by Ann Gimpel
Sidestepping the specter of genocide for Shifters and humans, mostly because he figured they’d all be dead—Shifters, Vamps, humans, and anyone who’d remained in the shadows—before too many more months passed, Viktor said, “Perhaps we’d be better served harnessing Shifter power to address the poisoned water. They must be doing something, or the humans wouldn’t still be growing crops to sustain themselves.”
Raphael rounded on him, the noxious, rotten-egg stench of hungry Vampire thickening by the moment. “Intriguing idea about detoxifying the water. Those crops will keep the humans alive, so they’ll last longer for us to feed on.”
Viktor didn’t bother pointing out that securing the Shifters’ cooperation for anything was unlikely. He switched topics to move Raphael away from killing and death, his two favorite themes. “Do you suppose there’s any life left beyond the storms that hold us captive here? I used to tap into radio broadcasts until electricity dwindled to almost nothing. The last few times I tried, though, I couldn’t find any left on the air.”
Raphael’s eyes sharpened with sudden cunning, a harsh reminder how ancient and powerful he was. “Why would you ask about life beyond Ushuaia? Does it have something to do with that indecipherable chicken scratch back at your worktable?”
“Same reason you highlighted with your plans for the Shifters and humans. We’re running out of food. That’s what my calculations are about. Resource allocation.” Viktor hoped to hell Raphael couldn’t read his mind. He’d been fishing for information to see how viable his plan to breach the barrier with his ship would be.
Raphael didn’t know about Arkady, and Viktor aimed to keep it that way.
Vampires weren’t particularly blessed with magic. Not that they couldn’t intuit the odd thought and light fires and do other sleight of hand parlor tricks, but magic had a price. Most Vamps were too depleted from not having fed properly for years to squander any energy on superfluous activities.
His sire resumed pacing, tension evident in his straight back and precise stride. “Yes, there’s life outside Ushuaia. Of course, there is. There has to be.”
Viktor held a neutral expression. Raphael had no idea. His answer was sheer bluff, or he’d have tossed out facts to back up his statements. Maybe it would be easier to rid himself of Raphael than he’d thought.
Who am I kidding? He may not know shit about what’s beyond the barrier, but he knows a whole lot more about being a Vampire than I ever will. I’d do well not to underestimate that part.
Raphael altered his back-and-forth path and walked close enough to thump Viktor’s chest with an extended index finger. “It’s the Shifters’ fault. All of this. They hold magic to see beyond the barrier.”
“If that’s accurate, maybe it’s not in our best interest to kill them,” Viktor ventured. If Shifters truly held information that could help them or the ability to make their water resources last longer, it was worth challenging Raphael.
A long, sibilant sound slithered from between Raphael’s perfectly formed lips. “What good is knowledge if we can’t breach the barrier? Look at that.” He trotted to a grimy window and pointed outside at lightning flares striking the red-tinged ocean. Every place they hit, the ocean bubbled around them, as if it were claiming the energy, absorbing it to make certain its waters turned even more lethal. “I’ve been alive for a long time, and I’ve never seen its like, nor anything remotely close.”
Viktor shrugged. There had to be a way to get around the barrier. Some complex escape hatch no one had discovered yet, but he kept his mouth shut. Raphael didn’t appreciate vague concepts without facts to back them up. It was how Viktor had known his assertion about life outside Ushuaia was speculation.
“The Tribunal?” Viktor gestured toward the door.
“You’re worse than a social secretary,” Raphael grumbled and walked briskly out of the room.
Viktor snatched up a ratty jacket woven from llama skins and slid into it before following his sire. He had warm clothing aboard his ship, but explaining where it came from would be a problem. Every shop in Ushuaia had been looted years ago. Raphael would notice any deviation from “normal,” and he’d ask questions until Viktor came up with a satisfactory answer. Better to dress in rags like everybody else.
Raphael had turned him a few months after the Cataclysm converted Ushuaia into a prison. He hadn’t particularly wanted to be a Vampire. Raphael had forced his will onto him, much as he’d muscled his way through five hundred years of feeding and swelling the ranks of his Vampire tribe.
