Lovers Sacrifice

by R. A. Steffan

  Oksana took the weapon, testing its weight and balance. “This will kill him?”

  “It will drain him. If your strength is greater than his strength, it will destroy him,” Mama Lovelie explained. “You need only break his skin—even a tiny cut will release the magic.”

  “And if his strength is greater than Oksana’s?” Mason asked.

  “Then it will destroy her.”

  “This is utter and complete madness,” Mason stated baldly.

  “This is warfare,” the mambo retorted. “And warfare always brings madness in its wake.”

  *

  Minutes later, the sound of a sputtering engine outside broke the early evening peace. The vampires had been discussing last minute plans and contingencies, but they looked up at the approaching racket.

  “Ah, good,” Mama Lovelie said. “He came.”

  “Who came?” Mason asked, angling a glance out the window, where an ancient Ford truck with a generous flatbed was coming to a halt in front of the house, its brakes squealing in protest.

  “Beatrice’s grandfather used to be the village healer before his oldest daughter—Beatrice’s aunt—took over. Their family is one of only three in the village to still have a working vehicle with fuel in it. I asked the girl to tell her grandfather what was happening and request his assistance. I fear that you may have need of additional help.”

  Mason took that in for a moment. “He was a healer, you say? A medical man? What kind of training does he have—do you know?”

  Mama Lovelie shrugged. “The same as any village healer, though I believe he also went to the city to learn from some American missionary doctors for a few weeks when he was younger.”

  Mason met the others’ eyes. “Better than nothing,” he said. “If he’s willing to risk the danger, this bloke really could be helpful to us.”

  A stoop-shouldered man with wiry gray curls exited the truck and walked up to knock on the door.

  “Come in, Anel!” the mambo called.

  The door creaked on its hinges, admitting the newcomer.

  “Evening, Esther,” he greeted, his voice hoarse with age and cigarettes. “Heard you’ve got some folks heading out to do something brave and stupid.”

  “It’s almost like he’s known us for years,” Xander quipped, reaching out to shake his hand. He cast an admiring glance out the window, taking in the ancient vehicle outside. “Love the truck, by the way. Nineteen-fifty-eight F-500?”

  Anel gave Xander the same sort of once-over Xander had given the truck. “Fifty-nine, in fact. When they introduced the four-wheel-drive option.”

  “Ah, brilliant!” Xander enthused. “Though it does sound like your engine timing is a bit off. I could take a peek under the hood for you when we get back.”

  The old man shrugged, a hint of wry amusement lurking behind his dark eyes. “If you like, friend. Though there’s only so much to be done for an aging inline six-cylinder engine with no access to either parts or machine tools.”

  “Even so,” Xander said, “I could still have a look.”

  Both Duchess and Oksana were staring rather pointedly at their fellow vampire, Mason noticed. A moment later, Xander cleared his throat and backed off a bit.

  Mason came forward to take his place and offered his hand. “Dr. Mason Walker. Pleased to meet you. Mama Lovelie said you were a medical man as well, and might be willing to help us?”

  “Well met, Mason,” the man said, shaking his hand with a firm grip that belied his obvious age. “Call me Anel—everybody else does. If you’re going after these poor children, I’ll help you as much as I’m able. Though I’m sure you know there’s not much to be done for the ones like that girl they buried today.”

  “Even the use of your truck would be immensely helpful,” Oksana said. “We can’t ask you to risk yourself by coming—”

  Anel made a scoffing noise. “Nonsense. First off, I’m one of very few people who can sweet-talk that old junk heap into running for more than ten minutes at a stretch. And second, one of the few benefits of being elderly and decrepit is that you can take foolish chances, knowing you don’t have all that much left to lose.”

  “Well then,” Xander said cheerfully, “welcome aboard. The evening express to Crazytown is about to embark.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any medical supplies with you?” Mason asked. “I know they’re scarce these days, but we’re not sure what we’re likely to find if we do get these kids out.”

