After several seconds of quiet, I step out from my hiding place. Seeing no one, I follow the sound of whizzing cars to the main business road.
Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap — footsteps beat against the pavement. Soon, the blurry image of the female vampire enters the alleyway. So I run, conjuring my instinct again, but this next bout of phasming is cut short when I spot the male vampire lurking on the rooftop once again. He’s several steps ahead, preparing to ambush me from above.
I stop, trapped, and the surge of post-phasm exhaustion sends me to my knees. Morgan drops down to ground level, and both vampires proceed to close in on me — Morgan from behind and Stephanie from in front. I’m dead if don’t keep moving.
How tough can she be? I summon my last reserves of energy and sprint for the girl. My speed comes and goes, resulting in a sloppy jumble of phasms, but I don’t give up. Stephanie crouches, so I lower my shoulder, ready to charge her with whatever momentum I can gather. My phasming falters just as we’re colliding, and the impact with her solid frame knocks me onto my back. Pain registers over every inch of my body, and I look up to see Morgan and Stephanie standing over me. “Oh, bruv, that sounded very unpleasant.”
Stephanie plants her foot onto my chest, pinning me against the cobblestone ground. I howl in agony.
“I wouldn’t attempt to move,” Morgan advises. “Sounds like a broken collarbone to me,” he adds. “Stephanie’s heaps stronger than she looks.”
I feel the pain causing me to lose consciousness, and the image of my captors starts to fade into the shadows of the setting sun.
“I told you we could do it,” Morgan says.
“Do we get to feed on him now?” Stephanie whines. She runs her cold fingers through my hair, collecting blood from a gash on the back of my head. I hear her moan with satisfaction. “Delicious.”
They begin to drag my body across the ground. I call for help, but it’s pointless. Between phasming and getting the wind knocked out of me, I’ve barely enough energy to breathe, much less scream.
One of the vampires rubs their lips up and down my forearm. The other explores my neck. As they savor the touch of my skin against theirs, sharp pains penetrate my wrist and throat. Then a warmth spreads across my entire body, soothing the ache in my head and the sting in my shoulders, until I’m overcome by an unexpected sense of peace. So this is what it feels like to be fed on.
A light interrupts the darkness, a bright yellow light…
“Emmanuel? Emmanuel? Wherefore art thou, Emmanuel?” she calls out.
My heart beats heavy with excitement as I lean farther back into the bushes. She’s coming.
‘I can hear you,’ she echoes back.
I grab a stone from the ground and squeeze it between my hands, directing the nervous energy away from my thoughts — crack! The rock crumbles.
“Got you!” Miss Maggie’s arms wrap around my waist. She pulls me away from the plants and kisses the back of my neck. “There’s my love.”
“Quit it,” I laugh, releasing crushed bits of sediment from my fingers. “Just quit.”
The smell of her sweet perfume fills my nostrils. “Do you love me?” she asks.
“No. Girls are awful.”
She tickles my sides. “Do you love me?”
“No.”
“I’m not going to stop until you tell me you love me.”
“Okay, okay. I love you, I love you.”
I don’t have to say the words for her to know. I’ve loved Miss Maggie since I can remember. She’s my best mate — my only mate.
“Manuel? Where are you?” Mom calls from the estate. There’s an urgency in her tone.
“I found him, Mina. He’s over here,” Miss Maggie yells back.
“Oh, thank God. Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she shouts from across the pasture. “You know you’re not supposed to go wandering off by yourself.” Even from this distance, I can spot a trail of fresh tears staining her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I was just playing.”
“Run along and give her a hug,” Miss Maggie whispers. “You’ll make her feel better.”
I phasm toward Stockton Estate, gliding over the pasture with lightning speed.
Their bites turn cold, and the sound of breaking bones and ripping flesh fills the air. I open my eyes to the silhouette of a man and the vanishing glow of blue vapor.
“Thank heavens you’ve found him,” a woman yells from afar.
The man steps back, and a bony hand cups my chin. Her face is blurry, but her violet eyes are unmistakable. “You hold on. Keep those beautiful eyes open.” Edith’s voice grows more frantic. “Hurry. He’s almost bone-dry.”
“Maggie,” I whisper.
“No, dearie. It’s me, Edie.”
“No. I saw Maggie.”
Another figure joins Edith’s side. He leans in closer. I can almost swear it’s…“Dad?”
“No, Manny. It’s me. It’s James.” He holds his wrist to my mouth. It smells of blood. “You need to drink,” he urges. “It will heal you.”
I turn my head. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t. You’ve lost too much blood. Your body won’t recover in time.”
Edith pulls my chin to face him. “You need the help. If you don’t drink, you’ll die,” she insists.
“I promised your mum and dad I would protect you, Manny,” James declares, “and I am not breaking that promise. Drink.”
I give in and relax my jaw. His blood is sweet. Like vanilla. My mouth opens wider to savor the taste, and as his blood begins to mend my body, the sky above comes into sharper focus.
