Chapter 19
The land was no longer drenched in blood as it had been last time he saw it. For several minutes, standing atop the high tor, Bryan had been awed by the sheer beauty of the rugged landscape, the cottages on the slopes, the colors of fields and hills. White sheep and long-haired cows grazed on long rich grasses in the distance. Wildflowers grew in abundance. Only the remnants of old stone walls, some of them dating back to Roman times, divided the landscape. It was a magical vista.
Yet the night was coming, and with it, he knew, Father Gregore's Demon Moon.
Detective Florenscu had been the first to find a reference to the party. He had called Sean, who had called them. They had reported the possibility of trouble to the local authorities, realizing that in the end, when the party was over, there would be a need for official help.
Bryan looked back across the fields, savoring the sight, the scent and the breeze. The pastel colors, in their soft radiance. Because soon, with the darkening of the day, would come different shades.
At first, a pale maroon. And then, just before darkness, red.
Tonight the land would appear once again to be drenched in blood.
"Well?" Lucien, standing by his side, asked.
"So little has changed here," Bryan said softly. "All these years. . . the countryside is still magnificent. " He pointed. "That's where Edward III paused, the position his troops took when his raiding party returned with Igrainia. To our right is the path to MacDonnough castle. "
Ragnor and Brent, who had gone scouting to the north, returned in time to hear the last. "To the west, the only escape is the sea," Brent said. "Just as you remembered. "
Bryan nodded and looked past them to where Jessica stood alone, staring down at the field of battle. He could only wonder at her thoughts.
What had happened here had happened many lifetimes ago, and yet, standing against the ever present Highland wind, he could close his eyes, hear the clash of steel. . . .
He wondered if those same thoughts filled Jessica's mind,Igrainia . Or was she remembering how she had been seized and tormented, how the fire had singed her, how the teeth of the vampire had ripped her throat, turning her forever into something less than human?
"It's time to go. We've only got a few hours before sunset," Lucien said.
They all knew that whatever they could do in that brief time might not mean much. The army they would face had been years in the making. Hundreds of years, perhaps.
And they were only a small force. Himself and Jessica, Lucien, Ragnor and Brent, and one more, called in at the last despite Lucien's unease because he was such a newly made vampire. Sean had argued that he was a cop, and he'd prevailed in the end. The man's name was Rick Boudreaux, and like the others, he was ready to face whatever came. Jade had argued furiously with her husband that she should come, but in the end, she had stayed back in New Orleans. There had been no question of the other wives coming, they were far too human.
"Bryan?" Lucien said. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Bryan said. "A moment. "
He walked over to Jessica. The breeze caught her hair, tossing it around her face. Her eyes were clouded and infinitely sad. She wore no wig tonight. She wasn't attendingthis party as the dominatrix. She was going as a wide-eyed innocent, hoping to be the chosen one. Bryan hadn't been able to argue her out of it, so all he could do now was watch like a hawk.
She was wearing glasses and a long white cloak with a fur collar. She was the picture of pristine innocence.
He had on his long railway coat and low-brimmed hat. He didn't give a damn whether he was recognized or not.
"So long ago," Jessica murmured.
He closed his hands over her arms, turning her to him. "I still don't think you should go. "
She offered him a smile. "I have to go. Bryan. . . years ago, this very place was where I learned we all need to be strong. " She touched his cheek. "You're ever the champion, the knight, ready to lay down his life for others. But you have to believe in me. My life and destiny were stolen here so long ago, too. You have to let me fight beside you. "
"I don't have to like it," he told her.
Someone cleared his throat nearby.
Brent walked up, determined to sound light. "Party time, kids. Time to go. "
Jessica eased from Bryan's hold. "One by one," she reminded him. "No need to announce our intentions from the start. "
They'd ridden horses in this part of the country, transportation far more convenient for the turf than cars. He watched her walk away and mount up. Ever graceful, ever proud.
The king's daughter. Royalty in any age. And always in his heart.
He could not fail her again.
Jessica made her way through the crowd milling just outside the ruins. This was worse than Transylvania. With the sea to one side and great, ragged tors to the other, there was only one escape route
"Hey, baby. "
She had barely seated herself at the bar set up just inside the ruined walls when the man accosted her. He had an Irish accent, and he was good-looking, with ink-black hair and startling blue eyes.
