After Daybreak (21 page)

Chapter 27

I
t isn’t at all what I expected. The Valentine Manor built outside Denver held such opulence, such dark grandeur. But this, the first Valentine house built in America, is held up only by haunted memories now: three stories tall, but the walls are buckling; a roof made of fine timber, eaten away and letting the rain pour into the house’s interior; a massive door that once would have stood as the pride of the wealthy Valentine immigrants now hangs off the hinges, termites having made their home inside.

“This is the place,” Victor says. “I remember the gardens. They looked so beautiful at night.”

“I imagine this place has seen better days,” I say.

“It was once the biggest estate in the Northeast. Now it’s just a shell. My father let it rot away for some reason. Maybe he just grew bored with it. Once he and the servants left, nature did the rest. We vampires are well aware of what time can do to things built by hand.”

“And this is where it all began?” Michael asks.

“I lived here for only a few years,” Victor says. “But I know this is where Sin came into life, where he suffered, where he became twisted inside.”

“It isn’t your fault,” I say, putting my hand on Victor’s.

He doesn’t agree and shakes his head. “I should have come back. I should have known that my father had changed, had become crueler than I could have imagined. I heard he hated his youngest son. I just never knew how much. Or why.”

“We can’t change any of it now,” Ian says. “Trust me, Victor, I know this is hard for you, but you need a clear mind. We all do. If we’re going in there to fight, it has to be for that and nothing else. The time for understanding is over. The time for action is here.”

“He’s right,” Richard says. “It has to end here. Tonight. Sin can’t be saved.”

“I know,” Victor says, rubbing my hand. “I know.”

With stakes drawn, we head into the manor.

The long hallway is dark and I can see that it’s cramped, a corridor meant to keep out the light, not to impress its guests. But once we reach the end and open the doors into the next room, we’re all shocked by what we see.

Light. The chandeliers, the wall lamps, everything is on. Sin must have done it. He must have done it for us.

The grand central room, the heart of the house, was most protected from the elements and time. The roof hasn’t caved in; the stairs haven’t rotted away. It seems as though this place still beats fresh blood, while the rest of the house acts as limbs that have atrophied and died. It haunts us with its glow and its warmth, everything seeming so odd and out of place, as though we’ve stumbled into a dream in the midst of a nightmare.

The massive pillars that hold the ceiling in place, made of beautiful marble, show no signs of aging. Neither does the grand staircase, which is wide enough to drive a car up. A bright red carpet starts at our feet and winds through the room, up the stairs, and ends at the feet of the man who has killed hundreds and turned hundreds more into horrific creatures. He’s left scars everywhere he’s walked, and the shards of shattered lives surround him everywhere he goes.

Sin’s back is turned to us, but there’s no mistaking it’s him or that he is alert to our presence. From this distance, he seems to have finally achieved what he wanted: to become a god. He appears, under the glow of the lamps in this dark house, to be the very source of its light, of its warmth. And there’s no questioning his omniscience, his acute awareness of our steps and our breaths and our heartbeats. I can tell. Maybe it’s because my heart beats with the same Montgomery blood. But I can tell.

In front of him is a massive portrait of the late Murdoch Valentine. It reaches up from the floor to the very top of the ceiling, something only fit for an egomaniac. Maybe Sin is seeing his own face in his father’s. A man of power and action, an agent of great change. Through the weathered canvas and chipped paint, the rotting frame and running colors, his grandeur remains. Maybe it’s even enhanced, as though proving that even in death he is alive and immune to the ever-moving clock.

Sin speaks. “Look at him. Look at Father.”

His voice is calm, but it’s a struggle, as if he were speaking out of a mouth that was no longer his.

“Such arrogance he held. Such shortsightedness. All I asked for . . . was . . . was to feel the sun. That’s all. But you wouldn’t give it to me. No. You had to lock me away, didn’t you? Didn’t you! Talk! Speak to me!”

Whether Sin thinks he’s speaking to a painting or to his father, I don’t know. But I’m aware of Victor moving forward and the others spreading out, taking their places.

“Why? Why didn’t you love me? Why didn’t you . . . see me?”

I can hear . . . No. I can
feel
his weeping.

“Sin!” Victor shouts, and the weeping stops. “Sin, it’s over.”

“Victor. You always were his favorite.”

“You’re right. I was. He loved me, and he despised you for what you are. He didn’t want a son like you.”

Victor wants Sin angry. He wants Sin to stop thinking and act on impulse.

“I killed them all,” Sin says. “Years of planning, and all for nothing.”

