Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck

by Anders Rauff-Nielsen

  “You're welcome, Mr. McCoy,” Blake replied.

  “Harlan, please. If we are going to work together forever, we might as well dispense with the titles sooner than later.”

  “Harlan it is then,” Blake said and paused before taking a bold move. “And what about you, sir. What should I call you?” Blake asked Dæth. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harlan's face creased and it was clear to Blake that it was not the right question to ask.

  “Sir will do just fine, Mr. Beck,” Dæth replied before Harlan took hold of the conversation again to save Blake from making another faux pas.

  “As you probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation in Dæth's study, we have received interesting information from an informant among the undead nobility in Aquraa.” It didn't really ring any bells with Blake, but he kept his mouth shut, allowing McCoy to continue. “It seems that Mr. Ferre has finally found the key to deciphering the famous Voynich manuscript. The manuscript is a medieval text written in an unknown language, which no one – despite the fact that every effort has been made – has been able to decipher over the centuries. So far the text has kept its secrets from the world, but perhaps it will not keep them for long now. We know that Mr. Ferre has sought to decipher the manuscript for several centuries as he believes it to contain the description of a powerful dark arts ritual that would let him summon souls from one world into another.”

  “Sir?” Blake remarked to let Harlan know that there was a considerable risk of losing him.

  “Well, there are several worlds in existence, as you know?” McCoy paused, waiting for Blake to give some kind of acknowledgment that he understood this.

  “Yes. The real world and Shades.”

  “Yes, that is sort of true, except the real world, as you call it, is no more real than any of the other worlds.”

  “I know, but . . .” Blake was unable to finish his sentence before Harlan continued.

  “Now there is Shades, where we are now, as you mention, but there are also other worlds. There are several afterlives where some souls are sent after judgment, but in this case there is one world that is of particular interest: the world we call the Grey.”

  “The Grey, sir? I mean . . . Harlan.”

  “Yes, the Grey is a virtually empty world of infinite size, said to be like an infinity of thick grey fog. This is where we – the Hunters – exile the undead we capture as a punishment for their crimes. A world where they will be completely alone with their own thoughts until the end of eternity. This is generally considered the harshest punishment that we are able to measure out. Especially since there is no known way to return from the Grey, so those there are lost with the full knowledge that there is no hope for them.”

  “OK,” Blake replied.

  “Now the Voynich manuscript is known to have been written by the Sol Niger alchemists. They were a congregation of alchemists, most of whom lived in the area of Schleswig-Holstein in the lower part of the Jutland peninsula during the 15th and 16th century.” Harlan paused for a second or two just to let Blake catch up. “We know that the Sol Niger carried on the works of Nicolas Flamel, who is one of the most accomplished alchemists of all time and who is thought to have found the way to immortality. Some call it the ‘elixir of life,’ some ‘the fountain of youth’ and yet others equate this with the legendary ‘philosopher's stone.’”

  “Immortality?” Blake asked.

  “Yes – immortality. However, contrary to the common belief of alchemist lore, we are convinced that Flamel discovered a way to immortality that was, in fact, a ritual that allowed the summoning of souls between worlds. This would effectively allow for the resurrection of the dead and thus potentially an eternity for them in life.”

  “And this is the ritual you believe is described in the Voynich manuscript?”

  “Exactly. Which brings us back to where I started. While the alchemists sought everlasting life, the ritual presents a much more grim prospect. It is thought to offer the power to summon back willing souls from any afterlife, which means that it will offer Mr. Ferre the power to summon back his old allies whom we have exiled into the Grey.”

  “So he will be able to bring back those undead destroyed by the Hunters?”

  “Not those destroyed, no. They are gone forever, like those who have been consumed by the vampires. But Mr. Ferre will be able to bring back those whom we have sentenced to an eternity of punishment – which is most of the undead we have been able to hunt down. We destroy them only if we do not have the option to exile them into the Grey – for destruction offers them a peace that we do not see fit to grant them,” McCoy said.

