A Vision of Vampires 1-3 (A Vision of Vampires Collection)

by Laura Legend

  A big body crashed into the other side of the double doors. Richard dug in, bracing the doors with his back, and forced them closed again.

  “If you two have it wrapped up over there,” Richard said, “I could use a hand.”

  Richard’s own hands were full. He had a sword in each. When Cass leapt over a pew to come to his aid, he tossed her one of the katanas and kept the other for himself. Cass snatched it out of the air and tested its balance. She looked pleased to have a sword in hand again. Zach, though, did not look pleased, and held his empty palms up, shooting Richard a hard look.

  “What?” Richard shrugged. “I’ve only got two hands.”

  Whatever was out in the hall crashed into the doors again, this time harder, and Richard was only able to force them shut this time with help from Cass and Zach.

  This wasn’t going to work as a long term strategy. Zach upended a pew and jammed it into place, bracing the doors closed.

  “That should buy us a minute,” Zach said. “What’s the story, here, Richard?” he added, suspicious. “What have you brought to our doorstep?”

  “This,” Richard responded, “is a little present that was already on its way. I just happened to intercept it before it could catch you with—erm—your pants down. A handful of the Lost, going feral, have decided to take the outcome of today’s championship fight into their own hands by eliminating their champion’s competition. If we can just get Cassandra to the arena, she should be safe there.”

  Cass took this in and nodded.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said warmly.

  Richard gave a small smile and looked away.

  “So we just need to get to the arena without getting eaten by a pack of feral vampires?” Cass summarized.

  “Right,” Richard confirmed.

  “No problem,” Zach added, “except that we just barricaded the room’s only exit.”

  Cass took a look around the room and frowned. Then, returning the stare of the window’s giant, cobalt eye, a smile crept across her face.

  “Not quite,” Cass said, taking charge, a whiff of smoky light trailing from her own eye.

  Cass popped her hood up over her face and, with a running start, crashed through the stained-glass window and onto the street, rolling onto her feet in a cloud of light and shattered glass. She shed her now shredded sweatshirt and, in just a T-shirt and jeans, struck an aggressive pose with her sword at the ready.

  Zach and Richard exchanged a glance that acknowledged, all else aside, the one thing they could always agree on: Cass was—literally—smoking hot. They gathered themselves and jumped through the window after her.

  On the street, several vampires—inexplicably decked out like 1950s greasers in classic, James Dean-esque leather jackets and rolled jeans—were waiting for them. In the abstract, their plan to take out the Seer before the match had seemed like a good one. But now that they’d caught sight of Cass, tattered and smoking in the street right in front of them, they appeared to be having second thoughts.

  Cass didn’t wait for them to think it through.

  She took two quick steps, then pinwheeled into a kick that caught one of the vampires under the chin, lifting him off his feet and lopping off the end of his tongue as his jaw, filled with rows of razor sharp teeth, snapped shut.

  Landing in a crouch, Cass’s sword swept through the ankle of a second vampire, sending him to the ground, howling in pain. As a third guy rushed her from behind, she swung her sword up under her arm and, without turning around, impaled him through the heart. He dissolved into a cloud of ash.

  At that moment, the monster that had been battering the chapel doors emerged from the building, ducking his head and turning sideways to squeeze through the door, flanked by several others.

  “Go, go, go!” Richard urged Cass and Zach. “We don’t have to turn them all to ash. We just need to make it to the arena.”

  Cass took off running. The crew of feral vampires, as a whole, looked disappointed that their rumble had turned into a race.

  Zach and Richard locked into position behind her, vampires in tow.

  Cass could tell right away, though, that she’d have to dial it back or she was going to leave the boys in the dust to fend for themselves.

  A pair of feral vampires that seemed farther gone than the others, their leather in grimy shreds, loped after Richard and Zach on all fours and caught up to them in short order.

  The first took aim at Zach and launched himself through the air, hoping to tackle Zach in a tangle of claws and teeth. Zach ducked to the left and, at the same moment, Richard zeroed in on the beast and lopped off his head as he flew by.

