Devil's Dream

by Shayne Silvers

  38

  We’d made it back to my hideout and Renfield had been ordered—by Dr. Stein, not me—to carry Nosh again as I was ordered to lead them down to my underground hideout.

  After Renfield had already picked up Nosh and I’d already begun leading the way to my hideout, of course.

  Dr. Stein had sniffed disdainfully at my humble shelter, but had seemed pleased at the collection of medicine Deganawida had stockpiled. After a significant argument, I’d finally convinced Victoria to stay behind with Nosh. Dr. Stein had interrupted me, suggesting the exact same thing and calling me nine kinds of idiot for offering medical advice.

  Being a gentleman, I had let her have her way.

  I’d been concerned that Nosh might wake up and attack the first person in sight. Now I was concerned that if he woke too early, he would find his new imprisonment worse than Paul the Pisser beating him to a pulp on a regular basis.

  Not permitted to do anything else in my hideout—other than take a quick hand bath to wash off the rest of the blood and gore from my hair and body—Renfield and I had left, choosing to take the subway to pay our first and final visit to the Necromancer. We had formed a simple but effective plan, so I had put my suit from the auction back on, even though it had been bloodied up, because Nosh had been wearing a suit in his prison cell, and he’d definitely been bloodied up. It was clean enough that I could hide the bloodstains under my coat.

  On the subway, Renfield had elaborated on his story but he hadn’t known anything further about my son. Whether the adopting tribe had sold him into slavery or accepted him as one of their own. If he had grown up healthy and happy with a family of his own, or if he’d died in one of the later wars that had plagued the continent. Since Renfield had immediately traveled back to Europe to suffer Dracula’s displeasure and his own personal hell with his family, essentially held hostage, he obviously hadn’t been able to follow up on my son.

  And with hundreds of years passing between then and now, I had no other leads to go on.

  My only hope to fill in the gaps was Deganawida’s old journal.

  Stevie’s werewolves hadn’t offered any explanation about what had become of Lucian, other than that he had founded their pack long ago.

  And I hadn’t heard anything about Nero.

  I finally sighed, glancing up at the screen that showed our next stop. We were close to the Museum of Natural History.

  I glanced at Renfield. “What can you tell me about this Necromancer? Who is he, really, and why do they call him that?”

  Renfield shrugged uncomfortably. “I have never met him. I know that he is a slave to Dracula much like myself. Much like all of us. That he’s incredibly powerful and feared by every vampire I’ve met, and that he refuses to be seen in public, spending all his time in the museum. He spent many, many years studying death, learning spells to bring the dead to life.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Why? Does Dracula have an undead army?” I asked nervously.

  Renfield shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. I think Dracula chose that name to mock him—that he has a man with such knowledge under his thumb, and that he doesn’t let him use it.”

  I nodded, pursing my lips. That sounded about right. “And you think we can just walk right in?” I asked uneasily. We’d settled on a plan after discussing and discarding at least six others as hopeless and doomed to failure. The winning plan wasn’t much better, but it stood a better chance than anything else.

  At even the slightest sign of violence or an attack, every vampire within miles would rush to protect their fortress.

  “None of us sensed you in the blood bank,” Renfield reassured me. “We only responded when we heard the gunshots. I’ve never seen anyone with that level of strength—to mask yourself from a five-hundred-year-old vampire. Well, only Dracula, I guess. But he’s the oldest—” he grunted, realizing his mistake. “Second-oldest vampire.”

  I nodded, forcing my shoulders to relax. I still had Victoria’s blood pouring through my veins, and I hadn’t wanted to waste a single minute, fearing that it would fade away again, leaving me weakened. On the other hand, I hadn’t dared to drink from her again—not so soon after the first time. It could harm her as much as me.

  We climbed off the subway and I kept my head down, aimed at the ground so that my hair concealed my features from any sentries or security cameras. I followed Renfield’s guiding hand with my hands tied before me, concealed from casual view by my leather coat.

