by Max Turner
I had no idea how to follow this person’s advice. All I felt was more panic. If Death could read my thoughts, how was I supposed to beat him?
Empty your mind.
In my moment of confusion, Death struck quickly. My mind wasn’t empty. It was full of distress and all the reasons I wanted to live. I blocked the next stroke, then countered clumsily, overextending myself. Death smashed his sickle into my stomach. I crumpled. He raised his arm for the killing stroke. Then something struck him flush on the back and threw him off balance.
Run!
The voice in my head was loud. The speaker was right in front of me. He was young in appearance—perhaps ten or so years older than me. His hair was light brown and tied back in a ponytail. He grabbed me by the arm and jumped on top of the nearest container.
“Go, go!” he shouted.
I started sprinting across the top of the containers. The vampire stayed at my heels, step for step. Not an easy feat. I was the Night Runner.
Who are you? I asked.
He turned to a vampire closing in from the shadows and knocked him aside. I am he who goes before and prepares the way.
Other vampires appeared, shrieking and howling behind us. I didn’t look back as we ran across the boxes towards the bow of the ship.
Are you ready? he asked me.
For what?
A leap of faith.
We’d reached the last box in the stack. It was too foggy to see past the edge. The vampire sped past me and jumped.
I looked back over my shoulder. Death was behind me, his cowl snapping. War was hovering in the air over his shoulder, his legs a funnel of smoke. I kept my eyes on them for a fraction of a second too long. A thin, bone-white arm covered in pustules reached from the shadows and grabbed my foot. I pitched forward and dropped the rapier. As I slid over the edge of the box, I twisted my body so that my legs and feet were dangling over the side. I heard a splash. The other vampire had landed in the river, which was far enough away that only an inhuman leap would get me there.
I started to pull myself back up, but the hand of Death clamped over my wrist. He hauled me forward and leaned closer so our eyes were inches apart. Then he slashed me cleanly across the throat with his sickle. I had just enough time to pull my hand free before the pain arrived. Then I fell backwards through the air in a painful state of confusion. The face I’d seen was familiar. Whiskers of white and grey and black. Skin weathered like old leather. A forehead marked with the same rune as the Changeling’s other servants. But it was his milky-blue eyes that were the most troubling. The windows to his soul. I remembered the first time I’d seen them, years ago, when he’d crashed through the front doors of the Nicholls Ward on a stolen motorcycle to warn me that Vlad was coming to get me.
Death was my old friend, John Entwistle.
CHAPTER 25
AWAKENINGS
A MAN DOESN’T live long with his throat cut open. Neither does a vampire. I had just enough time to wonder why my old friend had killed me, then I hit the deck and was dead before the first bounce.
After the pain and darkness came a feeling of warmth. I saw a light in the distance and drifted towards it. Soon its glow surrounded me, cleansing me of worry. Others were there. I felt a sense of togetherness. And I discovered again that all things are good—that, in the end, we will all come to the light and be made clean and whole again.
I awoke later in darkness. I felt diminished—small and disconnected. The warmth of the light was gone, as was the sense that things were as they should be. The smells of damp earth and stone, and of blood, were all around. I heard a bubbling noise and the air rattling in and out of my chest. My vision returned and I saw that I was in a small, dark space. A coffin. I reached up and pushed open the lid.
My armour was gone. In its place was a brown robe, like a monk’s habit, belted at the waist with rope. My feet were bare. The room around me was strangely lit. Red, orange and yellow light bounced off the stone walls. In the far corner, several thick candles poured grey, waxy smoke up to the ceiling. Fires were burning under jars of chemicals that bubbled steam into the air. Bowls and beakers sat next to mortars and pestles stained from use. Everywhere there were bottles and herbs and bits of things I could not identify. Corpses in various states of decay lined the walls. All were men and, judging by the teeth, vampires. Expressions of pain and terror covered their grey and flaking faces. Something about that sat uneasily with me. Vampires weren’t supposed to rot in death.
