* * *
It had turned from a warm day to a cool night. The scent of trees and deer drifted in as Duke Adonis Andraste stared out of his window. Archi spread before him, mostly dark but the council chambers were a light show. He turned to his desk, booted up his computer, and clicked the icon for radio transmissions.
“—o be some kind of horde activity. Oh Three-God, there’s hundreds of them! Thousands!”
“Where are you?” Constable Appleby asked.
Adonis clicked Block Transmissions, turned off the telephone system, then cut the city’s power and plunged Archi back into the dark ages.
He’d blocked external radio contact three days ago, as soon as the Mainlanders’ helicopter was out of range, and he’d blocked access to the internet two nights ago, once he’d recovered from being poisoned. A bit late there, it seemed, but young Paddington had been such a good obedient peon that there had been no reason to distrust him. But now he’d allied himself with the Mainlanders.
And the demon.
No, it didn’t matter. Mitchell couldn’t stop the entire horde by himself and the citizens couldn’t organise their forces or provide backup without their radios or telephones. Nothing would stop Harold and his zombies meeting Thomas and Richard at the Tree.
It was the moment Archi had been waiting for, the reason Adonis had expended so much effort over so many years to keep her safe from the Mainland, to keep her pure. For this very night, he had hidden the island.
Yet on this most important of nights, he hadn’t heard from Conall and the wolf pack – not that he was worried. Over the years, Adonis had expended a great deal of effort to ensure that, at every stage of life, the Brown brothers knew of their role in the Three-God’s plan. It had made little impact on them – except for some of the longer words, which all of them used but none had really mastered – but Adonis thought they would know what to do by instinct.
And if Richard wasn’t there by eleven, Adonis would send someone to fetch him.
Yes, the prophecy would be fulfilled. That was still what he wanted, of course. Certainly. Thomas was a pure form of vampire, a direct descendent of the Three-God, his blood undiluted by the aeons, but…
But Thomas was too fast, too vicious, too… foreign. And quite frankly Thomas was revolting. His attitude, his behaviour, his physical appearance—
No, that wasn’t how to think. Thomas’s blood was pure; Adonis’s had been watered down by generations of breeding with humans, or humans being turned into vampires. It had been weakened with temperance, patience, kindness. Surely Thomas, lacking the flotsam of humanity, was what Adonis should aspire to be.
But he didn’t.
Aware by the creeping chill on his neck that he was no longer alone, Adonis found Thomas blocking the doorway. Where the Andrastes were all thin, lithe, and fair of skin, Thomas had become dark and fat. Apparently he’d ballooned as soon as he’d been turned, but Guenevere was thankfully silent on all other details of their time alone together.
“’Ello Adonis,” said Thomas. “Ready to go?”
“Of course, my lord.”
Thomas’s radish-coloured face nodded for Adonis to follow. Adonis did, wondering what tonight would actually herald. Would the world be reborn with vampires like Thomas? Why did that upset him?
He shoved the thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t turn away now. He’d been walking this path for over five hundred years. This was the right thing to do.
At the foot of the stairs, Lilith and seven of the children were assembled. As per Thomas’s instructions, they all wore black. Unfortunately, the only black the Andrastes owned was lace or leather, and the lace wasn’t exactly outdoor attire. They had chosen the lesser of the two evils, and now squeaked whenever they moved.
“Where’s the others?” asked Thomas. He was dressed in long flowing black, inlaid with symbols and patterns from the Book of Three. Adonis had commissioned it when Thomas was eighteen, figuring that whichever Brown became a vampire would be the same shape and size as his brothers. Now, however, Thomas’s expansive stomach pulled the shirt so tight that flying buttons were becoming a danger.
“Leander is recovering from the exposure,” said Adonis, “and Clytemnestra is caring for her pet.”
“Bring them,” said Thomas. “They should bear witless to our glory.”
Adonis nodded to Melanthios, who ran upstairs, his leather jacket trailing dramatically behind him. The others stood preening, picking imaginary particles of dust from their immaculate clothing.
There was commotion up the stairs and four figures emerged. First, treading lightest, was Melanthios. Next came his elder brother Leander, his skin bright red and likely to peel soon. Third was Clytemnestra, elegant but stupid, leading the former Team member – also dressed in all leather – by the choker around his neck.
“This is fucking gay,” Clarkson said, cutting his lip on his elongated teeth.
Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown Page 62