Debra’s eyes opened for a moment, rolling fast as though she were dizzy, and then another wet cough ripped its way out of her lungs. Jerusa held her close, squeezing her as tight to her chest as she could without crushing her. The coughing subsided and she fell limp once more. Her head lulled to the side, exposing the wound on her neck. A tiny trickle of blood, dark, almost blue-green, oozed from the hole, and a blow of utter hopelessness hit Jerusa in the stomach.
“I want to turn her,” Jerusa said. Everyone stopped and turned to look at her. They seemed to be moving in slow motion, but whether that was real or only a fabrication of her weary mind, Jerusa couldn’t tell. The weight of their eyes was unnerving. “I want to turn her,” she repeated. “My blood could save her.”
“Absolutely not,” Ming said, her voice echoing through the empty halls. Her broad nostrils flared like a raging bull’s. “I will not allow it.”
“It’s not your decision,” Jerusa fired back.
Ralgar, Quinn and Mikael stepped up behind Ming. The lust of battle burned in their eyes. Celeste, however, stood in the corner, away from the confrontation, her deep eyes flitting around the room in anticipation. She seemed neither invested nor concerned, as though this was all a movie playing out on TV, instead of unfolding before her eyes.
Shufah once again placed herself in the void between Jerusa and Ming. Taos stood just off to the side of her, his broad shoulders back, his fists clenched. As always, he looked prepared for battle, like some angry Nordic god. Thor sans Mjolnir. His lip drew back in a sneering smile and he tested the sharpness of his fangs with the tip of his tongue. Taos thirsted for battle, almost as much as he did blood. Jerusa had spent the better part of six months trying to temper his aggression, but now she wanted to unleash him, to feed his fury.
“You know it is forbidden, Shufah,” Ming said. A calm demeanor now replaced her furious visage. “If we take her with us to the Stewards, they may spare her, if for no other reason than curiosity. But if you allow your fledgling to turn her, you will bring down the wrath of the Stewards, not just on the human, but on your whole coven.”
Shufah held up her hand, as though she expected the Crimson Storm to rush in on them, before turning her back to Ming. Her brows furrowed together and her mouth pressed into a thin line. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
“You can’t stop me, either,” Jerusa said, though there was no conviction in her voice. “You have to let me do this.”
“You can’t help her, child.” Shufah’s voice quivered. “I know you want to. Believe me, if anyone understands, it’s me.”
Jerusa remembered the story of Shufah’s father, turned a vampire by his twin children, only to be staked out in the sun, left to perish by the vampire Marjek. Shufah did understand, perhaps even better than Jerusa. She had lost her father, her twin brother, her great love Foster and innumerable others over the millennia. Jerusa had considered the pain of immortality many times since becoming a vampire, but this was the first time she felt its sting.
“You can’t turn her,” Shufah said. “It’s impossible.”
“No, it’s not. I’ll just swap her blood. Like Silvanus did for me.”
Shufah gave a subtle wince. Ming’s eyes sparkled with interest.
“You are not him,” Shufah said. “The umbilicus’s blood is poison. If you take it into your body you will only suffer the same fate as your mother.”
Jerusa looked from face to face. Shufah, Taos and Celeste seemed almost angelic, their individual beauty enhanced by the vampire spirit. Ming, Ralgar, Quinn and Mikael had not been so fortunate, though they were far from hideous, disfigured monsters. Debra Phoenix wouldn’t approve of either group being in her home.
“What if you all helped me,” Jerusa pleaded with them. She hated the sound of her own voice, so weak and timid. “We could cut her wrists to drain her, then each of us can give her a little blood. That way—”
Shufah cut her off. “We don’t know if that will make any difference. The umbilicus blood is already infiltrating her cells.”
“I have to try something! I can’t let her stay like this!” A few loose strands of hair fell into Jerusa’s eyes. Shufah reached to brush them away and though Jerusa didn’t feel like being touched, she allowed her to do so.
