The Fell of Dark

by Caleb Roehrig

  “It has many names, actually.” Jude juts out his chin. “The Endless One, the Shining Immortal, and the Dark Star, just to name a few.” At this, I jerk upright and stop breathing, the wild-haired man’s voice ringing in my ears. The Dark Star rises. Cutting a glance at me, Jude adds, “Most commonly it’s called the Corrupter.”

  “The Corrupter?” Daphne explodes. “That’s what this is about? You made this poor kid come all the way out here so you could terrify him with a fairy tale about Vampire Santa Claus?” Kicking her chair back, she gets to her feet. “Come on, Auggie, we’re leaving.”

  Jude stands as well. “You know, I’ve just about had it with your anti-vampire attitude—”

  “Do either of you actually fucking mind?” I’m still thrown, my insides on a hellish carousel ride, and my hands shake so badly I’m afraid they’re going to crawl off on their own. “What is the ‘Corrupter’? What do you mean my body is a ‘vessel’?”

  Focusing on me again, Jude sits back down. “I’m sorry if I scared you. Unfortunately, not a lot is known about the Corrupter, in part because the Brotherhood of Perseus set fire to most of the historical records that vampires had compiled by the Middle Ages.”

  “Oh?” Daphne resumes her seat as well, exuding pleasantness. “You mean those burning libraries weren’t filled with vital scientific texts after all?”

  Jude grits his teeth, but continues, “The surviving accounts refer to the Corrupter as a spectral being that returns to the earthly plane once every hundred years or so … taking over an existing human form.”

  “‘Taking over’?” I practically screech, my voice ringing out through the mostly abandoned food court, my heart ready to ride that barf fountain right out of my mouth.

  “Stop it—stop scaring him!” Daphne exclaims fiercely, her eyes going wide. “The Syndicate doesn’t even believe in the Corrupter, so what are you really doing here? What is this actually about?”

  “Is that true?” I demand, my throat thick and wet, my face and neck clammy. “The Syndicate doesn’t think this … thing you’re talking about is real?”

  Jude shoots another dirty look Daphne’s way. “It’s complicated. The formal position of the Syndicate is that the Corrupter is a myth. Aside from a handful of prophecies and some outrageous claims that can’t be verified, there’s nothing to prove its existence—and, just in general, the grander a prediction is, the more skepticism it warrants.” He sits back. “If the stories are true, then the Corrupter would have corporealized hundreds of times by now—but there are no confirmed firsthand accounts. Thousands of vampires have alleged direct contact over the years, of course, but nothing has ever been verified. There are no records that this thing has ever successfully manifested inside a human body.” Turning his palms to the ceiling, Jude says, “After a while, the Syndicate decided that this one was all smoke and no fire.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” I ask, breathing a little easier. Something is definitely happening to me, but if even the oldest and most influential group of vampires on the planet think “the Corrupter” is fictional, then maybe Ximena was right after all. Maybe I’m just developing some spooky, paranormal sensitivity thanks to the Nexus, and all of this is just more vampire bullshit.

  “Yes, Jude, what are you doing here?” Daphne asks with the air of a prosecuting attorney about to spring a trap. “What is it that the Corrupter supposedly does that would be worth your coming all the way out to Fulton Heights, of all places, from the Syndicate’s headquarters in … where is it, again? Some ski resort in the Carpathian Mountains, right?”

  She waits, and when Jude scowls deeply in reply, a glimmer of interest burns its way through the tumult of my anxiety. More than ever, I’m glad Daphne showed up when she did. Reluctantly, the vampire says, “The few writings about the Corrupter that remain all generally say the same thing: It will Rise once in every generation, it will borrow the guise of a living human, and it will … free vampires from the shackles of death, bringing them true immortality once and for all.”

  He mumbles this last part, and after a moment of awkward silence, Daphne helpfully elucidates, “He means daylight. And fire, decapitation, pokey pieces of wood, holy water, garlic, and all the rest of it, too. The standard package.”

