Angel Souls and Devil Hearts

by Christopher Golden

  Why are you blocking me? she asked in her mind, nearly frantic. Can you have been here long enough to forget? To forget your people? To forget me? And though her love for Alexandra had superseded everything that had come before, she could not suppress the sadness that that thought instilled. How long would she have to live to forget those she had loved? It was a question Meaghan never wanted to answer. And unbidden came the memory of the loss of The Gospel of Shadows, the fear that they might never escape from here. That they might join Peter here forever, rather than returning him to his own world.

  They were close now, and she floated to the ground and returned to her human form. Lazarus followed close behind and questioned her as soon as he had changed.

  “Have you found him?” he asked.

  In truth, she could not say yes. She knew that Peter was very close, but so close that she was finding it difficult to choose one direction over another.

  “He’s near,” she told Lazarus. “But we’ll have to search.”

  Meaghan realized that the elder vampire was no longer paying attention to her. He stared past her shoulder, then turned away from her and looked around them, disgust and disbelief etched in his features.

  “God, no,” he muttered, and Meaghan barely caught it as she whirled . . . and understood

  Though she had sensed the buildings while in mist form this was the first good look she’d gotten with her true eyes. And she shared her companion’s horror. The glass was not perfectly clear, but rather tinted red. There were no doors, no windows. In fact, it was easy now to see that the structures were solid glass, without any rooms or interior at all. Almost.

  Lazarus walked to the nearest building, a huge thing that looked for all the world like a medieval castle, battlements and all. Meaghan watched as Lazarus stared into the glass, and reached out a hand as he bent to peer into its pinkish red depths. He laid his palm on its surface . . .

  . . . and screamed in pain. Pulling back his hand, Lazarus left the first layer of skin behind, and Meaghan looked at that flesh as it blackened, charring down to nothing and sliding down the glass.

  “It’s impossibly hot,” Lazarus snarled, and Meaghan turned to look at him just as his hand began to heal up.

  She knew what he meant. If the glass all around them was that hot, why wasn’t the air itself hotter, never mind the fire burning on the mountain nearby? Still, those questions paled in comparison with the others racing through her mind. Meaghan walked to Lazarus and put her hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his head to again peer into the glass. Neither spoke.

  Trapped inside the glass, faces frozen in horror and pain, bodies locked into place like flies encased in amber, were this region’s Suffering. They could not move, and breathing did not seem to matter. The heat of the glass seared their naked skin red, but nothing more, as if they were constantly being healed enough to withstand continued torture. They looked at one particular woman, limbs contorted wildly, legs up and out as if she’d been frozen in the midst of a terrible rape, and Meaghan had to wonder if the glass was inside her, inside all of them, as well.

  “Her eyes moved,” Lazarus said, almost in a whisper, and Meaghan shivered.

  She had to turn away, and Lazarus turned as well, eyes closed as he walked with her, as if to deny what they’d seen. It dawned on her then that the reddish tint to the glass had to be the blood of the Suffering, and she was glad she had looked away. Beside her, Lazarus opened his eyes and they both realized that they could not avoid seeing the Suffering here. The entire city was a Hell of glass, with no relief for the damned, or their witnesses.

  “Peter’s here,” she said, but almost couldn’t believe it. “This way, toward the mountain.”

  Lazarus nodded and they moved on, the fire so huge that even at this distance its roar was incredibly loud, the crackle nearly deafening. As they approached, ash fell from the sky like fine snow, and soon they realized they were walking on, and in, layers of it that had fallen over time. They had not noticed before, but now they could see that the blaze did not start at the base, but more than one hundred feet up the mountainside. There, even over the roar of the flames, they could hear another sound. That of suffering. The damned burned there, on the mountain, cried out for deliverance that never came. Yet Meaghan wondered whether they were not fortunate in comparison with those within the glass. For at least the flames varied, died down at times. For the others . . .

  And Peter was probably one of them. She refused to think about it any longer.

  “Where are you?!?” she screamed finally, the thought bursting from her aloud. “We need you, you son of a bitch.”