Back then—pre-Cataclysm—there’d been a whole lot more humans. Viktor had been a cruise ship captain on his way to the Falkland Islands when a tsunami drove his boat into the South American coast, fetching it up on deadly rocks. He’d done his best to save his passengers and crew. In the end, he’d herded the fifty who were left out of nearly a hundred across brutal coastal mountains and into Ushuaia. Only to find it taken over by Vampires.
Vampires.
Who would’ve thought something like that was even real?
Worse, Vamps captured them immediately and transported them to a mountain cave system with primitive cells, probably built by some iteration of indigenous hunter-gatherers. Viktor had spent months there, long enough to curse his stupidity waltzing into Ushuaia unprotected. Long enough to discover Shifters also existed, and that Vamps hated them. Long enough to hear about the Cataclysm that shattered the world.
Long enough to stop caring what happened.
And more than long enough to be disappointed when another morning dawned and he wasn’t dead yet. Turning into a Vampire hadn’t changed a damned thing on that front. But it did make it much harder for him to die.
Viktor pelted down stairs falling into disrepair. Raphael was a long way ahead of him, and he didn’t particularly want to attract his sire’s attention.
Master Vampires were old and strong. According to Raphael, his particular type of Vampire stood at the top of the heap. Princes or kings or something. They took what they wanted and created a legion of Vampires to stand by their sides. Something about the draining and resurrection created loyalty to one’s sire. It was supposed to, anyway.
Viktor swallowed back a bitter taste. He could feel the bond to Raphael like a tightly coiled spring deep in his belly, and he resented the hell out of it. Over the nine plus years since his making, he’d experimented with ways to break away from Raphael, but nothing ever worked.
It was why he cast longing glances at the iron saber. Maybe if he were quick enough, he could circumvent the bond.
He’d have to be goddamned fast, though. And successful. Punishment would be swift and certain if Raphael suspected his devotion wasn’t absolute. He’d considered talking with some of Raphael’s other minions to sow the seeds of a rebellion, but fear always stayed his tongue, and he hated himself for his cowardice.
Cold hit him like a wall as he left the building where they lived and hustled across a debris-choked walkway to their council chambers. Abandoned cars littered the streets. Ushuaia had no fossil fuels or refineries. All the gasoline had been trucked in. Once it ran out, cars became useless. Because he wasn’t paying attention, he tripped over a pile of bones, the remains of some unlucky humans who hadn’t survived either the Cataclysm or a Vamp feeding frenzy. Bones lay everywhere, bleached by incessant storms and stripped by animal predators desperate for a meal.
Dead people.
Dead cars.
Death extended on all sides of him. He shouldn’t give a shit. Vampires didn’t feel pain or sorrow or loss, but he still did. Setting his jaw in a hard, tight line, Viktor buried emotions that ran far too close to the surface.
Even though he didn’t inhale deeply, the frigid air still bit deep, smelling a shred more poisonous than it had the day before. He stole a glance at the sky. Sunlight eroded Vampire abilities, but it wasn’t a problem here. Though he was certain the sun still sat in judgment over the planet, its presence over Ushuaia was rare.
“You were
the one in a hurry,” Raphael scoffed from the shadows of carved double doors.
“So I was. Sorry.” Viktor joined his sire, grateful when the doors clanked shut behind them, sealing out some of the cold.
Raphael sent a penetrating look his way before starting the trek to the tenth floor. Electricity was in short supply. What little they had came from wind farms, hastily expanded during the early years after the Cataclysm. Humans had overseen their growth and run them, but they’d abandoned the farms once they became a prime target for Vampire abductions. Without ongoing attention, the wind farms were falling to ruin like everything else. When juice flowed, Viktor used his tiny allocation to heat his quarters. Sometimes he envied the older, colder-blooded Vamps. They didn’t require warmth in quite the same way he did.
More to divert his attention from the endless, winding stairs than anything else, he asked, “Any idea why you—” He stumbled over his words, and tried again. “Why I feel the cold more intensely than you?” It was an inane question, but Viktor was curious what his sire would say.
