The Pharaoh's Mistress

by Aderyn Wood

  Michael swallowed deeply. “So it has destroyed your gift?”

  There was a definite look of regret on Amynta’s face now.

  “It explains your strength I suppose.”

  “It does no such thing.” Amynta scowled. “Sanguis Sicarrii are gifted with superhuman strength.”

  “They are,” Gerold spoke. “Though only once they have offered their blood to their first vampire victim, that’s when their true power is triggered, though other gifts may present themselves before this time.”

  Nausea swirled in Michael’s stomach and a dizziness settled in his head as he looked at Emma once more. Her eyes were closed. Had she passed out from the pain? Was she dreaming again? How much of his blood had she consumed? Enough to kill her? “What will you do with Emma?”

  Gerold took another step. “Oh she will be used with the other Young Ones.”

  “Others?”

  Gerold gave another smirk as he lifted his arm to indicate the cavern. Michael now noticed that a number of vampires had been filing into the space. Perhaps a dozen of them stood like zombies, as though waiting for their orders.

  “As Amynta explained, Asha has her own plans. She thinks she will be raising her lover, the Pharaoh Mentuhotep, and she needs vampire blood to do it. Emma’s blood will do nicely.”

  “Yes,” Amynta said, her smile returned. “We will allow Asha her games, for a time, so that she may be adequately fooled and better poised to fall for our trap. Then she, and all vampire, will regain their mortality, and die.”

  “Mon Dieu!” It was Schleck’s voice that echoed around the cavern. “What’s that?”

  “It’s time!” Gerold said as his eyes followed the direction in which Schleck was pointing.

  Michael also turned to stare. There at the cavern’s entrance a thick cloud of mist was moving at a slow pace. Through the passage and above them until it came to hover over the altar.

  Gerold was smiling a sinister grin. “It is time.”

  Chapter 22

  Nathaniel kept daydreaming as he marched ever on, zombie style. He couldn’t help it. The closer he got, the stronger the pull, the more the reveries set on him. Dreams filled him – Asha’s story playing out in in his mind’s eye.

  She was a priestess of death, and her lover the pharaoh had died after a year and a day, just as the wise woman said he would. But his blood had changed form in that time, and after he was taken through the death rites, he would rise again. Immortal.

  Ashayet prepared for his rise. She would be there to greet him when he returned. His tomb was an impressive structure and appeared as though it had sprung forth from the cliffs beyond. A fine tomb for any king, though it would be his tomb for a short time only.

  Nathaniel.

  He flinched. Was it Asha herself who had called to him in his dream state? His heart quickened in his chest. Nathaniel frowned. That couldn’t be right. He hadn’t felt a pulse in centuries.

  Nathaniel.

  In his dream he turned.

  “Nathaniel!”

  He was wrenched back to reality as the echoes of his name bounced around the rocky valley he stood in. Above, the halfmoon glowed an eerie yellow beyond the screen of clouds, and the rain teemed down. Lightning turned the world to white and the shadows crouched ahead on the ground were clear to see.

  “Nathaniel!”

  He frowned and focused his gaze. “Georgette?”

  Suddenly he came to his senses. Georgette grappled with a Young One. Lightning struck again, and something glinted as Georgette raised her arm heavenward then thrust it down, slicing the vampire’s neck. Blood spewed forth and finally with the stench of new vampire blood filling the air, Nathaniel found his legs and flew forward, ripping the Young One away from Georgette.

  But the Young One, a woman, was dying. Or seemed to be. She had no strength. She was limp and powerless as he let go his grip, and she fell from his arms.

  “Nice of you to help,” Georgette said as she caught her breath. Her hair lacked frizz for once and fell limp around her shoulders, saturated. “What were you doing?”

  Nathaniel stared at her. As usual Georgette held no fear, only frustration, probably on account of him. She was shaking her head but gradually her expression changed to one of surprise, shock even, her mouth opening wide, her eyes too.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Georgette threw the lance down. Something was wrong. It seemed to be glowing. He narrowed his eyes on it. It was definitely glowing.