“You’ve been driven mad,” Victor shouts, at the stairs now, one foot on the first step.

“No, I’ve been given ultimate power. Years of drinking vampire blood, and finally the Thirst has chosen me. Finally, I’ve reached my full potential.”

“You’ve reached insanity.”

“I have become a god. And I will be a lonely god. For nothing will remain once I am finished.”

“Sin! Face me!”

He does so. What I see is nothing like the beautiful teenager who walked into my classroom unexpectedly such a short time ago. He’s a demented shadow of what was once Sin Valentine. His jaw has grown in size, the teeth inside his mouth fighting each other for space, expanding into a maw, a forest of sharpened fangs that would fit on no natural creature. His skin is stretched and bleeding, wounds that may never heal. Or perhaps he does it to himself with his hands, or, what were once hands. Now they are claws. His fingers are long and grotesque; the nails at the end have lengthened and sharpened, becoming lethal weapons.

But it’s his eyes that capture souls and hold them prisoner. It’s his eyes that will haunt me for as long as I live. Freakishly large, black as the purest oil, reflecting all they see like some dark crystal ball. He appears, in this moment, remorseful. Sad. Filled with regret.

But in the next moment, it all changes.

With a frightful scream through his engorged jaw, he causes the ceiling to shake and fine plaster to fall. I look to see where the others are, if everyone is as afraid of this monster as I am. And when I turn back, Victor is off his feet, Sin having hit him square in the chest, and the two fly backward onto the floor.

They slide together, nearly to the door. Sin is on top, one hand around Victor’s throat, the other in the air ready to bring down a terrible strike. Victor acts first, shoving his stake into Sin’s side.

The Thirst-infected Valentine doesn’t even flinch.

Victor scrambles for his other stake as a blur tackles Sin, throwing him off and onto the floor. It’s Richard, his own metal stake lodged into Sin. But the monster doesn’t care and tosses Richard off as though he’s little more than a pillow.

Michael and Ian charge in, one from the back, the other at the front. But Sin’s speed is too much, and even though Ian is able to land a solid blow with his stake, he misses with the other and is quickly flung across the room. Michael, for his efforts, receives a blow to the stomach, and I hear the air leaving his lungs. Sin merely shoves him to the floor, as though insulted that a human would have the audacity to face him.

Victor is up now, another stake already in his hand. Sin has three stakes in his body, but he doesn’t bother removing them, shows no signs of slowing down. Instead, his eyes narrow in anger, and the blackness within is a rage that has built over years, over decades. And it’s all focused on his half brother.

In a flash, Sin appears in front of Victor, his frightening claw raised upward. Victor was fast, but not fast enough, and a trail of blood spurts from his chest in a misty spray. The strike wasn’t fatal, and Victor moves in. But Sin grabs his hand and twists and squeezes until Victor falls to a knee and the stake rolls out.

That’s when I run in, and I pound my metal stake into Sin’s back with both hands and all my weight. But I can’t believe it. It barely pierces at all, the Thirst having thickened his gray skin until it stands like leather stacked on more leather.

He turns and looks at me and I think I’ll fall into the voids of his eyes never to escape. He raises his hand to strike at me, but he’s pushed aside by a thunderous clap as Richard drives into him.

They hit the wall so hard I see it crack, an imprint of Sin placed into it. The master of all the Chosen, the New World god, kicks Richard off before slashing his beautiful face, spraying the wall with deep crimson. Richard staggers back.

Ian and Michael rush in, but Sin delivers a well-placed strike against each and I hear the crunch of bones, the loss of breath. They stumble back. And Sin looks up, no longer enjoying the game, wanting to end this forever. He sets his eyes on Victor.

And Victor wants the same. To end this.

All things stand still, save the two brothers. They move as one, nothing but a blur; hints of their existence dance around the room. And in a brief moment that seems meant only for me, I see Victor, and he looks at me, at Dawn, and I know he draws strength from me, as he always has.

The movement stops, and I see Sin’s eyes over Victor’s shoulder. I expect them to be wide, pained from the death blow delivered. Instead, I see them carry a hint of joy, a sign of the smile on Sin’s face. I look down and see Sin’s claws sticking out of Victor’s back, having gone clean through his stomach. They drip Victor’s blood onto the floor.

But I don’t scream; instead, I draw another stake.

The others, Richard, Michael, and Ian, begin to move.

And Victor . . . he grabs Sin’s wrist but doesn’t remove the claws deep within him. Instead, he holds them tightly, not allowing them to leave, not ending the pain he feels. Only then do Sin’s eyes go wide, as he realizes what is to come.

