by Brian Lumley
But three days later, when Mike had woken up, he’d finally come to understand his error: that his initial weariness wasn’t death but merely the prelude to undeath! At which the brothers had told him how it was going to be from now on…
They had been genuinely impressed, even the Francezci brothers, impressed by Mike’s so-called skills, his killer instinct: that he had tackled two of theirs and so damaged them as to incapacitate them however temporarily. A pair of bodyguards, vampires, albeit it “common” vampires, downed by a mere man—an entirely human being! And when he had learned what they were, those two, then he had understood what Francesco had meant with his words: “With his brain ruptured, he would be very definitely dead—as good a way as any to kill such as him…”
“Such as him:” an undead creature of the night. In fact two of them, laid low by Mike but by no means permanently. And that was how they had recovered, or begun to recover, so quickly: by reason of a certain “something in their blood,” with which they had been “reborn, recreated,” by the Francezcis—just as Mike had now been recreated by them.
And as Francesco had explained it to him down there in that deep cavern, after releasing him from the narrow crate where he had lain for three days and nights, “Oh, it has its advantages, Mike, but it also has certain disadvantages, naturally. For example: You are no longer your own man but belong to us; you are ‘in thrall’—as the saying goes—to the Francezcis. And for once and for always, throughout the rest of your life, you will obey us or suffer the consequences.
“As for the advantages: You were strong, but now you are so much stronger! Your five senses, while they were very acute for a mere man, are now twice as sensitive…which is ample justification for what you said of our two men—our ‘boys,’ as you had it—who would certainly have had your measure had you been any less self-sufficient, less talented. You took them by surprise, yes, but that is no excuse; needless to say we were disappointed with their efforts. It seems they had grown soft in our service, slow and careless, and far too sure of themselves. But then again, they were the least and most recent of our thralls, who you won’t be seeing again…at least, not as they were.
“So then: stronger, faster, more aware—with all of your passions doubled and redoubled, which you’ll use sparingly, and never indiscriminately—you are now a great deal more than you have ever been. And you will live…oh, a very long time! For you are undead, Mike, and will feed on the lives of others. But you must always remember: You can never show the world what you are. You will keep your name, your identity, of course, and you will ever retain the guise of an ordinary man; for anonymity is synonymous with longevity. But only let men see the real you—let them discover you for what you are—and they will hunt you down as others have been hunted before you.”
Then Anthony had spoken up. “Mike Milazzo, while you were a ‘made man’ in America, now we have remade you! But just as your American bosses had rules, so we have them in addition to those my brother has spoken of. First of all, you can never make more like yourself. The blood is the life, it’s true, and for sustenance you may take what you need as you need it, but never drain a man—or girl—to the last drop! Kill someone like that and you make a new vampire; but one without understanding, ignorant of the dangers, who may bring retribution to your doorstep. And for the same reason you may never use our name nor even mention it! Make no attempt to avoid us, or try to escape our influence by flight; don’t even consider such treachery. We have familiar creatures superior to the weaklings you dealt with, thralls who will track you down to the ends of the earth and either destroy you or return you here, to us. And Mike, there are other ways—far more painful, lingering ways—to kill such as you than by shattering your brain with a bullet!”
As Anthony paused, then Francesco—grinning at Mike, glaring at him through blazing eyes—had nodded knowingly in agreement with his brother, before adding: “Oh yes! Indeed there are other ways! And now you must come with us, for there is someone who may wish to meet you—and something we want you to meet.”
Still dazed and unsure of his whereabouts, his condition—in fact praying, even a hoodlum like Mike, praying he was still asleep and nightmaring—he could only obey and walk unsteadily between the twins, across the floor of the great cavern towards what seemed to be the wall of a well. But it wasn’t a well, and halfway to it Mike had felt once again that sensation of something stirring, seething, lusting: something in the pit. And to his enhanced vampire sensibilities it seemed he could even hear a voice, growing louder and ever more demanding:
For me? Is he for me? A girl would be better, but I am ever hungry and my needs are great. For what you have given me…I am grateful, certainly, but you promised me a girl!
