by Max Turner
“The prophecy is a lie, John,” the other man said. “A tool of the prophets, nothing more.”
“Lie or no, the prophecy has a life of its own. The Baptist is still preaching it like gospel. He should be silenced.”
“The Baptist is a paper tiger. Kill him and you make him a martyr. Let the man preach. He does us a service, for those who listen identify themselves with his cause and can be eliminated.” The speaker moved to the edge of my coffin so I could see him clearly. It was the Changeling. He was dressed in a blue silk robe with long, flowing sleeves, all of it masterfully embroidered. The sight of him made my insides squirm. I tried to move. My right index finger rose a half inch, then fell.
“Did Istvan bring any news of Vlad?” the Changeling asked.
“Nothing encouraging.”
“What have we to fear? His followers are dead, his store of bodies destroyed. It is his final, desperate hour.”
Tiptoft clenched his teeth so that the muscles in his jaw twitched. “That only makes him more dangerous. I should have killed him at Ophelia’s trial.”
“That was not my wish, John. But things have changed. The war is all but over. Of our enemies, only Vlad and the Baptist remain.”
So I still had allies. My left thumb quivered. Then the muscles of that shoulder flexed and relaxed.
Tiptoft looked skeptical. “There is that lycanthrope of Vlad’s to deal with. The one who died and came back. The Impaler claims he is the true subject of the prophecy. That it isn’t this boy at all. It is said that this shape-changer, Vincent, is Abaddon’s son, that his father was the Beast of the Apocalypse, a creature no man could war against. Not even me.”
My hand spasmed. Something pokey hit my little finger. It was the knife Vlad had given me—the Dragon Dagger. If Vincent was still alive, perhaps Charlie and Luna had escaped the castle and were alive too. I had to get out of there. I tried to sneak my hand closer to the handle, but it wouldn’t move. I’d forgotten that my wrists and ankles had been manacled.
But there was another way. I imagined myself in the tunnel of light, then drew it into my centre. The next part, leaving my body, should have been easy, but when I tried to rise, nothing happened. I wondered if borrowed talents had an expiry date. Vampire blood broke down over time. It was why we had to feed so often. Could this have explained it?
The Changeling placed his hands on the side of my coffin. His eyes never left Tiptoft, but I could feel his presence pressing down on me. “You died, John, because you tried to reason with the Beast, to appeal to a rational side it did not possess.”
“I have no memory of this.”
“You have been many people, not all of them as useful as you are in this incarnation. The man who faced Hyde tried to walk the path of peace, and it proved his undoing. I have no need for such a man.”
Tiptoft frowned. He looked suddenly uncomfortable. I felt an energy in the room that made my skin itch. I wasn’t certain if it was my imagination or not, but the rune on Tiptoft’s forehead seemed to stand out a little more.
“Do not be concerned about the werewolf. Vampires will not follow one of the unclean.”
Tiptoft was rubbing the mark as if it pained him. A moment later, his eyes lost their focus, as though he was getting drowsy.
The Changeling watched him for a few moments. “What do you see, John?” he asked.
Tiptoft stared through the floor for a good half minute. Then his eyes widened and he took in the room as though surprised to find himself there. “This lycanthrope is formidable. We must separate him from Vlad. He will present a problem for us otherwise.”
“Are you certain?”
“The future is never certain.”
“You see a battle?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Tiptoft paused. His eyebrows pinched together in an expression of uncertainty. “Underground. Paris maybe. Or Budapest. It is hard to tell.”
“And the outcome?”
“I cannot see.”
A long silence followed. I remembered that Mr. Entwistle had not been able to see the outcome of his fight with Hyde. He thought that it meant he was going to die, which was exactly what happened. I wondered briefly if that was the case now: if Tiptoft was going to die and couldn’t see past his death.
My left leg twitched. Both men saw it. Neither seemed surprised.
