by Todd Gregory
“Quentin said he wanted nothing to do with the family powers,” I replied slowly, beginning to see his point and beginning to feel more than a little afraid. “That he didn’t believe in them and turned his back on them, on his family. I believe him, Nigel. He meant what he said.”
“I don’t doubt his sincerity, Cord. But not believing in his powers doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them, you know. Perhaps now he doesn’t want them, but if he ever experiences that power . . . power corrupts.” He smiled at me sadly. “Even your power as a vampire can corrupt your soul. I’ve seen it happen to vampires, ones who thought we should take over the world and enslave humans, reduce them to nothing more than milk cows to feed our need for their blood. There was a war . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment, and he shook his head. “Anyway, that means Quentin can still be dangerous to you. You didn’t feed from him, did you? He doesn’t know what you are?”
“No.” Everything he said made terrible sense, one that made me afraid. They were right—I needed to stay away from Quentin.
The thought made my heart hurt.
Jared muttered something and shifted on the bed.
“What did he say?” Nigel moved so quickly I didn’t even see it—one moment he was sitting in the chair, the next he was leaning over Jared on the other side of the bed.
“I didn’t hear him,” I replied.
Jared shifted again. He started moving back and forth, writhing like he was having a terrible nightmare, and his lips moved in a slight groan that shaped itself into words. I still couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“You could if you focused,” Nigel’s voice echoed inside my head. “I understand what he is saying. Focus, young Cord, and you will too.”
“Don’t do that,” I replied as Jared rolled over onto his stomach. His legs flailed a bit and the covers slid down his back, exposing the beginning of the curve of his ass. I pulled the blanket back up.
Nigel straightened up, and narrowed his eyes. He relaxed a bit, but he said imperiously, “You can guard your mind from us, you know. You simply have to learn how.”
“Great, something else I need to learn,” I replied sarcastically. I gestured at Jared’s sleeping form. “So, what exactly did he say?”
Nigel walked over to the door and gestured for me to follow him into the living room. I slid the pocket doors closed behind us and leaned back up against them, folding my arms while I waited for him to answer me.
“He said Sebastian still lives.” Nigel slid down onto the sofa and closed his eyes. “I don’t know how that could be possible, though. Sebastian is dead. I saw it happen—”
“You were there?” I gaped at him.
He didn’t look at me or answer my question. “And his body was destroyed in the fire. They found two bodies—and one was definitely Sebastian’s.” He glanced over at me. “When one is going through the conversion process, like young Jared is, their powers are being turned on like a series of switches.” He nodded. “Yes, that’s the best way to describe it. As the human mind, through the vampiric blood, becomes more powerful, awakens to its full and true potential, it begins accessing the power that will eventually become second nature to use.” He tapped the right side of his skull with his left index finger. “But when he returns to consciousness, his human brain will again limit his abilities—until he is trained in how to use them.”
“Rachel said that it comes with time, and age,” I replied. “So, you’re saying that I can do everything you and she can—I just don’t know how?” I liked the sound of it.
“Your mind, yes.” He was nodding. “Your body—to achieve the ability to fly, to move in the blink of an eye, to become invisible to humans—that will take years to achieve, and right now your heart, your blood, isn’t powerful enough. But it will come in time, and your mind already has the ability to speak telepathically, to communicate with the dead, for example, or see things. Humans could do it, if they knew how. Humans don’t use even ten percent of the power of their minds.” He gestured at Jared. “He said Sebastian still lives, which is very peculiar. His mind cannot tell lies—his mind right now is operating much like a supercomputer, processing everything at rapid speeds. So, he must somehow be sensing something that I cannot.” He sighed. “You’re absolutely certain that this Quentin is not actually Sebastian?”
I started to deny it, but stopped myself.
I didn’t know.
There were differences, but—
Sebastian was a witch, and a powerful one.
“Witches can’t cheat death, can they?” I asked slowly. “They are mortal, aren’t they?”
“They are more than human, yes, but they are still bound by the same physical law of mortality as humans,” Nigel replied. “Only vampires have life eternal. Witches and werewolves, other nonhumans, they might have slightly longer life spans, but not so much as to make humans notice.”
“Wouldn’t I have—”
“Noticed?” A slight smile played across his lips. “It’s not like the two experiences were similar, were they? I believe your experience with this Quentin was what would be considered more normal, while the experience with Sebastian was perhaps a little more perverse, in the way humans understand and perceive sexuality?”
I remembered the powerful urges I’d felt, the desire to hurt and dominate him in ways I’d never felt or wanted to before. I swallowed. “It was more traditional, I suppose, but . . .” I didn’t know if I could tell him.
Of course, I didn’t have to say anything. He could see into my head whenever he wanted. His eyes narrowed. “Actually, what you were experiencing, what you wanted to do to him was similar to what Sebastian had done to you before Jean-Paul and the others rescued you?”
“Yeah. It was strange.”
“Twins.” He stroked his chin. “Yin and yang. Witch twins are often two different halves of the whole. Opposites. What Sebastian did to you would of course be what Quentin would want done to him.”
“You’re saying it was really Quentin who made me want to do those things?”