  Looking from her to Jude, I give him a chance to rebut the claim; when he doesn’t, it’s my turn to scowl. I’m furious with myself for wasting precious energy freaking out over this. “This is about another sunlight cure?” Disgusted, I get to my feet, my chair scraping the tiled floor behind me. “Are you fucking kidding? I’ve been panicking for days because some vampire showed up, telling me the world was going to end, and now it turns out it’s just one more day-walking fantasy? Fuck off. Let’s go, Daphne.”

  As I’m putting on my coat, Jude stands up again. “It’s not the way she makes it sound, August—she’s twisting the facts out of perspective!”

  “You heard him, Fangoria, sit back down.” Daphne thrusts a finger at him.

  “The Syndicate investigates all supposed ‘sunlight cures,’ no matter how preposterous they seem—we’d be fools not to!” He gestures around, taking in the mall, that terrible music still chugging away. “You’ll notice that the Syndicate sent only one sad little junior member to talk to you, and not a paramilitary squadron.”

  “As far as we know,” Daphne shoots back. “You’ve told, like, a dozen lies since I first sat down. We’ve got no idea what else you’re hiding.”

  Jude ignores her. “The Syndicate isn’t what you need to be afraid of, August. We aren’t the ones taking these nonsense predictions seriously.”

  “What does that mean?” I freeze in the middle of wrestling my gloves out of my backpack, his tone snagging my nerves like a piece of barbed wire.

  “It may be the Syndicate’s official position that the Corrupter is a fable, but the Syndics don’t speak for all of the undead. They can pass decrees that their respective lineages will be more or less compelled to heed, but they can’t direct individual beliefs.” He runs a hand through his soft-looking curls. “And the blood bond that ties a vampire to its progeny can be severed at any time, so the Syndics’ control isn’t absolute, even over their own descendants.”

  “Just get to the point,” Daphne says through her teeth.

  “I know you remember the Baeserta incident, August.” He waits until I nod, and then continues, “The Syndicate discredited the prophecies about the Shield in the 1800s and pronounced the believers a dangerous cult. There were only thirteen adherents back then, but the membership was up to twenty by the time the group arrived in Illinois, determined to bring about the apocalypse.” With a flourish, he folds his hands in front of him. “Only the original thirteen came from untraceable bloodlines; the rest were descended from the Syndics and severed from their lineages.”

  Daphne rolls her eyes. “You know, when I said ‘get to the point’—”

  “Vampires are tribal, just like humans,” Jude snaps. “Those of us still connected to the Syndics obey a strict code of ethics, but those who fall outside Syndicate bloodlines are free to commit themselves to any cause without any moral principles to get in their way. That’s how deadly factions like the Baeserta sect get started: All they need is a charismatic leader and enough followers willing to do their part.” His thick eyebrows draw together. “No matter what the Syndicate says, there are vampires out there who are convinced that the Corrupter is coming—who believe wholeheartedly that this Rising will be the start of their brave new world. Most of them are Syndic progeny, constrained by our laws, or tiny fringe groups that lack the resources to be considered dangerous—but some are, August.” His eyes dig deep into mine. “We know of two significant cults that have formed around the Corrupter, and they’re coming to Fulton Heights. If they’re not here already.”

  My head spins a little as I think about the growing number of dead animals piling up in my neighborhood, the rabbit left in my front yard—about the way that disheveled vampire looked at me
right before he jumped through a window—and I glance over at Daphne. “W-what does that mean?”

  “It means that even if the Corrupter is as bullshit as the Shield of Baeserta, lots of people could die anyway,” she answers bluntly, her scarf knotted tightly in her fingers. “Assuming, you know, that he hasn’t just been lying through his fangs this whole time.” Turning to Jude, she demands, “What factions? Who are we dealing with?”

  But he’s finally had enough. Eyes burning with a low golden light, he growls, “I think I’ve shared everything I’m going to with the Brotherhood of Perseus. You’re obviously familiar with the prophecies, and if you haven’t been lying this whole time, then you’ve got access to your own research. So hit the books—the ones you haven’t burned, I mean.”

