by Max Turner
“Because I’m a child vampire.”
“Partly. But there’s more to it than that. It has to do with your fathers.”
She paused, so I could digest the word fathers. I knew what she meant. Every vampire has two kinds of parents. The normal human variety—and the vampire that turns them.
“You are Vlad’s progeny,” Ophelia continued. “And so they will fear you, because in time, you will come to have his power. But the Coven also feared your true father. And they fear you, because of him.”
When she spoke about my true father, her voice changed. It always did when she talked about him—Dr. Robert Douglas Thomson, archaeologist and vampire hunter. I once thought that she must have loved him, but I wasn’t so certain now. It might simply have been that she felt sorry for me. For my loss.
I felt her eyes on me again. Did she want to know if I believed her? Well, of course I did. Ophelia never lied. Never. So I believed her even when she didn’t make any sense.
“I don’t understand. Why would anyone fear my father? Or me?” This might seem like a stupid question considering my father’s secret profession. But he never killed vampires, no matter how far gone, without giving them a chance to prove that they could be good—that they could live with the infection and not harm others. It made no sense that they would be afraid of him. He wasn’t a threat unless they chose to do wrong. And I was seven when he died. Who would fear a boy that young? Only army ants and babysitters.
Ophelia managed a brief smile. It flickered across her face, then disappeared as she looked away. “The answer lies in an ancient prophecy. It concerns a messiah. A vampire who will overthrow the old order, emerge from the ashes of chaos, and recreate a new world. A better world.”
Was this about the letter that Charlie and I had read the night of our arrest? About the Lamb? “What does this have to do with me?”
Ophelia sighed. “According to most versions, the future messiah of the vampire world is an orphan, the son of a great hunter. And this orphan would die and come back. Does any of this sound familiar?”
I caught myself swallowing hard. It was familiar. It fit neatly with what I’d read in that letter Charlie and I had found—about the sun scorching me with fire. And a second death that wouldn’t harm me. That had happened last year. Death and rebirth.
I told Ophelia about reading the letter. “Do you believe what it said?”
“I’m not a prophet, Zachary. But there is something compelling in all of this. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Vlad felt it, too. It was why he wanted you all to himself.” Her eyes got their far-off look again.
My mind drifted back to that night. Vlad had wanted to kill my friends. To sever all of my personal connections so that the only future I had as a vampire was with him. And he’d wanted me to suffer, thinking it would make me stronger.
Ophelia stood up and stretched. She lifted the thin, white curtain hanging in front of the bay window and peeked outside at the sky, then across the street. “So you see why we’re in trouble? It isn’t just the Beast. It’s the prophecy. All of the elders know about it. And so every power-hungry vampire who wants control will regard you as a threat because you are the orphaned son of a great vampire hunter. And you have died twice. Even if you weren’t a child vampire, they would hunt you down. It is the only way they can ensure that you don’t rise up against them, as the prophecy predicts.”
I was stunned. I’d always known there were reasons for secrecy, but in the back of my mind, it was a temporary thing, based on my age. How much longer could I be considered a child, especially if I demonstrated I was stable and wouldn’t attract attention or spread the virus carelessly? But if I was some kind of messiah—how could I outgrow that? I couldn’t. I’d be stuck with it forever, even if it wasn’t true, and it didn’t seem to me that it was possible. I couldn’t even keep my socks sorted.
“That makes no sense.”
“That you’re a messiah.” Ophelia laughed quietly. “Chosen to establish and rule the new order.” She reached down and took my hand, then helped me off the sofa. “Stranger things have happened. But if the End of Days for our kind is here, someone will emerge as the leader of a new Coven, because such an organization is necessary. And given what I know of our kind, I would much rather see you in charge than anyone else.” She looked at me and smiled, then reached up and pinched my cheek. “But maybe that’s just my prejudice.” She glanced back at the window.
I could feel dawn approaching. It filled me with a mild unease.
