by Craig Zerf
Nathan frowned. ‘I can’t actually see that. If just looks like blood.’
‘But you would not gainsay all of us?’ Asked Janus.
Nathan shook his head. ‘No. If you say so, father, then so be it. But you are the leader of the Nosferatu. How could we countenance any other, regardless of any ancient prophecy?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Janus. ‘But the prophecy did not say that you would become the leader of the Nosferatu, it said that you would lead us into battle. And already you have begun that. For the first time in countless years we once more roam the streets at night, bringing fear back into the hearts and minds of the humans. The food.’
‘I only did what my heart led me to do, father,’ said Nathan.
Janus chuckled. ‘Again with the heart,’ he said. ‘Very droll.’
Nathan allowed himself a small smile before he spoke. ‘But, father. What of my guilt? What of the accusation arrayed against me?’
‘Groundless,’ declared the Capo di tutt'i capi of the Federation. ‘What lord Byron complains about are mere growing pains. And we are growing once again, make no mistake.’
‘So I have been falsely accused?’ Asked Nathan. ‘In that case, what happens to my accuser?’
The Capo stared intently at Nathan as he thought. Finally he spoke. ‘Nothing,’ he stated. ‘Lord Byron is the leader of your house. As such he is entitled to make whatever accusations that he finds necessary. It is his right. However,’ continued the leader of leaders as he turned to face Lord Byron. ‘The Americans have an expression, three strikes and you’re out. I put it to you, Lord Byron, that you have had your two strikes. Tread carefully, as the next one will most definitely prove fatal to you.’
Byron bowed deeply, knowing that he had been beaten. ‘Of course, my leader,’ he replied. ‘Your will is my command.’
‘I have a request, father,’ said Nathan.
The Capo nodded.
‘I would like to increase the number of Bloodwraiths. Train more of our brethren to a level that will ensure our victory when the time comes.’
‘How many, my child?’
‘I would like to increase the number to one hundred,’ answered the ex-Shadowhunter.
‘Make it happen,’ said the Capo. ‘You can use any resources that you deem necessary. After all,’ he finished. ‘You, Nathan Tremblay, ex-Shadowhunter, are the Red Horse of War. You are our Revelation.’
Chapter 21
Emily sipped at her cup of tea. No milk, sweetened slightly with honey. Tag was spending most of his spare time with Professor Brownstone so, thankfully, Em was able to make her own tea, allowing her to avoid the huge steaming mugs of over-sweetened milky beverage that the big man served up.
Bastian walked into the kitchen, grabbed a soda from the fridge and sat down opposite Em. ‘Wassup, girl?’ He asked.
‘Same old,’ answered Emily with a sigh.
‘Bored?’ Questioned the Jamaican.
Em shrugged.
‘Depressed?’ Continued Bastian.
‘Maybe. No, not really.’
‘Hey, it’s okay to get depressed every now and then,’ said Bastian. ‘You have every right. Jeez, girl. You’re eighteen years old. Fact is, you should be thinking about college. University. Boys and lipstick and crap like that. Not vampires and werewolves and how best to remove someone’s head with a Japanese sword.’
Em laughed. ‘Boy’s aren’t a problem,’ she said. ‘I think about them well enough.’
Bastian shook his head. ‘I said boys. Not a thousand year old Wolfman. I mean, when is the last time you actually spoke to a boy? Or young man. Not someone who was at least a hundred years older than you.’
Em took another sip of her tea. ‘I suppose that Troy is the only one.’
‘Troy?’
‘Yeah, the one they call Puppy.’
‘Oh, him,’ acknowledged Bastian. ‘One of the wolves. Quiet. Dangerous. Yeah, I know him.’
‘He’s not dangerous,’ argued Em. ‘He’s sweet and kind and thoughtful.’
‘And dangerous,’ repeated Bastian. ‘I know, I’ve met the type before. But at least he’s not a few hundred years older than you. So, yeah, he would count.’
‘Anyhow,’ said Emily. ‘William says that physical age doesn’t matter. He says that I have an old soul.’
