The Pharaoh's Mistress

by Aderyn Wood

  “Tell me all you know of Asha.” Schleck’s voice had a deadly seriousness about it, but Nathaniel laughed.

  “That’s what you want to know? Hell, you know everything I do. You’ve read my diary. You’ve probably still got it somewhere, go read it again and save both our time.”

  “There’s other information you have stored in your head, Chartley. Some of it you’re not even conscious of. But some of it you know.”

  “Bullshit. Vampires have full awareness. No id or ego like the child-mind of humans. Full. Awareness.”

  Schleck arched an eyebrow once more as she selected a long thin instrument with a sharp spike at the tip and placed it on the bare skin of Nathaniel’s right arm. The pain was precise and intense, and he stifled a gasp as smoke spiralled up from his seared skin. It hurt like hell. The device had to be pure silver. She held it there and picked up another, just like it and glancing at his other arm she said, “Tell me of your dreams.”

  Nathaniel grimaced as his incisors lengthened, grazing his tongue. The pain would bring on his red haze if it continued much longer, perhaps he should let it happen and see how Schleck handled him full vampire.

  “You dream of her, don’t you? Those dreams, that is what we must know.” She prodded the second silver spike onto his other arm and he opened his mouth and let go a roar.

  “That’s it.” Schleck was enjoying the torture, and she’d only just begun. She held up the two spikes again and the pain receded in an instant. “I’ve found these to be my most effective tool.” She put one of them down and picked up a slender vial filled with clear liquid that Nathaniel looked at with horror as she screwed it onto the end of the apparatus and pointed the spike his way. “You see what they’re designed for?”

  Nathaniel wished he could spit at her smug face, but his mouth was as dry as Schleck’s disposition. His mind was in a fog and he struggled to understand how Amynta had known he was dreaming at all. Perhaps the vampires in her service had also been dreaming. He glanced at the silver spikes and answered Schleck’s question. “There is little I recall from the dreams.”

  She gave him a level stare as she twirled one of the spikes in her hand. “As I was saying, your conscious mind had limited access to the dreams, but your unconscious holds certain information we need. It will open once you enter full hunt mode. So come, Chartley, let’s not be shy.” She plunged the two spikes into the arteries of Nathaniel neck. Blood spilled out at a slow rate, but Schleck injected the nitrate and searing pain exploded through his entire being. He screamed again and again, and as he did so the images from his dreams played out in his mind and through all the torment a realisation took hold: the young woman with the large eyes, the full lips, the raven hair, she was Asha – the oldest vampire ever known and his maker, the gypsy woman.

  Nathaniel woke with a jolt and a strong sense of motion. He quickly surmised he was in the back of some vehicle, a truck or van that drove at some speed. Weak as he was, his sight was still a vampire’s sight and he readily made out the silhouettes in the shadows of the van. In the next instant he smelt them. Vampires, three of them, all Young Ones. It was night outside too, he could detect that much.

  Slowly he sat up, wincing with the burn of the cuffs around his wrists, and the old burn of simmering veins. He leaned against the wall which jostled over a rough patch of road.

  “We meet again.” The voice was familiar, along with the scent. It was the Young One Nathaniel had met on the train the night before. Or was it two night’s past? His mind was growing blunt with all the torture.

  “What is your name?” Nathaniel’s voice croaked, it needed rest from all his screaming. His body was taking a long time to heal.

  “Jayden.”

  Nathaniel grunted. People had such idiotic names these days. “Where are we going?”

  “East, Old One.”

  Nathaniel narrowed his focus on Jayden. He’d not asked Nathaniel’s name. He was a Young One, but he knew the rules of engagement and the submissive slant of his chin reinforced the respect in his voice. “I am Nathaniel.”

  “The Nathaniel?”

  “There is no other.”

  “I—Sir, it is a great—”

  “Spare me,” Nathaniel said with curt authority. “Answer me, do you think they take us east?”

  In the darkness Jayden’s head bobbed. “I heard them talking as they dragged us in here. They’re taking us to a small airport.”

  “Egypt then.”

