The Vampire Gift 5: Whispers of Evil

by E. M. Knight

  But the time for aggression is not yet.

  “What is your name?” I ask.

  “Why?” she counters. Behind the act of bravado is some very real fear. There must be. I note the way her breathing isn’t quite so steady, the way that she shifts her stance, although imperceptibly, even as she has the gun pointed at me.

  “I want to know who Smithson made,” I tell her. I start to gesture at the markings on her skull—but she hefts the gun up the moment my hand moves.

  I leave it at my side.

  “I’m not here to kill you,” I say. “If that’s what I wanted, it would have already been done.”

  “You’re here to make me your prisoner!” she snarls. “I know what you vampires do. I’ve heard how you treat others.” She spits to the side. “I hate you!”

  Now amusement trickles up through me. I want to laugh. “Darling,” I tell her, “don’t you know, you are one of us?”

  “I will never be like you,” she snarls.

  And with that, she attempts to pull the trigger.

  My reflexes propel me forward in the blink of an eye. The bullet wizzes by, nearly grazing my skin. Its velocity is much faster than I would have expected, but I avoid it regardless.

  I crash into her. Together, we go down. I expect it to be easy to hold her there—but she puts up one hell of a fight.

  She snarls and grapples with me and, somehow, nearly matches me strength-for-strength. I pin her arms on either side of her head. Nope, it doesn’t work. She breaks out of my grip and thrusts me away by the chest, then turns over and tries reaching for the gun.

  With one foot I kick it away. It goes skidding across the cold metal floor. The woman hisses in frustration and turns her attention back to me.

  For a moment that seems to stretch for a lifetime, we grapple for advantage. Her fangs come out and she tries to sink them into my neck. An old move, that, and one I am easily prepared to deflect. But she surprises me when she feints one way with the bite, and then brings her leg up to kick me off.

  I fly back, righting myself just in time for the landing, and my anger flares. I refuse to be made a fool of by some newly-made fledgling! In a rage I descend upon her, knocking her off her feet as she starts reaching for the gun…

  It’s not a question of instincts anymore—she is actually a trained fighter. If I’ve been holding back for fear of hurting her, I abolish that inhibition now. I am stronger than her, of that I have no doubt. But she’s had some type of martial arts training that makes her a worthy adversary.

  We grapple and fight and struggle for advantage. Mine lies in staying on the ground. If I can subdue her, there isn’t much she’ll be capable of doing.

  I get her arms locked behind her back. Just when I think that’s going to be enough, she blindsides me:

  The strange markings on her skin explode in a flash of light, and suddenly holding her burns, as if her skin itself has become silver.

  The pain makes me cry out in surprise. I relent on my grip but don’t let go completely. Yet somehow she wiggles out from under me and slips her arm from my grip. She makes a fist and jabs it at a precise point on my neck.

  I didn’t know vampires had weaknesses… but that spot seems to be mine. Sharp, blistering pain shoots through my body. I holler, more in surprise and indignation and embarrassment than anything else, and the woman breaks free.

  She goes for the gun once more. But I am closer. I scramble up and cut her off, reaching it before she does. On a whim I point it at her…

  She comes to a dead halt.

  Once more, surprise takes me.

  If she is so fearful of the weapon, but not of me…

  “Who are you?” I demand again. This time there is nothing but cold anger in my voice. “What do those symbols on your skin mean? Why are they glowing?”

  She gives a bitter little laugh. “I’d rather die than answer your questions,” she tells me. She pushes her chest forward to expose her heart. “Go on, then. Do it. Shoot me. Kill me in cold blood.”

  I growl in frustration. “I do not want you dead,” I retaliate. With one hand I motion behind me. “I have others coming. Can’t you feel them?”

  She hesitates just enough to let me know that, yes, she can.

  “Smithson is my prisoner,” I continue. “He is the one I came to destroy. But objectives have since changed. Now, I need to know what happened here—and what this place is.”

  “Why?” she counters. “So you can exploit our secrets? You think I would give even a single word of what I know away?”

  “I think,” I say, looking at the gun, “that you have little choice in the matter.”

  “There is always choice,” she mutters.

  And in a blur of movement, she withdraws a silver stake from her side and tries to plunge it into her heart.

  I make a strangled sound of alarm as I fly at her. My hand catches her wrist just before she can break skin.

  She fights me, trying her damnedest to impale herself on the point—but all my instincts come roaring to life.

  And those instincts, for a change, have everything to do with ensuring somebody else actually lives.

  We struggle for an eternal moment, two dancers locked in the strangest embrace. Her determination to end her life is clear on her face.

  “Vampire,” she hisses. “Bloodsucker. Let me go!”

  “No.” I grunt. Inch by inch I force her hand away. In the back of my mind I wonder why she has not yet used that strange and unnatural power to fling me away—but I am thankful for it.

  A flood of left-over strength surges through my limbs, and that’s enough for me to win out and knock the dagger out of her hand.

  She gasps, then growls, then, in an absolute rage, tries to claw at my face.

  But I was expecting that. And the prelude to this fight had gotten my blood boiling. I deflect the new attack and wrap myself around her. I pin her arms in a powerful lock behind her body.

