The body lying on the cobbles confirmed all of Odette’s worst fears. She pulled her Ordnance from its holster. ‘Queek, Burlesque, we must find Norma most rapidly.’
Such was Burlesque’s anxiety that Odette’s sudden proficiency with English hardly seemed to register, all he did was stand stock-still and listen. The sound of heels ricocheting down an alleyway to their left sent them racing in that direction.
The Doge’s private chamber, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
‘Guards! Guards!’ de Sade screamed at the top of his voice, and a few moments later two black-uniformed Signori di Notte rammed their way into the room. ‘Raise the alarm,’ he shouted. ‘Doge Catherine-Sophia has been assassinated by the ForthRight agent Vanka Maykov. He may still be in the Palace. Hunt him down. He is to be shot on sight.’
When the guards had left to raise the hue and cry, de Sade slunk back through the secret door in the panelling.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked the waiting Semiazaz.
‘Of course. We Grigori are always ready.’
Together they scuttled along the dark, humid passageway, moving in the direction of the Lady IMmanual’s suite of rooms. There were still two more murders to be performed that night.
The bedchamber of the Lady IMmanual, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
Trembling with excitement, her body racked with lust, Sister Florence watched the Lady IMmanual straddle Casanova as he lay on the couch, settling herself down on him, taking him hungrily inside her body and then rolling her hips in languid circles.
But what Florence saw next drove all erotic thoughts and desires from her mind.
As the Lady IMmanual pleasured herself, she began to seethe, the girl seeming to shimmer, the edges of her body becoming vague like a drop of ink spilt in water. Before her eyes Florence saw the Lady mutate into a different being, a different form: as her arousal was stoked ever higher, so the silvery aura that shimmered around her gradually altered, becoming darker and darker. Sister Florence had never witnessed anything like it, had never even heard of anything like it. Certainly, during lovemaking the nuances of an aura were more readily seen: the colours were more vibrant, the texture of the aura deeper and the halo closest to the body – usually the hardest to see – became visible. But it was a difference of degree, not substance. Not so with the Lady IMmanual. Like a snake sloughing off its skin, she revealed what had been hidden beneath her silver aura.
Hardly daring to breathe, Sister Florence watched the woman being brought to orgasm, the moment when the most intimate details of an aura were revealed. And when the Lady IMmanual screamed out her triumph, Sister Florence saw her real aura in all its true, terrifying glory.
It was an aura that showed just how black her soul truly was.
Whilst black might suffuse the aura of Dark Charismatics, it was a black leavened by the colours of an underlying humanity. But this was not the case with the Lady IMmanual. Her true aura was as black as a moonless night, signalling that she was different, inhuman … that she was the Beast.
The bedchamber of the Lady IMmanual, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
Holding his throbbing head, Vanka hobbled along the corridors of the Doge’s Palace searching for someone, anyone, who could tell him the way to Ella’s rooms. Finally he stumbled on a steward and terrified the man into giving him directions.
He came to the door and knocked. There was no reply but, standing there
, he heard a scream. Frantic with worry, he shouldered the door open. The scene that greeted him left him amazed and emotionally eviscerated. Ella – the girl he loved and who he had believed loved him – was squatting naked over a man. The scream had been one of ecstasy.
Watching Ella pleasure the man, tears blossomed in Vanka’s eyes. He felt empty inside, hollowed out. Ella had given him a reason for living. Before Ella he had been a man who favoured the shadows and shunned the spotlight; it had been she who had brought him to life, had persuaded him to engage with humankind. But now that love was broken and his dreams discarded.
He slumped back against the wall, his body bereft of strength, his mind a confusion of anguish and loss. For long seconds he stood paralysed and then, with a slow, mournful shake of his head, he turned on his heel and reeled back along the corridor.
The bedchamber of the Lady IMmanual, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
Florence leant forward, desperate to get a better look at the transformation taking place before her eyes. And it was a transformation: the Lady’s face had begun to glow, almost to radiate light. But it was her eyes that terrified her the most, the whites becoming almost luminescent, the dark irises reduced to pinpricks, pinpricks that bored into her, searching out her deepest secrets.
