by E. M. Knight
It’s what the Narwhark experienced when I summoned it.
“Isn’t it?” I whisper.
As if it understood, it bows its head again. It wants me to resume the link.
I take a deep breath, and, with a shaking hand, touch the Narwhark’s neck.
More images explode in my mind.
A pristine, sterile white room. Bright lights flooding in from overhead. Glass walls positioned all around.
A cube. Someone inside. Someone… me?
The glass reflects the light, and the surface shimmers like a mirror. I cannot see through to the other side, but I feel the presence of others. There are humans gathered all around, and I know they’re in their laboratory, though how I know this, I could not say. They’re studying me, keeping me locked in this hateful, horrid place where the only comfort is the small bed I lie on.
I move my eyes left and right. But my eyelids remain closed. They’ve been closed for years, for decades, maybe for centuries?
Hate. Such blinding, all-consuming hate takes me. Hate for all the people who brought me here. Hate for the fools who think they can contain me. They cannot! They will not! And when I rise, when I recover all my strength and open my eyes, they will all know the fury of a slighted Black Sorceress!
I rip my hand away. I’m panting now. Sweat lines my back and neck. Beads of it drip down between my breasts. “What is that?” I gasp. “What did you show me?”
“It is you I want!”
The thought comes to me, full of venom, full of loathing and envy and hate. It comes not from the Narwhark…
But from the one whose body I possessed for a second.
And, in that instant, I recognize the link for what it is: a connection of the sort that existed between Victoria and me. Except now, it is between the Narwhark and me… and one other.
The witch I glimpsed in the white room.
The demon makes a deep growling sound in its throat. For a second, I’m afraid it will attack. But its anger is not aimed at me. It’s directed at that third member of our strange company. The Black Sorceress, whoever she is, whatever she wants or does… the Narwhark hates it. I can feel the hate, it’s palpable, it’s tragic, and it’s all-consuming.
It frightens me. If a demon this strong can summon so much emotion…
In a flash, I feel a great influx of magic. There’s a huge collection of energy behind me. I whip my hand back, and see a portal opening. It’s pulling on the residue of Riyu’s spell.
The Narwhark is doing it.
It leaps off Raul. I assume it’s going to simply dash into the opening. Instead, its tail whips down, aimed right toward Raul’s heart.
I cry out, “No!”
But the demon is so fast that before the word can leave my mouth, the act is done.
And to my immense surprise—it didn’t stab Raul. The point of its tail pierced his pocket and wrapped around the precious vial of blood.
“Yes, yes, that is what I need!” comes the foreign thought.
It’s laced with triumph and greed and true hunger. And, beyond all that, I feel… evil. True, dark, unvarnished, uncontained, uncontrollable evil, born of envy and jealousy and hate.
Then the Narwhark shoots off, like a bullet through the air. It streams into the portal and then it’s gone, and the whole thing winks out of existence so fast I can do nothing to stop it.
The link between me and the Narwhark disappears. Time resumes its regular march. Raul’s scream of rage fills the air.
“GET OFF—”
He stops. He blinks. He touches his chest where the Narwhark nearly stabbed him.
His eyes go wide when he understands what’s happened. “It’s gone,” he tells me. “Eleira, it’s gone! The demon took the blood!”
“I know,” I say, and, in a daze, recount exactly what happened in the time warp.
“The creature’s dangerous,” Raul tells me when I’m done. “But it sounds like it wants your help.”
“What?” I exclaim.
“You were not yourself when you pulled it out of its natural realm. Somebody else was in control, yes?”
“That Black Sorceress,” I say. “It must have been her.”
Raul nods. “She’s the one who summoned the Narwhark. But she did it though you. You hold the ultimate link to the creature. And yet…”
“And yet what?”
“The sorceress also has a link to you. As does the Narwhark.” Raul shakes his head. “We need Mother.”
“But the blood,” I say. “The blood of the Ancient is gone. It was our one chance to revive her.”
Raul gives a rueful smile. “It’s not all gone,” he says. “Some of it is contained in your veins, remember?”
I swallow. “You think it’ll be enough?”
“I hope so.”
He takes my hand. We turn in the direction of The Haven.
“Let’s pray that Phillip has been able to keep a semblance of order. We need to shore up defenses for an attack. Because there’s no way in hell I’m accepting Father’s offer.” He looks at me. “We’ll need to return to The Crypts at some point and destroy Beatrice’s twisted vampire hybrids.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“It’ll start a war. There’s no avoiding it.”
“I know,” I say sadly.