Worse still, Francesco had at once answered what the terrified hoodlum had hoped or prayed was only his imagination, only a voice in his disordered head:
“Yes, father, and I will deliver, but I need a little time. As always, there are difficulties to be overcome. However, this one is not for you. He is one of ours, a new one who displays a degree of promise, but who yet needs convincing of the requirement for the strict rules that regulate our organization—and more especially of the penalties for disobedience.”
Oh, indeed? had come an answering grunt, sounding more than a little disappointed. Is it so? One of ours, freshly made? But a moment later: So be it. Perhaps I can ‘rise’ to the occasion, eh? Oh, ha-ha-ha!
The voice had “echoed” like a belching blast from an alien abyss, and finally Mike had known the truth: that while it was indeed in his mind, it was not of his making; that it had been put there by some fearful Other! And though he had tried to dig his heels into the rough floor of the cavern, still the Francezcis had dragged him to the pit, where its electrified grill had been raised up on its gear, leaving a gap of just eight or nine inches.
And as the three had arrived at the rim of the pit, so its grotesque occupant had come surging up the shaft, and Mike had known the true meaning of horror! He might have struggled free but the Francezcis had held him as easily as they might hold a child, letting him gaze with eyes that only half believed what they were seeing—until the pallidly pulsing mass of the thing in the pit had ejected through the gap between the wall and the grill an assortment of clattering bones, flensed to a gleaming whiteness.
At which Mike’s already slack jaw had dropped more yet. For among that pile of debris he had seen a pair of polished, human skulls, and he’d known at once, instinctively, who they and the rest of the bones had belonged to!
“Just one of many penalties of failure,” Francesco had told him then. But Mike could never be entirely sure that he’d heard him correctly. For at that point his stunned mind had been shutting itself down, while his shuddering body was already totally uncooperative; so that without the brothers to keep it upright, it would have crumpled like an empty sack to the cavern’s dusty floor…
Thus Mike Milazzo had become an agent in thrall to the Francezcis, one of their local watchers—a spy not only on those Old Men of Sicily he’d once called capos but on the world in general—an errand-boy, runner, and talebearer; and, but only very occasionally, to ensure that he kept his edge and remained practiced in thuggery, a brutal enforcer when the brothers had need of such. And for a while—a matter of weeks, almost a month—Mike had stayed within their guidelines, obeying their rules to the letter.
But a leopard may not change its spots, and being just such an animal—not merely a predator but a carnivore and a drinker of blood at that—he’d soon found the restrictions placed upon him frustrating, even demeaning. He had new, superior muscle to flex, and yet was on a leash; with teeth sharp as knives, still he was muzzled by masters he never saw, who contacted him where and when they wished and other than that were less than shadows to him. Why, for all Mike knew he might never see the Francezci brothers again! He would be in their service, always, but never more in their presence…at least he could always hope not!
And finally
he had surrendered to his nature: his “pure instinct,” as Anthony had had it…but in fact an instinct that was anything but pure. And the guidelines and rules had at once flown right out the window.
As a result of which:
Here Mike was in his car where he’d brought it to a momentary halt, staring across the stony, barren roof of the plateau, at the low, dark, sinister silhouette of Le Manse Madonie where lamps glowed a dull yellow above the gate in the high perimeter wall. Here he was in answer to his second “invitation,” in fact a command, which he dare not refuse; and as before there was no excuse for the things he had done.
And remembering all too clearly what those things were: how he’d let enhanced passions rule and used them indiscriminately, and how he had used a name he should never use, Mike shuddered. He shook like a leaf in a gale however briefly, uncontrollably, and waited until the tremors ceased before slipping his car into gear and starting it rolling along the narrow, weedy, badly weathered track to Le Manse Madonie…
This time Mike didn’t have so long to wait; or rather, the brothers were waiting for him! And there was little or no preamble when all three of them got seated at the same table in the same room as last time. But once more there were others in the room: Francezci thralls who, for the moment, remained in the shadows. Mike was fully aware of them, however, detecting their presence with heightened vampire senses. He hadn’t seen them—not even with night-penetrating eyes, for just like him they were expert at hiding in the gloom—but he could smell them and hear their breathing, and every slightest rustle of their clothing.