  I was unable to see our target building, fearing the risk of anyone recognizing me as the man from the news—the murderer of the Griffin family. Because I had seen my face on the front page of dozens of newspapers along our trip on the subway.

  Renfield paused and murmured under his breath, almost inaudibly. “My apologies, Master.”

  I grunted. “Do it.”

  I felt him sigh regretfully as he tugged a black hood over my head, concealing my face and long hair. We walked for about ten more minutes, and the sense of nearby humanity soon faded away entirely. I checked my powers, making sure I was completely masked, and made sure to stumble lethargically as if I was drugged.

  With Renfield’s long-standing reputation as an obedient pushover with no hopes or even possibilities of higher aspirations, everyone knew he would never dare do anything to put him in a worse standing than he already was.

  Because they were too ignorant to realize that a man at rock bottom had nothing left to lose.

  Unfortunately, that meant I had to climb into the bottom of the well with him for our plan to work. Renfield knocked on a door and I heard a metallic click. He led me a few paces farther and I heard the door click again as it shut behind me.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, stable boy? You’re supposed to be at the blood bank,” A low voice growled, practically dripping with aggression. I was blocking my aura even tighter than I had at the blood bank—since Victoria’s blood made me so much stronger, and I didn’t want to risk the Necromancer being powerful enough to sense me through my shield—so it was harder for me to sense how many vampires surrounded us. I could hear their muffled encouragement through my hood, all of them chuckling with the man who had spoken.

  Renfield cleared his throat. “Paul McIntyre sent me with urgent news. You know I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he murmured meekly.

  The laughter cut off, all of them obviously well acquainted with Paul. Perhaps even fearful of him. It was very difficult for me not to laugh about his brave bladder.

  “What orders?” the man asked warily. “You’re the last person he would send here.”

  “Which is why he sent me,” Renfield said submissively. “The werewolves invaded the blood bank, trying to take the Shaman prisoner.”

  The man grunted. “You called and told me everything was fine,” he growled furiously, and I heard the sound of fist striking flesh, jerking me to the side. I stumbled, playing along as the drugged-up prisoner I was supposed to be.

  Renfield grunted, accepting the blow without offense. “That was apparently a distraction. While Paul was interrogating the homeless man I called about, someone cut the power at the building and a pack of werewolves burst in. They stole the keycard from the sentry. They beheaded him,” Renfield growled disgustedly. “Paul feared one of his vampires had been compromised or spied upon, so he sent me to sneak the prisoner out while he fought back the wolves. Alex and Christopher had already fallen when I left.” Several of the men gasped in outrage. “Paul said the Necromancer would experiment on anyone who tried to defy or delay his orders,” Renfield added, sounding as if he was afraid of rebuke. “I’m just trying to do as I’m told, but Paul needs help. Badly. I think the wolves intended to burn the building down to destroy our blood supply.”

  The man grunted. “Motherfucking wolves! Why didn’t you call us on your way here?” he demanded.

  “Paul made me leave my phone so I couldn’t be tracked.”

  The man grunted. “Well, get your ass up there. I’
ll call ahead to let them know. Looks like it’s your lucky day, Renfield, getting to meet the big boss. If you even look at him wrong, I’ll make you squeal,” he warned, sounding suddenly closer.

  “Y-yes, sir,” Renfield stammered.

  “Round up the men! Let’s go skin some wolves, boys!” he snarled, and I heard growls and the stomping of many boots as they dispersed in a tidal wave.

  “I’ve got confirmation of a fire at the blood bank!” someone shouted.

  Men cursed, their footsteps growing faster and fainter as they fled to the scene.

  Thank you, Stevie, I thought to myself. We’d called to tell him our plan and to make sure he got everyone out before the vampires arrived. He’d suggested lighting the building on fire.

  39

  Renfield let out a sigh of relief. “We’re clear for the moment, but we still have plenty of vampires to worry about downstairs.”

  I nodded beneath my hood. “I told you that fear was a remarkable motivator, Renfield. You’re doing great. I even believed you.”