  Zach rolled to his feet just as the second one barreled into him. Zach, though, turned the vampire’s momentum to his advantage and, taking him by the belt and collar of his shirt, flipped him over and impaled him on a wrought iron fence outside one of the street’s brownstones.

  “Hey, boys! Stop screwing around back there, and get a move on,” Cass called back as the remaining assailants gained ground.

  Zach and Richard pushed hard, trying to catch up with Cass. Cass turned a corner, approaching the arena now through a series of alleys on the backside of the complex. Except for one especially speedy fellow, it looked like they would be able to outrun the rest.

  Cass would take care of that one.

  “Keep running!” Cass called back to the guys as she snagged the bottom rung of a fire escape, vaulted onto the second story platform, and executed a graceful swan dive. Her sword flashed as she sliced the front-running vampire down the middle. As the two halves of him split apart, he combusted into two separate clouds of ash.

  Without missing a beat, Cass rolled, planted her foot, and took off running again in the direction from which she’d come. At the end of the alley, she caught up to the boys at a chain-link fence that separated them from the arena complex. The fence was a good eight feet in height. Zach and Richard both climbed the fence and cleared it in two moves. Cass took a step off the adjoining wall and cleared the whole fence cleanly, bending over the top like a pole vaulter.

  The remaining vampires were right on top of them, though. It was just a footrace now. Richard tossed his sword aside, not wanting any trouble with arena security when they arrived. Cass threw hers like a javelin, taking an approaching greaser right in the eye and reducing him to ash.

  They sprinted the rest of the way across the lot to the fighter’s entrance at the back of the stadium. Cass arrived first. She pulled hard on the door handle.

  It didn’t budge. The door was locked.

  Weaponless and cornered, their feral pursuers were almost on top of them.

  Cass leaned against the door and, in frustration, banged her head against it.

  “Fuuuuuck,” she said. She banged her head a second time.

  Then, as if in response to her banging head (or her curse), the door opened and Kumiko’s small white head popped out.

  “I thought you three would never get here,” she said. “Quick, come in.”

  37

  The fight hadn’t even started yet and the arena was already primed to turn from a sporting event into a riot. Seated on the trainer’s table in her dressing room, Cass could hear the crowd chanting, stomping, and shaking the entire building.

  Cass closed her eyes and held out her hand. Zach took it in his own and began to carefully wind a layer of pre-wrap around her hand and forearm. When he’d finished, he tore the wrap off the roll with his teeth and started with the layers of actual tape. After the first layer, he stopped, wrote “LOVE” across her knuckles, one letter per knuckle, and then added additional layers of tape. He did the same thing with her left hand except, instead of LOVE, he spelled ZACH across her knuckles. He winked at her, cracking his signature goofy grin.

  Cass groaned in response.

  “If there’s a place on my body where a knucklehead like you deserves to be tattooed,” Cass teased, “that’s the second-best spot.”

  Zach had Cass f
lex her hands and forearms. The tape felt good. Cass felt good. She felt strong. When Kumiko wasn’t looking, Zach squeezed Cass’s bicep, pretended to be shocked by its size, then kissed it for good luck.

  Kumiko turned around and frowned, not pleased to have Zach distracting her fighter. Cass, though, felt the better for it. Richard stood stoic by the door, gatekeeping for the four of them.

  A knock came at the door. Time to go.

  The crowd roared as Cass stepped out of the tunnel and into the bowl of the arena, the roar a raucous mix of boos and cheers. The sound washed over Cass, reverberating in her brainpan. This was going to be wild. Apart from the tape on her hands and the band securing her ponytail, Cass kept it simple again: just black yoga pants and a black athletic bra. She raised her hands for the crowd as she entered the ring, but kept her head bowed and didn’t play to them.

  Zach and Richard were already in Richard’s box. Richard had promised to bolt the door if need be, to keep Zach in the room. Kumiko was stationed to the side near the judges’ table. Next to the judges’ table, the grand prize, the sarira, were mounted in a heavy display case.

  This is why you’re here, Jones. This is what you’re fighting for. That relic isn’t about you, it’s about the balance of power in the world.