‘Well he would, wouldn’t he,’ quipped Bastian. ‘He’s about a thousand years older than you. If he didn’t think like that how’s he ever gonna seduce anyone. I mean, he’s pretty much older than any female on the planet.’
‘It’s not…what do you mean seduce?’ Snapped Em. A tear rolled down her cheek and she dashed it away. ‘Ah, damn. I’m sorry, don’t know what I’m crying about. It’s just that…well, William and I were…together. Sort of. And now he’s all, like serious and grumpy and unaffectionate. I don’t know what’s going on. He asked me out, you know? Oh hell, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Bastian. ‘Nothing to be sorry about…anyway, seduce was the wrong word…but you know what I mean.
Look, Em, it’s a pack thing. He’s under a lot of strain. I don’t really get the whole Pack thing but I do know that he can’t lead the pack and still be the William that you first met. It’s all Omega and Alpha and Beta and dominance and crap like that. These wolf dudes are rough and tough and to lead them you gotta be rougher and tougher.
Look, I’m not sure how to explain. Not sure of I even understand it all myself. All I’m saying is, I got your back, Em. You need a friend, I’m here. I might be a century older than you, regardless of how ancient your soul may or may not be, but if you need to talk. Well, you know, I’m sure that I can lower my IQ enough to carry out a conversation,’ he finished with a cheeky grin.
Em stuck her tongue out at him. ‘Asshole.’ Then she leaned across the table and took his hand. ‘Thanks Bastian. I appreciate that. Really I do.’
He winked at her.
Before Em could say anything else the room started to pulse with a deep resonance and a bright white light began to coalesce in the corner. The light got brighter and brighter until they both had to shield their eyes with their hands.
Then with a loud pop the sound stopped, the light dimmed and a man appeared in its place. He looked around the room and smiled.
‘Ambros,’ shouted Em.
Both her and Bastian jumped up and ran over to the leader of the Shadowhunters. Bastian shook his hand and Em threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly on the cheek.
Finally the two of them stood back to give Ambros some room.
‘Greetings, children,’ he said. ‘You have no idea how very pleased I am to see you both. Where is Nathan? I hear that he too survived.’
Bastian shook his head. ‘He wasn’t there that night that the vamps took the Foundation out. All we can assume is that he’s gone into hiding. We haven’t heard from him and he has no way of knowing that we’re alive. The only thing that we can do is wait.’
Ambros nodded sadly.
‘Oh, Ambros,’ said Emily. ‘It’s so good to have you here. We thought that you were dead. It’s been terrible.’
‘Well, not dead yet,’ answered the old man. ‘And I wonder if you could all call me Merlin now,’ he continued. ‘It is my given name and, all said and done, I do feel most comfortable with it.’
Em nodded. ‘Merlin. Yeah, I heard, The Old Morrigan told us. This just gets freakier and freakier.’
Merlin laughed. ‘Yes, I have to agree with that summation. Oh, by the way, it’s just The Morrigan. Not the Old Morrigan. I’d avoid that word if I were you. Morgan can get a little tetchy at times.’
Emily was about to answer when a gunshot rang out.
‘What the hell was that?’ Asked Merlin. ‘Are we under attack?’
Em sighed. ‘No. that’s just the Prof shooting Tag again. Some sort of experiment that they’re conducting.’
‘The Prof?’ Questioned Merlin.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Emil. ‘Professor Brownstone.’
Merlin shook his head. ‘That old Boggart. You chaps must be scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel if you’ve recruited that nutter.’
‘I heard that, you charlatan,’ said the Prof as he walked into the room. ‘I demand an apology.’
‘No chance,’ snapped Merlin. ‘You snake oil salesman, you.’
‘Sideshow conjurer,’ returned the Prof.
‘Huckster,’ replied Merlin.
The two old men stared belligerently for a few seconds and then threw their arms around each other, hugging and patting their respective backs.
‘How long has it been?’ Asked the Prof.
‘Over four hundred years,’ answered Merlin. ‘Ye gods, I heard that you were dead.’
‘As I you.’
‘Oh well, obviously reports of our mutual demises were exaggerated,’ noted the magician.
The two of them continued laughing and, as they did so, William entered the room followed by Sylvian.