Suddenly the door of the Lady’s chamber slammed open and Vanka Maykov stood, ashen-faced, in the entrance.
Sister Florence was so shocked by his appearance that she never heard the step behind her. The stiletto pushed through her back and pierced her heart. She died instantly.
The bedchamber of the Lady IMmanual, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
De Sade was getting an appetite for murder. He had felt nothing when he had plunged the knife into Sister Florence’s back, but then he had been obliged to kill her. She had begun to look at him rather oddly, so much so that he suspected that his ability to control his aura had started to slip. And then there was the way she had questioned him about why he had deserted the Lady in the Maison d’Illusion and how Zolotov had known that he could find her there.
Yes, he had been careless and he was sure the Visual Virgin had come to realise that he was a double – or was that a triple? – agent.
De Sade stepped over the Sister’s body, and then waved Semiazaz forward and through the door into the Lady’s chambers. This done, he settled himself to watch her destruction through the spyhole the Sister had been using.
The bedchamber of the Lady IMmanual, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
She felt the spirit of Ella Thomas struggling frantically inside her – the girl had loved Vanka Maykov so very, very much – trying to free herself of her power, and for an instant she was fearful that her human side would triumph, that she would run to the man, surrendering herself in his arms. It took all her strength to suppress these Fragile inclinations, to remind herself that she was Lilith, a Goddess, and that love was just a fabricated emotion used by men to subjugate women. She would not … could not allow herself to be deflected from her destiny by such stupidity.
But she loved Vanka …
With an angry toss of her head she tried to drive these delinquent thoughts from her mind, cursing herself for her lack of resolve and her weakness. She had sworn to forget Maykov and to forget the happiness he had given her. She hauled herself off of Casanova. She knew that the only way to be free of Vanka Maykov was to destroy him. Now her only thought was to have him captured and killed. He had the potential to be a very, very dangerous enemy, so it was better to have him as a very, very dangerous dead enemy. That is, if Vanka Maykov could be killed.
But Vanka Maykov wasn’t the most pressing of her problems.
She recognised the Grigori who entered her room instantly; he was the same swordsman she had fought in the backstreets of Paris. As she looked about her for a weapon, Casanova, gallant fool that he was, moved to defend her.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, as he grabbed his sword.
‘Death,’ answered the Grigori, and then he attacked.
Casanova was a good swordsman – strong, quick, supple – but he wasn’t good enough. His rapier thrust if it had been directed towards a Fragile would have been a killing stroke, but Semiazaz’s reactions weren’t those of a Fragile, they were superhuman. In one fluid, hard-to-see motion, he brought his own sword around to block Casanova’s attack and if the speed of his parry was amazing, the rapidity with which he turned defence into attack was breathtaking. Semiazaz snaked his blade along Casanova’s, and then flicked it up to stab him through his chest. Such was the force of the thrust that the
sword was forced hilt-deep, three feet of blade sticking out from the man’s back. It was a mark of how strong Semiazaz was that he was able to pull the sword free of the tenacious grip of Casanova’s SAE with hardly a grimace.
As Casanova crumpled to the floor, the Grigori turned to look at the Lady. ‘So, having dispensed with the Fragile, it is now, day-hag, your turn to die. But die in the knowledge that you have witnessed the first act heralding the dawn of a new age: the Age of the Grigori. Die comforted by the understanding that the world – the Real World – enters a time when strength and determination will hold sway, when weakness and turn-theother-cheek sentimentality are banished. Thus, I bid you adieu.’
The bedchamber of the Lady IMmanual, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
Without a word, the Lady IMmanual pulled the sword from Casanova’s dead hand. It was a beautiful blade, wonderfully balanced and, if the way the gas light flickered on the edge was any indication, viciously sharp. But more importantly it had been gilded with silver which, because of the argyria, made it a potent weapon in a fight with a Grigori. She adopted the en garde stance, the tip of her blade hovering unwaveringly towards Semiazaz’s chest.
