First Blood (38 page)

It took him several seconds to realize that she was on the other side of the room, sitting on a stool. Something was wrong.

“What are you doing over there? Is something wrong?”

It took him another few seconds to realize that the form was too small. It could not be Eva. It could not be an adult.

It was a child.

He sat up all the way.

“What the...?”

He realized who it was and froze.

“Justyna?”

The girl ghost smiled.

“She needs you, Alexandre. You’re the only one who can save her from herself.”

The voice was strange, a little bit out of sync with the lips, and it had a metallic echo.

Vauvert shook his head.

“Why can I see you?”

“You know why.”

He gulped.

“What should I save her from?” he asked.

Justyna’s ghost smile was grim. She stood up and started coming toward him. The red-eyed ghost was gliding, rather than walking and was getting bigger.

When the ghost finally stood in front of him, it was adult-sized, with hair just as white. And what Vauvert saw was the intensely evil face of a man.

Louis Canaan opened his mouth, revealing pointy ogre teeth. He lunged at Vauvert’s throat.

Vauvert screamed at the top of his lungs.

And he woke up.

“MOTHER FUCK!” he shouted, trying to sit up.

He was still twisted up in the damned sheets.

Am I still dreaming? Having another dream in a dream?

The pain emanating from his broken ribs seemed to indicate that he was not, but he did not know what to believe anymore. His wrist was throbbing, as well.

No. I’m really awake this time.

He swung his feet out of the bed. The room was dark and quiet. The space next to him was still empty.

“Eva?” he called out.

He brushed the bedside lamp, and a soft light filled the room.

“Eva!”

She did not answer.

He got up, still groggy, and glanced at the stool where he had seen Justyna’s ghost in his dream.

“Eva, where the hell are you?”

Getting no answer, he went over to the door. The living room was dark and empty.

“Eva? Are you there?” he said, nearing the bathroom. “What’s happening? Can you hear me?”

He knocked. When there was no answer, he opened the door.

The mirror on the wall was misty, and Eva’s used towel was neatly folded at the corner of the shower. But she was nowhere.

His anxiety level was rising.

He crossed the living room and looked at the time. It was nearly two in the morning.

Something was very wrong.

He rushed to the foot of the bed. Although Eva’s suitcase was still there, the clothes she had taken off when they made love were no longer on the side of the bed.

She got dressed and went out.

In the middle of the night?

He pressed his face to the window and looked outside. Large snowflakes were falling in silence, slowly covering the city with another layer of snow.

He turned on his phone and called Eva.

It rang and rang.

“Pick up. Don’t do this to me.”

Voice mail.

“Svärta, Homicide. Please leave a message after the beep.”

He hung up and he tried to think fast.

Eva gripped the steering wheel as she drove toward the mountains.

The past had caught up with her.

She did not have a choice.

Now she had to follow her instinct. Blindly. She passed a line of trucks heading toward Spain and then put on the blinker to leave the highway.

She still had a long way to go.

But soon she would know. She would see with her own eyes. She would finally
face him
.

Her telephone vibrated, and when she saw Alexandre Vauvert’s number on the screen, she turned it off.

She could not let him be involved in this. She refused. He had already saved her once.

I am dangerous
, she said to herself.
Everybody unlucky enough to be close to me is dead. But this time will be different.

She swallowed hard. Deep down, she knew she was lying.

The devil’s daughter.

“I am your master,” Louis says, foaming at the mouth and crushing her against the flagstone. “I opened the black door. I and I alone! Nobody will every refuse to do my will again.”

“Screw you, psycho.”

Madeleine pushes and slaps him, but the boy on top of her is much stronger. He wraps his hands around her throat, strangling her. The girl sees stars and fleeting images of her short life.

“Louis, let her be.”

The words come from Ismael. Finally.

“Your bitch always ruins everything,” Louis shouts. “From the beginning, she’s been making you weak. It’s time to get rid of this bad influence. Another sacrifice to the gods!”