  The sarira gave off a subtle glow that ebbed and flowed with the faint waves of energy that Cass could feel emanating from them. She wasn’t sure what had happened to Zach when he’d been exposed to them but, whatever it was, those beads were not only powerful, they were dangerous. The power she could feel radiating from them wasn’t automatically a good thing.

  The crowd thundered again. Miranda had entered the arena. She came alone. Though the crowd wasn’t any louder than it had been at her entrance—Cass wasn’t sure it could get any louder—the roar seemed weighted, now, toward cheers rather than boos.

  Miranda was dressed in the same silk top and bottom as before. Her tunic was tied at the waist with a black sash that contrasted with the deep maroon of the silk. Cass was surprised to see that she was also still wearing the remaining half of her kabuki mask. The effect was even more chilling than when the mask had been intact. While Miranda’s own expression was blank and unreadable, the expression on the mask itself moved freely as the eye burned and the teeth gnashed.

  Cass felt a complicated mix of emotions. A deep reservoir of guilt still lurked in her heart, but she couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t think about Miranda until the fight was over. She decided to focus her attention on the half of Miranda’s face that bore the kabuki mask.

  Don’t look at her face, Jones, Cass told herself. Look at the demon. Whatever this thing is, it’s not Miranda. Miranda is gone. Miranda is Lost. Don’t fight Miranda—fight the demon.

  Even apart from the mask, Miranda didn’t quite look like herself anymore. She was taller and stronger and colder. And, more, Cass didn’t have any trouble detecting the subtle signs of ferality that were already stealing into her features, threatening to erase what remained of the self-possessed woman Miranda had been.

  Taking Miranda’s measure now and accounting for what she had already seen, Cass wasn’t sure that she could win. She would need to be at her very best. And a bit of luck wouldn’t hurt, either.

  Kumiko gave Cass a stiff, silent look of encouragement. Zach was already peeking out from between his fingers, one hand covering his face, the other nervously scooping popcorn into his mouth. Richard was leaning forward, his arms rested on the edge of the box. He gave Cass a very British stiff-upper-lipped nod of confidence when she looked his way.

  Then Cass’s attention was caught by two still figures in the tunnel behind the judges’ table: Amare and a hooded entity—the Heretic, she realized—lurking in the shadows. A sudden wave of dark emotions surged inside of Cass at the sight of her. The referee had to snap his fingers in front of Cass’s face to pull her attention away from that dark presence and back to the ring.

  The fight was about to begin. Polite bows were exchanged. The bell signaling the start of the fight rang.

  They started off slowly. Miranda’s face remained empty and unreadable. She and Cass circled each other. The crowd became impatient when, after a full minute, neither of them had attacked. Cass, though, was in no hurry. The longer they circled, the deeper her sense of connection with the truth of this moment would become, and the better the feel she would have for who (or what) her opponent now was.

  Miranda struck first. Her punch came with shocking speed and, though Cass deflected it, Miranda’s claws left a sharp cut across Cass’s cheek. Cass wasn’t worried, it was just a cosmetic nick—though, she rethought that conclusion a little when, at the sight of the blood welling on Cass’s cheek, Miranda reflexively licked her lips.

  Shit, Cass thought to herself. My aunt wants to eat me.

  Cass wiped the blood off her cheek with the back of her taped hand, turning the tape itself a scarlet red. As the blood soaked through tape, Cass could almost see the faint outline of LOVE written across her knuckles.

  Okay, Jones, it’s time to show Aunt Miranda a little love in return.

  Cass advanced on Miranda and, unloading a flurry of punches and kicks, connected several times, forcing Miranda to retreat defensively.

  Cass’s weak eye was sharply focused now, and she saw this demon for what it was—clearly, starkly against the backdrop of who Miranda had been. Wisps of smoky white light drifted upward from Cass’s arms and shoulders. The crowd went wild, loving Cass’s aggression and the theatrical quality of her gathering power.

  Cass went after Miranda again but, this time, Miranda didn’t have any trouble countering Cass’s attacks and, instead, landed a few blows of her own.

