“I heard papa’s voice, and he told me to recite a….” I pause, I guess I have seen evidence that was contrary to my belief. “…he told me to recite a psalm and have faith.”
“And there you have it, evidence of truth in a book full of lies.” Shawn beams as he claps his hands together. “You see Katya, the Bible is just a story, but like all religious texts, it contains some truth to it, mostly instructions on how to fight evil. It’s disguised in colorful fables, and elaborate prayers, but it’s there for those who want to see it.”
“Right, so the psalm I recited to get in was some sort of magic spell to keep this so-called hellhound at bay?”
“Yes and no, the psalm did keep the beast at bay, but not because you recited it, because you had faith it would. Funny thing this faith, we may not notice its power, but it is far more potent at combating evil than a magic spell cast by the best mage.”
“Can faith do more…” I look up from my lap, hopeful that maybe this can be the answer I’m looking for. “…can it heal those who have been afflicted with a terrible curse?”
“Ah, is that why you are here Katya?” Shawn leans back in his chair with a soured look on his face “You are seeking to find a cure for a loved one, that’s why you have been poking at all those books on vampires.”
I’m not sure how much I should trust this man, after all, we just met, but right now he is the only person who knows anything about Victor’s affliction. Father McAllister sits back and listens thoughtfully as I recount the night of our death. I recall how I stumbled upon Victor a few nights ago and found out his unfortunate fate, explaining everything that Victor has told me about his life up to this point.
“I see.” He nods gravely “I’m afraid there is no cure for Victor, once a person has been turned they will remain a vampire for life.”
“So he will have to stay a bloodthirsty monster forever? Isn’t there anything I can do to help him, Father?” I plead with Shawn, and he takes hold of my hand giving it a firm squeeze.
“Not necessarily Katya, don’t lose your faith in Victor just yet. He can live on the blood of animals and be perfectly fine, it all depends.”
“On what?”
“On how and why he was turned. I would have to learn more about him, figure out who turned him, but I think I can find a way for Victor to live a normal life. Well, …as normal as we monsters can live I guess.” His expression grows dark when he says it. “You said he had an unusual mark on his chest, is that right?”
“Oh yes,” I nod my head eagerly “the devil’s symbol with two serpents weaving through the center.”
“Do you think you can draw it for me?”
He slides a pen and his notebook towards me and gives me a firm nod of his head. I’m not sure if my art skills are up to par, I mean I can barely draw a stick figure, but I guess I can do my best at recreating Victor’s tattoo. Picking up the pen I flip the notebook to an empty page and begin to scribble away, paying extra attention to the small details. When I’m finished, I slide the booklet back over to Shawn, and he studies it with a stern frown on his brow.
“Damn, I’ve seen this somewhere before, I just can’t remember where.” He rubs his forehead with his hand as if trying to make the memory of it come back. “I’m going to need more information if I am going to figure this out for you.”
“But, I have told you everything I know.”
“I realize that, which is why I’ll need to do some research, and you can find me here anytime you come up with something new. Until then, I will have to look through my private collection of books that I brought with me. I am sure one of them contains the answer to this riddle.”
“Why are you helping me? You must know that Victor and I have nothing that we can possibly give you, and surely few people, even of the supernatural origin would want to help a vampire.”
“It’s hard to explain…” Shawn looks at me with an earnest gaze “…my kind, and vampires have been at odds for millennia now, most of the time I hunt them. That’s because most vampires are vile creature who must be exterminated. However, I for one, do not believe the ones turned against their will deserve to suffer, especially if they can live without hurting anyone.
“I have met a few vampires like Victor, ones who do not give into the bloodlust and do not follow the vampiric law. All these creatures want to do is exist the best way they know how, much like you or me. In my lifetime, I have killed a lot of creatures, done a lot of things I now regret, so let’s call me helping you what it is, an atonement for my sins. Is that okay with you Katya?”