“But first we need our Queen.” Raul gives a grim nod. “The days ahead are going to be the hardest of our lives. There won’t be anywhere to hide. I’m sorry for bringing you into all this, Eleira. I’m sorry we stole you from your old life. I—”
I cut him off. “Sorry?” I demand. “If you hadn’t done that, I would have never met you—I would have never fallen in love.”
He blinks and looks at me. Then, something changes in his eyes. A fierce fire flashes in them. He grabs me by the waist, yanks me into him, and kisses me—hard.
I’m breathing hard and nearly delirious when he lets go. Such happiness flows through me that I cannot believe it’s real.
“I love you too,” he tells me. “And no matter what happens next, I want you to never forget that. You are mine, Eleira, and I am yours, and damn any who dare stand in my way. Do you understand?”
I give a small, giddy nod. “Yes,” I breathe.
“Then let’s go,” he says, linking hands and leading me toward The Haven.
I go with him, satiating in the moment… yet secretly terrified that this might be the last sliver of peace either of us will ever know.
Epilogue
Smithson
Location unknown
The military chopper touches down at the entrance of the Order’s secret facility, high amongst the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies.
The pilot motions for me to go. He doesn’t bother speaking above the roar of the blades and the buffeting winds.
I clutch my coat closer to myself, giving the impression that I am affected by the cold, and jump down. Already I can see my men waiting for me at the entrance. The gusts of wind fling snow every which way.
As soon as I’m a safe distance away from the helicopter, it takes off. I stamp through the deep snow and greet my lieutenant.
He gives an immediate, proper salute. “Welcome back, Lord Commander. We weren’t expecting you so soon.”
“I came the moment I got the message,” I say, not wasting time on pleasantries. “Take me to her.”
The soldier gives one more salute and leads me through the triple-reinforced doors. Once inside, they close behind us, cutting off the roar of the elements and sealing me in my true home.
We walk through a long, metal hallway. Cameras and sensors follow our every step. This is the most secure facility in the world—even the US government has nothing on us.
We go through an intricate series of checkpoints designed to verify the identity of those who enter. It is no simple thing to gain the clearance required to come into this facility. Most members of the Order don’t even know of its existence.
It is where the Order keeps its most prize
d possessions.
The trek through security takes a good half hour. I could not be more pleased by the protocol. Even though I am the highest in command, there can be no exceptions made. The fact that no part of this has slackened in my absence speaks volumes about the Order’s ability to sustain itself.
Of course, very few here know of my true nature. Few know I’m a vampire.
Therein lies the difficulty. I’ve had my hand on power for centuries, but I’ve had to disappear for decades at a time before I could re-ascertain my rightful spot. The invitation to come join The Haven came at a time when I was the most involved that I’ve been in the Order’s workings for years. That made this particular absence very different from the leaves I’ve taken before. Before, there had to be a generational turnover of my human companions before I could return—lest any get overly suspicious.
Of course, the Order deals with the supernatural. Our cause has not changed in the time since we were founded:
We are here to stamp out evil from the world.
The irony of having a leader with a secret such as mine is not lost on me. But my humanity was stolen from me. The day I lost it, I vowed that I would get it back—but not before eradicating the curse that took it from me in the first place.
Eradicate it once and for all. Eliminate it altogether.
The only way that is possible?
By the complete and utter destruction of every vampire on earth.
I have to be the last. I have to be the only one who’s left. Because, when the moment comes when I alone carry the poisonous spore, the malevolent seed of this corruption, I trust only myself to do what must be done.
Only when my eyes close for the final time will the Order’s purpose be fully realized.
Finally, we reach the true entrance of the facilities. The doors slide open and reveal a massive laboratory inside.
There are scientists, engineers, academics, researchers, all sorts of the best and brightest professionals walking the floor. Computer screens dot the perimeter. Everything in here is top-of-the-line. The glass-and-steel décor is a marked contrast to the almost-medieval existence I’d grown accustomed to in The Haven.
My people really are the best. There is no comparison. The Order recruits straight from the top schools in the world. Everyone around me is young, ambitious, hungry… and above all, fiercely loyal.
The Vorcellian Order prides itself on finding those recruits who would serve us best. A mere interest in the supernatural isn’t enough. We look for people whose lives have been touched by forces of the occult. Those who have known tragedy at the hands of what we know as otherworldly entities. The stronger an emotional connection our recruits have with the supernatural, the easier it is for us to fit them to our mold.
A commitment to the Order is a commitment for life. We simply cannot allow word of what goes on to leak to the outside world. Of course, we send moles out to infiltrate other organizations. We have people in all levels of government in countries worldwide.
