I Kill Monsters: The Revenants (Book 2) (28 page)

If
you
harmed
my
family
as
you
have
this
man’s
,
javoon
, he pronounced,
My
pursuit
would
know
no
rest
,
and
your
suffering
—
when
you
were
found
—
would
feel
to
you
an
eternity
.
I
would
hunt
you
through
the
ages
.
On
Allah
I
swear
this
.

Destroy
me
now
, I told
him,
or
I
will
take
from
you
all
you
hold
dear
,
as
was
taken
from
me
.

The
priest
, he ignored my
threat,
would
have
your
end
at
this
moment
.
If
allowed
. He clicked his
tongue, as if remonstrating a child and not a being of my years.
And
if
it
were
for
you
we
had
come
,
such
would
be
your
fate
.
But
it
is
not
you
we
seek
,
javoon
.

Not me? Puzzled, I tried to look up, the
device constraining me.

Footsteps announced the arrival of others in
the room.
We
seek
the
one
you
serve
, a woman’s voice announced. The Lady and Master
Hawthorne with the Patriarch.

He
is
known
to
you
,
perhaps
,
as
Vinci
.

Craning my neck to the side, I spied the
Russian clergyman, cutlass scabbarded at his side. Hands swaddled
in thick mittens, he cracked the feed door to the stove, heat and
light belching forth. He removed a glowing poker from within.

It
is
by
my
intercession
,
javoon
,
that
your
restraints
are
loosened
. The Arab whispered in
my ear.
They
can
just
as
easily
be
tightened
with
my
command
.
Tell
the
lady
that
which
she
wishes
to
know
.

I
serve
none
but
myself
! I shouted. The Patriarch stepped in, applying the
poker to my shoulder. My skin sizzled, the pain deeper than that
imposed by either the net or the Street Sweeper’s Daughter. I
shuddered where I was, locked in place, refusing to cry out. As the
bearded man stepped back, I smelled my burnt flesh on the air.

That’s
where
this
starts
, declared Master Hawthorne.
You
decide
where
it
ends
.
Where
is
he
?

Tell
him
,
javoon
,
whispered the Arab.

I cursed them in half a dozen languages
before the Patriarch reapplied the poker.

Imagine! My Elizaveta gone. Our child no
more. That these hunters came not for me, but for him—
for
him
! The indignity of it all. Their tortures I forebore. The
pain of the flame applied to skin. The whispered obsecrations of
the Arab with his affected concern. The supercilious stare of the
lady and her “brother” as they scrutinized and supervised my
torment.

Tell
us
where
we
will
find
him
,
javoon
, the Arab
adjured,
you
owe
him
nothing
.

It was true.

Vinci had betrayed my loyalty. His actions
that night revoked the fealty I had once accorded him. Whether I
lived or perished at the hands of these, my tormenters, I cared not
a whit. Without Elizaveta, my existence was forfeit. Yet I cared
very much that Vinci be made to suffer, that he be forced to bear
the cost of my own misfortune for which he was responsible. I told
them where they could find him. I described our house, his
chambers, how he protected himself during the day.

Free
me
, I offered them
wholeheartedly,
and
I
will
take
you
to
him
.

No sooner had I done so than a clamor arose
from elsewhere in the house, a dull crash and cries, the alarum
sounded.
Stay
put
,
javoon
, the Arab warned me,
a look of concern on his face before he rose.

He
is
here
, Master
Hawthorne announced to the others, raising his crossbow. He bade
the Patriarch stay and guard me before he, the Lady and the Arab
rushed as one from the room.

More screams sounded throughout the home.

The Patriarch eyed me warily, opening the
feed door and replacing the poker among the glowing coals within.
He stood there in his robes and hat, cutlass drawn.

I knew without knowing: Vinci had come to
this place. Why he came I could not fathom. I could only imagine he
sought my end.

Slipping into the room via the shadows, he
could not ask to find me in a more vulnerable position, contorted
in the Street Sweeper’s Daughter as I was.

Bozhe
moi
! The Patriarch called
out to his deity, barely able to raise his cutlass before Vinci was
on him. My former master drove the clergyman head first into the
stove, knocking the kamilavka from his head. The man’s petrified
cry cut short as the blistering air seared his lungs. Hair and
beard immediately ignited, the fire spreading like some greedy
beast to his overcossack and the riasa worn beneath.

The Patriarch struggled in Vinci’s grasp, his
own hands melting to the stove against which he sought desperately
to extricate himself, his legs and torso bucking like some mad
animal.

Upon his release he streaked from the room
like a comet hurtling through space, flailing with burning arms at
the fire that danced about his head and shoulders, spreading the
flames as he ran from the room.

Finish
me
then
, I
demanded of Vinci from my bonds.
Finish
me
,
if
that
is
what
you
have
come
to
do
.

I
am
not
here
to
destroy
you
.

I became aware of another in the room with
us, one I had overlooked in the overwhelming revulsion that filled
me in Vinci’s presence.