He was also a vampire.
She smiled. "Hi. "
"You're American?" he asked.
He didn't know what she was, she realized. He didn't look all that young. He should have learned to recognize his own. Too many vampires were so interested in their own hedonistic pleasures that they didn't learn everything they should.
"Yes, American. "
"You know, there's a special privilege for the most beautiful girl here," he told her.
"You're flattering me. "
"Not at all. I wish I could keep you for myself tonight. "
"Then why don't you?"
He leaned against the bar, his eyes rapt on her. Instead of answering her question, he asked, "Want a drink?"
"Thank you. "
"Two Bloody Marys," he called to the bartender.
Tonight, she noticed, the bartender was also a vampire. He arched a brow, frowning as he looked at her companion. "Yeah, Bloody Marys," the Irishman snapped. Then he turned to her and offered his hand. "Bruce. Bruce Mayo. And you're. . . ?"
"Jesse. "
The drinks arrived. She sipped hers. It was a Bloody Mary, all right.
"Know what that is?" Bruce asked her, eyes gleaming.
"A Bloody Mary?"
"Yes. But it's real blood. "
She gave a little shudder and stared at him wide-eyed. "Really?"
He nodded. Then he gave a little shrug. "Cow's blood, but it's the fantasy that counts right?" He took her hand. "Let me show you around. The best stuff is downstairs. "
He led her into the ruined castle and down an ancient, winding staircase to the stone catacombs, just as they had been laid out in the computer printout. She had memorized every twist and turn.
"Do the dead scare you?" he teased.
"They sadden me," she murmured.
"They're all around us," he said, pointing out the rotted caskets in niches in the walls.
She knew what he was really thinking, that the dead really were all around, not just the skeletons, but the vampires, just like him.
"Here we are. You just wait right here. Freshen up, if you like. You'll find that you won't be alone for long. "
She knew the room. It was the same one the Master used every time. The bed on the dais, the dressing table. She sat down and began playing her part, brushing her hair, waiting. . . .
She felt the shadow as it formed, felt the miasma, all that was dark and blood-stained and evil, and she was helpless to do anything but brush her hair.
Bryan made a low-key arrival, striding casually through the crowd, tipping his hat now and then as he passed a group of giggling girls. He took a seat at the bar.
Vampire, he thought, seeing the bartender, whom he knew could tell that he was not one. He ordered a beer and nursed it, aware of th
e covert glances he was receiving from around the room. Jessica was nowhere to be seen. He was sure she'd been chosen, just as she had planned to be. Bryan didn't like the fact that she was already gone, but he knew the layout of the ruins, and the minute the others entered to cover his disappearance, he would be in hot pursuit. And if they didn't show. . .
They did.
Rick Boudreaux and Brent Malone entered together, a pair of wandering Americans out for a good time. Lucien and Ragnor came in next, playing the role of exactly what they were-vampires.
Lucien sidled up to the bar and he and Bryan acknowledged each other briefly, like strangers sizing each other up.
Then Bryan rose. There were enough people milling around for him to make his way to the old chapel without being noticed. Once there, he hurried to the winding stairs leading to the crypts below.
There was a tall dark-haired man at the foot of the stairs. "Off-limits," he said harshly.
"Didn't hear you," Bryan lied, stepping into the raw earth flooring.
The man's lip curled. "Y'er fookin' off-limits. " He shook his head. "I've half a mind-hell, who's to care?"
He started to laugh, exposing long, yellowed fangs. He reached out for Bryan.
He didn't even come close. Bryan speared him with one silent, powerful thrust, and the vampire burst into dust and ash.
"Old but stupid," Bryan murmured, shaking his head. Too easy. Too damn easy.
He hurried down the long corridor of crypts. He could hear music, and his pace quickened. There was a break in the wall ahead; light streamed from it.
He hurried in. There she was, the woman in the gossamer white. Jessica.
There he was. The tall, broad-shouldered, caped figure of thevampyr . The Master.