  “I brought along whatever I could scrounge,” Anel told him. “Nothing fancy, but I’ve at least got some clean bandages and herbs for a sedating tea.”

  Duchess cocked her head. “And did your petite-fille Beatrice tell you about the three of us?”

  Anel raised a bushy eyebrow. “She did, nightwalker. But I mostly leave that sort of thing to Esther, here.” He indicated Mama Lovelie with a small wave of his hand. “So, are we ready to go?”

  With a deep breath, Mason looked around the group. “As we’ll ever be, I imagine. Assuming we know where we’re going, of course. Do we?”

  The mambo answered. “The most recent gossip says that the bokor is holed up in the village of Savaneaux, about ten miles from here.”

  Anel nodded. “Hmm. Makes sense. The war’s already been through there. Not too much left of the place, I imagine. The people who weren’t killed will have fled to other villages, most likely.”

  “In that case, let’s get underway,” Xander said. “Moonlight’s burning.”

  Anel shrugged. “Fine by me. I can fit two of you in the cab, but the other two will have to ride in the back.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Oksana said. “Mason can ride with you, but we’ll fly.”

  “Yes, better to get a view from above,” Duchess agreed. “We’ll have more of an idea of what we’re up against.”

  “Whatever you say,” Anel told them. “Like I said, I try to leave those sorts of things to other people.”

  *

  An hour or so later, the truck was creaking and jouncing along a disused road leading into the abandoned village of Savaneaux. Mason had climbed into the cab of the old vehicle, and when he’d turned back, Oksana and the others had disappeared.

  Occasionally, the flash of a feathered wing would appear in the illumination of the ancient headlamps, only to disappear an instant later. Anel kept up a steady stream of conversation, asking Mason about what he was doing back in Port-au-Prince with the child soldiers, and telling stories about the odd and amusing things he’d seen over the years as a village healer.

  Distances could be deceiving in Haiti with the rough, pothole-riddled roads, but Mason thought they must be getting close. His suspicions were confirmed a few minutes later when a familiar dark-haired figure appeared in the middle of the road in front of them and lifted a hand, palm out.

  “Merde!” Anel cursed, hitting the brakes and causing the truck to judder to a stop. “Give an old man a heart attack before we even get to the village, why don’t you!”

  Flapping wings descended on either side of Oksana, and an instant later, Xander and Duchess were flanking her. She came around to Anel’s side of the cab.

  “There’s no cover to speak of ahead,” she said. “We should leave the truck here and go the rest of the way on foot. The engine noise and headlights will draw too much attention. Savaneaux is a little less than a kilometer away, just over the next hill. Anel, you should probably stay here with the truck.”

  Anel snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I may be old, but I can still walk. And if you need my help with the children, you’ll need it in Savaneaux, not here.”

  “It will be dangerous, Anel,” Mason warned.

  “Really?“ Anel said dryly. “A rogue bokor tearing children’s souls apart and you think it might be dangerous? Not only can I still walk, Mason, but I’m also not an idiot.”

  As much as he hated the idea of putting the old man in harm’s way any more than they already had, Mason knew that they needed his help. />
  “Then I guess we’d better get going,” he said. “We’ll take the most vital of the medical supplies with us and leave the rest in the truck. Hopefully the fact that the fighting has already been here and moved on means the supplies—and the truck, for that matter—still be here when we get back.”

  “Give me the dagger,” Oksana said. “I’ll approach with you on foot, while Duchess and Xander fly in and start searching for the children.”

  Mason rummaged in his pack and came up with the blackened knife, wrapped securely in sackcloth. Something about it sent a shiver up his spine as he handed it over to Oksana. She took it, being careful not to let their fingers brush as she did.

  Another faint shock passed through Mason as Xander and Duchess took to the skies—not as owls, this time, but as pale swirls of mist. He’d been warned, of course, but even so…

  “Come on,” Oksana said, watching them as they disappeared into the night air above. “Let’s go.”