Raphael twisted his classic features into a sneer. “It’s the Shifters’ fault. Everything is. They perverted our power and used it to augment their own. Beyond that, you’re not a pure blood straight from the old country.”
“Does that mean if you’d found me before I left Germany and turned me there—?”
“Enough. Do not question me.”
Viktor dropped behind his sire to avoid any possibility of eye contact. He’d eat his socks if Raphael knew any more about Vampires than he did. Probably a whole lot less, given his discovery about the unholy alliance between the devil and Sekhmet creating Vamps in the first place. All that Nosferatu crap was a smoke and mirrors act. Plus, there was no fucking way Shifters could have had shit to do with new Vamps being more susceptible to cold. Those changes had to be a corollary of the Cataclysm and its perversion of the energies that used to keep the world in balance.
One more flight and they’d be there. Viktor wasn’t winded. Vamps were strong, but he needed to do more. Short rations and little exercise made him slower than he should’ve been.
Raphael trotted down a long, dark hallway, with Viktor at his heels and pushed into the space they used for the Tribunal. Ten Vamps shot to their feet, waiting for Raphael to stride to the front of the room. Once upon a time, this particular oval-shaped chamber had been a chapel on the top floor of a hospital. It still held a simple elegance with painted sconces and wooden benches arranged around a central nave. A bronze Christ figure hung from the far wall, his sightless eyes gazing disapprovingly on what had become of a once-sacred place.
Viktor quashed a temptation to genuflect before the icon and faded to one side, standing next to Juan Torres, the closest thing he had to a friend within Vampire ranks. They’d worked on the same ship before the Cataclysm. Even though they didn’t spend much together, it was more because Vampires weren’t into social than any other reason.
The coppery stench of blood rose from where Raphael bent over a large, squirming rat one of his minions had thoughtfully provided. Viktor’s mouth flooded with saliva, and he swallowed fast before it dripped down his chin.
The rat squealed, vocalizing horror as life drained from its gray, furry body. Viktor gave himself a sharp mental slap. For some reason, the transition from human to monster hadn’t been as effective in him because he still thought in human terms. Concepts like manners and compassion and sensitivity weren’t anywhere in the Vampire lexicon.
Juan elbowed him surreptitiously and shot a pained glance his way. Before Viktor could mine for details, the chapel door slapped against its stops. Two more Vamps dragged an unconscious woman into the room. Iron manacles bound her wrists and ankles, so she had to be the Shifter they’d captured.
Viktor had never laid eyes on her before, and he fought to hide his reaction to her beauty. Long dark hair shot with red and gold dragged on the floor. Her eyes were closed, but sculpted cheekbones dusted with freckles showcased full, red lips. Tall and broad-shouldered, she moaned incoherently as the Vamps manhandled her to where Raphael stood.
Rat still in one hand, Raphael eyed the Shifter. Blood dripped down his chin and onto the floor. Not only was Raphael eating in front of them, he was squandering some of his meal. Viktor fought an inane desire to race to those fallen, crimson blobs and lick them up. Never mind he’d just fed.
Damn it!
He had to get a better grip on his emotions. Vamps, the ones where the turning worked, anyway, didn’t experience much beyond hunger, desire, and anger. They’d moved past fear and caring and the rest of it. So what if Raphael was an insensitive boor? Vamps didn’t view the world through that lens.
“Drop her there,” Raphael ordered.
His voice broke into Viktor’s churning thoughts.
The Shifter’s body made a splatting sound when her two escorts did as ordered before withdrawing to where the other Vamps spread throughout the chapel. Viktor’s nostrils twitched at an unusual scent. It took a moment to understand he was smelling the Shifter’s blood. It reminded him of wildflowers and the stunted Antarctic beech trees that used to grow in the Tiera del Fuego. The scent drew him, soothed him, made him feel whole again, not splintered into a no-man’s land where he no longer knew himself. Not exactly Vamp, but not human, either.
