Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “I never believed in ghosts,” Servaes stated, though he could detect what his friend meant. There were sensations all over the old stones, sensations of tears and pain, sensations of seasoned blood corroding in cracks and crevices, forgotten by all, never to be known again.

  “And you did not believe in vampyres until proven wrong.” Jirí laughed shortly. “Do you still hate me for it?”

  “No, I do not hate you. In fact I had never even heard of a vampire when you came to me.” The answer was honest. Jirí smiled as if to say, “I remember.” Servaes moved with his old friend to the side of the tower. He too folded his hands behind his back. They stood silently staring over the night, neither one in a hurry to speak. They had lived too long to feel rushed by time.

  Finally, sighing, Servaes said, “It is too long ago to remember.”

  “Ah, but you do remember, do you not,” Jirí stated softly. “As do we all. Sometimes it is the only thing we can recall from the passing of time. The older you get, the faster life becomes. Worlds slip and change. The humans tear down the past and rebuild it into the future. They rename everything until nothing is recognizable. I even heard one say they are killing the sun. Perhaps someday the world really will be nothing but darkness, and the vampire will reign.”

  “Or die with the humans.” Servaes laughed a hard, sharp laugh and smiled a sad smile.

  Jirí turned to him, with a stark loneliness older than his own. The old vampire’s eyes moved slowly to the stars, not seeing them anymore as his gaze passed over. He had long ago memorized their endless patterns.

  “And yet, what wouldst we do if we were to turn back into one of them, knowing what we know?” Jirí mused. He waved his hand over the lighted city, over the river Thames. “Our lives wouldst be but a blink, over afore they began. If we were to lose our strength, our powers? Do you think we could survive? We wouldst be as weak as they, only worse, because we know of more.”

  “We would have other things,” Servaes said, hiding his longing. “Sunlight. Warmth. Love.”

  “Love?” Jirí shot questioningly. “Ah yea, love. You are still the romantic, aren’t you, my dear Servaes? When I first made you, you rambled on and on about lost love until I almost regretted turning you. I should have thought by now you would have given the dream up. Human emotions were never meant to last more than one lifetime. Most humans can’t make them last the entirety of that one. The only love for us is the love we have for ourselves and the others like us—the love for power and immortality.”

  Servaes did not answer. It was an old debate between them.

  “Tell me,” Jirí said, “did you find what you sought when you left me? Did the land of the ancients have the answers?”

  Servaes held quiet, still not answering.

  “I told you they would not. Any evidence you sought wouldst have been destroyed long ago or hidden where it would never be uncovered. But you had to look for yourself, did you not?” Jirí laughed. “I almost did not let you go that night you snuck from our chambers in Dublin.”

  Servaes turned in surprise.

  “Yea, old friend, I made you what you are. I felt you leaving me afore you even conceived that you would do so, as I feel you now.” Jirí chuckled, facing Servaes. Their eyes met and locked. Jirí pulled him close, his fingernails stroking over his friend’s face in a tender caress.

  “Why have you come, Jirí? Have you grown so bored that you would seek me out? I am afraid I have nothing to offer you.” Servaes knew there was more his friend wanted. It was the same with all the old souls. They lost connection to the world, searching to fill voids that had no filling. Servaes felt the loss, but he didn’t make others to satisfy it. Instead, he sought out the young vampires to glean whatever ignorance he could from them. And there were always books. He read his way through most of the world’s immense libraries. “I am as useless as you in this modern age. I do not understand it. When I was alive, I thought it such a grand thing to study and invent and learn and discover. Now look where all that science and discovery has gotten us. The world is no better off for it.”

  “Sometimes methinks that is why man was never meant to live so long. It is depressing to think of what we have seen. The crimes are the same. Only the tools with which they are done are different.” Jirí smirked.

  “It is good to see you again, Jirí,” Servaes whispered. When Jirí didn’t answer, Servaes turned to leave. His friend’s voice stopped him.