Jessica was sitting in front of the dressing table, brushing her hair while the Master stood behind her and stroked her arms. Her eyes were wide, like a doe in the headlights. The Master looked up at Bryan and laughed. "Can you begin to imagine what I will do with her before I behead her?" he asked. "You know, I had counted on you running down here, the great warrior to the rescue. Well, watch, for she is mine. Watch. . . if you can. "
He heard the Master's voice, knew he was supposed to be in such a rage that he wouldn't have heard those coming up behind him. And hewas in a rage, but he hadn't gone deaf.
He spun, small, double-edged swords in both hands. They had been honed to perfection. The first two vampires who came after him were sliced cleanly through the midriff at his first furious swirl of motion.
But there were more, breaking free of the rotting coffins where they had hidden. They came to life with a fever, with a will, ripping away the shrouds that had hidden them, shrieking out their battle cries. He couldn't keep count. Two from the left, one from the right, another crawling up the wall above him. He leapt to avoid the sword of what looked to be a cavalier, and in the same movement severed the head from the creature above. He managed to get his back to the wall, there better to oppose the horde that came at him. At first, they were like conceited schoolboys, wanting to best him on their own. But the pile of ashes grew before him-and, for those who were younger, bits of bone, decaying flesh, scraps of clothing-and they were still coming. . . .
This was truly a land of the walking dead, he realized.
He got a brief glimpse of the Master, still touching her. His eyes had gone cold, his muscles rigid. He was going to take her away, Bryan realized, and she was still helpless to resist him.
"Igrainia!"
No longer fearing what might threaten from behind, he moved forward. All he feared was a future without her once again.
She wanted to cry out and couldn't, but it didn't matter. She knew. Sensed him behind her, behind the Master. Without seeing him, she knew he was a flurry of motion, faster than wind, sound, light. The vampires died, crumpling, before him. On and on, the battle raged.
She felt the viselike tightening of the Master's fingers, just as she had felt them once before, so long ago.
She looked up, she saw his face. Saw the eyes change first, to something snakelike but evil in a way no snake had ever been.
It was as if his every hunger for power, wealth, brutality and strength was there, like glass shards filling his eyes. He drew her up, and she knew that she had no weapons against such strength, except. . .
Except her teeth, the teeth he had given her.
She could no longer sense Bryan; the power of the horde was too strong.
Just like it had been all those years ago. . . .
"Come, my dear, we are leaving. I would prefer to enjoy the last of your so-called life and then your death at my leisure," he told her, smiling just as she had smiled once before, in a different lifetime. "Once more the great knight Ioin, champion of the wretched, traitorous Robert the Bruce, will be beaten. Sliced to ribbons by too many enemies for any creature to withstand. "
Teeth!
She twisted her head and bit his hand, bit with no mercy. She tore at the flesh, and it felt as if she were tasting poison, but she didn't care.
He let out a howl of pain, and everything went dead still.
Then a roar of fury erupted from him, but it was too late. She was free and thinking fast. She lashed out at him with a tremendous kick, courtesy of the tae kwon do studio off Royal Street. She caught him with such force that he flew back against the wall, then turned, ready to join the fray that now seemed like a great gathering of flies atop Bryan.
Flies gathering atop a corpse. . . ?
"Bryan!" she shouted. And then, "Ioin!"
The floor was then strewn with weapons. She selected a sword, lifted it and tore into the crowd of attackers. So far, the other vampire hadn't noticed her. She raised the weapon as she had been taught so long ago, and stepped forward, swinging.
Like flies they fell before her. She was ready when they began to turn at last, realizing the danger from their rear. Yet not one lifted a weapon.
She spun around.
Too late.
She felt his fingers, tearing into her shoulders, dragging her around with impossible force. Once again she faced the fiery eyes of the Master.
"It's begun," Ragnor said softy.
Lucien rose from his bar stool, drawing his sword and dispatching the bartender, who had just picked up a hatchet of his own. At the same time, Ragnor turned with his heavy Viking sword and swung it in a wide arc, catching three vampires at once. He slid down from his stool while Lucien leapt atop the bar, the element of surprise gone, and prepared for the fight of his life.
People were screaming, running everywhere. Across the room, Lucien saw Rick Boudreaux calmly reloading his old police revolver. He had it rigged to fire bullets that contained wood, and he had excellent aim.
