Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “What’s a Renfield?” Caleb asked. He was turned in the seat looking directly back at the car between us and the blue Jeep.

  “Turn around, Caleb. When that car turns off I don’t want the Jeep to know we’ve noticed them.”

  He turned around immediately without arguing, which was unusual for Caleb. I didn’t approve of threatening people to gain their obedience, but there were some that nothing else seemed to work with. Maybe he was one of them.

  I explained what a Renfield was.

  “Like the guy in Dracula who ate insects,” Caleb said.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Cool,” he said, and seemed to mean it.

  I’d once asked Jean-Claude what they called Renfields before the release of the book Dracula in 1897. Jean-Claude had said, “Slaves.” He’d probably been kidding, but I’d never had the heart to ask again.

  The car behind us pulled into one of the narrow driveways. The blue Jeep was suddenly revealed. I forced myself to not look directly at it and only use the side mirror, but it was hard. I wanted to turn around and stare. Knowing that I shouldn’t made it all the more tempting.

  There was nothing ominous about the Jeep, or even the two men visible in it. They both had short hair, clean, well groomed; the Jeep was even shiny and clean. The only thing ominous was the fact that they were still behind us. Then . . . it turned into a narrow driveway. Just like that, not a threat.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Ditto,” Jason said, but I saw his shoulder sag, as if tension drained away with that one word.

  “Are we becoming too paranoid?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Jason said, but he was still spending almost as much time staring back in the rearview mirror as straight ahead, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Neither could I, so I didn’t tell him to watch the road. He was watching forward okay, and I, too, was expecting the blue Jeep to pull out and start after us again. Just a ruse, guys, not really harmless after all. But it didn’t happen. We drove down the long car-crowded street, until the Jeep’s driveway was hidden by trees and parked cars.

  “Looks like it was just driving our way,” Jason said.

  “Looks like,” I said.

  Nathaniel rubbed his face against my leg. “You still smell scared, like you don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  “Why not?” Caleb asked, leaning in between the seats from the backseat.

  I finally turned around in the seat, but I wasn’t looking at Caleb, I was staring past him at the empty street. “Experience,” I said.

  I smelled roses, and a second later the cross around my neck began to glow, softly.

  “Jesus,” Jason whispered.

  My heart was thumping painfully in my chest, but my voice came solid. “She can’t roll me while I’m wearing a cross.”

  “You sure of that?” Caleb asked it, as he moved back away from me into the far reaches of the seat.

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m sure of that.”

  “Why?” he asked, eyes wide.

  I blinked at him as the soft, white luminosity grew brighter in the tree shadows, almost invisible in full sunlight, over and over again. “Because I believe,” I said, voice soft as the glow around my neck, and as sure. I’d seen crosses burst into a white-hot light so bright it was blinding, but that was when I’d been face-to-face with a vamp that meant me harm. Belle was far away, and the glow showed that.

  I kept waiting for the scent of roses to grow stronger again, but it never did. It stayed faint, definitely there, but didn’t grow on the air.

  I waited for Belle’s voice in my head, but it didn’t come. Every time she had spoken directly in my mind, the smell of roses had been thick. The sweet perfume stayed faint, and Belle’s voice was gone from me. I squeezed the cross with my hand, feeling the heat, the power of it, skin prickling up my arm, thrumming like a continuous heartbeat against my hand. Caleb asked how could I believe. What I always wanted to ask, is, how can you not believe?

  I felt Belle’s anger like warmth on the air. Power filled the Jeep, in a neck-ruffling, breath-stealing tide, so much effort and all she could send was an image of herself sitting in front of her dressing table. Her long, black hair was unbound, like a cloak around a dressing gown of gold and black. She watched herself in the mirror with eyes full of honey-fire, like the eyes of the blind, empty except for the color of her power.

  I whispered out loud, “You cannot touch me, not now.”

  She looked into the mirror as if I were standing behind her, and she could see me. Rage changed her beauty into something frightening, a mere mask of pale beauty that looked as false as any Halloween mask. Then she turned and looked past me, beyond me, and the look of fear on her face was so real, so unexpected that I turned, too, and I saw . . . something.