“It is only one possible future you see, John. It is not what I have seen. Now, tell me why this boy’s body has not been prepared. I asked you to revive him.”
“I had some concerns. At Ophelia’s trial, he claimed to be a friend of mine. He wasn’t lying.”
“He spoke truthfully. You were friends once.”
Tiptoft looked down at me and began rubbing at his forehead again.
“That life is gone, John. I need you to remain as you are.”
“There are other matters. It is well known that the boy was poisoned. If he is seen again, it will only fuel the rumours that he is immune, that he is the One.”
“I employ many toxins, John. If I wanted him dead, he would be. Permanently. But I would rather that he join our cause. Like Vlad, he is a parasite. It would make him an invaluable asset.”
“It is an unnecessary risk.”
“He is little more than a child. What right do we have to lead if we fear him?”
Tiptoft glanced uneasily between us. “Very well. I will see it done.”
There was a pause. “No, I will tend to him myself. It is time for you to gather our friends.”
“Famine’s legion? I thought they were to be disposed of.”
“We will cull the herd after Vlad has been dealt with.”
“As you wish.”
After one uneasy glance in my direction, Tiptoft raised his cowl, then turned to leave the room. His slow, lupine gait reminded me again of Mr. Entwistle. The last time the two of us had spoken, he’d been sad. And terrified. He knew he had to face the Beast of the Apocalypse, alone, and he knew it would kill him. When I’d asked him if he was afraid of death, he’d seemed offended. “Heavens no,” he said. “I’ve never been afraid of that.” It was only later in our conversation that I realized the source of his fear. It was this other person he could become. Now those fears were realized. I had no idea how it had happened, but like Suki’s death, and the death of Charlie’s father, it was another wrong that needed righting.
Tiptoft’s footsteps faded and I heard the sound of a heavy door banging shut in the wind. The Changeling looked down at me, his milky-white eyes impossible to read.
“I have followed your career with great interest, Zachariah. Since the death of your father, in fact. I am pleased you survived your foray into undeath with no ill effects.” He reached in and began unchaining me. Once my hands and feet were free, he pulled my arm over his shoulder and hoisted me out. “Now come. A debt is owed, and it is you who must repay it.”
CHAPTER 36
THE CHANGELING
MY TOES DRAGGED across the wooden floor as the Changeling carried me towards the altar. Hovering in front of us was a short, ornate cross of gold. It was sitting on a wall covered in tiny murals of Christian saints. The Changeling lifted me onto the altar. The stone was cold and hard beneath me. I wondered if I was going to be sacrificed in some kind of Black Mass.
“I would not have taken such pains to preserve you only to end your life now,” the Changeling said. He shifted my head so that my chin was pointing upwards, then took a goblet from somewhere and tipped it over my mouth. Blood trickled down my throat. I waited for the rush, but instead of the usual euphoria, a steady warmth spread through my chest and limbs. My mind felt like jelly. Eventually I could sit up. The Changeling reached out a hand to steady me; without it, I would have toppled from the altar. Even breathing was difficult. My lungs felt stiff and would only let so much air in. I pressed a hand to my chest and rubbed the coarse fabric of my robe, hoping to enliven the skin underneath.
“You don’t know Vlad as well as I do,
” the Changeling said. “Nothing he does is an accident. He chose those clothes for a reason.”
I looked down at my habit. With my bare feet and belt of rope, I might have just stepped out of a medieval monastery.
“Have you read Vlad’s biographies? There is a famous anecdote about him impaling a monk. In one version, the monk flatters him and is condemned for not telling the truth. In another version, the monk tells him the truth and is impaled for failing to flatter his patron appropriately.” The Changeling looked at me closely. “Vlad wants me to think that, regardless of what you do, he is willing to sacrifice you.”
He made it sound as though I were here by Vlad’s design, and not his.
“The Prince is terribly crafty,” the Changeling said. “He was fully aware that my servants and I would be ransacking his castle during the trial, and that we would find you. He chose Ophelia over his fortress, its store of undead bodies and you.”
