Cain’s eyes bulged. The old woman hadn’t told him nightmares moved behind the gates. He didn’t need anyone to tell him there was no way he could send it back.
The creature eyed the humans. It growled and turned. It smelled blood, lovely blood. Hot. Rich. Heavy. What luck! The doors so seldom cracked into this dimension, the creature’s favorite hunting ground, so full of blood. Bright red blood that ran like wine down its thirsty throat, not the anemic liquid flowing in the creatures it usually fed on.
The bloodscent was maddening. Where was it? Fresh, hot. The aroma pulsated in the open air. It turned in a searching pattern and roared in triumph. Its lizard-like hands grabbed Paul’s arms and pulled the post itself completely out of the ground. It held Paul high in the air above it and lapped the flowing blood from the cross cuts on Paul’s chest.
The surface blood only whetted the creature’s appetite. It wanted hot blood, blood heated by pumping organs. It opened its mouth and fastened its razor-edged teeth into Paul’s neck directly over the jugular vein, tearing and gnawing. Joshua charged forward and leaped onto the creature’s back, pounding with his fists as Paul’s scream reverberated over the clearing and down to the river.
Tamara fell to her knees and began to chant. Her face poured sweat. Her eyes reddened and leaked blood as she begged God and the Loa of the Rada, the sweet spirits of the Light, to send the invader back to the worlds where it belonged. Running with sweat, she felt the Rada battling with the blood drinker, child from the outer reaches of the planes of darkness.
Feeling the attack, the creature dropped Paul’s body to the ground. Joshua slipped from its back and ran to his brother, clawing and pulling at the binding rope. The invader turned to Tamara and her relentless chants. Abruptly, a monstrous bolt of lightning split the air. The Blood Drinker disappeared.
Tamara collapsed. Joshua gathered Paul into his arms and stared into the open blue eyes.
“Paul! Paul, talk to me! Please, please, please talk to me!” He raised his hand and slapped Paul’s check, he shook his shoulders furiously. He moved his hand down to the ravaged flesh scored by the inches-long fangs of the Blood Drinker. He raised his hand slowly and moaned. No blood. He touched the open wounds on Paul’s chest. No blood. No blood in his brother’s body. Not even a trace.
He raised his head and stared at Cain, still crouched frozen on the ground.
Cain stared back but he didn’t really see anything but the Blood Drinker, the monster, the visitor from the furthest planes of darkness.
Joshua cradled Paul’s body and rocked him back and forth while silent tears ran down his cheeks. Then he spoke, not loudly, but very clearly, the spaces measured between each word.
“I’m going to kill you, Cain. No matter where you run.”
Cain’s eyes shifted. The he stood. And abruptly, he broke and ran into the woods.
“No matter where you run!” Joshua shouted after him. The words echoed after Cain, who ran harder than he’d run as he departed the Louisiana cane fields. He ran and ran and kept on running.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tamara’s moans of returning consciousness filtered into Joshua’s private descent into Hell. He glanced over and saw her twitch. He looked down at his brother. There was nothing he could do for Paul. He’d killed him. God knows, that was enough. He gently laid Paul’s long form on the ground, taking special care not to jar his head, and moved over to his aunt.
“Tamara?” He lifted her head and gently stroked her cheek.
Tamara stirred again and opened her eyes.
“It’s gone,” she said. Not a question. Otherwise, neither of them would be here. The creature’s appetite was insatiable.
“Yes.”
“We got to get him back. My house be best. De root cellar.”
Joshua stared. His aunt was crazy. That was all there was to it. She’d dabbled in spells and potions and incantations her entire life and this final confrontation with – It – just sent her right ‘round the bend.
“No,” he said. “We takin’ him home. Papa might be dead already, you know Mama’s half out of her mind. But however bad it is to know, it’s worse to wonder. We takin’ him home.”
Tamara laughed shortly and pushed herself up to a sitting position.
“Boy, I done tol’ you, I ain’t got time to argue wid you tonight! Yo’ brother ain’t dead. Not ‘xactly. Where be Cain?”