But the type of people we house here, in this exact facility, cannot be found anywhere else.
A few of the men and women stop to greet me quickly as I pass, but most continue with their duties.
That is just how I like it. Their tasks are more important than exchanging pleasantries.
I march into my office, which has long been unoccupied, and look over the stack of papers on the desk. Daily reports of the Order’s happenings all over the world. I have quite a backlog to catch up on.
But with my own preternatural secrets, I will have no trouble tackling it all in a single night.
Yet status updates are not what brought me here. I hit the intercom and ask for Sylvia—the lead scientist responsible for the project I am most intimately involved with.
A few minutes later, a sophisticated woman in a stylish black dress enters the room. She takes just as much pride in her appearance as she does her mind—and she is far and away the most brilliant human I have ever come across. Her outfit does not conform to the usual dress code, but it is the one concession I was willing to make.
Besides. The pure sensuality of her figure should never be hidden.
“You got my letter,” she says. That is one other thing I like about Sylvia. She is straight to the point.
“Yes.” She is one of those rare few who know of my true nature. “How long has it been?”
“We first detected brainwave activity a week-and-a-half ago. Just a flicker at the start. But since then, it’s grown stronger. Just this morning—for a tenth of a second—she opened her eyes.”
I keep my features still even though a torrent of excitement riffles through me. “Did she do anything else?”
“No. But it’s just a matter of time, we believe, before she tries to make an escape.”
“I trust you’ve reinforced the barriers?”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Of course. I apologize.”
“This is my project, Smithson,” Sylvia warns. “I’ve spent more than a decade to get to this point. If you think to interrupt now—”
“You spent a decade and a half serving the Order,” I correct her. “If I order you tomorrow to step down, you will do so without protest. Understood?”
Sylvia glares at me… and gives a miniscule nod.
“Of course your efforts will not go unappreciated,” I continue. “Nor will your dedication be unrecognized. But we can talk of plaudits later. Right now, you must take me to her.”
Sylvia spins on her heel and leads me out the room.
We walk out of my office, go down the steps to the West Wing, and walk through the mass of people crowding the floor. From there, we climb up a set of stairs and proceed along a narrow, suspended walkway that goes to the East Wing.
There’s an even higher level of clearance required to enter. For good reason. Because the East Wing houses my most ambitious project yet.
We reach an enormous vault door. It is many times stronger than the most secure bank in the world. Nothing man-made can penetrate it.
And the secret behind its creation? A rare metal, infused into the structure, that is impervious to heat and cold. Any sort of external force directed at it only makes it stronger. Less than an ounce of the metal has ever existed in the world—and all of it has been used to secure this vault.
Sylvia punches in the entry code and brings her eyes to the scanner. The little machine reads her iris, while simultaneously taking in all of her vitals: body temperature, heart rate, breathing patterns—all things that, as a whole, are more unique than a fingerprint and could not be replicated by any fraudulent process.
The scanner beeps, granting access. The vault door starts to part and rise. As soon as sufficient space shows, I duck underneath… and am greeted by a glorious sight.
In the middle of the room is an opaque, white cube. It’s made entirely of glass, and is about the size of a car trailer. Surrounding it are all sorts of computers, all types of machines, and all are used to monitor the creature that is inside.
The Vorcellian Order’s small and secret clan of witches rise when they see me. “The cloaking spell has been indispensable,” I praise them in salutation. “It was very skillfully done.”
A round of smug smiles greet the proclamation.
Sylvia steps in after me and waits for the vault doors to shut. When they’re closed, she gives a relieved sigh, and casts off the black wig hiding the branded rune marks all over her skull.
“Much better,” she exhales. She shoots me a look. “I don’t understand why we can’t let the others see.”
“Best leave the humans in the dark,” I respond, without much enthusiasm. This is a discussion we’ve had many times before.
“They’ll find out eventually.”
“So why rush the process?” I step up to the nearest computer screen—the one providing a bird’s eye view of the interior of the cube.
And there, I see her: the hideously ugly, wretched old thing, lying still as Sleepi
ng Beauty on a tiny bed in the middle of the cube. She looks exactly as she has for all long years since we took her from her slumbering hideout deep in the woods of British Columbia and brought her here.
And as I stand there, just looking at her… I feel the greatest sense of anticipation I’ve known in decades. The brainwave activity monitor to my right shows her constant delta waves increasing in tempo.
It’s only a matter of time until she wakes up. And when she does…?
The Order will possess the strongest witch in existence.
The End
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