I nod my head in agreement, part of me fears for Victor’s life, but a bigger part of me trusts this man. Not that I really have a choice, I want to help Victor; he can’t live with himself otherwise. Then there is the part of me that understand exactly what Shawn means by atonement, after living as long as I have you start to fully grasp the basic human need for salvation.
“Do you give me your word that you won’t hurt Victor?”
“I swear upon my immortal soul. But you must promise me that you will keep Victor out of trouble, he can’t relapse into killing people, if he does then I will be the least of your problems.”
“I understand.”
Perhaps I don’t fully understand him, who else would I have to worry about, are there more creatures out there who hunt vampires? I may not completely understand his words, but I understand their implications loud and clear. If Victor kills again, then he will most likely be next. Father McAllister instructs me that Victor can have small animals as food, cattle is best for vampires to live off, but in the city, such luxury is non-existent. He also tells me that in a pinch I can go to a blood bank and get some bagged blood, but it’s not recommended given the plasma being removed from it, and for vampires, plasma is the equivalent of protein.
I listen to what he has to say carefully, taking note of all the important details he emphasizes. When we are done, I thank him and leave the address of the place we are staying at with him, in case he finds something before I have a chance to come back and see him. Shawn tells me it would be best to take the back staircase to avoid the hellhound, not wishing to encounter the thing in the hallway again, I am happy to comply. Turning back to spirit form I float out the door and back to the boundless city streets.
The sun is starting to get low in the sky by the time I finally leave the library gates, it’s evening and Victor will be waking up soon. Not wanting him to wake up alone I hurry home, floating through a sea of people as I go to the dingy little apartment. From his spot by the door, the orange beast gets up to greet me. Greeting my furry little friend, I float through the door to see Victor still curled up on the mattress.
Walking into the kitchen, I sit in one of the chairs and begin my painful transformation back to physical form, taking care to cover up my screams so as not to wake Victor. When my metamorphosis is finally over, I get up and open one of the drawers by the stove. There I spot an old tarnished silver knife, calling to me like an old friend. Picking up the blade I turn in the palm of my hand. Satisfied with the edge, I press it deep into my palm, slowly running it down as a fierce sting spreads from where it cuts.
This may sound strange, but I love being able to feel the blade slicing through my skin, the pain is exhilarating, I have not felt this alive for far too long. Looking down on the spot I cut I am disappointed to see no blood and no wound where one should be. Painfully I am reminded that I’m very much still dead.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds,” I whisper.
Is that what has happened here? I died with the broken heart, so therefore, I was brought back to life, with my wounds healing before they have a chance to cause me harm. If this is the case then wouldn’t it be more of a curse for being such a devout worshiper? My physical wounds may heal, but the scars left over from that night still bleed relentlessly, never giving me a break.
From across the room, I hear Victor moan, I look over and notice there is something different about him
, he does not look well. It seems like he is shivering and his skin looks paler than it was when I left him. I sit next to him, stroking his hair. His head feels hot under my touch; he seems to have a fever, I didn’t even know it was possible for the undead. Putting his head in my lap, I lean against the wall and continue to stoke his wavy locks as he thrashes around in his sleep.
8
Unholy Damnation
B
y the time the shadows started to creep in, the darkness that was around us got heavier, more noticeable. It was starting to feel like it was there to choke the remaining bits of life out of us. I was never afraid of the dark before now, but there was something about this perpetual blackness that still did not sit well with me. The room got uncomfortably cold; I can’t remember the last time even I felt this cold, perhaps the night I died, but not since then. This was not a natural chill; it was otherworldly in origin, it felt daunting.
This surreal coldness around me was overbearing; I shivered uncontrollably as my breath froze the moment it left me. Having grown up in Russia, I was no stranger to the bitter cold, but this was barely tolerable for even the most seasoned of veterans. In my lap Victor lay partially frozen, his skin was as cold as that of a corpse. Last night he still had a bit of warmth left in him, but tonight that all seem to have vanished, he was closer to being dead than alive. No amount of chill in the air could do this, not to us, this was beyond the plane of mortal existence.