  The approach to the village was indeed exposed. Deforestation was rampant on the island, most of the trees around populated areas having long ago been harvested for building materials and cooking fires. The overworked soil meant that only low tufts of grass and weeds hugged the ground around Savaneaux, offering no cover.

  As they grew close, it became apparent that the village was, in fact, deserted. No lamps or hearths lit the falling-down buildings, and the quiet was absolute. So absolute that Mason had sudden doubts as to whether their objective was even here. They were operating on rumor and hearsay, so there were surely no guarantees.

  “What happens if we don’t find him? Or the children?” Mason whispered.

  “He’s here,” Oksana replied in the same low voice. “I can feel him, and the others have just located the place where he’s keeping the children. At least some of them are still whole.”

  “How can you know that?” Mason asked.

  “Duchess told me,” she said. “We can communicate mentally across moderate distances, as long as we aren’t shielding our thoughts.”

  Telepathy. That’s right, the vampires had fucking telepathy. Xander had alluded to something of the sort, but Mason had mostly discounted it. A hundred new questions jostled to join the thousand he already had, but this was not the time. He’d seen enough by this point that his first reaction wasn’t to assume she was delusional, though a few days ago it probably would have been.

  “All right,” he said, quashing any other words that might have tried to slip free.

  “Look,” Anel said, pointing at a relatively large structure illuminated by the weak moonlight. “The peristil is still mostly intact.”

  He was right—one corner of the roof had collapsed, but the rest of the open-air building appeared undamaged.

  “That seems like a good place for the others to bring the children once they’re free,” he said. “Can you convey that to them?”

  “Agreed, and yes, I’ll tell them,” said Oksana. “There’s no one nearby. Let’s go in.”

  The shadows under the peristil roof were so deep as to be almost impenetrable, even though the structure only had two walls. Anel flicked the wheel of an old metal cigarette lighter, and the tiny flame lit the area around them sufficiently to show that everything of value had been cleared out during the looting.

  “This will do,” Oksana confirmed, and set to pulling items from Mason’s knapsack.

  He’d assumed the bottle of spirits inside had been intended for disinfecting wounds or instruments, and the flour, for preparing food if they were forced to stay in the bush with the children for any extended length of time. So he was surprised when she opened both and began sprinkling them onto the dirt floor.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Anel answered. “She’s laying out protective markings, to keep the bokor’s power from gaining entrance to this place.”

  “And here I thought you didn’t deal with the spirit world,” Oksana chided. “Though I should warn you, if the loa don’t favor me, they may not come, and the protection won’t work.” She straightened, frowning at the bottle and the bag of flour. “In fact, maybe you should be doing this.”

  Anel waved the words away. “I wouldn’t have the first idea about it, nightwalker. Besides, I’ve never been able to draw anything more artistic than stick figures. Bad stick figures, at that. We’ll be safer leaving it to you.”

  Oksana looked unhappy, but she resumed laying out the complex geometric patterns around the edge of the usable space in the damaged building. Anel’s lighter flickered out a few moments later, but Mason could still hear her moving around. By the time she was done, his eyes had adjusted enough to make out the other two as darker shadows against the gray.

  When Oksana approached him, he lifted a hand, aiming for her shoulder, but finding the graceful sweep of her neck instead. She shivered at the touch, but it didn’t feel like a negative reaction, so he let his fingers slide down to grasp her upper arm.

  “I’m going now,” she said. “Stay quiet and stay inside the markings I laid down. With luck, this won’t take long and the others will get the children to you shortly. They’re waiting to make their move until I can distract the bokor.”

  “Can you tell where he is? Will the others know where to find you afterward?” Mason asked, his misgivings growing as she prepared to leave.

  “There’s a lone person moving around near the square at the center of the village,” Oksana told him. “That’s where I’m headed.”

