Haunting Echoes

by Caethes Faron

  All at once, Zenas’s army attacked. He must have signaled them through the link. The first wave ran forward, emitting blood-curdling screams. Three more waves stayed put, awaiting their orders. If any vampires wondered how Zenas felt about them, they didn’t any longer. Newer vampires and ones Zenas didn’t particularly care for comprised the first wave.

  It was an awesome sight. Several miles away sat a sleepy village. Little boys and girls would be climbing into bed. Some of them might be afraid of the dark. Some of them might have parents who lovingly tucked them in and whispered calming reassurances. There were no monsters out at night. Nothing to fear. None of them knew of the intense battle being fought so nearby between the very creatures they sought the Lord’s protection from.

  Many of Ezekial’s front fighters weren’t mated and were easy targets for the mated pairs on Zenas’s side. It was almost sad to watch how easily Zenas’s warriors disconnected the heads of the young vampires. How young were they exactly? They had probably just gotten used to the idea that they would live forever, and now it was taken from them. Then again, Amaia still wasn’t used to the idea that she would live forever, so maybe it wasn’t such a great loss.

  “This is ridiculous. Why did Ezekial even send these fools?”

  “To cause chaos.”

  It didn’t take long for Amaia to see what Lawrence meant. Another wave of vampires emerged onto the battlefield, easily twice the size of the first. They pounced on Zenas’s fighters who were still at work on the first wave. Amaia watched as the first of Zenas’s vampires fell.

  Amaia found the battle fascinating. Whenever a mated vampire fell, their mate went mad. Observing their energies, it was almost as if the surviving mates absorbed the energy of their fallen lovers. That energy fueled a flurry of attacks. The survivors went on a frenzied killing spree, beheading half dozens of the enemy until the energy burned out, and the vampires just stopped, raising hardly any struggle as their heads were plucked from their shoulders. Had Zenas anticipated this when he allowed his children to mate? A mated pair wasn’t just stronger alive, they were stronger in their dying as well.

  Ezekial’s forces broke through the first wave of Zenas’s army. All together, the second wave advanced, not letting the enemy meet them where they stood. These fights were more interesting. The skill level was higher, and Ezekial’s second wave contained more bonded pairs. The skirmishes were not over quickly. Some lasted several minutes, each pair communicating telepathically, working in perfect unison. It was beautiful, a poetry Amaia let herself become lost in.

  The fighting so mesmerized her that she didn’t notice the distant sound of thunder at first. Thick storm clouds rolled across the sky and released their weight on the battlefield. Rain pelted Amaia, and she reveled in it. It seemed a fitting adornment to the fighting. Water would make the rocks slippery and make it harder to get a firm grip around a neck. Mud flew in the same quantities as blood.

  “Zenas says you may go. You won’t be needed. It looks like Ezekial isn’t going to send a third wave.”

  “Where is he then? Shouldn’t we capture him?”

  “No, he’s going to retreat and regroup.”

  “Zenas will let him?”

  “To be honest, I think he enjoys the fighting. He wouldn’t know what to do without an adversary. He’s similar to humans in that regard.”

  “No, that’s not right. Zenas needs to kill him.”

  “Perhaps, but he won’t today.”

  Amaia didn’t really care about the feud between Zenas and Ezekial. She didn’t care who won or whether they decided to fight another day. She only cared that her heart was thousands of miles away, and she was here, on a battlefield, and hadn’t even gotten to kill a single vampire.

  Battle still raged below. Zenas’s third and fourth waves sat quietly, knowing they wouldn’t be called upon. They didn’t move to help their comrades. Selfless behavior wasn’t exactly in a vampire’s nature. They watched as their brethren fell, confident they would ultimately win. Amaia couldn’t stand still. She couldn’t simply watch. A scream erupted from her throat, and she raced into the fray.

  “What are you doing? Get back here!”

  She ignored her sire’s call. She answered a need deep inside her, a need to feel flesh succumb to her strength, to feel the power over life and death, the need to unleash all of the energy she possessed until she was so spent that there was nothing left in her to desire Michelle. The first vampire she encountered was a middle-aged woman with wild red hair leaning over the vampire she had just decapitated. Amaia launched herself at the woman, toppling her to the ground. With her adversary pinned between her knees, Amaia wrapped the vampire’s hair around her hand and pulled the head back. Diving onto the woman’s neck, Amaia bit all the way through, tearing out the throat. She spit, trying to rid herself of the bitter taste of the venom-blood. She tightened her hand in the woman’s hair and yanked the head clean off her shoulders.

  There was no time to savor the victory, and Amaia didn’t want to. She simply wanted to move on to the next kill. She rose in time to see another vampire run at her. She swung the head, knocking her attacker off balance. The young man recovered quickly, and Amaia threw the woman’s head to the ground. It would only hinder her now. Her new opponent seemed so young, but in his eyes she saw at least a century’s worth of age. His black hair and pale skin no doubt drew in any number of female victims. He lunged toward her again, but Amaia was quicker. She easily sidestepped his attack and then jumped onto his back, anchoring her legs around his waist. Both of her hands circled his neck and squeezed while she simultaneously pulled upward. She could feel as much as hear the tendons snap. The boy’s body still fought, trying desperately to keep her from disconnecting his head. He played the only card he had left and fell backward. Amaia scrambled from underneath him, but there was no need to hurry. The head was already disconnected enough that he would never fight again. Amaia placed her foot on his chest and bent down, grasped the boy’s head around the ears, and almost effortlessly severed it the rest of the way.

