Even more unnerving, every now and then the black glass would ripple, as if a pebble had been skipped across the surface of a pond. It was both unsettling and queerly hypnotic. Tremaine felt that if he gazed into the wood-framed darkness long enough, he might try to walk right through it.
As for what might lay on the other side, he had no desire to know.
It was after the mirror began its strange, droning thrum that the newlings began to act more irrational than usual. There was no doubt the mirror had an effect on them as well. Perhaps not the same as it had on the human servants, but something about it clearly tickled their dead brains. The resulting outbursts of frenzied rage could be quelled only by the master vampires. Despite this, the newlings still shuffled about, grumpy and discontent, eyeing with hunger and fury the humans they’d been forbidden from hunting.
It got worse when Rodrigo and Anthony returned to the mansion.
The newlings hissed and shrieked as the two masters led their raiding party into the mansion. Tremaine could see why. Rodrigo and his entourage—semi-trained newlings he had spent nights bringing under his specific control—carried with them human infants. At least a dozen small babies of every color, white, brown, black, yellow. Caucasian, Hispanic, African, Asian, and everything in between. Newborns were an aphrodisiac to most vampires, much less mindless newlings, who lived only to feed. Even the Master’s own consort, Helena, gazed at them with lustful eyes, growling in her throat, fangs bared. She bore down on one shuffling newling that carried two children in its stiff arms. A froth of cold saliva glistened on her lips.
Stahl placed his imposing form between Helena and the newling. She glared up at him, bestial noises rising from her throat. Tremaine pursed his lips as he continued with his work, arranging a mass of candelabras as ordered by the Master. He had always suspected Helena would be more trouble than she was worth. The talents she’d wielded as a human had grown under the Master’s tutelage, but they made her weak, at times insufferable. Tremaine half-hoped Stahl would send her back to the grave. But that was not to be. Helena backed down like an angry cat, grudgingly, bit by bit.
The rest of the higher-order vampires filed into the mansion’s great room. With an air of pomp, each took a single infant from the twitching newlings, which in turn were banished to the basement. Resentful, the newlings retreated, hissing and spitting, even fighting with each other, their yowls echoing throughout the house. Even after the doors had been shut behind them, Tremaine could hear their shrieks rising through the thick white marble floor. The upper vampires paid the ruckus no mind. Tremaine watched as the infants were placed amidst the spiraling symbols that had been drawn on the cold floor. Arranged in a circle, their heads pointed directly at the mirror.
The thrumming sensation deepened. The rippling effect Tremaine observed earlier on the mirror’s surface quickened, like water nearing a vigorous boil. The air in the great room turned oppressive, and Tremaine felt fear worm its way through his gut. He looked at the babies arrayed about the mirror and saw they were glassy-eyed, complacent. How they could remain calm during such turmoil was beyond him, and he could only reason that the master vampires had paralyzed them. After all, if they could tame the ferocity of the newlings with a look, then soothing away the fears of infants would be nothing.
At last, Osric marched into the room, dressed in an immaculate black suit. His ivory skin glowed in the candlelight, and he appeared radiant, more powerful than ever. But as he stepped toward the mirror, Tremaine noted even his formidable power seemed diminished, paltry. The mirror’s very presence dwarfed the most powerful being he had ever known. It did nothing to settle Tremaine’s nerves.
Osric swept his gaze over Tremaine. The tide of near-panic that threatened to overwhelm him receded, and a warm calm draped itself around him like a cloak. Still… calmed though he was, he remained to be reassured.
The rest of the vampires formed a wedge with Osric at its tip. Osric faced the mirror, and knelt before the mirror reverently. The rest of the vampires followed suit. Osric kowtowed to the mirror, his high forehead touching the cold marble floor. After a time, he rose and faced the mirror.
“Agathon moirra had’gatha,” he said in what Tremaine knew to be the High Tongue of the vampire clans, a language older than Osric himself. “Agathon! Had’gatha norra tsok!”
The thrumming ceased. The mirror’s black glass pulsed once, then stilled.
Below, the newlings ceased their shrieking.
Silence returned to the mansion overlooking the city. Osric took his time, then with his voice pitched low continued his orations. The atmosphere in the mansion changed again, and the air grew heavy with anticipation. Tremaine’s courage mounted. Perhaps things weren’t going to be so horrible after all.
Then one of the infants let out a hitching whine. Tremaine looked down at the baby and saw that its face was no longer placid. A shadow of fear crossed it, revealed in the flickering candlelight. The child squirmed beneath its small blanket, as if trying to roll over on its back and crawl away. It was far too young to accomplish such actions—as a newborn, all it could do was lie on its back and accept whatever circumstances befell it. The baby filled its lungs to capacity and began to wail in earnest. Tremaine frowned. He’d never been one to admire children, especially burdensome infants. But as the rest of the newborns began to echo the cries of the first, even he felt a stirring of regret in his breast.
The mirror growled.