“I’m sorry, child. Ming is right. Even if we all band together, flush out the poisonous blood and refresh her on our own, even if she turns and rises a vampire, the Stewards will not allow her to live. They will exterminate her, and most likely you as well, if for no other reason than to make an example.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
Shufah caressed her cheek. “Steel yourself, child. Whatever happens, you must be strong. You have many trials before you. This is only the beginning.”
Jerusa looked down at her mother cradled in her arms. If not for the yellowish-gray skin and the dark veins popping out like night-crawlers after a heavy rain, she might’ve just been lost in a restless sleep.
“She could get better.” Jerusa said it for her own benefit, as though if the words were spoken aloud they would come true. “She could pull through this. She’s strong, always has been. It could still be all right.”
“Of course it could,” Shufah said. “Take your mother to the car. We need to go get Thad.”
“Okay, but I don’t think he’ll be at home.”
“Why do you say that?” Ming asked.
“Because I warned him you were coming. He’s probably long gone by now.” Jerusa enjoyed the looks of anger that filled the room. She didn’t care anymore. She was in the mood for another fight.
CHAPTER TEN
For a split second, Celeste thought that Ming might explode into a fit of violent rage. She had witnessed Ming’s temper many times before and it was never a pretty sight. From the outside looking in, it would seem that Ralgar was the unstable one, but in truth his ferocity was only a byproduct of Ming’s.
One time, almost a century ago, the Crimson Storm had captured a small group of humans that had fled one of the quarantine communities. Ralgar raged in their faces, all slobber and fangs, demanding that they give their fealty to the Stewards. To their credit, the humans were quite brave…or foolish. It’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.
Despite Ralgar’s terrifying display (he even incinerated a roaming cow), the humans would not buckle. The Stewards had denied them eternal life, and the humans refused to be slaves any longer.
Celeste understood. Though she had passed the Stewards standard of beauty and was granted the vampire spirit, when the High Council discovered she was an augur, she found herself an obligated member to their cause.
Had she known, all those years ago, that she could just lie, that her beauty alone would be her saving grace, that the other augurs could not wrench the truth from her mind, she would be free today. Unfortunately, she had learned this lesson the hard way.
She thought again of that group of humans, the way they had refused to yield. Ming had placed a hand on Ralgar’s shoulder and he ceased his barking, like the faithful dog he is. Ming had squatted down to be at eye level with the kneeling men. Her voice had been calm and reasoning, as it so often is with her. One of the men spat in Ming’s face. He had smiled defiantly at her, even when her eyes turned wild and her face twisted in anger. Celeste thought Ming might feed from the man. She sometimes did that to dissidents—drain them until their hearts fell silent within their chests. Then she would wait for them to rise, vampires born of the bite. Sometimes she would stake them to the ground and leave them for the sun. Other times she would let Ralgar and Quinn work on them with fire, slowly roasting the poor creatures.
But the man that had spit in her face, he died in the most terrible way. Ming had used her telekinesis to explode the man from the inside out, but not quickly. She had taken her time on all of them. And Celeste had been the one to lead the Crimson Storm to the men, as she had countless others before…and after.
Celeste u
nderstood servitude. She was a slave to the Stewards. But that didn’t wash the blood from her hands. Perhaps that is why she spoke up.
“Ming, the human has not gone far.”
“Are you sure?” Ming asked. “You can find him?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Celeste tilted her head back a bit and allowed her vision to drift. Her face tingled as blood filled her eyes. The room dimmed as shadowy figures began to pass before her. She pressed through the crowd of shadows, searching for the human named Thad. When she found him, she pulled his form closer with her mind. “He’s still in town. He is saying goodbye to his parents. He will be leaving his home soon and will drive to the coven house.”
“How sweet,” Ming mocked. “When can we expect him?”
Celeste searched her vision for a clock. “He’ll be there within the hour.”
“Then so will we.”
Celeste pulled back from the vision. The blood drained from her eyes, leaving them dry and irritated. Her face felt as though she had been out in an artic breeze. The shadow crowd vanished and she looked around, squinting at the light. She couldn’t stand the looks of betrayal and disgust emanating from the eyes of the small coven. The blond giant’s cold eyes were full of murder. He wasn’t very old, perhaps a few centuries, but he did have the touch of fire. She would be safe as long as she stayed in the company of the other Hunters, but she tried not to think what would happen if he caught her alone.