“I think we should talk more about this later,” she said.
I wasn’t quite ready to end the conversation. I felt exhausted, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep well until my questions were answered. “What are we going to do about Mr. Entwistle?”
“I wouldn’t worry about him for today. I’m sure he can look after himself.”
“But are we going to let him stay with us?”
“I don’t want to have to decide anything just yet. I need to think about this a bit longer. He might be right. We might need him.” She looked up at me. “I don’t trust him, Zachary.”
“Because of who he was?”
She nodded. “If you could have seen it—the things he did as John Tiptoft.”
Well, I didn’t know anything about that. I didn’t want to. I liked him as John Entwistle. So did Charlie. And I think my father would have liked him. Luna, too. I’d never seen a hint of malice in him.
“I can’t afford to take any chances, Zachary.” Ophelia was watching me closely.
“So what are we going to do?”
She smiled, and shrugged. I couldn’t remember her ever doing that. She always had a plan. And a backup plan. And a backup to the backup plan. Order. Routine. Structure. Careful planning. I fully expected that if an asteroid hit the earth and civilization ended, she’d have a spaceship handy and our destination mapped out on sticky notes.
“We’ll talk some more later. Does that sound all right?”
I nodded and headed for the stairs. If I hurried, there might be enough time to call Luna. It had been a heavy night. I wanted to hear her voice. I was certain that would lift my spirits.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
Just a few minutes on the phone, I thought. And some blood would have been nice, but if she’d had any, she would have offered it by now. “No, but thanks.”
“Sleep well. And try not to worry too much.”
I said I wouldn’t, which I hoped was true, then went upstairs to check on Charlie.
When I found him, he was lying sideways across his bed with his head hanging upside down over the edge of the mattress, his cell phone pressed to his ear.
“It’s Zack. Just a second,” he said to the person on the other end. Then he pulled the bottom of the phone away from his mouth. “What’s up?”
“The Beast of the Apocalypse is on the loose and every power-mad vampire in the world wants to kill me.”
“So nothing’s changed?”
“I guess not. Is that Suki?”
“Yup.”
“Is she doing all right?”
“Well, she’s talking to me, isn’t she?”
“Is Luna handy?”
Charlie repeated the question to Suki, then waited. A few seconds later he shook his head. “She went to bed. But apparently, she expects to see you in her dreams.”
“Lucky me.” Then I backed out the door and pulled it closed behind me.
— CHAPTER 17
THE PROPHET
Growing up as an orphaned vampire in a mental institution, I missed out on a lot of things. Suntanning. Family picnics. Hand-me-down clothes. Popsicles. The list would fill an encyclopedia. Well, one of the things I’d missed out on was the thrill of nightmares.
As a little kid I got them all the time—lost dreams, being-chased dreams, scary-monster dreams, not-having-my-costume-ready-for Halloween dreams, Santa-missing-my-house dreams. But in the Nicholls Ward—nothing. Not a single nightmar
e. I understood now that this was Ophelia’s doing. She walked the Dream Road to keep me safe, even while I slept.
So I was caught off guard when I found myself back at Iron Spike Enterprises, the office of my uncle Maximilian, having a nightmare. This was where my friends and I had been tormented by Vlad. Now, I was alone with the paintings and the statues and the antiques, the desk and the couch and the shattered windows. Everything was just as we’d left it.
I began to search for my father’s missing journal, but I could feel that something was wrong. A restless presence, cold and evil, was approaching. I realized Vlad’s remains should have been here. The sun had reduced his body to a roasted skeleton. I had to find it. I renewed my search, but the office kept changing. Every time I checked some area and looked up, everything else would have moved, so it was impossible to know where I’d actually looked. A sense of dread hung over me as I scrambled around. He was in this mess somewhere, and I knew that the longer I took, the more likely it was that someone would bring him back—just as I had been brought back. Then he would find me and I’d have to relive the horror of that night all over again.