  “So this means that the most powerful and vile undead ever caught by the Hunters will return if Mr. Ferre gets his hands on the ritual?” Blake asked.

  “That is the concern, yes,” McCoy replied. Blake sat there in silence pondering what Harlan had just told him.

  “So? What do you want me to do about it?” Blake finally asked.

  “Our source has informed us of another manuscript reportedly written by Flamel himself. This manuscript has been unearthed in a private collection in Bath, England, and it is now being put up for auction by the newly deceased collector's son.” Harlan halted his speech and took a sip of water from a glass on the table in front of him. “This Flamel manuscript is thought to be a ‘Rosetta Stone’ for deciphering the Voynich manuscript. That is why we need to get our hands on it without anyone – living or dead – getting wind of our actions.”

  “OK,” Blake said in a tone of voice that clearly implied his next question. “How?”

  “We have discussed it and our solution is actually simple,” McCoy answered, looking rather pleased with himself. “We know that the manuscript will remain at the deceased collector's home for the next few days until the auction house collects it for safekeeping prior to the auction,” McCoy started. “Now, a CAC unit from the London branch already has the house under guard, but that is of little issue as our source has led us to believe that the undead will buy the manuscript at the auction. Thinking that we do not know of the existence of the manuscript, the vampires will be intent on drawing as little attention as possible.” Blake nodded, urging McCoy to continue. “Tonight a CAC operative will gain access to the manuscript and photograph it in such detail that we may fabricate a slightly altered copy.” McCoy looked over at Dæth, who sat silently on the sofa across from them like a king letting his general lay out the plans to the officers. “We will then sell this copy at the auction house at a decoy auction that will take place at the same time and date as the real auction. We will make sure that the vampire buyer will be guided to this fake auction, which is possible because neither Mr. Ferre nor his buyer knows exactly what the real manuscript looks like.” Dæth smiled as he diverted his attention to the chessboard and moved the white queen from B3 to C4. “Now while the undead buys the fake manuscript from our decoy auction, our buyer will buy the real manuscript from the real auction and no one will ever know. The auction house gets a sale, the undead get a manuscript that won’t help them decipher the Voynich manuscript as they had hoped, and we win by taking not only the real Flamel manuscript, but also Mr. Ferre's money. And no one expects any foul play because everyone gets what they came for,” McCoy said with a con man's smile.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Blake said in full agreement with McCoy that this seemed to be a good plan, if not even a great one. “There is just one thing,” Blake said after a short pause.

  “Yes?”

  “Why don't we just switch the fake and the real manuscript before the auction, taking the real one for ourselves and letting the auction house sell the fake? No one would know,” Blake asked McCoy.

  “That is true, but while we can gain access to the manuscript in Bath tonight, by the time we have fabricated the fake, the manuscript will no longer be accessible. At that point it will be kept in the high security vault used by the auction house to store their most prized items – and I don't have to tell y
ou that gaining access to that vault is difficult, to say the least,” McCoy said.

  “Fair enough. So what? You want me to set up the fake auction on the big night?” Blake asked with a smile, anxious to get to work as a Hunter.

  “Yes. Think of it as easing into your new position,” McCoy replied, looking to Dæth to see if he had anything to add.

  “Well gentlemen, now you will both have to excuse me for I have business to attend to. I trust that you can see yourselves out,” Dæth said as he rose from his seat, forcing Blake and McCoy to mind their manners and do the same.

  “Of course, sir,” Harlan said as Blake gave a nod to let Dæth know that he too could find his own way out. Dæth straightened his lapel before he turned and walked out of the lounge, leaving Blake and McCoy alone.

  “So, how do I get to London?” Blake asked, feeling that this was a very relevant question.

