Mistwalker

by Fraser, Naomi

  The man in rags had said he’d wanted to drink them. She shuddered at the memory of his smell, all the blood, and a slow churn in her stomach made her want to heave. She headed back to the bed, reached across the headboard for the call button and didn’t have a long wait before a nurse bustled into the room.

  “Well, it’s good to see you up and about.” The nurse grinned and wheeled a blood pressure machine behind her. She pulled out a thermometer from beneath the machine and popped it into a plastic insert, then into Simone’s mouth. “The police will glad to hear of it.”

  “Police?” Simone asked, trying not to chew on the thermometer.

  “Now, now.” The nurse lifted a finger against the bottom of Simone’s chin, closing her mouth. “No talking, please. Mouth closed until we get the reading.”

  Finally, the nurse pulled out the stick. “Hmm…” She looked down at the thermometer, and then back at Simone. “Not to worry. This one must be broken.” She smiled cheerily and touched Simone’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “Could be worse. I’m alive, at least.”

  “Yes, you are rather cool. Cold, in fact.” The nurse frowned. The back of her hand rested on Simone’s arm, then her cheek. “Of course, this weather doesn’t help, especially at night. The snow started falling early this morning. I’ll bring along another blanket and heat pack right away. Your fever’s broken at any rate.” She placed two tablets near a jug and plastic cup on the table beside the bed. “There’s water in the jug, and you’ll need the pills to help you sleep.” She clicked a pen and lifted a clipboard. “Any allergies?”

  “Fever?” Simone asked.

  The nurse’s brow smoothed out, and she nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing. “From your injury.”

  Simone gazed back, unsure. “I…uh…the one on

  my—”

  “Hand, but that’s all healed now. The doctors didn’t know how you got it when you were admitted. Both you and Tamara Westfield were unconscious. Don’t you remember anything?” Kind blue eyes met Simone’s.

  She wiped a limp strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.” She paused, giving a cynical laugh which turned into a sharp hiccup. “I used my comb to save us from two men and get away, but one of them bit my friend.” She swallowed. “Is she alive? Tammy? Why isn’t she in this room with me?”

  The nurse’s mouth parted in a shocked gasp. “The doctors thought a dog caused both your injuries, and your friend isn’t conscious. Her family has been contacted, of course, but she’s not allowed any visitors.”

  “She’ll be all right, then?”

  The nurse laid a warm hand on Simone’s knee. “She’s a fighter, but her injury is severe and taking longer to heal. Unlike yours.” The nurse frowned at her. “A man bit her? Never mind, I’m sure the doctor will talk to you about it, but I must know if you have any allergies.”

  “No, no allergies.” Simone rubbed a hand down the smooth skin of her right hand. The place where she’d socked the madman in the mouth. “Why does the doctor want to talk to me?”

  “To get more information from whoever woke first.”

  “Oh, okay.” Simone rested back onto the pillow and sighed. “I’ll talk to whoever you want, but please let me know what’s happening to Tammy. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

  The nurse slid the clipboard into a slot at the end of the bed. She clucked her tongue. “What’s the world coming to when a girl can’t even walk down the street at night when hundreds are about? You’d think those kinds of things wouldn’t happen in a small town like ours. I’ll bring the heat pack immediately and then take your temperature again.”

  Funny, Simone didn’t feel cold on the inside. She closed her eyes at the memory of her attackers, of Juliun’s voice drowning out her thoughts. She truly wanted peace and quiet now. “No, don’t do that. I don’t feel cold,” she said. “I want to rest quietly.”

  The nurse promptly turned around, and the sound of squeaky wheels from the blood pressure machine faded, then the quiet thump of the door told Simone she was alone.

  The nurse had forgotten to check her blood pressure.

  Chapter Six

  Two ruddy-cheeked police officers hunkered down on chairs next to Simone’s hospital bed. The seats were the classic steel and plastic torture devices found in any waiting room. They crossed their legs so their pants’ fabric stretched and their tailbones wouldn’t meet inflexible seat.

  Their watery eyes fixed disbelieving stares on her. They questioned her blood report and version of events until her voice sounded like a scratched CD. The air-conditioning dried her eyes and throat, although the blackness of night peeked in from behind the blinds, offering her some relief in knowing they would soon leave.

  She perched on the side of the bed and wondered if this was how all police interviews were conducted.

  At least no other patients were in the room to hear the same questions asked over and over. There was only one empty bed that had been Tammy’s before her move to Intensive Care. All the rest were wheeled out by the nurses. The police officers persisted with their line of questioning, keeping their voices clear and direct.

  “Special physical characteristics that would help identify the perpetrators?” Officer Mitchell asked. “Think hard.”

  They’d been over this. Simone sighed. Back-lit silver eyes. An all-consuming black mist. The image thrust into her mind, so strong and complete, she shook her head, terrified to even say the words.

  “No. Obviously, we were drinking, and the whole incident seems unreal.” She rubbed her arms. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  She knew the expression in the policeman’s gaze. He thought she was being difficult, and maybe she was, although she didn’t mean to be. People in authority hadn’t helped her when her mother was murdered. The world truly liked those who helped themselves. How could she tell them one of her attackers disappeared into black smoke and the other kind of floated away? Who would believe her? She didn’t comprehend it herself. There was no reason to put the suggestion in their minds that she might have a few screws loose, otherwise they’d never let her out of this hospital.