  Darkness. Darkness like a wave, rising up, up over me, over us, like a liquid mountain towering to the impossibly tall sky. The room that Belle had constructed of dreams and power collapsed, shredded like the dream it was, and what ate at the corners of that bright candlelit room was darkness. Darkness absolute, darkness so black that it held shines of other colors, like an oil slick, or a trick of the eye. As if this blackness was a darkness made up of every color that had ever existed, every sight that had ever been seen, every sigh, every scream, since time began. I had heard the term primordial darkness, but until this moment I had never understood what it meant. Now I understood, I truly understood, and I despaired.

  I stared up, up at an ocean of darkness that rose above me as if the earth and sky had never existed. This was darkness before the light, before the word of God. It was like a breath of an older creation. But if this was creation, it was nothing I could understand, nothing I wanted to understand.

  Belle screamed first. I think I was too awestruck to scream, or even to be afraid. I looked into the primordial abyss, the first darkness, and knew despair, but not fear.

  My mind kept trying to find words to describe what it was. It did loom over me like a mountain, because it had weight and that claustrophobic feel of a mountain poised to come crashing down, but it was not a mountain. It was more like an ocean, if an ocean could have risen up taller than the tallest mountain and stood before you, waiting, defying gravity and every other known law of physics. Like with an ocean, I knew—could sense—that I only saw that wide glimpse from shore, that I could only begin to guess at the depth and width, the unthinkable fathoms of darkness that lay before me.

  Did strange creatures swim inside it? Were there things within the dark that only nightmares or dreams could reveal? I watched the flickering, liquid dark and felt the numbness of despair begin to wear away. It was as if the despair had been a shield to protect me, to numb me, so that my mind wouldn’t break. For a few moments I had been intellect, thinking, What is it? How can I make sense of it? The numbness began to recede as if that huge blackness sucked it away, fed on it. I was left standing before her, her . . . trembling, shaking, my skin running cold, and I felt that darkness sucking at me, feeding off my warmth. In that moment I knew what I faced. It was a vampire. Maybe the very first vampire, something so ancient, that to think of human bodies or flesh to contain this darkness was laughable. She was the primordial dark made real. She was why humans feared the dark, just the darkness, not what lies in the dark, not what hides there, but why we fear the darkness itself. There was a time when she walked among us, fed on us, and when darkness falls, somewhere in the back of our skulls, we remember the hungry dark.

  That shining ocean of blackness reached out towards me, and I knew that if it touched me, I would die. I couldn’t turn away, couldn’t run, because you can’t run from the dark, not really. The light does not last. That last thought wasn’t mine. Wasn’t Belle’s.

  I stared up at the darkness as it began to bend over me, and knew it lied. It’s the dark that doesn’t last. Dawn comes and slays the darkness, not the other way around. If I could have found enough air, I would have screa
med, but I was left with only a whisper. The darkness bent towards me, and I couldn’t shoot it, or hit it, and I didn’t have enough personal psychic power to keep her at bay. I did the only thing I could think of, I prayed.

  I whispered, “Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee . . .” the darkness hesitated, “Blessed are you among women, and Blessed is the fruit of thy womb,” the faintest of shivers ran through the liquid dark, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us . . .” There was suddenly light in the darkness. My cross was around my neck in the dreamscape. The metal shone like a captive star, shining and white, and unlike in real life, I could see beyond the brilliance of it. I watched that pure, white light chase back the dark.

  I was suddenly aware of the car seat, the seat belt across my chest, Nathaniel’s body wrapped around my legs. The cross around my neck was glowing hot white even in sunlight, so that I had to look away from it, and still the white, white light blurred my vision. The cross wouldn’t have still been burning if the danger had past. I waited for the Mother of all Darkness to make her next move.

  The air in the Jeep was suddenly soft, sweet, like the perfect summer night, when you can smell every blade of grass, every leaf, every flower, like a scented blanket that wraps you in air softer than cashmere, lighter than silk, a sweet blanket of air.

