Roaring Shadows

by Colleen Gleason

  She couldn’t see his face, but she felt him tighten, as if to argue—but then he nodded. He squeezed her arm with his bound hands before he crawled off…just as Sebastian let out a tortuous, keening cry—and lunged.

  Macey vaulted to her feet and slammed into him as hard as possible, forestalling his attack on her. They crashed into the wooden wall of the pit, which in the back of her mind gave her hope that they could somehow find their way out of this place. At least it wasn’t brick.

  His hands grabbed for her, wild and furious. His eyes were no longer Sebastian’s, but that of a desperate demon. His beautiful, chiseled features were stretched into madness and starvation. He knocked her onto her back, his full weight slamming her onto the concrete floor, her head whipping back once again as he knocked the breath from her lungs.

  Light and dark flashed in her eyes, and pain radiated like an explosion in the back of her skull, but she still had the stake gripped fiercely in her hand. Ready. One thrust…that’s it. One—

  No, she thought. No.

  Sebastian was on top of her in a horrible mockery of lovemaking, the skill for which he was so well known: his powerful arms and legs wrapped around her, his hips and torso molding against hers. His face was a mask of darkness as it sank down toward her as if prepared to devour her with a kiss.

  “Do it,” he said from between clenched teeth. His mouth was next to her throat. She felt the heat of his lips moving against her, the smooth sensation of fang as they slid along her skin. “God, Macey, do it.” He vibrated against her, struggling with the demon inside him.

  “No,” she cried, and slammed her head sharply into the side of his temple, then shoved him off with a strength she didn’t know she still had.

  She staggered to her feet, bumping against the wall, and saw Grady a few inches away. He turned and something glinted as it flew through the air toward her.

  Macey caught it: the silver cross he’d just removed from her throat. Panting, heaving, she held up the cross in front of her as Sebastian pulled to his feet, also gasping desperately.

  “Listen to me,” she said, moving closer so he could hear her and Iscariot could not—for the vampire master and his cohorts continued to watch from above. “Just stay back, Sebastian. We’re going to get out of here. I’m not going to—”

  He laughed. It was not Sebastian Vioget’s laugh, but that of someone else. It sent dark, insidious shivers through her body, and she realized: this was no longer Sebastian.

  “Do you think that would stop me now?” he said, lashing out with a powerful hand. “One who’s worn the like for a hundred years?”

  He snatched the cross from her and flung it away into the darkness as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. She slammed up against his body once more, her stake trapped uselessly between them.

  “There’s nothing that can save me,” he said from behind compressed teeth. “Nothing any longer.” He had her pushed back against the wall before she was over the shock at the theft of her cross. She saw the truth in his unfamiliar eyes.

  “I’m not strong enough. I’m not strong enough to do this anymore. Not even for her.” Tears streamed from his eyes—red, glistening tears—as she saw one last hint of the man he’d been. She had to use the stake. There was no other choice.

  He bared his fangs and plunged toward her throat.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  ~ The Effect of One Small Bead ~

  “Noooo!” Macey cried, and ripped aside just far enough that he barely nicked her, a light, superficial scratch. “Sebastian,” she panted, trying one last time. “You are strong enough. For her, for Giulia—you can fight this! Please, Sebastian!”

  But he wasn’t listening. He swung back toward her again, grabbing the front of her torn corset. It ripped, and as she stumbled away she felt something move, shifting and spilling delicately inside the side-lacer.

  The rosary.

  You will need it someday.

  If she ever needed anything, any extra help, it was now.

  Sebastian lunged toward her again, strong and vampire fast, and Macey caught him with her hand, holding him off, pushing him away desperately. She dropped the stake in her other hand and fished down inside her corset, dragging the rosary out just as Sebastian yanked her arm away, twisting it brutally down and aside.

  She cried out in pain and triumph, whipping out the rosary at the very last moment.

