Limbo's Child

by Jonah Hewitt

  “No!” Nephys paused and then tentatively said… “But I know some who have tried.”

  “How?”

  “You wouldn’t like it.”

  “Yeah, but is it possible?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said, shaking his head and stepping back a little.

  “Why?” she said softly, tilting her head at him, looking puzzled. “Why would anyone want to stay here?” She threw up her arms and gestured around the now orderly, but still bleak, blue-grey garden and then let her arms slap to her sides in exasperation.

  Nephys breathed slowly and tried to explain, “You got close to one of those cats today?”

  “You could say that.” She shot a slightly less venomous look at Hiero who was practically underground by this point.

  “You, remember being touched by the shade?”

  She didn’t say a word, but felt the place on her arm where the shade had touched her. Nephys could tell, even with the dirt still on them, that the color had not yet returned to her fingertips.

  “Well it’s like that…ALL THE TIME,” he said those last words forcefully and leaned very close to her, “The living, those cats, well, they are like ghosts to the dead, and the dead ARE ghosts up there. You can’t live long like that without losing yourself, and if you lose yourself, you…well…you just aren’t you anymore. Ghosts lose their sense of self until they become just a memory, a shadow. It’s the only way of dealing with the pain of not living.” He paused. He had felt almost happy just a few minutes ago but now that seemed ages past.

  “And that’s also why you have to stop doing…things,” he added suddenly, gesturing around at the garden. The conversation had reminded him what he had been upset about earlier.

  “You mean this?” her tone was almost indignant, “Look, I can’t just putz around the house all day.”

  “I know, but stuff like this attracts…attention.”

  “Attention?!” she almost laughed, “Are you scolding me young man?” She folded her arms across her chest and adopted a very stern, motherly tone, even though there was a trace of laughter in her voice.

  Nephys immediately was reminded of his grandmother and felt somewhat ashamed to be speaking to an elder like this, even if she did come from another country and another time and wore strange clothes.

  “Yes…attention…and attention causes…problems,” he said carefully, moderating his tone, “I’m only trying to make this easy for you.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. She struck her now-familiar pose, chin up, hands in back pockets and smiled briefly at him.

  “Well, Nep,” another nickname he didn’t like, “You’ve gotten me this far and I would have never made it on my own, so I guess I owe you that.” She nodded once sharply and then looked off in Hiero’s direction.

  “You about finished there you speared bota bag from heck? Or should I let you dig to China?”

  Hiero stuck his trumpet nose up from the hole and flicked his barbed tongue contemptuously. Nephys envied him. He wished he could have buried himself in a hole and avoided the whole last conversation too.

  Maggie Miller turned around and headed back into the tomb’s only chamber.

  “C’mon you two,” she called over her shoulder, “Soup’s on.”

  “Soup?” thought Nephys as he followed her inside.

  Hiero leapt up out of his hole and tromped to Nephys’ side, trampling several of the new plantings in the process. “Fwumparnt,” he said quietly.

  Nephys looked down at the fuming Hiero and smiled.

  “How on earth did she ever convince you to carry all that water?” he said, shaking his head.

  Hiero glanced nervously from side to side and looked as if he wanted Nephys to come closer. Nephys leaned in to hear what Hiero wanted to say, and Hiero sneezed the last of the water into his ear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wallach

  “My fellow immortals and master! Greetings,” Schuyler bowed deeply. Miles winced. In the short walk between the garden and the manor, Schuyler had worked his way to the front of the line. He had insisted on entering the lair of Wallach’s court first to make introductions. He burst in through the elaborate, wooden double doors all at once in a theatrical manner intent on making a good impression. Schuyler went on, “We bring news and honored guests to your great hall who seek audience with your magnificent person. Allow me to introduce...”

  “Oh shut up, you prat!” Ulami spat at Schuyler and elbowed him aside and headed straight into the room past him. Schuyler looked hurt. He’d had one of his patented monologues cut short, but despite being chastened, Schuyler recovered and assumed an air of casual confidence as he strode into the dilapidated ballroom. He was followed by the unassuming Hokharty in his leather jacket and scrubs, then Miles and the fidgety orderly, Tim, with the grumbling pair of Graber and Forzgrim bringing up the rear. The two paused at the doorway and looked like they might start the fight over again about who got to enter first, when Forzgrim just rudely pushed on through, brushing Graber to the side. Graber growled in anger, but Hokharty just turned to silence him. A look and a slightly raised hand was all that was needed to quell the hulking corpse.