Tremaine’s eyes snapped back to the dark mirror, and his breath caught in his throat. He saw nothing that could have generated such a noise. Even the vampires themselves were limited by the constraints of vocal cords that at one time had been all too human, and the noise Tremaine had heard could only have been released by some sort of beast. But then the low, rumbling growl cut through the air again, and the mirror’s black glass trembled in unison. His mouth went dry and his heart began to race. Something was coming.
The infants continued to wail, their faces purpling in the candlelight. It was alarming to witness, even for one as detached from the human condition as Tremaine. Something about the infants’ plight stirred something inside him, something primitive, something so fundamentally human that it was impossible to ignore.
What an interesting time to experience species preservation. Indeed, it was ironic. While he knew little about the ceremony conducted by Osric, he knew it would bear fruit that boded ill for his kind. But if he’d been worried about that in the first place, he wouldn’t be where he was now, only steps away from grandeur.
The whole mansion trembled as the thing in the mirror growled again. This time, Tremaine saw some of the vampires glance toward Osric, their black eyes troubled and fearful. Tremaine was no longer able to dismiss the near-terror he felt, and it threatened to overwhelm him.
The babies rose from the floor, swaying as if in the embrace of a gentle breeze. Several of them emptied the contents of their bladders, and their urine showered onto the floor in a vague splattering of droplets as their cries intensified. It was difficult for Tremaine to endure the display, but he knew this was part of the price of immortality.
The infants drifted toward the mirror as Osric continued his orations. They moved slowly at first, then their flight picked up speed. All of them struck the mirror’s surface in unison, and they passed right through the dark glass as if it were water. Tremaine moaned in his throat when he saw the children still visible inside the mirror, their plump bodies rotting away before his eyes as they screamed and writhed in agony. Then something huge and gray swallowed them up whole, like a hungry shark. Tremaine couldn’t tell what it was, for its outline was indistinct, its movements too swift. Whatever it was snarled in pleasure before it hurtled back into the mirror’s dark depths, though not before Tremaine caught a glimpse of blazing red eyes and a mouth filled with tusks.
The mansion grew silent, and Tremaine tore his gaze away from the mirror. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his shirt was soaked at the armpits. He wiped his hand
across his forehead, and noticed the other human servants behind him were sprawled across the floor, either unconscious or sobbing. They had witnessed the same thing he had but had paid a far higher psychological price. His frown turned to a wan smile. Perhaps this would show the Master that he was in fact worthy of immortality, and that he had chosen his servant well.
Osric stood straight before the mirror and gazed into it. The rest of the vampires bowed their heads silently. Osric reached out and touched the mirror’s black surface. It was solid now, and his hand flattened against it. The tall vampire’s handsome face was split by a fanged grin.
“The Old One is pleased with us,” he whispered.
***
Several hundred miles off the coast of California, clouds gathered over the Pacific. They were dark, sullen things that flashed with pent-up energy. Thunder echoed across the water as the clouds coalesced, spinning in a clockwise fashion until they merged into a single formation. Within minutes, a hurricane had formed.
Beneath the formation, a portion of the Pacific also began to spin, rotating faster and faster, until a gigantic waterspout emerged. Almost a mile across at its base, the waterspout accelerated skyward several thousand feet until it came into contact with the clouds, where it shed its moisture. The clouds, already dark with wetness, soon became black with it. Lightning flared, and the formation began drifting eastward at a speed of seven miles per hour. All the while, its rotation continued to intensify, its speed increasing.
Thirty minutes later, the formation would become the fastest hurricane in recorded history.
12
Nightmares clawed at the edges of her consciousness but fled into deep shadow when she confronted them. Darkness was her ally, her friend, her confidant. Light and all it revealed was to be feared, for Light was the killer, the destroyer, the follower and protector of Man. Only the embrace of Father Darkness could protect her, keep her safe as the Family formed a protective shield between her and those who would do her harm…
No!
Sharon’s eyes snapped open and she found herself back in the tank. Dressed in surgical garb, Andrew Kerr and his assistants surrounded her, their faces hidden behind masks and hoods. A bright light shining in her face half-blinded her, but when she tried to raise her hands to shield her eyes, she couldn’t. She was strapped to the bed.
“Relax, Sharon,” Kerr said. His voice was distant, foreign, almost alien to her ears. “The restraints are for your safety. You have to relax, so we can take care of you.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, and she could hear the panic in it. She struggled against the straps with all her strength. “What are you doing to me?”
Kerr grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “Sharon! Your infection count is increasing, and the more you struggle, the worse it’s going to get!” He bent closer to her, his eyes boring into hers. “You must calm down. Stop fighting us. Let us help you.”
“Help me?” Her heart continued to pound, and her lungs felt as if they were on fire. “What’s happening to me?”
“You’re having a panic attack,” Kerr said. “I need you to relax.”
“I’m trying,” she replied.
“We need to get you back on the IV. Try not to react to the needle, all right? You know what it is, and you know that I’m trying to help you, yes?”
“I know,” Sharon said through clenched teeth.
“All right, here it comes…”
The alcohol swab was like ice against her feverish flesh, the stab of the needle like a thrust from a hot poker. Sharon whimpered like a child and felt ashamed. She was a former Marine, after all—needles were nothing.
