“But we’ll avenge him regardless,” said Twin A.
The Monster smiled, showcasing his mouth full of stolen fangs. Shufah just sighed, wondering why it always has to come to violence. In the end, though, the battle ended quickly.
Twin A thrust his hands forward, knocking the Monster from his feet and pinning him against one of the towering sandstone teeth. Twin B conjured a ball of fire in each hand. Had Twin B cast the fire at Shufah instead of the Monster, the battle might’ve gone differently.
Twin B turned his body toward the Monster, taking his eyes off of Shufah, and drew his hands back, preparing to dowse the larger, more infamous, foe.
It was all the window Shufah needed.
She darted around the mouth of the cave with such speed that Twin B barely registered the movement. She appeared behind Twin B just as he released his dual fountains of fire.
Shufah caught Twin B by the wrists and jerked him hard to the right. Shocked by not only her sudden appearance behind him but also her immense strength, Twin B failed to quench his fire in time to keep from dowsing Twin A.
Twin A went up like a straw scarecrow. He howled in pain, beating his hands against his blackening body in vain. He darted for the cave, but the Monster—now free from Twin A’s telekinetic hold—kicked him in the chest with a crushing blow.
Twin A tumbled head over feet until he collided with one of the stone teeth, then fell into a burning heap.
Twin B screamed in horror, but not quite as loudly as when Shufah crushed his wrists and snapped both arms at the elbows in one fluid motion. She stepped to the side of him and bent his left knee backward with a powerful kick. Then she grabbed him by his long gray hair and tossed him over to the Monster.
“Don’t play with him,” she said as she descended the spiral staircase. “I’m going to go get the Watchtower augurs.”
A couple of hours before sunrise, Shufah, the Monster, and three augurs from the Watchtower joined Rian, the leader of Lamorak of the Round Table in the borrowed Blackhawk, and began their long journey to Howland Island.
Chapter Twenty-One
Shufah sat perfectly still as the Blackhawk soared low over the central Pacific Ocean, but inside, she was a ball of nervous energy. She bit her bottom lip for at least the twentieth time, her sharp fangs drawing blood each time.
She just wanted this part to be over.
Rian had delayed their flight to Howland Island, partially because they needed to refuel the Blackhawk, but also to coordinate their arrival with the other two teams. If all went as planned, they would arrive on the island two hours after sunset, and within fifteen minutes of each other.
“Are you sure you want to go to Howland Island?” Rian asked for the third time.
“Yes,” Shufah answered. She didn’t mind his repetitive questions. It helped keep her mind busy. “It’s the most secluded place we could think of. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service aren’t scheduled to visit the island for another nine months.”
“But it’s so small,” Rian added. “Nowhere to retreat to if things should go wrong.”
There it was. The reason for the repetitive and subtle plea to change battlegrounds. Rian was worried about them.
“Small and empty means nowhere to be ambushed. Or run and hide.” Shufah glanced at the three augurs they had “rescued”—two women and a man—sitting in the far rear seat.
“What happens if you don’t finish your business in time? What if the sun comes up?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve buried myself in the sand.” Shufah flashed him a saddened smile. No more hiding under the sand for her. She had a date with Foster. Win or lose, she wasn’t leaving Howland Island.
Rian made no further attempt to sway her. Shufah had already denied his request for Lamorak to remain on the island for backup. There was nothing more to say.
Less than an hour later, Rian sat up, held his hand to his headset, and nodded. “Team C has just arrived on the island. ETA for B Team is three minutes. We’ll be there in seven.”
Nearly seven minutes later—to the second—the Blackhawk slowed to a stop, then hovered in place. Rian slid open the side door, letting in a warm blast of salty air.
Victor stood to his feet, compelling the augurs to do the same with a fearsome glare. He herded the augurs to the door, forcing them outside with no concern for what dangers may wait below. The three landed awkwardly in the soft white sand and quickly scurried out of the way to keep from being smashed by Victor the Monster.