  On and on she fought, moving from one vampire to the next, mainly attacking the stragglers who stood no chance of winning without an army to back them up but who still fought with everything they had. She lost count of how many she killed. She bathed in their blood, relishing this part of herself, this part that Michelle would never understand, that she would never possess. She would never belong to Amaia, and Amaia would never belong to her. They were too different. She was a killer, and Michelle was a lover. They had no place in each other’s lives.

  Pressure built within her as she fought. Amaia felt it against her chest, but she didn’t stop to analyze it. Everything in the world disappeared except for her next victim, her next kill. The rain cleansed her, made her feel alive and new. She welcomed the challenge of wet rocks and thick mud that clung to her legs as she moved forward. Blood soaked her in equal measure with the rain. It swirled with the water and mud, forming a mix of color unique to the battlefield. This field was home. This was her element. If only she could continue to kill forever.

  A man easily twice her size advanced toward her. It was plain to see how he had survived the battle this long. Amaia wanted him. She wanted to stand over his body with his head in her hands, triumphant. The only advantage he had was his size. She was betting she could outwit him. He ran toward her, and Amaia ducked down, grasping a rock on the ground. He would pick her up on his next pass. She was counting on it.

  An arm around her waist lifted her into the air. She knew his other hand would descend any second to remove her head. She needed to rely on her speed to save her. Her left elbow jabbed at his ribs, doing nothing more than letting him know she struggled. Meanwhile, her right hand darted up over his shoulder, clasping the rock so that its sharp end pointed out, away from her. Her aim would need to be true; she would only get one shot at this. If she missed, she would die. The thought didn’t scare her but came matter-of-factly. She was gambling. One of two thing
s would happen: she would either die, or she would live, and her attacker would die. At the moment, she didn’t really care which one happened. Self-preservation receded.

  Her hand swung back and connected with his eye. Immediately, he released her. She hooked her left arm around his neck and swung onto his back. She dug her fangs into the left side of his neck while her right hand jabbed the rock into the right side. It was messy work, and she loved it. Blood poured out over her mouth and down her chest. The rock was too dull to cut and instead tore at the skin and then muscle of his neck. It took almost a full minute, but eventually his head fell free.

  When the body crashed to the ground, an eerie calm came over her. The fighting waged on, but Amaia didn’t hear any of it. It was as if the fight happened on a different plane. The tension in her chest tightened, and in the back of her consciousness, she felt Michelle’s energy spike. Throughout the fighting she had moved her awareness of the date to the background. Now it was the only thing she was alert to. The energy surged and retreated. The time neared. It would only be a few seconds. Amaia stood with the rain pouring down on her, head tilted to the sky, waiting. The feeling built inside her, as if all her strength struggled to hold down a tight coil wrapped around her insides. She heard a rushing in her ears, and then it stopped.

  Michelle’s energy was gone.

  The tension inside of her snapped, and the sound of the battle rushed back in. She couldn’t let herself feel this, not now. There was no time to think about the fact that Michelle was dead, that she would come back, that Amaia would never be with her. All she could do was fight. It was mindless. How she survived, she would never know. A ferocious energy overtook her, and she simply fought and killed and won, her body working on instinct while her mind remained blank.

  Instinct. This was what she was. She was an animal. A killer. A bloodthirsty demon who would kill anything given the chance. She was not a lover. That part of her had always been a charade. It was why she was so good at her work: it was a complete act. There were no real feelings to get tangled in because she was incapable of love.

  It only took a few more minutes for the battle to end. She had just removed another head and still held it in her hand as she looked around for another victim, only to find that there were none. She stood alone in the middle of the field. She had been chasing the last of Ezekial’s clan as they’d tried to escape. There was no escaping her. She turned and saw the entirety of Zenas’s clan staring at her.

  “What did you think you were doing?”

  “Not now, Lawrence.”

  Amaia trudged back up the hill, stopping in front of Zenas. “Don’t ever call me away to stand idly by again.” Amaia threw the head of the teenage girl she had just killed at his feet and walked away.

  Lawrence ran up and grabbed her arm. Amaia shook him off without even sparing him a glance. In the background she heard Zenas say, “Let her go.”

  Lawrence stopped, and Amaia kept going. She didn’t know where, only that she needed to get away. If she couldn’t kill any longer, she didn’t want to be in a place that would stir her bloodlust. She walked in the opposite direction of the nearest town. That was probably why Zenas was willing to let her go. He knew she wouldn’t cause any trouble with the locals. Or maybe he understood her. Regardless, for the first time in her existence, Amaia found herself grateful to the leader of her clan.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Helsinki, February 1799, 11 months later

  The green eyes staring out of the head were vacant. It was done. The last of the vampires who hadn’t appeared at Zenas’s summons for the battle were dead. When Zenas ordered their deaths, Amaia had leapt at the chance to carry out the executions. It gave her something to do. The hunt sustained her. She could have been done months before, but she had drawn it out. She’d hoped it would distract her from Michael’s rebirth. However, there weren’t enough traitors.