I remembered what Vlad had said to me about a leader having to take risks and make sacrifices. I should not have been surprised that he was willing to sacrifice me. Once he had Ophelia, what use would he have for me? In other circumstances, I’m sure this betrayal would have infuriated me. I should have been angry. But rage requires energy, and I was simply too tired to get worked up. All I could manage was a strange disappointment. Not in Vlad, but in myself. I should have predicted that he would turn on me. And I should have taken steps to protect myself.
Unless the Changeling was lying …
“So he knew I would be captured?” I asked. The words came out in a raspy whisper. My throat was raw from disuse.
“Captured, yes. And, no doubt, his hope was that I would perceive you as a threat and would want you eliminated. But in that he is mistaken. I don’t want to kill you. I want to redeem you.”
He paused to give the words emphasis. I want to redeem you. I had no idea what he meant by that.
“It means I want to save you from your current state of sinfulness.”
My current state was more tired confusion. I didn’t like the Changeling plucking thoughts from my head, so I buried them as deeply as I could.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“The Prince’s Church in Tirgoviste.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Here? Less than a day. But you were in transit a bit longer.”
He reached down to where my necklace was hanging and took the charm between his fingers. “Vlad is a brilliant deceiver. And daring. Such a shame about his mental instabilities. Ophelia thinks she can cure him of these defects, but in that she is mistaken.”
He let the charm fall back against my chest. “Can you walk?” he asked.
I needed his help to reach the first row of pews. Lying on the floor in front of these was my coffin. Inside was the poisoned Dragon Dagger.
“You will need that in the nights ahead,” the Changeling said. He removed it from the coffin, then pulled it from the sheath and placed the handle in my hand.
I couldn’t believe he was arming me. The dried snake venom was still visible on the blade. One thrust and he would be finished. The thought had barely flitted across my consciousness when the Changeling shifted to the far side of the coffin, just as Vlad would have done. At the same time, my fingers spasmed involuntarily and the dagger clattered to the floor. I blinked and the Changeling was beside me again, handing me the knife.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He tapped the side of his head beside his eye. “A person who has been watching over you since your father passed away.”
I didn’t believe it. Then his face and body fell into shadow and I was suddenly staring at a dead ringer for one of the security guards at the Nicholls Ward. I didn’t know his name, we’d never spoken, but I’d seen him there regularly. Darkness covered his face again and he turned into my psychiatrist, Dr. Shepherd.
“I have always been a friend to you, Zachariah.”
I bristled at this. No one needs to be told who their friends are. “You took Ophelia,” I said. “You cut her wrists—” My hands began to shake. I clenched them into fists. “You sent your Horsemen to kill my friends. They murdered Charlie’s father. They killed Suki …” I had to stop speaking. I was too shaken to continue.
The Changeling glanced towards the doors. A strong wind was blowing outside. “Perhaps it is time for some honest discourse. But not too much. The truth is like a good meal, Zachary. It should be eaten in small bites and digested slowly. Take it all in one lump, and all you’ll get is a bellyache.”
I already had a bellyache. I wanted answers.
“You must first understand that much of what people do is for the sake of appearances. It was not my intention to harm Ophelia or you.”
“Then why did you take her?” I asked.
“Ophelia had to be brought here to stand trial. She broke the law and had to suffer, if only mildly, to maintain the illusion of justice. Had I not acted, she would have kept you hidden in Montreal while the world burned. A bit of a paradox, really. She believes more ardently in the prophecy than anyone, and yet she refused to let you play your part. A mother’s fear, I suppose.” His gaze drifted to the church doors. Outside, I could sense tension and the presence of others, waiting.
“I needed you both here, and Vlad, too. He was of no use to me rotting on the shelf.”
I thought of Vlad’s remains, locked away in the photon torpedo, on the top shelf of the weapons depot at Iron Spike Enterprises. Those remains should have been left there.
