“And that’s unusual?”
“Unprecedented, actually. There are no texts and very few artifacts with any Brittonic writing.”
“Can you translate it?”
“I can try. Brittonic is related to the Continental Celtic spoken around the same time. That’s where I’ll start. I’d really love to see it.”
“I’ll bring it by your office this afternoon, then.”
“Wonderful.”
After dropping off the book, he retraced his steps to a café on the north side of campus where he met another academic from the History Department.
He had found an article online about Professor Orhan Ganis’s research into a tribe from the mountains of eastern Turkey. Because it had vanished in the ancient past, scholars had long presumed the tribe had been conquered by its neighbors. On a new archaeological site, Ganis had found evidence that the tribe had uprooted suddenly and migrated elsewhere.
The article caught his eye because of the tribe’s name: the Nalkh. It was a word often repeated in the four Hunter commandments. No part of the guttural language survived other than those rules, but all Hunters knew what they meant: The children of the Sun must hate the Night, they must never feed the Night, they must never let the Night bring shame upon them, and finally, the children of the Sun must destroy the Night.
With his curiosity piqued by the familiar word, he looked closely at the photos of the Nalkh artifacts excavated by Ganis. Shards of pottery and even bronze jewelry revealed the same decorative motifs that adorned Hunter artifacts from all over the world. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence, but he wanted to be sure.
Inside the Middle Eastern café, the closely packed tables afforded no privacy. At the moment only one was occupied by a thin man with black strands of hair combed over his balding head. Leaning over a stack of papers, he scribbled with a red pen. The whirr of steam sounded from the espresso machine. If that noise persisted, he wouldn’t need to worry about being overheard.
“Professor Ganis?” As he approached the man, he smelled his spiced cologne over the heavy scent of dark roasted coffee.
The man stood and extended his hand. “Hello. Mr. Hunter?”
Ethan attempted a warm smile. “Yes. Thank you so much for meeting me.” Ganis’s bony knuckles felt frail in Ethan’s hand.
“If you have what you say you do, I am certainly very pleased to meet you.” Ganis articulated each word, rendering his accent easy to understand. “Try the Turkish coffee. Best I’ve had outside Istanbul.”
Ethan sat down and opened an envelope. Inside were pictures of the artifacts he had borrowed from his father. When he slipped them out, Ganis reached for them eagerly.
“Oh my, this is fascinating. Yes, these certainly look like Nalkh designs. They differ slightly from their neighbors’ handicrafts. The sun imagery, for example, and the golden eyes.”
Ganis looked up and inspected Ethan. It had been wise to wear brown colored contacts for the day’s errands.
“You said in your email that these objects are heirlooms from your Welsh family?” Ganis asked.
“Yes. Is it possible the Nalkh migrated that far in several centuries?”
“To Britain? Well, yes, it’s theoretically possible. But I can’t imagine what would have made them do so. Normally a tribe would migrate for better resources, or to flee hostility. Certainly they could have settled somewhere in Europe between the Caucasus and Britain.”
A plump woman brought a cup of coffee that Ethan had not ordered. “It is difficult to imagine what would have motivated them,” Ethan said.
Ganis spoke more rapidly, bending over the table past his stack of papers. “Mr. Hunter, I’d love to see these artifacts in person. May I?”
Ethan found the man’s enthusiasm amusing. “Of course. When would you be able to visit my home in San Francisco?” The flavor of cardamom surprised him when he sipped his coffee. It would come in handy for what he was about to do.
“Let me check my calendar.” Ganis bent down to retrieve something from his briefcase.
With his attention away from the table, Ethan sprinkled a small envelope of white powder into Ganis’s coffee.
When the man sat up, excitement lit up his face and he opened his calendar. “Would later this week work for you?”
“Yes, certainly, at your convenience.” Anytime was convenient for Ethan since Ganis wouldn’t live to keep the appointment.
As he walked back to his car, Ethan ticked off another mental box on his list. Those ancient secrets would give him enormous power among his fellow Hunters. But would they make him their leader?