As to their purpose there, these bodyguard vampires—especially now that Mike knew the brothers’ nature, their strength and near-invincibility—that was a nagging concern that raised his apprehension to almost insufferable heights. Perhaps it was simply that the twins didn’t want to dirty their tapering, long-fingered hands on such as him. But in any case that was all the time Mike was given to wonder and worry about it, for no sooner was he seated than Anthony was rebuking him with undeniable accusations:
“Mike Milazzo, it seems there’s only one thing I can say in your favour—you didn’t run when we asked to see you! But then again, if you had so much as attempted flight you wouldn’t have made it to the airport or the harbour, would never have boarded a plane or a boat. No, but you did think about it, didn’t you?”
Mike nodded, found his voice, and said, “Yes—until I felt their eyes on me, imagined myself in the cross hairs and sensed their fingers on the triggers. And I figured: This way I’m dead meat. Then I figured: No, I’ll be undead meat! Whoever they are they won’t kill me but take me up into the Madonie—which will mean I’ve made my last mistake!” Mike paused to moisten his dry lips and throat, and in a sudden, desperate burst of speech continued: “Now listen to me…I mean please, please listen! The last time—the first time—I was here, you asked if I had any excuses for the things I had done, mistakes I’d made. And no, I admit I didn’t. But this time I—”
“Be quiet!” The other twin, Francesco now snarled, his eyes burning like coals in a face white with rage. “Who asked you to speak? And for that matter—who permitted you to speak of us! Weren’t you in fact forbidden to speak of us? So what happened, Mr. Milazzo? Is your arrogance such that you think you can defy the Francezcis? And as for that girl you drained—weren’t you warned about that? Well of course you were! Fortunately you are not the only agent in our employ, supposedly ‘in thrall’ to us. No, for we task our most trusted agents with watching the watchers! One of them was watching you: She was covering your tracks and got rid of what you made. Fortunate, too, that the girl you vampirized was a whore, and whores occasionally vanish. The sea around Sicily is deep…though not deep enough, apparently.”
As Francesco paused so Anthony took it up again. “Mike, are you asking—do you really dare to ask—that we listen to your so-called excuses, your lies? Your lies, yes! Because there can be no genuine excuses, not for your blatant disobedience to our explicit instructions, our rules! So now you listen, and listen very carefully. For far below Le Manse Madonie there’s a cavern with a deep, dark well—a pit, actually. And in that pit—”
“I know! I know!” Mike gasped, cutting the other off before he could complete the threat. “You showed me what’s in the pit. But please don’t…don’t…just don’t! And I really can explain what…what happened, what went wrong. And you’re right: There is no excuse. But there was a reason, if you’ll only hear me out.”
The brothers looked at each other, appeared to relax a very little. And after a long silence Francesco nodded and said, “Go on then. Tell us about it. Give us your ‘reason.’”
Mike breathed deep, moistened his lips a second time, tried hard to keep his often uncouth manner of expression, his thuggish tactlessness in order; this despite feeling his fear beginning to turn to frustrated anger. And that—his volatile temper—was one of Mike’s major failings, where he’d fallen short far too often before, and where once had been too often for the Francezcis! So that right here and now would be the worst possible place and time to lose control yet again, for all that his heightened vampire emotions were coming to the boil inside him.
For which reason he calmed himself as best he could, licked his lips once more, and finally found some words which he could only hope were the right ones. “You…made me,” he said. “You took what I was—knowing what I was—and made me more, much more. I was twice as strong, I lusted twice as hard, and when I was angry I raged! But suddenly my lust was a murderous thing. Oh, I had had plenty of girls before, but I’d never fucked and sucked one to death! Now, being the way you made me, I could do that—and I did! Yes, she was a whore, and she’d known plenty of men before me, but never one like me. I believe she enjoyed it! Even as she faded away, died, she was…she was smiling!
