by Amy Cross
Taking a deep breath, I walk through to the main room. I feel like shit, and when I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I realize that I look awful. I quickly wipe away the hint of blood that's smeared across my chin. No wonder I got a few weird looks on the way home, although I'm sure everyone just figured it was red lipstick. Other than that, though, I'm a disgrace. I look like a drunk human, as if somehow I've managed to bring myself down to their level. Is this what my life's going to be? And I doomed to just get drunk and waste away in a miasma of self-pity?
Plus, I still need to kill Mark Gregory. After what he saw, I don't have a choice.
Making my way to the middle of the room, I pause for a moment and try to stop swaying. Not only did I make a huge mistake last night by not killing Mark, I've now compounded that mistake by getting drunk instead of going after him. Every second he's still alive is a second that could backfire terribly. Sure, I was careful not to get caught by any surveillance cameras last night, but I still don't need to have some wise-ass cop keeping an eye on me. If I just sober up, go and kill Mark, and mop up any accidents that might have occurred, I can still rescue this situation. I can still be Abigail Hart, medical examiner and all-round genius, and all my secrets can stay neatly covered up.
Letting out a hiccup, I wander through to the bathroom, where I spend a few minutes splashing water on my face. Soon I'm feeling a lot better, even though the alcohol is clearly still in my system. Staring at myself in the mirror once again, I realize that I look a lot like my mother. I only saw her a couple of times, of course, but I can still see the similarity. I can't help but wonder whether she ever got into this kind of mess. It's at moments like this that I can feel my human side breaking through, and although I like the idea of being connected to Sophie, I also hate the fact that one half of my soul comes from such weak stock. I'm certain that Patrick never got himself into this kind of mess. I need to be more like him. I need to -
Suddenly I hear a sound somewhere in the apartment. A faint click, maybe a footstep.
Turning and looking at the door, I immediately realize that in my drunken state I've managed to overlook the fact that I'm not alone. Damn it, I should have been more cautious, but there's definitely someone else here. In fact, as I continue to sober up, I realize that I'm picking up a strong scent, and a cold chill runs through my body as I recognize exactly what this means: there are vampires in my apartment. Two, maybe three of them, and they're moving slowly and cautiously, making their way straight toward this room. Standing completely still, I feel the blood pumping through my veins and I realize that I'm in no fit state to fight, especially if these guys are tougher than my last opponents. I have no idea how I'm going to handle this, but I need to come up with an idea fast.
"Ms. Hart?" calls out a male voice, followed by a knock on the door. "We'd like a word with you."
I take a deep breath, hoping it might help me to sober up faster.
"Please, Ms. Hart," the voice continues. "Don't make us come in there and get you. It would be a lot better if we got things started on a civilized note."
Something about this feels very wrong. Vampires aren't exactly known for being polite, and these guys must have sensed by now that I'm not exactly in good shape.
"Okay," the voice says. "I'm going to open the door. I hope you're decent."
Seconds later, the handle turns and the door swings open to reveal a middle-aged man wearing a black suit, with large, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. There are two other men, similarly dressed but completely bald, standing a little further back. Together, they make for an imposing sight.
"Ms. Hart," the nearest man says, "my name is Absalom. I was hoping we might be able to have a chat."
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
"Taking after your father, I see," Absalom says with a smile.
"I need a minute," I reply suddenly, trying not to let them see that I'm panicking, even though my heart is pounding. "Do you... Do you want to wait while I freshen up?"
"Sure," he says. "Don't be too long, though. We don't have all day." With that, he pulls the door shut again, leaving me once again standing completely alone in the bathroom.
Turning to the mirror, I realize that although I'm feeling much more sober, I'm still not at full strength. This Absalom guy and his friends seem to be the complete opposites of the three vampires who attacked Gregory in the parking lot, but that doesn't mean they're not connected. After all, I've been in New York for a few years now without being bothered too much by other vampires, so it's kind of hard to believe that everything that's happening right now is simply a coincidence. I feel as if I'm starting to attract attention to myself, and that's the last thing I want. Finally, realizing that I'm going to have to go and talk to the intruders, I cautiously open the bathroom door and make my way through to the main room.
"I hope we didn't catch you at a bad time," Absalom says, smiling as he sets the framed photo of Shelley back on the desk. "It's so hard to know when you'll be home. You seem to keep unusual hours, Ms. Hart."
"I've been busy," I reply, glancing over at the two bald men, who are standing by the window. "If you want to talk," I continue, "maybe we could arrange a more convenient time?"
"You seem a little worse for wear," he replies, with a hint of a smile.
"I'm fine," I tell him, aware that he can probably smell the alcohol on me.
"What about the attack by the Strix?" he continues. "I'm aware you encountered three of their number in a parking lot recently. I trust you were able to dispatch them without too much trouble?"
"I..." Pausing, I realize that this guy clearly knows a lot more about me than I know about him. "Who did you say you were again?" I ask, starting to think about the possibility of getting out of here. Sure, it might be a messy exit, but any exit would be preferable to letting the jaws of a trap slowly close around me.