“He ran off into the woods. I told him I was goin’ to kill him, no matter where he ran. I mean it. Doan know how and doan know where, but—”
“An’ you will,” his aunt assured him. “You and Paul. Together. You will.”
Joshua’s frayed nerve endings snapped.
“Stop saying that!” he shouted. “Paul is dead! There is no blood in his body! You do not live without blood!”
Tamara pulled the boy into her arms, rocking him as he sobbed, just as he’d rocked back and forth with Paul.
“Son. Much as you seen tonight, you doan trust me?”
“No. You talkin’ foolishness. My brother’s dead. I killed him.”
“Blood Drinkers doan kill, son. Not ‘xactly. Dere do be dose whut say dey give eternal life.”
Joshua raised his head. “Blood Drinkers? Is that what that thing—”
“Well, I doan know ‘xactly what its name actually is. Whut I knows is dat dis world, son, it be ringed with worlds on worlds.” Tamara’s voice was low, soothing, speaking almost the words her sister had spoken to Paul a mere day before.
“’Dey shift, dey overlap. Some of ‘em be real dark, full of evil and danger. Some of ‘em, dey be real bright and beautiful. An’ sometimes, folks whut doan know whut dey doin’, dey can make things happ’n whut wasn’t never ‘sposed to happ’n. An’ things can cross over from ‘dem other worlds to dis one.”
Joshua shuddered. “Bad things. Real bad things.”
“Well, now, dat all depends. Sho’, dat Blood Drinker be a real bad thing here. But it ain’t bad in and of itself. It made to live in a certain world, and in dat world, it have its own purpose. Over here, well, weren’t meant to be over here. But it weren’t de thing’s fault. It be de fault of de one whut called it. Humans, son, dey be some of de only creatures in all ‘dese worlds whut can choose whether dey be good or evil. An’ some folks, de ones whut has mo’ power den others, what dey choose, it upset de balance.”
“Like you and Cain?” he asked.
She nodded. “Like me and Cain.”
“Couldn’t you have turned the Blood Drinker on Cain?”
“Wish I could have, son. Dat’s de human in me. I want Cain to hurt, jest lik’ you do. But I was askin’ de’ Light for help and when you serve de Light, you gots to think about the good of all folks. You start trying’ to use dat power for dark things, like revenge, den you turn de good to evil an’ it blow up in yo’ face lik’ a firecracker. Know what would’a happened had I tried to turn it on Cain?”
Joshua shook his head.
“Well, I woulda been thinkin’ ‘bout me. ‘Bout yo’ Mama, who I love mo’ den any other person still livin’ on dis earth. ‘Bout Paul an’ ‘bout you. Jest met y’all but I been lovin’ you both for years, boy. You best believe it. An’ revenge. An’ to keep dat thing here to get Cain, well, if I’d waited too much longer to try and send it back, I mighta not been able to. An’ it woulda been loose, son. Loose in dis town. An’ dat woulda been my fault. You see whut I’m sayin’?”
“Have there been others?”
“Blood Drinkers?”
Josh nodded.
“Yeah. Sometime de doors ‘tween de worlds, dey crack all by dere lonesomes and things slip back and forth. Doan happen often, an’ when it do, seem like somethin’, some balance, doan let de doors stay open long. An’ when dey close, all de things dat slipped through get sucked back where dey ‘sposed to be. But dere’s been Blood Drinkers through before. An’ dey’ve left behind folk like Paul.”
Joshua’s eyes widened. Paul’s collection of penny-dreadf
uls from London. The monsters. Werewoves, ghouls and ghosts. And—
“No,” Joshua whispered. “No. Please no.”
“You see, doan you, son?”
“He isn’t. Those stories aren’t real, they’re just stories, they’re not real!”
“Son, most stories start from somewhere.”
“And the stories—the vampire stories—they come from the Blood Drinkers?”
Tamara nodded.
“They sleep by day and rise by night, and—oh God! He’d rather be dead, Tamara!”
“Son,” she said gently. “Dere’s some things jest can’t be changed. I know. I tried.”
“I won’t let my brother live like that! He’s so good, Tamara, he’s the best man in the world! He won’t be able to stand it!”