“But at first—before the girl, and before I was used to being what I am—the blood of others had made me sick. So I’d tried to eat my favourite foods as usual, good Sicilian foods. But they made me even sicker, and I let myself get hungry. Too hungry! And then…then there was the girl.”
“Yes,” said Anthony, “and now you can stop, because we know the rest of it. She was a capo’s girl—one of Mario Stefano’s—and you had had her before. And you’d been warned off! Indeed she was one of the reasons we called you up here the first time around, because we didn’t want any trouble brewing between Vito Milazzo and his people and the Stefano family. And yet you went back to her and—”
“—And she was one great fuck!” Even knowing he was losing it, perhaps because he was losing it, Mike couldn’t contain himself a moment longer. “So before I even realized what I was doing, I’d done it to her! But it was you guys who did it to me!”
“And now you are accusing us!” Francesco snarled, coming to his feet, scowling again, and leaning over the great table.
“I’m not accusing you,” Mike answered, sensing movement behind him, and feeling them approaching out of the shadows. “I’m just stating a fact. And as for the rest of it—”
“Haven’t I told you we know the rest of it?” Anthony snarled. “They found her floating off Castellammare bay. Stefano’s people knew who to blame; they’d seen you with her, remembered you from those previous troubles, the sit-down with your uncle. But this time there would be no sit-down. They came looking for you—luckily for them in daylight, for they were merely human—and found you sleeping at your place in Palermo. Naked, with three guns at your head and a hot afternoon sun blazing outside, you couldn’t run and certainly couldn’t outrun a burst of bullets from their Uzis! So before they could cut your balls off or splatter your brains or both, you told them you were one of our so-called ‘made men’ in Palermo! You dared to invoke the Francezci name! And in fact the only secret you kept to yourself was what we’d ‘made’ you into! If they had discovered that…right now you’d be screaming your life out in a certain pit!”
Francesco took it up. “Knowing our reputation—our name if no
t our nature, and fearing it—too cowed to do anything else, they let you go, gave you your miserable life. But should we do the same? Perhaps not. For you’ve not only broken the rules and failed us, Mr. Milazzo, but caused us a great deal of embarrassment and trouble in the bargain!”
There was movement behind Mike and he sensed it, knew there were Francezci thralls, if not how many, approaching out of the shadows. He felt his body tensing, coiling inside like a spring but there was nothing he could do about it. Without his weapons and with Wamphyri twins just waiting for him to make a move, he had lost his edge and knew it wouldn’t be like the last time.
But what the hell? Whatever was coming he couldn’t just sit still and wait for it! And so he came surging to his feet.
In that selfsame moment: “Hey, Mike,” said a sinister voice from close behind. “I’ve got a little something for you.”
Self-preservation—Mike’s instinct, pure or otherwise—at once surfaced. Whirling, he saw in the forefront a thin, feral-eyed man with three other, vaguer figures behind him. He failed to recognize any of them, but was instantly aware of the gun in the thin man’s hand. Without pause he sprang headlong, toppling his chair…and in a sort of mental slow-motion, as if frozen there in midair, he saw the muzzle of the gun give a jerk where it was pointing at him.
The thin man almost blurred as he moved aside, and Mike hit the floor. He made a single attempt to rise but found it futile…with an anaesthetic dart pinning the collar of his shirt to his neck he simply couldn’t get up! Even enhanced vampire blood was powerless against a drug that worked that fast!
Then as a whirling darkness descended, smothering his mumbled, incoherent protests and dragging him effortlessly down, he was dimly aware of Anthony’s shadow falling on him, and an echoing, rapidly receding voice that faded away completely almost before it had time to advise him: “Calm yourself, Mike. You’ll wake up soon enough, undead but alive, for we have work for you yet. And it’s a job for which you seem eminently suited…”