Angel's Messiah (13 page)

He shook his head. “
Curse her.
I should leave her to rot in hell.”

But you won’t, will you?

No, I won’t.

The eight mortals partying in a park at the outskirts of a city, not too unlike the one Helena had been raised in, were too drunk, or high, to realise they were in any danger. Eight would not be enough for what he needed to do. He would have to find another park, or another party. If necessary he would prey on the homeless. There were always homeless people, no matter the size of the city, and most of them would never be missed. That was the way of the world, callous as it was. He would need to work quickly though, if he were to feed and have a short rest before meeting the others at the northernmost entrance. There would be no time to enjoy the thrill of the kill. These cattle were simply sustenance.

Drake was a charismatic personality, as all immortals could be if they so chose, and was welcomed to the party. Someone offered him a drink. He thanked them and took the bottle, but did not drink. Instead, he sauntered over to a woman standing on her own, swaying to the music and looking up at the clear, star-filled night.

“Hello there,” he said. “It’s a beautiful night, is it not?”

She laughed. “You talk funny. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I’m from far away,” he conceded. “Would you like me to take you to a place far, far away?”

“Sure,” she said willingly, “take me to the highest of heights.”

He let the bottle drop from his hand and wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her nearer. She shivered from the coldness of his touch.

He whispered into her ear, “How about the lowest of the low instead?”

Before she could answer he bit her neck, drinking greedily. He continued to sway her body as she moaned, so that to the others it looked like she was enjoying dancing with this stranger. He slowly manoeuvred her over to a bench. When she was drained he sat her down. Her eyes were closed. He could tell the others she had passed out. The dance with the mortals had begun …

10.
A Waiting Game

Drake slept for longer than was required. It might be a while before he had the opportunity to sleep again. With the exception of the vampires themselves, all immortals believed vampires needed at least three hours of sleep a night. This was a fallacy the vampires continued to perpetuate, as it served their purposes. A vampire could go without sleep for over a year if necessary. When they slept, they slept like the dead. Anywhere from two to four hours, with three being the average for most. It was a far cry from when Drake had first been changed and required six hours a night. He, along with the others, had evolved and adapted, but could not escape from sleep entirely. They were truly vulnerable when they slept, which was why evolution had taken a hand in helping them along. Most clans slept in shifts. There was always someone awake and on watch to guard their backs.

When Drake woke up he knew it was less than two hours before he would have to depart on the mission to rescue Helena from Satan’s clutches. He walked over to the Renoir hanging on his wall and removed it, leaning it carefully against the wall. The area behind where the painting had hung revealed a safe. Drake opened it and retrieved a rolled piece of parchment, running his finger over the broken seal — Satan’s seal. It was an invitation to a special event — the final moments of the conversion of one of the youngest men to have been made a cardinal by the Pope — to be held in the great dining hall. This was quite a coup for Satan. If he succeeded he’d be one step closer to the Pontiff himself, and to the final downfall of the Catholic Church. Like dominoes, all the other churches would fall shortly after. Satan had aimed his sights on the hardest nut to crack first. He enjoyed the challenge.

The irony that someone of the cloth may be ultimately responsible for saving Helena, by providing an appropriate diversion, was not lost on Drake. One soul lost and another soul saved.

The invitation allowed him to bring a personal guard of twelve — they would not be allowed to attend the event — and seven other guests to witness the conversion. He had not yet accepted the invitation, unsure if he wanted to venture to the place he had been forbidden to visit for many years, when Helena was in residence. Now Drake did not hesitate in sending his response. He bit on the fleshy part of his thumb and allowed his blood to soak the parchment. He dropped the parchment to the floor and watched as it burst into flames. It was done. His acceptance had been received.

Drake rummaged around in the safe again. He carefully removed a musty old cloth bundle and laid it on the coffee table. It contained three very old black daggers. Outwardly they appeared to be nothing special. Drake knew the blade of each had been coated in Satan’s deadly blood. He might have cause to use them in hell, so he strapped one on each arm and one on his thigh. They all needed to be within easy reach.

When the time was close Drake left his chambers and headed towards the place Marcus and the others would be waiting for him — the northernmost entrance. He was in a melancholy mood. This place had been such a big part of his life, from the early days when he was one of the only advocates for organising and training young vampires, to his eventual leadership. While there were a number of clans, all close by, with leaders of their own, it was Drake who was the overall leader of the northern and southern regions.

Marcus, the nine specialists — dressed in black as always — and the ten suicide vamps waited patiently just inside the entrance. Drake clasped Marcus’ forearm and Marcus responded in kind. They whacked each other on the back in a gesture of farewell.

“Take care, my friend,” Drake said. “It is a big responsibility you shoulder. I trust you will handle it well.”

“I’ll keep them in line, Drake. Your empire will still be intact when you return.”

Drake raised his eyebrows and smiled. “
Empire?
I guess I’ve never thought of what we have as an empire before. How strange it is that it took someone else to point it out to me.”

“You were always a little on the modest side, Drake,” Marcus said. “For such a great leader you’re very unassuming.”

Drake laughed. “I was not always so, my friend. If you had known me in the early days … well, let’s just say I was very different, so full of rage and hate.”

One of the specialists signed something and Drake nodded. It was indeed time to leave.