I started walking down a corridor—the secret passage my uncle had used to escape. Then I remembered—this was where I’d thrown Vlad’s body. I sensed his evil here. It was approaching from behind. There was a door ahead. A way out. I started to run, but my legs were leaden, the injured one almost useless. It was bleeding and sore. The harder I tried to move, the slower I got. Vlad was getting closer. Right behind me. I wasn’t going to make it.
“It’s okay.”
I stopped and took a deep breath. It was Ophelia.
“Thank God,” I said. I ran my fingers through my hair and leaned against the wall. When I looked up, we were back at the Nicholls Ward. I had my scrubs on. I could tell by the sky outside that it was time to get ready for bed.
Ophelia had a look of relief on her face. There might have been some pity, too. “Are you all right?”
I sighed. “I am now.” I started walking toward my room. Ophelia wasn’t following me. “What is it?”
Her eyebrows rose and she tipped her head forward. “Zachary, you don’t live here anymore.”
That was true. I don’t know what I was thinking. We lived together on Hunter Street now. No sooner did I imagine the inside of our house than we were standing together in the living room. “Are you all right?” I asked.
Ophelia nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. But I need to take you to see someone.”
“Like a doctor?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that.”
I had hoped that if I was going to be traveling the Dream Road, I’d get to visit Luna again, but Ophelia obviously had other plans. She asked me to close my eyes, then took hold of my hand. A warmth passed over my face. A glow.
“Can I open them now?”
“Not yet,” she said, but I’d opened them anyway. I had been expecting her to say yes, so my eyelids slipped up just a crack. I didn’t see much. Just soft, pale light. It was everywhere. We were back in the Nexus. I heard the voices again. A symphony of overlapping dream songs. I pinched my eyes shut.
“Now,” said Ophelia.
When I opened them a second time, I was inside a dark building. I could hear birds singing outside, and the hum of insects. A huge set of double doors was open in front of me. A field stretched out to the edge of a forest, which receded down a mountain slope. The wind danced through the tall blades of grass and ruffled the pine trees. The sun was shining, but I wasn’t afraid. Wildflowers were in bloom. I looked up at the decorated arches overhead. I’d seen a place like this before—in pictures.
“Are we in China?”
“No, this is Tibet, ‘The Roof of the World.’ ”
I stepped onto the threshold so I could walk outside. Then I felt Ophelia’s hand on my arm, stopping me.
“This way.”
I turned and nearly tripped over a small gong sitting on the floor. Beside it was an open fireplace set deep in the floor.
“To him who overcomes, I will give the right to sit with me,” said a voice.
I didn’t know anyone else was in the room. My whole body jerked in surprise. I followed Ophelia’s gaze to the far side of the temple. Although my eyes were usually good in the dark, I had trouble penetrating the shadows. Smoke was in the air, too, rising from two incense burners set on the floor. A pipe like a water pitcher with a huge stem was sitting between them. Only when the neck of it rose into the air did I see the man who had spoken. He was old and dressed in a robe that might have been orange at one time, but now seemed to reflect the shadows that surrounded him. He sat cross-legged on a matt. Smoke drifted in two slow ribbons from each of his wide nostrils, and more curled around his head, which was bald. His eyebrows were impossibly long and seemed to float in the air like insect wings. Stranger still were his eyes. They were missing. Skin grew over his empty orbits.
“For the Lamb will be their shepherd,” he said. “And he will lead them to springs of living water.” His voice was faint, but oddly musical. It was followed by a quiet sound. Almost a purr. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing. “I am Baoh, the Prophet. And you are welcome here.”
Baoh—that was the name Charlie and I had seen in the letter we’d found at the safe house.
Ophelia bowed her head. “This is Zachary. Son of the late Robert Douglas Thomson, the great vampire hunter.”
“You place us all in great peril, woman of the desert.”
He raised a hand and waved for Ophelia to go. She was still holding my arm. She clung to it a moment longer, just so I would look at her. When I did, she nodded once, then walked toward the door.
