by J. A. London
A blur of motion, black eyes and bloodied fangs moving up the stairs. I can’t tell if it’s one or two or all of them. It’s heading toward me, so I hold out my stake, adrenaline replacing any training that I had. But my stake never connects; rather it’s Victor who appears in front of me, stopping the Chosen with his own strike. I don’t know if it’s fatal or not because the next moment I feel another attack coming.
By the time I turn to face him, it’s too late. The Chosen slams into me and I’m catapulted off my feet and down the stairs. I watch Victor and his quarry grow smaller as I’m carried away from them.
Everything slows down for me, and I hope that this fall is too great for me to survive. I don’t want to be knocked out, I want to be killed. If this is truly it, I’d rather die than see Victor meet the same fate, and I’d rather die than ever see the smile in Sin’s eyes.
When I hit the ground, all the wind escapes from my lungs and I struggle to bring it back in. Short gasps that grab at nothing. I try to get up, and the Chosen, John, helps me by squeezing my neck and lifting me high. My vision is shattered, as though I were looking through shards of glass and mirrors. I want Victor to appear behind John and ram a stake through him, but I can still see him fighting at the top of the stairs, which seem so far away. Especially because we’re separated by a great swath of sunlight. Victor is young enough, strong enough that the sun will burn him slowly as his body continually reheals. But the pain will be debilitating, unimaginable.
John throws me across the room and I hit the far wall, the back of my head slamming brutally against it before my entire body slides to the ground in a heap. My stake is out of my hand, lying somewhere between him and me. I reach for another one, but it feels like all my bones are rebelling, and I’m slow to grab it. When I finally do, I barely have the strength to stand on wobbly legs.
The other two Chosen have tackled Victor and now hold him in the sunlight. Smoke rises from his body, making him look like a demon from hell, his fangs bared, teeth clenched, and anger stretched across his bleeding face. His legs begin to give out on him, his face scorched from the sun, red and splotchy; blood runs across the furrows on his face and chest, the razor claws of the Chosen having cut deep. Then John approaches him and the others let go. With a horrendous sound, he delivers a right hook to Victor’s temple, and the vampire I love falls to the ground.
The Chosen look at us. We must seem so pathetic in our beaten state. I search them, looking for any weakness. I can tell Victor’s done all that he can. Some of them, the leader included, bleed from wounds received, and one yelps as he dislodges a stake deep in his ribs, just below the heart. They’re weaker now, but far too powerful still.
“So this is where it all ends, Victor,” the leader says. “In the sunlight.”
They laugh as one, preparing for their finale—when we all hear it. A roar in the distance. Something coming this way.
I look out the window and see the dust swirling into the air and, against the horizon, a black form taking shape. It’s bulky and cumbersome, flying along as though unsure if all four wheels are supposed to be on the ground.
I look at the Chosen, and they’re just as mystified. So this wasn’t part of their plan, this isn’t their friends showing up. Then, maybe, it’s ours.
When I turn back, I see exactly what it is: a black van. Not exactly the cavalry I would’ve called for, but I don’t have much time to consider it; the van turns sharply and screeches to a dead stop.
The door immediately slides open, and a black-clad Michael steps out. And in his arms is something I’ve only ever seen in pictures, the thing my brother once spoke of using in the war. It was a weapon used against the vampires in the trenches. One of the few ways to kill them, and one of the most stomach-churning.
A flamethrower.
I jump as far away as possible; Victor follows my lead. Just in time. Michael squeezes the trigger and unleashes liquid hell onto the Chosen. I can feel the searing heat so acutely that I check my clothes and hair to make sure nothing has caught fire. I look to see the entire room engulfed in yellow flames, turning things black.
And I hear the screams of the Chosen. It won’t kill them right away, but it will give us time.
“Get inside!” Michael yells, his finger never letting up, the fire growing across the floor, catching anything remotely flammable and igniting it.
I run toward the van; Victor meets me there. The Night Watchmen waiting inside grab our hands and pull us quickly into the vehicle. Michael jumps through the opening last, slamming the door shut. The tires spin, and we’re gone.
Chapter 25
The entire ride back I’m taking calming breaths, steadying my hands. I look at Victor: His wounds have worsened, the run from where he was to the van exposing him to direct sunlight, further burning his vampiric flesh. His perfect skin is now nothing but a patchwork of various blackened shades and raised scabs, blood and pus running from them.
“I’ll be okay,” he says to me, his words deep and gravelly, almost unrecognizable, as though even his voice box has been singed.
“Here,” Michael says, handing him a packet of blood, the Agency stamp on it.
“No,” Victor says, turning it away. “I want the people to see me as I am. Let them see how vulnerable even I am to the Chosen.”
The van has been heavily modified. All of the seats, except the front two, have been removed. Most of the windows have been blacked out, and metal stakes line a magnetic strip. There are four Night Watchmen plus the driver.
“How did you guys know we were in danger?” I ask.
One of them looks up. “Ever since we got your report about the Chosen, we knew that the manor could be easily compromised during the day. We’ve had a scout watching it at all times. He saw several vampires breaking in early this morning and came back to the city as soon as possible. We moved out once we received word.”
