Authors: Nerine Dorman
He lay face down, leaf litter filling his mouth and something heavy–a foot, perhaps–pressing down heavily on the small vertebrae of his neck.
“Vampires take at least a week to heal from a snapped spinal column, Trystan. By then the sun would have done its work, especially if you’re already weak from blood loss.”
Don’t.
The pressure came down a fraction harder and a groan wheezed past his lips.
“Why don’t you go ahead and finish the job then?”
“Because I’m not done with you yet. Adversity, if it doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. You amuse me and, let me tell you, it takes a lot to amuse me after six centuries shuffling around on this mud-ball.”
He didn’t know how to answer that but a spasm caused him to twitch. Although he hadn’t thought she would, the boot came down harder.
“Because I don’t want you messing up my plans for the immediate few hours, I am going to have to incapacitate you. It’s for your own good and you’ll even thank me one day.”
“One. Day. I’ll... Kill. You.”
Her laugh was bright and, under different circumstances, could have belonged to a young woman finding amusement with her friends. Not so with Mantis.
If he’d known that she’d hidden blades in her boot-tips he may not have reveled in his pain for so long but she cut him, again and again, employing her knowledge of all the important veins and arteries so that Trystan’s Essence flowed into the dark, moist soil with his blood.
“What is easily gained can be easily lost,” Mantis quipped.
One. Two. Three... Nine. He counted the slashes, his skin ripping like wet silk.
A very human scream echoed through the night and Mantis halted her deliberate ministrations.
How effortlessly she had almost destroyed him. He really hadn’t stood a chance, had he? He should have finished the bitch sooner. His extremities turned numb and the overwhelming desire to sleep stole up his spine. When had he last slept? Trystan hardly registered when Mantis’s boot no longer pressed his face into the ground. Darkness drew him into its velvet depths and he let out a long groan as a wave of agony broke through his being.
Chapter 38
See Right Through You
What Etienne hated the most about sneaking through the garden was that it was far too quiet for his liking. No crickets, nothing. For all her earlier pluck, Arwen had grown reticent, walking half a pace behind him with her hand resting on his shoulder. Her fingers bit into his flesh every time he stopped to listen out.
“Ouch! You’re hurting me!”
“This was your idea to come with Trystan and, besides, you’re a good sneak. Your surname should have been Baggins.”
Better not to answer to that and neither did she say anything for a while.
Tall stands of giant bamboo clacked in a skein of a breeze, the sound hollow, for some reason making Etienne think of old, dry bones. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.
Now was not the time to wonder at the intricately laid brickwork path that made pleasing curves beneath an avenue of trees. A stairway to their right led to an open-air restaurant–now shuttered–but they would be less exposed if they sought sanctuary there for a short while.
The bushes two hundred meters away, toward the dam, crashed as if some large animal had passed through. Eerie barking drifted from the distance, sounding closer than he hoped it was. Etienne’s veins contracted with icy fear and Arwen’s fingers kept drilling into his skin. She did not need to be told that she must stand absolutely still.
In the starlight, the whites of her eyes gleamed. She opened her mouth and he shook his head. The beating of his heart thundered unnaturally loud in his ears.
When he was certain no one approached, he gestured for Arwen to follow him to the outdoor eating area, where white plastic chairs loomed in stacks that had been chained together.
“What was that in the bushes?” Arwen whispered.
“If we were lucky, it was nothing more than a stray dog, but I don’t think it was a dog and we shouldn’t assume that anything is what we’d hope it to be unless we have proof.”
“I need a cigarette.”
“Then you’ll kill us both.”
Arwen rolled her eyes, hissing through her teeth as she looked around. “Do you know anything about the layout of this place? I mean, where do we start?”
“I know about as much as you do.”
“Then where are we going to find Helen?”
Etienne pursed his lips and looked about. Between the trees wide spaces of lawn stretched up a gentle slope and down toward the dam they’d passed earlier. An unhealthy pale mist swirled on the water’s surface, the occasional wet
schlopping
noise indicating when a wavelet made landfall. Or was it a fish?
A line of tall trees–pines or beefwoods, he couldn’t be certain in the low light–formed a barrier that appealed to him. If they could stick to the pockets of shrubs they could make it to cover and maybe gain better insight in their situation.
Arwen grasped what he intended then shook her head. “We’ll be too exposed over the last stretch.”
“Do you want to stay here, rather, on the off chance that Helen will know to find us?”
“I don’t even know what we’re going to do if we find her.” Arwen’s voice quavered.
“Neither do I but we’re here now and it can’t be helped, so let’s make the best of it. We must just be careful.”
Some of the tightness went out of Arwen’s posture. She swallowed, nodding. Now if only someone could lie to him and make him feel that everything would be all right.
“C’mon, we don’t have all night.” Etienne grabbed Arwen’s hand. Her warmth was reassuring.
Since when did he have the courage to hold a girl’s hand?
What he imagined to be the thud of footsteps disappeared to the far side of the restaurant. They were retreating.
He did not allow the cold wash of relief to distract him. Arwen squeezed his fingers and he set his sights on the distant line of trees.
