Vintage soul dc-2 Read online

  He gripped the urn and lifted. At first it resisted. The cloth was very old, and had grown moist, despite the sealed casket. It had expanded and begun to rot around the base of the urn, forming a sort of gluey substance. He yanked again, and it came free. There was a stench of wet, rotten cloth and damp earth. Donovan placed the urn on the ground. He stepped around the hole in the ground, gripped the lid, which hung precariously from its ancient hinges, and heaved it up and over so that it fell back across the casket with a dull thud.

  The dagger remained imbedded in the ground. There was no hesitation in the descent. The coffin snapped back to where it belonged as if held on some great elastic strap that had just been released. The earth rolled back over the top with a roar. In less than the span of time it takes to draw in a quick breath, the ground was smooth and unbroken. The implosion of force left Donovan momentarily stunned, but he recovered quickly. When the earth folded back to allow the coffin to rise, it had curled over, and he was able to grasp the blade firmly and slide it free.

  As he did so, he took half a step back. He didn’t want to risk stepping through the circle and breaking the ward. He sensed forces moving about him. Voices whispered just beyond the ring of mist, dark sibilant voices speaking in a myriad of forgotten tongues. Something sizzled and snapped, like the strike of a bolt of lightning. He dove across the re-sealed grave and reached for the urn, already forming the words in his mind that would protect him as he burst through the mist and broke the circle.

  He reached down and his fingers brushed the surface of the urn, but another pair of hands was a fraction quicker. They were sheathed in dark, skin-tight gloves. Donovan cried out and tried to snatch the urn, but at that moment another dark gloved hand shot through the mist. This one connected solidly with Donovan’s chin, and he staggered back. There was a hiss like the release of steam from an iron, and the mist surrounding him was sucked suddenly from the air. Donovan called out the words of protection and prayed they weren’t too late.

  The mist cleared, and he turned to see dark shapes hurrying away toward the back gate of the cemetery. One of them held the urn clutched tightly to his chest. They moved with eerie speed. He poised himself to follow, recovering his balance quickly. The crow, which had remained on his shoulder throughout this encounter, took off with a screech and flurry of wings. Donovan cursed, came up against the stone cross that marked Vargas’ now empty grave with one knee and dropped to the ground in pain.

  He staggered to his feet and started to limp away from the grave, forgetting the braziers, still burning with incense and all the evidence of his presence. He’d intended to be very certain there was nothing new to draw attention to the cemetery, but the sharp sound of a round being chambered drew him up short. He raised his hands and turned, very slowly.

  An old man stood, watching him across two graves marked only by stones set into the earth, his hand steadied on the outstretched wing of a marble angel. The barrel of the gun was leveled at Donovan’s chest. The old man’s hand shook slightly. He was as frightened as his captive was irritated.

  “You just stand there, real still,” the man said. “I’m going to pull the radio off my belt and call my partner over here, and he’s going to call the police. You’re going to stay right where you are until they get here. This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”

  The man glanced down at the still smoking braziers.

  “What did you think you were going to do? Raise the dead?”

  Under other circumstances, Donovan would have laughed. He kept his hands up over his head, and met the man’s gaze levelly.

  “You don’t want to shoot me, friend,” he said softly. “You don’t want to shoot anyone. I’m not hurting anything here.”

  “I was here a few years back,” the guard replied, not lowering his weapon. “I saw what folks who deal with this kind of thing,” he reached out with one booted foot and kicked over the brazier closest to him, “can do. Don’t tell me there’s no harm in it, I know better. Don’t give me a reason to pull this trigger.”

  Donovan cursed under his breath. There was no time for this. It was probably already too late to catch whoever had stolen the urn, but he might still be able to follow their back trail. He still had the amulet necessary to complete the deal — unless they had one of their own.