“Old friends, once loyal to me, victims of that usurper, the Changeling.” The speaker’s voice was deep and powerful, and seemed to echo through the room and my head at the same time. I’d only met one person who could do that, but he was dead.
A shadow moved and I started. A man in a dark cloak was hunched over a counter running along the far side of the room. His body was short and thick. Long black hair spilled past his collar. He turned so that one large green eye stared past his shoulder. It was Vlad the Impaler. I caught my breath and froze.
Do you fear me, pup?
I did. This man had killed my parents. He’d tried to kill my friends and me.
Far better that this Prince be feared than loved. Fear is a whetstone for the mind. Let it keep your wits sharp. You will need your head about you in the hours to come.
What was he talking about? And how was it possible that he was even alive? When I’d last seen him at Iron Spike Enterprises, he was little more than ash and bone. But his remains had disappeared.
How I came to be here is far less important than why. I am here because I am needed.
I needed him like I needed a knife in the back. I couldn’t stand his voice in my head, so I closed my mind and envisioned the calming light of the tunnel.
“That’s better,” he said aloud. “A man should be the master of his own thoughts.” He stroked his moustache, two thick ribbons that stretched halfway across each cheek, then turned back to his workstation. His breathing slowed, as if he were engaged in something that required all of his concentration.
Something pulled at my arm. A needle had been inserted under the skin near my elbow. It was connected to a long tube that was channelling blood into my body. I carefully removed it and drank until the tube ran dry. The rush swept over me and I lay back. Above, the vaulted ceiling stretched out to the tops of the walls like the legs of a giant spider. We were deep in the earth. I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me.
“Where am I?” I asked. “And how did you get here?”
Vlad didn’t answer.
A feeling of faintness came over me. The room spun and my vision blurred. I sat up too quickly. An intense nausea followed. My stomach started to heave and blood filled my mouth. I swallowed it down and stepped out of the coffin. My balance was off and I fell to the floor.
“What have you done to me?”
Vlad loomed above. I hadn’t heard his footsteps or felt their vibration on the stones. I had forgotten that he could change his location without seeming to move. It was alarming.
“Not all who die go to the light,” he said. “Death improves some souls. Others not at all. I could not chance you, little cub, so I have improved you myself.” He shifted back to the counter and spoke over his shoulder. “I have given you my blood, pup, and the blood of a night stalker. It will accelerate the development of your talents.”
My stomach lurched. Vampires weren’t supposed to mix their blood. It was possible for Luna and me only because we were both young and our talents hadn’t yet manifested. This was awful. It took both hands and all my abdominal strength to avoid erupting.
“You are decades from maturation. A shortcut must be taken. It comes at a price.”
Vlad reached into a cage on the floor beside him and pulled out a rat. It squealed and squirmed as he forced a small eyedropper down its throat. A moment later, it stopped moving. He set it down, grabbed a syringe from the table, stuck it into a small vial and drew out a few drops of liquid, which he injected into the r
at’s belly. After a few seconds, it began to squirm again, then shuddered and was still. Vlad snarled. The room seemed to dim, as though a dark cloud had passed over the lights. He grabbed the dead rat by its hind end and hurled it into a basket that was filled with others just like it, mouths twisted and eyes bugged out. They had not passed gently into death.
“What happened on the ship? Where are my friends?” I tried to stand, but my body wasn’t ready.
Vlad ignored the question. He adjusted a vertical tube that was dripping liquid into a beaker, then removed a flask from its place above a hissing burner. “Istvan mentioned a boy in your safekeeping. A shape-changer. Who is he?”
“Is he alive?”
“For now. But he is unclean. Who is he, and why does he travel in your company?”
“He’s a friend. Someone Ophelia and I agreed to look after.”
