Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “No,” Vincent protested. “We should take her to the elders. They should be allowed to study her. Maybe she holds some secret.”

  “Quit trying to win favors with the elders. You are too young to be chosen amongst them.” This statement was from a being with light brown hair. The locks fell over his shoulders in perfect waves, trailing down his back. His voice was thick with an unfamiliar accent, and he walked with authority, looking at his fellow vampires with unconcealed disdain. Instantly, Hathor detected the age on him. He was different from the others, older, more powerful, and more deadly. When he talked, his speech sounded of the past blended with the smallest hint of the present. “Besides, none have seen the elders for years. You really want to bother them over a human?”

  Instantly, Hathor knew this man was older than the rest. He too was beautiful, but his eyes held a dangerous light, deadly in its purpose. He came forward to examine her carefully, as the others had done.

  No, Hathor thought, feeling a twist in her brain, a probing fog slipping around her. Not like the others.

  “Yeah,” Ginger muttered with a mocking snarl. “They’re just a scary story.”

  Hathor stood stiffly as several others came to look at her. All of them pale creatures with smooth flesh and flashing eyes. She kept her mouth shut, listening to their words in horror. She tried to move her arm, wishing to sweep through the insanity and brush them away like the wind. Her arm was pushed easily aside, and the flesh that touched her was all too real in its cold dismissal.

  Hathor would have thought herself deaf for all the noise those around her made. The alley filled with vampires, but was as silent as a resting stone. Only her heart thudded to make a dent into her hearing. That was until they spoke, and then she wished she couldn’t hear at all.

  Vampires jumped from the rooftops like raindrops, falling easily around her until a large crowd of them gathered. A few argued and pushed amongst themselves. Some wanted to kill her. Others agreed with Vincent and wanted to take her to the elders, though they weren’t sure where the elders were. Some simply snorted in disgust and backed away without comment.

  Finally, the handsome one with wavy brown hair motioned his hand in exasperation. Instantaneously, their heads turned to him in silence. As if pondering his decision, he commanded darkly, “Begone. Go feed. There is naught special about her. She is a mortal, a simple meal.”

  Hathor jolted in surprise. Those behind him jumped into the air, traveling backward, their arms wide spread. They leaped onto the rooftops only to disappear over the sides. Within seconds, the alley was clear except for Lamar, Vincent, Ginger, and the enigmatic leader who commanded them.

  “What should we do with her, Jirí?” Ginger inquired after a pause. “Whatever she is, it can’t be good for our kind.”

  “What do you want with me?” Hathor’s lips quivered. The sound was barely audible, but the four turned to her as if they had no problem hearing her speak. Her round eyes watched them cautiously. Dread unfurled in her limbs. She realized before her was the living proof vampires did exist. Her mind tried to reject the thought. If vampire’s existed, she’d inadvertently fallen in love with one.

  “Why did you come back here?” the one called Jirí asked, finally addressing the human woman before him. “What do you want with us?”

  “Nothing. I’m lost,” she answered weakly.

  “She lies,” Ginger spat angrily, surging forward. A single motion of Jirí’s hand stopped her. Without touching her, the old vampire held her at bay. She growled, “Let me kill her.”

  “Silence,” Jirí ordered in a soft murmur. He bent his fingers until only two were held up to Ginger. He didn’t bother to look at her. “If she is to die it will not be by your mouth. Begone.”

  Ginger’s lips snapped shut and she glared. A fierce growl left her lips as she jumped into the night sky, disappearing above them. Lamar stepped to the side to take her place blocking the pathway.

  “No one gets lost here twice,” Jirí said. “There is purpose in your visit. What do you seek?”

  “I told you,” Hathor said, mustering her courage. She glared defiantly into the leader’s eyes, which seemed to amuse him. Her voice wavered, but she persevered. “I’m lost. Now let me be on my way, sir.”

  A small chuckle was her only answer. Lamar and Vincent stood silently watching as Jirí leaned forward. His tapering fingers came up to touch Hathor’s warm face. Turning her to the side to carefully inspect her, he drew his long nails over her flesh. His eyes shifted and glowed as she had seen Servaes’ do. At the time she’d thought she imagined it. They seemed to be probing her, searching her for answers.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked.