Victor shifted in my lap and weakly opened his eyes to look at me, the flicker of light was dim in them. Reaching out his trembling hand he stroked my cheek; his hand felt icy cold and clammy against my skin. In life, I have seen Victor sick plenty of time but never like this. No, for someone who was no longer living he appeared to be deathly ill. This was of great concern to me, we are no longer of the mortal world, and supernatural being just don’t get sick, not like ordinary people.
For us unholy being to become ill, a powerful evil force had to be involved as few things could cause us harm. An unsettling feeling lingered at the back of my mind, I could feel something coming, and this something was dangerous. I did not know what this was, but at the same time, I felt intimately familiar with it, a familiarity that brought terror to my heart. Dispelling the notion of dread, I glance down at Victor who was staring at me with a grave expression on his face.
“How long have you been holding me like this?” Victor smiled up at me gently to placate the worry festering inside me.
“Awhile,” I continue to stroke his hair “I’ve been worried about you Victor, you don’t look well.”
“I’ll be fine Kotek,” Victor caressed my face “I just need to eat, it has been awhile since I last fed.” He tried his best to downplay the gravity of the situation, but I knew better, he has not changed one bit. “There are rats scurrying about in the basement. I’ll go down, get my meal, and I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Sitting up, he took hold of my face with both his hands. Giving me a reassuring kiss, he leaned his forehead against mine, it felt like a hot iron. I wanted desperately to believe him, but deep down inside I knew something was terribly wrong with him, the dead do not get sick. I had to keep reminding myself of that fact. We were no longer human; we do not fall victim to the same maladies the mortal does. If I allowed myself to forget such a fact, I would fall prey to a false sense of security, and in our state security could be deadly.
Fearing my worry for him would stress Victor out further, I said nothing. Instead, I offered to accompany him to the basement. I did not want to say anything to him, but I worried that if he went alone, he would become dinner for the dark mists which slink their way through the shadows. Whether it is a realistic or an idealistic feeling, I do not know, but somehow, I know we are safest when we stick together.
Reluctantly Victor has allowed me to join him and I follow him outside, disguised by the cloak of darkness. The entrance to the cellar was at the back of our building, and we had to walk through a narrow alley to get to it. No living soul was present as we walked through the black tunnel to the courtyard, and no dark figures stalked us either. Victor led me down slick cement steps that were glazed with a fresh layer of ice to a metal door. This was the sole entrance to the basement. The lock on this iron door had been broken some time ago allowing us to simply walk inside.
The dank underbelly of the pre-war building was not a pleasant place to be. The floor was flooded from snow that piled in through broken windows. A gale from the outside whistled pasts the gaps and jagged edges of the glass to sing us a spectral tune. The entire place smelled of a mixture of grease, and earth after a rain shower. It was warmer here than on the outside, but the air here was weighed down with moisture. Above our heads, steam escaped from the cracks of the old lead pipes with a faint hiss, adding to the dampness surrounding us.
Mattresses with blankets dotted bits of dry space that remained. Apparently the homeless have made a camp here to escape the brutal Russian winters. The room was littered with food wrappers and bottles of alcohol, everything from vodka to cheap beer. Bums were not picky and drank whatever they got their hands on at a neighborhood corner store. A distant scent of human grime lingered on the dirty sheets.
It is dark, eerily so, which makes the presence of the thing following us that much stronger. This was not a mere hellhound I encountered earlier at the library; this was something far greater and even more dangerous. Whatever was in the room with us, it’s older, predating human civilization, and perhaps, even earth itself. From the murky nooks of the basement, I can feel it watching us, sensing its sinister nature. Despite having a clear advantage over us, the thing does not move. Instead, it surveys us from its hideout, waiting for the moment to be right, for the perfect storm to hit.
