Shadow Over Sea And Sky

by K H Middlemass

  She turned left and went down through the hall, coming to a door firmly shut, smoke pouring from the cracks in the frame. Simone yanked the door open, and black smoke poured out and dispersed into the new space. Simone and Abrahms coughed and struggled to breathe, but they both went inside.

  The heat was intense; the smoke made it hard to see, but the flames burned bright through the murk. Simone squinted against the intrusive black clouds, and thought that she could make out two shapes. She threw her arm back, slapping Abrahms carelessly in the gut.

  “Hold my hand,” she commanded. “I think I see Emily. Emily, is that you?”

  The shape moved, groaning. “Simone?”

  “Emily!” Simon pulled Abrahms along, and then came to the shape. Simone could just make her out, covered in blood and shivering. Volkov wasn’t there, not that she could see. Simone grabbed her and pulled her up.

  “Come on, we need to get out of here,” Simone said. Emily weighed heavily on her arm, barely even able to walk. Her neck wounds had ceased to bleed now, but she was pale and cold to the touch, sickened from a lack of blood. Simone didn’t know of the hunger already brewing in Emily’s gut, or how her throat burned with want. She didn’t realise that Emily could smell her, and hear the blood pulsing in her veins, which lay so frailly under the skin, blue rivers running through the body. She tried to resist it, but Simone smelled so good, her perfume mixing with her skin, the veins in her neck throbbing with her heart.

  Simone dragged Emily across the smoke laden room, the fire making their skin bristle with heat. Abrahms offered his help when they reached him. He held up Emily on one side and they carried her out, her legs trailing on the ground. Emily groaned, muttered something about her mother before falling silent. The blood was bright against her pale skin. She looked ill.

  Simone bumped into a table with her hip and cursed, as was her custom. But something clattered to the floors, and through the smoke Simone saw that it was a knife. She made Abrahms hold Emily up so she could take it.

  Out in the hall, Simone and Abrahms took Emily to the base of the stairs. Emily’s mother and father were nowhere to be found; Simone only hoped that they had gotten out through the front door and were on their way to safety.

  Abrahms and Simone set Emily down on the bottom step, where she promptly bent over so her head was practically touching the ground. Her groans were soft but insistent, demanding to be heard through the chaos around them.

  “I have to go get Nick,” Simone said. She turned to Abrahms, her yellow hair all wild and her makeup smudged beyond salvation, but still beautiful and always fierce, never one to give up even when the odds were stacked against her. “Rev, you look after Emily. I’ll be back with Nick as soon as I can and then we’re getting the fuck out of here,” she began to head down the hall towards the ballroom, but stopped and turned to look up the stairs and at the portrait.

  “But not before we burn that bitch down.”

  ***

  Nick was still trapped in the ballroom, with only the countess for company. They stood on opposite ends of the ballroom.

  “He will come for you soon,” the countess said, and even though she spoke quietly her words were as clear as water. “He has not forgotten. She chose you.”

  Nick stared at her levelly, trying not to give way to the urge to shake. “I made her choose me. I knew I’d be able to get free.”

  “Yes, I had ascertained as much,” the countess responded in a condescending voice. “That is irrelevant. Do you have any idea of what it is you are up against?”

  There was silence for a moment, interrupted only by the sounds of muffled thuds and crashes coming from the hall.

  “I don’t, really,” Nick replied, finally looking away from her. His dark eyes darted about, agitated in a way that his body could not be. “I just know it’s not good. And you’re one of them, so you’re not good either. Right?”

  The countess laughed her childish laugh, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder. “I was once! I was good, a long time ago, but I learned that such distinctions did not matter in the search for blood.”

  Nick started to walk forward, in his usual easy way despite the fear in his heart. “I don’t care about what you were; I care about what you are. And what you are is terrible, isn’t it? You feed on people, don’t you?”

  Nick had a way about him that was difficult to understand; he had a presence that compelled people to listen to him when he spoke, and so he tried to take advantage of that skill against the vampire.