  “It depends on what you want with us, m’lady,” Jirí responded, his words as smooth as silk. He lifted her chin to examine her neck. Satisfied that she hadn’t been bitten, he leisurely inquired, “Why did you come back here? Who invited you?”

  “No one. I’m lost,” she maintained, resistant to his powers. Inside, she cried for Servaes to come. She lifted her chin and stiffened her lips. Jirí let his hand drop from her face.

  “I can sense you lie, but your mind is blocked,” Jirí said thoughtfully. The idea seemed to amuse him greatly. “Open your thoughts. Let me in. Then we shall see why you are here. I promise to release you if you are truly lost as you say. None of the others will harm you if I so command it of them.”

  “Go to hell,” Hathor spat.

  At her vehement declaration, they all laughed. Jirí paused. His nose wrinkled to sniff the air. Suddenly, he grabbed her again about her upper arms. With a supernatural force he lifted her off the ground. Floating a foot above the walkway, he pulled her back with him into the light. Her feet dangled in the air. Her hand reached to him unbidden, clasping at his elbow. She grasped the black shirt near his waist, trying to hold on to him. Her feet kicked. He held her effortlessly. His eyes trailed over her mouth, seeing the healing puncture marks Servaes left on her bottom lip. A slow grin curled on his features.

  “No one you say.” He chuckled. Slowly, he leaned his face to hers. He brushed her mouth in a soft kiss, pulling his lips over hers. Hathor’s throat worked violently. His lips were cold as they moved along her flesh. He took her breath into his lungs, feeling her energy inside of him. His mouth opened with an uneasy slowness and he carefully licked between her lips. His wet tongue tasted of blood as it probed her.

  Servaes! she thought in terror, unable to scream the word.

  Quickly, the vampire drew back. He’d heard the scream in her head the same moment he tasted Servaes on her. With a quick shove, he threw her from him. She crashed into the wall, falling to the ground in a heap. Landing on his feet, Jirí stated, “Servaes. She is marked by Servaes. She is one of his indicia. It is why she is here.”

  “What would Servaes want with her?” Lamar inquired with a growl. “She should be dead. Keeping her alive risks all of us.”

  “You have no proof of that,” Jirí stated.

  Servaes! Please help me! Hathor thought, unable to speak. Her body ached and throbbed from where she collided with the brick wall. Her hands dug into the stone pavement. She tasted the blood from Jirí’s lips and let the thick nectar drip with spit from her mouth to the stone. She smelled the damp pathway beneath her face, scraping her chin when she tried to move. Blackness surrounded her, folding her within its velvet depths.

  “But what of her mind?” Vincent pursued. “She knows too much about us. We can’t let her go.”

  “If Servaes has marked her, we can’t touch her. She belongs to him.” Lamar leaned over to look at the woman, lifting her head from the ground. He bent to taste her lips with a rough kiss. He too tasted like blood. Hathor coughed and gagged. Dropping her head unceremoniously, Lamar had turned before her temple struck the ground. “She is his. The mark is pure.”

  Jirí watched and said nothing.

  “She knows too much. We have to touch her.” Vincent leaned over to lift her in the ai
r by the back of her neck. Standing on the ground, he held her dangling body over him with one powerful arm. “We have to kill her. We have to protect ourselves. If we don’t kill her, she could tell others about us. I won’t relive the old days, being hunted in my sleep, only to wake and find an annoying stake through my heart or some damned piece of meat trying to pin my toes together to keep me from rising.”

  “You whine like a human,” Lamar laughed. “Are you really so scared of your lunch? Mayhap you should feed on cattle and leave the real meals to us that can handle them.”

  “Enough,” Jirí commanded, growing weary. “Neither one of you has memory of the old days. It’s early yet and I wouldst catch another meal soon.”

  “But—” Lamar began.

  “Although,” Jirí interrupted, “Vincent is right about one thing. She knows too much. Servaes should’ve taken care of her the first night she stumbled into the club. I doubt this one human could cause us problems, but there is no reason to risk it. I will not have London ruined for us because of one mortal girl.”