There’s the Little Dipper — my father’s favorite constellation — and the North Star. The North Star is the center of our world, Dad would say, and all the other stars rotate around it. Then he’d point to the two bright stars at the end of the bowl. And those are the Guardians of the Pole. They march around the North Star and protect it, like soldiers, so if it’s ever in trouble, they’ll always be there to keep it safe, he’d tell me, cupping my cheek and pressing his forehead against mine…
James tilts me onto my side. I cough, expelling remnants of his blood onto the cobblestone ground. “How do you feel?” he asks.
“Better.” I stand, examining my wrist and neck. The puncture wounds from the vampires’ bites have disappeared, and my collarbone feels good as new. “Your blood did that?”
“Yes.” James rises from the ground. He sways a bit, winded from the exchange. “I should have told you earlier today. Disciple blood has healing properties.”
“Does this mean I’m going to turn into a vampire now?”
“Only if you die within the next few hours. But my blood should pass through your system by morning. You won’t have to worry about that after then.” He wipes heavy sweat from his forehead.
“Are you okay?”
“You took more blood than I was expecting. But I’ll be fine.”
“We almost lost you,” Edith says. “If it hadn’t been for Nicholas…”
“Nicholas?”
Nicholas has been standing against the alley wall this entire time, concealed in shadow. He steps forward. Both of his hands are covered in blood. “Hello.”
“He found you first,” Edith adds. “Slayed the vampires responsible.”
Lucy and Henry round the corner. Her face lights up when she sees me. She rushes to give me a hug, then shoves my chest. “What were you thinking? Exposing yourself to the Fallen and inviting them to a foolish game of cat and mouse?”
“I did it to save you.”
She shoves me again. “I’m perfectly capable of saving myself.”
“Never mind what Manny did,” James interjects. He eyes Henry. “Where were you?”
“I” — Henry looks to the ground — “I was preoccupied.”
/>
“Preoccupied?”
Lucy steps between them. “Calm down, James. Henry was feeding.”
“Feeding? At the risk of my nephew’s life?” he growls. “If you truly understood the consequences of allowing that child to die at the hands of those miscreants, you would have never permitted hunger to interfere with his safety!” James’ hazel eyes erupt in green. “Do you even understand what’s at risk?”
“It’s not his fault,” Lucy argues. “I gave Henry permission to leave us. Of course, that was before I thought Manny would be careless enough to put his life in danger.”
“Exactly. Manny is unfamiliar with the risks. But Henry knows better,” James spits, shoving Henry against the alley wall.
Lucy reinserts herself between them. “Don’t touch him.”
James brushes her aside. She stumbles.
“Hey,” I bark. “Knock it off!”
James ignores me. He continues to take his aggression out on Henry. “Promise me this will never happen again!”
Henry cowers. “I’m sorry. This will never happen again.”
James pins Henry’s throat against the brick wall. “Promise me.”
Lucy lunges forward and swings her arm toward James’ head. He winces and releases Henry, cupping a fresh gash across his cheek. Lucy’s silver crucifix dangles from her hand, a hint of James’ blood on the tip. “You are never to touch any of us like that ever again,” she demands. “Do you hear me?”
James nods, ashamed, and his eyes return to their normal shade of hazel. His aggression dissipates. “I’m sorry. I…got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
But Henry is still shaken up. He begins rocking back and forth, hugging his sides. “James is right. This is my fault.”
Lucy kneels by his side. “No, Henry. It isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. If I had been stronger-willed, if I had resisted longer, until we had returned to the manor, this never would have happened.”
“On the contrary, Henry,” Nicholas interjects, “we have you to thank for such a successful end. Don’t we, Edie?”
“Oh, yes. If you hadn’t alerted us to Emmanuel’s disappearance in time, I daresay the lad would be nothing but skin and bones. You’re a hero.”
“A hero?” Henry replies, hopeful.
Lucy plays along. “Yes, of course. Isn’t he, Manny?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
She looks to me expectantly. “Henry’s a hero, isn’t he?”
“Right” — is this really happening? — “you’re the hero, mate” — even though I’m the one who nearly died saving Lucy’s life.
She helps him to his feet. “Now you see, Henry, everyone’s in agreement. Come, come, let’s get you back to the manor.”
He nods, pitiful, resting his head on Lucy’s shoulder. “Okay.”
This is unbelievable.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asks me.
Why? So I can watch you coddle Henry all the way home? “No, you two go on ahead. I still have to find the Phantom.”
“I should get going, as well,” Nicholas says. “I can’t be roaming the streets of Hove covered in vampire blood.”
“Thank you, Nicholas. For saving me.”
“Yes,” Lucy says, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Nicholas.”
“It was my pleasure. And besides, you’re no good to us dead,” he jests, raising the corner of his mouth into a half smile.
Once the three of them have gone, I address the two piles of clothing and soot littering the ground. “Is that the vampires?”
Edith joins my side. “It’s what’s left of them. From dust we came, and to dust we shall return.” She makes the sign of the cross and bows her head in silent prayer, a brief silent prayer. “Now, who’s up for tea?”
Irelay the story of my attack to James and Edith as she prepares a tray of cookies and tea in her single room at the Autumn Terrace. By the end of my account, Edith’s worked herself into a tizzy. “I told Micah. I warned him. Every day the boy remains a Daemon is another day he is exposed.” She pours boiling water into a porcelain cup and adds an unmarked tea bag from her purse. She hands the drink to me.