“But son, dat’s whut I been tryin’ to ‘splain. Humans got de choice. An’ Paul still part human. Dat Blood Drinker, he jest is. He do whut he have to do, whut his nature tell him to do. But not humans. I have power. Cain have power. We both chooses to be whut we are, whut we do wid it. An’ Paul, dis give him power, Josh, power like few men ever have in dis world. De power to stop Cain. With your help. Paul goan make his own choice. An’ we both knows. We knows dat wid Paul, the powers of darkness now be servants of de Light.”
“But—but blood! Won’t he want, won’t he need—”
“We goan help him. You and me. An’ yo’ Mama. Tonight, Isaiah dead. An’ Paul makin’ de change. From life to something dat ain’t life like we know it, but it ain’t death neither. Tomorrow night, son, dat’s for Cain.”
“You intend for Paul—”
“Ain’t my intention. It jest how things goan be.”
Joshua protested. “But in the stories, vampires, their victims rise! Cain’ll be like Paul, he won’t be dead!”
“Has to have time for de change, son. An’ dat’s where you come in. Now, you goan help me wid yo’ brother?”
“Mama and Papa—”
“I gots to think ‘bout Paul first. An’ I needs to get him to my house. Dat’s where he gots to wake up.”
* * *
Joshua led Paul’s great black stallion, Cyclone, back to the clearing. The horse hesitated as it approached the circle of blood, smelling the horror from another dimension. He reared on his muscled back legs and vented his protests in loud screams that split the night.
“Ain’t goan do it, Tamara! This horse just ain’t goan do it!”
“Gots to. We can’t carry him all de way to de wagon.” Tamara walked up to the horse and placed her hands firmly on either side of the great head. The huge dark eyes rolled. She breathed gently into his straining nostrils and gradually, Cyclone calmed down.
“How did you do that?”
“Doan matter how. He’ll do it. He tol’ me he would. Help me.”
The two of them heaved Paul’s body over the saddle and began the first leg of the nightmare journey.
When they made it to the wagon Tamara settled an old blanket across Paul’s body, making certain he was fully covered. The second leg of the nightmare ended at the little white cottage on the edges of Stone Creek Swamp.
Tamara pulled the wagon up close to the house. She jumped down and quickly pulled open the wooden doors set into the stone foundations of the cottage.
“Wait!” she ordered. She descended the stairs cautiously. Lantern light flared from the aperture. Tamara emerged.
“Here. Dis de darkest, safest place we gots.”
Together, they brought Paul’s body down the stairs and laid it on a makeshift bed of blankets lying ready.
“Hoped I wouldn’t need ‘em.” She sighed. “But I got ready. Jest in case.”
She dipped a soft cloth into the basin of water standing ready and gently washed Paul’s battered face. She cleansed the gaping cuts on his chest, the huge wound on his throat. Joshua watched, totally numb and grateful for it. Otherwise, he’d have cried until all the moisture in his own body drained out of him in tears.
Tamara covered Paul again with the softest of the blankets and turned the edge neatly back across his chest.
She turned to Joshua.
“So, boy. You be alright while I gone?”
“Gone? Where you goin’?”
“Back to town. Got to get to yo’ mama.”
Tamara’s eyes were red, lined with capillaries broken in the intensity of her chant. Her skin was lackluster, tinged with grayness. Paul was six feet tall and weighed 185 pounds. In death, that weight was—well, dead weight. Joshua was exhausted. He didn’t know how his aunt was still standing.
“You can’t. You ‘bout to fall down in your tracks.”
“Gots to. Sadie be out of her mind. You know dat.”
“I’ll go. You stay and rest.”
Tamara laughed shortly. “Ought to look at yo’self, boy. Still ain’t got yo’ strength back from Cain’s poison. You never make it. I rest later. You stay wid Paul. Gots to change my team out, you rub ‘em down and get ‘em settled after I leave. After dat, you go lay yo’self on my bed and sleep, you hear? I be back.”
She turned and ascended the steps, closing the cellar doors tightly after Joshua’s exit. Together they changed the team and Tamara settled onto the seat and shook the reins.