  Then I clamp my last pair of silver manacles over her wrists.

  With that done, I let her go, then push her forward. She stumbles, doubtlessly flooded by the strange new sensation the silver imparts onto her, and falls down.

  I take a series of deep, labored breaths. I did not expect a newborn vampire to ever—ever!—put up that much of a fight.

  Before I can think of what to do next, the sound of footsteps coming closer reaches my ears. I look up and see all three members of my coven—plus Smithson—at the railing above.

  Victoria takes one look at the woman—and gasps.

  “Those markings,” she says.

  I pounce immediately. “You know them?”

  She nods, then swallows. “I do. They are branded at the age of seven to the daughters of the highest ranking members of the Crusaders.”

  “Crusaders?” I ask.

  “You don’t know?”

  I shake my head.

  “The Crusaders are an organization of humans dedicate to one thing: The complete and utter annihilation of vampires worldwide.”

  I scoff. “That’s laughable.”

  “No,” Victoria says. “Not so. They are a parallel group to the Order, formed in the same era. With one major difference.”

  “Yes?” I ask. “What’s that?”

  “They do not fear the occult. They had witches on their side. Those markings—” she gestures at the woman on the floor. “Offer a type of protection. The runes give power to one in possession of them. In a way, they imbue their magic onto a person.” Victoria shakes her head. “I would venture to say that this fledgling, whoever she is, is the very first Crusader to become a creature of the night.”

  I whistle, then pick the fledgling up. She has given up the fight. All the energy seems to have drained out of her.

  “You’ve just joined some revered company,” I whisper in her ear. “All of us are a band of misfits. And all of us are in some ways the firsts,” I shove her forward. “I’m going to have one hell of a time extracting all sorts of kn
owledge from you. But, what am I saying? You need to feed!”

  I bite into my wrist and press the little wound to her lips. “Smithson may have made you, but I claim you first. You are now a prisoner of the Nocturna Animalia. We will have to break down your mind. Only when you accept who and what you are, will I allow you to come forward and join us as a free member of the coven. But after what Victoria said… I suspect we’ve got a long journey ahead.”

  She hisses something vile and reprehensible, with the blood pooling at her lips. But no matter her courage, no matter her will-power, no matter her self-restraint… a fledgling vampire will never be able to turn down blood as ripe as mine.

  And so a triumphant smile is fixed on my lips when instinct wins over, and she takes the first sip.

  Chapter Ten

  Eleira

  The Stronghold

  As the hours pass and bring us closer and closer to nightfall, an awful sort of apprehension comes over me.

  I don’t know what to expect tonight. So much has happened so quickly—and it isn’t even close to being over yet.

  Morgan has managed to quell the rebellion. About half of The Haven’s vampires who sided with Carter and Deanna have scattered. The rest, when they heard of the Queen’s return, quickly did an about-face and pledged their renewed allegiance.

  She took them in before the sun rose—but has kept them in a separate wing of the stronghold. I don’t know what she is going to do with them, but, considering all that I’ve learned about Morgan, I don’t think forgiveness comes carte blanche.

  As for the rest of the Incolam and the Elite? They seem to have regained their vigor after learning that the Queen was to restore the wards tonight. Not in a week, not at the next full moon… but tonight.

  As much as I wish I could say I expect things to go off without a hitch—I know that there is always the potential for something to go wrong.

  The only sort of consolation I hold right now is that one of the many threats facing us has been neutralized.

  With Morgan’s link to The Narwhark, it will not prey upon the vampires of The Haven anymore.

  It struck me as odd how fast so many of the vampires accepted the Queen’s explanation of her new link to the Narwhark. She announced it. They took it as fact.

  No ifs or buts or doubts anywhere.

  I wasn’t there when it happened. Morgan and Phillip coordinated to collect all the vampires themselves. I, at last, got to spend a tiny bit of quality time with Raul.

  But as much as I loved being held in his arms, having my hair stroked, hearing him whisper sweet nothings into my ear… we got no more than a fragmented half-hour. Then we were interrupted by an urgent knocking at the door. Raul answered and found Geordam there, who said something in a rush that I obviously was not meant to hear.

  I made no attempt to eavesdrop, but the end result was that Raul quickly turned back, told me he had to go, and then just… darted.

  That struck me as fishy.

  Maybe it had something to do with the Queen’s announcement, maybe it was something else, but all things considered, I was left feeling empty.

  Not to say that I wasn’t grateful for our short time in private. But it ended so abruptly…

  I sigh, and look at myself in the mirror. “Better get used to that reflection, Eleira,” I whisper. “It’s never going to change.”

  At one point, the thought would have excited me… but now, it’s just another burden atop the mountain of responsibilities that I face.

  I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s an old timepiece, probably from a century or two ago. The hands have long-since stopped moving. But one thing I’ve found, since being made immortal, is that I’ve developed an uncanny ability to precisely guess at the exact time. I don’t need a watch to know how many minutes have passed…

  Or how many hours remain until my expected coronation.