  Wallach’s court was at the heart of the southern wing of the old manor: a grand Georgian hall with bricked-up Palladian windows, wainscoting, and flaking gilt plaster decoration, lit by guttering candles in antique brass candelabras. There were double doors on both sides: the ones they had just come through that led to the foyer and another set that led to the garden, but these had been boarded up long ago. The whole hall had decayed to a sort of shabby elegance, crowded with nearly three hundred years of eclectic furniture. Lying on an assortment of settees, Windsor chairs and odd beanbags were about forty or so elegant and languid vampires in all manner and periods of attire. Not one of them sat up in a chair properly. Instead, they draped themselves across the furnishings and armrests sideways like rag dolls or dead fish. Miles thought they looked like a bunch of penny-opera melodrama actors trying to ape the manners of syphilitic bohemians. This was the first time Miles had been here in months. He avoided coming here at all costs if he could manage it.

  “Ladies!!” Schuyler had worked his way to the edge of the hall where five, nearly identical, pretty, toothsome, female vampires where idly lounging about. They were all thin, barefoot, waifish, cat-eyed and dressed in identical, ragged, white Edwardian nightdresses. They rebuffed him like a pack of angry kittens. Shut down twice in as many minutes, Schuyler threw himself on a beanbag right next to them and tried to adopt the appropriate languorous pose, but the beanbag was making it difficult to look nonchalant. The white kitty quintuplets hissed and bared their teeth in contempt. Schuyler loved the court, but he wasn’t exactly one of the in-crowd here.

  Ulami walked purposefully towards a raised dais on the opposite side of the room. Reclining on a threadbare, second-empire French divan with gold fringe and overstuffed pillows was Wallach. Miles paused only a few feet into the room when he saw him, but Forzgrim’s hand grabbed his shoulder and compelled him forward. Wallach’s eyes had caught Miles the second he had come into the room, and despite the presence of Hokharty and all the other new arrivals, it appeared as if he looked at no one else. Miles shuddered. Wallach terrified Miles like no other thing in the world, and it seemed like Wallach lived for no other purpose but to torment him.

  Wallach had close-cropped black hair and sharp features. He wore a poet’s blouse and tight, black riding pants, calf-high boots with silver spurs and a black and gold cavalry jacket draped across his shoulders. He looked young and handsome, if disdainful and aristocratic. According to rumors, he was a minor Eastern European noble who had come to America to find adventure during the revolutionary war, but he had never left. In one hand he had a riding crop and in the other, a tall wine glass full of what looked like blood. At his feet was the crumpled body of a girl in jeans and a tank top – that night’s feast. Miles couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive. On either s
ide, Wallach was flanked by elegant females and waifish pretty boys. Wallach kept the prettiest vampires as his personal attendants, so Miles guessed that Sky had a pretty decent shot after all.

  Hokharty walked to the center of the room and stopped. Miles, Tim and Graber stood behind him. Schuyler kept his position to the side of the room. He obviously did not want Wallach to think he was “with” the others. Forzgrim brushed by Miles, nearly knocking him over and went to take up his position behind Wallach. Ulami went directly to Wallach, bowed simply from the neck, then bent over to whisper into Wallach’s ear. Wallach made no expression; his gaze never left Miles. A few moments later Ulami stood up and took her position next to Forzgrim. Wallach took a long and languid sip of blood from his crystal glass and then ran his fingers along the edge of his lips to recover every last drop. It was horrifying to watch, but Hokharty just sighed as if looking at a pretentious adolescent.

  Without turning to speak, Hokharty muttered under his breath to Miles and Tim, “Stay close to Graber. He’ll protect you,” and then more directly to Miles, “Miles, do you trust me?”

  “W-What?” Miles was caught off guard by this inquiry. “Aye, sure,” he replied hesitantly.

  “Good,” Hokharty replied, “Whatever you do. Don’t take your gaze off of Wallach. Can you do this for me?”

