by M. L. Desir
“It’s a shame there isn’t any music.” Nathaniel patted Gabriel on the shoulder. “Perhaps in the garden. There’s a lake and if it’s drizzling, the raindrops almost seem to sing upon the tranquil surface.” He sauntered toward one of the female Chosen and captured her in his arms. She looked up into his face like an empty-headed doll. Spinning her around with grace and ease, he began to dance the waltz. He stopped in mid-turn and led her by the hand outside to the garden. The other men did likewise, taking partners on the way, but none of them nowhere near as graceful as Nathaniel.
Colin went to one knee before Gabriel. “Seth. Do you sense him here?”
Gabriel nodded. “Have Faron and Alexander go with you and those wearing red roses outside to the garden and courtyard. The less we have in here, the fewer the casualties.”
Sevien moved beside Gabriel, his hands clasped behind his back. As he stood there without saying a word, Gabriel could feel his hungry eyes on him as he continued the ritual bloodletting.
“So, you killed one of your own kind?” Sevien asked. “I’m looking forward to seeing what more you’ll do when fear pins you further against a wall.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. He had no immediate response for this. A satisfied smile appeared on Sevien’s face.
Sevien walked away to Bela, took her hands, bowed to her, and swirled her into a dance. There was something sinuous about his loose, fluid dancing. Five words could describe such movements: the devil in the serpent. And the devil was a liar that fools were quick to trust. Or the desperate . . .
* * *
Mikel leaned over the balcony. He had heard someone screaming from the dining room. He took a shallow breath, expecting to catch the unpleasant whiff of burning flesh, but instead he smelled a sweet, cloying scent. “Flowers?”
Nikolai shook his head, the only movement he had made for a long while. Not at all like his loquacious and energetic self. The child seemed troubled. Mikel didn’t show any ill will against him. He didn’t show that he was upset about having to play nursemaid to him. He gave a mental shrug. Playing nursemaid fared better than the alternative: assisting his “master.”
“No, not flowers. It’s the smell of burning flesh,” Nikolai said.
Mikel laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Believe me. It is. Don’t ask me why, but that’s what it smells like when your kind burn.”
“Don’t you mean our kind?”
He glanced up at him and frowned. “Yes.”
“You know a lot for one who is so young. Who made you?”
The boy lowered his eyes to the floor. “I don’t remember his name.”
“I pity you,” Mikel said. “You’ll never mature into a man.”
Nikolai giggled. “Would that really be so awful?” He strode through the door that led into Mikel’s bedroom.
Mikel followed. The boy lingered beside the bed, looking at the prostitute, Marie Antoinette. He reached out a finger and touched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t awaken, didn’t stir; the night before, Mikel had drained her near to death.
“That is why I pity you,” Mikel said. “When you’re older, you will desire the body of a woman, and none will cater to you. You’re frozen in the body of a child, mon petit.”
Nikolai said nothing.
“Have you ever seen the body of a naked woman?”
He cleared his throat. “No.”
Mikel jerked a thumb at the prostitute. “Would you like to?”
Nikolai shuffled awkwardly on his feet, hands clasped in front of him. He wrenched his head to the side. A blush covered his entire face. “No.”
Mikel moved to the piano and sat on its bench. He cracked his knuckles and began playing chords and scales.
“You don’t like me, do you?” the child asked.
”I don’t like anyone. My heart is as hard as stone and as cold as ice.”
“Not completely. I could soften it, melt it, before it gets worse. Before you become like Seth.”
Mikel’s hands froze. He looked over his shoulder at the boy. “What are you talking about?”
“Seth. He will come for me. I’ve had dreams about it.”
“And why are you divulging this to me?”
“Because I know your heart. I know that you’d let him take me even if I hadn’t planned to go along willingly.”
Mikel ignored him. Silence was sometimes the best answer. He saw no reason to lie to the boy. If he was a key to making Gabriel suffer, then he would most likely do what the boy accused him of. Yes, so be it.