“He was dead. Why would you want him back? He’s your enemy.”
“Allowing Istvan to resurrect him was the most efficient way to deal with his followers, the old Coven of the Dragon. Even after his death, many of them remained loyal. It would have taken years to smoke them out of their hiding places. But when news spread that Istvan had brought his casket to Romania, they popped up like mushrooms, and fell to my poison, one after the other.”
I’d seen his handiwork: the grey-skinned corpses in Vlad’s lab. But his explanation was faulty.
“I don’t get it. You could have posed as Vlad any time you wanted and accomplished the same thing.”
“True,” he said. A shadow passed before his face. When it vanished I was staring at a perfect likeness of the Impaler. The wide face, the green eyes, the thick moustache. The sight of him made me dizzy. He looked at me and, for just an instant, his left eye looked larger than the right. I started to tip over. He reached out with his left arm to steady me. It looked longer than it should have. I pressed my eyes closed. When I opened them again, his proportions had returned to normal.
“I can appear as Vlad at will. But could I act as he does? Not without considerable risk. To plunge myself into that role is to plunge myself into madness. I would rather not. And even the Changeling has limits. He cannot be two places at once, leading Vlad’s followers and leading mine at the same time. No, I prefer to work behind the scenes. It is safer, and the end result is a greater sense of detachment, which makes it easier to make decisions.” Darkness passed over him again, and his face returned to normal. “It is easiest to remain as I am, and let Istvan work for me from the inside.”
I thought of Vlad’s cousin and his disappointing betrayal at Castle Dracula. But I also remembered him battling against War and Death on the ship in Montreal. The two didn’t fit together—unless the fight was staged, and he had just been waiting to grab Vlad’s coffin.
“Was Istvan with you from the start?”
The Changeling smiled. The question seemed to amuse him. “From the start? No. But he understands my motivations and supports them in his own way. You will come to understand in time that the real enemy is the pathogen. It spread quickly after Vlad’s death. His followers should not have allowed this. By their own inaction, they have been condemned. Vlad’s few remaining allies will be taken care of in the nights ahead. As the Messiah, you have an important role to play in this. It is the least you can do to make amends.”
“Amends for what?”
“For ending Vlad’s reign but not assuming any of his responsibilities. The Coven did nothing to control the spread of the pathogen, nor did you. Because you both failed in your duties, more people became infected than ever before. There is no cure for vampirism, Zachary. The only thing that stops it is death. So, who lives and who dies? Do you think these are easy choices to make?”
“You seem to have made them easily enough.”
“Perhaps. But the real choice is made by others. I am not unlike your father in this regard. Just as he gave vampires the choice to stop killing, I let them decide to take my mark or not. Those who choose wisely live. It is a sign that they will respect my laws and my authority.”
Was this what he wanted, for me to take his mark and serve his cause? If he knew me at all, he’d have understood that I would never do anything to hurt Ophelia. Nor would I ever bet against her.
“If you want me to take sides, forget it. I have no interest in your war with Vlad. I just want to get my friends and get out of here.”
“That is not possible. You were not meant to be a spectator. Under my tutelage, you will become the perfect instrument for controlling the pathogen.”
I didn’t want to join his circus any more than I wanted to join forces with Vlad. “Do you know where Ophelia and my friends are?”
“Vlad has hidden them. You will find them when you find him. It is just one of the many tasks you will perform for me, once you take my mark.”
I shook my head. It was as much an act of dismay as one of defiance. The thought that Vlad was still with my friends was unsettling. But taking the Changeling’s mark was even more unthinkable.
“You will serve me, one way or the other.” He glanced towards the entrance of the church. People were talking outside. It sounded as though a crowd was gathering. “I have business to attend to. You will remain here and think on what I have said. When I return, I will expect an answer. Will you take the mark and serve me, or join the rest of my enemies in oblivion?”