  “I could taste it on the woman’s lips when I kissed her.” Jirí held himself regal, dropping his wisdom like little clues he would unravel in time. “She is special, but she is not what you think her to be. I told you long ago, friend. There is naught that can make you what you were. Not the blood of your food, though she be different than other meals.”

  “Could you read her thoughts then?” Servaes asked. His heart gripped in curiosity for any clue as to why he couldn’t get Hathor out of his system. Jirí felt his uneasiness, though Servaes tried to hide it. “Could you see what was in her?”

  “Yea, I could. There are no secrets sunken in her depths—no mysterious truths. The mortals do evolve some with the passing of time. She is mayhap one of a new breed of human, able to block the young ones out. You won’t be able to hide her from them for long. The others will know what you did as soon as her blood thins of yours. You must decide what you will do with her. She will not be allowed to live as she was.”

  “I will take her from here. I tire of London.”

  “The world is the same, my sweet Marquis de Normant.” Jirí shrugged. “But go where you wouldst. Someday, the others will find you, if they do not follow you now. She frightens the young ones because they cannot control her. A frightened child with unlimited power is very formidable indeed, and when those children are banded together in stupidity, it is worse. I wouldst kill them all if I had an inclination. There are too many of them running around.”

  “I have no choice then? Have the elders spoken on it? Is that why you are here, Jirí? To keep me in line?” Servaes turned to him. He watched the brown waves trailing about the vampire’s face, his soul shining dully from eyes nearly as old as time itself. He was still incredibly beautiful, though his expressions and manners were archaic. “What will you do, old friend?”

  “It depends on you, Marquis.” Jirí’s eyes shot with a hint of pleasure at their old familiar friendship. Servaes was always one of his favorites, though at times it had been resentfully so. “What will you do with her?”

  “I will tend to it. I will make her my familiar or I will turn her as you did me,” Servaes said after a moment’s thought. The admission was reluctant.

  “You will turn one after all these years?” Jirí chuckled. “You have grown tired in your convictions if you will make her your first after so long. Just be sure your blood is not too strong for her, eh?”

  Servaes didn’t laugh, turning his face to the stars he barely saw. In the back of his mind, he pictured the endless photographs of clouds and sunsets he found in the libraries. He was unable to recall what the day looked like on his own.

  “And if she refuses you?” Jirí asked, his humor fading as quickly as it came. “You will give her a choice, will you not? After the decades I had to listen to you whine about never getting a choice.”

  “I will ask her, when my blood has cleared from her veins. Her head will be unclouded then.” Servaes sighed. He noticed hours had passed since he left Hathor. The night was halfway over. He wondered if she was scared without him.

  “And how much will you tell her? How much will you show?” Jirí inquired.

  Servaes didn’t answer, not knowing.

  “And if she says nay?” Jirí persisted.

  “Then I will kill her,” Servaes stated without passion.

  Jirí nodded in approval. “There was a complaint made about you putting the Vampire Club in danger by letting a mortal go. Honestly, the elders do not care about a nonsensical club of young ones. The new breed complains too much and d
oes too little. We have discussed killing them all off, but it would break too many of the old codes and cause a war between the tribes.”

  “The young ones are a product of their era, as we are a product of our antiquated times,” Servaes answered without passion. “They are what they have been bred to be.”

  Jirí laughed. “I knew it was naught to be concerned over. I told the council as much when we spoke. I told them you are my descendent, and of the tribe of Moroi. I knew you would not betray us.”

  “No, Jirí, I will not betray you,” Servaes stated darkly. “Nor would I ever betray the others.”

  “You are loyal, Servaes. Now, as a friend, what is it you want to ask me?” Jirí glanced benevolently at the younger vampire.

  “There is more,” Servaes admitted, not surprised by Jirí’s insight. He turned his eyes back to the sky.

  “How so?”

