Men and Monsters (Nightfall, Book 2)

by Elena May

  “That is enough.” One of the two figures in the shadows stepped forward, and Myra saw a tall black-haired woman, dressed in a bright orange blouse that complemented her dark complexion. “I won’t listen to trash like you condemn Ila for her noble choice.”

  The fire left Ila’s gaze, and a smile appeared on her lips. “Vladimir, I believe you already know Nimah. Nimah, this is Armida, my sire, and the pretty boy is Tristan. And these are some humans from the self-proclaimed Resistance movement.” She turned to Armida. “My lady, this is Nimah, my first advisor. She was born in Takalik Abaj, during the Preclassic period of the Mayan civilization. You are all children in her eyes. And this…” She pointed at the other vampire, hidden in the shadows. “This is Leo.”

  He stepped forward into the light of the torch, and Myra recognized the curly-haired vampire with smiling dark eyes who had met them at Ila’s hideout to escort them to the dining hall.

  He beamed at her, Zack and Thomas and bowed. “It is my honor to meet the brave humans who have opposed that filth’s tyranny for so long,” Leo said. Then all warmth drained from his eyes as he met the Prince’s gaze. “Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about meeting you. I will not play games and exchange pleasantries. I stand by what Ila said—as soon as the Wizard is destroyed, we will hunt you down and kill you like the beast that you are.”

  Before Myra could blink, Tristan was standing in front of Leo, pressing a long knife against the curly-haired vampire’s throat. Ila and Nimah drew out long knives a second later and stood frozen, their eyes fixed on the scene taking place.

  “I couldn’t care less if we are allies,” Tristan said with a hiss. “You say one more word about my lord that is not praise or admiration, and I will be happy to part your curly head from that skinny, animal-fed body of yours.”

  The Prince smiled and placed a calming hand on Tristan’s back. “Come now, my boy, he doesn’t bother me. It is cute how he believes he is any threat to me.” Tristan chuckled and sheathed his knife.

  Fire burned in Leo’s eyes, but Ila grabbed his forearm. “Please, Leo, don’t take his bait. We are better than this. We are better than him. You know it.” She glared at the Prince. “Leo was turned during the Nightfall. He watched his family being slaughtered in front of him. As soon as he was turned, he found and killed his sire and had been killing vampires up until the point he met me.”

  “Commendable,” the Prince said dryly.

  Myra’s eyes moved from one vampire to the other. She could almost imagine bright lightning bolts flying through the air. “Nimah, you must be millennia old,” she said, trying to dissolve the tension. “Have you been rejecting human blood from your first day as a vampire?”

  “I was feeding on humans at first, but it ate at my heart,” Nimah said. “Then I tried surviving on animal blood alone. It worked, but that isolated me from the rest of my kind. For a while, I believed myself to be the only one to reject human blood, until I met others who felt the same.”

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and it never occurred to you that not meeting any other animal-eating vampires could mean that, you know, vampires are not supposed to work that way.”

  “Stop teasing them, sweetling, we have decisions to make,” Armida said. “We need to attack the Wizard on the first of March, when Ila’s people around the world will free the domesticated humans. We need to agree on the plan.”

  “Are we the only ones in this?” Ila asked. “Should we look for other vampire allies?”

  “What other vampire allies?” Armida said. “It is not like there are crowds of vampires complaining about the lack of sunshine.”

  Leo retreated back to the dark end of the cave, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of him. Nimah, on the other hand, stepped firmly into the light. Her gaze met with Ila’s, and some understanding seemed to pass between them.

  “The Duchess is not a fan of the new regime,” Nimah said. “She may be willing to join us.”

  “The Duchess was never a fan of the old regime, either,” the Prince said. “Besides, Tristan is scared of her.”

  “I am not scared of her,” Tristan grumbled. “I just said once that she creeps me out.”

  “Anyway, my point is, she is unpredictable,” Vlad said. “We need to have full control over the plan—no wild cards.”

  Ila and Nimah exchanged another glance. “What about Mizuki and Takahiro?” Ila said.