“Well, we’re extremely grateful,” I say.
“We’ve been practicing the mission for months,” he says, then pauses. “Of course, we always assumed we’d be attacking the Valentines, not rescuing them.”
I’m not surprised that an assassination plan was always in the works in case the Valentine family got too greedy.
“You have my eternal thanks,” Victor says, sitting against the thin metal wall, looking not far from death—though I know he’s a long way from knocking on its door.
“We’re allies in this fight now. We aren’t planning on leaving you behind,” Michael says.
In the director’s office the thick shutters are drawn across the windows.
“Are you sure you won’t take any blood?” Clive asks Victor.
“No. I’m healing.”
“And what of you, Dawn? How are your injuries?”
I touch the bandage around my head, where a nasty gash had to be sewn up. I don’t bother feeling for the bruises on my neck; I know they’re there.
“I’ll live.”
Clive leans back, looking so different in this dim light that suits vampires over humans.
“Dawn,” he begins, “I’d like to offer you the small apartment here in the Agency building. It’ll be safer than the one you share with Rachel, and it’ll be easier to contact you if needed.”
“Thank you. I’d love it.”
It won’t have any of my things, and it won’t feel like home, but that doesn’t matter. Clive is right; it’ll be safer, and I have a feeling I’ll be in this room most of the time. I’m not the delegate anymore, but my role within the Agency, my role within the entire city, is more important than ever before. As delegate, I was the ambassador of the people to Valentine. Now I feel like the ambassador of all people to all vampires. I’m in the center of something strange and new, on the cusp of an even newer World Order. The question is whether it will be mine, and the dream born in Crimson Sands, or whether it’ll be Sin’s, a world of walls and monsters worse than any that have ever walked beneath the sun or stars before.
In t
he tiny apartment I immediately pour Victor a drink but take coffee myself.
The place is simple, sharp lines giving a perfect geometry not often seen in the city. It’s devoid of a personality. No pictures, no art, no little tchotchkes. Instead, it’s clean and sanitary, a combination of dark woods and glass.
Making a quick tour, I find that the place is smaller than the apartment I share with Rachel. It’s utilitarian: a basic kitchen for cooking, a basic bedroom for sleeping, and a bathroom.
“I must look horrible,” Victor says.
“You always look beautiful,” I say.
He laughs and then cringes, one of his many wounds reminding him that laughter is off the table for now.
“You should rest,” I tell him, “so you can heal.”
He glances over at the bed. “Will you join me?”
Nodding, I follow him to the bed. I lie gingerly beside him and he puts his arm around me.
“Last night, I almost forgot that we’re still fighting for our existence,” I say softly.
“But if we don’t have moments like last night,” he says quietly, “we can forget what it is we’re fighting for.”
For each other, a better world, a better future.
Two days later, Victor’s burns have healed and he’s regained most of his strength. During that time, he drank only the blood he needed to satiate himself and allowed the healing to come as naturally as possible for a vampire. I told him he should gorge, drink every drop he can to help his wounds heal quickly, but he wouldn’t hear of it. There are other vampires in the city now, good vampires, who need that blood just as badly.
The Night Watchmen have taken to guarding the day, while Anita leads the new Fanged Watchmen, a group of Victor’s most trusted Lesser vampires, who guard the night. It seems like Denver’s protective angels have quadrupled. Before, one rarely caught a glimpse of a black-clad Night Watchman; now it’s commonplace. People feel safer. Even with so much chaos beyond the walls, everything inside is under control.
Victor and I are at a warehouse, standing in the shadows, observing the drills and training exercises. Night Watchmen, human and vampire alike, have been sharing their knowledge, their weapons, their skills so they can make short work of defeating the Chosen when they arrive.
“How close do you think the Chosen are?” I ask.
Victor shakes his head. “Impossible to know.”
“Maybe Clive should send out some scouts.”
“I would hate for them to run into Sin and his army alone.”
“The waiting is driving me crazy.”
Victor gives me a small smile. “That’s probably part of his plan.”
At the echo of crisp footsteps I turn to see Faith walking briskly toward us. “Clive told me I’d find you here.”
“How are things going with the citizens?” Victor asks when she stops in front of us.
“Good. People are stockpiling food, preparing for a possible siege, but there’s no panic. We’ve set up emergency ration centers, hospitals. I have some Lessers examining the wall for weaknesses. If they exist, our vampires will find them. We’ll stand a better chance if we can keep Sin out.”
Victor grins. “Maybe you are a tactician.”
“That’s common sense. But I’m here for something else.” She takes a shuddering breath. “Richard and I shared another dream today. They destroyed the V-Processing center, detonating it. The entire Agency building is gone. But the city was empty.”
“Empty?” Victor repeats.
“No one was there. The Inner Ring, you remember it, Dawn. It was so full of energy and people, well, Day Walkers. But when I saw it through Richard’s eyes, there was no one.”
“So Sin took all his Day Walkers with him,” I say. “We knew he was on the move.”
She shakes her head.