Merlin immediately stopped the show of jollity as his face registered a mixture of complete shock and surprise.
‘Ambros,’ said Emily. ‘Oh, sorry, I mean, Merlin. May I introduce Sir William and Sylvian Baptiste.’
‘Good lord,’ blurted Merlin. ‘Well I never, this has been a day for the resurrection of the dead,’ he said. ‘Emily, I had no idea that this was the Sir William that you knew. And as for you,’ he turned to the Frenchman. ‘Le grand duc de Bourgogne, Sylvian Baptiste, Ordre des chevaliers du Saint-Esprit.’
Sylvian bowed deeply. ‘Master Mage, as always it is an honor and a privilege to be in your presence. May I also add that I am overjoyed to see that the rumors of your death were both untimely and untrue.’
‘The Omega and the Bloodborn together once more,’ said Merlin. ‘This bodes very well for our quest.’
‘And now you are with us again,’ continued William.
The three men stood in a circle and Emily could feel the ages of history ripple from them, like a huge rock had been dropped into the lake of foreverness and caused a Tsunami. A tidal wave of shared loss and violence. Of war and forgiveness. Of hoped for peace and the divine madness of war. Countless years of personal sacrifice given to protect humanity against a single enemy.
And Emily felt humbled to be in their presence.
‘The Morrigan has filled me in,’ informed Merlin. ‘Looks like we have some problems.’
‘Aye,’ admitted William. ‘I’ve been trying to contact her but she’s been ignoring me, as usual.’
‘To be fair,’ commented Merlin. ‘That’s partly my fault. I was as close to death as one can be while still being alive and she was sacrificing some of her time to keep me going. Obviously this kept her somewhat occupied. But never fear, she’s actually on her way here now. Well, she was right behind me, but I tend to translocate instantaneously whereas she takes a little longer.’
As he spoke there was a flash of blue light and a massive crow appeared in the room, instantly morphing into the form of the Morrigan. But this was not the old lady that they had all seen previously. This time she was appearing as the seductress, Morgan la Fay.
As the beautiful woman solidified in front of them all, Tag walked into the room. His shirt was drenched in blood and he had a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
The Morrigan stared at him distastefully. ‘Why are you covered in blood?’ She asked.
‘The Prof shot me,’ answered Tag. ‘Hey, aren’t you the old crow lady? How you get to be so fine all of a sudden?’
La Fay shrugged, the movement pulling at her tight dress and making all manner of interesting things happen to the parts of her body underneath. ‘If someone shot you in the chest,’ she continued, genuinely intrigued, ‘then why aren’t you dead?’
‘Beats me,’ admitted Tag. ‘The Prof gave me some strawberry milkshake stuff with loads of my blood in it. I died, came back, died again. He gave me some more. Now it looks like whatever he does he can’t kill me. Pretty cool, accept it still hurts like buggery whenever he shoots me. Or stabs me. And that’s less than good.’ The Yardie looked at Merlin. ‘And who be you, old man?’
‘I be Merlin.’
‘The magician?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Merlin.
‘Man,’ noted Tag. ‘This place just gets freakier and freakier.’
‘Hey,’ exclaimed Emily. ‘That’s exactly what I just said.’
The Morrigan sighed. ‘Fine, enough idle chatter. Now listen, children. We have work to do. And Tag, flattering though it is, could you please tear you eyes off my cleavage for a while.’
‘I’ll try, mama,’ said the big man. ‘But, unlike all these other dudes here, I’m only human.’
Chapter 22
Over the last couple of weeks Nathan had been on the road more than the band, The Grateful Dead. Travelling across the United Kingdom and much of Europe, seeking out brethren of a high enough caliber to become one of his Bloodwraiths.
While travelling, he had made full use of the Nosferatu private jet, a Gulfstream G650, as well as a fleet of blacked out limousines. All of the limousines were chauffeured by a team of trusted familiars who were fanatically loyal to the Nosferatu and ensured that the cars were always fully sealed against the sun and when they parked it was always in underground parking or areas that never saw any sunlight. Thus Nathan could work in the day as well as the night, covering literally thousands of miles in very little time.
