by J. A. London
“What?”
“None. Sin. He . . . he killed them all. Those who survived fled. I don’t know where, but somewhere far away.”
I think about Faith’s dream she shared with Richard. The footprints leading outside the city. They went in all directions, a mass exodus of fear.
“Why did he kill them?”
Asher calms himself, pushing the pain out, and I can tell there isn’t much time left for this once great vampire. I move forward to thank him. “You were very brave, Lord Asher, to come tell us.”
Victor shoots me an approving look before turning back to Asher. “This was in Los Angeles?”
He shakes his head. “I met him in the mountains. He had a few followers with him. But then . . . the Thirst.” Asher’s voice grows steady as though he is determined to give us this vital information. “Sin’s wish has come true. He’s become Infected. He’s . . . oh, Lord Valentine, you’ve never seen a monster like this. His need for vampire blood is inescapable. It’s never ending. He . . . he drank from those around him . . . without any regard to his master plan. He no longer cares. The Thirst . . . it’s . . . it’s taken over his mind, his entire being.”
“My God, Asher, you saw this?”
“Yes, my lord.” Asher grabs Victor by the collar and pulls him close. “He’ll never stop. He’ll never be satisfied. He’ll drink forever and ever until no one is left. He can do it, Victor. He . . . he can’t be stopped.”
“Where is he?”
“He . . . he wants to kill you most of all, Victor. He says that . . . ‘It must end where it began.’ Those were his final words before the Thirst tore his mind apart once again, and he slaughtered three vampires, feeding on every ounce of their . . . of their blood. His own kind. How could he . . . How could . . . How could any of us . . .”
His final words may have been spoken, but only in his mind. They never escape his lips. The fires of the sun have caused too much damage. Asher’s heart stops.
I watch Victor throw several more stakes into his leather duffel.
“Are you sure he’ll be there?” I ask.
“I’m sure. It’s the only place that makes sense.”
An hour ago, Victor showed me on a map where he thought Sin would be, where he thought “it all began.” On the folded paper, marked with roads and cities, it was just a forest. Nothing more. But for Victor, it’s home. The old Valentine Manor, erected before vampires were ever known to exist. It’s where he spent his early years; it’s where Sin grew up under the oppressive weight of an abusive father.
“I’ll need three stakes,” I say. “So make sure you have enough for me. One of them has to be small, though, so I can strap it inside my boot.” Victor stops. “And make sure they’re razor sharp and steel. None of this wood crap.”
“Dawn—”
“We should probably wrap tape around the grip, make sure our hands don’t slip.”
“Dawn—”
“Maybe I should go get my metal collar.”
“Dawn!” I look up at him, knowing what he’s about to say. “You won’t be coming.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he shoves more stakes into the bag, making a loud clanging noise and cutting me off. “It’s not negotiable.”
“I’m a delegate. I negotiate.”
“Ex-delegate.”
“Maybe to the city. But to you, I’m more than that.”
“I know. Which is precisely why you’re not going. It’s too dangerous.”
“And that is precisely why I am going. To protect you.”
Victor looks up at the ceiling, his grip tense around the leather bag that carries his weapons of war. “I have no idea what I’m going to be facing. Sin could rip me apart in a few seconds, and it’ll all be over. That’s why Faith is staying behind. If something happens to me, she has to step up and become head of the Valentine family. And I’m not willing to risk you being another victim. No. I’ll fight better knowing you’re here, safe and sound.”
“That isn’t true,” I say. “Remember when you fought your father, when you . . . when you killed him. You said to me that I was the reason you drove the stake through his heart. Looking at me gave you that strength. The same with Brady. Our toughest battles have always been fought together. We . . . we fight as one.”
“Please, Dawn, not this time. If something happens to me . . . No, if something happens to you—”
“Then let it,” I say. “Because I . . . don’t make me say it, Victor.”
“What is it?” he asks. When did the distance between us close? When did he place his hands on my face?
“Because I can’t live in a world without you.”