  “Meaghan,” Lazarus said softly, and she turned to her right to see him pointing along the outskirts of the glass city, along the mountain range, to a structure they hadn’t seen before. This one was closer to the mountain than any of the others. It was tinted red, or appeared to be in the flickering flame from above. Its spire climbed higher than her eyes could see.

  And she knew. Lazarus had sensed it as well, the difference in this one. Its red was darker, and yet where every other structure had clearly held dozens of sufferers, their dark forms visible even from a great distance, they could see only one form in this spire. Lazarus had pointed it out because of that difference, and because it was set so close to the mountain, but as soon as she looked at it, Meaghan’s focus grew sharper, into certainty. It was Peter.

  Salzburg, Austria, European Union.

  Wednesday, June 7, 2000, 8:12 A.M.:

  Hannibal’s coven had been moving through Salzburg when his blood-son Hector brought the news that the UN security force was moving down into the city proper. He’d known immediately that they were after him, but he’d also been stunned. How could they abandon their attack on the sorcerer, a much greater and more immediate threat? And yet they were coming.

  He had instructed his vampiric troops to take human prisoners, not to harm them, and then he had moved to find more open ground in which to face the humans. Residenzplatz, with the Salzburg Cathedral filling the south end, was large and open, offering ample space, and even as the coven moved into position around the fountain in its center, the plaza was suddenly filled with soldiers, streaming in from Mozartplatz and Kapitelplatz. They hadn’t even bothered to surround him, and in a strange way, Hannibal admired them for that.

  Several shots rang out, and then the warm June morning was silent. Even the birds were quiet, unless they’d been driven out by Mulkerrin. The French Commander, Surro, and the American, Elissa Thomas, brought their people in from the north, while the Brit, Locke, moved in from the south. There were several alleys and side streets leading into the plaza from the east, and hundreds more came through that way, with Commander Jimenez in the lead. Hannibal saw that his former deputy, Rolf Sechs, was with them.

  Traitor, he thought, but there was little venom in it. How could they have abandoned their attack on Mulkerrin?

  “Hello,” he shouted, breaking the silence in the plaza, which had previously been broken only by the working of gun mechanisms and the shuffling of feet, perhaps a whimper or two from his captives.

  So many hostages, so many vampires, all those guns—it was a messy picture that could get even messier, and very ugly, very fast. Hannibal could see that Commander Jimenez understood that. The human had hundreds awaiting his command, Hannibal as many, but the vampire knew the outcome. But, he chided himself, he’d also known that there was no chance Jimenez would break off the attack on the fortress. So perhaps the outcome was not as inevitable as he wanted to believe.

  “What can we do for you, Commander?” Hannibal asked softly into his collarcomm, assuming Jimenez would be back on that channel. “What brings you down from the mountain today? I would have thought you had better things to do.”

  Hannibal had worldwide information networks and centuries of experience gathering such material. He hated ignorance, in himself more than anyone else. It pained him to admit he didn’t know something, and it was agony to do s
o in front of so many enemies.

  “Release your captives, vampire!” Jimenez snarled in response, loud enough for Hannibal to hear on his comm and across the plaza. “Release them now, unharmed, and surrender.”

  “Oh,” Hannibal said and laughed, mocking him, “I think not, sir. Now you will draw back and leave us alone or these people will die.”

  Even from across the plaza, Hannibal could see the scowl that crossed the face of Roberto Jimenez, the look that was exchanged between Jimenez and Rolf Sechs, the way Jimenez patted his hand over his breast, as if calming his heart, or searching his pocket.

  “You had planned to kill them before we arrived,” Jimenez said finally. “Give them up and you will be treated accordingly. You will not escape justice for your actions, though you seek to use the sorcerer’s presence to mask them!”

  Silence again, as Hannibal thought.

  “Why did you abandon your attack? Mulkerrin must be destroyed before either of our futures can commence,” he said, his voice dropped lower, insinuating. “I had counted on you handling that end of things for me.”

