He turned to Vanessa, and bowed slightly. “I had almost forgotten how lovely you are,” he said. “It would have been a shame, had the world lost you a second time.”

  She laughed and hugged him impulsively. As she pulled back, she stumbled a little, and Johndrow caught her.

  “You aren’t up to your full strength, yet,” he said. “We should get you some rest, and you must feed again.”

  She shook off the momentary weakness, but nodded. “You are right, of course. But I want to know what happened. I remember, up to a point, and then there is nothing but a great darkness.”

  “There will be time for stories soon enough,” Johndrow replied. “For now, Mr. DeChance needs his rest, as well.”

  “I’ll be sleeping for a week,” Donovan said. “I’ll be happy to tell the entire story that I know soon.”

  He started to turn away, but Johndrow stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

  “Wait,” he said. “I will arrange the payment for your services through more usual channels,” he said, “But there is one thing more that I’d like to offer.”

  He turned to Vanessa. “I wish you could have been consulted on this, but of course it was not possible. I hope you’ll agree that it’s appropriate…”

  He brought forth the second object he’d held while Vanessa was being revived. It was a small, dark gold flask. There were no labels or marks on the glass, and it was sealed with a cork, which was in turn held in place by wax dripped over hand-wrapped gold wire.

  “I want you to have this,” Johndrow said. He turned to Vanessa, who watched him carefully, as if seeking a sign, or a clue. “We want you to have this,” he corrected himself. “It is a far cry from what that man — Ezzel — would have created. Still…”

  “What is it,” Donovan asked. He took the small flask and turned it over a couple of times, watching the dark brown liquid swirl around the inside of the glass.

  Johndrow smiled. “You are probably aware of my collection,” he said.

  Donovan nodded.

  “Even in my collection, this would be rare beyond price,” Johndrow continued. “The cognac in that flask is nearly two hundred years old, and was sealed tightly all that time. Hermetically, I believe is the term. There isn’t much — probably four small snifters.”

  Donovan stared at the flask and held it more gently.

  “That isn’t all,” Johndrow said. “May I?”

  He hel
d out a hand, and Donovan returned the flask. Johndrow handed it to Vanessa, who grew very still at the touch. She glanced sharply at Johndrow and her fingers tightened momentarily on the neck of the flask. She looked at it again, and then she met Donovan’s gaze.”

  “You will have a part of me,” she said, handing it back and letting her fingers linger over his as he took it. “My blood. There is a very small amount, a few drops, I believe, mixed with the liquor.”

  “It is very old,” Johndrow said softly. “Very powerful. Very… subtle. I don’t believe that it will bring you immortality, but…if I am correct, it will lengthen your stay on this plane considerably. A century? Perhaps more?”

  He slipped around behind Vanessa and drew her close against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder and added. “I think you will find the taste…intoxicating.”

  Donovan shivered and tucked the flask very carefully into one of the many deep pockets of his jacket. As he did so, he whispered a small charm of protection to prevent breakage. It was a treasure beyond anything he’d expected.

  “There are those,” Vanessa said, peeling free of Johndrow as those to either side snuffed the candles, and plunged them into shadow, “who say that a vampire has no soul. They say it is forfeited at the time of our transformation, and that we walk this world as hollow shells without spirit.”

  Donovan didn’t answer. He felt her take his arm and turn him gently toward the door, leading him from the room. As they stepped into the hallway, she leaned very close and ran her tongue up the side of his throat to the lobe of his ear. She whispered then, words meant for him alone.

  “I do not believe this. Our souls are liquefied and run through our veins. They become very thin, and each time we refresh the blood a part of something new joins itself with what remains of the soul and refreshes it. You have a part of me now, a part of my soul. It is a very fine vintage…drink it in good health, and think of me.”

  Then they were stepping into Johndrow’s outer room, and one of Stine’s security gnomes stepped forward to greet them.