  “Good point. They definitely dislike the new regime,” the Prince said. “The only problem is, they hate my guts.”

  “They don’t hate me,” Ila said. “We could work with them.”

  “There is no need,” Vlad said. “If all goes well, we may need to fight only nine vampires. Your men and the humans are more than enough.”

  Nimah caught his eyes, a strange expression on her face. “And what about Callisto?”

  The silence that followed was so deep that Myra could hear her own heartbeat. Zack and Thomas exchanged a confused look, but even they understood it would have been inappropriate to speak.

  “I believe I said we need no more vampires,” the Prince said, his voice cold as ice.

  “I’m just saying,” Nimah said with a shrug. “Rumor has it you still keep in touch. I can’t imagine you haven’t told her about this. So, she doesn’t want to help you?”

  Tristan took a step forward, placing himself in front of Nimah. “Have you heard a certain proverb about curiosity and a cat?”

  Myra was beginning to think there was more to this Callisto business than what Vlad had revealed, but she knew it would be madness to ask. She desperately wanted to say something and change the topic, but Zack beat her to it.

  “What about human allies?” he said. “We have the Survivors—the group of humans that Sissi comes from. I’m certain they’d want to help.”

  Great. Myra had thought the topic could not get any worse, but apparently it could. This was a disaster. Sissi and she had already lied about meeting “the Survivors.” If Zack and Sissi’s friends ever met, they would be in trouble. Big, big trouble. She was paling rapidly, and Vlad must have noticed it, for his eyes twinkled in amusement.

  “No more vampires and no more humans,” he said. “We are more than enough to accomplish the mission. Now, as Armida said, the assault is planned for the first of March. You all need to be smuggled inside the inner circle by then.”

  Myra breathed a sigh of relief and suppressed her gratitude. Vlad had saved her, but in all likelihood, he would use this against her later. “I assume you won’t smuggle us in all at once?” she said.

  “Of course not,” he said. “I will begin with Ila’s people starting tomorrow. I will bring them in small groups, and once inside, they will need to be inconspicuous and fit in. Ila, the humans, and everyone else who might be recognized by my men will be brought last. On March the first, we launch the attack.”

  “And by ‘we,’ you mean us and the humans,” Leo said. “I heard you don’t plan to take part.”

  Vlad shot him a quick glare but continued unperturbed. “You will come from the Eastern Bridge and will take down the guards. Each vampire will carry explosives and matches that I will provide. I will show you schematics of the Wizard and show you where to place it. The one who gets to the Wizard first sets the explosives. The others might need to fall back and delay the attackers.”

  “Question,” Zack said. “You said all the vampires will carry explosives. What about my people?”

  “Whoever reaches the Wizard first will be the one to set the explosion,” Vlad said. “Face it, it will not be a human. Ila’s people may be herbivorous weaklings, but they are still vampires, and much better than any of you. You will have no need for the explosives.”

  “Another question,” Myra shot as she noticed Zack turning deep red. “We will fight side by side with Ila’s people, but we’ve never met most of them. Most Resistance members don’t even know Ila. How do we tell the good and the bad vampires apart?”

  “I have thought o
f that, of course,” the Prince said. “Everyone fighting on our side will wear these.” He unfastened a small bag from his belt and spilled a pile of bracelets over the table. Thick wool, red and white, knitted into different patterns—leaves, triangles, rhombuses, and crisscrossing lines.

  Ila raised her eyebrows. “These little things? You can’t see them from a distance. Are you sure their purpose is to help us recognize our allies?” She picked one bracelet up and brought it to her face. “To be honest, these look like one of your pagan superstitions.”

  The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you would prefer your people to wear bright green uniforms with ‘Team Veggie’ written on the back? Are you fine with the plan or not?”

  “What’s there to be fine about?” Ila said. “The humans and my people will be doing all of the work.”

  Tristan bristled. “His Highness is smuggling you through the guards, and he is risking a lot. He has more to lose than any of you.”