  There was a sudden rush of sound. Something cried out, very close, and very loud, and instinctively Donovan hit the dirt. The. 45 fired, and the bullet whipped just above him. There was a grunt, and a cry of surprise, but Donovan didn’t stop to see what had happened. He knew Asmodeus had returned, but he didn’t know how much the bird had disrupted the guard’s concentration. He rolled to the side, leaped to his feet, and took off at a dead run for the back gate. A few moments later he heard a feeble call to stop, but he ignored it. The guard had apparently come to his senses and realized he’d probably better not shoot someone for the crime of trespassing, particularly not in the back.

  It was only a matter of moments until the man’s partner showed up, but it didn’t matter. The gate was not only still unlocked, but the others who’d passed through had tossed the chain and lock aside and left one half of the huge gates hanging open. Donovan cut through the gap and headed back down the path toward the old barn. The crow flew just above his head and a couple of feet behind. It cried out to him, but for the moment he ignored it. He knew it was there, just as he’d known, when the guard was struck. Twice now Asmodeus had come to his aid. Donovan would have preferred Cleo’s company — he was more familiar with her, and she’d been with him for so long the two of them often acted as a single entity, but the crow had a way of growing on a person.

  In the barn, Donovan pulled out the crystal lens he’d used in the old church where Cornwell had died. He glanced through it, holding it to either side of the gateway he’d used to reach the place. There was nothing. No trace of any passing but his own. He stood there for a moment, his mind racing, trying to decide what to do next.

  Asmodeus settled on his shoulder, and dug in suddenly with taloned claws. Donovan cried out and turned to stare at the creature. Their eyes locked in a steady gaze, and a wave of vertigo hit that nearly knocked him to his knees.

  He flew. He swerved to avoid trees, but the motion wasn’t his own. Donovan rode Asmodeus’ mind through the broken wall of mist. Two figures fled through the graves, dancing around trees and sprinting with uncanny quickness toward the back gate of the cemetery. They slipped the chain free without hesitation and dashed off down the trail. He thought they would turn off toward the barn, following the old trail, but they didn’t.

  The two turned, glanced once over their shoulders, and then turned off the old deserted road on the far side from where Donovan had entered it. The ground dropped away quickly into a ditch, and they followed this, though the earth was damp, and their feet left deep, squishy imprints in passing. Ahead a large culvert loomed. The two ducked their heads and disappeared inside without a pause.

  The crow dove after them, dizzying Donovan with the rush of air and the impossibly swift passage of images. They dove past the entrance to the huge concrete pipe, whirled in the air, dove back and plunged into darkness. Donovan wanted to scream, but before he could even regain his breath, they soared out the far side. It only cut under a secondary road, a drainage pipe for water. There was no sign of the two, and he knew in that instant it was another gateway.

  Asmodeus released Donovan’s shoulder and took flight again. Shaking his head, he turned to follow the crow back out the door of the barn. He heard voices, and saw bobbing lights down the trail, but he avoided the guards easily as he wound his way up to the abandoned road. By the time he reached it, slipping from tree to tree as swiftly as he could without breaking into the open, they had already turned onto the side road toward the barn. He heard them discussing what to do next, but he didn’t wait around to find out if they had the courage to visit the barn on their own, or if they planned to call the police.

  Donovan crossed t
he road and slid down into the ditch. He slowed himself, carefully turning seven times before entering the pipe. He held the colored crystal lens out and caught immediate traces. The wispy remnant of two travelers hung in the air, and without hesitation, he followed.

  When he came out on the other side in an unfamiliar alley, he hesitated, but only for a moment. He tugged the talisman free of his pocket, and held it out. It swung to the right, and he took off at a run. They couldn’t be too far ahead. He was sure they thought they’d lost him, and they couldn’t realize he would use the talisman to trail the urn they carried.

  The trail led onto the darkened streets. There was no traffic, and Donovan saw no one on the sidewalks. He followed the lean of the pendant’s chain for five blocks, turned into another alley, and followed this to its end. He came to a chain link fence. It was locked, and a sign proclaimed “NO TRESPASSING — SERVICE ENTRANCE ONLY” in large, bold letters.