The ex-Shadowhunter had marveled at both the extent and depth of power that a higher echelon Nosferatu yielded in the circles of authority and had to admit to himself that, even at the height of the Olympus Foundation, he had not wielded such influence and control. The knowledge was a heady aphrodisiac to him, finer that the best drugs and more addictive. But Nathan never came close to being satiated. In fact his lust for power began to grow at a rate that was exponential compared to the amount that he wielded.
Simply put, the more powerful he felt he was becoming, the more powerful he wanted to become.
During his recruitment drive, two brethren in particular had stood out to him. And surprisingly neither of them was an elder.
The first, a new aspirant by the name of Reginald Parson an ex-MMA cage fighter also known as The Savage. The man was quick, strong and possessed of a profound well of anger that burned so brightly that it was visible by merely looking into his eyes. Also, he seemed to develop an instant and deep worship for Nathan, like a pit-bull to a dog whisperer.
The second was an older man, an academic who had been turned in London. Doctor Parker Soames, a research fellow at the London University. And, although he was not possessed of as violent a bent as Reg, he was aggressive in his own way. The Doctor was an insistent experimenter and thinker. And already he had transformed much of the staid and accepted way that the brethren thought, suggesting many innovations that were contrary to the entrenched Nosferatu customs.
Now Nathan was back at his new headquarters. These were situated in an old forgotten manor house called Braithwaite Manor. The massive Regency building had fallen into complete disrepair after WWI when lord Braithwaite and his three sons had all died in the Battle of Passhendaele in France leaving the wife to destitution as the family fortune was eaten up by both death duties and profound mismanagement.
Sometime after WWII the Ministry of Defense had purchased it and turned it into an underground, state-of-the-art, Cold War bunker compete with operations rooms, living quarters, subterranean shooting ranges and water supply.
Unfortunately, showing a typical government lack of sufficient research and development, it was discovered that, while solid earth is a great barrier to the radiation thrown out by a nuclear explosion, chalk is not. And Braithwaite Manor was built entirely on the friable chalk soil of the county of Dover, as seen by the White Cliffs bearing the same name.
The newly finished but now useless bunker was sold, a little over a year later, to an eccentric billionaire who was actually a front for the Nosferatu.
Now it was the headquarters for Nathan Tremblay’s Bloodwraiths. Perfectly suited for a species that would need to permanently stay out of the sunshine.
However, Nathan, under the suggestions of Doctor Parker Soames, was now instituting huge changes. The major one being that they had turned two of the vast dormitories into areas that they referred to as ‘Feeding Pens’. Here they had strapped captive humans to small cots and in their left arms ran a combination of intravenous fluids including isotonic sodium chloride. This cocktail of liquids had been perfected by doctor Soames and was conducive to replacing the blood loss experienced by the humans during the harvesting process. This was when the cannula in the right arm was activated and blood was drained from their system into sterile plasma bags ready to be fed on by the Bloodwraiths.
The average human contains around twelve pints of blood. But by draining them on a regular basis and replenishing their fluids via transfusion Doctor Soames had discovered that a human would yield approximately twenty five pints of blood over a period of six weeks before they died of hypovolemic shock.
The average vampire does not need an excessive quantity of blood to survive, in fact most only hunted once every fortnight, consuming eight or so pints at a time. However, with Nathan’s new harvesting regime, his Bloodwraiths were able to consume four times the average amount of blood and, as a result, they were actually growing faster, stronger and more powerful. This had never been done before.
Unfortunately it also instilled a growing desire to consume more and more human blood. In short, the Bloodwraiths were addicted to human plasma like a crack user is addicted to smoking Hard Rock.
Nathan saw a future where all humans would be subjugated in this way. Breeding pens, feeding lots.
Humanity reduced to the level of cattle. Where they belonged.
The food.
Chapter 23
‘Now that the Prof has perfected the potion that worked on Tag, why don’t we give it to the Purebloods?’ Asked Emily. ‘I mean, who knows what powers they could manifest? They’re already super fast and strong. Surely that would give us a huge advantage over the blood suckers.’