A cobbled path wound between stands of ornamental shrubs and provided a measure of cover. Most of the distance stretched in the direction they needed to go so he kept to his course. By a willow at the edge, they stopped and he crouched, listening, scenting and searching for any other form of life. The silence was too quiet, oppressive.
“I smell off fish,” Arwen whispered as she hunkered down next to him.
“I don’t. Keep quiet. I’m trying to keep us alive.”
A snap of a twig five paces away almost sent him lurching out of his skin. Arwen enveloped him in an embrace that pushed the air from his lungs and he squirmed until he registered that they were no longer alone. A tall, thin man with an aquiline nose stood on the other side of the shrubs. He looked about him, sniffing loudly. Any moment now he’d turn to stare right at them and...
In the starlight the man’s eyes looked dead, cold, as if he had marbles for irises. He gazed directly at them–
through
them–hunched his shoulders then stalked past.
They stood still for a few breaths more, until they could be certain the threat had removed itself from earshot.
“Did you see that, Arwen? Do you think it was... For once your party tricks worked.”
She nodded, shivering, and pushed him away to tilt her face to the sky. “Thank fuck.”
“How long will this last?”
“Dunno. Until sunrise, maybe? I hope. I’d only ever read about it. Had heard some practitioners had success with these methods. Didn’t believe.”
They rushed, unhindered, to the line of trees where they sat against the trunk of a near-horizontal fig tree whose aerial roots formed thick wormlike clumps that struck into the soil.
“What now?” Arwen asked.
“We could split up, cover more ground.”
Arwen snorted. “Like in the movies and then we get eaten?”
“This isn’t the movies, if they can’t see us when we’re still.”
“Etienne. No.”
“I was making a suggestion. All right, it wasn’t logical. Let’s go up a ways. Can you feel anything?”
Any advantage, however slight, made him happier than he’d been moments before.
Arwen closed her eyes then shook her head. “It’s as if there’s a lot of static, like a snowy TV screen.”
“That doesn’t help us. Let’s see how far the gardens stretch then work our way down and around in a loop.”
They hadn’t gone far when voices reached them, a man’s and a woman’s. Once again they stopped and pulled back into the shadows. The sounds of a struggle reached them.
Arwen squeezed his hand tightly, mouthing “What?”
Etienne scowled. He didn’t tell Arwen that one of the voices sounded very much like Trystan’s. The combatants were too far away for him to make out what they argued about. He couldn’t help but cringe at the amount of noise, and hope the conflict did not draw other, unwanted attention.
Things grew quiet and only the woman spoke. Arwen twitched as if she’d start running in the opposite direction but Etienne held firm.
“Chicken,” he mouthed at her.
Arwen’s face pulled into a silent grimace yet she held, for which he was absurdly thankful. They did not need to test the limits of Arwen’s magic, however it worked.
In the distance the woman laughed, a chilling sound, which frightened Etienne though he daren’t let Arwen know.
Be brave, little man
, he willed himself. What was bravery but a stubborn insistence to stay foolishly on his mark, praying for a better outcome than his logic informed him of.
Back from the dam, a woman screamed, the sound carrying as if through a thick fog. Was it his imagination or had the air grown colder?
Before either he or Arwen could react, a dark-clad shape blurred past them toward the dam.
“That sounded like Helen,” Arwen said.
“And I think Trystan’s up there in the bushes and whomever has just run past wounded him badly.”
“What do we do?”
“Dunno.”
Arwen sighed, snatched her hand out of Etienne’s and rubbed her arms. “It’s getting cold. That smell of earlier is getting worse.”
Etienne sniffed but couldn’t detect the fish smell she’d mentioned earlier. “You’re imagining things. It’s colder, yes, but fish?”
“Let’s leave the vamp. We’re here to save Helen.”
“And how do you think we’re going to get Helen out of here if we don’t have Trystan? He’s got the car keys.”
“We can come get him later.”
“But he might need our help now.”
“Please!” Arwen said. “I’m sure he’s survived worse.”
She stiffened, as if she heard something, her eyes unfocused.
“What?”
She stood stock-still.
“We’d stand a better chance if we had Trystan backing us up.”
Arwen pushed him so he staggered back a pace then bolted for the dam without a word, running as if a demon chased her.
Etienne swore then started after her, only slowing down to a halt after five paces. Trystan.
What had gotten into Arwen? What did she know–or sense–that she wasn’t telling him and made her brave enough to run off?
His instinct to run after her warred with his need to find out if Trystan was alive–or undead–or whatever it was that one called the natural state of vampires.
“Screw it,” Etienne muttered before running to where he assumed Trystan had fallen. Vampires did have supernatural healing abilities, didn’t they? At any rate, he needed to be sure. Trystan might be their only hope for salvation if push came to shove.
Chapter 39
Strategies Against Architecture
Helen and her captor walked quickly, keeping a course parallel to the water’s edge. Johannes kept looking about, as if he expected someone to discover them at every turn. Not once did he let go of Helen’s wrist.