  “Who will do it?” Vincent asked, smacking his lips. Still, his arm held her above him as if she were a feather.

  “You will, my hungry friend. I won’t be here to witness. I cannot kill a human marked by one of my own tribe. But you could easily have found her wandering about.” Jirí motioned to Lamar to join him. Both of them disappeared into the shadows as if they had never been there.

  Vincent smiled, alone with his food. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground. When her feet touched, he called out cheerfully, “Wake up, love.”

  Hathor slowly opened her eyes to look at him. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her head pounded. Blood trickled over the side of her face. She had heard them talking about her as if listening from a dark dream. Unable to find words, she let her eyes drift closed again.

  Vincent frowned, shaking her harder so that her head whipped violently on her neck. His voice was enigmatic, as he said bitterly, “I said wake up. I have a few questions for you, human.”

  Hathor laughed in near hysteria. Her lungs felt filled with fire. Her lips barely moved, as she spat, “Go to hell, vampire. I will tell you nothing.”

  “Oh, you’ll speak,” Vincent assured her. His eyes turned red as his mouth leaned down to claim her. Baring his teeth, he let loose a breathy growl. “And I will know everything.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Servaes lifted his head from the neck of his victim. The woman moaned lightly and tried to move. He held her steady, turning his ears to the night. His eyes darted around him. Then, feeling the woman’s feeble hands reaching for the grip in her hair, he quickly turned and finished drinking from her neck until she fell lifeless.

  Dropping her, he left her on the ground. He dashed through the night, his ears straining against the wind for the sound that disturbed his meal. His heart beat wildly, thinking of Hathor. It had been several nights since she’d banished him from her side. Every eve he awoke, longing to go back to her, but he respected her wishes and left her alone. When he slept he would dream, a rare thing for one as old as he was. The dreams were always about her, dancing in his arms, laughing up at him without fear.

  He thought about taking her blood, killing her so that she could no longer haunt him. More often than that, he thought about taking her and giving her the gift of a dark rebirth. Though, in truth, after a century of loneliness he could no longer convince himself that it was a gift he possessed, but a curse.

  If she were with you, he would think, arguing against his years of judgment, you wouldn’t be lonely. She would be with you. You could take her from this damned city full of hate and human garbage. You could find a way to live without killing.

  There were rumors of those who fed in the basements of blood banks, drinking the stale blood each night from a plastic bag. There were others still, said to have whole estates filled with humans who served them, feeding off them a bit each day, rotating them in turns so none died. There it was said the humans didn’t fear the vampire because they knew they would be protected. The vampire that lorded over them took care of them, giving them the healing power of his blood if they became ill.

  “Servaes!”

  He froze. The sound was clear within his brain, calling to him for help. Hathor was in trouble. She needed him. She cried out for him.

  His heart pounded. He moved with greater speed now his hunger was satisfied. Trailing over the streets, jumping over the rooftops, flying within the shadows, he moved through the night air. The closer he came to the Vampire Club, the louder her shouts became. Then, suddenly, they stopped.

  Bounding over a rooftop, he lifted his face into the air. He caught the aromatic scent of her blood on the night. With a growl, he dashed over a brick wall to a narrow passageway. Landing with a heavy thud on the ground, he darted forward with supernatural speed.

  Hathor hung limply in the air. Vincent pawed and chewed at her neck as he drank sloppily from her throat. The young vampire’s teeth gnawed and slashed at her neck, tearing her open like a wild dog. Servaes saw the pale line of her face, her features contorted in pain. Slowly her eyes opened, her mouth moved to say his name. No sound came out. Unexpectedly, she smiled faintly at him. Her eyes grew warm before rolling back into darkness.

  Servaes’ features contorted with anger. His nose wrinkled, his eyes veined red with blood. He slammed into Vincent, pulling the man’s head sharply away from Hathor’s neck. Hathor fell into a heap, her neck gouged and bleeding. Servaes opened his mouth, baring his fangs at Vincent who looked up from the ground, stunned.