  “You and this Volkov fellow, you want to feed me to my friend. I realise that I haven’t known her for a long time but I still consider her to be a friend. What he did to her…”

  Nick went quiet and shook his head, trying to cast away the memory. The countess watched with an expression of wry amusement on her face, a lock of golden hair wrapped around her finger, twirling it as she observed the young man trying his best to seem intimidating.

  “My body may be that of a child, but I assure you that my mind is not,” she said darkly, and Nick had no trouble believing her. “Do you really think I will just let you pass by?”

  Nick stopped walking, abruptly and without subtlety. But he was smart, and he decided to change tack. “Actually, I did. Because you’re pissed at him, right?”

  The countess simply looked at him, dark blue eyes depthless and cold. Nick wasn’t even sure if she had understood him; she spoke in such an old-fashioned way.

  “You’re angry at him, aren’t you?” he proffered, swallowing down the insistence of his fear.

  After a long, tense moment, she nodded.

  “Yes.”

  Nick decided to delve further; he was certain that she had her. “Why are you angry at him… my lady?”

  She smiled at the honorific, but it didn’t give her face any warmth. Her beauty was icy, better viewed from a distance perhaps. Nick preferred Simone’s warmth, her reality; this is what had attracted him in the first place a little over a year ago in some awful city pub, having come to watch Echo Base on a whim because there was nothing else to do that night. That had been the spark, and so their relationship had bloomed, and now here he was, going toe to toe with a vampire that also happened to be a Countess, and a powerful one at that. But he would do this for her. Because he loved her. Love was the most powerful force in the universe, wasn’t it? If he saw Simone again, he would ask her to marry him, because this whole experience had left him certain that life was short and that there was only so much time to get the important stuff done. Even though he was not yet 30, it seemed to him that if he were to make it out of this alive, he would listen to the higher force and simply go with the flow. He would ask Simone to marry him, and they could live together in the back of a van for all he cared.

  The countess had not answered, so he asked again, blindly persistent. “Why are you angry at him?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! You know why!” The countess erupted in a sudden, unexpected burst of anger. “You have ears, do you not? You are not deaf, are you?”

  “I have ears,” Nick replied, amazingly calm considering. “But I don’t know you, or him.”

  The countess stared him, incredulity clear on her face. “And why, pray, should I care?”

  Her words were cold, but Nick braced himself against them. “Because we feel, and we’re frightened. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  The countess said nothing, only continued staring at him. She didn’t blink, and in the cavernous emptiness of the ballroom it was entirely disturbing. Nick swallowed and swiped a hand across his brow, taking with it the layer of sweat that had formed throughout this entire, dreadful ordeal.

  “Haven’t you ever been frightened, my lady?” Nick implored, forcing himself to look straight at her. “You let Emily go. You could have stopped her easily I reckon, but you let her go. And you did that because – “

  “That’s enough,” the countess said icily.

  Nick glared at her, and went on. “You did
it because Volkov disgusted you, didn’t he, when you realised he was going to rape Emily. That’s why you let her go, isn’t it?”

  The countess advanced on him, unexpectedly, moving too quickly for the human eye to properly see. Nick did the only sensible thing in this situation; he turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could to the end of the ballroom. There was a balcony out there: overlooking the iron sea. He could only hope that the doors weren’t locked.

  “What do you know of fear, boy? You give into it, as we all do!” he heard from behind him, but not too far. She could have been speaking from over his shoulder. Maybe she was. It didn’t matter; Nick just kept running, almost careening into the elegant glass doors. He fell upon the handles with blind hope, and mercifully when he tried them he heard the satisfying sound of a lock disconnecting, sending dust into the ever-deepening night air. He slipped through the gap as soon as it was wide enough, grabbed the handle on the other side and pulled the door shut again.

  He checked his watch: 5.30 am. It wouldn’t be dawn for another hour or so. He couldn’t stay here until the sun rose, could he? He thought of Simone, of everyone else, and shook his head, physically reminding himself that this wasn’t the way.