They ran swiftly and quietly two hundred kilometres in a north-easterly direction, until they reached a rocky mountain range. Nestled in a crevice was one of many entrances to Satan’s domain — over three thousand kilometres of winding tunnels that led ever downwards, to reach the entry of the Pleasure Dome. It would take anywhere from thirty-eight to fifty hours to reach their destination, as there were many obstacles to navigate. Satan did not make it easy for those who ventured this way to enter or leave his domain.

They worked their way through the dark tunnels, not needing any light to guide their way. Dark or light, it made no difference. All immortals could see equally well in both. Some of the obstacles, however, were a different matter. Drake and the others found they had to clear a path on more than one occasion. As a result they were coated from head to foot in a thin layer of dust and dirt — not exactly the way Drake had planned on entering the Pleasure Dome. It was not the sort of image a leader would want to impress on others, and first impressions counted greatly in hell.

During the long trek below ground he thought about Helena, and what an impact she had had on his life. Before her, he lived only to train others, and waited patiently for the time of the apocalypse, when the world would be changed. Whether that would make
his
world better or worse remained to be seen. At least it would be something different. Then Helena had appeared in his neck of the woods, of all places. He’d been intrigued by her from the very first moment he’d seen her. She would be the ultimate death of him, he was sure of that. It was this knowledge that led him here, on the path to hell. He had nothing left to lose.

Drake was roused from his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a faint light in the distance. Their destination was in sight.

There was quite a crowd of immortals waiting to enter the Pleasure Dome. It was an invitation-only event and many who had
not
been invited were being turned away. They could come back later, when those in attendance for the special event had returned to their respective homes, and hell was open for business to one and all again.

As Drake and his entourage were allowed entry, some of the checkpoint demons laughed. Not being able to transport from topside to the entrance of the Pleasure Dome must be a real drag, as evidenced by the appearance of Drake and the others.

Drake headed towards his permanent apartment in hell. Being an important and influential leader topside had its privileges, and this was one of them. When they were safely within the confines of Drake’s rooms he headed towards the bathroom. He would need to clean up before selecting something that would be considered appropriate to wear to a conversion. The charade would need to remain in place until it was time.

Freshly cleaned, he draped a towel around his waist and rummaged through the wardrobe, looking for something suitable that wasn’t too restricting. He settled on casual trousers in black, with a black shirt. He would not wear anything on his feet. Satan preferred to go barefoot when not conducting business. Drake
chose
to go barefoot because the footwear available to him was impractical for a hurried ascent over sometimes treacherous terrain. Most would think he was emulating Satan. Perhaps that was a good thing, if others thought he was sucking up to Satan. After all, he wasn’t meant to know Helena was in hell, so no one would suspect she was the real reason he was attending today’s event. As long as he didn’t draw too much attention to himself little else mattered.

“You eight,” he pointed to each of the chosen suicide vamps, “will need to clean up and select some clothes to wear. Whatever you like, it’s of little importance to me. I doubt I will ever be welcome here again, if I make it out alive.”

When Drake was dressed he left his rooms to reacquaint himself with the west wing. He walked as if he had no particular place to go, and was just killing time wandering around. A woman stopped directly in front of him, her hands on her hips.

“Drake, it’s so good to see ya. It’s been a long time,” the woman screeched.

“Hello, Grazia, it
has
been far too long. I see you’re looking as lovely as ever,” Drake said, in a silky smooth voice. “Still working for the man himself?”

“Yeah, I am. He’s such a hard man to please. More so since that woman came back,” Grazia screeched.

“What woman?” Drake asked, playing dumb.

“The one that can’t make up her mind if she
loves
angels, or hates them.”

Grazia leaned in closer to Drake, running her fingers along the buttons of his black shirt.

“Apparently she’s being kept in the west wing — the room with the best view — and isn’t allowed to leave. He comes out of there raging some days, so I hear,” Grazia confided.

“Is that so?” Drake asked.

He rested a hand on Grazia’s hip. He knew exactly which room Helena was confined to. On his very first tour of hell he had been shown the view by Amy, the room’s previous occupant. It was strange how Amy’s and Helena’s paths had crossed, and held so many similarities, even though they had never met. Amy had died thousands of years before Helena was born. Was it more than coincidence?

“Say, Drake, if you’re not doing anything after the conversion, maybe we can hook up, for old times’ sake?” Grazia screeched.

Drake slid his hand from Grazia’s hip to her lower back and pulled her closer to him, until she could feel the coldness of his skin through his shirt.

“Grazia, that’s a wonderful idea. Your place, my place or,” he winked conspiratorially, “The Cage?”

Drake knew he wouldn’t meet with Grazia. As long as she thought he would it bought him more time. He hoped to be long gone by the time the conversion was over.

Grazia pouted. She didn’t like the idea of going to The Cage. “I don’t want to
share
you with anyone, Drake. Let’s meet at your place. It’s so much nicer than mine.”

“My place it is, Grazia.”

Drake lifted her hand to his lips and licked her palm, giving her the type of smile that suggested there would be more of that to come.

“Until later then,” he said, dropping her hand and walking away.

He continued in the direction he’d originally been heading. He needed to walk past Helena’s rooms to see if there was a guard.

“See ya later, Drake,” Grazia screeched after him.

He waved a hand in the air to acknowledge her goodbye as he rounded the corner.

The door Drake stopped at was not guarded. Perhaps there were guards on the inside. He placed both hands on the door and pressed an ear against the warm wood to listen. Although he could hear nothing, deep down he knew she was in there. He headed back towards his apartment to wait until the time was right, and to give everyone their final instructions.