  “I intend to.” Daphne’s voice is so frigid I could probably skate all the way home on it. “I’m gonna study up on the Corrupter, the Syndicate—and especially on Jude Marlowe.” Looping the scarf around her neck, she shakes out her hair. “Auggie, I don’t know how you got here, but I’m driving you home.”

  “I don’t have any books!” The words burst out of me on a wave of panicked anger, and both of them glance over in surprise. “I don’t have access to research or moldy prophecies, but I’m the one that Vampire Santa Claus is supposedly using for a crash pad! So maybe you two can, I don’t know, stuff your ancient enmity for a few minutes and finish telling me what the fuck is going on?”

  “I’m sorry, August.” Jude’s voice is smooth as a satin cord again when he pushes to his feet. “I wish I could say more, but I can’t—not in front of someone who would see my kind purged from the Earth. The Syndicate can help you, though. Back at our headquarters, we have a research center staffed by some of the most knowledgeable mystics in the world, and a fully appointed alchemical laboratory, so if there—”

  “You are unbe-fucking-lievable, you know that?” In just twelve syllables, Daphne manages to hit notes across two entire octaves, and she places herself between us. “You come rolling in here with this square-jawed, pouty James Dean act, pretending like you think this whole thing is nonsense, and then it’s all, ‘come away with me to the secret alchemical laboratory in my vampire fortress where you’ll be safe’? How gullible do you think he is? And what do you take me for, that you think I’d just sit here while you try to gaslight him into becoming a Syndicate lab rat?”

  “I don’t take you for anything,” Jude retorts hotly. “And for the record, you were the one who pointed out the Syndicate’s stance on the Corrupter legend.” Leaning across the table, dark eyes flashing, he gestures at me. “But something is happening to August, and the Syndicate is one of few organizations equipped to figure out what—and one of even fewer capable of offering real protection if vampire cultists target him!”

  “As far as I can tell,” Daphne says, drawing me back from the table, “the only vampire coming after Auggie is you. Don’t follow us outside, or you’ll regret it.”

  We’re halfway across the food court, my feet moving on autopilot as Daphne hustles me toward the nearest exit, when Jude calls out behind us, “You’ll need me again, August. And I’ll be waiting.”

  9

  Fresh snow fell while we were in the mall, and now the Colgate Center’s west parking lot is a winter wonderland, sparkling under the amber glow of sodium light. I’m shivering beneath my coat, my face burning hot, and I keep coughing on the frozen air as I follow Daphne to her car. I hate how dark it is beyond the penumbra of the lampposts. I hate that I’m terrified of every shadow too dark to see through, and with good reason.

  Neither of us has said a word since we left the food court, and the silence swells in my throat until I can’t take it anymore. “Do you really think he was just trying to trick me?”

  “August Pfeiffer, what the hell were you thinking?” Daphne shouts, whirling on me so fast I jump back, slipping a little in the new snow. “You agreed to meet a vampire alone? You have got to be smarter than that! Did you even tell anyone what you were doing or where you were going?” When I don’t answer, she covers her face with mittened hands. “What if he’d killed you? What if this had been a trap? I mean, it was a trap, but what if it had been worse? You could be in a cage on your way to Romania right now!”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, my eyes on my hands. I’m not exactly sure why I’m apologizing to Daphne, except that she’s upset, and it’s making me uncomfortable.

  Slumping against the side of a parked SUV, she pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment. “I’m sorry, too. I’m just…” Trailing off, Daphne shrugs and shakes her head. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, her expression concerned. “What’s going on, Auggie? If something is … happening to you, I might be able to help.”

  “Are you really part of some, like, secret monster-fighting club?” I ask first. It’s not that I doubt her—I just think I need to hear it again.

  “The Brotherhood of Perseus isn’t a ‘club.’” She gives an offended snort, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s a centuries-old order of badass vampire-hunting knights, and you have to damn well prove yourself worthy of wearing the emblem before they let you join. My parents met while fighting side by side, and they trained me from the age of six to identify and kill the undead.”

  “Wow. That’s … really cool. I can’t believe you’re not allowed to brag about it.”