  “Because this is your first time, I'll send Virgil to your home in the Entrance to see you off. But in the future you will be free to travel into life from anywhere in Shades.” Harlan started out of the lounge and walked down the corridor towards the hall with Blake following his lead, walking beside him. As they walked, McCoy continued to explain. “As you know, you can only travel into the world of the living during the night half of the day, just like the undead. We simply have no power strong enough to bind your dead soul in life during the daytime. Like the undead, if your soul remains in the world of the living beyond the night, its connection with Shades is severed and your soul will float off into the Grey.”

  “OK,” Blake said. They reached the hall and Harlan stopped.

  “Seeing as there are a few days to the auction, I will let you take time to get settled here in Shades. Now, I also have some business to attend to. I have to go riding with Dæth's wife, so you will have to excuse me.” Harlan picked up his coat and put it on. “Have a great journey back, and if you need anything before you leave, I'm sure that Elijah will oblige you.”

  “Thanks,” Blake replied. Then McCoy put on his Stetson and snapped the brim before he stepped out into the cold autumn rain.

  IV

  For ten long years since that fateful night at Sacré-Coeur, Vincenzo had been stuck in Shades. Blake Beck had won that night, but in Vincenzo's mind it was only because Blake had fought like a coward. Although Blake had destroyed his physical body that night – a body that Vincenzo had managed to preserve for almost five hundred years – forcing his soul into Shades, Vincenzo had managed to elude the Hunters long enough to seek refuge in Aquraa. There he had stayed for the last ten years, knowing full well that a vampire restricted to Shades is a much easier target for the Hunters than one who has the possibility to shift into the world of the living. But staying in Aquraa, he knew he would be safe. It had been a long wait, and at one point he had even contemplated attempting to shift into the body of a living person. However, Vincenzo knew it was too dangerous and that there was a reason why almost solely those undead that had gone mad from the strains of the afterlife or from too little feeding did this. He knew that entering a living body meant two souls contesting the same body, and if he lost the battle for control he would be imprisoned in the body until its death. Then, when the host eventually died, he would pass into the Grey rather than into Shades, as that ticket would be taken by the body's genuine soul. Finally, relief had come in the unexpected form of Mr. Ferre’s right hand Bahij Khaleel, who had approached Vincenzo and made him a proposition. Vincenzo knew that Bahij disliked him and the feeling was mutual. Bahij belonged to the group of conservatives who still upheld certain ideals of the living, which Vincenzo found both naive and inopportune: ideals such as honor. They restrained themselves from feeding on living souls unless it was necessary, limiting themselves to feeding on souls in Shades – presumably to draw less attention to the existence of their race. Vincenzo, like many others, thought differently. Their ideals had died with them, freeing them of the shackles of life and morality. To them, the restrained ways of the conservatives were a sign of weakness and lack of will to take the appropriate place of the alpha predator atop the food chain. However, no matter their differences, Bahij Khaleel had made Vincenzo an offer. Vincenzo would be granted a new body in the world of the living in return for serving Bahij in a venture, the details of which remained undisclosed to Vincenzo so far. He had accepted despite the lack of information because Bahij had given him one overshadowing reason to accept. Vincenzo would get the chance to face Blake Beck again. Finally, he would get a chance for revenge.

  Vincenzo stood looking out over the eastern city through the window of the room he had been given at the castle. He felt at home and more powerful than ever as he slept here at the proverbial bosom of Him, the first undead; he was in the house of the light bearer – the one who sheds light and brings hope to those doomed to an eternity in Shades. Vincenzo walked into the bedroom of his guest quarters and lay down on the bed, gazing into the canopy overhead. It was painted with a series of murals that depicted the myth of the fall of Him and the origin of the undead race. Vincenzo closed his eyes and felt the evening breeze extend its airy claws into the room through the open window. Khaleel had sorted out Vincenzo’s new host body and it was only a few minutes ago that a servant had knocked on the door and told him it was time. Vincenzo closed his eyes. Finally, after almost ten years, he would go back. He would go to London and aid Bahij Khaleel in his venture, and then he would once again be free to help himself from the buffet of life. Vincenzo had traveled into his own body thousands of times before Blake had destroyed it, but this was the first time he had ever taken a new body. With his eyes closed, he envisioned the two worlds flowing together. In silence he called upon the powers of Him that had been offered to Vincenzo in his second birth. The curtains of the bed gave way and he felt his soul dissipate as it shifted into the world of the living and into the waiting vessel.