  “Stop!” she cried, hoping and praying that somehow this delicate string of beads would somehow miraculously do what the massive silver cross did not. She dangled it in front of his face. “You can’t do this. You don’t want to do this, Sebastian, you have to be strong—”

  Sebastian froze. He stilled—and it was the strangest, eeriest thing the way he stopped there, a sudden calm in the midst of a mindless, demonic storm.

  “No,” he whispered, his chest heaving, his eyes wild…but no longer glowing. He reached to touch it with a trembling hand. “How…”

  “Sebastian?” Macey panted, still waiting for something to change. She didn’t release the miraculous object, even as she sagged against the wall behind her. She held it in front of her, and the object seemed almost to hypnotize Sebastian.

  “Macey.” Grady was there. Even here, in the shadows she could see he was weak, blood-soaked, and had an expression of horror etched on his face. He was holding a stake at the ready, and he looked at Sebastian, then at her. “Is it…is he…?”

  “Macey,” Sebastian whispered at the same time. And, blessedly, his eyes were his own again, his voice normal.

  “Have you completed your tasks already, then?” came an insistent voice as Iscariot’s shadow loomed over the opening.

  He couldn’t see them now—they’d edged off to the side in the shadows, and the master vampire was shining a light down in an attempt to illuminate the pit.

  “Here,” Grady said, grabbing Macey’s arm—and he put himself between her and Sebastian, giving the blond man a wary, measured look. “This way. Now.” He gestured to the wall as he brandished the stake in his hand. He’d found a way out.

  “But they’ll see us leave,” she muttered, stopping to look up at Iscariot. “You take Sebastian through there—they think I’ve done what they asked.”

  “Are you bloody insane?” Grady said, just as Sebastian growled, “Don’t be a damned fool.”

  “But they’ll—”

  Grady held out his hand and there was a small paper packet in his palm. “I’ve got this. It’ll hide us for a minute.”

  She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t have to know. She trusted him. But could she trust Sebastian now? Macey looked at him, still uncertain about his sudden change. He just seemed so back to normal, other than the extreme exhaustion and pain he was experiencing.

  Then she turned her attention to where the vampires were all leaning over the rim of the pit looking down into the space, then she nodded to Grady.

  “Whatever it is, do it now.” She tottered to the edge of the circle of light, exaggerating her panting while staggering as if she were mortally injured. She looked up at Iscariot, speaking as if she were completely destroyed, “Sebastian…he’s… I can’t…he…he…”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Grady as he moved his arm sharply. There was a snick, then the faint, pungent smell of tinder.

  “Now,” he said, and Macey staggered out of the light into the shadows, moving toward the opening that yawned like a black hole in one side of the pit. Just as she passed by, Grady tossed something toward the middle of the space.

  Macey stumbled through the opening—which she noticed vaguely was a doorway—with Sebastian on her heels. There was a soft boom, and suddenly dark smoke filled the air, smothering the pit. But they’d already burst through the exit, and Grady slammed it closed behind them.

  “What the hell was that?” Macey asked Grady, even as she glanced worriedly at Sebastian. He was still weak and still needed to feed—how much longer until he succumbed to the weakness again?
They had to get him back to The Silver Chalice.

  They.

  She and Grady?

  What an odd thought.

  “I don’t know which way to go,” she muttered as Grady bumped into her from behind.

  “This way,” he said, taking her arm and directing her through a warren of low-ceilinged rooms and corridors used for moving props, stage equipment, and actors.

  Not far behind them were the sounds of angry exclamations—it would only be moments before Iscariot and the others were on their trail. Macey pushed Sebastian ahead of her, placing him between herself and Grady as the reporter led them quickly through the underground of the theater.

  Get out now, figure the rest of this out later, she told herself.

  Finally, somehow, they came to a heavy door marked EXIT. With a rough push, Grady opened it to the dark, stormy night and Macey and Sebastian stumbled out into a slick, shadowy alley.

  They slammed the door closed behind them. “They’re right behind us,” Macey gasped. “Let’s run!”

  “Wait—let’s block the door. It’ll give us a head start.”