* * *
Gabriel had an eerie feeling. It grew when Bela slipped out of Sevien’s embrace and rushed to his side. Sevien didn’t seem to mind and instead fell into dancing with another. Gabriel glanced at Bela. Something didn’t seem right.
Did you miss me, Gabriel? I accepted your invitation, Seth said in his mind. But can you find me? Before I make my move? Taunting laughter followed.
And then it happened. What looked like a head, trailed by flowing blonde hair, flew by. It struck the wall before falling to the floor.
“So, Seth has finally come out of hiding,” Nathaniel said close to his ear.
Gabriel flinched. He hadn’t noticed when he had returned. He looked back to the dance floor just in time to see the decapitated body of the woman Sevien had been dancing with, sinking to the floor, her hand rigidly holding a dagger. Christopher knelt beside him, clutching his side, dripping with blood. His brother helped him up and brought him to Gabriel’s side of the room. Most of the Chosen fled from the area and planted their backs firmly against the perimeter walls of the room. Those who didn’t flee stood their ground, but none of them approached the throne, but instead stared at him. Waiting.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes and studied their faces, wondering which one was an instrument of Seth. An illusion? You coward!
Seth’s laughter echoed hollowly in his mind. No illusion this time. I still have some who will fight for me. Not necessarily willing, though.
You and your master are a piece of work. To use people like puppets. Show yourself!
In due time. Be patient.
Gabriel tensed. Nathaniel must’ve sensed his distress. In one fluid motion, he moved forward in front of him, like an inhuman shield.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Gabriel asked. “If you’re trying to protect me, you will fail.”
Nathaniel chuckled. A cool blue aura of power rose from him like a mist. “I’m giving you some time to prepare yourself,” he said, his back facing Gabriel. “Your desire to maintain order I believe to be quite impossible. Blood will spill again tonight. So, let us make the best of it.” The bright smile in his savior’s voice gave him no comfort.
A young male Chosen stooped beside the body of the decapitated woman. He tenderly took one of her hands in his.
He looked terribly familiar. Something other than the jagged scar zigzagging along his throat triggered a chord of recognition in him. Of course. The last time Gabriel had seen this man he had snarled at him like a rabid dog. Yes. Gabriel stared at him intensely and within moments, decided that he wasn’t one of Seth’s illusions made to look like mocking remnants of his past.
As Gabriel recalled, he had beheaded the little ingrate. Thought that he had killed him.
The Chosen let the dead woman’s hand slip from his fingers and rose slowly. “You are a liar, sir. You don’t have that kind of power to kill the likes of me. My scar,” he traced his finger languidly across his neck, “is testimony to that.”
Gabriel said nothing. Wasn’t able to. Pure astonishment had stolen all speech.
Harold glowered. “So,” he drawled, “You do remember me.”
“How could I forget?” Gabriel answered, relieved that his voice sounded confident and firm. “Your ability to bleed your victim dry while simultaneously maintai
ning an air of elegance was most fascinating. Harold, was it?”
He barked out an ugly laugh. “It’s because, unlike you, I haven’t forgotten who and what I am. And since you are so hell-bent on forgetting who and what you are, we should waste no time in doing the same. You’re not necessary.” He flashed a smile, showing off his sharp fangs. “Obsolete.”
“How can you speak like that when Gabriel brought you back to life?” Antony strolled over to Gabriel and sat at his feet, like an obedient dog. “I was there when he beheaded you. You were dead, Harold!” Ah. So that was what Anthony thought. How convenient. Anthony turned to him, smiling like a little boy. “I shan’t betray you, my Prince.”
Harold scowled. “Gabriel,” he growled, “had nothing to do with it.” He produced another dagger and threw it at Anthony.
Gabriel held up his hand and the weapon froze in mid-strike, inches from Anthony’s shocked face.
Harold’s eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple made a large bulge as he swallowed hard. A stubborn hardness appeared in his jaw. “Is that what you’re telling them? That you allowed me to live?