  “For you!?!” Jimenez sputtered into the frozen battle in the plaza, which awaited only a thaw. “The only thing I’ll do for you, demon, is end your godforsaken, misbegotten life. Your kind are dangerous, and you the worst of the lot.”

  Hannibal smiled then, as he watched the look Rolf gave Jimenez. The big mute was unhappy with this exchange of words, but Hannibal could see that he would let it slide.

  “Oh, I do hope so,” Hannibal said. “For after today, my kind will be more dangerous than ever, out of necessity. I’m sure that your communications have yet to be reestablished, so I’ll share the good news with you myself. A couple of hours ago, operatives of mine assassinated the President of the United States, and when I feel like it, whenever I feel like it, I’ll have other heads of state murdered. I have that power. Your boss, Rafe Nieto, is tops on my list.”

  “Thomas,” Jimenez said into his comm, obviously no longer speaking to Hannibal, “can you verify any of that?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether she can or not,” Hannibal said and laughed. “It’s all true. What you fail to understand, all of you, including my treacherous shadow brothers who are obviously launching a private attack on the fortress, is that this is war. War! After Venice there was a new world order, but that was just a stepping stone. My kind, the real vampires, the hunters and bloodsuckers, have been driven from hiding. That will be our freedom. The order of the world will change yet again, return to days eons past, hunter and hunted in a final war, one without end.

  “And it starts . . . now!”

  At Hannibal’s signal, the vampires’ human captives were broken, bled and gutted in three heartbeats, and seconds later, the gunfire began again and the tide of soldiers swept in to close the ranks, a small number of shadows and flamethrowers in the front line. Hannibal consoled himself with the knowledge that he had tried, albeit halfheartedly, to prevent this massacre. But now that it had started, the very thing he’d fought so hard for, the savage hunter, the predator in him, took control.

  In a far corner of his mind, he wondered who would be left to battle the sorcerer, to lay siege to the fortress, when they were done. And then all such thoughts were gone, and the scent of the blood spilled all around him, the violence that slashed the air, formed a sensual symphony, to which the vampire, Hannibal, now moved in primitive sync.

  14

  Salzburg, Austria, European Union.

  Wednesday, June 7, 2000, 8:29 A.M.:

  The remnants of the Shadow Justice System, those vampires who had not been killed or betrayed their new lives in favor of Hannibal’s return to savagery, were fifty-nine males and thirty-six females. With the addition of Martha, Isaac and Jared, the total number reached ninety-eight. Twelve had accompanied the human forces down into the city to attack Hannibal, which left eighty-six shadows to attack the Fortress Hohensalzburg in a second attempt to destroy Liam Mulkerrin.

  Stefan bit his lip. He was worried that it wouldn’t be enough. Though he would never have questioned his orders aloud, he could not help but doubt the wisdom of such an attack. Certainly the humans could not join the siege, but the shadow forces attacking Mulkerrin had no leadership. Hannibal had turned against them, Rolf was trying to protect the citizens from him, Will Cody was a prisoner, and the rest had simply disappeared.

  Now Rolf had put this newcomer, Martha, in charge, though none of them knew anything about her. Sechs was lucky more of his people hadn’t followed Hannibal, and Stefan knew that if not for their respect for the new chief marshal, and the overwhelming threat of Mulkerrin, many of them would have done just that. Especially since a lot of them were beginning to get hungry!

  “Now!” Martha said next to him, and Stefan gave the order to attack.

  Where before they had had to worry about getting the human troops in, this time they had no such concerns. The shadows moved as one, in many different forms, flying or floating over the walls of the fortress and engaging Mulkerrin’s demons immediately. The plan was to destroy them as fast as possible, without attacking Mulkerrin directly unless he acted first. In the initial skirmish, he had seemed preoccupied enough with controlling everything around them. As horrid, and as dangerous, as the demons appeared, Rolf had schooled the shadows on the easy destruction of such creatures. And without responsibility for the human troops, they could force a much more direct and sweeping attack.