  I’m filled with all sorts of worries and angst about it, despite the brave face I put on for Raul before. The succession was supposed to link me to the great throne torrial. Is that still the case? Or have things changed now that Morgan has re-emerged with her new type of magic?

  And, honestly? I feel dreadfully ill-prepared to take on rulership of this coven. I was brought here to be Queen… but there is no way Morgan will relinquish power now.

  No way at all, not after coming back and wresting it to herself again.

  The only outcome is that I will be a surrogate. That Morgan will use me for my powers, link me to the torrial, have me cast the wards… and be done with me.

  In truth, that is not such a bad position. I feel a part of The Haven, even if the majority of its vampires make no effort to hide their disdain for me.

  But I don’t need their approval. I only need—or want—Raul’s.

  And with him securely on my side, I am actually more than ready to face the world.

  The other thing is that if Morgan is the one who links herself here, if she remains in her position of power, she will be able to rebuild The Haven into what it was before the attack. Of course, I will want a say in it. But her experience is something of spectacular value, no matter what.

  Moreover… she is infinitely better prepared than I am to defend this coven against a future attack. I have to remember, above all, that no matter what happens at the ceremony tonight, the biggest dangers are still ahead. The larger threat comes from The Crypts, and Logan, and Beatrice.

  What we’re doing here, now… what we’re potentially doing, is only a transitory maneuver that buys us back some of the safety and comfort we had lost. But it does nothing to address the larger issues: the prophecy, for example, or Logan’s greed for the human world.

  I shiver. The Prophecy.

  I go to the table and write it out, as best as I can remember. I try to glean some sort of insight that I might have overlooked before:

  She comes, she comes! Child of the Stars, born of the sun, she, the breaker of bonds, shall extinguish the darkness that rules her kind and unite them all, casting them into a world made new by night eternal!

  I shake my head and consider it. In all the ways it could be taken… it makes one thing clear.

  And that is, Logan’s hunger for earthly dominance actually comes from a script highly revered by these supernatural beings.

  But how much of the prophecy is set? How much of the future is predetermined? Am I merely a pawn, a cog in the wheel of time, helpless to affect things? Or does my will and morality come into play as well? Can I actually prevent some of the horrible ideas that part of the prophecy predicts?

  A world made new by night eternal. There does not seem to be anything clearer than that.

  Where is the silver lining in all this? I keep looking… but come up null, time and time again.

  Maybe it’s not the whole world, I think. Maybe casting The Haven into night will be enough.

  But they wouldn’t need me for that. Morgan did it herself before.

  No, this prophecy speaks of something bigger, grander… more important in scope.

  I sigh and push myself up. I look around the empty room.

  How is it that now that I’m a vampire, and have seemingly endless time in front of me, do I feel the most pressed for it?

  The truth lies in my new responsibilities. There is nobody else who will take them from me. It all comes down to my capabilities, my willpower, my choice.

  Sometimes, in moments of reflection like this, I feel like I am absolutely floundering.

  I can’t stay here. The room is too cramped. It’s too still. It’s too silent.

  But where can I go? April is gone. Raul is God-knows-where. Phillip is doing something with Morgan. My one-time friend Patricia is dead, and I don’t exactly have any other allies amongst the vampires here…

  Then it strikes me. Cassandra! She’s somehow gotten in with the leader of the half of the Royal Court who did not side with Carter. And she’s been part of The Haven much longer than I have.

  Maybe she’ll be
able to offer some perspective on all this.

  I leave the room and hurry through the unlit hall. The torches that have previously lined the corridors have all been put out. Presumably, to make it clear to the humans that they are not welcome to roam beyond the sphere of the meeting room.

  Not like any would be eager to break off from their group and venture into the stronghold of vampires alone.

  As I walk down one winding passage after the other, I feel the presence of the Incolam in their rooms around me. Also, despite the darkness, there’s a sense of a weight having been lifted. Maybe it’s just my imagination, maybe it has nothing to do with anything, but somehow, I doubt it.

  I’ve become much more attuned to the shifting currents within a place as a vampire than I ever had been as a human.

  Whether that sense of ease is premature or not, it’s hard to tell. But it comes from a combination of the Narwhark no longer being a threat, coupled with the Queen’s—The Haven’s rightful ruler’s—return.

  I make my way to the wing of the stronghold where most of the Elite have been given rooms. A chill passes through me as I walk by Carter’s room. I always thought he was slippery and was never eager to trust him. Now that he’s shown his true colors, I know how right those instincts were.

  I wonder, now, whether the letter from my mother could have been a forgery. It was so heartfelt, though, that I doubt it. There were also references to things that only she would know…

  At the thought of my family my heart breaks. I’ve become so wrapped up in this whole vampiric existence that I haven’t had time to give them more than a passing thought.

  I’m almost positive I’ll never see them again. Not my mother, not my father. A reunion, were the stars ever to align, would only be too painful.

  No, the best I can hope for is coming back to the house where I grew up in the night… hoping to steal a glimpse of Mom or Dad through a window… and leaving without ever telling them the truth of what I am.

  Because for all that my mother professed to know… I can never imagine her coming to terms the fact that I am a vampire. An unaging vampire, at that.