“One mo’ time, sweet Lord, get me dere one mo’ time tonight! Now, boy,” she leaned over to Joshua. “Mind you keep dem doors closed tight. Doan crack ‘em, doan look, doan need to let in no mo’ light den can be hepped come daylight. You goan likely wake ‘fore we get back. But you doan go back down into dat cellar without yo’ Mama and me.You hear?”
He nodded. She flicked the reins and he listened to the creak of the wagon wheels winding toward town until they died away completely and left only the night sounds of the woods.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Back at the house on Orange Street, Dr. Cabot came and went.
“Nothing I can do that you can’t, Sadie,” he’d said. He looked at Sadie with some sympathy. Everett’s contemporaries were pretty sure Sadie wasn’t just the Devlins’ housekeeper but such an arrangement wasn’t unusual. And everyone conceded Everett handled the situation with great discretion. “This one was, well, anything like this is bad, but it could have been a lot worse. Another one will be. But if we can keep him quiet, maybe there won’t be a next one. Lestways ‘til he’s got some of his strength back. Where’d you say Paul was?”
“He had a ‘mergency. Up toward Bolingbroke way. Said he might not be back tonight.”
“Well.” Dave Cabot glanced back from the hall into the bedroom. “Maybe I ought to stay.”
“No!” exclaimed Sadie, and modified her tone at the expression on Dr. Cabot’s face. “I mean, I been in a doctor’s house a long time, Doc Cabot. Either he goan sleep or he goan have another one, ain’t dat right?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“An’ do he have another one, ain’t nothing you goan be able to do about it, is dere?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Then you go on back home. I watch him.”
Dr. Cabot left, knowing Sadie would, indeed, watch closely.
Now Sadie paced. She’d paced all night. Her present path moved from the back bedroom where Everett lay and the front windows, keeping watch for Tamara’s return. Right now it seemed nothing had ever existed except this path between the back bedroom and the front windows and nothing else would ever exist again. As she paced, she chanted, a chant not so much a supplication as a demand for her sons to return with her sister.
She peered for the thousandth time from the sheer curtains draping the front windows, expecting to see nothing but the yard. It took a moment to realize her sister was actually climbing wearily down from the wagon seat. Tamara stopped and rested her head for a moment across the rough boards of the wagon.
Sadie flew out the door and down the walk. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes rapidly scanning the wagon.
“My boys. You ain’t brought neither one of ‘em back.”
“
Dey at my house. Joshua wore plum’ out. Hope he sleepin’.”
“Paul?”
“He sleepin’, too, Sadie. But it be a different sleep.”
Sleeping. A different sleep. Sadie looked at her twin. She hadn’t known any human, this exhausted, could still function.
“Come in de house.” Sadie took Tamara’s sister’s arm. “Lean on me. You needs it.”
“Everett?”
“He restin’. Look lik’ he goan beat dis one.”
The sisters walked inside. Sadie settled her twin on the sofa and brought her steaming, strong, sweet tea and as the wee hours of morning turned into daybreak, the two of them, with hot tears and steely determination, decided matters waiting for decisions.
* * *
Cain watched sunrise from the railings of the covered bridge spanning the Ocmulgee River down below Fifth Street. After fleeing the clearing with Joshua’s determined shout ringing in his ears, he’d raced through the woods, back to the civilization of Wharf Street, back to the streets of the city proper. He’d wandered those streets all night and now barely remembered his wanderings.
For years, he’d perched precariously on the borderlands between sanity and lunacy. A megalomaniac of great power, secure in his strength, confident of his special gifts. It was inconceivable he could be less than the supreme being he envisioned himself to be. In his mind, the huge figure of the nightmarish thing he’d called forth shrank and modified until it was nothing but a larger version of the creatures that created his sentries.
A trick of the shadows, that was it. That was all. And his followers, his acolytes, had dared to break and run from the illusions. Intolerable. Unacceptable. Tonight at the clearing they’d feel his wrath. They’d never dare desert him again. It didn’t cross his mind his following was no more. That no one would ever come to the clearing again, no matter how badly their nerve endings screamed for the artificial nirvana his concoctions dispensed. Of course they’d be there. And they’d be so sorry they’d abandoned him.
Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition) Page 18