  The night had grown very cold, a wind whipping about his ears that cut through his skin mercilessly. He sucked in air through his teeth, audibly wincing, and wished that he knew where his jacket was. Why had it been removed? Nick swore under his breath.

  That was when the countess slammed herself against the glass, making him scream and jump back, almost careening over the balcony and into the depths of the ocean below. She pressed her face against the window, her eyes bulging and her mouth split in a twisted smile. It was horrifying, the worst sight, and Nick tried to stay as far away from it as possible.

  Nick wasn’t a Catholic, but he crossed himself anyway.

  ***

  The painting of the countess was already covered in lighter fluid, but perhaps it had dried out and was therefore useless? With the reverend standing behind her, Simone searched her jeans pocket and found the box of matches she’d stored, took one out and struck it against the strip on the side of the box. She then dropped the lit match into the box, setting every one of them alight, and finally, with a movement that was almost triumphant, Simone threw the box at the painting. It hit the face of the painted Countess, right between her eyes.

  The question was whether the fire would take. Even when it hit the floor, there would be trails from when Simone had splattered the painting with the stuff. There had to be; she’d seen pictures of blood trails and figured that this must be similar.

  There was a moment where nothing happened, and Simone felt an awful sinking sensation in her stomach. Then the unmistakable whooshing sound of a fire starting echoed in her ears. Relief flooded through her like it did when weed was released into her blood stream. She stood there, not moving, and watched the flames curl at the bottom of the frame, creeping steadily up the canvas.

  “Here we go,” she said.

  Abrahms watched from behind her. He had been quiet, looking sick and frightened the whole time. He wouldn’t go and stand by Simone; instead he lurked behind like a coward, and his heart was already heavy. His voice, when he spoke, was the sound of leaves being crunched beneath a boot. “Will it burn?”

  Simone nodded. Abrahms didn’t see the wicked smile that graced her lips. “Oh yes. Just give me a minute. I want to enjoy this.”

  The hall seemed to shake, gently at first, nothing more than a rumble, before it grew into an eruption of force. Simone threw herself towards the banister and looped her arm for it. Abrahms simply stood there, allowing himself to be thrown around as the ground undulated beneath their feet. He couldn’t win the fight and fell, landing on his knees just as the shaking stopped. Simone tentatively untangled herself from the banister and waited. She looked at the portrait; it was still burning, razing a path of destruction. Then she looked at Abrahms, who hadn’t even bothered to get up. He remained on his knees, head down and unhappy.

  “Come on Rev, time to get up and go. You’re not that bloody old, are you?” Simone said with false joviality, trying to smile and feel cheerful. And she should have felt cheerful; they’d basically destroyed the painting. That was a good thing. But Simone couldn’t rest without Nick at her side. If she didn’t rescue him, she’d never forgive herself.

  Abrahms didn’t respond, just kept staring at the floor. Simone saw his shoulder begin to shake, and knew that he was crying.

  “Hey,” she said, leaving her spot to go to him. She put her hand on his back; he didn’t flinch, but then he didn’t react at all.

  Then, suddenly, a scream that echoed throughout the hall. Simone automatically turned to the place where Emily was supposed to be, furious with herself that she had forgotten about her. But there she was, slumped over and half asleep, arms hanging down to the floor. It wasn’t her that was making that terrible sound.

  The screaming grew louder, a nightmarish shrieking that went on apparently without end. For better or worse, Simone decided to go and check it out. She went down the steps, past Emily. Simone failed to anticipate that she had recently been bitten and that a deep, unsettling hunger had begun to settle in. When Emily grabbed her leg and sent Simone off balance, there was a moment where she had absolutely no idea what to do. She could fall, or she could try and somehow stay on her feet; neither option seemed like much fun. If she fell she could surely break something.

  The moment was broken by Emily sinking her teeth into Simone’s thigh through her jeans.

  “AH JESUS,” Simone shouted, forgetting all pretence of quietness. “REV, COME ON! HELP ME!”

  Abrahms didn’t move for a moment, and Simone grabbed Emily’s head and tried to gain control over the situation. Her leg was on fire, burning viciously and resolutely, demanding to be felt.

