We were on the third floor when a small group of vampires came darting down the stairs. They had blood covering them, their clothes were ripped—and they barely even looked in our direction. But that didn’t stop me from unloading my M-16 with silver-bullet ammunition into them. They collapsed, their hearts shredded from the barrage of silver from my gun and the men unleashing their own weapons by my side. Sure, knives were my favorite, but this was easier when it came to distance killing.
There was more scrambling on the floor above us. Something was causing an all-out panic. Surely it couldn’t just be the sight of the wraiths? I mean, yeah, they were scary-looking, but this wasn’t a kids’ slumber party they were crashing. This was the stronghold of a Master vampire who’d been around when Jesus walked the earth. You’d think the undead would be a little harder to rattle.
“This is almost too easy,” Ian whispered, echoing my thoughts.
Vlad shot him a sardonic glance. “Never underestimate Patra’s ability to make a grand entrance.”
“Stay sharp,” Bones said. “Whatever’s going on, the shank of it is taking place up there. Let’s join the party.”
There were two more sets of vampires on our way up the stairs. They were each running as if from hell itself, which made it more of a slaughter than a fight to take them down. The closer we got, the more frenzied the commotion sounded above us. Finally we reached the floor where the noise was the loudest, and followed those horrible screams to the room they were coming from.
There was no guard at the door, and it was open. Vlad sent a ball of flame ahead of us, but it didn’t prove to be necessary. We entered the room without anyone jumping out at us, and once inside, I stopped and stared.
Patra, far from the elegant, imposing figure I’d seen before, was writhing on the ground. Blood came from her nose, mouth, eyes, and various parts of her body. All around her—God, all through her—the wraiths converged. They coiled around her body like gray snakes, whipping her about, diving straight into her only to come out the other side and do it all over again. She kept screaming for help, in a number of languages, it sounded like.
Even as we watched, a wild-eyed vampire, who couldn’t have been older than fifteen when he was changed, was flung away from her with both arms missing. The wraith nearest to him—was that Zero?—dove into his chest until it disappeared entirely. The vampire screamed, and then there was a pop and he came apart. His head, legs, and torso went in different directions. The wraith appeared out of the wreckage of his body, hovered for a second, and then returned to Patra until he was indistinguishable from the other blurring gray forms encasing her.
All around us were the bodies of her fallen guards. There were scores of them, and they looked like they’d been similarly blasted from the inside out. Pieces of them, their clothing and weapons were scattered everywhere. Those lethal shadows who’d done this amazing amount of carnage ignored us and continued to pitilessly torment Patra.
She was contorted in agony, her skin bubbling up each time one of them drove in and out of her. I was certain her insides had to be pureed from this. Seeing what they’d done to her guards let me know they could have killed her if they’d wanted to. The fact that she was still alive said their idea of vengeance was much more sinister than mere death.
Bones held his hand out. “Everyone stay back,” he said, and gripped his knife.
I cast a frantic look at the decimated guards. “If you go near her, those wraiths will rip you to pieces!”
He brushed my face. “Not me. Don’t you see? Mencheres knew it would come to this. He saw it. That’s why he chose me to share his power with. It still connects us, so I’m the only person they won’t harm. I can feel them…and as they can’t hurt him, they can’t hurt me.”
He dropped his hand and walked toward Patra. I don’t think she was even aware of him. She didn’t seem to be aware of anything even though her eyes were open. Blood continued to streak from her as she was besieged by the merciless, tireless remains of the men she’d murdered from her spell last night.
One of the grayish figures rose from her and streaked to Bones when he came within a dozen feet. I started forward, but the whiplash of his voice stopped me.
“Stay back!”
I wasn’t the only one who paused. So did the thing, who I saw with pained recognition was Tick Tock. Or it used to be. All that was left of him now was a rage-filled shadow. But he froze, hovering where he was even though he was quivering with what I guessed to be a conflicting desire to attack.
Bones kept coming forward. I alternately gripped my knives and let them go in frustration—not much good they could do against pissed-off phantoms! The other wraiths soon slowed their assault on Patra to glare in Bones’s direction. He held out a hand to them in much the same way he’d done moments ago to us.
“Stay. Back.”
Bones growled the words, and I felt the power roll off him with each syllable. The wraiths responded by retreating with each forward step he took. Soon they weren’t touching Patra, but were poised in crouching threat on the ground just beyond where she lay.
After a few seconds, Patra quit her frenzied thrashing, and the countless welts on her began to heal. Her eyes, those big, lovely dark orbs, lost some of their mindless panic—and then widened as she saw who was now standing over her.
“You’re dead!” Patra exclaimed, as if saying it would make it real. She began to edge away from him, stopped when she saw that she was inching closer to the silently snarling wraiths with that motion, and then looked around for help.
“No, luv,” Bones said with quiet grimness. “You are.”
I saw realization grow on her face as her gaze took in the bodies of her fallen guards, the rest of us standing in the doorway with numerous weapons at the ready, and the wraiths forming an impenetrable barrier behind her. If ever a person was trapped, it was her, and she knew it. Patra threw her head back and let out a cry of rage.
“Damn you, Mencheres! Do you have no mercy?”