  “I think so.”

  “What happened to those two?” Nathaniel tossed his head toward the two recumbent figures nearby. They lay prostrate in a deep vampire sleep, probably gone dormant from all the torture. When the vampire’s body was injured too gravely, it would shut down into dormancy to heal, and when still young, the vampire had little control over the extended hibernation. Too young and the vampire may not survive it. Their bodies would gradually turn to ash, and they would never rise again.

  “I don’t know them, but I suppose they were interrogated, just as I was.”

  “Did they ask you of…” Nathaniel cleared his throat, wishing again for a drink, even water to quench this damned thirst. “Did they ask you of your dreams?”

  Again Jayden nodded. “I told them all I knew, but it was little and beyond my understanding.”

  “Tell me your dreams, Young One.”

  The truck curved round a bend before accelerating, Jayden nearly fell forward but Nathaniel reached for his shoulder, supporting him. He waited patiently for Jayden to answer.

  “Well,” the young vampire said finally. “I’ve been dreaming of this woman…”

  Chapter 14

  In the dream, the girl is older, no longer the frightened child, but a woman grown and beautiful. She stands by a jetty, in line with other young women from various tribes and villages of the desert and beyond. The wind is cold and brings the scent of the river – fecund and rich with silt. A procession of officials, all men, move past observing the women with slanted looks. The men wear fine kohl on their eyes and linen wrapped about their waists and draped over the shoulder, held with golden clasps. Two of them bear long cylindrical headpieces and walk with their chins up, but their eyes study each girl with hawk-like focus.

  In the very middle of the small procession is a man, taller than the others who wears a golden torque about his neck. His broad shoulders remain bare, and he wears a band of gold and turquoise with gilded ties that fall to the length of his white linen skirt. If he feels the cold he doesn’t show it. He pauses in front of the young woman whose dark hair blows in tendrils about her face, and the officials stop.

  She bows her head. “Your most Holy Reverence.”

  The man is a prince, first son of the Pharaoh. He reaches out to grip the young woman’s chin and look at her with amber eyes. “What is your name?”

  The woman returns his stare. She is bold, and it pleases him. “Ashayet, Reverence.”

  The prince lowers his hand from her chin to hold the pendant that hangs from her neck – a vial stoppered with wax. “What is this?”

  “A keepsake from my tribe.”

  “What is it for?”

  “Our wisewoman makes it for every girl and boy. It is for my protection.”

  “Protection from what?”

  “The darkness.”

  My eyes open to the darkness before me rather than the dull glow of a desert sunset, as shown in the dream, the little I recall. I step to the sole round window in our cabin and open it to allow starlight and cool air to flow through the room. The yacht moves ever forward, and I will it to go faster. Without thinking I reach out with my mind for Michael, but rather than feeling his essence, images of the dream return to me. The golden desert. A line of young women. A man tall and beautiful with eyes of fire. The dream leaves me hungry for more than just food and I will Michael to come to me so all my wishes may be fulfilled…

  My mind snaps back to the present. Something is odd. I’d only just fed yesterday, and as for the
lust, I’d not felt this way about sex since…

  I force a deep breath of cool river air and relax my hands that had clenched into rock hard fists. It takes all my will to resist punching something. I hate thinking of my time with Nathaniel, before I was changed. I was so naive, so plainly stupid to fall for him. The fact that he had immeasurable powers of persuasion doesn’t alleviate the sense of shame that fills me when I think of how I foolishly succumbed to his charms.

  Another worry breaches my thoughts. Could it be true I’ve used similar charms on Michael? Is this what it means in the Foliss when it says the vampire grooms their victims? But I’d not read anything about this kind of infatuation in regard to the vampire, only on the part of the victim. Am I infatuated with Michael? A giddiness swells within me every time I think of him.

  The door to the cabin opens and I turn to see Michael step through. The light from the passageway casts a golden aura over his form and for a moment it’s as if he bears wings.