  With the executions complete, she didn’t know what to do with herself. If she were anyone else, she would go home. But where was home? Was it with Lawrence, Meg, and Liam—her own little clan? At one time, she had thought so. But how could she live with them, fit in with them, after everything that had happened? She was damaged, different, an outsider. There was no sense forcing her presence on others. It was best to let them be. She had not spoken to Meg in months. Amaia had always been unworthy of Meg’s friendship. Perhaps Meg would realize that now and let the break stand.

  Amaia had wandered the countryside between executions. She didn’t want to see people. People only made her feel conflicted. She wanted to murder them, to feed from them, and that just made her realize she had no chance to be happy. She didn’t even know where she was when Michael was born. She had just fed from an old hermit when Michael’s energy reentered her life. It was sometime in late December or January. She didn’t know. She only knew that it was time for the cycle to start over yet again.

  The hunger began in her stomach. She found the sensation puzzling when it was really thirst. A vestige of her mortal life? She had never really thought about it before. The dull ache morphed into a sharp pain as the days wore on. Days filled with nothing but walking and empty thoughts. What was left for her? Would she simply follow the orders given to her, move about in the wind, swayed by each gust no matter the direction?

  “Are you done yet?” Lawrence’s voice didn’t surprise her. She had been expecting it.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you let me know?”

  “I didn’t see the point.” She didn’t see the point in anything anymore.

  “How long ago did you finish?”

  “A day, two, three—I hardly know.”

  “Are you all right, Amaia?” The concern in his voice was clear. She didn’t need it.

  “Fine.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Amaia, you’ve got to pull yourself together. Come home.”

  “And where is home, Lawrence?” She desperately wanted an answer.

  “I’m at the Paris house.”

  Ah, home to Notre Dame, her favorite residence. She must be pretty bad off if Lawrence was trying this hard to make her happy. “I’m a ways away. It will take more than a day to get there.”

  “Longer if you haven’t eaten. Feed, and then come home.”

  “What for?”

  “Because I told you to, my dear.”

  It seemed as good a reason as any. Lawrence would know what to do. He always knew.

  •••

  “What’s wrong, Amaia?” Lawrence stood behind Amaia where she sat perched in front of her bedroom window. As soon as she’d entered their home, he’d started with the questions.

  “Nothing.” All she wanted was to stare at Notre Dame in peace. If she sat there long enough in her natural state, would her body harden like one of the gargoyles she knew so well? The cathedral stood like a shadow of its former self, looking much the way Amaia felt. The revolutionaries had desecrated it, beheading statues and transforming the beautiful work of art into little more than a warehouse. Stupid humans, destroying one of the few things their species had to be proud of. At least they had spared the rose.

  “Don’t tell me that, child. I know you better than you think. Something disturbs you. I might be able to help.”

  “You can’t help, Lawrence.” She wanted to tell him her secret. Perhaps it was time. He had always loved her, cared for her. She was so tired of being alone in the world.

  “You won’t know that unless you tell me. It’s him, isn’t it? What is it? Has he been born again?”

  Amaia had indeed forgotten that Lawrence knew her better than anyone. Of course he would have been able to see her struggle. She simply nodded.

  “What’s the problem? Do you want to go to him?” Lawrence was so sympathetic. His blue eyes peered at her with all the affection she thought she could ever have.

  “Yes. I want to go more than anything.”

  “But y
ou’re not.” It wasn’t an order or an incrimination, merely a statement of understanding.

  “No, nothing good can come of it.”

  “No, nothing can. But that doesn’t make it any easier, does it?” Lawrence sat next to her, rubbed soothing circles on her back, and kissed her hair as if she were a little girl again.

  Amaia shook her head.

  “Cheer up, my girl. You’re making the right decision.”

  “You don’t understand. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stay away.”

  Lawrence chuckled. “I was in love once too. I know what it’s like, Amaia.”

  “What do you mean you’ve been in love? You’ve never mentioned her. You’re not mated. Don’t lie to me, Lawrence. Not you.” If she couldn’t trust Lawrence, she didn’t know how she would continue living. Even with him, she felt as if only the barest of threads held her to the earth.

  “Her name was Abigail: my little Abbi. It was during my mortal life. She’s dead. I killed her.”

  The words stunned and, to some degree, calmed her. If it were true, Lawrence might be able to help her more than she had thought. “You killed her? When?”

  “After Zenas turned me.”

  Wait, that would mean…“Does she haunt you then? The way Michael haunts me?”

  “No. I don’t understand it. The only explanation I have is that she wasn’t my transformation kill. That must have something to do with it. If I had known, I wouldn’t have insisted on him being your first.”

  “What do you mean? You had nothing to do with my transformation kill. Everyone knows you can’t control that.” Or at least that was what she had been taught to believe. She knew differently. She knew she had killed Michael because she was incapable of love. She couldn’t have killed him if she had felt for him the way he did for her.