  She and Grady looked around, but the only moveable object was an automobile parked a few feet away.

  “That’ll do,” said Sebastian, speaking for the first time since they’d left. “Macey.”

  The two of them—with help from Grady, who reached inside and unfastened the brake and then steered—pushed the vehicle until it was up against the theater door. No sooner had they put in place than the door swung open…only to be stopped cold by the heavy metal automobile. The opening was barely wide enough for a hand to protrude.

  They were safe—for now.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Macey, glancing at Grady, who was as out of breath from excitement and exertion as she was. “And thank you.”

  “This way,” said Sebastian, and took off at a fast, certain pace.

  They hadn’t gone far—only a block or so—before Sebastian suddenly stopped, and turned to face them. They were in a narrow alley, made more eerie and shadowy by the storm clouds and rain. He seemed to block their way, his eyes suddenly burning red.

  Macey stopped up short, quickly thrusting Grady behind her, but he yanked her by the arm and tried to pull her back, and she saw Grady was holding a stake.

  “Where did you get this?” Sebastian lunged toward Macey, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around. His hand was in an upraised fist, as if ready to strike a blow.

  Grady gave an exclamation and leapt toward him, but the vampire’s arm whipped backward to knock him aside just as Macey gave Sebastian a shove and pivoted out of his grip.

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” Sebastian snarled, whirling onto Grady, his hand still in an angry fist, then back to Macey. “I need to know where you got this!” He brandished the fist in her face, and that was when she saw the faint glitter of beads on it. The rosary. Wrapped around his hand and fist.

  “They’re coming!” shouted Grady, looking down the street.

  Sebastian cursed, but bolted off. Macey followed, but at a slower pace to keep Grady with her.

  They zigzagged through streets and around parked cars, sloshing through puddles and slipping on the pavement. They didn’t stop this time until they reached the ornate newel post identifying The Silver Chalice.

  Moments later, they were inside the dry, silent pub. The door had barely closed when Sebastian had Macey slammed against the wall once more. “Where did you get this?” He was out of breath, his eyes were wild—but unglowing—and the rosary was still looped around his wrist. “Did Wayren give it to you? Wayren!” he bellowed, spinning away to shout at the room at large while still holding Macey flush against the wall. “Wayren!”

  “No, it’s not from Wayren,” Macey said. She held up her hand to stop Grady, who looked as if he were ready to plunge his stake into Sebastian’s back. “I—it came from—an old woman gave it to me.”

  “An old woman?” Sebastian straightened up, his expression one of astonishment and confusion. He released her. “An old woman? How? Where?”

  “At Old St. Patrick’s Church, over on—”

  Sebastian’s cry of shock and amazement was clearly one of comprehension. “My God,” he breathed, looking down at the rosary wrapped around his hand. He staggered, bracing himself against the wall. “My God.”

  If Grady thought it odd that a vampire was calling for the Divine, he didn’t react. He merely watched, his eyes dark and steady as he lowered the stake to his side.

  “Sebastian?” Macey reached to touch her colleague’s arm, no longer the least bit concerned that his vampiric tendencies would overtake him. Something had happened…and it had to do with that rosary. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s got an extra bead on the tail part,” Grady commented, looking from one of them to the other—but Sebastian was clearly no longer interested in conversation.

  “I’ve…” He turned and strode off—no, he ran—out of the pub.

  If Macey had to guess, she’d wager his destination was Old St. Patrick’s Church.

  TWENTY-NINE

  ~ A Promise Fulfilled ~

  “Giulia!”

  Macey heard Sebastian shouting even before she got through the doors of St. Patrick’s.

  She burst into the sanctuary and stopped, panting, soaked from the rain, and wondering how many other times tonight she was going to be out of breath and trembling with exhaustion. Other than Sebastian, the place was silent—of course it was; it was well past midnight on a stormy, miserable night.

  Candles in opaque red containers flickered in rows on either side of the pews. Flames in clear glass sent off a mellower, bright light from the altar. A massive crucifix loomed over the dais. The colorful stained glass windows were dull and monochromatic. The pews were silent and empty.