  My throat suddenly felt cooler, as if I’d taken a sip of cold water. I could feel it coating my throat, and there was a faint under-taste, like jasmine.

  Nathaniel buried his face in my lap to protect his eyes from the light. It was like wearing a white sun around my neck.

  “Shit,” Jason said, “I’m having trouble seeing the road. Can you tone it down?”

  The world was full of white halos, and I didn’t dare turn my head to look at him. The scent of night was all I could smell as if everything else had vanished. I could almost redrink the cool, perfumed water that coated my throat. So real, so overwhelmingly real. I managed to whisper, “No.”

  I kept waiting for words in my head, but there was nothing but silence, and the smell of a summer night, the taste of cool water, and the growing sense that something large was drawing nearer. It was like standing on the train tracks, when you feel that first vibration down the metal lines, and you know you should get off, but you can’t see anything. As far as you can look, the tracks are clear, there’s only that metallic vibration, like a pulse beat against your feet, to let you know that several tons of steel are hurtling towards you. People die every year on train tracks, and often their dying words are I didn’t see the train. I’ve always thought that trains must be magical that way, or otherwise people would see them, and get the fuck off the tracks. I could feel the vibration of her rushing towards me, and I would gladly have gotten off the tracks, but the tracks were inside my head, nailed across my body, and I couldn’t figure out how to run from that.

  Something rubbed against my skin, like some large animal pressing its body along the length of mine. I felt Nathaniel draw back, but I couldn’t see him through the white light. His voice came, breathless, frightened, “What is that?”

  I opened my mouth, not even sure what I’d say, when that roll of invisible animal hit my chest, and the cross. The cross flared so bright that most of us screamed, cried out. Jason had to hit the brakes and stop the jeep in the middle of the street, blinded by the light, unable to see to drive, I think.

  The light began to dim. For a second I wondered if the brilliance had fried my retinas, then my vision began to clear through a veil of spots. I could still feel it, her, pressing against me, pinning me to the seat, pressing over the cross, as if she were eating the light.

  Nathaniel stared up at me, his lavender eyes gone leopard, a deep, deep gray, that had a hint of blue in the sunlight. “She’s a shifter,” he whispered. And I knew why. Shape-shifters could not be vampires, or vice versa. The lycanthropy virus seemed to be proof against whatever made you a vampire. You could not be both. It was a rule. But whatever pressed against me now was animal not human. I couldn’t get a sense of what kind of animal, but animal it was.

  How the Mother of all Darkness happened to be both a vampire and a shape-shifter at the same time was a problem for another day. Right then, I didn’t care what she was, I just wanted her to leave me the fuck alone.

  The cross was still glowing, but only the metal itself, as if it were hollow and candles burned inside it. The light was white and flickering now. I’d never seen a cross look so much like fire before. But it was a cold fire. The shape pushed and rolled like it was trying to climb inside me, but the cross kept glowing, acting as a metaphysical shield to keep her out of me.

  “What can we do to help?” Jason asked. The Jeep was still stopped in the middle of the street. A car trapped behind us was honking its horn. There were cars parked on both sides of the residential street leaving the car with no way to get past us. The neighborhood was nothing but small neat houses, none with driveways. Jason hit the blinkers, and the car began to back away, trying to turn around.

  I was almost afraid to open my links to Richard and Jean-Claude, what if the primordial dark could spill down the ties and take them, too? Jean-Claude had no faith to fall back on. Richard did, but whether he was actually wearing a cross or not was debatable. It had been a long time since I’d seen Richard wear a cross.

  While I was still considering, Jason grabbed my hand. The scent of night didn’t fade, it was added to, like a layer of color painted over another. The clean musk of wolves filled the night. The cool water that seemed to have passed down my throat now tasted more of loam and forest than perfume.

