Part 17 (1/2)

As I did so, she opened her eyes. Sea-green eyes, flecked with amber, slanting and feline, unmistakably feminine. They drew me towards them like a siren's sweet song. . . .

I struggled, flailing mentally like a drowning man in that beautiful green sea while she rose, smiling, letting go the single flower in her grasp to reach for me.

But then I recalled what Arminius had taught me. I recoiled both physically and psychically and concentrated on protecting the energy surrounding my heart.

My resolve returned at once. She was halfway to sitting when I pressed the point of the stake between her flat childish b.r.e.a.s.t.s, indenting the white lace diat covered her unbeating little heart. Wielding the stake in my left hand, I raised the mallet overhead in my right and brought it down.

But at the last instant before the hammer found its mark, I quailed at the sight of her sweet sea eyes, at the fiery auburn curls, at the soft porcelain skin. Such an innocent beauty-a mere child. The horror of what I was doing struck me full force, like the blow of the mallet.

Bile rose in the back of my throat. Nauseated, tears stinging my eyes, I sank to my knees just as the metal hammer's head struck the wooden stake, and grasped the coffin's edge with my fingers.Thus was my aim clumsy and the blow softened; the stake pierced her chest, but at an angle some thirty degrees to the right, missing the heart. And the poor child-oh, how she rose, clutching the edge of her little white casket, her cold small hand atop mine for an instant-and then she recoiled with a shriek high and thin and totally inhuman. The pink rose-petal lips parted, revealing small sharp teeth with unnaturally elongated canines, and in her desperate agony she leaned towards me, snarling and snapping like a rabid pup, fangs whistling through the air.

I cried out, too, in despair at her agony, at my failure. I was utterly vulnerable at that moment and knew she would have bitten me-but something held her back. I glanced down at my own chest and was relieved to see there a large golden crucifix.

So she continued to writhe and wail, struggling to climb out of the coffin, to flee from her torment, but my presence at her side entrapped her.

Release her, a voice commanded-firm and calm, yet edged with indignant anger. She has suffered enough! Release her at once!

I glanced up to see Arminius standing at my side, all trace of the grinning idiot gone; he instead shone with the same determined glory, the same magnificent authority I had seen in the Impaler upon his throne. I stared awestruck at his commanding dark eyes, at his aura of physical strength, at his long white hair and beard that blazed like a white-hot flame: the Son of Man in Revelation, with feet of bra.s.s and hair like white wool.

Harden your heart, Abraham. Pity her now, and she is doomed to suffer. Strike again.

Strike!

The sight gave courage. Again I retracted my aura and found the action brought renewed calm, renewed strength. I rose on trembling legs and, eschewing fear, thrust out my hand and righted the stake, ignoring the girl's flailing limbs, her champing teeth now flecked with foam, the once-lovely face now contorted into a h.e.l.lish Medusan rictus. The cross protected; she could only recoil from my touch.

And I struck-this time, a mighty blow that rang echoing throughout the shadowed chamber. The girl gave out a high shrill cry as the stake pierced through cartilage and muscle until it reached the spine.

I swallowed all pity and fear and watched with a fierce determination, ready to strike again if need be. But she released a single shudder, then fell eternally still -and upon her face I watched a transformation subtle yet as stunning as the one Arkady had undergone when he returned to his true mortal state. The unearthly loveliness fled like the snuffing of a lamp and was replaced by a pale, purely human beauty-a beauty that to me was far dearer. For she lay before me a sweet mortal child, her features plain and pinched, her skin the dull waxen grey of a corpse, her lips bloodless and slightly parted, her eyes clouded, sightless.

I closed those unseeing eyes and bent down to give her cool forehead a kiss; hot tears spilled onto the lens of my spectacles and dripped upon her skin, for I could now dare mourn her.

It is not yet finished, Arminius said. The knife.

Reluctant, I unsheathed the blade and held it against the grey-white skin of her throat. But the sight of that innocent face held me back.

Harden your heart, Abraham. It must be done to grant her rest; for the regenerative powers of the vampire are great.

I again retracted my aura, which pity had caused to go out to the child again. Hardened my heart and did the task. Must I write of it here? That terrible final ch.o.r.e, of the brutal effect of that knife against her tender flesh, upon her frail bones, as I struggled to separate head from body?

So it was done, quickly and bloodlessly, and I discovered within my coat a clove of garlic, which I gently put inside that tender litde mouth.

And when I stepped from that chamber into the long, dark corridor again, I found that it led not to a dew-soaked spring morning in a graveyard but to the warm hearthstones in front of the fire.

This was Arminius' cottage, at night. A quick glance at my hands confirmed that I was indeed myself, free of all strange unearthly glows and glimmers, completely mortal and dressed once more in the wool homespun unders.h.i.+rt.

Beside me Arminius sat cross-legged, his white-furred companion's chin resting on his knee.

They seemed entirely normal-except for a faint aura of sparkling gold limning them both.

While my body seemed returned to its usual state, I can only say that my mind felt quite like the room itself-which appeared to contract and expand, seeming one minute peculiarly small, the next, vast as a great cathedral. I sat in front of the fire myself, my thoughts racing as I tried to make sense of these impossible new experiences.

Arminius looked up from stroking the animal's head, his dark eyes filled not with humour or amus.e.m.e.nt but with sad compa.s.sion. ”You are a determined man, Abraham. With training, you shall achieve even more strength of will. In time, you will no longer require my help.”