“I relived it all through Richard. He held my hand and we walked through the empty streets. Everything was so fuzzy, like one of those old films you collect, Victor. And I felt it on my skin. I didn’t know what it was. But now I do. It was ash. Dawn, the Day Walkers, they died.”
“What! How?”
“I don’t know. And neither does Richard. Some of the other Old Family wanted to go looking for them. They said horse tracks and hundreds of footprints led out of the city. But they went in all directions. Why did he leave so many behind? Why did the others die?”
Faith rubs her arms, like the ash is on them.
“I’m scared,” she says. “Sin is up to something and I hate not knowing what it is.”
I share Faith’s concerns. Sin has always managed to be one step ahead of us.
“How’s Ian?”
“Grateful to find that most of the Night Train cars are intact.”
I notice then that the warehouse has grown quiet. The practice maneuvers are over. Fewer Watchmen are standing about, and I realize their vampire counterparts have dispersed for the day, seeking sleep and protection from the sun.
“It’ll be dawn soon,” I say. “We should head back to the Agency.”
“Come with us, Faith,” Victor says. “I don’t want you being alone in the city.”
As we walk to the Agency, I’m acutely aware of the calm, the silence as though everyone—everything—is simply waiting. Waiting for Sin to make his move.
From time to time, I notice an amateur poster slapped onto the side of a building:
KEEP THEM FED SO THEY CAN PROTECT US.
NO FEAR FOR OUR FANGED FRIENDS.
DONATING BLOOD IS AN INVESTMENT IN OUR FUTURE.
Blood donations have begun in earnest. It may just be trendy now, and soon they may return to what they were. But for the time being, we’ve become a city-size version of Crimson Sands. We watch each other’s backs so we can live our lives without fear.
As we near the steps of the Agency, a black car comes careening to a stop. Richard jumps out. I see a blur and then Faith is in his arms.
Ian is a little slower getting out. I greet him with a quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Me too. I have to return for the Night Train, but there won’t be anyone to fight me about it.”
Victor shakes his hand. “We want to hear everything, but the sun’s coming up. We should get inside.”
Sitting in the Agency apartment, we listen as Richard and Ian pretty much tell us the same thing that Faith did.
“The other Old Family vamps headed toward their own territories to begin preparing for Sin,” Richard says.
“I wish they’d stopped by here first,” I say. “I think they would find it useful to see how Denver’s citizens and vampires are working together.”
“Faith told me some of what is going on. Incredible.”
“But can it last?” Ian asks.
“It’s going to have to,” Victor says, “if we have any hope at all for a better world.”
My cell phone rings. It’s Clive. “What’s up?”
“I think Sin is sending us a message. You need to see it.”
Chapter 26
The messenger isn’t in a carriage made of white, nor does he come in the dark of the moon. He’s a vampire, lit aflame in the high sun, walking slowly toward the city.
“What the hell is that?” the guard asks.
Along with Clive and Michael, I’m standing on one of the watchtowers. Beside me is the guard who first spotted the slowly moving object, just a black silhouette with fires licking across his body, taking bits of ash into the air, where it’s whisked away. I borrow the guard’s binoculars and look.
It’s a vampire, no doubt. Humans tend to stay in one piece when exposed to the sun, and if lit on fire, well, they die pretty quickly. But this poor soul is trekking across the wasteland, his body fuel for the inescapable flames. He’s stopped trying to get rid of them but instead marches on with an unmatched will to . . . to what? To reach us?
“He’s Old Family,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
“No one else could survive that. Even the
strongest of Lessers collapse within an hour or so.”
“It looks as though he’s been walking for several hours,” the guard says.
“I’m sure he has.”
“Go pick him up,” Clive commands the guard.
“But sir—”
“If he has something important to say, I don’t want him dead by the time he reaches these walls. Take Michael with you.”
An hour later, I’m in Clive’s office. The shutters are drawn tight, and Victor stands in the corner, arms crossed. All is quiet until a scream pierces the area outside the room. We don’t have much time to react when the door is kicked open. Michael and Jeff are holding a smoldering vampire, a wool blanket wrapped around him to make his body able to be handled, but his face is black and charred, pieces of him flaking to the ground like a log left in the fire too long. I have to look away for a moment to brace myself before returning his pained stare.
And his screams keep coming.
“Calm down,” Jeff says.
But his shrieks echo around us.
“What do we do, Victor?” Michael asks. “Blood?”
“No,” Victor says. “It won’t help him at this stage. He won’t even be able to get it down his throat.”
“Kill me!” the thing shouts as he’s lain on Clive’s desk.
“Who are you?” Victor asks, moving toward the vampire.
“Ah . . . Ahh . . . Byron Asher. Your Grace.”
Only now do I recognize the charred features of the vampire who stood around the great Council table.
“What happened?” I ask.
He looks at me, and while I expect anger, all I see is remorse.
“You were right, Lady Montgomery. Sin . . . he’s insane. I . . . I tried to join him, but it was too late. He’s . . . he’s . . .” Asher makes a horrendous gurgling sound, inhaling the ash that has fallen from his body, breathing in his own flesh and choking on it.
“How many are there?” Victor asks. “How many Day Walkers? How many Chosen?”
“N . . . no . . . none.”