I’m hesitant. “What is it?”
“Chamomile,” Edith huffs, offended by my suspicion. She makes herself a cup, as well, muttering under her breath: “You’d think I was giving the boy a draught of Baronblade or Hemonox.”
“Easy, Edie,” James says. “You can’t blame him for being paranoid, especially if you take into account the reckless interaction you two had after Isidore’s funeral.”
Edith tugs on her steeping tea bag. “It was not a reckless interaction. It was a controlled demonstration. And I never meant to cause you any serious harm. I was only proving to Micah how weak your defenses are and how dire it is you be baptized immediately. I’d have explained myself better had you accepted my initial offer for tea.” She reaches for the tray of cookies. “Biscuit?”
I grab a handful, too hungry to refuse. “Whatever you did, you made your point. That demonstration was the most painful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Wonderful,” she exclaims. “Not that I caused you pain, dearie, that the demonstration was effective. It’s always nice to be complimented on my talent.”
“That was your talent?”
“Yes. The Talent of Submission. I’m a Dolorouge. It’s not a glamorous gift like Influence, but it’s a gift, nonetheless. And” — she points a bony finger in my direction — “if you were a Disciple, you’d have been better equipped to defend yourself by now. Isn’t that right, Francis?”
My eyes scan the room. “Francis?”
“She’s referring to me,” James remarks. “Edie, I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that.”
I muffle a smile. “Your real name’s Francis?”
“It’s his Patron name. A beautiful name.”
“I prefer to be called James.”
“What’s a Patron name?” I ask.
“It’s an obligatory ritual,” James replies. “Upon Baptism, a Saved is designated a Patron name by his Sire as a reflection of his Discipleship. Your father’s namesake was Saint Isidore, Patron of Farmers. Mine was Saint Francis.”
“Patron of Families,” Edith adds.
“Yes. But contrary to my brother, I’m very much content with my Living name.”
Edith scoffs. “Have you given any thought to whom your Patron might be?”
I shake my head.
“Not now, Edie. The boy’s just survived a near-death experience. There are bigger things to worry about than pointless tradition. Let his mind rest.”
But it can’t rest, not after what I’ve seen. “While I was being fed on, I dreamt about something. At least, I think it was a dream. It’s strange because I’m not really sure. I was with Miss Maggie, the nanny who used to take care of me, and I was smaller, maybe three or four years old. We were playing some game in the pasture, and while she was looking for me, I echoed. We both did. Then I saw my mother, and after she called out to me, I phasmed to meet her. Then it started to feel less like a dream and more like…a memory. But I don’t have any memories of my abilities when I used to live here.”
James is pensive. “Yes, that is odd.”
“I disagree,” Edith states. “If it was a memory you recalled, it can only mean the return of your Daemon abilities is unlocking events from your past. That’s wonderful, dearie. A good sign. You should be elated. I know Isidore would, God rest his soul.”
Edith’s right. I should be happy. But if it was in fact a memory I uncovered, it means Miss Maggie was also a Disciple, which begs the question: Where is she now?
“Your father…” Edith continues, blushing with nostalgia. “Oh, Emmanuel, there wasn’t a thing he couldn’t accomplish. That’s why he was slain, you see, for his ambition. His amb
ition was his downfall. Isidore was one of the most revered Devangelists of his day, but that prestige came with as many enemies as it did allies. He was a leader through and through, determined to see the Afterliving succeed, and it’s because of his relentless service that our European bloodstocks have become so plentiful. Why, thanks to Isidore, there are Stockton Farms and Allotments every thousand kilometers from here to Austria,” she says proudly. “With the exception of Germany, of course.”
“Why Germany?”
“It’s a condition of the Discarnate Treaty,” James explains, “excluding Germany from providing baptismal sanctuary. It’s been a zero-tolerance zone for siring since 1945.”
“You guys have a treaty?”
“Of course there’s a treaty,” Edith laughs. “Claiming and siring are sacred processes. They require careful preparation and execution. You do know what claiming is?”
I shake my head.
“It’s what Lycains do,” James replies. “It’s how they grow in numbers. With a scratch, the Living is Marked, and if the Lycain responsible is not destroyed by the next Full Moon, the Living will die unless Claimed.”
“He means bitten,” Edith clarifies, “by a Wolf.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” James continues, “after three moons’ time, the human will have their Turning and enter service to the Demiguard. And once a human passes from Marked to Claimed, they cannot be Saved.”
Edith nods. “According to the Discarnate Treaty, Lycains and Disciples are only permitted to claim and save one night each month and one day each year. And no more than twelve candidates per pack or Fellowship. Lycains are assigned every night of the Full Moon. Disciples, every night of the New. And both parties, on April fifth.”
“Why April fifth?”
Edith spits out her tea. “Why April fifth? You don’t know what April fifth is? It’s the day Christ was Risen, Emmanuel. The birth of the Afterliving. Saints have mercy, Francis.”
The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1) Page 17