Shufah’s face remained unreadable to the rest of the room, but as an augur Celeste could feel the utter loathing hiding just below the surface. Celeste had heard tales of Shufah the Defiant, the one who time and again had taken a stand against the Stewards and somehow lived. Rumors floated here and there that her survival was due only to the love of her creator, Marjek. Celeste didn’t know about all that, but one thing she did know: she had never sensed hatred more powerful than that which Shufah held for the Stewards.
Shufah was highly intelligent, wise and had the strength of several millennia resting within her tiny form. Celeste didn’t want to be Shufah’s enemy. To the contrary, she had great respect for her. She had to find a way to make friends with Shufah. Explain that her interference with Thad was to dispel Ming’s wrath. They had, after all, in a sense, spat in her face, just as that infected human had all those years ago.
It was the fledgling, however, that scared Celeste the most.
Jerusa’s eyes were wide with grief and clouded with a hint of madness. She was unpredictable. Uncontrollable. It wasn’t just what had happened to her mother tonight. Jerusa hadn’t been feeding. Celeste couldn’t understand why she was abstaining from blood or why her coven-mates were allowing it, but she could feel the twisting knot of thirst tearing at Jerusa’s insides.
There was something else amiss about Jerusa, though Celeste couldn’t quite place what it was. Something strange set her apart from the others. An aura of sorts; a dark shadow looming over her. There was something they were all trying desperately to conceal.
“I’m sorry,” Celeste said. She glanced from Jerusa to Taos to Shufah, hoping they could read the sincerity in her eyes. If they did, they didn’t seem to care. “There’s nowhere Thad can go that they won’t find him. If he runs, they’ll hunt him.”
“If he’s going back to our house, then it doesn’t look like he plans to run,” Shufah said. Her tone was flat, almost accusatory, as if Celeste was some school-yard tattle-tell stirring up strife for the fun of it.
“You’re right,” Celeste said. All eyes in the room were upon her, none of them friendly. She served a purpose with the Crimson Storm, they needed her sight, but she wasn’t really one of them, any more than she was a member of Shufah’s coven. She lacked the hatred and lust of killing, which was a birthright for most Hunters. She wished they would stop watching her. She couldn’t stand the pinpricks of their disapproval.
“We should leave soon, so that we can meet Thad at your house.” Celeste needed something to break their hateful glares. Mentioning Thad didn’t work, but only threw gas on the fire of their anger. Faces tensed, eyes narrowed, jaws clenched tight. Even those of her own group looked at her as though she had blasphemed by calling the human by name. “We don’t want him to be alone there, just in case those things return.”
Shufah gave a slight nod of agreement. Jerusa, still holding her mother like a sleeping child, was the first to leave the house, stepping out into the chill autumn air without a word. The blond giant and Shufah followed her out like a pair of faithful guards, which Celeste supposed they were. Ming motioned with her head for the others to follow. Ralgar, Quinn and Mikael exited the house, but when Celeste made to join them, Ming stopped her.
Ming put her hand on Celeste’s chest and pushed her back away from the door. It wasn’t a harsh action, but not gentle either. “Do you trust me?”
An icy chill slid down Celeste’s spine. Such a poisonous question. “Yes, Ming. Of course, I do.”
“That’s good. Trust is a good thing.” Ming’s face was so close that her breath tickled Celeste’s eyelashes. She whispered so that the others couldn’t eavesdrop. “We’ve been together a long time, seen each other through many perils. We hold each other’s lives, wouldn’t you agree?”
Celeste nodded.
“You know, as well as I, that savages are not the only threat to our lives,” Ming said. “If we begin to doubt one another, if our inner circle is compromised, the Crimson Storm will fall.”