  “Michael,” I step toward him, reaching out, but my nails have begun to turn talon-like. My vision has also switched to the eagle-like view when I transform – high focus. I blink hard and turn abruptly from him, shoving my face at the open window and forcing cool night air to my lungs. The desire is lulled for a moment, especially when I sense Michael’s emotions. Waves of panic come from him and I turn, ready to pounce, to protect him at any cost. “What’s wrong?”

  He steps into the room and turns a lamp on. “Georgette has gone. Amynta has taken her.”

  “What? How?”

  “I don’t know. I left the cruiser today while it refuelled.

  “You left the yacht?” A wave of irritation blooms but is quickly quashed when I look at Michael’s sorrowful expression.

  “I know. I shouldn’t have. It was stupid of me.” He sits on the bed and runs a hand through his hair. “But something else happened this morning.” He looks at me. “Kallum, the young waiter was possessed of a demon.”

  “Demon,” I say the word slowly, while probing Michael’s mind. A sudden vision of Michael with a sparking hand on the youth’s forehead fills my vision before it disappears, and I return my attention to Michael’s concerned face.

  “I exorcised it.”

  “Jesus.”

  “The demon had a message for me. To go back the way I have come. To leave you.”

  A flush of panic accosts every cell in my being and I once again feel my body begin to transform of its own accord. As though threatened.

  “I’m not going to, Emma,” Michael says quickly, his gentle calm soothing. “I will never leave you.”

  “But why? Why did it tell you that?” Then another thought enters my mind. “And who sent the message?”

  Michael gives me a slow nod. “The devil himself, if you can believe it. And I don’t know why. Only that somehow, I must be a threat. And now Georgette is in danger. Thanks to my clumsiness.”

  I step toward him and reach out again. My hands have returned to normal, no talons. I caress his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. This is Amynta’s doing. But why has she taken her?”

  Michael shakes his head. Helplessness and a sense of failure waft from him in strong bursts. “I think they’re using her as a kind of guarantee. A warning to us that if we do anything, try anything… Amynta will harm Georgette.”

  “Offer her as food to her vampire slaves perhaps?” The words are gone from my lips before I can call them back.

  “Oh god!” Michael’s face contorts into a look of horror.

  “We don’t know that. We don’t know why they have her at all. What did Amynta tell you exactly?” I send out a pulse of tranquillity, I need Michael to stop this panic.

  “She said she will follow us east.” Michael takes a deep breath and calms a notch. “That you are to continue on your path, and she will follow. She believes she needs you to draw out Asha. And if we do anything suspicious, Georgette will pay.”

  “Amynta must know what is going to happen.”

  Michael stares at me, his blue eyes wide. “Do you have any idea yourself? What is it that draws you east? What’s going to happen?”

  I shake my head. “All I know is I feel this extreme pull that won’t let go. Almost like I wear a rope, and someone is pulling it from the other end. Or that I am a magnet being pushed through some invisible force. I must follow, I have no choice. Perhaps it is to do with the dreams—”

  “You’ve had more?”

  I shrug. “Yes, though they’re so difficult to remember. I see only fragments. A woman, a man – he’s a Pharaoh, or prince, they are…” I look at Michael, and the lust rises once more. “They are in love, I think.” I sense the desire swell in him too. Our emotions reflect each other, as though we are linked. I see the wanting drip in his eyes also. He, too, is no longer able to resist the call to go further, together.

  I reach up, put my hand on his shoulder and pull him to me. He has his hands in my hair as we kiss. I tear my lips from his and lean into his chest to embrace him. I tilt my head to rest my nose along his neck and breathe in the overpowering scent of goodness. It’s as though there is gold in his veins, no, not gold, sunshine. A powerful energy. Like lightning. I wish I could bask in his radiance.

  I feel the sharp graze of my incisors as they grow longer of their own accord. Lust and hunger are ever connected for me now. With a great thrust of self-discipline I push myself away from him and take a step, turning my back to pull myself together.

  “Emma.” His voice cracks. “I want you.”

  I clench my eyes shut, along with my lips.

  Michael’s step is loud in my ears as he nears me. “Please.”