  “Yes, about that,” the Prince said. “Tristan, I need you and Armida to do something. We might be unable to return to the Palace after the Wizard’s destruction. I would ask you to take your most prized possessions and bring them to our cave. Make sure you take only what you cannot live without. It will be suspicious if we empty our chambers completely right before the attack on the Wizard.”

  “A lost cause, my love,” Armida said. “Everyone will know we were involved once they see Tristan’s stag skin is missing.”

  “Which is why Tristan is not taking his stag skin,” the Prince said.

  “Of course I am taking my stag skin,” said Tristan, and Armida gave Vlad an I-told-you-so glance.

  “My boy, don’t be silly. I will get you another one.”

  “You cannot give me the same one,” Tristan said stubbornly.

  Vlad sighed. “I promise to travel around the world until I find a stag with the same white spot. It may not be an exact replica, but I will try to get as close as possible.”

  Tristan’s grey eyes glistened under the lantern light. “I am taking my stag skin.”

  The Prince gave Armida a long-suffering smile and looked back at Tristan. “All right. Keep it. I will try to find a stag that looks close enough and leave its skin in your chambers instead. No one will likely know the difference.”

  “And what about your horses?” Tristan asked. “And your falcons? And your books?”

  A flash of pain passed across the Prince’s face. “I will leave them behind.”

  “But you love them,” Armida protested.

  Vlad smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “I can live with losing them. I cannot live with losing you.”

  “Aw, how very touching,” Ila said, her voice cold. “You might have tried thinking about that, before, you know, killing millions of people.”

  The Prince looked at her calmly. “I believe we have nothing more to discuss. If you will excuse me, I will take the humans back to their home.”

  Leo stepped out of the shadows and looked straight at Myra. “Are you certain you feel comfortable with these bloodsuckers taking you home? Do you wish me to accompany you?”

  She could not help smiling. Leo possessed much of Tristan’s beauty, and none of his arrogance. For a moment, Myra wondered if he would bite a human if the human did not mind. Horrified, she looked away. Had the dark magic of Tristan’s bite tainted her mind forever?

  Armida shoved Leo aside, pressing him up against the wall. “But, my sweet, are you saying there is anything you could do if we decide to harm the humans? Aw, my poor deluded dear, you haven’t tasted a single drop of human blood in your undead life. I could easily overpower you and drain all your blood here and now. To be honest, I am tempted to do just that.”

  “Leave the poor boy alone, my love,” Vlad said and turned around. “You will have plenty of opportunities to eat him once we have won the war.”

  Armida laughed and followed Vlad and Tristan outside. Myra turned back, looking at Leo, who was now staring with open hatred at the Prince’s back. “Thank you,” she mouthed and for a moment, all hatred disappeared from the vampire’s face, replaced by a bright smile.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Ring of Fire

  As soon as they returned to the Headquarters, Zack created a brand-new order. All activities not directly related to the upcoming fight were suspended. No school. Festivities had been rare before but were now nonexistent.

  Children, the sick, and the elderly worked day and night, casting bullets and sewing armor of leather and thick fabric. Everyone between sixteen and seventy and healthy had to join the fight. Zack allowed the elderly to volunteer, but never the children. Estella, the brave and bright sixteen-year-old who had first come up with the idea of a rat farm before Myra’s trip to the Palace, pushed hard against this rule. She tried to grant everyone the right to join the battle and gathered supporters from the young and old alike, but Zack never gave in, much to Myra’s relief. She was certain Thea would have volunteered if given the chance.

  All Warriors had double the usual training every day. Guns, crossbows, swords. Bare hands. Running, jumping. Climbing. Days and nights bled into each other, and all that Myra remembered was the constant pain in her arms, legs, and back. But then she would look at their schoolteacher, Grandma Pia, white-haired and wrinkle-faced, her arms barely thicker than sticks. She held up her gun and shot, again and again, each bullet moving closer to the target. Myra would stare at her and push on, until there was no unstrained muscle left to push.

  Every evening she dragged herself to her cot, but instead of collapsing on top and going to sleep, she always pulled out her notebook from underneath her threadbare, moth-eaten blanket and stared at the pages.