  “It’s hot!” Georgette said, as she looked at the vampire she’d slain.

  Nathaniel stepped closer. The Young One lay still on the ground. A dark purple puddle had formed where her blood pooled out from the slice in her neck, mixing with the teeming rain.

  “She’s not healing,” Georgette said.

  “No.”

  He stalked closer to the lance. It no longer glowed. He touched it. It was warm beneath his fingertips, not hot, but it had always felt warm to him. Such a welcome feeling, so very different to silver, and other such unpleasantries.

  The tug returned, and he yelped as he doubled over, this time in pain.

  “Nathaniel? What is it?”

  He stumbled to his feet. “This way,” he croaked before moving on.

  “Wait,” Georgette said.

  He heard her heavy steps sloshing through the puddles as she followed. In another handful of minutes his mouth fell open as they arrived at a place he’d never before seen but knew to be his destination.

  Georgette’s breaths sounded behind him. “What is it?”

  A movement caught his eye. He grabbed Georgette’s shoulder and forced her to crouch with him behind a boulder. He still possessed enough of his own mind to be wary, though for how much longer he did not know.

  “What?” she hissed, frowning at him.

  He held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to look beyond the boulder. ‘Carefully’, he mouthed.

  They both stuck their heads out. Two vampires stumbled by, quickly followed by three more. Nathaniel held his hand on Georgette’s arm to stop the French woman from doing something stupid. He noticed then that she held the lance. She must have picked it up before following him.

  In another moment there were so many vampires forming an irregular queue into the cavern, they were impossible to count.

  “What’s going on?” Georgette whispered.

  “I don’t know, but they look like mindless zombies.”

  Then the tug grew stronger once more and Nathaniel winced with the pain.

  “Mon Dieu,” Georgette hissed. “What is that?” Georgette faced south with her mouth open her finger pointed. Nathaniel manage to stifle the pain to look up.

  There in the stormy air a cloud of mist, or fog, moved like a slow-winding serpent, weaving through the rain and into the passage. The vampires moaned as it touched them and raised their hands as though in adulation. The tug came again as the mist moved over Nathaniel, along with insight.

  He snatched the lance from Georgette and marched forward. “I must go to her.”

  Chapter 23

  I dream of Asha with her lover, both newly awakened as Dark Ones. The pharaoh’s first action was to turn Ashayet to be like him – vampire. Together they ruled the night for a century, terrifying thousands, before Asha’s lover faced death once more.

  One night, a different victim came unto their path. A plain young woman lacking beauty and wit, but her blood was richer than any other, irresistible. Mentuhotep drained the human in one deathly feed. That night he was invincible. Flying through the sky, seeing at once the thoughts of thousands. Transforming into any number of entities – wolf, bat, even mist.

  But the second night, Asha woke beside him to find her lover dead. His skin already turning to dust at the slightest touch.

  Asha roared a scream so loud it shook the cavern in which they had slept. She prayed to every one of the gods, as well as Seth and the demons as she held the bones of her lover in her arms. And w
hen the Lord of Chaos did eventually appear, she promised all he asked…

  My first awareness as I wake is the burn from the netting and the bullet still buried in my thigh. I feel pain, but not as much as I should, and I know why.

  Michael.

  He is Sanguis Sicarri. His blood will feed and invigorate me, make me stronger, just as it did to Mentuhotep – right before it kills me.

  I blink as I take in the meaning from the dream, finding myself on the ground by the altar at the back of the cavern. It is the cavern from the dream. This is the place Mentuhotep faced his second death.

  I lift my head to better see. A stream of vampires enter the cavern in a trance-like state. A strange mist weaves through the passage and swirls throughout the cavern, and the tug within me finally seems to die.

  This is the place.

  This is the time.

  The monk stands in front of the altar, his hands in the air, his eyes closed, whispering a language too ancient, and of which I have no knowledge.

  Schleck is right behind him. Her eyes watching everything at once. Her hand on her gun that rests halfway out of its holster by her side. I can smell the vampire blood in her. She has taken it to strengthen and heal her injuries, and to help her control her army of Young Ones. Nathaniel’s blood emanates from her too. I look for my maker as the mist thickens, but do not see him among the vampire faces still filling the cavern.

