“Let's do this, Nero. Let's get her out, now.”
He nodded, that quick, short nod that he does, a slight look of concern on his face, but he offered no argument.
We entered through the roof access, down a short flight of stairs. The corridor they opened up onto was brightly lit, quiet and bare. Nero fished the schematics out of his pocket and quickly familiarised himself with where we were.
“This way,” he said, setting off at a trot.
We had rounded two corners without incident, when we came face to face with a vampire. He hadn't expected to see us, maybe he hadn't got the memo yet that we had just dusted over thirty of his buds on the rooftop, but he recovered himself instantly and thrust a hand at Nero's neck.
I had my stake over his heart in a flash, he stilled. “If you don't let go I'll push this home.”
“You'll push it home anyway, Nosferatin, why should I release my grip?” His accent was thick, but understandable. You don't get to live 200 years without picking up a few languages along the way. He spoke English well.
He also had a point. I had no intention of not staking him. Who was I kidding? So I just went ahead and did it anyway. When the dust settled and Nero was left standing there with his head cocked slightly to the side and eyebrows raised, I just shrugged my shoulders and turned back towards our goal.
Finally we came to the room we believed Amisi to be in, there were no guards at the door. What did that mean? Had they moved her? Was she already joined? Had they killed her thinking it was the only recourse left them? Only one way to find out.
Nero ran his hand over the door and then when he obviously didn't detect any protection wards, another ominous sign, he wrenched it open and we stepped in. There was no mad roll to the side, like you see in the movies, no stakes out drawn and ready to fire, well they were out, just not held in a teacup grip pointed at the ground like a movie cop, we just simply walked in knowing this was not a surprise entry, knowing that we were quite expected.
The room was full of display cases along the outer edge, old and broken pieces of pottery and objects delicately sitting on black cloths and felt covered plinths within, the walls were adorned with mosaics, some still brightly shining with flecks of gold, others so worn you could hardly make out the Pharaoh it depicted. There was a deep sense of history in this room, that these things in here had seen more of the world than I could ever imagine, and I wasn't just talking about the museum pieces.
Down the end of the widened central walkway was a vampire, tall and well built, dressed immaculately in a close fitting black suit and deep blue shirt and slightly lighter blue tie. He was light skinned, a hint of cream to his toning, had short black hair which shined in the down lights from above, his face was nondescript really, handsome, but not a face you would remember. He simply would fade into the background in a crowd. His eyes were a pale distant sky blue.
Beside him was another vamp holding a young girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, definitely Amisi, she looked like Nero in so many ways. Long black hair, dark skin and delicate facial features. She was scared, but hiding it well. Go girl, good for you.
I could feel the presence of more vampires in the room, fanned out around us, maybe four, two on either side. So, an even half dozen, not entirely bad odds, but the vamp holding Amisi did have a knife to her throat. That kinda ruined any advantage I might have felt.
Old dark suit smiled openly at us and spread his hands in greeting. “Welcome, Lucinda and Nero, we have been waiting.” He had a cultured English accent, rather like Queen Elizabeth, it was strong and masculine though, it purred a little across my skin. He was being subtle, his Sanguis Vitam well contained, but I didn't doubt for a moment that this man was powerful, so very, very powerful.
“You were both impressive, your antics on the rooftop quite entertaining.” He called the killing of thirty of his vampires entertaining, like it had been a programme on T.V. and the ads were now on and he was having a nice little chat with his guests about what had just been screened. Smooth.
Nero and I hadn't said a word, we hadn't moved, we knew a trap when we saw one. The vampires on the roof were a mere delaying tactic, not the real thing, a distraction to wear us down, to make us lower our guard. It had worked. Nothing we could do now would improve the odds on us getting out of here alive, of us freeing Amisi unharmed.