Rian extended his hand as Shufah approached the door, and she shook it. “We are well met, Shufah the Brave, are we not?”
Shufah smiled. “We are, Rian of Lamorak, warriors of the Round Table.”
“Until we meet again.” He favored her with a wink, and it broke her heart.
Shufah pulled her hand from his, took one last moment to marvel at this group of wonderful mortals, then jumped from the helicopter.
The Blackhawk immediately dusted off, cutting hard south, headed for Australia.
Soon, the only sound came from the waves breaking over the submerged reef. The moon sat high, lending an eerie glow to the whitecaps, making them seem somehow alive. A pitiful creature, always seeking to come ashore, but never able to escape the sea.
There were seven Watchtower augurs, which surprised Shufah. At one time, there had been nearly quadruple that number. She hoped their small number would be enough to reach the Dwarf.
But Shufah’s concerns over the diminished Watchtower washed away when she saw the six vampires from her coven rushing toward her. They made it. All of them. She hadn’t lost even one.
Thankful tears broke forth as they embraced each other, and it wasn’t until then that Shufah realized just how afraid she had been that she might never see them again.
Victor stood close, but on the outskirts of the embrace, but when Shufah extended her hand to him, he took it.
The fifteen vampires positioned themselves near the one structure still standing on this desolate island: the day beacon. Once upon a time, Howland Island was to be a temporary stop off for the famed pilot, Amelia Earhart. She never reached the island, but the day beacon still stood as if expecting her any moment.
The island was mostly sand, covered by a thin layer of ground vegetation, and a few stunted trees. A tumbled rock wall lay in the distance, along with the scattered remains of several World War II aircraft.
Shufah turned to the Watchtower. “Find the Dwarf for us and earn your freedom. Or refuse and die. It’s as simple as that. Choose, but be quick. Death is coming for us.”
The seven augurs looked from one to another, empathically communicating. They silently weighed their options, and Shufah appreciated their careful considerations. Sometimes, death was the better option.
Celeste smiled a moment before they answered.
“We will find Sebastian for you,” said a short, plump woman with large teeth. “But you’ll never reach him in time.”
“Let us worry about that,” Shufah said.
The plump woman nodded. The Watchtower formed a tight circle, leaving one space. She turned to Celeste. “Join the circle.” Her invitation was neither pleasant nor rude. It was the voice of a servant engaging in a mundane task. “We need all the psychic energy we can muster.”
Celeste squeezed Taos’s hand, then joined the other augurs, completing the circle.
Shufah looked to the rest of her coven. “Fan out to the water and submerge yourselves. Jerusa has probably already sensed us, but in case she hasn’t, perhaps the water and distance will buy us some time.”
It was a long shot. They all knew that. But the Furies, Taos, Thad, and even Victor darted in opposite directions, splashing into the frothy waves with a vampiric speed that left rooster tails of sand trailing behind them.
Shufah pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and her heart sank. Not only was her battery dangerously low, she also had no signal. She should’ve brought a satellite phone, but in the rush to fin
d the Watchtower, it had simply slipped her mind. Technology had always been her undoing.
She walked away from the ring of augurs. Not because it improved her reception, but because it improved theirs. Shufah traveled north, keeping her eyes on the tiny screen. All she needed was one bar. She passed a skeletal tail fin of some obsolete war plane with barely a glance.
If Jerusa arrived here before the Necromancer, it was all over.
Shufah circled back, mindlessly retracing her steps. She squatted in frustration and placed her hand absently on the tail fin. A single cellular bar flashed on the screen.
Her stomach twisted, and a fine mist of sweat broke on her forehead. Shufah became suddenly aware of her own strength compared to the fragility of the hunk of plastic and circuit boards in her hand. Her fingers trembled as she gently pressed SEND.
Somewhere on the other side of the world, a phone rang one and a half times before being answered.
“Shufah?” Danielle’s voice was abrupt and panicked. She was on the move and out of breath. “Is that you?”