  Renfield urged me forward. “I’ve had practice,” he murmured. “But it was never fear of them. It was fear of what would happen when they tattled on me to Dracula. His capacity for pointless punishment is infinitely creative.”

  “Not for long,” I promised. Once again, I checked on my power, knowing that I had to maintain the ruse that I wasn’t a vampire or we were doomed. Because we were heading to the lower levels, and some of the inhabitants there were almost as old as Renfield.

  And that they might want to get a look under my hood before permitting my delivery to the Necromancer. If that happened, we’d have to abandon my disguise and hope for the best. To shut down the threat without drawing the attention of every other nearby vampire.

  I heard a musical chime, and then Renfield ushered me forward a few steps before halting. I heard him press a button. “Silence, prisoner,” he snapped.

  Knowing I hadn’t said anything, I took it as a warning that we weren’t private or that we were being observed via camera. I felt the ground drop and I stumbled in surprise, not having expected an elevator. It was only a short trip, because the doors opened a few moments after I regained my balance. I shambled forward as I heard the doors open, following Renfield’s muttered directions.

  It was disorienting and panic-inducing to walk blindly through hell. I lost track of how many times we turned left or right, but we didn’t encounter any further vampires. At least none who stopped to talk to Renfield. Perhaps the hood over my head was a conversation killer.

  But there were definitely a lot of vampires down here. I heard distant, anxious shouting, obviously a result of the attack on the blood bank. I heard ringing phones and heated arguments, but Renfield pressed on as if we were on a calm walk through the woods.

  All sounds of life soon faded away, and we walked for another two minutes before Renfield slowed, squeezing my arm reassuringly.

  “I have orders to deliver the Shaman, Nosh Griffin, to the Necromancer,” Renfield said nervously.

  I head a man grunt. “Shaman, eh? Doesn’t look like much.”

  “Randall Walsh said he would call ahead,” Renfield answered in a respectful tone, obviously talking about the security guard from the entrance. “Paul McIntyre sent me.”

  “So many names dropped,” the man mused dismissively. “But I suppose the stable boy must do as everyone commands.”

  “True, Lord Hugo. I’ve never met him,” Renfield murmured. “I fear making a bad impression.”

  Hugo grunted. “If anyone needs to fear making a bad impression, it definitely isn’t you, Renfield. You poor, despicable creature. I feel guilty even looking at you, as if I’m the one who beats you every night.” Hugo let out an impatient sigh and I made sure to sag my shoulders, maintaining my drugged-up prisoner façade. But it was difficult, hearing about Renfield’s daily torture. Whoever was behind it would pay, one way or another. “Let me have a look, first. It will be my head if I don’t,” Hugo said.

  Renfield stammered. “Even drugged up, he is very dangerous, Lord Hugo. I was told to keep the hood on for our safety.”

  Hugo growled. “I will have a look or I will have your head, stable boy.”

  “Of course,” Renfield said obediently.

  Shit.

  I knew we couldn’t risk spilling a drop of blood or it would draw every vampire like a fly to manure. This close, I sensed Lord Hugo’s power and grew uneasy, knowing it would be a fight that I had to end quickly, but that I couldn’t call upon my power too early. Hugo lifted my hood and immediately grunted in surprise. I wasted no time, lifting my gaze to hit him with the look—the most focused, targeted, overpowered look I could manage. His knees buckled as he struggled against my enthrallment, but my power slipped over him a moment before he could properly lift his defenses. I watched his eyes glaze over just as two more vampires entered my peripheral vision.

  “Hey! What’s going on here?” one of them demanded.

  I lowered my head drunkenly, hoping they would simply walk away. I even angled my head away from them, hoping to conceal how long my hair was in case they knew what Nosh looked like.

  I breathed a command under my breath, hoping that Lord Hugo was coherent enough to obey so soon after my hasty enthrallment. “Nothing, Aristos,” Hugo finally grumbled. “Just doing my damned job and making sure the Necromancer is safe. You heard about the fire at the blood bank? The werewolf attack?”

  “Of course,” the man named Aristos grunted.