  My eyes find Amynta who also reeks of vampire blood. She, too, has been taking it to better track the likes of me. Her motivations have been finally laid bare. She wanted him from the start. Not me. It was Michael she needed to help her kill Asha and her lover, once he rises for the third and final time.

  But when Asha dies, so too will her progeny. I will die regardless of Michael’s blood.

  I don’t care for myself. I only care for Michael. He is crouched on the ground behind Amynta. The hulking form of Victor stands guard behind him. Michael’s hands are tied behind his back, but his beautiful blue eyes watch only me. He shakes his head gently and I know what he wants to say to me. ‘Don’t try anything, Emma. Don’t risk your life to save me.’ I read his mind in an instant. Even with all the pain as a distraction. His blood has given me such power.

  Gerold’s chanting grows in volume and echoes through the dim space and the mist had thickened as though a heavy fog fills the cavern. A vortex begins swirling above the altar and whips up a breeze which grows ever stronger. In a few seconds a veritable tornado seems to churn in the centre of the cavern and dust stings my raw skin. The sconces are extinguished.

  “Gerold!” Amynta’s voice cuts through the maelstrom and the moaning of the vampires who seem to have picked up Gerold’s strange chant. “What’s happening?”

  “She comes!” Gerold’s voice booms with some kind of unnatural authority and echoes off the walls. The vortex grows in speed and strength and the mist forms a dense shape before I am forced to shut my eyes for all the dust.

  Gerold’s voice amplifies further still. It booms and echoes around the confines of the cavern. Other voices join in on the chant – Schleck’s one of them.

  Finally, the wind dies and I open my eyes to see something that makes my jaw drop. There on the altar stands a woman. In the flashes of light that spiral through from the storm Asha is visible – beautiful and terrifying. She wears a black corset and skirt, in the medieval style and a red vial sits at her throat, it seems to glow and even pulse in the dim light of the cavern.

  The woman smiles as she raises her hand to click her fingers, and every lantern in the chamber comes to life casting a golden hue on her beauty. A beauty as rare as rain in the desert. “My children,” her voice is deep and sonorous, and holds an accent at once puzzling. “It is a wondrous event we are to witness this night. I am Ashayet, your mother and maker, and tonight we shall raise one of our own from the dead.”

  Chapter 24

  The Scrolls of Azazel – The Final Reckoning

  And the blood of the dead will bring new life.

  Michael crouched on the cool ground, the binds still cutting into the flesh of his wrists secured at his back. The heightened energy he’d experienced over the last few days had now turned to lethargy, and he felt every strain and discomfort in his aching body. With an effort he’d got to his knees to better see the unbelievable scene playing out before him.

  Asha stood on the altar-like rock at the back of the cavern. A number of boulders were hunched around the space, but the block of stone she stood upon had been carved with various engravings etched deep into the surface. Her black hair gleamed in the dim light. Her beauty was impossible to deny, and Michael kept returning his gaze to take in the sheer delight of her form. But hers was a dangerous beauty, and he forced his eyes away every time.

  Brother Gerold stood before her, his arms rising higher as he spoke. “Ashayet, it is I, Azazel. I have been your faithful servant since you gave of your soul to our Lord. I have prepared all that is necessary for the reawakening of your lover, the Pharaoh Mentuhotep.”

  “Who the fuck is Azazel?” It was Amynta who cut through the groans of the vampires.

  Gerold looked over, momentarily surprised before his face reclaimed his usual calm. “My dear Amynta, I suppose we shouldn’t drag out the inevitable. Alas, you’ve been quite the fool these past few decades. I am not the person you have thought me to be, a Sanguis Sicarri like yourself. My role is not to slay vampires, no. It is to assure their restitution.” Gerold’s eyes were glowing more than before, and his voice boomed louder.

  Michael longed to release his hands so that he could take the damned talisman off. He turned his head, but Victor stood like a mountain behind him, though he now seemed as zombified as the others.