“We have been following you a long time, Nero, you have remained very elusive, even in your own country. I am so glad we finally meet.” He'd been looking at Nero directly, a warm look upon his face, but he turned now to me, giving me the full force of his attention. His eyes glowed a slightly darker shade of blue, with a short swirl of crimson and I nearly staggered under the weight of them. “You, however, have been a most pleasant surprise, my child.” He laughed then, a really creepy chuckle, he might as well as been screaming, mwah haw haw! for all it sounded like. I felt a chill dash down my spine. “You, I believe, are special.” He paused then, tapping his finger against his cheek, as though contemplating something. I really wasn't sure I wanted to know what though.
“Come!” he said and the crimson in his eyes flashed. I found myself taking a step forward, Nero reached out to take my arm, to stop my progress, “Luce!” It was the first time he had called me that, I thought, then brushed him off and kept walking towards Death. Because that was what he felt like, I understood completely what this thing was, he was Death and he wanted me to know it.
I stopped just in front of him, swaying slightly, like a sapling in a breeze, but there was no breeze in here, just the chill that had seeped into my bones, that made me shiver ever so slightly.
I realised my body may not be under my control, but my mind was and I could talk. I wasn't going to just let Death stare me in the face and not do anything about it. I may not be able to fight with my fists or my legs, but I could show no fear in my voice.
“Who are you?” It was steady, even, neutral. I was thrilled at that.
“My name is Charles.” As soon as he said his name, a barrage of images flashed before my eyes, as if the name alone held power enough to control me. Charles covered in mud, dressed in furs and animal pelts. Charles standing in a field the colour of blood, holding a severed head up and receiving a battle cry from those around him. Charles riding a horse, chasing someone down, impaling him with a staff. Charles laying waste to a village, from one ramshackle hut to another, nobody spared; men, women, children, his fangs glinting in the moonlight, the cries of those he assailed flying away on the wind. One image blended into the next in a collage of colours and smells and sounds making my head pound and my stomach churn.
“Stop it.” It wasn't steady, even or neutral, it was a pitiful whisper, a plea. He'd made his point.
The images faded into black, then colour slowly seeped in as reality enclosed me once again in its grip. I was still standing in front of him, swaying, but upright. His gaze was fixed, a hardness to his features, I couldn't tell if it was the real him or a mask.
He looked at me intently, cocked his head to the side and smiled. “You have joined. Such a pity. You would have made a fine prize. However, you shall not be wasted.”
He reached out his long thin-fingered hand towards me and I knew, without a doubt, that I did not want this thing to touch me, at all, ever. My internal monologue started hammering away in a frantic high pitched voice; Get out! Get away! Run! Spin! Light up! Don't let him touch you! Back up! Drop! Hide! Roll to the side! Do anything, anything at all, but do not let him touch you!
I kind of sympathised with it, I didn't want him to touch me either, but I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I think my heart had thumped its last beat, it was so still. Then his cold hand cupped my face and for a moment nothing happened, and then pain. Such terrible, crushing, excruciating pain, through my cheek, where his hand was touching, right through my body and all around me. A fire so hot I thought I was melting, my skin peeling away from my bones, a stab of sharpness that made me want to double over and protect my
self, but my body wouldn't do what I was telling it, a blindness so complete that all I knew was pain. Nothing else.
And then a pull. Not of my body towards him, but something so much deeper, so much more a part of me, who I am, what I am, it was more than a corporeal shell, more than just blood, it was my essence. I had a sudden realisation he was stealing my soul.
In my mind I heard him laugh, a cruel and vicious sound. There was no light in this thing in front of me, just unending black and I could see it, hear it, feel it, all. All of him and it had no end. Somehow, I don't know how, but I managed to speak through the haze of pain, my teeth gritted, my breathing rapid and my voice nothing more than a whimper, but I spoke.
“You have no light. You have never known light.”
He heard me though, even with my voice so weak, he heard every thing I thought or spoke or whispered. “I have no need of light child, I am Death. And Death becomes you too.”