Vlad turned. His eyes dug into me. It felt as if his thick fingers were sliding under my skull. I gasped. Images of Vincent’s father flashed through my mind, then others of Vincent, when he died and when I brought him back by feeding him from a cut in my hand.
“You will regret that decision,” Vlad said. He turned and grabbed another rat. After administering more drops and another injection, it died just as the other had, although it struggled a bit longer. Vlad seemed to consider this progress. There was less anger in the room when he discarded it.
“Istvan is tending to your friends,” he said. “If you are a Godfearing soul, you should give thanks that my cousin was able to lead them to safety.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes. Istvan is kin, though few remember him as Dracula’s cousin. To the world, he was Stephen the Great of Moldavia, Champion of Christ, Scourge of the Heathen Turk. He is with your friends, readying them as I am readying you.”
I wasn’t ready for anything but a long nap. And all Vlad was doing was torturing some helpless rodents. I would have given both arms to be somewhere else. Luna would be sick with worry.
“What happened to everyone? Where’s Luna?”
Vlad made some adjustments to the equipment in front of him, then removed the flask under the vertical tube and began to heat it. “Your friends are safe. All but the girl.”
He must have meant Suki. The image of her being torn apart was still vivid enough to make my head quiver. No one deserved a death like that. “Is there any chance she survived, that she might come back as one of us?”
Vlad’s gaze passed over the grey-skinned corpses at the edges of the room. “By Istvan’s report, there was little left of her at the end. Another casualty of this war. One of many.”
There was no hope for her then. She was gone.
Life is unfair. How many times does a guy hear that in his life? I understood. I was an orphan. But I still expected there to be justice in the world. There was nothing right about this. I felt sick.
Poor Charlie. How much worse it must have been for him—to lose his girlfriend and father within a day. And Luna. She must have been a wreck. I had to focus on breathing deeply for a few seconds before I could speak again.
“Where are they?” I asked.
“Your friends? Istvan took them to his castle in Moldavia, although they have since been moved.”
“To where?”
When Vlad didn’t answer, I glanced at the vaulted ceiling as if it might hold a clue as to where we were. Vlad had mentioned Moldavia, which I knew was in Europe. That meant we were overseas. Hoping Luna was nearby, I reached out with my mind the same way I would if I wanted to hear her thoughts, but there was nothing around me but stone and earth and corpses.
“I cannot disclose the exact location of your friends, but they are safe. Charlie is surprisingly resilient. I understand he lost his father and was connected to the girl who was murdered. Their deaths have birthed a great anger in him. With the proper guidance, it can be channelled, wielded like a weapon.”
Vlad’s tone was surprisingly mild, as if he were talking about an old acquaintance and not a stranger he’d once tried to murder.
“As for you,” he continued, “Istvan was coming back when you were cut down. Call it luck, providence or divine intervention, but he got to you before our enemies did. Had he not been so swift, you would be under the Changeling’s control now, a mark on your hand and a head stuffed with lies.”
He spat out the last words with surprising vehemence. Then he calmed. “You are where you belong. Did I not say when we first met that you should not connect yourself to anyone but me? Our destinies are intertwined. I have always known it.”
There was nothing I wanted less. He had no right to be alive. I thought of what he’d done to my father and instinctively reached up to grab the necklace he’d given me. It wasn’t there.
Vlad reached under his shirt and removed the silver moon. The golden crescent was snapped to the side. He must have taken that part from Luna.
I was outraged. “That’s mine!” I said.
In a flash, he shifted to my side, grabbed the collar of my robe and hauled me to my feet. “You are mistaken, pup. This is mine. And around my neck is where it will remain, until I give it back to Ophelia. You were never meant to have it. Neither was your father.”
I tried to push him away, but he was back at his bench before I could move.
“I don’t expect your forgiveness or your understanding,” he said. “But if you cannot let bygones be bygones, it is Ophelia who will suffer.”
“So she’s alive?”
“Yes.”