Anxiously I peered over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of our stalker while Victor went around quickly catching the super-sized rats which seemed to live in the city these days. Having gathered a substantial number of rodents, he went to crouch down by the wall. Sinking his teeth into the rats, he drained them of their essence. Discarding their limp bodies into a distant corner, he kept glancing up at me, looking ashamed at knowing what I was witnessing. He did look savaged drinking their blood like the predator he now was, but he no longer scared me, guess he never did. He was still the same man I loved all those years ago; he was just different.
After about three dozen rats he seemed to have satisfied his abnormal hunger. Father McAllister told me vampires needed a few once a day to survive, or about a pint a week, but he had well over that before his craving for blood subsided. If he was this hungry now, what is he going to do when the blood of rats is no longer enough to sustain him? Recalling Shawn’s words, I fear Victor may relapse into killing people, and then nothing will keep him safe. I hide my concern as Victor gets up and wipes the blood from his face, he doesn’t look any better, but I chalk it up the lack of light in the basement.
Not wishing to stay in the darkness longer than need be, we start to make our way back for the stairs. We are almost to the end of the dim room when Victor stumbles over an invisible obstacle and falls to the ground. He lets out a harrowing wail as he clutches his left leg in his hands. Crouching beside him, I take a closer look at where a jagged piece of broken glass is sticking out of his leg. When he fell, he must have landed right on it. Wincing, Victor yanks out the shard and tosses it aside, dark blood begins to drip from the fresh cut, plopping down to the puddle below.
I assist Victor back up to his feet, and he assures me his wound will heal before we get back to the apartment, but somehow, I don’t believe him. He is having a hard time walking, so I place his hand over my shoulder and help him limp up the stairs. The winter chill of the night is bitter and seems to be causing more pain for Victor as we make our way for the front door. Stealing a glance behind us, I notice we are leaving a trail of dark blood behind; it stains the ground as ink splotches on white parchment. If vampires are anything like ghosts then his cut should have healed by now, but it clear
ly hasn’t, a sickening feeling festers in my stomach.
Miraculously we managed to make it back inside the safe confines of our one room accommodations. Limping over to the mattress Victor collapses on the deteriorated cushion, still in pain. Sitting down by his side, I pull back the leg of his pants to take a better look at his injury, only to be horrified by what I find. Not only did his cut not heal, but he was bleeding wine colored blood instead of black like vampires were supposed to. Gingerly I press my fingers into the surprisingly warm liquid, rubbing it on my fingers, confounded by what could revive red blood cells.
Alarmed, I take a deep breath so as not to worry Victor, and go find some spare rags in the dresser by the door. The best I can do for him right now is wrapping something around his injury to slow the bleeding. I will have to come up with a better solution in the morning, a vampire who can’t heal is beyond bizarre. There is a torn-up shirt at the bottom of the wardrobe; it will have to do. Tearing it into strips, I wrap them tightly around the bleeding gash in his leg, hoping it will be enough to still the flow of blood.
Laying on his back, Victor holds my hand in his, giving me the beseeching look that made me fall in love with him, to begin with. It drives me insane how calm he can be with everything going on around us, but then again this is how he has always been. Me, on the other hand, I’m a worrywart, and I overanalyze everything constantly. Guess that is why I need Victor around, he keeps me grounded; he helps me be sane. Glancing up at me, his green eyes glow in the dim room, a soft smile forms on his lips.
“I’ll be alright Katya, please don’t worry about me.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then cure me in other ways.” He grabs hold of my shoulders and pulls me on top of him, kissing me feverishly. “Bring my soul back to life. Make love to me the way we once used to.”
Rolling over on top of me he pins me to the floor, kissing me with a passion I have long forgotten, all the pain seems to have left him. Trailing down to my neck, he nuzzles me with his nose. I start to giggle at the way he tickles my skin with his hair when without warning he sinks his teeth into my jugular. The sensation of his fangs plunging deep into my flesh sends a wave of euphoric pain throughout my body causing me to cry out in pleasure. Abruptly tearing himself away from me, Victor held me down, looking over me in terror.
Toska (Dark World Saga Book 1) Page 11