If
I
freed
you
now
,
you
would
set
upon
me
,
and
I
have
no
desire
to
continue
our
earlier
broil
.
You
have
grown
strong
, he commended me,
my
equal
in
more
ways
than
one
.
Therefore
I
will
not
free
you
.

My face, lowering, I could not bring to bare
on his visage, such were my confines.

Instead
, Vinci continued,
I
bid
you
farewell
.
And
in
so
doing
I
express
only
this
hope
:
that
when
next
we
encounter
each
other
,
you
will
have
some
understanding
of
my
actions
this
night
,
though
I
know
it
will
not
allay
your
hand
. What sounded like a sigh issued from him
then.
Until
next
we
meet
.

Someone approached me, hesitantly, frightened
or disoriented. Whoever it was began to unencumber me from the
Street Sweeper. When the last of the silver-coated straps fell from
my singed flesh, I looked upon Aalam, still blinking his way out of
the daze into which he had been mesmerized.

The boy helped me to my feet.

I
don’t
understand
,
Leonid
, he looked around the room in terror, as though
seeing it for the first time. The pungently-sweet stench of the
Patriarch filled the air.
What
is
happening
?

Take
me
to
the
grandmother
, I commanded him.

Aalam led us. Sections of the house burned
about us, the heat pulsating. We passed the broken and mangled
bodies of the household staff, men and women who had fallen before
Vinci.

The old woman was in her room upstairs.

Stay
, I ordered Aalam, leaving him
inside the door. The stench of garlic, rank in the room, offended
my senses. I ignored it, intent on my murderous task. She smiled
foolishly as I approached her bed, greeting me by her husband’s
name.

Here
!
He
is
here
!
Elizaveta’s husband burst into the chamber, a pistol in his hand.
He
is
—

Before he could continue his cry or loose his
first shot, I took his arm from his body, tossing the limb aside.
The man staggered about the room, disbelief in his eyes. He
collapsed in a seated position against the wall, his one hand
pressed to the stump at his shoulder, blood streaming from between
his fingers. He watched as I mounted the bed.

The old woman beamed at me as I lay a hand on
either of her wrinkled cheeks. Wrenching her head from her body,
blood geysered from her torso, fanning the room. I pitched her
skull through the window glass.

From elsewhere in the home, the sound of
rushing feet, warning cries and pistol shots.

Before leaving the room, I twisted the man’s
head completely around, the bones in his neck cracking like so many
knuckles. I propelled Aalam before me, my hand guiding him by the
neck. I drove the boy to the place we had met, the roof.

Morning was not far off, the sky bluing to
the east.

Perched on the eaves, we witnessed the
pandemonium on the grounds. The mansion was ablaze, the fires
spreading. Shadowy forms ran beneath us, men with buckets of
water.

Leonid
. Sadness in Aalam’s eyes. The
child shook under my hand.
I
don’t
understand
…

Aalam
!
Bedo
! The Arab stood in
the gardens, staring up in horror, screaming at his child to run.
Bedo
!

Aalam looked from his father below—

Leonid
?

—to me next to him, to one he thought a
boy—

What
are
you
,
Leonid
?

—one he thought a friend.

Leonid
,
please
.

A push—
Go
to
your
father
!—sent the child from the roof, incomprehension and
betrayal on his shocked face. As he plummeted, I was already
looking out over the city, taking in its breadth and grandeur,
breathing deep its air.

Petersburg.

Elizaveta.

I would need to leave this place, leave it
now.

Put it all behind me.

Vinci. My thoughts kept returning to him. To
him I owed everything: my life, my damnation. I would not be if not
for him; I would be not what I am if not for him. I must admit to
then thinking it better to have perished on that field in the
Ukraine when I was a boy. To have perished in the mouths of the
wolves. The wolves Vinci had first rescued me from. But for that, I
would not be relating this tale; but for him, I would know not
loss.

The whistle of a bolt through the air brought
me back to my senses.

On the ground below, Master Hawthorne
reloaded his crossbow, grim determination writ on his face.
Kneeling besides the broken body of his boy, the Arab wailed in
grief. He pointed up at me with trembling digit, vowing
never-ending vengeance.

Before Hawthorne could release a second
arrow, I fled.

I abandoned that burning house, turning my
back on the city and my happiness. My Elizaveta consigned to
memory. I knew then that from that night forth, I would burn with a
new passion, intent on Vinci’s destruction.

“Did you ever catch up with him?” Boone
asked. “With Vinci?”

Rainford smiled grimly.

“And what happened?”

“That, Boone, is another tale—”

“—for another time,” Boone grumbled. “Right.”
He stood, Pomeroy already standing, storing away his Dictaphone.
“Hey, Rainford, let me ask you something.”

The Dark Lord waited on his settee.

“You still miss her?”

The vampire was silent a moment before
replying. “I loved her,” he admitted, “I loved her as I have never
loved anyone since.”