Chapter 10
INSIDE THE DOOR OF HIS APARTMENT, Lucas Bennett slipped off his shoes, then his jacket.
For some reason, his own gold-handled sun dagger drew him from deep within its drawer. It was hidden away in a locked box because seeing it brought to mind disturbing memories of his Hunting Rites. Lucas unearthed the knife, knowing it would call to mind the sick ritual he had enacted as a fifteen-year-old boy.
Orange and gold autumn leaves had zoomed past the car windows as they traveled from their home in Boston to rural Vermont where a small vampire nest had been discovered under the cover of a dairy farm.
A young male vampire employed the farm workers as blood slaves. He wasn’t especially strong, but even the weakest vampire could scent or hear a surprise attack. The Bennetts arrived just as a band of Hunters made use of their firepower. They blew a hole in the side of the farmhouse, exposing the vampire to the full light of dawn. The vampire’s shrieks were so loud and grating that Lucas covered his ears, expecting to feel blood trickle from them.
As the car came to a stop, bile sloshed in his nervous stomach. The ritual execution of blood slaves was the duty of the initiates and Lucas hoped that once he made his kill and earned his golden sun dagger, he would finally feel like a Hunter.
When his father learned of the young man who confessed to being the vampire’s lover, he searched out Lucas. To the gathered Hunters and initiates, his father said, “This slave will die at the hand of my son Lucas.”
No one objected.
His father forced Lucas to watch as the elder Hunters beat him, even though he possessed no useful information. The blood slave was scared senseless and grieving for his vampire master. Quickly, his face became an unrecognizable pulp of blood and bone. Steel-toed boots kicked him and the Hunters cursed him as a double abomination: a male blood slave used by a male vampire. Lucas couldn’t help but pity him, though the slave was a fool for getting seduced by a parasite.
He knelt and bent over the battered man. After the damage of the beating, wasn’t it merciful to kill him? Lucas closed his eyes, picturing the ancient illustrations of the ritual he’d been taught. In his mind, the image became sharp enough to guide him through each step. Reaching out, his hand trembled, and he gripped his blade more tightly to hide his nerves. First, he punctured the slave’s wrists, then crossed his bleeding arms. Only two more steps, thank God. He pierced the largest arteries in the slave’s neck and his thighs. His crimson blood flowed freely, pooling onto the industrial blue linoleum.
Just when Lucas was certain the man had died, he opened his eyes to look at his executioner. Bloody and swollen, his eyes sockets were surely shattered; the flesh of his eyelids was pulp. Lucas was amazed he could even lift them. But they widened and flashed with some kind of knowledge before closing for the last time.
Was he able to see Lucas’s regret? He didn’t want to kill the handsome man; he would have loved to talk to him, to ask him questions about sex and life. Maybe even to kiss him the way he had imagined kissing a man.
After the rite, Ethan came looking for him. They’d been matched with two girls from Florida who had driven for two days straight in order to arrive in time for the Hunt. The girls told Lucas about how Ethan had subdued a strong farmhand before performing his execution. They kept whispering to each other and staring at Ethan. The foursome walked away from the farmhouse into the
trees, but when Lucas stopped under a red-leafed maple, the other three continued deeper into the shadowy privacy of the woods. He was immensely relieved they were content to leave him out of their fun. Another mystery from that terrible day: Had Ethan been doing him a favor by screwing both girls? Or had he been trying to humiliate Lucas in the same way his father had?
The dagger glinted in the light of the desk lamp. Though he had been hunting Marasović for more than a decade, he hadn’t committed any violence against vampires or their households since his Hunting Rite. The ritual blade stayed safely in the drawer.
He’d been pleased to land the Hunter equivalent of a desk job when he and Ethan were dispatched to California in search of the ancient Andre Marasović. Lucas researched the oldest wineries, slowly narrowing down the possibilities. When he actually found Marasović, he rejoiced. Perhaps his father would finally see him as a man. Then he’d realized Marasović might lead them to the other Croatian refugees. To Stephen’s chagrin, they’d changed their strategy to infiltrate the household before executing him.