Gabriel smiled. “And you have no gratitude. This time, I shall have to cut you into smaller pieces.” He rose from his throne and began moving toward him.
“I know that you’re heartless, Gabriel, but I didn’t fancy you to be a coward as well,” Harold said. “And to attack an unarmed man is utterly . . . pathetic.”
Gabriel gave him a saintly smile. “Unarmed? Harold, you’re not unarmed, but I’m neither pathetic, cowardly, and,” he nodded to Faron, who then handed Harold a sword, “not completely merciless.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Use what you like, but really, it won’t make a bit of difference.” He stepped forward in long, graceful strides. Harold lunged toward him, slashing the blade through the air, missing Gabriel’s face by a few inches. Amazing, he could hear the whistling of it and moved before it could even touch him.
Harold’s eyes widened in shock. He recovered quickly and leaped into the air, lifting the sword high over his head. Harold brought it down hard, but Gabriel had disappeared.
He rematerialized behind Harold. “And all the king’s horses,” he said in a low, fierce voice, lobbing off one of his arms, “and all the king’s men, couldn’t put poor little Harold back together again.” He then hacked off his head, and before the body could hit the floor, he sliced off his other arm and legs, too. What a mess. He felt wet and sticky with blood.
Gabriel sighed and lowered the sword at his side. “What I have done,” he said to the Chosen. “Should only frighten you if you possess disloyal intentions. Dawn is approaching. Depart from me.”
The male and female Chosen bowed and curtsied respectively before departing in their usual disturbing manner: vanishing into thin air.
Nathaniel walked to where Harold’s head had fallen. He picked it up by the long hair. “His eyes are blinking. I wonder if he can still speak in this state.”
“Of course I can speak,” Harold’s head answered.
Gabriel found it strange that Nathaniel simply shrugged, still holding the head. If he had been in his place, he would have flung the accursed thing while screaming his own head off.
Harold’s body parts began reconnecting. His hands, still attached to his arms, crawled like spiders along the ground and reattached to his torso. His legs moved like they had a mind of their own, back to the sockets of his thighs. After his legs became securely a part of the rest of him, Nathaniel placed the head in Harold’s hands, and they in turn, placed his head back on his neck. Once completely reassembled, Harold sat, his legs crossed on the floor, smiling smugly.
His gift wasn’t perfect, though. Scars had formed where parts of his body had matched together again. And Harold looked tired, washed out. Dark circles gave his face a lethargic, vacant look. His gift had exhausted him. Gabriel didn’t know if he wanted to gain such a gift. The debilitating side effects seemed to cost more than he would gain. But he had to know . . . Harold was the closest thing he had witnessed to true immortality.
“How did you, uh . . . acquire this gift?”
Harold looked confused. “The way in which any of us have gained our gifts. Through Enlightenment, of course.”
Gabriel shook his head. “You saw what happened to Jules. That’s proof positive that not all of us have your ability. He’s dead. Dead and gone forever. But you. Did you . . . ever eat of the fruit?”
Harold stumbled to his feet. “Fruit? Why would you ask me that?” His whole demeanor changed then. His eyes were wide, too wide, in his pale, sunken face. His gaping mouth twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .” He stepped backward, eyes filled with terror. Sevien appeared behind him, and Harold spun around. He tried backing the other way, tried getting out of Sevien’s reach. “No! I wasn’t going to tell him anything. Honest! Please believe me!”
Sevien seized him by the throat, smiling like a loving god, his alabaster skin all aglow. “You didn’t have to say a word, Harold. Your actions betrayed you.” He brought Harold’s face to his so that his lips were parallel with the flailing man’s and kissed him. He kissed him until a blue light flowed from Harold’s mouth and flowed into his like a living flame. Whatever screams Harold might have let out were swallowed with his . . . soul?
Unable to move, unable to speak, Gabriel drowned in the mind-numbing reality of the moment. Harold’s eyes bulged out of the sockets, and his skin seemed to sink, wrinkling and shriveling into itself.