A fierce vampire roared, breaking off a leg from one of the bar stools, then racing toward Brent who let the man reach him, then snaked out an arm like steel, catching the chair leg and sending the burly vampire crashing into the fire that burned in the remains of the great hearth. "Sorry, not a vampire," Brent muttered.
"Get down!" Rick shouted to him.
Brent ducked. A silver bullet whistled overhead and exploded into the stone wall. Brent rose, surprised. A hatchet went flying, crashing directly into the neck and shoulder of the man with the pistol with the silver bullets. He went down.
"Thanks," Brent called to Ragnor.
"Don't mention it. "
"Brent, Rick," Lucien called, "one of you finish in here, one of you get on the trail. Make sure none of the victims are followed. "
"Right," Brent acknowledged.
"Hurry it up in here," Lucien told Ragnor. "I have a bad feeling about what's going on downstairs. "
Ragnor glanced around quickly. No more vampires were in evidence. "I think we're just finished in here," he said.
"Then let's get below," Lucien said grimly.
This was so much like it had been before, exc
ept that this time he had seen her there, fighting. She was still alive. He was determined to live, too.
Bryan stepped forward with long strides, his senses so finely honed that he seemed to know the move of his every opponent. He ducked, spun, leapt and struck back with such speed and fury that it was as if he couldn't miss. Every enemy had to be sliced in half, beheaded or pinned through the heart or brain. Slashed to ribbons, they might still come back. Of course, if they were disabled enough, he could always finish them off later.
His arms were tiring, his muscles burning like molten steel, he didn't care. Then he heard her scream.
"Bastard!" he raged. He kicked the vampire in front of him, then staked him dead center in the heart. He fought his way through the crowd, slashing indiscriminately.
And then, just when it seemed they were about to descend on him again in impossible numbers, they began to fall away instead.
He had a brief glimpse of Ragnor, fighting two-handed, with both sword and ax. Behind him, Lucien, using double-edged swords, as he was himself.
"Go!" he heard Lucien shout to him. "Get her back!"
He burst through the battle lines, staring from side to side. He gritted his teeth, allowing his senses to guide him. The tunnel to the south. . .
He turned and ran.
Jessica had no idea how long he dragged her through the catacombs before they suddenly burst out into the night.
Beneath the Demon Moon.
There he threw her viciously across the ground.
She rose and realized she was standing exactly where she had stood hundreds of years before, the night bathed in the bloodred light of the moon.
And the creature staring at her, features contorted with a rage that seemed older than time, was lit with that crimson tint, as well.
She scrambled to her feet. She had lost the sword she had acquired. Now she had nothing. Nothing but her wits.
He lunged at her, his own blade so honed it seemed to drip blood, but it was only the reflection of the moon. She willed herself to become mist, and he slashed at nothing.
She materialized behind him.
He turned. "Clever girl. Too bad your father was a traitor," he sneered.
"My father was a man of his people, a great king. "
"He was quick enough to watch you die," the Master said, the words barbed. "But then, you were just a bastard child. "
"My father is dead and gone, and history has proved his worth," she said.
He stood still, staring at her, then smiled mockingly. "You have nothing. No weapon. How many times can you transform yourself before exhaustion overtakes you? Eventually, I will reach you. I will slice your flesh again and again. And when you are in such pain that you can no longer abide it, I will create a funeral pyre upon which you will burn. Unless. . . "
"Unless. . . ?"
"You turn on him," the Master said softly.
"What?"
"He became a warrior," the Master said, and spat on the ground. "Warriors kill vampires. You are a vampire, you stupid girl. Do you think he can ever forget that? He's been fooling himself, glad to sleep with you again, but do you think he canlove you again? He has used you to get to me, but one day, when you are sighing in his arms like the foolish strumpet you are, he will stake you straight through the heart. You can't change what you are, so choose to help me-and survive. "
She stared back at him and smiled, amazed that there was only one tiny pulse of fear within her, before she told him, "You are as insane as you have always been. You think I'm your creation, but I'm not. Yes, you changed my form, but you didn't change what lies beneath. And I would die a thousand deaths before I would turn on him. "
She watched his face contort again. It looked mottled, hideous, as if it were composed of bursting veins, red and black. He started toward her; she leapt aside. He swung; she became mist. She meant to disappear, flee, until she found a weapon, but he reached into the mist and somehow she was a woman again, and his fingers curled around her arm. "You have only one more life to give for him," he spat out. "And you will give it now. "
Bryan burst out from the tunnel, instantly aware of the moon, the terrain, the exact location where he stood.