  At the far end of a service drive, double doors stared back at him. They were also posted, and he didn’t need the talisman to tell him the urn had been taken inside. The building hummed with energy. Donovan pulled back to the alley’s entrance, and gazed up at the side of the building. He knew the place; it was the Tefft Complex. He didn’t know much about it, but he’d heard rumors.

  Footsteps crunched loose gravel in the alley, and Donovan froze. Someone was coming, and he had no time to try and figure out who it was. Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, he pressed himself against the wall and waited. High above, a crow cried.

  SIXTEEN

  The tower room was very dark, and Vanessa was weak. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the walls around her listlessly. There had been no further visits from her captor, and other than the short blast of hope she’d felt when Vein and the others had rushed in, there had been no break in the utter solitude. She thought about Johndrow and wondered where he was. She wondered if he, too, would come crashing through the door eventually. She thought not. More likely he and the council had hired someone to do the work. It was their way to hold back in the shadows and act only when all other avenues were closed to them. It was her way too — or had been.

  She wondered briefly what had happened to the others. She had no doubt it was bad. She tried not to think of all the ways they could have been destroyed, but there was no other game to occupy her mind. She had several lifetimes of memories, but none of them comforted her. She still felt the bond with Vein, so they were close by, but it seemed unlikely any of them would last much longer.

  The silence was broken by a grinding whirr that came from the wall at her back. She felt a vibration deep in the stone, and she shivered. She’d heard it once before, and a glance to the side confirmed that the chains binding her had begun to retract slowly into the wall. She rose quickly. She knew she couldn’t break the chains, but she had to try, and there was no time to waste. If she let them grow too short she’d have no leverage.

  Vanessa pressed herself to the wall, leaned down, and kicked her feet hard against the stone. She launched forward, hit the floor running, and shot to the end of the chains with incredible speed. She hit the end of the restraints and pushed harder. It was like slamming into a wall, but she threw herself into it. She heard a groan of machinery from somewhere below, and thought, just for an instant that she might do it. The chains were so taut they thrummed. Then she slid back half an inch, and another. She strained against the inexorable pull, but it was no use. Within moments the chains had fully retracted, and she hung helplessly, spread eagled against the wall.

  The outer door opened again, and her captor stepped inside. He carried a leather bag in one hand, and he placed this on the floor, closed the door, and then turned to smile at her.

  “Bravo,” he said, clapping his hands mockingly. “That was an astonishing display of speed and strength; and yet, at the same time it was a waste of time. You must have known the chains were enchanted. I took very special precautions with you, studied your kind for years before I set the spells. I assure you, the restraints are more than adequate.”

  Vanessa continued to struggle, but she was weak from the lack of fresh blood, and it was difficult to fight back the rage that threatened to consume rational thought. He was so close she could smell him. She tasted the tang of his blood through his clothing and his skin, and she remembered that taste. It was powerful blood, old and rich, and despite her captivity and impending final death, she craved it.

  He stepped closer and examined her carefully, as if she were a horse, or an animal he intended to purchase. Vanessa shook with fury, and as he leaned in close she snapped at the air, closing her fangs on nothing but his scent.

  He laughed. Stepping around her, he pulled a small control box from his pocket. He pressed a button. The wall behind her made another sound, and before she was fully aware of what had happened, a steel collar slid out of the wall on either side of her throat and clamped in front. Now her head was all but immobile. He reached out and stroked her hair. He ran his hand down her cheek and teased one long, manicured fingernail over her chin, then slid it back along the top edge of the collar. She trembled at the touch and tried to shift her jaws nearer to his flesh, but the collar held her easily

  “That should do,” he said at last. “Our time together has grown short, and I can’t afford to have you whipping around and making a nuisance of yourself. I’m sure you understand. This isn’t about you, after all, lovely as you are. It’s about life. My life, to be precise. I intend to make it last a long time, you see, and you are going to help. I need something that you have, and once I have it, the formula I create will make me immortal.”