Oh God, help me—
Why bother a distant, uncaring god, my darling, when I am so near?
The voice was small and far off. Sharon wasn’t even certain she hadn’t imagined it.
Darling, can you hear me? Feel me?
“Who the hell is that?” she muttered.
“Who are you talking about?” She felt Kerr put a gloved hand on her forehead.
Open yourself to me, Sharon. You’re mine, for I have claimed you.
Renewed fear surged through her, the most brutal fear she’d ever experienced.
“It’s Osric,” she said, her voice a strangled whisper. “It’s Osric, and I can hear him in my head.”
***
“What happened up there, Claudia?”
Claudia Nero looked at Julia as she pushed a cup of coffee into her hand. Julia’s green eyes were hard and flinty, reflecting the cold core of professionalism that had managed to spirit her and Sharon away from the hospital and back to the Plant. Despite everything, Claudia had developed a grudging respect for Julia McGuiness. While she’d always known the woman’s sultry voice, casual poise, and manicured looks were a cover designed to mask her true skills from the outside world, Claudia had never really seen just how accomplished she was until tonight. She’d led them past roving police patrols and had avoided detection even by police helicopters… and she’d done it without any help from her or Sharon.
But her emotional foundation was one of hardened cynicism, and Julia would recognize any attempt to mislead her. She had to be exhausted, of course—they all were, having been up for more than two days, in most cases without so much as a catnap—but Claudia had no illusions regarding Julia’s prowess. She was the team’s intelligence officer, and interrogation was an operational art in which she was well versed.
“You were there,” Claudia said. She looked down into the ceramic mug Julia handed her. The coffee was dark and featureless, marred only by her vague reflection.
“After I was taken down, what happened then?”
They were in the Plant’s conference room, and Julia had lowered the shades on the plate glass windows. Claudia couldn’t see out, and no one could see in.
“Are you recording this?” she asked.
“Of course.” Julia’s emotional signature didn’t flicker at all the way it might have if the question were a sensitive one. “Video and audio. It’s procedure, and we’ll need to have records of everything that happens from here on out.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Claudia said. She brought the cup closer to her face and sniffed it. After a pause, she sipped it. It was bitter, and not to her liking. She would have preferred tea.
“Where’s Chiho?”
“I’m hoping you can tell me. The Army guys lost sight of her when the vamp went underground. That’s why I need to know what happened after I was taken out, Claudia.”
“I… fell apart up there.” Claudia sipped more of the coffee, holding the mug in both hands. It was hot, and that was good. She felt like she couldn’t get warm enough. She’d heard it was an expected psychological response from being in close proximity to the vampires—they gave off a negative psychic energy that people like her were susceptible to.
Claudia looked up from the coffee mug and across the table at Julia. She was sitting ramrod straight in her chair, her face beginning to bruise up from where the vampire had slapped her. Claudia reasoned that Julia was lucky to be alive. She’d taken one hell of a hit, and Claudia had seen how the wall cracked when she’d been hurled into it. If she’d needed any further proof that Julia McGuiness was made of strong stuff, there it was.
“After you were knocked out, the vampire that hit you did something to Chiho. I don’t know what—it made her sleep. And then more vampires came in from the ceiling—ghouls. They were controlled, not wild and full of rage like they’re supposed to act. I think the vamp that took you guys out was a master, and he was in charge of the ghouls. Whenever one would start to get out of hand, he’d just look at it and it would get back to business.”
Julia nodded, and wrote a note on the pad before her. “Go on.”
“They took the babies,” Claudia leaned back in her chair and gazed at the drop ceiling overhead. “I thought they’d feed on them, but they just grabbed them and jumped back into the ceiling. They were still doing
that when Sharon ran up.”
Julia wrote some more. “And what did Sharon do?”
“She shot the master vamp. They talked—I don’t remember what they said. And then Sharon started screaming and fell to the ground.”
“What did the vamp do to her?”
“Nothing. Just looked at her.”
“It never touched her?”
“No.”
“All right. Then what?”
“The master vamp grabbed Chiho. Rick shot it, but it got away. It went out the window when the others came around the corner.”
“It didn’t say anything to you?” Julia asked. She looked up from her pad and stared at Claudia.
Claudia pressed her hands flat against the conference room table and concentrated for a few moments before looking at Julia.
“I can’t remember,” she said.
“Think,” Julia pressed.
Claudia fidgeted. After a moment, she rose from the chair and slowly walked to the other end of the table, wringing her hands. The vampire had indeed spoken to her, passed on something very vital, something that would ensure Chiho’s survival. But what? As hard as she fought to remember, it fled from her, burrowing so far into the depths of her mind that it could not be invoked by the chemical process known as memory.
“I can’t remember.” She turned and faced Julia, who still sat at the far end of the table. “I know we talked, but now—I can’t remember!”
“They can manipulate the human mind in ways we don’t understand,” Julia said. “Like hypnosis, but more refined, and more lasting. Maybe even permanent.” With that, Julia gathered up her pad and pen.
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