Lucas was repulsed by vampires—it was simply in his blood. But if the Hunt succeeded, he would be responsible for the death of Marasović’s human household. The haunting eyes of the handsome blood slave opened again in Lucas’s mind. He must do something to try to save the humans, even if it meant going to the last place on earth that he belonged.
Low in the western sky, the glaring sunlight strobed through the trees lining the rural Sonoma County road. Lucas found the flashes disorienting, each slice of white light ratcheting up his shoulders closer to his ears. He longed to stretch out his tense muscles, but where he was going, he would get his ass kicked if anyone saw him do yoga.
He pulled into the dirt driveway. Dandelions had overgrown the lawn and the house was in disrepair, showing serious damage to its dingy white siding and with several windows covered by plywood—Hunter headquarters. If he wanted to save the humans in Marasović’s household, he had to be on the front line.
Lucas walked into the front door and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the low light. The house smelled like mildew and felt like a medieval warrior outpost. Hunter relics covered cheap wood paneling. Lucas shuddered to see the Bennett family tapestries among other families’ heirlooms. Drawing close to one of the ancient weavings, Lucas saw Hunters slaying vampires and executing households in one gory image after another. Vampires were burning. Women and children were slaughtered by the Hunters with their ceremonial daggers. Dismembered bodies lay in pools of blood. The Hunters’ eyes had been carefully embroidered with fine golden thread. The whoosh of a car passing on the highway caused him to notice the silence of the house. Where was everyone?
Lucas hadn’t seen the tapestries in more than a decade. The predominantly blood-red weavings geared up his tension even more, and he rolled his neck, trying to relax his muscles. Lucas had wondered if some instinct would kick in once he was in the midst of the Hunt and turn him into a warrior. Apparently not. The slaughter of humans who served vampires still repulsed him. His hatred of vampires couldn’t justify it. According to his father, that meant he didn’t hate them enough.
Did Lucas want to hate more? The only other option was hard to swallow—total alienation from the clan. If he disavowed the Hunt, he would become the hunted. Bloody images before him revealed exactly what that would be like.
Deliberately turning both from the images and the questions they raised, Lucas explored the house. A pile of musty blankets in the corner showed the Hunters slept on the floor of the main room. The greasy brown carpeting made Lucas anticipate a night of longing for his bed. He settled down on the floor and waited for the Hunters to return.
It wasn’t long before car doors slammed outside. He opened the door to find Stephen and Mick, his father’s old friend, ambling toward the house. Mick had gotten thick around the middle since the last time Lucas had seen him. Rolling back a vinyl cover, they unloaded a cache of weapons from the bed of the spanking new black F-150. There were tanks of gasoline and crates of incendiary grenades, as well as guns. Lucas moved toward them nice and easy while his stomach did jumping jacks. Shit. He wanted his desk job back. In fact, he would rather be anywhere else.
“Send out the initiates to help with these boxes,” Stephen said to Lucas without greeting.
“There’s no one here.”
“What? Where are they?” Stephen put a crate down at his feet.
“I don’t know. I’ve been here since five and the house is empty. I assumed they were with you.”
“Shit,” Mick said. He took a sweaty ball cap off his head and curled its bill tightly.
“Where are they?” Lucas asked Mick this time.
“Must have gone to town.”
“No, they didn’t. Hell no. Not even initiates would be that stupid,” Lucas said.
“Yes, initiates would be that stupid. They’re bored. We called them here for a fight and now you are asking them to sit on their hands.”
Lucas crossed his arms and held his tongue.
Mick jumped in. “It’s not all thirty of them. The full-fledged Hunters and about half of the initiates went out to do training exercises. They’re camping until tomorrow night.”
“So eight or ten?”
“Ten.”