  “I cannot read her either, but she can feel me. I entranced her with my mind, and she broke free of it once I had a hold.” Servaes thought of that night in the club when she refused him, and then later when they danced and she pulled out of his arms. “I had her bound to my will, and I didn’t slip. Never has my hold been as strong as it was with her.”

  “Hmm, I heard whispers of this long ago when the land was still divided by countryside. It is rare,” Jirí admitted. “Not reading them is one thing. But as old as you are, not being able to control them, especially after they are in your power, is another thing completely.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Naught mayhap, yet perchance something.” Jirí smiled wryly. A hint of longing passed over his eyes. “I’d be jealous of you, Marquis, if I felt such a thing. I should like my existence to again be blessed with mystery. Tell me again, what did you see when I turned you?”

  “A bird.”

  “Do you know what it means?” Jirí questioned in wonder.

  “No, I cannot even remember what it looked like. Only that it was a bird.” Servaes closed his eyes trying to recall. However, as with many things, time faded the image that once had been so clear. Every vampire was different. When one was turned a vision would appear. None knew what the vision meant. Some thought it a random moment, others believed it to be a weapon of salvation, and yet others thought it to be a thing from the past—a key to their beginnings.

  “Hmm.” Jirí raised his hands helplessly. “Unless you figure the meaning out soon, you know what must be done. Hathor cannot be allowed to live as she is. Already her legend grows amongst the young. Soon others will come to overrun London. They will want a chance to taste her.”

  “Oui, m’lord,” Servaes said, bowing slightly at the waist as he backed away. His respectful smile was of the old way. “If she does not join me, I’ll take her mortal life one way or another.”

  “Very well, I will inform the council,” Jirí acknowledged, before stopping Servaes’ departure with a solemn look. “I’m leaving for the Island of Delos for the great feast. I’ll be gone a human month at least, so long as the Vrykolatios do not overdo it like last time. Damned tribe had twenty-five naked humans strapped to the dining table almost every night, their blood full of absinthe and laudanum. I did not come to my senses for a year.”

  Servaes’ quiet laughter joined Jirí’s. “You cannot find those drugs anymore, at least not pure as they once were.”

  “There are ways.” Jirí gave a gentle laugh. Then, shrugging, as if it didn’t matter like so many other things around them, he said, “Today there are other draughts that work just as well when it comes to dulling your senses. But none in my mind compare to tasting emotions—so sweet, so bitter, so full of life. It is like a surge of renewal if you can find the right one.”

  “Travel safe, Jirí.” Servaes again bowed. “I will not give you cause to come back to London.”

  Jirí again shrugged. “Like I said, one place is as good as another. It matters naught to me. But I will do you one thing, my friend. I will give you the gift of time. I will tell the others the girl lives. I will tell them to leave you be with her until I arrive back. If I say it, it will be assumed as the will of the elders. But you must move her from your cave in the rafters. Take her below, to the crypts beneath the church or somewhere else where the others would not find you. And do not think of it, lest your thoughts betray you.”

  “Why would you do this?” Servaes asked. “Why do you care to help us?”

  “Because I didn’t give you a choice.”

  Servaes heard the whisper in his head; Jirí’s lips didn’t move. The vampire’s eyes narrowed in sadness. Servaes knew that Jirí wanted him to go with him to America. It was why he mentioned the festivals. Jirí smiled, knowing Servaes understood, and wouldn’t again be joining him. Then, with a leap, Jirí disappeared over the side of the Bloody Tower, fading into the night sky.

  Servaes watched the old vampire disappear before spreading his arms wide to encompass the city. With a jump he fell through the darkness, over the city until he came to the underground tunnels. No humans detected him as he passed. He chose to stay hidden. Even if they were to notice him, it would be as a blur of vision and they would never know what it was they saw.

  Hathor was asleep when Servaes finally made it back to his tomb. She had moved out of the coffin, curling into a ball on the stone floor. For a moment, he gazed at the pretty lines of her face, peaceful in her rest. Already, he felt her blood thinning of his, the bond not as strong as before. Soon she would be ready for daylight. The thought troubled him. He selfishly didn’t want to let her go.