  And get out of here she must—to help Tammy and find out a way to contact Marcus about her mother’s murder. To escape from Juliun.

  “You’re in shock. I know you’re afraid,” Officer Perry declared. His cheeks muffled the words in a low huff like he chewed a wad of cotton. “The doctor mentioned you would be. There have been a few recent attacks not far from Player’s nightclub. We believe it may be a cult or club into bloodletting.” He stuck a finger under the edge of his belt and pulled it away from his paunch, then sucked in a deep breath. “Each victim had what might resemble a bite mark.”

  Faintness leached through her body, and she wobbled precariously on the edge of the bed. She held on for grim death to the steel rails. Her heart raced.

  “Only one or two victims, but they…” Officer Mitchell, the bald one, leaned closer and said in a hush, “noticed particular characteristics which we would like to confirm with you.”

  “Are they dead?” That’s all she wanted to know. Would Tammy survive?

  “No. You and Tamara Westfield sustained the worst injuries. This is why we believed it to be an animal attack when the patrolling officer found you both.” A disapproving look entered his eyes. “Don’t understand you young ones and the festival, believing in all that pap.” He shook his head. “These victims had barely noticeable marks, and their memory of the incident is vague at best. We believe drugs are involved which would explain their hallucinations and memory loss.”

  “Hallucinations?” Her eyes narrowed.

  Officer Mitchell rubbed thick fingers and rested his forearms on his outspread knees. His pink, bald head shone beneath the powerful fluorescent lights. “That’s right. Their blood work showed nothing but alcohol, which is the same for you. There were not enough toxins in the samples to justify the haziness and one or two other inexplicable accounts.”

  She
could sense him trying to open up so she would do the same but couldn’t remember the last time she truly let down her guard. Should she start now, or not, and live with the consequences of another person falling victim to the same spell?

  Had it all been an enchantment? How had the timbre of Juliun’s voice almost managed to blind all reason from her mind and nearly hypnotise her? She couldn’t tell them about the black mist. What had the other victims described?

  Tell the truth or lie?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them. “What kind of hallucinations?”

  Officer Mitchell leaned back in his chair and smiled. “One victim reported the perpetrators moved exceedingly fast.” He looked down at his fingers and glanced up again. “Another noticed her thoughts were clouded during the attack, so much as to have her believe the experience pleasurable. She still believes there was no attack.”

  Simone nodded. “That sounds about right.”

  “Why weren’t you so easily persuaded, Simone?” Officer Perry leafed through her file. “Since you managed to stop and escape both of them, there must have been something that didn’t work for you. Perhaps you could help us with that?”

  Her toes were too pallid, dangling over the edge of the bed, almost grey, and she stargazed at them as the memories flooded in. “I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead, then closed her eyes at the sharp flare of disappointment in her chest at missing her meeting with Marcus, and the information he could have given her about her mother’s murder twenty years ago. Simone might never get the chance to see him again, and that black despair seeped right into her bones. “It was painful.”

  Her gaze shifted past the open blinds to the starless night sky. Maybe it was the thick hospital windows that gave the appearance of no celestial light outside.

  “And so incredibly powerful. Complete persuasion. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It is difficult to describe,” she whispered.

  Both officers looked at each other, then at her as if they expected her to expand upon that statement.

  She laughed, but the sound lacked humour. She looked to the ceiling, trying to capture the precise words for being under such mind and body control, but a strange tiredness pulled at her. Which was weird considering the nurses told her she’d slept straight through the afternoon.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and wilted toward the pillows. “It was black. I can’t describe it better. I’m tired.”

  Officer Perry scribbled in a notepad, his face blank. “Are you sure your drinks weren’t spiked, and you didn’t consume any recreational drugs before you left for the evening?”

  “We had nothing like that. What does my blood report say?”

  The police officer rubbed a hand over his brow, sweeping his fingers down to the back of his neck. “Everything’s all clear, but we wanted to check with you.” He paused. “Did you see the perpetrators use any suspicious devices, drugs, or anything else?”

  “No.”

  “The previous attacks were random, out of the blue, but with what you’re suggesting it could mean an organised gang targeting tourists during the festival. Could you remember their faces in a line up?”

  “Y…yes,” she stuttered and clenched her fists. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to do any such thing. Maybe counting the squares in the hospital ceiling would calm her heartbeat? Would ear plugs work against the control of Juliun’s voice? What about the black mist? She wished she could identify their faces with a sketcher in the police department. She didn’t want to get any closer to the man who’d invaded her dreams since her attack.

  “The registrar says if you’re fine then you’ll be released tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. We’ll send out a patrol car to pick you up. We’ll need you at the station for a positive ID sketch of the attackers,” Officer Mitchell said. “You will be escorted home safely. Thank you for providing their names, at least.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

  The officers rose, and at once, they stretched and arched their backs. “Don’t worry. We’ll find them, Miss Woods. A guard will be placed at the front of your door for security. If you remember anything else, don’t hesitate to contact us.” They left a card on the side table, swished aside the curtain, and then exited the room. The door banged shut behind them.