“And I can’t create a new one without you.”
I want this new world that we’ve both dreamed of, but I want him more. “I hid in a closet when Sin took Brady. I was safe at home asleep in my bed when he killed my parents. I can’t—I won’t—let him have you. I love you too much.”
Raising up on my toes, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, conveying with my lips and tongue everything that I feel for him. Victor Valentine. Vampire. I risked loving him. I’m not willing to risk losing him.
Victor draws back and studies the determination in my eyes. Tenderly he brushes back my hair. “So, that’s three stakes, right?”
“And make sure they’re sharp!”
A black car sits ominously outside the building. Leaning against it are several of our friends.
“About time,” Michael says, a black duffel bag in his hand. He shakes it, and I can hear the metal stakes.
“I’ll drive first,” Richard says, his elbows on the roof of the driver’s side. “We’ll need a speed demon if we’re to get there in time, and frankly, Victor, you drive like my grandmother.”
“This will get us there and back, with plenty to spare,” Ian says, loading four orange gas canisters into the trunk.
Rachel is there, a big bag in her hands. “Now, I’ve packed all of you lunches. Let’s see, there’s turkey sandwiches, roast beef, um . . . what else? Ooh, I’ve got a few slices of pie. . . .”
As she rattles off the rest, I slap myself out of the shock I feel and look up at Victor. He appears as surprised as I am: stunned at our gathering of friends and allies.
Faith is standing beside Richard. I wish I had vampire ears to hear what they’re saying to each other. Or maybe not; they deserve their privacy. But my human eyes catch Faith trying to wipe away a tear without anyone noticing. Hundreds of years of practice and still not sly enough for me.
Tegan is holding Michael’s hand, and he reaches down and gives her a quick brush over the lips. I’m so glad they have each other.
“Everything looks good,” Jeff says, shutting the hood of the car. “Just go easy on the brakes, all right?”
I’m grateful Jeff isn’t suited up to go with us. The city needs him now more than ever. And as he rejoins Rachel, I can’t help noticing his hand lying gently on her stomach. Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it means everything.
Faith walks over to Victor. “I want to go, but . . .”
“A Valentine needs to be here in case things don’t go well,” Victor finishes for her.
She nods, swipes at another tear. “Just make sure things go well.”
He hugs her hard. “You’re a great sister.”
“You’re an okay brother.”
Laughing, Victor leans back and she turns to me. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
Richard gives us our boarding call. “Let’s go, guys, plenty of night left.”
Victor, Michael, and I jump into the backseat. Richard and Ian take the front.
As we drive through the streets, I know that in the distance Clive is watching us go toward the walls, toward our final confrontation. I close my eyes and think about him and my parents and everyone I’m doing this for, and our road has never felt more straight.
Chapter 27
It isn’t at all what I expected. The Vale
ntine Manor built outside Denver held such opulence, such dark grandeur. But this, the first Valentine house built in America, is held up only by haunted memories now: three stories tall, but the walls are buckling; a roof made of fine timber, eaten away and letting the rain pour into the house’s interior; a massive door that once would have stood as the pride of the wealthy Valentine immigrants now hangs off the hinges, termites having made their home inside.
“This is the place,” Victor says. “I remember the gardens. They looked so beautiful at night.”
“I imagine this place has seen better days,” I say.
“It was once the biggest estate in the Northeast. Now it’s just a shell. My father let it rot away for some reason. Maybe he just grew bored with it. Once he and the servants left, nature did the rest. We vampires are well aware of what time can do to things built by hand.”
“And this is where it all began?” Michael asks.
“I lived here for only a few years,” Victor says. “But I know this is where Sin came into life, where he suffered, where he became twisted inside.”
“It isn’t your fault,” I say, putting my hand on Victor’s.
He doesn’t agree and shakes his head. “I should have come back. I should have known that my father had changed, had become crueler than I could have imagined. I heard he hated his youngest son. I just never knew how much. Or why.”