  She started to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her arm.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  “I’m a vampire. We’re hard to kill,” she replied. “Don’t worry about me; worry about the kids.”

  He took a deep breath. “We need to talk, afterward—once the children are settled. Promise me, Oksana.”

  That odd sense of foreboding—of dread, almost—was still swelling in the pit of his stomach.

  “I—” she began, only to cut herself off. She seemed to waver for a moment, and then a small hand was cupping his cheek, guiding him down to her level. Soft, full lips pressed against his, and his fingers squeezed her arm convulsively.

  “I promise,” she whispered, after pulling back with every indication of reluctance. An instant later, she slipped away, leaving him with his hand still poised in midair, grasping nothing.

  He stood there for several moments, fighting the sick feeling churning in his gut.

  “Well, well, Dr. Mason Walker,” Anel said. “That’s a hard path you’ve chosen.”

  His hand fell. “What do you mean?”

  The old healer made a scoffing noise. “Loving a nightwalker? Such creatures aren’t of our world.”

  “It’s not really something I chose,” Mason said. “It just sort of… happened.”

  He crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits as a sudden chill swept over him despite the balmy island night. What was causing this awful sense of impending disaster? Everything was going smoothly so far. Going exactly to plan, in fact. He started to pace, feeling as if he had to move or he’d crawl right out of his skin.

  “You want to follow her, don’t you?” Anel said. “You sense that something is wrong.”

  Mason swallowed the growl of frustration that tried to rise from his chest, and continued pacing. “I can’t follow her. I need to stay here and help the children when they arrive.”

  Silence stretched, broken only by the sound of feral dogs yipping in the distance.

  “You should go,” Anel said eventually, his voice quiet in the darkness. “I’ll stay. I may not have fancy letters behind my name, but I can bandage cuts and calm frightened children—I’ve been doing those things longer than you’ve been alive, son. Your heart knows something your mind doesn’t about what is going to happen. Best listen to it.”

  Mason’s instincts pounced on the offer, demanding that he accept it and go now before it was too late. He clenched his jaw.

  “Are you sure?”

&nbs
p; “I’m not in the habit of saying things I’m not sure of, Mason. The village square is in that direction.” Anel took Mason’s shoulders and pointed him the right way. “Go. Hurry.”

  Mason took a deep breath and went.

  THIRTEEN

  TORCHES BURST INTO FLAME around the village square, illuminating it as Oksana approached with the dagger held ready in her hand. It was clear that the bokor was making no effort to conceal his presence, for all that he was still hidden from her view.

  A laugh echoed around the open space, harsh and chilling.

  “Well now, little nightcrawler,” a deep voice boomed, “look at you! Neither loup garou nor gros-bon-ange… whatever am I to make of you?”

  She did not respond, knowing the sound of her own voice would make it more difficult to pinpoint the small noises that might alert her to the man’s location—the rustle of fabric, the beating of a heart. Oksana looked around carefully. Several of the rough buildings around the edge of the common area were badly damaged, as if by mortars. But a couple on the northwest corner had escaped the fighting relatively unscathed.

  She lifted her chin, scanning the shadows with sharp eyes. The darkness under the cover of a front porch was broken by a white slash of teeth bared in a cruel grin.

  “Come out. Face me,” she called.

  The bokor stepped from the shadow of the building, still grinning. His expression reminded her of a shark’s.

  He was powerfully built, and darkly handsome. The loa had not been miserly in their gifts when they aided him, but the nature of the deal he had struck was visible within his cold, flat eyes. It was apparent from that blank abyss the loa had not been stingy when extracting their payment, either.

  I have him, she sent to Xander and Duchess. Get the children. Hurry.

  “Why would you do this?” she asked the bokor, hoping to draw him out while the others worked. “Why children?”

  Her enemy titled his head, as if considering her. “The path of least resistance is always the best path,” he said. “The spirits require payment in souls—more and more, every year. Children are easy prey. Simple to acquire and to control.”