“It’s very possible—which would, of course, mean that Quentin isn’t Sebastian.” He shook his head, the long white locks bouncing. “Unless somehow their two souls joined when Sebastian’s body died . . .”
“Well, he said his grandmother claimed Sebastian is still tied to this world.” I nodded again. “Maybe going up to Bayou Shadows to see his grandmother, and talk to her, would be helpful—she might be able to release Sebastian and put an end to all of this.” No matter what Rachel thinks.
A cramp seized my stomach.
“And you said he cursed me,” I went on, ignoring the cramp, hoping it would go away. I knew what it meant—the desire for blood was coming on. “Wouldn’t releasing his soul break the curse?” I closed my eyes and willed the cramp to go away.
But I could feel the dryness coming on in my mouth, the slight ache in my right temple. My eyes began to burn a little bit. The cramp faded, but I felt hollow and empty inside.
It’s a truly horrible feeling.
“Yes, it would release you and break the curse, whatever it is.” He got up and walked over to the bookcase. He ran his fingers along the spines of the books, and some dust flew up. “Sebastian Narcisse was a terrible person, consumed by his lust for power.” He turned back to me. “The Council of Witches had already warned the Nightwatchers about him—but I still don’t understand why there is so little information about the bloodline in our records. As powerful as he was—”
“Why don’t you come to Bayou Shadows with us?” I replied. “You can ask his grandmother for yourself. Maybe she knows. Maybe they’ve just managed to fly under the radar for a long time. Isn’t that possible?”
“Anything’s possible.” He sounded tired again. “But witches cannot be trusted,” he mused. “It’s entirely possible. . .” His eyes widened. “No, it can’t be.”
“What?”
“The curse. Of course.” He threw open the pocket doors and sped int
o the room, sitting on the bed beside Jared. Jared’s restlessness had passed, and he lay still. Were it not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, I’d think he was dead. Nigel stared at me. “He cursed you in the most horrible of ways.” He shook his head. “What a bastard! We do need to free his soul so it can burn.” His voice was venomous.
“What do you mean?” I could feel fear rising inside of me. I didn’t like the way this was going.
“Gunther.” He stood up and started pacing. “I wonder if he was cursed as well? It never occurred to me . . . How could I have been so blind? So stupid? And there was a witch family in that village. I’ll have to check the records.”
“What are you talking about?”
He turned back to me. “The curse that Sebastian put on you? If you ever feed from someone you care about, someone you truly love, the wounds won’t heal. They will die—unless you turn them.”
“But . . .” A chill went through me, followed by yet another cramp, this one so powerful I gasped out loud.
“Vampires have been cursed before by witches, and usually the curse dies with the witch, but your curse survived Sebastian’s death—in fact, he somehow managed to cast the curse as he died, and it still hangs over you.” He leaned forward. “Now tell me again. Are you certain Quentin is not Sebastian?”
“I can’t be certain of anything.” I stood up and stretched. Another cramp shot through my system, and this time it was so strong I doubled over. I gasped as yet another one ripped through my stomach.
It had never been this strong before. Even when I’d so foolishly tried to see how long I could go without feeding, the cramps had not been so strong. I’d simply felt hunger and need, felt hollow and empty inside, nothing as strong as this.
“You need to feed.” Nigel was at my side in a moment, his hand under my chin and forcing my head up. He stared into my eyes. “Your body—it metabolized the stripper’s blood too quickly. You need to go feed.”
“I—”
“Feed before it’s too late. Go!” He waved his hand in dismissal.
I walked out the front door, closing it behind me as yet another cramp ripped through me. I gasped and had to put my hands against the door to keep from falling down. I staggered down the steps and became aware of the scent of blood, the beating of a heart, very close . . . oh so close.
I staggered down the steps and somehow managed to make it to the corner before another cramp doubled me over yet again and an involuntary cry came out of my mouth. I wanted to get to a gay bar, have nothing to do with the crowds on Bourbon Street. I could smell blood in the air; someone’s heart was beating stronger, and I followed it like a beacon. I turned on Dauphine. It was always a quiet street, even though the insanity of Bourbon was a mere street away. I wasn’t aware of anything other than the smell of blood and the sound of that strong heartbeat, beckoning me forward. I staggered down the sidewalk, looking like yet another idiot who’d had too much to drink. I felt so hollow, so empty. Must find the blood . . . must find that heartbeat.
And there it was.
There was a young man leaning against a building about a half-block up Dauphine Street. He was talking on a cell phone. I could see his jugular vein pounding in his neck.
Drool filled my mouth. I was so damned hungry. . . .
“Look, buddy, you’re being a real dick. Just calm the fuck down. You don’t own me—we’re just friends, remember? Isn’t that what you said? That was your choice, not mine, and now you bug out and get jealous because I met someone? No, fuck you!”
Angrily he disconnected the call and slammed his other fist into the wall.
“Hello,” I said as I neared him, barely able to keep from shoving him against the wall and sinking my teeth into his neck. I needed his blood. . . .
He just looked at me and smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you, Cord.”
He held up the hand holding the phone.
He was wearing a ring with an enormous stone in it.
Green.
Everything went green.