”These . . . events,” I said slowly. ”Are they real?”

”You are no vampire, my friend. But you must know the vampire's mind if you are to defeat him.” ”Then I did not kill the woman?” ”You cannot kill what never existed.” I nodded with relief. ”And the little girl?” ”She was quite real. You have provided her with the truest help any man can: Now her soul is freed to ascend to the next level. Your father, Vlad, and Zsu- zsanna have all enlisted human a.s.sistance in order to avoid creating others like themselves; but mortal aid of the sort you have just provided was not always available. So the vampire plague is now sprinkled throughout the continent.”

The revelation filled me with alarm. ”What can be done?”

And before the question issued entirely from my lips, I was no longer seated in front of the warm rea.s.suring glow of Arminius' hearth but was standing in an alleyway between two tall brick buildings. A nearby streetlamp cast a sliver of light over my boot-tops, revealing cobblestones lightly dusted with snow.

The night was clear, bright with stars and moon, so bone-chilling it stung my nose, my cheeks, and turned my warm breath to mist. The rapidity of the sudden s.h.i.+ft of scene made me slightly dizzy (as did the noxious smell of rotting garbage, festering somewhere nearby); I leaned against the nearest cold wall and tried to orient myself.

This was a large city; for though the position of the moon and the deep blackness of the sky indicated a late hour, the wide avenue beyond the alley was not silent but singing with the click of horses' hooves and the creak of carriage wheels. The alley, however, was long and narrow and dark, somewhat sheltered from public view.

I thought myself alone. But as surprise pa.s.sed and my senses and attention slowly returned, I detected to my left, at the alley's walled-off end, a feminine voice, drunken and raucous and giggling. I turned-careful first to retract my aura as Arminius so often warned me to do-and spied, standing in a feeble pane of light, the source of the noise.

A woman, white-skinned and voluptuously plump, with a round, plain face and ornate hair an unnatural shade of hennaed red-almost as red as her bright crimson gown, cinched impossibly tight at the waist, and so low-cut her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s seemed on the verge of spilling out. She stood against the brick wall, unmindful of the cold, her red cape pulled open and held back teasingly by red-gloved hands upon her hips to better reveal her wares.

”Come on, then,” she said in German with full scarlet-painted lips, fluttering eyelids thickly lined with kohl. And she tossed her head, clumsily seductive, at her companion, who stood hidden by shadow.

Apparently, her words were not enough, for the dark figure did not move; not until she grinned and revealed her secret-grabbing the folds at the front of her skirt and slowly parting them to reveal a petticoat beneath . . . then parting those folds as well to reveal black stockings and white thighs, and the golden-brown triangle at the top of her legs.

”Come on,” she urged, with inebriated vehemence that verged on angry impatience. ”Come on. . . .”

Her suitor stepped forward into the ribbon of light. I could see only his back but knew he was white-haired, rotund, well dressed. He moved swiftly to unfasten his trousers and with an abrupt, savage motion, impaled her-at which she let go a startled, then pleased cry- and pressed her fast to the wall. She spread her pale legs wide, the red skirt spilling down on either side of her, a b.l.o.o.d.y cascade, and wrapped them as best she could about his thick middle.

My cheeks warmed with embarra.s.sment and t.i.tilla-tion; I could not understand why Arminius should have deposited me in this time and place simply to witness such an illicit encounter. But again, I forced myself to attend to my own mental protection, imagining again that I was surrounded by my own blue and violet glow, taking care that it was thickest around my heart.

At once the sense of l.u.s.t eased, and my eyes perceived-not saw, I must be careful to note, for it was a sense beyond that of mere sight, but perceived-a darkly glittering glow about the harlot's customer. A veil of indigo, much as I had perceived myself when I had taken on the vampire's form, and the realisation made me study the man more closely.

I could not see his face, but of a sudden I recognised his form, his portly bearing, his white hair, though I had never before seen him standing-only lying dead on the floor of a moving train. This was the man Arkady had killed and begged me to mutilate in the same fas.h.i.+on I had the twelve-year-old girl. But I, in my self-righteous anger, had refused; and here, now, was the result.

He was thrusting vigorously, swiftly, unrestrainedly, pounding the woman against the wall with such force that her guttural cries, in the same rhythm as his movement, grew shrill with as much pain as pleasure. . . .

Oh oh oh oh oh . . .

I looked about me and saw that I had no weapons this time-no stake, no knife, no hammer-nothing but my medical bag and the large crucifix over my heart. The latter I clasped in my right hand and, lifting it up so that my enemy might see, began walking towards him.

Up to that moment, I think he did not sense my presence. But at the instant I lifted the cross and held it aloft, he swivelled his neck about with preternatural ease and glanced over his shoulder to see me approach.

This galvanised him. While I was still many steps away, with a quick violent motion, he seized the woman's neck in his teeth. There was no time to hypnotise, to entice, to lull into dreamy cooperation. He was determined to feed, and this he did rapidly and efficiently, tearing brutally through the skin.

She screamed in startled agony, writhing, flailing as the blood sprayed forth, spattering her white face and bosom, disappearing against the red of her lips, her bodice, her hair. He thrust his hips once more, so powerfully that I heard the m.u.f.fled crack of bones breaking.

She wailed again-a long, piercing sound that faded to a moan as she hung, legs dangling, helpless, while he drank quickly, greedily, throat working, white hair dappled with her dark blood.