I could scarcely believe it. If Ophelia was alive, she could make things right. But I should have known better than to be hopeful.
“The New Order has her, and her execution is imminent. Only with our combined resources can we hope to save her. I am proposing that we call a truce. If you cannot accept it for your own sake, then consider hers.”
Before he could say more, there was a knock on the wall. Vlad reached up to a lever over his workstation and pulled it down. I heard a metallic groan, and a section of stone rotated inward. Istvan appeared in the space behind. He looked exhausted. His hair was sweaty and stuck to his forehead in clumps.
“Cousin,” Vlad said.
Istvan saw me and nodded. He seemed neither surprised nor pleased. Just tired. He pushed the section of wall closed.
“Well met,” Vlad said. “Are your wards safely tucked away?”
“Do you mean my friends?” I asked. “Where are they?”
Istvan started to answer, but Vlad cut him off. “Circumstances permitting, you will see your companions shortly. But before that happens, there is a task you must perform.”
CHAPTER 26
GOOD COP/BAD COP
VLAD LEANED BACK against the counter and spoke to Istvan. “I was explaining to our young guest that we must work together. He seems reluctant to accept this simple fact. I am hoping reason will prevail.”
Istvan pulled a stool over and collapsed onto it. “All in good time.” He looked at me, his face heavy with fatigue. It took him a moment to speak again. “I imagine you have questions. Now is the time to ask.”
“Where am I?”
“You are beneath Castle Dracula in Romania.”
“How long have I been dead?”
“Three weeks less a day.”
“How did I get here?”
“I chartered a plane to cross the Atlantic. The overland route from Paris was quite convoluted. Do you need details?”
“No. I meant, how did I get off the ship?”
“I slipped your body overboard, then let it sink. Thankfully your armour was heavy, and the fog, thick. Had you not been dead, I never would have managed it. After the ship left port, I went back. And here were are.”
I had imagined something more heroic, but I had no right to complain, except that I was here with Vlad. I wanted to ask why he’d been resurrected and where his body had been all this time, but I couldn’t with him glaring at me, arms crossed in disapproval.
“This man saved your
life, pup,” Vlad snapped. “A small measure of gratitude would be appropriate.”
Istvan smiled, his eyelids at half-mast. “There is no need. Arguably, it was I who led him into trouble. Had we stayed at the hotel, the night would have ended much differently.”
Vlad scowled. “It would only have delayed the inevitable. But we’re wasting time. Ophelia’s trial is six hours away. We need to know who we are up against.”
Both men were looking at me. Istvan leaned forward. “You have some information we need, Zachary, regarding Death.”
“It is rumoured he reveals his face only to his victims,” Vlad said. “Did you see him? Did you recognize him?” He shifted closer.
I looked away. John Entwistle was an old friend. But centuries ago, he’d gone by the name of John Tiptoft. He’d been a mercenary and an executioner, a man who tortured and impaled his enemies. Uncle Jake and Ophelia had suggested back at Iron Spike Enterprises that it was possible for vampires his age to revert back to older ways of thinking when they were raised from the dead. Obviously this was what had happened. What I didn’t know was whether any part of him remained John Entwistle and if he could be changed back. I didn’t want to implicate him until I knew one way or the other.
“Who is Death, pup?”
I clamped my mouth shut. An instant later, an intense pressure built in my skull. Vlad was searching my memory. I pushed against him, my teeth clenched from the strain. Then I heard Istvan whisper to him, his voice muffled and distant, as though coming from another room.
Vladislav, this is not the way.
The pressure stopped, but Vlad continued to stare, his eyes smouldering. “Now is not the time for secrets. You have no idea what is at stake.”
He was wrong. Having witnessed Suki’s death and the death of Charlie’s father, I knew exactly what was at stake.
“Rule number one in any conflict is to know your enemies,” Istvan said. “Identifying the Horsemen will be critical if we are to best the New Order. War we know already.”