  Vlad’s book. Could she simply go on writing, as if nothing had changed? After everything she had learned about him? Could she twist her words and sentences so that they would fit the man he had once been, and the man he had become? The book centered on Theodora, a young Byzantine noblewoman. How had his view of his own character changed after he had become a vampire? What turns would this tale take if he could still write?

  Tragedies big and small had filled the Prince’s past. His unfinished book was perhaps the smallest tragedy of all. And yet, it was the only one Myra had the power to change. And so, one night she opened the notebook to the first blank page and took the story in a new direction. Her words painted pictures of conflict and treachery, of hope and loss. Perhaps she would never see Vlad again after this battle. She would finish his book and give it to him before they parted ways.

  But which story mattered more—the one she put on paper, or the one she created with her actions in the real world? Could any tale Myra wrote rival the one Vlad was weaving with his choices and his deeds? They were both storytellers—she with her pen, and he through his actions. He could never write in the way she did. But perhaps she could become an author of history, just like him.

  Days turned into weeks, blending together in a red haze of training, writing, and pain. Until one day, Vlad arrived to take them beyond the circle of guards that surrounded the Wizard.

  Only, he had no intention of taking her just yet. “I can only transport your people in small groups,” he said. “You need to be among the last. The army of guards is rotating—some of them have been to the Palace during your stay and might recognize you. I will take you only right before the battle.”

  And so Myra stayed back, losing herself in training and writing, watching as Vlad came and went, always taking ten to fifteen Resistance Warriors away with him. Every time he returned, he brought news of their friends who had left. They fared well. They had not been discovered.

  Zack left, and after him Sissi, Thomas, and Lidia. Soon, Myra had hardly anyone to keep her company, apart from the children and the sick and elderly. She talked to Thea often, but her cousin’s enthusiasm for the upcoming battle made her stomach twist into a knot. Thea wanted to fight. Vlad’s conversation with his firstborn daughter played inside her mind. If you say
this, you are either a monster or a fool. What if someone attacked the Resistance while all the Warriors were gone? What if allowing Thea to fight was the only way to save her, as it might have saved Erniké so many centuries ago?

  But these fears were meaningless—ancient spells guarded the Resistance, and only Vlad had succeeded in getting past them. The children would be safe.

  Unless Vlad betrayed them…

  She pushed the thought aside. It was too late to worry about that now—she had made the choice to trust him and would stick to it.

  On the night of her planned departure, Myra stood in her cellar, illuminated by a single candle. She gazed at her small, hard cot, at the flimsy blanket covered in holes. The world would change after this battle. Would she ever come back to this place that had been her home for her entire life? To the place where she had first started to write?

  She held her notebook pressed against her chest, Vlad’s finished novel inside. Of course she would return. She hid the notebook under the blanket as she had done many times before. She would return, and she would take it and give it to him.

  The battle was in three days, and she would need all that time to reach the site by horse cart. At last, Vlad came to pick her up. She climbed into the back of a covered cart together with the handful of Warriors that still remained, and the Prince sat on the front bench and urged the horses forward.

  Every time Myra lifted the flap, she saw a starry sky and thick darkness all around them. They stopped for breaks, and to get food and water. Soon, the stars gave way to thick grey clouds stretching over a stony desert.

  They traveled for two nights and two days. On the third night, Vlad stopped the cart and walked to the back to talk to them. “We are approaching,” he said. “Stay inside and keep quiet.”

  The cart resumed its trek but stopped again in a few hours. Myra heard muffled voices outside—Vlad was talking to someone. She saw the light of fires shining through the flaps. Curious, she took a cautious peek and froze. Tents and carts loaded with weapons stretched endlessly under the starry sky. Fires burned, and vampires walked among them, armed with swords, knives, and axes and dressed in armor. The ring of warriors guarding the Wizard. Myra had never seen so many vampires in one place, not even in the Palace. But Vlad would take them beyond this ring, and, if all went well, they would face only nine enemies.