  Vincenzo waited for his soul to settle into the new body, and as the thumping bass of the club’s electronic dance music manifested to his new senses, he slowly opened his eyes. He knew he had to take it slow at first, waiting until a full symbiosis was established between his soul and the new body. This process usually took a few days, during which he was likely to reminisce as the host body revolted. During reminiscence, experiences and memories stored in the host body's physiology surface, causing the invading soul to experience intense flashbacks to the body's lifetime. Some vampires would embrace these memories and the skills stored in the new vessel in order to become even stronger. Others would see the new vessel as merely a tool, insisting on subduing the body and fully remaining themselves – a battle that would sometimes prove hard to win. Vincenzo found himself sitting very uncomfortably, slumped back over the cistern of a white porcelain toilet in a small stall. His new body was aching from the onset of rigor mortis, but the body still had warmth to it, revealing that the kill had been very recent. The body was fresh. He felt light-headed – as if slightly drunk – and overwhelmed by the sensory impressions that flooded the reanimated body. As Vincenzo looked down, he felt the anger well up inside him. While looking down the impressive, pushed-up C-cup cleavage of the young female body he was in, he noticed that he was wearing a strategically torn, tight-fitting black dress, matching black stockings and pointed-toe pumps. The natural inclinations of his soul took precedence over the body's natural response to rage. As he sat up, he rammed his small, white fist into the stall wall, which gave way slightly and cracked. A few scratches appeared on his knuckles and a little uncoagulated blood oozed out.

  “Are you OK in there?” a drunken female voice called from outside the stall, forcing Vincenzo to get a grip of himself.

  “Yes, I just slipped and banged into the wall,” he replied, surprised by the lightness and grace of his new voice. “I'll be alright!”

  “OK, party on, girlfriend!” the woman called out over the muffled thumping bass electronica. Seconds later, Vincenzo heard her opening a door nearby, briefly causing a distinct increase
in the volume of the music. “A woman! Khaleel must be amused with himself,” Vincenzo thought as he got up from the toilet, trying to get a feel for his new body as he looked around to see if there was anything he had missed. Apart from the inane scribblings of previous patrons on the stall walls offering important information like “Jeanie is a cunt” and which number to call for a good time, the only thing he found was a black leather bag caught halfway down behind the cistern. He bent over to pick it up, and as he did, he cursed the nature of high heels and wondered why on earth women willingly went to so much trouble to attract a male specimen. He opened the bag and found a pair of shoes, presumably in there for the owner to wear on her way home. He kicked off the high heels and put on the flat shoes. Better. Then he closed the toilet lid and sat down to check the remaining contents of the bag: a couple of condoms, a set of keys, make-up and a small wallet. The wallet held nearly a hundred pounds, credit cards, a membership card for a Beckton martial arts dojo and a driver’s license. Vincenzo got up and undid the lock on the stall door. He opened the door and peered out into the restroom to check if anyone else was there and found no one. He walked to the sinks, and as he stood in front of the mirror, he held up the driver’s license to check the resemblance. The young, fit brunette with the sharp A-line bob haircut in the mirror in front of him definitely matched the driver’s license, although the girl’s hair had been blond and considerably longer at the time when the photo had been taken. Vincenzo stood still, gazing at the mirror. Although he resented Bahij for serving him with a female body, he couldn't help feeling that it might be an interesting change that would bring about whole new possibilities. The girl was definitely in prime condition, and at the age of twenty – according to the driver’s license – she was in the early prime of her physical development. And she was beautiful, there was no denying that, he thought as he gazed into his own deep brown, almond-shaped eyes. He picked up the bag and turned his head to check out his new body in the mirror as he left the ladies’ room.