  I feel the warmth of him and that scent of goodness wafts once more. My vision has shifted fully now. My incisors lengthen and my desire is no longer within my control, nor is my hunger. I turn to face him, and gasp. My vision sees every part of him, and the golden glow of his aura is so bright it almost hurts. Like looking at the sun.

  “Emma—”

  I rush to him and grasp his slender jaw in both my hands and bring his lips to mine. We kiss like hungry lovers, our hands soon exploring the other with frenzied clutches. I push his coat from his shoulders, then my hands release the belt at his waist and before I can think I’ve thrown him on the bed, naked. He holds out his hand, reaching for me, his breath ragged. “Emma. Come to me.”

  Chapter 15

  Excerpt from Dark Ones, by Gavius Flavian

  The Sanguis Sicarii have perplexed me for the better part of the last millennium, but recent events have thrown light on this most troublesome mystery. It seems there are two branches of Sicarii. One is old, indeed perhaps as ancient as vampires claim to be. The other, a more recent phenomenon, a group of rebels who consider themselves modern day heroes and who have formed a militia of sorts known as the Order of Sanguis Sicarii. They hold as their Modus Operandi the singular aim of extinguishing vampire kind. Their leader is known as The Dux, and has successfully remained anonymous, though I suspect the identity to be one and the same as that famed and much maligned enemy of our race, Amynta de Jager. She is never silent in her quest to slay all Dark Ones. I am known for my pacifist views, my reluctance to violence, which many consider anathema to our purpose, but so help me, I call upon all our kind, Old Ones and Young, to vanquish de Jager, for she is the singular most dangerous threat to our very existence. Furthermore…

  Michael frowned at his tablet. The text came to a brutal end and when he flicked to the next image he let go an audible gasp of frustration. In his hurry at the library in Alexandria he’d skipped a page – the page about Amynta. Michael narrowed his eyes focussing on the last mention of her name and said it out loud, “Amynta de Jager.” Was she Sanguis Sicarri? If so which branch? And what did it mean anyway? Some form of slayer?

  A grunt escaped his lips as he stood and paced to the window. Dark clouds draped over the horizon like a blanket, transforming the river water to ink. It seemed to Michael the boat moved at a glacial pace
. He pressed his lips in a tight line, wishing once again he knew where exactly they were going.

  Michael turned from the window and stalked to the bench where Emma kept her stash of alcohol. He opened a new bottle of whisky and poured. He needed to slow his racing thoughts. He’d been so careful. Maintaining a sense of calm, reining in his panic, his fear. He’d been so busy dwelling on that he’d neglected the other emotion – just as dangerous, just as risky. Lust.

  But could he have avoided what happened? His mind filled with images of their lovemaking. Of Emma, naked atop him, her fangs glinting in the starlight. The sex was one thing, but when she’d fed, that was quite another. His hand went to the bites – one on his neck, and a new one on his chest. The feeling when she’d pierced the skin there to feed had driven him mad with ecstasy.

  Somehow, he still knew it was wrong, but it grew more difficult to remember why. He should be tired. He should be exhausted from the sex and loss of blood both, but for some reason he felt the very opposite. As though he could run a bloody marathon if he wanted.

  Michael held the whisky in his hand, hesitating for a second before making it a double, then thrust the glass to his lips and threw the entire contents back. The burn in his throat made him scrunch his face, but the fire in his blood was almost instant and it felt good to feel something physical that didn’t consume him the way Emma did. He poured another before returning to the chair and glancing once more at the tablet.

  Michael studied Gavius’ text, sipping the whisky as he read.

  … It is the old branch of Sanguis Sicarii I wish to return to now, for they are what I fear most, and their mystery is far more subtle than Amynta’s oaken stakes and silver bullets. Their power resides in the blood, and it is a power most lethal. These individuals are tainted with a curse that will prove the vampire’s undoing. They may be identified by their scent, certainly which is difficult to explain, and I can only think of it as pure and unrestrained sunshine. It is the most pleasant blood a vampire will detect and the lust to surrender to its call will be impossible for most to avoid, especially the young. But avoid it we must. For only death therein lies.