“It’s me. What’s wrong?”
The call cut out for a moment, and Shufah nearly crushed the phone in hand.
“—Jerusa,” Danielle said, the call returning. “Something is happening. Her demons are returning, agitated and angry. She’s getting ready to leap.”
“She’s sensed us,” Shufah shouted into the phone, as if the power of her voice could overcome the poor connection. “We’re on Howland Island. The Watchtower is searching now. We just need a little—”
Static crackled in her ear, then the call cut off. She stared at the phone as though it were the sole reason for all the pain in her life. Did Danielle hear their location? She couldn’t say.
Shufah resisted the urge to grind the phone to powder, instead returning it to her pocket. The signal vanished, and even if it hadn’t, Danielle sounded too distracted by Jerusa to answer another call.
There was nothing more to do except wait.
Shufah turned to start back toward the augurs and bumped into someone who hadn’t been there a second ago. She recoiled with a start, then cried out in mixed joy and relief at the sight of Danielle.
Danielle stood hunched over, out of breath, hands upon her knees, her clothes and hair wet. Shufah rushed forward without thinking and embraced her, but instantly gasped as a piece of her life force was ripped away.
“I’m sorry about that,” Danielle said, still panting. “Her demons were feeding on me. I barely had enough energy to make the leap.”
“I’m fine.” Shufah took a step backward. “Did you take enough for another leap?”
“I think so. But I’ll need some more to get back, especially carrying two others.” She looked about the small, desolate island. “I see the psychic, but where is the rest of your coven?”
“Hiding in the water to help shield our numbers from Jerusa.”
“I don’t think that’s going to help. She doesn’t see you with her mind, but through those wretched demons. Silvanus is holding her back as best he can, but when the rest of her shadows return, she’ll leap regardless of how tightly he holds on to her.”
Shufah’s skin went ice cold, and the twisted knot in her stomach squirmed. Without another word, she turned and ran for the Watchtower.
The seven Watchtower augurs now stood hand in hand, encircling Celeste, who was on her knees in the sand. Their eyes were clenched shut, fluttering beneath the lids as though dreaming, as their mouths worked in silent conversations. Celeste spun back and forth, her feet pulled up to not drag in the sand, stopping only long enough to change directions.
Shufah wanted to ask if they had found Sebastian yet. She wanted to beg them to hurry. But she remained silent, knowing her interference would only hinder their search.
The rush and retreat of the waves melded into a single mocking laugh, and the ever-shifting wind congealed like cold lard against her skin. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours, as Shufah awaited the answer. She clenched her teeth. Dug her fingernails into her palms. Begged for the sun to magically appear and put a stop to the endless night of her life.
Suddenly, the augurs stumbled backward as if drunk. Their circle broke, and they thrust their hands at Celeste.
Celeste groaned in intense pain. Her eyes remained shut, but her hands worked feverishly in the sand. Shufah stepped forward, hoping to see a location inscribed in the sand, but found only a random assortment of numbers.
“Sebastian,” Celeste cried out, pointing at the numbers with both hands. “Must hurry.”
Danielle’s eyes lit with sudden understanding. “Those are coordinates.”
Shufah turned to ask if just coordinates alone would be enough, but Danielle had already gone.
The corpse had taken on the beginning stages of putrefaction—bloating, congealed blood, a faint sickly odor of rot—but had not yet achieved the viler phases.
Sebastian would’ve guessed only two days since he’d killed the man, but in this sealed, airless tomb, it might’ve been closer to a week.
Two days. A week. However long he had been waiting, the Necromancer had yet to show up. He drifted in and out of sleep. What else was there to do in this pitch-black pit?
At some point, the corpse quickened, crawled over to him, and began to violently shake him.
Sebastian couldn’t remember if he had been dreaming, though he had the strangest sensation of muffled voices outside his cell, which was preposterous. He wouldn’t be able to hear a bomb go off, not through steel walls this thick.