  “My hope,” Martha had told them only minutes ago, “is that we can clear out the current wave of Hell-creatures, and then by putting all of our pressure on Mulkerrin, force him to let the portals throughout the city close in order to protect himself. If we can get him off balance, that will be the first step.”

  Stefan only hoped that it worked. They were also supposed to try not to kill the human soldiers, as the warriors possessing them would only find new hosts. Martha suggested they attempt only to knock these soldiers unconscious, thinking that perhaps the ghosts would be trapped within their hosts’ minds . . . Stefan had almost laughed at that. It might be a legitimate plan, but she couldn’t possibly expect dozens of starving vampires in the frenetic madness of battle to treat their enemies with such tenderness. Oh, they might try, even succeed for a short time . . . but not for long.

  They were on the ground now, in the courtyard of the fortress once again. Stefan reverted to human form from the hawk shape he favored while flying, and signaled for the flamethrowers to start burning the demons down. They could have transforrned into fire and swept through the yard, and probably would have to eventually, but for now the throwers were less painful. Demons howled as fire leapt into the air.

  Mulkerrin was safe within his protective shield of magic, and he barely looked up as the assault began. Then he called out to them in a strange voice—not loud, but somehow loud enough for all of them to hear.

  “Yes, come,” Mulkerrin said. “Come and be purified.”

  Stefan frowned. The sorcerer didn’t think of them as a threat, for the moment. Stefan vowed that would change.

  “Stefan!” someone shouted in warning, and he kicked one of Mulkerrin’s soldiers in the chest, knocking him down and out of the way, even as he turned to respond . . . too late. Stefan was lifted from the ground by a huge crablike pincer, one of the largest demons having shambled, burning, through the firewall. His chest was being crushed, and he cried out in pain even as he transformed himself into burning cinders. Escape would be simple, but it was not the order of the day. Instead, Stefan’s flames engulfed the huge, gray thing, and withdrew only when its howling form was writhing its last on the cold stone floor of the fortress.

  “Stupid beast,” Stefan said, and finally looked to see who had warned him. It was Isaac, allegedly the son of Lazarus, several feet away and doing his best to battle half a dozen of Mulkerrin’s ghost-inhabited soldiers without killing them. It was a noble struggle, but Stefan could see that Isaac was suffering unnecessarily.

  In secon
ds, he was by Isaac’s side, his fist caving in the skull of the closest soldier. He sank his teeth into the dead man’s neck, drinking deeply.

  “What are you doing?” Isaac asked, annoyed, even as he threw another soldier away from him, the possessed woman’s ancient armor clattering to the ground.

  “Getting my strength up, and helping you, fool,” Stefan snapped, throttling the man closest to him, then twisting his head around fast enough to break his neck. “What does it look like?”

  “It looks like you are killing innocents,” Isaac said, huffing as he ducked out of the way of a thrusting sword, only to be slashed across the back for his trouble. “Killing them for no reason other than expediency.”

  “Expediency,” Stefan said grimly, “is its own reward.”

  They met then, face to face and eye to eye, over the thrashing body of the swordsman who’d slashed Isaac’s back. Isaac held him by the arms while Stefan’s hands were around his neck. Isaac looked angry, and sad, and Stefan realized that the other shadow truly felt for these unfortunate humans. But it did not stop his hands from tightening around the soldier’s throat.

  “No!” Isaac yelled.

  “By the time the warrior spirit finds a new host, and makes its way back here on foot,” Stefan growled, as he twisted and they both heard the grinding snap of bone, “this battle could be over!”

  Stefan wiped his hands on his pants, tossed the corpse toward several of his SJS agents who’d complained of hunger, then turned to defend himself as another soldier rushed toward him, weapon raised high. He was not in the mood, so he swiftly sidestepped the attack, grabbed the soldier and propelled him, with incredible strength, into the stone wall of the fortress. The man fell, and did not stir again. All around Stefan, an oily yellow mist was floating up from where dead men lay. Isaac was at his side, berating him still, and then Martha was there, between them, and she held up a hand to stop his protest.