Gabriel bit his tongue hard to keep himself from crying out. The metallic taste of blood blossomed in his mouth.
Sevien released Harold, now nothing more than a dry husk. A soulless thing. Once the corpse made contact with the floor, it crumbled into dust.
In long, menacing strides, Sevien moved toward Gabriel sporting a loving, beautiful smile that could no doubt transform into a demonic grin complete with fangs and horns. He moved, languidly, slowly, some underwater dream, his shoes silent on the tiled floor.
Gabriel retreated backward until he found himself pressed against a wall. “Why—why did you do that?” He shook with fear and rage. He heard gibbering, mad gibbering that had robbed him of all sense, and thought it for his own, but the murmurs proved too faint. Seth? Yes, and mad with terror. He must’ve seen through his eyes.
Sevien placed himself just a few feet in front of Gabriel. “I sensed that you wanted to ask poor Harold something that you didn’t need to know. At least not yet. . .”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “You bastard.”
He smiled. “Cheer up, dearest Gabriel. He wasn’t truly immortal, if that’s what you’re angry about. Shall we go outside and see what’s keeping the others?”
Gabriel wouldn’t move. He couldn’t.
“Oh. Come now, dearest Gabriel. Whatever is the matter? You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
Gabriel felt Seth slip out of his mind, out of his presence. Obviously afraid. So, his opponent wasn’t as raving mad as he had thought.
CHAPTER 34
Tinged With Gold
CONFUSION PLAGUED COLIN. He couldn’t believe his eyes, and blinking didn’t help to clear his vision. Gabriel should’ve been inside, but instead, he wielded his long sword, slaying the Chosen he had promised to protect.
He moved beautifully, elegantly, deadly, slashing his sword through the throng of dancers, causing severed hands, arms, and heads to fly through the air like the limbs of dolls.
Crimson blood splattered along the garden’s stone wall and coated the cobblestone walkway, making it slick, but undeterred, his master strolled along, swinging his great sword.
Oh God. Will water and lye be enough to clean this gory mess? Colin thrust the absurd thought aside and rushed toward his master.
“What are you doing?” he called to him. “You said we weren’t to spill any blood! Why did your plans change? Master!”
With gold?
* * *
Gabriel stormed out into the garden. His boots pounding and following him, the echo of Sevien’s footsteps against the stone walkway were eerily the only sounds. What had happened? What? An eerie sense of distress weighed heavy upon him. Behind him, Sevien droned on about . . . something. He didn’t care what. Nathaniel had rushed ahead of him. As he walked down the stairs into the courtyard, he had a strange, aching desire to turn around, to flee back the way he came. When he reached the final step, he curled his fingers into tight fist, willing himself to go forward. A few feet in the distance, Faron, Nathaniel, and Alexander stood in a circle.
Stay focused, dear Gabriel, Seth spoke in his mind, I don’t want you to miss my next surprise. . .
Gabriel hesitated.
Their heads were bowed and their backs facing him. Nathaniel peered over his shoulder at him. He moved toward him, his arms spread in what looked like an embrace, but instead of taking him in his arms, Nathaniel waved his hands in a “calm-down” manner. “Now, now, Gabriel. Don’t panic. Stay calm—”
Gabriel shoved him aside.
Nathaniel stumbled on his feet for a second before regaining his balance. His long blonde hair fell like a curtain hiding his face. Probably scowling. Good.
Gabriel didn’t want to see his pouting. Alexander and Faron were wiser and had already cleared a path. He had to blink several times to take in what his mind didn’t want to accept.
Chaos. Blood and chaos. Dead bodies and limbs were sprawled and scattered all about, but that wasn’t the worst.
A few feet in front of him laid Colin. His skin looked paler than ever. The puddle of blood spreading beneath him explained more than he wanted to know. Colin’s carmine blood drew Gabriel toward him like a magnet. The boy had been run through with a sword. A gaping black hole filled with blood.