Shaking his head, the Grigori stepped away from the blade. ‘You should know, witch, that I must kill you. I am a Grigori and it is our time.’ He raised his own blade. ‘You are the last of your foul breed and soon you all will be part of a forgotten history.’
From his hiding place an amazed de Sade watched the pair fight. Oh, he had seen them duel before, but what he witnessed now was simply unbelievable – unbelievable because the two protagonists seemed to ignore the laws of nature and of gravity. He wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating.
Their movements were so astonishingly rapid that they defied the eye. In a blur of twinkling steel, Semiazaz was at Ella, stabbing at her in a frenzy of destruction. But the Lady matched him. Her blade parried the attack and then she lunged forward with a thrust that Semiazaz avoided only by luck and a miraculously fast slash of his own sword. The Grigori retreated and then, in a feat of gymnastics that made de Sade gasp, he suddenly leapt over a couch to land more than five metres away on the other side of the room. It wasn’t just the length of the jump that was so amazing, but how effortlessly it was performed.
But if Semiazaz’s athleticism was breathtaking, the feat performed by the Lady bordered on the incredible. She took just one step and somersaulted the length of the room, landing with balletic precision in a fighting stance in front of the Grigori.
Semiazaz laughed. ‘Yes, you were famous for being the best of the bull-leapers, day-hag, but tonight your jumping will serve no purpose.’
For almost three minutes the two of them fought with a deadly, silent concentration, the only sounds to punctuate the contest being the soles of their feet squeaking on the wooden floor and the shrill clash of steel when their swords met. Time seemed to slow, but de Sade could see that the Lady IMmanual was gradually gaining the upper hand as she drove Semiazaz back.
The Grigori must have sensed looming defeat. Suddenly, in a gasping voice he shouted, ‘For the Grigori!’ and launched one last desperate assault on the Lady. It did no good. With almost contemptuous ease she evaded his attack, and then stabbed him through his sword arm. The effect of the silvered blade was dramatic: he screamed, his face contorted in agony and he let his own blade clatter to the floor, leaving him defenceless in the centre of the room, blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.
De Sade gawped. He had never seen anyone bleed before. It was an unnatural and disgusting sight. He felt his guts churn and his head swim and for a moment he had to steady himself against a wall.
When he recovered his poise and his place at the peephole, he saw that even wounded, the Grigori wasn’t finished. He made a grab for his pistol but the Lady was faster. She ran her blade through his good arm, sending the pistol tumbling out of his hand.
Leaking blood from both of his wounds, all a disabled Semiazaz could do was sink to his knees in shame. ‘Who are you?’ he gasped.
The Lady IMmanual laughed, and it was a laugh that chilled de Sade’s soul. ‘I am Lilith come again,’ the girl answered in a whisper. ‘I am Lilith reborn.’
Rue Doge Ninon d’Enclos, Paris
Frantic with worry, Odette outpaced Burlesque and Rivets, reaching the corner of the alleyway ahead of them, just in time to see Norma being attacked by a tall, powerful-looking man. But even as she raised her Ordnance to shoot she felt the cold touch of a muzzle on the back of her neck. ‘I would be most obliged, Femme Aroca, if you would lower your pistol.’ It was a woman’s voice, cultured and refined, but all the more threatening because of it. ‘And if you don’t, I’ll be obliged to blow your fucking head off.’
Rue Doge Ninon d’Enclos, Paris
‘Who the hell are you, and what do you want?’ Norma snarled.
‘I fear, Mademoiselle Aaliz, that our meeting will be of such a short duration as to make introductions and the normal courtesies redundant, but being a gentleman, I suppose I must make the effort. I am Count Andrei Sergeivich Zolotov. And with regard to what I want …’
Norma saw a flash of white teeth in the gloom as the man gave her an evil smile.
‘The powers that be believe the Demi-Monde would be a better place if you vacated it, so I have been employed to kill you. But with it being Walpurgisnacht, I see no reason why your demise should not be made as pleasurable as possible. Pleasurable for me, that is: it isn’t often one is given the opportunity to fuck the daughter of our beloved Leader.’