  “Get out of here. She is my indicium! Can you not smell my mark, you fool?” Servaes shouted. His voice resounded like the thunder. Vincent crossed back on the palms of his hands, his back still facing the ground. A smarmy grin crossed his lips as Servaes came over him to grab him.

  Vincent laughed as Servaes vaulted him high into the air, only to turn and slam him into the ground. The paved road broke and cracked with a hard clunk. Vincent laughed harder, not bothering to defend himself. Servaes let him go with a growl, knowing he needed to get to Hathor before she drew her last breath. Once she was dead, there was nothing he could do for her.

  “If I knew you were coming, brother, I would have saved you some of her sweetness.” Vincent stood. His lips dripped with Hathor’s blood, his chin stained crimson at the messy drinking.

  “You know you are not supposed to kill outside the club. I could ban you for your carelessness,” Servaes spat.

  “For how many years? One hundred? Two? What is it to me? I can wait forever. But your human, she’ll still be dead. Can’t you hear her heartbeat growing weaker?”

  Indeed, Servaes heard Hathor’s heartbeat becoming faint. When he turned to Vincent, the vampire bowed mockingly and disappeared into the night, blowing away on the wind.

  Servaes went to Hathor. He felt the life draining from her limbs as he took her pallid face in his palms. Her cooled skin matched the temperature of his flesh. She was weak, too weak to move. Suddenly, her heart stopped. Lifting her lolling head onto his lap, he slit open his wrist with a gnash of his teeth. He didn’t stop to think. His blood dripped and spilled on the ground, staining the already dirty linen of her white shirt. Without reservation, he pressed his wrist tightly to her mouth.

  The warm blood met with her cold, blue lips. Squeezing his fist, he forced his life down her throat. For a long eternity of seconds, her heart didn’t beat. Her lungs didn’t lift beneath his hand. Then, like the whispering caress of a butterfly’s wings, he felt her lips began to move, delicately drinking what he offered. He encouraged her, hushing to her in old French, words she couldn’t understand.

  Her heart again started to pound—frantic and wild and strong. A moan rumbled unwaveringly in her throat. The wound at her neck closed and disappeared. After a moment, her eyes opened with a gasp. The blue orbs filled with red as she leaned forward to grab his wrist. Clutching desperately at him, she drank of his power with the oblivious selfi
shness of an infant.

  Servaes’ mouth opened with a painful gasp as she drained him of his blood, replacing her own. Feeling his own hunger returning to torment him, he grabbed Hathor by the hair and pried her away. For a stunned moment she stared at him. The red blended and then faded in her eyes, the whites soaking it up into their widened depths. The confused storm of blue shifted around. Her mouth opened with a desperate gasp for air. Then, giving a painful surge toward him, she fell into his lap—motionless.

  Servaes unceremoniously pushed her aside and stumbled to his feet. His body swayed in weaving patterns, like a drunkard leaving a pub. Sensing an old familiar presence over him, he looked up. Above him on the rooftop was Jirí. A smile graced the vampire’s lips as he nodded down at Servaes in greeting. Servaes watched him, powerless. His arms were trapped limply at his sides, his body vulnerable. He weakly wondered what the old one was about.

  Jirí reached behind him, lifting up a mesmerized human from the top of the roof. The vampire smiled, a sad smile lacking any type of calculation. Then, with a toss, he gave the elderly man to Servaes. Servaes caught the gift, sensing instantly the human’s sickly penchant for young pre-teenage girls.

  “I knew you wouldst want one that was tainted. Eat, my friend, and then begone from here. Do not let the others find her. Let Vincent tell them she is dead for they will sense the truth soon enough.”

  Servaes heard the words distinctly in his head. He was too weak to utter his thanks. Jirí disappeared into the night. Servaes’ eyes rolled in his head. Desperately, he fell to his knees and latched onto the man’s throat. Then, having drunk every drop but the last from the man, he left the corpse in the alley.

  His strength somewhat restored, the wearied vampire gathered Hathor in his arms. He sent a message with his mind to a human familiar within the club to remove the body from the streets. Before the human could respond, Servaes whisked Hathor away, disappearing into the dark city night.