  “FUCKING HELL REV, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A GOOD GUY!” Simone bellowed at Abrahms before grabbing at Emily’s head again. “Emily, get the hell off me, okay? Don’t make me hit you. I don’t want hit you, but so help me God…”

  Then Emily was wrenched from her. Abrahams had finally gotten to his feet, having finally snapped out of whatever it was that gripped him. Simone caught a glimpse of Emily’s paper-white face, smeared with blood, the red even more vivid against her skin. Her teeth were bared, eyes wild, like an animal. Simone moved back, putting all her weight on her good leg and tentatively moving the wounded leg back to where she now stood. She gave the wound a quick assessment; obviously she had broken the skin, bitten right through her jeans. Could human teeth puncture denim? Or was it with the fangs that must have been growing in Emily’s mouth the whole time that she was sitting, half asleep, at the bottoms of the steps. Simone could feel her blood curdling.

  Abrahms had Emily restrained, his arms locked under her armpits. He looked at Simone, his eyes alive again.

  “I remember what I did,” he said over the rough sounds of struggling. Emily started shrieking; Abrahms was smart enough not to try and quieten her. Instead he forced her downward, until she was on her knees. It was like watching a trainer trying to calm an unruly dog with only moderate success. Emily seemed to be pushing back with more force than seemed possible for such a small, slight woman, and even Abrahms was beginning to weaken against her thrashing.

  “I tried to kill her!” Abrahms shouted, jerking his head down towards Emily. “I had a knife in my hand… I stabbed her in the shoulder, but look!”

  With that, Abrahms unhooked one of his arms, using the other to reach around and grasp Emily’s arm. Abrahms grabbed Emily’s chin and pulled her head back, exposing her neck and shirt all stained in blood, dull red and soaked into the fabric. It had been torn and there was a clear incision of the material in the left shoulder, made by the knife that Abrahms had used. But the skin beneath it was shiny and new, no sign of harm to the human eye at least.

  “Did he heal her?” Abrahms said to himself, and Simone couldn’t hear him over Emily’s con
stant screaming. Simone groaned in frustration, went up to Emily and bluntly hit her straight in the jaw. Despite her newfound strength, Emily remained light as a feather and unwise in the way of fighting. She was knocked out cold, slumping heavily against Abrahms, who staggered against the unexpected weight.

  “Right, that’s it.” Simone straightened herself up and brushed herself down in a surprisingly smooth movement. But when she tried to be still, her hands shook. “I’m going to get Nick. You’re having a breakdown and that’s really the last thing we need right now, so do me a favour and keep an eye on Miss Bitey over here, all right?”

  Simone spun around and set off down the hall, trying not to limp too much. In truth, the pain in her leg wasn’t too bad, but her injury was in an awkward place, and walking quickly proved to be more challenging than she would have liked at this stage. But she pushed on, as she always did.

  Smoke continued to pour from the drawing room, heat radiating from the doorway and licks of orange flames sparking out before disappearing into nothingness. The ballroom was on the other side the stairs, so she wouldn’t have to pass it. She went the other way, so she didn’t see the hands, charred and blackened, that reached out to grip the doorframe, claws digging deeply into the wood.

  Simone headed down towards the large, vaguely intimidating doors, already open from Emily’s earlier escape. Simone limped along as quickly as she could, wincing and muttering curses with each step, and slid through the gap in the doors. She was skinny, so she didn’t even have to breathe in, and she slipped into the ballroom and scanned the room until she found Nick. Then she took off across the polished floors towards the centre, where her Nick was waiting.

  She thought she heard him call her name, something about being careful… but she didn’t care, she just wanted to hold him and tell him she loved him. When the countess appeared and blocked her path, Simone had no choice but to collide with her and hit the ground. But when Simone lifted her head, the countess was not on the ground with her as she should have been. She was still standing, but had moved further away; the cavernous ballroom only made her seem more distant. Simone had never known anything to move as fast as that before.