  Amynta was yelling at Gerold. “…A lie? Everything we’ve done to bring about this moment?” The slayer thrust her arm at Asha. “To bring her downfall?”

  Gerold was shaking his head. “What a fool you’ve been. If only our dear leader, the indefatigable Dux could have been here to eat her pride too. Alas, it isn’t to be. Still, we have you, my dear.” Gerold paused to snap his fingers. “Jeanette. Bind her.”

  Schleck moved quickly and gestured to two vampires, both young men, one blond with a broad nose, the other dark and bearded. They wore the black uniform that seemed to mark them as belonging to Amynta, or perhaps it was Schleck who owned them. They moved with speed to grab Amynta from behind. The slayer snarled and lashed out, but Schleck and the others teamed up against her, and they quickly subdued Amynta and tied her arms and legs so that she lay in a huddle on the floor.

  Michael turned to look at Emma again, but her gaze was squarely on Asha who now addressed the waiting vampires.

  “My children,” she said as she thrust her arms in the air and once again a wind whipped up, and thunder rumbled. “The time has come for you to give of your gift of immortality. And the dead will bring new life!”

  “And the dead will bring new life!” Gerold took up the chant and the zombie-like vampires repeated it.

  “Gerold, you fucker!” Amynta again. She heaved and thrusted against her binds. Schleck slapped her face, hard, and the slayer fell backwards.

  Michael returned his attention to the back of the cavern. Asha floated, literally floated to the ground and stood behind the altar, her hands running over the markings – deep engravings from an ancient time. Asha’s mouth seemed to be moving, as though she read the inscriptions there – Michael guessed the engravings were a language of some kind. Hieroglyphs perhaps.

  “The dead will bring new life,” Gerold’s voice was booming once again and so too were the flat discordant words of the vampires.

  Asha was smiling as she also spoke the words, her own voice mixing with the din now pulsating along the cavern’s walls. The cacophony built with the rising wind and then Asha opened her mouth and sang a high-pitched ululation that made Michael want to thrust his hands up to his ears. There was so much in that cry – grief, pain, terror. The raw emotions vibrated
and ricocheted along his nerve endings.

  Her cry reverberated again and again until it finally came to an abrupt halt and Michael opened his eyes.

  Asha touched the top of the tomb and the whole thing fell apart at the seams, tumbling to a pile of rubble and dust.

  “The dead will bring new life,” the zombified vampires moaned.

  Michael narrowed his eyes on what was the tomb. The dust settled slowly and there on the floor by Asha’s feet was a skeleton. The bones had turned to petrified ebony, and dust caked along the spaces, but it was recognizable – a human skeleton. The head was bent back, the mouth gaped wide as though screaming with pain.

  “Jesus,” Michael whispered. So that was her lover.

  “Azazel!” Asha cried.

  “I am here,” Gerold said.

  Michael licked his dry lips. Azazel was a fallen angel. A demon. A rush of heat flushed through Michael’s entire being and his palm itched to be laid on the monk’s forehead, to begin the incantation to send him back to hell. His blood also warmed with anger. How could he allow a demon to fool him? How was it even possible he could take corporeal form for so long?

  “It is time to nourish my lover and replenish his form,” Asha’s voice cut through Michael’s thoughts.

  “Let it begin.” The monk turned to Schleck and ordered her to, “Bring them forth, one at a time beginning with the newly turned.”

  Schleck stepped to a nearby vampire, a young man. She clasped his shoulder and led him toward Asha and the skeleton.

  “The sacred lance,” Asha said in a loud voice. “Bring it to me.”

  Michael frowned. “The lance?” he whispered. Georgette had carried the ancient artefact and a sickness gripped his stomach. Please, don’t let Georgette be here.

  But a new voice cried out from behind. “It is here, my Lady.”

  Michael turned. Victor was right behind him but he still wore that look of zombification like the others. Michael leaned to the left to get a better look, and Victor didn’t seem to notice. Holding his breath Michael took a risk as he got to his feet and made a small sideways step. Still Victor didn’t notice, and that’s when Michael spotted the vampire.