“The first woe is past; two other woes are yet to come,” the man said in a loud voice. His head was cocked to the side as though trying to get a better view of Ophelia as she disappeared across the field.
I wondered how he could see with no eyes. A few awkward seconds passed.
“Is she gone?” he whispered.
I was so surprised by his question and the change in his voice that I didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he rose to his feet slowly, as if his joints were stiff, and waved a hand in front of his face to clear away the smoke.
“You want a drink, gringo?”
I shrugged. “Um . . . okay.” I glanced back at the temple doors. They were closed. When I turned back, the man was gone. I had a flash of panic. I didn’t want to be stuck here alone. A second later he appeared at my side. The top of his head barely reached my shoulder. He had two gold goblets, one in either hand. He passed one to me. It had a red liquid inside. It might have been blood, but I couldn’t tell. I sniffed at it, but my nose didn’t seem to be working. He tapped the edge of his drink against mine, then raised it up.
“To eternal life. And miniskirts.” He drained it in one go, then his head shook. “Whoa. That hits the spot.”
I took a reluctant sip. It tasted sweet, and salty, and warm. Like blood mixed with something better than blood. I drank. A pleasant euphoria filled my limbs.
“Not, bad, eh?” Baoh said, placing his hand on the small of my back. He waved his other hand about the room as though the place was a colossal disappointment to him. “I don’t know why she insists on these stuffy meeting places.” He shook his head. “Poor Ophelia. Sooooo sad. Sooooo serious.” He moved me gently to a door at the back. “But Baoh’s a media man, eh. Give the people what they want! Doom and gloom. A little hope. Something from Revelation, maybe. And a way forward.” Then he clapped me on the shoulder. His other hand reached into the folds of his robe and came out with a pair of sunglasses, which he slipped over his skin-covered orbits. “I gave up my eyes for true sight.” His voice was suddenly melancholy. “And now look at me.”
The door opened. Noise exploded inward. Cars. Horns. Loud music. Neon light. Wind and exhaust. Grease from a thousand deep fryers. Steam from a thousand soup kitchens. I found myself standing on top of a huge apartment building. Behi
nd was a penthouse suite that looked to be made mainly of glass. Not a typical dwelling for a vampire.
“Ahhh, this is more like it!” Baoh shouted.
“Where are we?”
He laughed and spread his hands. His clothes had changed. He was now wearing a loose silk shirt and bell-bottom trousers. It did a perfect job of showing off his skinny legs and potbelly. “The center of the universe. Tokyo!”
“How did you do it?”
He laughed. “This is nothing. You should see me with a Ouija board.”
He turned and reached for a tray. A waitress in high heels was holding it beside him. I wondered if she’d just appeared out of thin air. She had mascara plastered over her large almond eyes and was wearing less clothing than your average hamster. He reached up to a decanter, then filled two thimble-size glasses and handed one of them to me. “Drink up. You’re with one of the old boys now.”
My eyes were still on the waitress.
“Bah, don’t mind her. She’s not really here.” He waved a hand and she walked away. “Come on inside.” He downed his drink.
I was still looking at the clear liquid he’d handed me.
“He who hesitates is lost,” he said. Then he took the drink from me, knocked it back, and tossed the empty vessel over his shoulder. I didn’t hear it land. “One should never overdo opium on the first night. It can stop your heart faster than a long, tall woman in a black dress.”
Opium? Was that what had made the blood taste so good? I wasn’t sure if I should ask, so I kept quiet and followed him across the terrace, through a set of glass doors, and into an apartment that looked more expensive than the Vatican. At least a dozen women were inside.
“Out. Out. Out. Out. Out,” he shouted. Once the room was clear, he put his hand beside his mouth and whispered, “Don’t you dare tell them how old I am. It’s hard enough getting a date when you have no eyeballs.” He picked up a remote for the TV, which was about ten feet across and mounted on the wall.