  Leaning down, he ran his fingers over her rose-tinted cheek. Her complexion was soft and creamy, not at all reminiscent of the bluish paleness of his lifeless hand against her flesh. Drawing the tips of his fingers just over and between her eyes, he tried to extract her dreams from within. For a second he had the image of a flower surrounded by a bright light. His hand jerked, pulling instinctively away.

  Slowly, her eyes opened. Her lashes fluttered across her velvet cheeks. The blue orbs found his, smiling contentedly at him from their bright depths. With a yawn, she sat up.

  “Where were you?” she mumbled sleepily. Her hand began to reach for him but faltered and fell to the side. He looked tired as he moved to grab her hand. Lifting it, he placed it to his cheek where she had been meaning to touch him. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the scent of her.

  “We must move,” he said at last. His eyes didn’t open. “This place might not be safe enough for you.”

  “How—?” Hathor panicked. Her rounded gaze flew to the entrance.

  “I met with an old friend tonight,” Servaes interrupted. With regret, he let her hand go and moved to stand above her. “He will speak with the others tomorrow. He will tell them not to harm you.”

  “But I thought you were their leader,” she mumbled in confusion. “I saw you controlling them.”

  “I am merely the oldest at the club. They look to me to lead them in some matters because my powers are greater. There are no true leaders walking amongst us. Everyone must guide themselves, so long as they do not break the sacred laws.” Servaes wondered why he revealed so much to her. It only made matters worse for her.

  “Why would they listen to this other? Who is he? What is his name?” Hathor quickly stood.

  “He is one of the old. He is well respected amongst the tribes,” Servaes answered. “His name is—”

  “Jirí.” Hathor chimed in, finishing the thought. With a look of horror, she shook her head frantically. “He was there. He said he couldn’t read me and then told the others to kill me. He wants me dead. I don’t think we should trust him. It’s a trap.”

  “We have no choice,” Servaes said, coming beside her. “If Jirí wished you truly dead, you would be so. He saved your life, leaving you with Vincent.”

  Hathor shook her head, doubtful. “So where will we move to?”

  Servaes sighed despairingly. “The catacombs, mayhap.”

  “Catacombs? As in dead bodies and bones?
” Hathor shuddered in disgust. “I would rather not.”

  “We could always find a graveyard. I do not frequent them much, but surely there is an uninhabited mausoleum we could rest in,” Servaes offered. “Although, they are not always the most comfortable of accommodations, and they smell.”

  “Does it have to be such a dreadful place? Or could we sleep anywhere so long as there was a coffin?”

  “Anywhere,” Servaes admitted. “Why? Do you know of a place?”

  “Yes, I just might.” A smile spread over her beautiful features. The look pulled at his heart. “How about my house, well, my aunt’s house?”

  “I do not know. Won’t your aunt be leery about having a coffin in her home?” Servaes wondered. “Most mortals are. Once we are asleep we cannot be disturbed.”

  “Not at all. She won’t know.” Hathor grinned, warming to her idea. “The house is very old, well,” she shot him a sheepish look of penitence, “it is older than living mortals.”

  Servaes raised an eyebrow at her words.

  “Well, you are rather…aged.”

  “Very amusing,” he answered dryly, though he couldn’t make his look of feigned annoyance last. Her easy acceptance all of a sudden stirred within him. He took in the curve of her delectable lips.

  “The basement used to be the servants’ quarters and kitchen. It is all very well maintained, though hardly used except during the tourist season by some of the live-in staff. Right now they are completely empty. I don’t even think anyone has been down there in months, at least not toward the back rooms. You could stay there until the summer. What do you think?”

  “I think it sounds better than a graveyard,” he admitted at last, nodding his head in agreement. “Fair enough, we will try it.”

  “Good,” Hathor stated, satisfied. She bit her lip thoughtfully. Then, with a gasp of sudden thought, she said, “Here, watch this.”