And there, exactly where, once before, he had tortured and taunted Igrainia, was the Master.
He was surrounded by mist, but then the mist became real. Jessica. Igrainia . The sweep of her hair was like a wave around her, golden against the white fur of her cloak, a shining sweep of all that was angelic. The Master had her in his grasp, but she was twisting, fighting, ever the fierce, proud spirit with whom he had fallen in love.
He let out a cry of rage that seemed to shake the very heavens.
The Master turned to him. His enemy in life and death. With a violent motion, the Master cast Jessica from him, then stared at Bryan.
"You and me, then. The final battle," the Master said.
"The final battle," Bryan agreed.
They circled each other warily. "But will you fight?" taunted the Master. "Think of those scores of vampires, my enemy, my minions, who get to live. Even as we fight, all those little innocent lambs who came here for a taste of the forbidden are running in an insanity of fear, desperate to escape. How many will die tonight, as you fight me?"
The Master lunged and thrust. Bryan parried and followed with a fierce attack, both swords swinging. The Master deflected each blow, and they both fell back, pausing as an unholy howling tore across the sky.
Bryan thought he saw a frown briefly flicker across the Master's brow.
He almost smiled. "Werewolf," he said with a shrug. "One that chews nasty vampires to little bits and spits them out. "
The Master thrust forward in a fury of motion. Bryan neatly ducked and struck back, sending one of the creature's weapons flying.
He lunged swiftly and expertly, trying to seize the advantage. The Master moved, as well, but not before Bryan caught his shoulder with the tip of his blade. A snarl of fury rose to the Master's lips as he clutched his shoulder.
"Hanging around with werewolves? Slumming it, for a warrior, aren't you?" the Master taunted.
"You know, this really is a brave new world," he said. "It seems we can all get past our prejudices. "
The Master roared, feinted, then whirled, attempting to pick up his lost weapon. He managed the feat, and with his next strike, he caught Bryan in the arm.
Pain ripped through Bryan. He ignored it and bided his time.
"Come on, come on, let me finish this," the Master chided. "I will slice and bleed you, warrior. I will torture you, and I will force you to watch her burn, before I finish you.
Bryan saw Jessica move then. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stir. She was alive.
With a burst of speed, he tore into the Master, swords flying in a crisscross pattern. The creature leapt back, but too late. Bryan caught his arm, and again a sword went flying.
The sword never got a chance to hit the ground. Jessica was there, the wind whipping her hair, catching the folds of the cape. She might have been the goddess of justice. And she was holding the Master's sword.
"Lose something?" she taunted.
Again, he let out a cry of rage, and like a maddened bull, he leapt toward her. She raised the sword, parried his blow. He turned, going after Bryan again.
Bryan spun, catching the Master a solid blow in the midriff. Not a killing blow, but one that drained the creature of strength, forcing him to pause.
The Master let out a bone-chilling scream of rage, as if he believed that he could force Bryan to cower from the sound alone.
But Bryan only smiled. "I should torture you. Slice and bleedyou for the agony and suffering you have brought to so many on this earth. But it's far more important that you die, that you be eliminated at last. Although," he said, taking a step forward, "I would like to skin you alive and roast each piece. "
"Bastard! You will die sl
owly," the Master swore his rage propelling him forward.
Bryan stood still, waiting. Then he leapt neatly aside and swung his swords together in a huge arc.
Something flew through the night.
The Master's head.
It arced upward, a living thing for the beat of a second, its scowl of rage hideous. Then it burst into dust, just like the body that lay at Bryan's feet.
He stood, stunned. It was over. Really over. Then he heard her cry out his name as she raced into his arms. He buried his face against her hair. "Igrainia. "
It would be the last time he called her by that name.