  Something was off.

  Something had changed in just the past few seconds.

  A sluggishness was creeping into Cass’s arms. A heaviness was settling into her legs. She felt the light inside of her weaken as her eye began to drift and cloud.

  What the hell?

  Cass glanced over at Kumiko. Kumiko was frowning, her brow furrowed.

  The cut on Cass’s cheek was starting to sting and burn. Cass wiped it again with the back of her hand and looked the kabuki mask in the eye. The mask was smiling back at her.

  Miranda had poisoned her.

  Cass was battered by a rush of anger and a sense of betrayal.

  Then she felt just plain battered.

  Miranda kicked Cass in the ribs and followed up with a punch in the face, testing to see how impaired Cass’s reflexes had become. Cass stumbled backward, the rush of anger yielding to a sick feeling of guilt as her field of awareness began to contract. This was her own fault. It was her own fault that Miranda had been Lost in the first place. And it was her fault now that she would lose the fight and the relic with it.

  Miranda took her time, lined up her approach, and stepped into a roundhouse kick that crashed into the side of Cass’s head. Blood sprayed from Cass’s mouth as her head snapped back.

  She crumpled to the floor, her head bouncing off the mat not just once, but twice.

  On the first bounce, Cass thought to herself: it’s over.

  But on the second bounce, an image exploded inside of Cass’s mind: the image of Kumiko’s scroll, penned by her father, hung for hundreds of years on her bedroom wall. The image was accompanied by Kumiko’s own voice, whispering those same words into her lover’s ear: Only those who forgive are blameless.

  For Cass, time ground to a halt and, in the stillness, the phrase echoed in her mind. Cass reached out and took hold of that phrase, hanging onto it for dear life.

  This was what she’d really come here to do. She hadn’t come to win a fight. Cass had come to ask Miranda to forgive her.

  Whatever else happened, Cass had to ask for forgiveness.

  She looked up from the mat through the cloud of her weak eye and, for the first time, focused her attention on the half of Miranda’s face that was not covered by the mask. She didn’t have to look far. Miranda
was already kneeling at Cass’s side, her mask grinning, her hand drawn back, prepared to deliver the final blow.

  Cass, though, surprised her. Rather than trying to run away or avoid the blow, she used what energy she had left to move toward Miranda and throw her arms around her. Cass embraced her, robbing Miranda of the room she needed to swing.

  Miranda fought to peel Cass off, but Cass clung to her aunt—or what had been her aunt—with everything she had. Given Cass’s condition, the look of panic that crossed Miranda’s face at this development seemed profoundly irrational. Cass, though, took courage from that very human response and leaned hard into Miranda, whispering into her ear.

  “I’m so sorry, Miranda. So sorry for all of it. Please forgive me. Forgive me.”

  Miranda, in response to this unexpected plea, froze in place, stricken.

  Cass, though, felt the truth of it. The apology sunk into her own bones, lit them on fire, and heat and light poured back into her body. The light filled her, saturating her, and radiated outward, burning away her sense of guilt, burning away the effects of the poison, and leaving nothing behind but the glowing, aching embers of a strength rooted in her deep love for Miranda.

  As the light flooded Cass, time slowed as well. Unhurried, Cass saw the truth of it. She saw the truth of time—of the costs time imposed, of the loves time enabled, of the lives time gave and then reclaimed.

  On its own terms, the truth of time was loss and suffering. But on a human scale, the only truthful response to time’s inevitable reclamation of everything loved was forgiveness.

  In the open, slow space where she and Miranda now found themselves, Cass was radiating light. She pushed herself to her knees and pulled Miranda upright with her. She kissed Miranda gently on the cheek, and asked her once more to, please, forgive her.

  And then, without flinching, Cass delivered a devastating blow that knocked Miranda out cold.

  38

  The crowd had no idea what had just happened. As far as they knew, Cass was down for the count and Miranda was about to finish the job when, after a glitch in the normal flow of time—as if reality itself needed a moment to buffer—the roles were reversed and Cass was standing over an unconscious Miranda, her fist balled, light streaming off her.