  “Secrecy is part of the membership oath. It’s only under … extreme circumstances that Perseans are permitted to reveal themselves to outsiders.” Glancing back at the lights of the mall, she states, “And this definitely qualifies. Auggie … whatever you thought a vampire could tell you, the Brotherhood can do the same, and at a way lower cost.”

  The problem with sharing a secret is that you can’t un-share it again if things don’t go the way you want them to. But I’m running out of places to look for answers, and Daphne has me wondering if I can believe anything Jude told me at all. As I take a breath, the decision trembles on the end of my tongue. “I’ve been having … dreams. Nightmares. Maybe visions, I’m not sure.”

  And the rest of it spills out of me with hot relief, a sensation that feels even better than when I divulged the truth to Ximena. Daphne is already taking this seriously, and she knows things that I don’t—about Jude, about vampires, and about whatever the “Corrupter” is. She wants to help me, and the more I focus on that, the easier it gets to talk.

  Because I’m starting to fear that I really do need help. Jude might say that the Syndicate doesn’t believe in the Corrupter, but he still came to Fulton Heights with my name in his mouth, a list of dreams I’d had, and knowledge of symptoms I was about to experience. That’s no trick or strange coincidence, and it scares the shit out of me to contemplate.

  When I’m finished, Daphne has a faraway look in her eyes, one hand clutching tightly at her collar. We’ve been outside for a while now, and while my skin doesn’t itch in that “vampire approacheth” way, my toes are starting to go numb. Finally, her gaze refocuses, tension knotting her forehead. “I wish you’d told me about this before.”

  “Oh, sorry, it’s just that I’m not super excited to share it with people!” I exclaim. “And it’s not like you told me you were an actual vampire-killing Jedi before, either, you know.”

  “Listen to me. You can’t trust Jude Marlowe, okay? I know he’s pretty—”

  “That’s not what this is about!” I protest, but inside I still feel kind of called out. It’s not like I was hoping he’d ask me to prom or something, but he isn’t in my private time thoughts for no reason. “He knew about the dreams, he said I’d have changes in my body—”

  “Big deal!” Daphne throws her hands up. “You’re sixteen, your body is changing all the time!”

  “I am not still going through puberty!” I shout way too loudly for a public place. Getting a grip, I continue, “Who is he, anyway? Why do you know so much about him?”

  “I’ve been studying the Syndicate and its operatives since fo
rever, and I can probably tell you things about them that they’ve even forgotten about themselves.” Her tone is grave, one mitten curling into a fist. “Jude’s father was a British merchant, and his mother was from Algiers. They settled in London in the late sixteenth century, and Jude was born around the year 1590.

  “The family was happy, et cetera, but then the plague returned to England in 1603, and things went south. By 1607, Jude had lost his father and two sisters, and he and his mother were dying as well. Lucky for him, his piano teacher and secret boyfriend, Rudolfo Sanoguerra, happened to be a vampire.” Settling back against the side of the SUV, Daphne watches snowflakes drift in the yellow light. “Rudolfo Turned the Marlowes to save them from permanent death, but Jude’s mother didn’t survive the transition. So when Jude rose, reborn, he traveled with Sanoguerra back to mainland Europe and ultimately chose to work for the Syndicate. And now here he is today, trying to sell you a crock of shit so he can kidnap you off to Romania.”

  “You really think that’s what he was trying to do?”

  “I don’t trust anything the Syndicate says or does, so maybe I’m biased, but I don’t buy his story.” Sparks flash in Daphne’s eyes. “The Brotherhood has access to the same prophecies those vampires do. More than they do, if I’m being honest, because those ancient libraries didn’t all burn down completely.” She slides a canny look my way. “Everybody knows the Corrupter Rises every hundred years or so, but the only reason the Syndicate—and these supposed factions, if they actually exist—would take an interest in the legend now is because this year, the so-called Endless One is supposed to Ascend.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Rising is just a fancy, mystical-sounding way to describe how the Corrupter returns to our plane of existence. Allegedly, it takes root in a normal person and gestates, during which time the host develops magical capabilities: clairvoyance, telepathy, subtle forms of mind control—”