At that the pull ramped up a notch and I did collapse to my knees. I was vaguely aware of noises behind me, fighting, scuffles, sounds, but Charles and I had only eyes for each other. He would not let me look away, I was to face Death with my eyes wide open, it would not let me cheat it.
I will give you light. I have no idea if I said that aloud, if I was capable of it still, or if it was just a thought, but his eyes widened slightly and then the room began to glow. A rainbow of colours, prisms of light, a resplendent spectrum from violet, to indigo, to blue, to green, to yellow, to orange and to red. It swirled around us, through us and across us. It felt warm and safe and light and right. Part of me thought that this was really weird, that something otherworldly was happening right now, but another part, the insistent voice I'd been hearing since I moved to Auckland, that part just kept saying, keep going, it's all right, you're OK, just keep going, you're doing fine. It was comforting, it wasn't bossing me, or shouting at me, or urging me in its frantic life-on-the-line way, it was celebrating me, congratulating me, welcoming me. It was strange.
And it kept me going. I don't know for how long, but I knew if I stopped too soon, all would be lost. So I kept focusing on that light, on the good in the world around me, on the beauty that exists in humans, in their love for each other, their compassion, their strength of courage when faced with so much dark, their ability to get up again when struck down, their kindness in small acts, their sacrifices for what they believe in, their unfailing desire to keep moving forward, to keep learning, expanding, growing. There is so much light in this world, we only have to open our eyes to see.
I was feeling very tired now, so very, very tired. The light was still shining brightly, but the world was starting to tilt. I fought it, with absolutely everything I had, I clung to it, I held it tight and I would not let it go. I must keep the light burning. I must keep the light burning. I must keep the light burning.
I became aware of a noise, soft at first, then more persistent. It wasn't my internal monologue, but something above me. I tried to shift my head up but it hurt too much to move. The pains in my skull were like a hot knife of steel, they shot down neck and through my body making me convulse. I could feel my body tighten in a rigid arch, then loosen against the floor, then tighten again, and loosen and tighten and loosen and then repeat the motion all over again and again. Finally my body must have had enough, I know I had, and it slumped back down against a cold hard floor. The colours dimmed and the world threatened to fade to darkness, I think the darkness actually won for a moment there. The only thing stopping me from sinking further was a voice saying over and over again, “Don't you die, Kiwi. Don't you dare die. Don't you die on me!”
I blinked in the surroundings and felt someone pushing against my chest, lips against my mouth, a push of hot air filling my lungs.
“She's awake! Stop! She's awake, Nero!” A light voice, a young woman's.
“Lucinda?” A male this time, filled with concern.
I took a steadying breath and felt my stomach roll, I went with it and up chucked all my breakfast all over the floor next to Nero.
“Sorry.” It was small, a little weak.
Rough arms grabbed me up and wrapped around me, a hand through my hair, a stroke down my back.
“I thought you were dead. I thought I had lost you.”
I sighed and leaned against the warm expanse of his chest, savouring the smell of him, the feel of his muscles, the shape of his body against mine.
“Did we win?” It still didn't sound like my voice.
“Yes. You won. You did it, Kiwi. It's over.”
Good. I thought I'd said it aloud, but I'm not sure, the blackness came then and I let it take me. It didn't scare me like before, it just wrapped around me and promised peace.
I woke to the constant sound of humming, an engine, air conditioning, something like that. I felt the warmth of a body holding me, the soft wrap of a blanket over me, the slide of leather beneath. It was so comfortable, so safe. My eyes blinked open, a dark material in front, a shirt, a man's chest. He smelt nice, like spring mornings on the farm, fresh and bright and promising such wonders for the day. I tilted my head back and looked into the most startling indigo and blue eyes. So full of something, warmth? Light? Happiness? Relief? All of the above.
I couldn't help it, I had to reach out and touch that perfect skin, the golden touched cream, so smooth and faultless, classical.