  “Giulia!” Sebastian shouted, his voice echoing violently throughout the arched space. He stood in the center of the aisle, spinning around to look in all directions.

  The door bumped into Macey from behind, and Grady came in, also out of breath from running. He automatically made the sign of the cross.

  “You all right?” he asked in a low voice. “Do you know what’s going on? How did a vampire even cross the threshold?”

  Macey shook her head. “Sebastian is a special case.” An odd, prickly sort of understanding was beginning to settle over her. It was as if she knew what was happening, but couldn’t quite put words to it—even in her own mind.

  Something moved near the side of the church, and Macey saw a stooped figure emerge from the shadows. Macey felt her heart swell and something big and warm blossom over her, followed by a strong, warm sensation.

  She grabbed Grady’s hand without thinking, staring as Sebastian turned as if pulled by a string, and faced the elderly woman. Even from here, she could see his torso heaving, and his hands trembling.

  “Giulia?” he whispered, taking a step toward the frail, veiled woman. “Is it you?”

  Macey and Grady were easing slowly up the aisle, drawing near Sebastian—who suddenly seemed unable to move any further.

  The crone pushed back her ever-present veil and, instead of responding to Sebastian, she looked at Macey. From several aisles away, Macey was struck by the power and serenity in the woman’s eyes as they fastened upon her. They were her own eyes—the Pesaro eyes.

  “Thank you,” said the woman. In the candlelight, her gaze glistened with tears.

  “Just how old are you, anyway?” Macey blurted out, then regretted such a stupid question in the midst of—whatever this was.

  The elderly woman’s face wrinkled into a soft smile. “I’m 105 years old…today. Exactly today. On the day the long promise was made, I was reborn.” She pulled her attention away and settled it on Sebastian. “Mi adorate.”

  “Giulia,” he whispered. “Does this mean…?”

  She withdrew her hand from beneath the long, loose gown she wore. She was holding a stake. Its silver tip gleamed even in the
low light. She was smiling with joy.

  Macey’s insides surged, and she would have leapt toward them, but Grady caught her by the arm. “No.”

  Heart thudding, pulse racing, Macey stilled. Every hair on her body stood on end; every muscle and tendon was taut and felt ready to snap.

  “It’s time,” said Sebastian. “At last.” He wasn’t looking at anyone but the old woman—Giulia—as they walked toward each other.

  “No,” Macey whispered. “Sebastian!” she cried. “What are you doing? What if you’re wrong? What if—”

  But it was too late. The woman flung herself at Sebastian, stake raised, and as he threw himself into her embrace, she drove the pike home: hard, sharp, fast, strong.

  So strong for such a frail, old creature.

  Macey shrieked; she couldn’t help it, for it felt as if she herself had been stabbed in the heart as Sebastian froze, impaled on the silver stake. He jolted, his head thrown back, his beautiful bronze and amber self—bruised and bloody and beaten—illuminated by the golden candlelight in that arrested moment.

  A great rush of energy filled the church, a cyclone of wind catching up a cloud of glittery ash and dust in a swirling column that surrounded Sebastian and Giulia…

  It spun and illuminated, and in the midst of it, Macey saw their two figures—Sebastian and his love—embracing, twining, becoming one…and in the middle of the storm, there was a flash, a sharp, specific moment where the old woman metamorphosed into the beauty of her youth: with long, lush, dark hair, an unlined face, and big, dark eyes. Dark eyes that looked just like Macey’s.

  They fastened on her, connecting with her from the distance. Macey felt the shock of warmth and comprehension—and perhaps love—explode over her as the young, beautiful woman held her gaze until she swirled back into the figure of the old crone.

  And then, all at once, they were gone.

  The two figures had exploded into a glittery silver dust that wafted throughout the sanctuary, settling over the pews and aisles like starlight rain. The scent that lingered was not the foul, musty one of death and evil, but something pleasant and beautiful.