"My name is Absalom," he says. "I was sent by the Disgrace to check up on you. I'm afraid there are some concerns about your state of mind, and so far it certainly seems that you might have some issues that you need to overcome. Frankly, it looks like I got here just in time."
"The Disgrace?" I reply. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"First," he says, stepping toward me, "allow me to offer my condolences for the tragic loss of your father. I know it has been a while now, but still, I'm sorry that you had to suffer a bereavement." He reaches out to shake my hand, but I keep a safe distance from him. "Obviously the changed nature of the world has had certain effects," he continues. "As you know, vampires are slowly recovering from the effects of the war. Your father's death meant that certain limitations on our resurrection were ended, and now a few scattered survivors are able to walk the earth once again. Unfortunately, this has resulted in some rather chaotic scenes, and naturally this can't be allowed to continue."
"I think I need to take a nap," I say, turning to walk to the door, "so if you -" I stop in my tracks as I feel Absalom grab my arm. "Am I not free to leave?" I ask, standing completely still. "Is this some sort of vampire arrest?"
"Things can't continue like this, Abigail," he replies. "The Disgrace has been watching you with a great deal of interest. Not only because of your parentage, but also because of you apparent desire to integrate with the human world. We believe that you could be of great use to us, if you're able to let go of certain tendencies that seem to be developing of late."
"Such as?"
"Such as self-pity," he continues. "You've become self-destructive, Abigail. I know you didn't have an easy life, but you can't continue to use your past as an excuse for such damaging behavior." He pauses. "Do you intend to act like a hormone-addled teenager for the rest of your life?"
"I'm not a teenager," I say, turning to face him and pulling my arm free from his grip. "I'm an adult."
"Then behave like one," he snaps back at me, with a hint of venom in his voice. "The Disgrace has decided that something needs to be done about your behavior. You're a mess,
and -"
"You don't know what you're talking about," I reply firmly, trying to hide my anger.
"You're a mess," he continues, "and sooner or later you're going to make a terrible mistake. We've been watching you, and your behavior is extremely troubling. You drink during the day. You fight the urge to feed on humans, and then you eventually break and start binging like some kind of craven addict. You engage in occasional, recreational mating rituals, again with humans, and you flit rapidly from one extreme to the other. You're unhappy, Abigail, and your unhappiness is driving you to the point of ruin."
"I don't need to be happy," I reply. "It's my life. You don't get to tell me what to do."
"And what about this human you've been spending time with? Detective Mark Gregory knows what you are, Abigail. Do you think he'll keep your secret forever? How are you going to deal with things when he eventually gets some proof? How do you know he's not already watching you?"
"I'm going to kill him," I say firmly.
"Why haven't you done it already?"
"It'll be done by tonight," I reply.
"I wish I could believe you." He pauses. "You keep a photo of one of your victims in your apartment, Abigail. You wear a necklace that was once owned by your mother. You have nightmares about the uncle who died at your hands, and one night you ended up drinking some of your own blood. Do you realize how close to madness you've strayed?"
"You're not my mother," I tell him. "You don't have any right -"
"The Disgrace has every right," he says firmly. "The Disgrace is charged with keeping the new world in order, and -"
"No-one's in charge of me."
"The Disgrace will not tolerate your continued misbehavior," he continues, raising his voice a little. "I didn't come here to negotiate with you, Abigail. I came because the Disgrace wishes you to understand the framework that -"
"There's no framework," I spit back at him, starting to feel a rising sense of anger. How dare this guy just turn up in my apartment and start telling me what I can and can't do? "It's great that you've got your little club," I continue, "but I don't want any part of it. I've got my own crap to be getting on with, so if you've said everything you want to say, it's time for you to leave. I never agreed to be told what to do by anyone."
"You don't understand -"
"I understand perfectly," I continue, stepping toward him. The bald men by the window twitch, but they don't come to stop me. "You think I'm lost and alone," I say, staring at Absalom. "You think poor little Abigail Hart has got no parents and needs someone to come along and put her back on the straight and narrow. Some kind of father figure. There's one thing you've got wrong, though. I don't need anyone. I don't want any help. And there's absolutely no way that I'm ever going to submit to your dumb-ass Disgrace or your framework or any of this stuff. Do you understand me?"
He smiles. "I understand you perfectly."
"Good," I say, turning to walk away.
"Now it's time for you to understand me," he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me back toward him. "This is not up for negotiation," he snarls, baring his fangs. "The Disgrace doesn't ask. The Disgrace tells."
"If you don't let go of me," I hiss at him, "I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life."
"You don't scare me," he replies, pulling me even closer. "You've had it far too easy for far too long, Abigail. Unfortunately for you, the world is changing, and that means you have to reconsider your position within that world."
"Fuck you!" I shout, trying to pull free.
"I hardly think so," he replies, before grabbing me by the waist and throwing me across the room with such force that I smash straight through the wall and land hard on the kitchen floor, with pieces of plaster and wood raining down all around me.