“Beautiful,” I whispered, then felt the pull of sleep calling. As I sunk back down into its feathered bed of safety I felt a kiss upon my forehead and murmured words against my skin.
“Je t'aime trop, ma douce. Je t'aime trop.”
Epilogue
I slept the entire flight back to Auckland only waking briefly as we transferred to a waiting car. It wasn't until the next day, some 72 hours after leaving for Egypt, that I finally stirred from my sleep completely. I'd woken a few times, even managed to eat something and have a shower, but sleep kept luring me back. Now I felt the final edges of its handle slip away and glanced around my surroundings, taking them in for the first time in days. I was in Michel's chamber, at Sensations, the room lit lowly by candles, the smell of mandarins in the air.
When I looked around there was a table with two chairs, a dinner setting, candles, a red rose, something smelt divine. My mouth watered and I licked my lips.
I heard a low chuckle. “You are hungry, ma douce? Or perhaps you would like a bath first, I have drawn one for you. It is your birthday after all, you should get to choose.”
He was sitting in an armchair reading from his tablet computer. Legs crossed, dressed in his now trademark black trousers and casual black shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up. His eyes shone a beautiful shade of violet, with deeper hints of blue, he looked relaxed, he looked well. He looked gorgeous.
I thought about his question for a moment and decided I really didn't want to sit at that beautiful table setting in a crumpled T-Shirt, which is what I appeared to be wearing right now. “A bath first.”
He smiled, a little wickedly. “As you wish, ma douce.”
Before he had a chance to accost me I sat myself up, made sure the world wouldn't tilt and then headed to the bathroom. The bath was still steaming, he must have run it only moments before I woke up, probably sensing my sleep pattern, my shift towards consciousness. It was filled with an enormous pile of bubbles, they covered the tap and spout, I knew when I stepped in the water would overflow. Exactly how I liked it.
I stripped down and sunk into its welcoming warmth. I felt myself relax and let out a soft sigh. Michel came and sat next to the bath on a small chair. “Would you like me to scrub your back, ma douce?” He had that little boyish look to him, all sweet innocence and charm. I knew better.
“Let me just soak for now.”
He leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him, making himself comfortable while I luxuriated in mandarin bliss.
“So, tell me, what happened?” I'd closed my eyes and tilted my head back, but I didn't want to sleep, I wanted to k
now what had happened after I'd passed out.
“Well, it seems, you burst into light, twice, dusted about thirty vampyres and a very powerful Master vampyre by the name of Charles, all in the space of a few hours. Quite impressive really.”
I found myself biting my thumb nail while I digested that little piece of information. “Are they all dead?”
“Yes, the Cadre is no more.”
“How did it go for you and Nafrini.”
He leaned forward then, rolled up his sleeves a little further and grabbed the soap and sponge from the side. Lathered them up and began to wash my arms and legs, moving onto my back when he gently pulled me forward. Soft strokes and circles, warm and smelling so nice.
“We worked well together, ma douce. It seems Nafrini was impressed. We may choose to form an alliance, one that will be beneficial to us both in the future. We left with her best wishes. I think, I could be wrong, but she is a little scared of you, my dear. They all are.”
“Of me?” It came out as a squeak, I hadn't meant it to. How could that powerful, beautiful, regal woman be scared of me?
Michel laughed, making it impossible not to smile with him, so warm and welcoming. “Well, you can hardly blame them. You were a right little tinder box, from all accounts.” He was washing my feet, taking his time, not rushing, making sure every toe was individually cared for, my arch, my instep, my heel. His focus was absolute. It made me smile even more.
He glanced towards me, raised his eyebrows. “Are you scared of me?” I asked.
He sat back, the sponge still in his hands, his arms resting on the side of the bath, letting the water drip back inside. “Yes.” He was serious, it surprised me. “But, not for the same reasons as Nafrini.” His voice was soft when he said that, tender, as if he couldn't bring himself to say it any louder, as if it was already too hard to admit.
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