  “Um, aye…sure.” What was that about? Miles had wished Hokharty had asked him for something else, but after he had saved his life, twice! he figured it was the least he could do. He looked directly at Wallach and the disgusting spectacle of him drinking blood and tried not to wince. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked like Wallach winced back, if only slightly.

  Wallach finished the glass and immediately held it up loosely between two fingers. One of the pretty boys rushed up with a silver tray to take it. Wallach stood up and rolled his shoulders casually to make the cavalry coat fall off where another young man caught it elegantly before it touched the ground.

  A movement to his left made Miles lose his concentration for a second. Sky was rolling his shoulders, imitating Wallach’s motions repeatedly – no doubt rehearsing them for use at a later date. Miles smiled and almost snorted before he realized he had forgotten Hokharty’s request and his eyes shot back to Wallach.

  Wallach had already stepped down from the dais and was slowly approaching Hokharty who stood there impassively. He had an odd way of walking toe first that made him look like a preening cat.

  “Well, well, well, Miles,” came Wallach’s perfectly-pitched, tenor voice. Miles gulped, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I send you out to bring back a simple cut of meat and you come back with the market special.” It wasn’t that funny of a line, but the sycophantic crowd tittered all the same. “Only I fear some of the cuts have spoiled.” More tittering followed as Wallach walked slowly up to Hokharty and wafted an imaginary scent from his nose. Even Wallach laughed a little at his pantomime. Schuyler laughed too.

  “Sodden prat,” thought Miles.

  Hokharty said nothing and just looked bored. Wallach began walking in a slow circle to the left, around the four of them “In fact, only this one seems fresh.” He reached out a lazy hand towards Tim who was leaning away as if someone were holding a dead rat in his face. Hokharty turned slightly to face Wallach and took a half step in front of the terrified orderly to protect him.

  “Saving that one for later, are we? I might get hungry then myself.” Everyone laughed again, but Wallach quickly turned to Tim once more, “You’re lucky I just ate.” Tim pulled in tight behind Hokharty like a frightened child and the hall was filled with gales of laughter. Sky joined in heartily with the rest of them.

  “Traitorous prick,” thought Miles, but he had no reason to expect any loyalty from him, so he didn’t know why it made him so mad.

  Amidst the laughter, Hokharty did something Miles didn’t expect. He reached round behind himself and grabbed Miles by the closest shoulder of his jacket and pulled him up even beside him. Miles nearly panicked when he pulled him up almost face to face with Wallach, but he didn’t lose eye contact. Wallach let the outstretched hand towards Tim drop, and something flitted across his face: recognition? fear? Miles couldn’t tell. Wallach narrowed his eyes at Miles, and instantly Miles heard Wallach’s voice in his head.

  “DON’T YOU DARE LOOK ME IN THE EYE, YOU LITTLE WRETCH!!” It hurt Miles like a hard slap across the face. He had to turn and wince to endure it, but he somehow kept his eyes open. Hokharty placed his hand on Miles’ shoulder again, and the pain ebbed a little.

  Wallach spun on his heel, turned away with his usual flourish and acted as if nothing had just happened. No one else in the room seemed to catch it either. “You disappoint me, Miles.” Miles wasn’t certain what he was supposed to do when Wallach had his back to him, so he just stared really hard at the back of his head. Wallach worked his way back across the room to the dais. “I’ve given you a home, welcomed you in, all I ask in return is some small token of loyalty and instead,” he paused and he placed one foot onto the dais and turned around. “Instead, you bring strange vampires into my hall: robbers, thieves and impostors.” The whole audience hissed and bared their teeth at the strangers in contempt. Schuyler jumped right in with the hissing.

  “Bloody traitor,” thought Miles, but this was a bit too far for Wallach too.

  Wallach made a slight nod to Ulami and she was across the room like a lightning bolt. Schuyler didn’t see it coming. Ulami’s foot was at his throat in an instant, slamming Schuyler to the wall, causing dirty flaking plaster to shower down on his clean, white pants. Then she grabbed him by his blond hair and dragged him to Wallach. When she threw him down on the floor, Wallach put his perfectly polished boot on Schuyler’s head. “And what have you to say for yourself?” Wallach spat out.