Trying to get up, I feel an agonizing pain in my left arm and realize that the hand has almost been ripped away. The bone has been snapped, and now the hand itself is only attached to the rest of my body by a thick strip of twisted skin. It'll heal, of course, but not instantly. As I try to get up again, I hear footsteps nearby and I turn to see that Absalom has walked through to watch me.
"I was sent here to do one of two things," he continues, walking across the room until he's standing directly over me. "Educate you, or execute you. The Disgrace has blessed either course of action. I'd prefer the former, but I'm willing to go with the latter." He leans down toward me. "So what's it going to be, Abigail? Are you ready to grow up at last, or are you going to die right here on the kitchen floor?"
Part Two
The Disgrace
Prologue
Many years ago
This is how the great vampire war always had to end: with the walls of Gothos trembling; with great armies gathering on all sides, ready to ransack the hallowed home of the seers; with Gothos himself standing with his gathered followers, trying to come up with one final way to achieve victory.
"Gather the Hecates," he muttered.
"We cannot," replied Rasmussen.
"Why?"
"You had them all killed."
"Did not even one survive?"
Rasmussen paused. "One lives. Perhaps. His life hangs by a thread, and he is barely able to speak. I doubt he will be of much use -"
"Command him to develop a solution to this travesty," Gothos replied firmly. "There must be a machine, something that will allow me to escape. Inform him that the Disgrace is not to be informed of this plan."
"The Disgrace is cowering under his bed," replied Rasmussen.
"And there he must stay," said Gothos. "Go! Order the last Hecate to work!" Turning to look over at the window, he saw the silhouettes of his enemies, framed in the distance against the night sky. "Tell him to hurry!" As these final words slipped from his lips, there was a huge rush of noise, shaking the house still further.
"There is another problem," Rasmussen said, his voice filled with fear. "There are reports that Patrick is returning to the house."
"Patrick?" Gothos paused. "He lives? I would have thought that even he could not possibly survive out there."
"He has survived," Rasmussen replied, "and our spies tell us that he is filled with a great deal of anger, my Lord. This anger..." He paused. "It pains me to even make such a suggestion," he continued after a moment, "but I am reliably informed that Patrick's anger is directed not at our enemies, but at you."
"Me?" Gothos stared at him, barely able to believe such a claim.
"It is said..." Rasmussen paused again. "It is said that he has learned the secret, my Lord. The great secret, the one you said must never be revealed. It is said that Patrick has learned the name of our enemy... the name of he who commands the armies that even now march against us. It is said that this knowledge has driven Patrick insane, and that he approaches the house with the intention of delivering great harm to your person."
"He cannot know such a thing," Gothos muttered darkly. "I have taken great pains to ensure that our enemy's name is never uncovered."
"I am aware of this," replied Rasmussen. "Nevertheless, I think it would be prudent to consider the possibility that Patrick's anger might soon be visited upon us. If we -"
"We will stand and face him," said Gothos, as the house shook again. Looking at the window and seeing that the opposing army was still holding back, he paused for a moment. "Why do they wait?" he asked eventually. "Have they not been given orders to swarm into this place and kill us all?"
"I think..." Rasmussen's voice trailed off.
"What?" Gothos asked, turning to him. "What do you think?"
"I think they're waiting," Rasmussen continued. "I think that possibly they're waiting to see what Patrick will do first." He paused. "As I explained, Patrick's anger is said to be vast. In fact, from what I have heard, his fury has stopped both armies in their tracks."
Today
Abby Hart
The chains are strong and tight, holding me in place against the floor, wrapped around my entire body. No matter how hard I try to pull and strain
against them, they don't even budge. I'm trapped. Helpless.
Again.
He's nearby. I can hear Absalom's footsteps in the darkness, walking slowly around me. Every time I try to turn and look at him, I feel the chains pressing down against my face. I guess I should take the situation as a compliment. After all, they're clearly terrified of me. Why else would they go to such great efforts to keep me in place? I swear to God, when I get out of here, I'm going to tear these bastards apart. I can already feel the rage building, starting to burn through my body. As soon as they make a mistake, I'll rip them apart.
"I can tell you're awake," he says suddenly. "Your breathing has changed."
I stay quiet. After all, there's no point giving him what he wants. There's something smug about Absalom's tone, as if he's pleased with himself for having trapped me like this. All I need is one moment of freedom, though, and I'll have this bastard's head ripped clean from his shoulders. He and his friends jumped me last night, catching me off-guard and bringing me down while I wasn't at my best. I let my guard down, but I won't make the same mistake again. They're going to learn that when you come after Abby Hart, there are consequences. After all, I'm not just any old vampire.
"Before we get started," he continues, "I want you to know that I've never under-estimated your strength, Abigail. I'm quite aware that we would have had a great deal more trouble subduing you were it not for the fact that you were drunk."
"I wasn't drunk," I spit back at him.
"Yes, you were," he replies calmly. "You know you were. Nevertheless, we would have overpowered you eventually. You're certainly very strong, but there are three of us, and we could have brought in reinforcements if necessary. Anyway, I trust that you've sobered up over the past few hours, even if perhaps you're not feeling too perky right now. You look a little sallow, though. Headache? Hangover?"