He clasped his hands behind his back, squeezing hard to avoid the temptation to kneel next to her and cradle her head in his arms, smoothing stray strands of bright hair away from her grime-streaked face. Most of all, he wanted to get her away from Raphael before the Master Vampire decided to try to turn her. If that didn’t work, she’d end up a meal—or many meals, depending how long they could keep her alive.
The thought disgusted him. She was perfect. One of nature’s creations. The magic seeping from her—despite her iron manacles—wrapped her in an iridescent shroud that felt pure, decent. He hadn’t had much congress with Shifters, but none he’d run across felt anything like the woman sprawled on the floor. Granted, he’d only seen them from a distance, but still...
He clamped his hands together harder before one of his Vampire kin noticed the unrest that had to be streaming from him. To be on the safe side, he shuttered his thoughts, burying them deep.
Raphael nudged the woman with one booted foot. As decrepit as the rest of his clothing, his boots weren’t much more than strips of dried-out leather secured by duct tape. The Shifter moaned, and Raphael hauled off and kicked her.
Viktor clamped his jaws together so hard he feared his teeth would crack. If he’d had any inkling the Shifter would kindle something inside him, an awareness he’d been certain died along with his humanity, he’d never have—
Never would have, what? His mental voice inquired caustically.
For some unexplained reason, he was one of Raphael’s favorites, and the Master Vamp rarely went anywhere without Viktor by his side. Leaving was out of the question. He had to wait this out. Soon enough, he could retire to his grotto beneath the building across the street. Maybe fortune would smile on him, and it would collapse, trapping Raphael in rubble that might take years to dig out of.
Fat chance. That fucker is strong as sin—
A low groan drew Viktor’s attention back to the Shifter. She’d rolled to a sitting position, and her eyes were open. A fine, clear golden color, they formed slits as she stared defiantly at Raphael.
“You’ve captured me, Vampire,” she sneered, displaying very white, very even teeth. “Now what? Do I get to be everyone’s dinner?” She swung her head from side to side, encompassing the room full of Vamps. “At least remove my shackles. If I’m going to die, I’d rather face you as a wolf.”
Thick black robes, sashed in brilliant red, clung to her slender frame, but the fabric was whole, not patched. Could Shifters leverage magic to repair simple things like that? Viktor wished he knew. His only information about other magical beings came from hearsay and rumors—and Raphael’s library. A long-standing Vampire rule, though, was no i
nteraction with Shifters under any circumstances.
No one had ever explained why, and he’d never cared enough to ask.
Until now.
He inhaled sharply, and then did it again. Maybe filling his lungs would spur his turbulent thoughts into something beyond chasing their own tails. Would Raphael follow through on his threat to kill the Shifter and the rest of her kind? Or would he glom onto Viktor’s idea about using their magic to counteract the increasingly bad water?
“My name is Ketha.” She flowed to her feet in a single, graceful motion and folded her arms beneath the swell of her breasts. “Rat got your tongue?” She jerked her chin at the dead rat still clutched in Raphael’s hand and skinned her lips back from her teeth.
Before Raphael could answer, she went on. “If you’re going to kill me, get on with it, but know this—” Her voice took on a mesmerizing quality, and magic rose in waves around her, turning the air shimmery with color. “You will never escape Ushuaia without us.”
Raphael faced off against her. “What makes you think we want to escape, Shifter?”
Ketha shrugged, favoring the Vampire with the full force of her golden gaze. “You like it here? Soon there won’t be anything left to eat or drink, and then all of us will die. Even Vampires. But if you’re good with that”—another eloquent shrug—“I suppose there’s nothing to talk about. Go on.” She made shooing motions with one long-fingered hand. “Get on with it. I’m prepared to die. We don’t have too many more months here at the ass end of the world before none of us will be left. Take a chance, Vampire. Face me as a wolf.”
Viktor knew his sire well and recognized barely suppressed rage in the set of his shoulders and the cold, dead aspect to his expression.
“I’ll pass. I suppose you have the answer to all our problems.” Raphael quirked a well-formed dark brow.
A small, secretive smile played about Ketha’s mouth. “Even if I did, I’d never tell you. Funny thing about being captured. It quiets the tongue.”