“We can’t change any of it now,” Ian says. “Trust me, Victor, I know this is hard for you, but you need a clear mind. We all do. If we’re going in there to fight, it has to be for that and nothing else. The time for understanding is over. The time for action is here.”
“He’s right,” Richard says. “It has to end here. Tonight. Sin can’t be saved.”
“I know,” Victor says, rubbing my hand. “I know.”
With stakes drawn, we head into the manor.
The long hallway is dark and I can see that it’s cramped, a corridor meant to keep out the light, not to impress its guests. But once we reach the end and open the doors into the next room, we’re all shocked by what we see.
Light. The chandeliers, the wall lamps, everything is on. Sin must have done it. He must have done it for us.
The grand central room, the heart of the house, was most protected from the elements and time. The roof hasn’t caved in; the stairs haven’t rotted away. It seems as though this place still beats fresh blood, while the rest of the house acts as limbs that have atrophied and died. It haunts us with its glow and its warmth, everything seeming so odd and out of place, as though we’ve stumbled into a dream in the midst of a nightmare.
The massive pillars that hold the ceiling in place, made of beautiful marble, show no signs of aging. Neither does the grand staircase, which is wide enough to drive a car up. A bright red carpet starts at our feet and winds through the room, up the stairs, and ends at the feet of the man who has killed hundreds and turned hundreds more into horrific creatures. He’s left scars everywhere he’s walked, and the shards of shattered lives surround him everywhere he goes.
Sin’s back is turned to us, but there’s no mistaking it’s him or that he is alert to our presence. From this distance, he seems to have finally achieved what he wanted: to become a god. He appears, under the glow of the lamps in this dark house, to be the very source of its light, of its warmth. And there’s no questioning his omniscience, his acute awareness of our steps and our breaths and our heartbeats. I can tell. Maybe it’s because my heart beats with the same Montgomery blood. But I can tell.
In front of him is a massive portrait of the late Murdoch Valentine. It reaches up from the floor to the very top of the ceiling, something only fit for an egomaniac. Maybe Sin is seeing his own face in his father’s. A man of power and action, an agent of great change. Through the weathered canvas and chipped paint, the rotting frame and running colors, his grandeur remains. Maybe it’s even enhanced, as though proving that even in death he is alive and immune to the ever-moving clock.
Sin speaks. “Look at him. Look at Father.”
His voice is calm, but it’s a struggle, as if he were speaking out of a mouth that was no longer his.
“Such arrogance he held. Such shortsightedness. All I asked for . . . was . . . was to feel the sun. That’s all. But you wouldn’t give it to me. No. You had to lock me away, didn’t you? Didn’t you! Talk! Speak to me!”
Whether Sin thinks he’s speaking to a painting or to his father, I don’t know. But I’m aware of Victor moving forward and the others spreading out, taking their places.
“Why? Why didn’t you love me? Why didn’t you . . . see me?”
I can hear . . . No. I can feel his weeping.
“Sin!” Victor shouts, and the weeping stops. “Sin, it’s over.”
“Victor. You always were his favorite.”
“You’re right. I was. He loved me, and he despised you for what you are. He didn’t want a son like you.”
Victor wants Sin angry. He wants Sin to stop thinking and act on impulse.
“I killed them all,” Sin says. “Years of planning, and all for nothing.”
“You’ve been driven mad,” Victor shouts, at the stairs now, one foot on the first step.
“No, I’ve been given ultimate power. Years of drinking vampire blood, and finally the Thirst has chosen me. Finally, I’ve reached my full potential.”
“You’ve reached insanity.”
“I have become a god. And I will be a lonely god. For nothing will remain once I am finished.”
“Sin! Face me!”
He does so. What I see is nothing like the beautiful teenager who walked into my classroom unexpectedly such a short time ago. He’s a demented shadow of what was once Sin Valentine. His jaw has grown in size, the teeth inside his mouth fighting each other for space, expanding into a maw, a forest of sharpened fangs that would fit on no natural creature. His skin is stretched and bleeding, wounds that may never heal. Or perhaps he does it to himself with his hands, or, what were once hands. Now they are claws. His fingers are long and grotesque; the nails at the end have lengthened and sharpened, becoming lethal weapons.