  “Master, we were ambushed…” Schuyler began. Trying to maintain an air of confidence was difficult from under someone’s foot.

  “Oh, shut up!” He slapped Schuyler hard across the face with his riding crop. “It was a rhetorical question, you idiotic fop!”

  Miles took a half step forward, but Hokharty held on to his shoulder.

  “Didn’t I send you to see that he stayed out of trouble? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” And on ‘you’ Wallach ground the heel into Sky’s temple so hard Miles thought he heard his skull cracking.

  “Master!” Schuyler screamed in agony.

  “Silence!!” Wallach yelled, and he shoved Schuyler across the room with his boot where he crashed into a chair ten feet away. Schuyler scrambled to his knees, but Ulami kicked him down and stepped on his back, pinning him. Wallach stepped up to the dais and snapped his fingers. One waifish boy was at the ready with his cavalry coat, another boy with a fresh glass of blood. “I will tend to you later, you simpering twit, but as for you, Miles.” As Wallach’s eyes shot back to Miles, it made his head swim and his throat burn. “You have betrayed your clan, your Master, and the sanctity of my hall.” He brought the glass under his nose, smelled it like a fine wine and paused before drinking. Then in a low voice that made the hall rumble with some unseen power, Wallach spoke, “For these crimes, there will be consequences.” Wallach’s magical voice was reverberating around the hall, causing the vampires to cower when Hokharty spoke.

  “There will be no consequences.”

  Miles and Tim jumped when Hokharty spoke. In fact, it made the whole room jump. It wasn’t loud or jarring, it was just unnerving in a way you couldn’t describe.

  The rumbling echo of Wallach’s sentence against Miles instantly fell silent when Hokharty spoke. Just as Schuyler’s incredible fight moves proved anti-climatic to Hokharty’s skills, Wallach’s threats were swallowed up in a deafening calm and made impotent. Hokharty’s strange power was unlike any vampire Miles had ever seen. He had seen vampires that were dazzling, or fiery or icy. Each had a magic with a unique flavor. Wallach’s was like burning ice, or suffocating smoke, but Hokharty’s flavor was like the opposite of everything else. It had the flavo
r of…well…nothingness. It was passive, omnipresent and irresistible – always waiting, patient and inevitable. And the whole room could feel it too. They were beginning to suspect they should be more afraid of Hokharty than Wallach.

  Everyone was staring at Hokharty, even Miles. He only realized he had forgotten his orders to keep his gaze on Wallach when Hokharty silently motioned with his eyeballs towards him.

  “Oh, blast it,” thought Miles, and he resumed his staring match with Wallach. If Wallach felt the same things Miles had just felt when Hokharty spoke, it didn’t show.

  “Oh, yes…” Wallach started up with a snide mocking tone, “I had forgotten.” Wallach took another swallow of blood and then went into a mock introduction. “Friends! Immortals!! Fellow vampires! Today for you we have a rare treat – we have a celebrity in our midst!!” Wallach was laying the mocking tone on pretty thick. Too thick, in fact. Miles began to sense it was covering up something else.

  Wallach went on playing to the crowd, “BEHOLD!! Before you is one of the great ones!! That most ancient of monsters, ruler of the night, slayer of dreams and shadows, Necromancer to the Pharaohs, The Terror of Egypt, the Mummy of Mummies!! Hokharty-Ra!! Father of all Vampires, and first of those that hunted the night.” And with that, he made an outrageously low curtsey towards Hokharty.

  The performance earned Wallach the usual sycophantic laughter but not nearly as much as before. In fact, the half-hearted giggles were soon overtaken by panicked whispers and speculation.

  The same thoughts were running through Miles’ head. “The Father of All Vampires?! Could it be true?” Miles blanched a little and desperately wanted to take a close look at Hokharty again, but his eyes remained riveted to Wallach as instructed.

  Hokharty spoke again, and again he negated the room’s agitation into silence. “Every master has a master…” he began.

  Wallach interrupted him, “YES, yes, we know…until finally there is one who is master of them all.” Wallach faked a yawn that he covered with the back of his hand, but he was annoyed. “Yes, we all know the prophecies.”