  “Then perhaps you would be better served doing something useful for once,” Lord Hugo snapped. “Go find out what really happened over there. We all know Paul is a hotheaded soldier, but he’s useless without orders, whereas you seem to attempt little else.”

  I hunched over, concealing my grin. That last bit had been all Hugo. For the first time, I was able to get a scant look at our surroundings. I stood before a tall set of double doors. Hugo manned a desk with science apparatus littered across the surface in what I took for a risky arrangement. He obviously guarded the Necromancer’s chambers.

  “Careful, Hugo. Every flower has a season, and I feel a frost coming on,” Aristos warned.

  The second man spoke up, sounding amused at their bickering. “Put your fangs away, boys. Is this the infamous Shaman then?” he asked. “Nosh Griffin has grown his hair out.”

  Hugo grunted. “I never paid much attention to fashion, Valentine. By the looks of it, you haven’t either.”

  Valentine hissed angrily. “I’m the most fashionable man here!"

  Hugo gestured dismissively. “Unless you two want to explain why you’re delaying me from obeying the Necromancer’s orders—of which I will definitely inform him—it’s time for the both of you to go back to braiding each other’s hair and to get out of mine.”

  “You’re bald, you insolent cow,” Valentine snapped haughtily.

  “Because I have to deal with imbeciles like you all too often. I keep pulling my hair out.”

  They sniffed pompously, turning on their heels. Hugo watched them leave—as did Renfield. Then they both scanned our surroundings and let out sighs of relief.

  Hugo turned to me, looking shaken. “Who—”

  I shut him down with a stern thought. “Announce our arrival—convincingly—and then get back to your duties. Keep everyone away and I might let you live.”

  Hugo nodded woodenly, motioning us to the giant doors. Renfield tugged the hood back over my head and I readied myself for war as Hugo knocked on the doors with a resounding thud-thud-thud. He paused, and then thumped the door one last time—some kind of prearranged code, perhaps? I could only hope that it wasn’t a prearranged alarm and that Hugo had found a way to worm out of my control.

  The fact that the Necromancer hadn’t sensed the brief pulse of power I’d used was surprising, but maybe he simply mistook it as his minions bickering back and forth.

  “Come in, Hugo,” a smooth, commanding voice called out.

  Hugo ope
ned the doors and spoke in a clear tone, ushering us inside. “Henry Renfield and Nosh Griffin, the Shaman prisoner, my lord,” he said by way of introduction. “Paul McIntyre sent him over early due to a werewolf attack at the blood bank.”

  Then he wisely abandoned us so as not to accept any responsibility for the news update. I heard the doors close behind me as Renfield guided me deeper into the room.

  Deeper into the belly of the beast.

  Ahead of me, somewhere, was the infamous, secretive Necromancer.

  40

  I stood in silence, wanting nothing more than to lunge forward and destroy everything before me, but I didn’t know where the Necromancer stood, and I didn’t know how powerful he was. I was clamping down on my power so tightly that I couldn’t sense anything—almost like I was mortal.

  “So, this is the man causing me so much trouble. Well, causing Dracula so much trouble,” the Necromancer said, striding closer. I frowned beneath my hood, a strange sensation tickling the back of my neck. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to yank the hood from my head. “Rise to your feet, Renfield. I hate a man who grovels too much.”

  “Yes, Necromancer,” Renfield stammered.

  Every muscle in my body was suddenly fighting against me, and I gritted my teeth, fighting it down. The power deep within me sloshed and sprayed like waves against a cliff, fighting to wear it away and press forward.

  “Mina Harker mentioned the Shaman had an ally. I think she said she was framing him for a murder, but I lost interest in her prattling on, flashing her breasts all over the room. I told her to get back with me when she had more results than tits, but I haven’t heard from her since her goons delivered the journal.”

  Renfield was utterly silent.

  “Well? Has she caught him yet?” the Necromancer demanded impatiently.

  I heard Renfield licking his lips anxiously. “I haven’t heard from Miss Harker, but the suspect’s picture was put on all the media outlets,” he said nervously.