  Simone reached for the pills on the table.

  Yes, she’d told the police her attackers’ names, but she’d kept silent about her dreams, of seeing Juliun’s exotic face before she fell into a drugged sleep.

  His long dark hair, gleaming sharp teeth and compelling voice. Those grey eyes. Twin stars in a face. She’d figured he would hurt her in her dreams, but the black mist solidified, and he always held out his hand to her, beckoning her closer.

  Her heart thumped in memory of how even in her dreams she struggled to resist.

  Chapter Seven

  Carlo Ginati smiled as he swept through the numerous stone archways that led to a vast armoury room hidden beneath the streets of historic London houses. Various weapons glinted against the black-slate walls, and an agonised scream echoed through the tunnel, as though it wanted nothing but escape. He continued down the passageway, following the wail into the underground arena where round ceiling lights illuminated fighters in a heated battle.

  Blood trailed to the edge of the mat and disappeared through an open doorway. Obviously, one of the guards dragged the loser of the previous fight to the feeding rooms.

  The two combatants on the floor were in the final stage of the Drachyn assassin training and skilled in the art of killing. They had to be to get this far. After months of entrants and fights, the contestants still lined up for the money and prestige. Fools.

  Master sat on a golden throne at the back of the arena. His dark blue robe puddled around his feet, and the lights revealed his pale, perfect profile much to the delight of all the females present.

  They had no clue as to what lay beneath the façade.

  *Master, I have news,* Carlo said, telepathically.

  Master turned his head, and his smooth skin shifted across his cheekbones, then tightened again; a deep glow firing in his black eyes.

  Interrupting Master mid-feed was a dangerous endeavour.

  *Pray this interruption is worth my time.*

  Carlo bowed and glided past the blood-thirsty audience, their rapt gazes fixed upon the contenders.

  The fighters’ muscles flexed beneath the eerie light, and the sharp clang of steel against steel rang in the air. Swords clashed again, heavy shields defending vicious blows. The keen sense of fresh blood about to be spilled beset Carlo, and a shiver raced down his spine, his fangs descending from the thirst.

  A little ditty from his childhood filled his mind. It came in the voice of his mother:

  Thirst, thirst, do your worst,

  For here I am, hungry again,

  I came to eat, need to drink,

  Think fast; be steady on your feet.

  Master travelled through a guarded doorway, leading into a soundproof feeding chamber. Two women looked up with dazed expressions; their shoulder straps flopped down around their curved waists. Bright red blood streaked their lovely naked breasts and dribbled from their nipples. The male vampires glanced up, stiff and growling; ready to defend their dinner until they saw Master. Then the only sounds were the women’s moans and the slow drip of blood on stone.

  The surface was so much easier to clean than carpet. Carlo remembered Lorena’s frenzied feeding in their bedroom the night before. How much he’d left unsaid. They’d kidnapped three drunks from a club. White shag rugs, a burning fire, skin on skin. So much blood. Even now, their night together burned in his mind. He would prove his purpose to her once and for all. Tonight. He would do it tonight. He smiled again.

  “You stay.” Master pointed a bony finger at one of the women—the brunette. “Everyone else but Carlo must leave.”

  She stopped near the door. “Yes,” she moaned, and her hair rippled lustrously over her shou
lders, her blue eyes sparkling. “Please…”

  The disgruntled males exited the room with the remaining half-naked female. Eight to one hardly seemed fair, but the door closed behind them, and Carlo let them go. He swerved his gaze to the wall, studied the shades of grey that made up the rough bricks.

  The remaining woman groaned, and he breathed out slowly, eyes closed. Would Master leave this one with the ability to be reused? Or would she be tossed into the pit? What was the darkness like?

  “Carlo.”

  “Master?” Carlo turned his attention back at once and stepped around the woman.

  She stumbled; her blue eyes empty and flat. The once flushed cheeks had slackened, no arousal there, only greyish skin, and she ambled with a grotesque, animal walk toward the door.

  Eventually, Master took it all. Sometimes, all at once.

  Carlo knocked on the door with a tremble in his hand, and a guard yanked the woman through, and then shut the door behind him.

  Master’s black eyes gleamed with latent satisfaction, and he sat in one of the two ornate chairs that lined the back wall. “You know some don’t call me Master at all. In their last moments, they know me exactly for who I am.”

  The woman had probably signed up expecting the incredible sexual rush one experienced from participating in feeding. Now, she wouldn’t even remember her own name, but Carlo couldn’t dwell on that.

  “The Prince has bitten someone,” he said, urgently.

  Master’s eyes widened, and his fingers curled on the armrests. “Quieter. Say that again, Carlo.”

  *Juliun Cel Batrin has transferred the mist.*

  Master’s black eyes narrowed. “How did you come upon this information?”

  *An eyewitness.* Carlo paced. *We found him wandering the streets while on the hunt for recruits. He’d been held captive, and the Prince saved him. Kristoff searched his memories. There was an altercation in the streets during the festival when the Prince tried to get blood from the tourists.*