I marveled at her nerve. After all she’d done, she truly expected Mencheres to step in and save her? Knowing full well she’d just try to kill him as soon as he did?
. Bones caught her when she attempted to scramble away. She yanked back, trying to wrestle the knife from his hand…and that’s when Mencheres shouldered past Spade.
For a split second, Patra froze. Her gaze—pleading, desperate—met his. A glance showed his face was streaked with colored tears. I tensed, wondering if we’d have to jump on him en masse to prevent him from interfering, when he bowed his head.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
Bones rammed his knife through Patra’s chest, giving it a sharp twist that stilled her. Her eyes were still fixed on Mencheres, an expression of pained disbelief stamped on her face. Then, as inevitable as time itself, her features began to tighten. Her skin lost that lustrous honey shine, and when Bones dropped her to the floor, she was already starting to wither.
Behind her body, an invisible wind blew. The twenty-three wraiths slowly disintegrated into the breeze until there was nothing left of them but a faint gray dusting on the ground. Bones let out a long sigh.
“Perhaps now you can rest in peace, my friends. Someday, I shall see you again.”
EPILOGUE
W E BURIED RANDY A WEEK LATER. DON falsified documents to make it appear that Randy had been the victim of a tragic car accident. One that had necessitated a closed coffin. Denise was staying with Bones and me, at my insistence. She blamed herself for not forcing Randy to stay with her instead of leaving that room to help us. I tried to comfort her, but in reality, I was helpless. There was nothing I could do but be there for her. I couldn’t do much, but I could do that.
Mencheres buried Patra himself. Where, I didn’t know. Bones didn’t, either, and he didn’t care. She was dead, that was enough for him.
It was enough for the remainder of her people as well. Some sought refuge under other Masters’ lines. Some struck out on their own, and some even
contacted Bones to throw themselves on his mercy. Depending on their place in her hierarchy, he granted it. After all, Patra had been around for a long time, and killing every remaining person under her line would have been mass murder on an epic scale.
A few were underlings who’d followed her with no choice, so for them, Bones negotiated truces. They gave him the details on her fortune, and he gave them the right to live without looking over their shoulders. Those higher in Patra’s rule, however, Bones didn’t negotiate with. No, he used some of Patra’s staggering wealth to offer bounties on them. Mercenaries were crawling out of the proverbial woodwork to hunt them down with the prices they had on their heads.
We hadn’t seen Mencheres since the night he’d gathered Patra’s body and left. That had been over two months ago. He kept in touch by phone, but he was holed up somewhere. Bones didn’t press him, though he told me he couldn’t understand what on earth had made Mencheres love Patra to begin with, let alone after everything she’d done. I didn’t understand, either, but love had no sense sometimes. Pondering the why of it was futile.
So far there had been no repercussions for the forbidden magic Mencheres unleashed. Some notable Master vampires had grumbled, but since Patra had pulled two no-nos to our one, there weren’t many who wanted to do anything about it. Or they were afraid of Mencheres, since he was one of the few people who was both old enough to know those spells—and strong enough to work them. Maybe they were concerned they’d be next. I knew I was pretty glad to be on Mencheres’s good side, after seeing all I had. The idea that one day Bones might be able to wield similar power bothered me. Some things shouldn’t be possible, and it was scary to know they were.
But for now, I wasn’t going to worry about it. I had the man I loved by my side, and my best friend to help through her grief. The future would have to worry about itself.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have to thank God first. No one else has the patience to listen to so many of my fears, gripes, or countless ideas—at least, not without charging me therapy bills.
Next, sincerest thanks to my editor, Erika Tsang, for keeping me on track with my stories, and going above and beyond with her support and enthusiasm.
The saying, “it takes a village,” should apply to books as well, because many thanks are due to Thomas Egner, for yet another gorgeous cover; Buzzy Porter, for helping get the word out on my books; Carrie Feron, Liate Stehlik, Esi Sogah, Karen Davy, and the rest of the dedicated team at Avon Books/HarperCollins, for more things than I’m probably even aware of.
Thanks to Melissa Marr, Ilona Andrews, and Tage Shokker, for your invaluable early feedback on how to make this story better. Also many thanks are due to Tage Shokker, Erin Horn, and Marcy Funderburk, for all your hard work on my fan site. You ladies are awesome!
To the Night Huntress fans, your support and excitement for this series have been unbelievable. Thank you all so much! I couldn’t do any of this without you.
Thanks to my husband, parents, and family. You keep me sane enough to write and crazy enough to come up with new things to write about. (Just kidding! Maybe.) Thanks also again to Melissa Marr, because winding roads are best traveled with friends.
About the Author
JEANIENE FROST lives with her husband and their very spoiled dog in Florida. Although not a vampire herself, she confesses to having pale skin, wearing a lot of black, and sleeping in late whenever possible. And while she can’t see ghosts, she loves to walk through old cemeteries. Jeaniene also loves poetry and animals, but fears children and hates to cook. She is currently at work on the next Night Huntress novel.
To know more about Jeaniene, please visit her website at www.jeanienefrost.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
By Jeaniene Frost
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AT GRAVE’S END. Copyright © 2009 by Jeaniene Frost. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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