“Well, ten yellow-eyed kids getting drunk in one of these small towns is sure as hell going to get some attention, even if a vampire doesn’t catch their scent.”
“You’re right, Lucas. This is a serious problem.” Stephen surprised him by agreeing. “The only solution is that we accelerate our plans. We can’t wait out your strategy any longer.”
“Zoey just got there. We haven’t been waiting.”
“The initiates have been arriving for a week. They’re young and itching for action.”
Lucas itched to go home, and an accusation leaped from his lips before he could stop it. “You jumped the gun by calling them in so early.” He sounded like a whiny teenager even to his own ear.
“I’ve questioned your strategy all along, Lucas. Now it’s time for you to give up.” He gestured at the crates in the truck. “Mick and I have enough weapons and explosives here to take out the entire Estate. Call the girl out of there and we’ll do it tomorrow when those animals are stuck inside.”
Resentment flared in Lucas. Stephen would act without his consent in a heartbeat, but he didn’t want to alienate Ethan, his favored son. Lucas planted his feet, put his hand on his hips and looked down on his father from several inches.
“No,” he said. “I’m calling Ethan in. We don’t attack yet. We need to see what Zoey can learn.”
“I have a proposal,” Mick said. “A compromise, even.”
“Go on,” Lucas replied.
“What if we take a member of the household captive? Watching an interrogation will give our initiates some satisfaction. And when we’ve gathered the information we need, at least one of them can complete his Rite.”
Mick and Stephen exchange a furtive glance. Had they already discussed this, or was Lucas being paranoid? “Do you have someone in mind?” he asked.
“Since we set up headquarters last week,” Mick answered, “we’ve had someone watching from a distance during the day. The gardener often goes outside without protection.” He put his hat on, the bill curled like a horseshoe. “Also, there’s one we assume is the cook because she goes grocery shopping every few days. Usually in the morning. That one looks like she walked off the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. She could be a lot fun for the boys.” He elbowed Stephen in the side.
The jumping jacks began again in his gut. Soon, he would be party to murder, torture, and rape, all by virtue of his birth. Lucas slid his hands from his hips into his back pockets and sighed.
“Wait until Ethan arrives tomorrow. If he approves, I agree.”
The three men turned when they heard the sound of two SUVs on the gravel drive—the initiates. Lucas could see Stephen’s anger beginning to surface. As a kid,
he had learned to spot the early signs of the man’s rage and make himself scarce. His father’s ears turned red, his fingers twitched on their way into fists, and his eyes bulged slightly. Knowing the kind of punishment Stephen Bennett could dream up, Lucas actually felt sorry for the dumbass kids.
“Remember to have them unload the truck before you punish them. I’m sure they’ll be useless afterward.” Lucas headed back into the house without waiting for a response.
Inside, he sat with his back against the wall and checked his email on his phone. None of the emails were urgent, but it provided an escape from the situation unfolding outside. The teenage boys started carrying boxes through the main room back to one of the bedrooms. When they were done unloading, his father ordered them to strip, but keep their belts in hand.
Great. The idea of sleeping on the floor of this shit hole was bad enough. Now he would be sharing it with ten kids who’d just had to flay their buddies’ backsides with their own belts. Damn, he was really not cut out to be a Hunter.
Chapter 11
THE VIEW FROM THE PARLOR at sunset stunned Zoey. A wall of French doors opened onto a narrow balcony and displayed a pink sky, flush against the verdant grapevines that trailed over gentle hills. The landscape was more than enough ornament for the room, and Zoey was glad Andre had left the ivory colored walls bare.
He sat with Pedro, and they both stood as she walked in.
“Where’s Kos?” she asked.
“He had plans to meet a friend,” Andre replied.
She had to look a long way up to meet his eyes.
Pedro poured wine into three glasses.
“I should admit I don’t have much of a palate.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll guide you,” Pedro said. He handed her a glass.
As she lifted it to her nose, Andre watched her. “Hhhmm. It smells so earthy. It’s very unusual.”
Blood Vine Page 5