  I had an image in my mind of a huge animal head with long teeth, like the largest fangs I’d ever seen. The fur on the head was gold and tawny, and reddish, shaded, rather than striped, more lion than tiger. Eyes like golden fire stared into mine, and that huge mouth opened wide, and screamed its frustration, in a sound like a panther’s scream, but decibels lower. Pioneers were always mistaking panther screams for a woman’s cries. No one would have mistaken this for a woman—a man, maybe, a man being tortured and screaming for his soul.

  I screamed back, as if that head were truly right in front of me and not thousands of miles across the world. My scream was echoed by two others. Nathaniel snarled up at me from the floorboard, his mouth showing teeth that were fast becoming fangs. Caleb had slid in between the seats, and his eyes were yellow cat eyes. He started to rub his cheek against my shoulder as if he was going to scent mark me, then stopped, snarling, as if he’d touched that other phantom cat.

  Jason didn’t scream, he growled, that low, fur-standing-on-end sound that has nothing to do with hunting and everything to do with fighting, not for food, but for survival. It was a sound for guarding territory, chasing out interlopers, getting rid of troublemakers. The sound that says get out or die.

  She screamed back, a sound that should have frozen the blood in my veins, and reminded me that my ancestors had huddled around their small fires and watched in terror for the shine of eyes outside that flame. But I wasn’t thinking like a person. I wasn’t even sure thinking was the word for what was moving through my mind. It was more like I was in the moment, completely, utterly. I could feel the leather seat cupping my body, Nathaniel pressed against my legs, his hands tracing higher, Caleb at my shoulder, his cheek against my face, his jaw straining as he snarled, Jason’s hand on my arm like it had taken root, become a part of me.

  I could smell Caleb’s skin, the soap he’d used that morning, and the fear like something bitter under that clean skin. Nathaniel moved up on his knees, higher, so that his face was superimposed behind the saber-tooth’s head for a moment. But I could smell the vanilla scent of his hair, and there was nothing from the phantom cat.

  Jason moved in closer, putting his face close to mine, sniffing the air. I smelled soap, shampoo, and the smell of Jason, a scent that had begun to mean home to me, the way the vanilla scent of Nathaniel’s hair, or Jean-Claude’s expensive cologne, or, once, the warm bend of R
ichard’s neck affected me. I didn’t mean in a sexual way, but the way fresh baked bread or your mother’s favorite cookies make you feel safe and smell like home. I turned my head to Caleb, so that my nose touched his skin, and under the fear, the soap, the soft skin, he smelled of leopard, faint in his human form, but there, a nose-wrinkling, skin-prickling smell. I turned to the weight pressing against the still-glowing cross. I looked into those yellow eyes, gazed upon those fangs that were like nothing that walked the earth today, and it had no scent.

  Jason was snuffling the air in front of me. His pale wolf eyes met mine, and I knew that he’d figured it out, too.

  As a vampire she smelled of cool evenings and sweet water, vaguely like jasmine. As a wereanimal she had no scent, because she wasn’t here. It was a sending, a psychic sending. It had power, but it wasn’t real, not really real, not physical. No matter how much power you put into it, a psychic sending has limits to what it can do physically. It can frighten you into running into traffic, but it can’t push you. It can try to trick you into doing things, but it cannot hurt you without a physical agent. When she was a vampire, the cross and my faith kept her at bay. As a wereanimal, she wasn’t real.

  Nathaniel had literally crawled up through the image I could still see hovering over my chest. He was the one who said it out loud, “It has no scent.”

  “It’s not real,” I said.

  Caleb’s voice came with an edge of growl so deep that it was almost painful to hear, “I feel it, some great cat, like pard, but not.”

  “But do you smell anything?” Jason asked.

  Caleb sniffed along my body. Any other time, I would have accused him of getting too close to my breasts, but not now. He was as serious as I’d ever seen him, as he sniffed along my chest, pushed his face almost into that evil face. He stopped, staring into those yellow eyes from inches away. He hissed like any startled cat. “I can’t smell it, but I see it.”

  “Seeing isn’t always believing,” I said.

  “What is it?” he asked.