The icy hand continued to shake him, though at first, he tried to swat it away. A faint alarm sounded in his mind, and he knew he should heed its warning, but he couldn’t seem to fully rise to consciousness.
Reluctantly, Sebastian sat up. It took him longer than it should to remember where he was, and who would shake him.
“Wake up, you little blood sucker.” It was the Necromancer’s voice, but it was the dead man’s bad breath. “Something’s going on.”
There was more concern than panic in the Necromancer’s voice, but it chilled Sebastian just the same. He stood to his feet and shook himself hard.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure, but it has the head vamps in a real foul mood.” Rigor mortis had long since faded from the dead man, but the sound coming from the reanimated corpse’s skin reminded Sebastian of Styrofoam being rubbed together. “I think your buddies might’ve actually pulled it off.”
Sebastian suddenly found it impossible to stand still. He paced from corner to corner, pondering this. “The Watchtower is dead?” He had his doubts.
“Hey!” the Necromancer shouted. Sebastian whirled around to face him, though it was too dark to see. At first, he thought the Necromancer was yelling at him for not paying attention, but then the Necromancer said, “Don’t touch me! Leave me—” Then the voice halted, and the corpse returned to a lump of rotting meat.
Sebastian’s heart quaked. A cold sweat misted his face and back. They had him. Othella or one of the others. They had caught the Necromancer casting his mind into the corpse, and now the game was over.
They would only hurt the Necromancer. He was too valuable to destroy… at least, right now. But for Sebastian, this would be the last straw. They would make sure he begged for death long before they rewarded him with it.
Panic set in. Sebastian listened intently for the whir of the biometric locks heralding his doom, but instead, he heard a voice. A woman’s voice, coming from directly behind him.
Sebastian would like to say that he handled the sudden appearance of a woman within his tiny steel cube with a measure of dignity, but in truth, he screamed like a cat hit with a hammer, jumped back hard, hit his head against the metal door, and slid to a sitting position.
“Sebastian the augur?” the woman asked flatly.
“Y-yes,” he answered in a quavery voice. “W-who are you?”
“Later,” she said. “It’s time to leave. The wizard, too
. You better move. I don’t have enough energy to leap us out of here.”
Sebastian rolled out of the way just in time to dodge the woman’s foot before it struck the door. The steel cried out, the hidden hinges snapped like bones, and the biometric locks exploded with arcs of electricity. The door came to a noisy rest, mangled and askew against the other cells.
The light flooded in, stinging Sebastian’s eyes, but even through the blinding tears, he recognized who, or at least what, this woman was.
“I was expecting Silvanus,” Sebastian said. “Not you.”
She stepped out the door and looked around. “Yeah, well, me is who you’ve got. Silvanus is busy trying to keep Jerusa from leaping to your friends.”
She turned to the left and took off at a fast walk. Sebastian ran after her, wobbling on his stubby legs. “How did you find me? I was going to have the Necromancer get a message out, but we never got that far.”
“The Watchtower found you.”
Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks. “The Watchtower still lives?”
“Of course,” the Divine woman said. “They’re on Howland Island with your friends.” She looked as though she might say more, but a scream of fury cut her off.
A pale blur with black hair shot toward them, hands outstretched, and Danielle snatched the attacker by the throat before he could lay a finger on them.
Cot should’ve known better. This wasn’t the first time he’d met this woman. She was one of the Ten. The Ten had saved the world from a savage invasion, and Cot and the High Council had repaid them with betrayal.
Danielle pulled the writhing, spitting Cot in close. He snarled, his fangs exposed, but she clenched his windpipe tighter, cutting off whatever vile words were about to spill forth. Then she drained the life force from Cot, dropping him upon the floor in a heap.
“He’ll change, you know,” Sebastian said. “Go savage.”
“I suspect he will.”
Danielle began walking away, but Sebastian halted her. “Wait. Inside those cells there are vampires going through the stone cloak. We can’t allow them to survive.”
The Savage Vampire (The Perpetual Creatures Saga Book 5) Page 24