“I understand.” Celeste wanted to step away from Ming, but she knew better. Ming thrummed her fingers on Celeste’s collar bone. A playful warning. It wasn’t the strength in Ming’s fingers—though she was old enough in the blood to crush Celeste’s throat with one squeeze—but the power of her twisted mind. With just a thought, Ming could cause Celeste’s heart to implode or her brain to evacuate her skull through the eye sockets. She tried hard to hide the fear in her eyes, but deception had never been her strong suit.
Ming smiled. “I don’t trust Shufah and her coven, especially the fledgling. Marjek only asked us to deliver Shufah. If you sense anything strange, anything that could be a threat to us, you will tell me, right?”
Celeste’s throat constricted. Was Ming going to crush her windpipe as a warning? Such an injury would not cause her to go savage, but the pain would be intense until she healed. Could she read the truth in Celeste’s eyes?
Celeste buried the knowledge of Jerusa’s fasting, though she didn’t know why. The fledgling was nothing to her, no friend or even acquaintance. In fact, the look in Jerusa’s eyes, when Celeste had revealed Thad’s whereabouts, bordered on threatening. Celeste couldn’t call Ming and the rest of the Crimson Storm friends, but they were allies. She had saved their lives many times, they had saved hers. Yet, she held tight to Jerusa’s secret.
“You know you can count on me,” Celeste said, forcing a small smile. “If I sense anything, you will be the first to know.”
Ming’s sour eyes scanned her face for lies and once more Celeste felt the rush of anxiety as she awaited her head to be crushed or her limbs to be snapped in half. Pain can draw the truth from even the strongest of souls. Celeste was neither strong nor sure she even possessed a soul. Ming could draw the truth from her as easily as she drew blood from her victims.
“I don’t believe they will be any trouble, though,” Celeste said. “I mean, I don’t sense any desire for strife. They will go before the Stewards willingly. Even the human.”
“Perhaps,” Ming said. “But we will see how compliant they are when the Stewards render their judgment.”
Ming turned to leave the house, but Celeste stopped her.
“What about the umbilicus? What should we tell the Stewards?”
“Nothing,” Ming said. “As of right now, they do not exist.”
“Is that wise?”
“Would you rather have the Stewards think us incapable of dispatching a threat? The High Council is in a state of agitation. Why, I don’t know, but until we discover ho
w best to deal with the umbilicus, they remain a figment of our imaginations.”
“And if Shufah and her coven reveal the umbilicus?”
Ming’s eyes formed spiteful little slits. “I will convince them to remain silent and if they do not, all we saw were shadows. These are dangerous times, Celeste. We must play the game with wisdom, both with our enemies and those who have rule over us. Do you understand?”
Celeste nodded. She understood better than most.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jerusa sat in the back seat, Debra’s head resting in her lap. She caressed her mother’s hair, brushing her fingers through the short wispy strands, which seemed to grow more gossamer as the minutes passed. Taos whipped the car around the curvy road with the talent of a European road racer. With every toss or bump of the car, Debra Phoenix groaned and flinched, as if caught in some terrible nightmare.
“They are going to kill her, aren’t they?”
Shufah turned in her seat and looked back, but Jerusa kept her eyes on her mother.
“If she doesn’t die from the transfusion,” Jerusa continued, “Ming will kill her before we even get to the Stewards. Won’t she?”
“No, I won’t let her.” Shufah’s deep voice seemed in tune with the car’s engine, a soft purring melody that caused Jerusa’s bones to ache with weariness. “We have invoked the right to judgment. As long as your mother doesn’t become hostile, then we reserve the right to stand before the Stewards.”
“Ming won’t let that happen.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Even if we get her to the Stewards, they can’t help her. They won’t help her.”
“I won’t lie to you. There’s little chance she will survive the Stewards’ judgment.”
Though Jerusa expected that answer, it still felt like a cleaver to the chest. “If she is going to die anyway, maybe I should just kill her now.” Her voice shook, making it almost impossible to say those words. “Maybe I should spare her this pain. If she is going to die, it should be by the hand of someone that loved her. Not some remorseless Hunter.”
Perpetual Creatures, Volumes 1-3: A Vampire and Ghost Thriller Series Page 36