Sin screams and pulls back, but Victor has both hands tightly wrapped around his half brother’s arm, and it goes nowhere. I see the blood running from Victor’s mouth, I see his body convulsing, but still he remains a statue, Sin’s hand stuck within him.

Sin has raised his other arm, ready to strike, when Victor pushes forward with all his strength. Sin trips over himself, stumbling backward, until Victor slams him into one of the marble columns that hold the mansion together. It shakes violently, more plaster raining down.

Sin lets out a short scream but then looks at Victor with confused eyes, questioning if this was his great plan. Sin again raises his other claw, ready to bring it down.

It’s just a blur, but it’s Michael who delivers the blow deep into Sin’s ribs, the deepest strike yet, aimed true and unimpeded. It stuns the vampire just long enough for Richard to swoop in and grab the monster’s raised arm and twist it back until it is flush with the marble column. Ian does the rest, hammering his stake through the arm and into the marble, which cracks.

Sin screams, and Victor puts his foot on his half brother and pushes away, dislodging the claw within him. But he doesn’t rest. His hand still on Sin’s wrist, he pins it to the other side of the column, where Richard brings another stake down, nailing it in place.

The beast stands with his back against the cool, cracking marble, a stake in each arm, pinned, four in his body, and still he fights and struggles.

We all stand back, looking at him. His wide eyes, pathetic; his gaping jaw, weak.

Victor takes one final stake from his belt and approaches Sin.

“Don’t do this,” Sin says, looking Victor in the eyes for maybe the first time in his life, really looking into the soul of this man. “We could have the world.”

Victor looks at him and turns toward me. “I already do.”

With those words, he pounds the stake into Sin’s chest. The Thirst has thickened his bones, creating a nearly impenetrable breastplate. Sin screams, but he isn’t dead, and Victor pushes. But I know he’s holding back, know that he’s hearing the cries not of Sin, but of the child he should have saved from his cruel father, the child who cried while locked in the basement when all he wanted to taste was the sun.

But that child is gone now, and only the soulless monster remains.

I approach Victor, place my hands on the stake, just as I had done to the one hovering over Brady. Only this time, it’s Victor who needs to let go.

Victor gives Sin a final look before whispering, “Embrace the dark.”

I push the stake, feel our strength together, and it ends a life that has ended so many. I feel the stake vibrate with his heartbeats.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice . . .

No more.

Sin’s head collapses onto his chest, and Victor closes his brother’s eyes, knowing they will never open again.

Epilogue

Y
EAR
O
NE OF THE
G
REATER
W
ORLD
O
RDER

S
tanding on my balcony, I watch the sun turn the sky into a brilliant red. Soon he’ll come to me. He always comes at night.

How much has changed? What remains of the old world? I search the horizon for the wall that once surrounded Denver. Not a single brick remains, not a single stone is left standing. A dozen roads now weave their way into the growing city, letting in strangers, both human and vampire.

Human and vampire. Finally.

“I did it, Mom,” I say. “I did it, Dad.”

Between my hands I hold the photo of us all that I found in the documents my dad left me. I wonder if he did it so I wouldn’t forget who I was deep down.

“I did it, Brady.”

We look so happy around the table. But I no longer yearn to go back to those days, to change the things that have shaped me. My past has already been written, and my future awaits.

“The sunset was beautiful. I wish you could have seen it,” I say.

“You’re getting better,” Victor says, moving from behind me, joining me on the balcony, the night sky above us.

I can never hear his footsteps approaching, but I always know when he’s near.

“How is everything?” I ask.

“Blood donations are overflowing. No sign of the Thirst in months. With the Lessers now helping out with the Works, the entire city will be lit before the year is over.”

“That’s good,” I say.

His elbows on the railing and the wind running through his hair, he laughs.

“But that’s not what you were really asking, was it?” he says.

“No.”

We both look out at the city. I wonder what he sees. Is it what I see? A future? One that started in a trolley car after two girls tried to leave a party?

No. It started before then. Before my parents, before the war. Before anyone I’ve ever loved was even born. It started in vampire blood and death warrants signed. And it ends here: human and vampire, leaning against each other, looking at a world unafraid of the night.

“I love you, Dawn.”

I hold his hand, and feel his pulse. It beats for me.

“I love you, Victor.”

Beneath that night sky, somewhere between here and the oceans, blow the winds that carry dust and sand. And in those winds lie everyone who helped shape this world. They go, from one place to the next, and it matters not whether it is the sun in the sky or the moon. They go together.