Green . . .
CHAPTER 10
Green.
Everything was green.
It looked like someone had put a green filter over my eyes—everywhere I looked, everywhere I turned my head, there was nothing but green. Dark green, light green, every conceivable shade of green I could imagine and even some that I couldn’t. It was starting to make me slightly sick. I didn’t know where I was at first, but as I adjusted to the weird, disorienting green, I realized I was in my bedroom at the Orleans Street house. Bright green light was coming through the windows, feeling hot on my skin. I got out of the bed and closed the curtains, and realized I was naked. I picked up my robe from the floor and draped it around my body. I heard a noise from the front of the house and walked down the hallway. As I walked past the front bedroom, I could make out Jared’s naked form lying there—also in shades of green. He had a raging hard-on, and even though his eyes were closed, he was playing with himself, absently pulling on his erection like it was an afterthought, like there was no driving need for him to be doing what he was doing.
I went around the corner and there, in the living room, sat my parents. On the couch.
And the green faded, and everything became normal again.
“Is it true?” my mother asked. Her eyes were red and tears stained her cheeks. Her dark brown hair was now streaked with gray, and she looked like she’d aged twenty years in the two years or so since I’d seen her. “You’re not only a demon but you’re also a homosexual?”
“I told her there was no way a son of ours could have turned his back on God and started worshipping the devil,” my father’s voice boomed out. His arm was around her shoulders, and he was giving me a reassuring look. His voice was strong, but there was a hint of uncertainty to it, almost like he was saying, Tell me it isn’t so, son, so we can be finished with this foolishness.
“It is true,” I replied. “I’m gay, and I’m a vampire.”
My mother started wailing, and my father turned away from me and started comforting her. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, so I just stood there stupidly staring at them both.
“I can take care of this for you,” Jean-Paul’s voice whispered in my brain. They don’t deserve to live, do they? With all that hatred in their hearts? Wouldn’t it be better to release them from the horrors of this world so they can go be with the God they worship and obey so mindlessly?
“No,” I said out loud, but in the blink of an eye, they were all there—Jean-Paul and Clint and the others, holding my parents down and drinking from their veins and they were both screaming and I wanted to go to them, help them, push the others away from them, but I couldn’t move. I was stuck in place, and then everything began to go green again, first around the edges of my vision and then it spread, everything going green. . . .
And then the colors became normal again, and I was once again tied to the posts of Sebastian’s bed, in his bedroom with all the candles lit, but there were two of him, one on either side of the bed, both of them naked, mirror images of each other. One had to be Quentin and the other Sebastian, but although I remembered there were subtle differences, I couldn’t remember what they were, and my eyes moved back and forth between them, and then they both were standing at the foot of the bed, each holding the other’s erection, stroking, and they started kissing, two identical twins kissing and I knew it was wrong, it was incredibly wrong, but then they stopped and turned their attention back to me.
“Don’t you want us?” the one on the right asked. “Don’t you want me to climb up on that bed and flip you over and shove my cock so far inside of you that my come will shoot out your mouth?”
“And while he is fucking you”—the other turned and bent over, pulling his muscular ass cheeks apart—“you can fuck me like you did earlier, make me your little bitch, and we’ll all be satisfied. Isn’t that what you want? You want me to be your bitch while he makes you his little bitch?”
And desp
ite everything, I heard myself saying, “Yes, yes, that is what I want, please,” and everything began going green again until it was all green, that strange shade of green I’d first seen on the street. . . .
I opened my eyes, and the hunger was there—a gnawing sense of agony that pushed everything else out of my head and consciousness.
What had happened? I tried to piece it all back together, but my head was aching, and there was that horrible ravenous hunger, the emptiness inside that made my eyes water and was so damned all-consuming.
I’d needed to feed, yes; I remembered that. I remembered talking to some old man with long white hair and cramping from the hunger; it was so intense I could barely stand, yes.
Another cramp tore through my body and instinctively I tried to curl up into a ball, but my arms and legs were restrained. I opened my mouth and howled from the agony. It hurt so much I could barely stand it. I was going to go mad from the hunger if I didn’t feed soon.
The cramp unclenched, and I gasped in dank, musty air. My eyes were still watering, and I wasn’t able to see—and I needed to be able to see.
Focus. I needed to focus. Focus and remember.
I’d walked out of the house . . . Oh, yes, I’d gone to feed after the old man (Nigel, his name is Nigel ) told me some bizarre story I didn’t quite understand, about why Rachel was such a bitch—
Someone she loved was killed, a victim of a rogue vampire, killed and then converted. He had disappeared, and they’d been looking for him for the last twenty years. He’d also told me about witches cursing vampires—I’d been cursed apparently by Sebastian, and the curse hadn’t died with him, and we needed to figure out a way to break the curse and then the hunger had consumed me, which hadn’t made sense because I’d just fed the night before; I should have been good for at least another day. I’d drunk deeply from the stripper, whatever his name was, the one in the underwear with the incredibly hot ass.
And I’d gone out of the house to feed; he’d told me to. I’d heard a heart beating and I’d smelled blood—someone on Dauphine Street—so I’d walked around the corner and . . .