But it’s his eyes that capture souls and hold them prisoner. It’s his eyes that will haunt me for as long as I live. Freakishly large, black as the purest oil, reflecting all they see like some dark crystal ball. He appears, in this moment, remorseful. Sad. Filled with regret.
But in the next moment, it all changes.
With a frightful scream through his engorged jaw, he causes the ceiling to shake and fine plaster to fall. I look to see where the others are, if everyone is as afraid of this monster as I am. And when I turn back, Victor is off his feet, Sin having hit him square in the chest, and the two fly backward onto the floor.
They slide together, nearly to the door. Sin is on top, one hand around Victor’s throat, the other in the air ready to bring down a terrible strike. Victor acts first, shoving his stake into Sin’s side.
The Thirst-infected Valentine doesn’t even flinch.
Victor scrambles for his other stake as a blur tackles Sin, throwing him off and onto the floor. It’s Richard, his own metal stake lodged into Sin. But the monster doesn’t care and tosses Richard off as though he’s little more than a pillow.
Michael and Ian charge in, one from the back, the other at the front. But Sin’s speed is too much, and even though Ian is able to land a solid blow with his stake, he misses with the other and is quickly flung across the room. Michael, for his efforts, receives a blow to the stomach, and I hear the air leaving his lungs. Sin merely shoves him to the floor, as though insulted that a human would have the audacity to face him.
Victor is up now, another stake already in his hand. Sin has three stakes in his body, but he doesn’t bother removing them, shows no signs of slowing down. Instead, his eyes narrow in anger, and the blackness within is a rage that has built over years, over decades. And it’s all focused on his half brother.
In a flash, Sin appears in front of Victor, his f
rightening claw raised upward. Victor was fast, but not fast enough, and a trail of blood spurts from his chest in a misty spray. The strike wasn’t fatal, and Victor moves in. But Sin grabs his hand and twists and squeezes until Victor falls to a knee and the stake rolls out.
That’s when I run in, and I pound my metal stake into Sin’s back with both hands and all my weight. But I can’t believe it. It barely pierces at all, the Thirst having thickened his gray skin until it stands like leather stacked on more leather.
He turns and looks at me and I think I’ll fall into the voids of his eyes never to escape. He raises his hand to strike at me, but he’s pushed aside by a thunderous clap as Richard drives into him.
They hit the wall so hard I see it crack, an imprint of Sin placed into it. The master of all the Chosen, the New World god, kicks Richard off before slashing his beautiful face, spraying the wall with deep crimson. Richard staggers back.
Ian and Michael rush in, but Sin delivers a well-placed strike against each and I hear the crunch of bones, the loss of breath. They stumble back. And Sin looks up, no longer enjoying the game, wanting to end this forever. He sets his eyes on Victor.
And Victor wants the same. To end this.
All things stand still, save the two brothers. They move as one, nothing but a blur; hints of their existence dance around the room. And in a brief moment that seems meant only for me, I see Victor, and he looks at me, at Dawn, and I know he draws strength from me, as he always has.
The movement stops, and I see Sin’s eyes over Victor’s shoulder. I expect them to be wide, pained from the death blow delivered. Instead, I see them carry a hint of joy, a sign of the smile on Sin’s face. I look down and see Sin’s claws sticking out of Victor’s back, having gone clean through his stomach. They drip Victor’s blood onto the floor.
But I don’t scream; instead, I draw another stake.
The others, Richard, Michael, and Ian, begin to move.
And Victor . . . he grabs Sin’s wrist but doesn’t remove the claws deep within him. Instead, he holds them tightly, not allowing them to leave, not ending the pain he feels. Only then do Sin’s eyes go wide, as he realizes what is to come.