  Vanessa’s eyes flashed with anger and he laughed again.

  “Oh, not like what you possess,” he said. “What you have is a great gift, there’s no doubt of it. To live forever, as long as you are able to borrow the blood of others to keep you young; it’s a concept worthy of hours of debate and certainly better than the mortal alternative. You do have your weaknesses, though, don’t you, Vanessa? You miss out on all that fine sunlight, for one thing. You can’t appreciate a good steak or a cold beer without flavoring it with fresh blood. There is so much more to life as I know it; why would I willingly give it up when there is an alternative?”

  Vanessa tried to shake her head in negation, but she was held still and helpless. He smiled at her again.

  “Aren’t you curious?” he asked. “I’d have thought you’d spend your last few moments asking questions. For instance, what happened to your friends who tried to break in and save you so valiantly, or, what are you going to do with me? I know I’d be thinking about those things if it was me chained to the wall.

  “We have a little time,” he continued, “so I’ll go ahead and tell you. It will pass the time.”

  As he spoke, he turned away from her and walked back to where he’d left the leather bag. He retrieved it and placed it on the bed where she’d been sitting moments before. He unsnapped the top and began to remove the contents one item at a time. As he pulled each free, he examined it carefully.

  From where she hung bound to the wall, Vanessa couldn’t see what he did clearly. In the periphery of her sight she saw him pull something long and flexible free of the bag. She heard a sharp clinking sound as something made contact with glass. He worked steadily, paying no attention to her at all as he organized and manipulated the items on the bed. When he had finished, he turned to her again, and the smile was back on his face. It was not a pleasant expression, but had the slick, oily aspect of a serpent.

  Vanessa closed her eyes. She had no idea what he was planning, and she didn’t believe there was any chance she could do anything to stop him, but if she lost her mind, he would win without a struggle. If she let him frighten her to the point where her mind snapped, there would be no return from it. She also needed to snap free of his scent. She knew, now, that the blood he’d fed her was not his own. It hadn’t been fresh, and with the weakness of her captivity dulling her senses, she’d j
ust assumed that it was. Now she felt the draw of his lifeblood and knew she’d never tasted it — never would taste it — and its proximity drove sharp talons into her concentration, shredding it.

  With a great effort, she spoke.

  “What have you done with the young ones?”

  His oily smile became a toothy grin.

  “Oh, they’re still around,” he said. “I have them very close by, in fact. You’d think I’d be angry with them after breaking in here unannounced and trying to disrupt my plans, but I’m a generous man. I have a surprise for them, a treat they wouldn’t get anywhere else. I’m going to share some of what I was just talking about with them.”

  Vanessa thought hard, trying to remember what he’d said.

  “The sunlight,” he said casually. “I’m going to give them the first sight of the morning sun they’ve had in quite some time. I can’t imagine when the last time you saw that was — what are you, three, four centuries old? But these others…they remember. It hasn’t been so long since all the pleasures of life were ripped away from them and dangled like carrots on a string, just out of reach. I haven’t spoken with them about it, but I would be willing to bet they remember what it’s like to greet the sunrise. I bet they even remember well enough to miss it. “

  “Where…” She couldn’t finish the question. She’d felt the touch of dawn once since her transformation. It had burned much hotter than any fire she recalled from life, and had nearly ended her existence. She remembered, and she hoped with sudden clarity that her memory, and her sudden flash of terror, wouldn’t transfer to Vein across their bond. Better that he not know what awaited.

  Her captor stepped close to her again, placed his hands on her cheeks and gazed into her eyes.

  “They will only get to see it once, of course,” he said softly. “I’m certain I’ll have to have a cleaning crew in for the elevator once it’s done.”