He made a grab at Norma’s breasts, and got a slap across the face for his trouble.
‘Go screw yourself. Try to rape me and I’ll put my thumb in your fucking eye.’
‘If that is how you wish to conduct yourself, then so be it …’
The man attacked and Norma fought back with her nails and her feet, kicking and clawing at him as he came at her, but the Russian was too strong. Ducking to avoid her slashing talons, he smashed a fist into her jaw and, as she buckled, seized her by the wrists, using one hand to pinion her hands behind her back.
‘So first the pleasure and then the pain,’ said Zolotov, using his free hand to wrench open Norma’s cloak. Before she could stop him, he had ripped her blouse away from her body.
‘Charming,’ he crooned.
The bedchamber of the Lady IMmanual, the Doge’s Palace, Venice
Lilith!
Bole had told him that the Lady IMmanual was a Lilithi but de Sade had refused to believe him; after all, the Lilithi were meant to be an extinct species. Oh, he had recognised that the Lady was different, but he had never been able to bring himself to believe that she might be Lilith reincarnated. Now he realised Lilith was very much alive, that the most fearsome enemy of his kind once again stalked the Demi-Monde. And like every Dark Charismatic he knew that if she were ever to return, she would bring death and destruction in her wake.
Reeling back from the spyhole, de Sade realised that if his people were to survive, then this girl – this thing – had to be destroyed. Semiazaz had failed, and it now fell to him to kill her. But even so, he hesitated: the way he had seen the girl fight terrified him. Yet a voice inside him told him that the girl could not be allowed to live.
Almost sleepwalking, de Sade pushed open the panel that separated him from the Lady’s chamber and stepped forward. Stooping down, he picked up the pistol that Semiazaz had dropped.
The Lady IMmanual looked up and studied him carelessly. ‘Ah, the great deceiver breaks cover. What now, de Sade, have you come to try to destroy me, too?’
De Sade raised the pistol, but somehow with those cold, dark eyes watching him he couldn’t find the courage to pull the trigger.
‘Kill her … kill the day-hag,’ urged Semiazaz as he knelt on the floor.
The Lady laughed. ‘It is difficult to kill when looking into a victim’s eyes, isn’t it, de Sade? … even for a Dark Charismatic like you.’
‘You know?’ de Sade s
tammered.
‘How could I not know? You forget that I created your kind… I know you better than any. Oh, you have special talents, de Sade, and your ability to shield your aura is a remarkable one but then so is your passion for pain, and it seems those with souls as distorted as yours are able to suppress their auras. Sadism trumping your residual humanity, perhaps? But your duplicity and conniving was rather … obvious. You don’t really think I was taken in by that pantomime with Paul Keller in the Maison d’Illusion, now do you? Even Sister Florence had begun to suspect.’ She gave de Sade an odd little smile. ‘I presume you have disposed of her.’
‘Yes.’
‘Very sensible.’ She took up a glass of Solution and took a long sip. ‘But tell me, am I right in assuming you are here at the behest of Septimus Bole?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bole is nothing if not persistent, but he forgets just how resilient we Lilithi are. And what has he offered for my head?’
‘Venice.’
Another laugh. ‘A mere bagatelle. Come with me, de Sade, and I will offer you the world to torture and torment.’
‘Do not listen,’ snarled Semiazaz. ‘She is Lilith, the most fearsome enemy of our kind. She has sworn to destroy all of the Grigori and Dark Charismatics.’
The Lady shrugged the accusation aside. ‘And so I shall. But I would spare you. I have need of a companion who isn’t possessed of a conscience shackled by too many moral scruples. I intend to rule this and other worlds, de Sade, and you have the opportunity to stand by my side when I do. I will make you rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and of course’ – here she paused to look down at her nakedness – ‘there will be other rewards of a more physical nature. So are you with me, or do you prefer to be swept aside … as all the other Dark Charismatics will be?’
Rod Rees - [The Demi-Monde 02] Page 46