The ruins tremble in his fury. Wings flap in the dark of night.

“No, Louis, you’ve lost it! Stop!” Ismael screams, running over to separate them.

Madeleine manages a punch. Louis’s lower lip bursts. His blood spatters her. It is as cold as ice.

He arches his back and pulls a knife from his snakeskin jacket.

“You can’t!”

Louis thrusts the knife at her throat. Madeleine barely has time to turn her head. The knife rips through her cheek, striking bone.

“No!” Ismael bellows.

Madeleine grabs Louis’s arm and tries to keep the knife away from her face.

With his other fist, Louis hits her in the mouth. Blinded, her grip loosens.

The blade comes down on her face again. She feels the skin and muscles of her other cheek split open, like a piece of meat on the butcher’s counter.

Someone grabs Louis and pulls him off Madeleine.

Madeleine rolls away from him in the dust. She wants to scream but cannot. Her throat is full of blood. The searing pain in her face is worse than anything she could ever imagine. She presses her hands against the gashes in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

Guillaume is standing back, paralyzed; Pierre and Ismael are holding Louis on the ground and trying to control him.

She hears him starting to chant, pronouncing dangerous words.

“Stop him,” she stammers.

Ismael covers Louis’s mouth with his hand, but Louis bites him to the bone. Ismael screams and withdraws his hand. With every syllable Louis pronounces, they feel their stomachs rise and dizziness overcome them.

“Make him shut up.”

All of the sudden, Guillaume Alban snaps out of his torpor. He picks up a rock and hits Louis on the forehead, stopping his litany. Guillaume hits him again, as hard as he can.

“Traitor! Traitor! Bastards!” the albino roars in a rage.

Before he can start his chant again, Guillaume shoves the rock between his teeth and holds it tight. Louis shoots a look of red daggers at the three boys. They hold on.

“Don’t let him go!” Ismael cries out. “If he can use his power, he’ll kill us. He’ll really kill us.”

Louis arches his back, contracts his muscles and tries to roll onto his side. Madeleine is watching, but everything suddenly goes blurry. Her strength seeps out of her. She feels like she is fainting. Then she snaps back. Ismael has gone to get some wire and is unrolling it. She watches them tie Louis up, finally immobilizing him. They gag him with the wire to keep the stone in his throat.

Madeleine gasps.

She fears the skin and muscle will slide right off her face. She wonders if she will see just her skull the next time she looks in a mirror. Then she realizes she will never look in a mirror again if she lets herself go now.

“Ismael,” she says, moaning.

Her boyfriend lifts her up. He whispers in her ear. She feels warmth pass from his body to hers and air come back into her lungs. But the intense pain in her ravaged cheeks does not go away.

“I always said there was no other way this could end,” she manages to get out as he carries her to the altar.

“Calm down. We will take care of him.”

“He spilled the first blood. He communed with the gods. There is nothing we can do.”

“We can banish him. He opened the veil. I know what to do. We all know what to do.”

She closes her eyes.

Darkness.

When she opens them again, she doesn’t know how much time has passed, but dawn is rising over the ruins.

“Ismael.”

“Sh.”

She feels the boy’s hands on her cheeks. She feels more heat, although the pain remains.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says.

She swallows hard. At least there wasn’t any more blood in her throat.

She looks around and takes in the three lost boys. They had needed that to open their eyes. But she worries that it is too late. She also sees Louis, wrapped in wire, motionless and silent. She sees him stare at her as if he were still shouting “Traitor! Traitor! Bastards!”

“We’re going to do it now,” Ismael says.

“We won’t be able to,” she says.

“Of course we will.”

Louis’s blood-red eyes are still on her, full of intense hatred. “I’ll be back,” they say. “You know that I’ll be back one day, and then I will kill you all.”

She thinks she really hears his voice in her mind.

“If he finds a way, he’ll come back.”

“He won’t be able to,” Ismael says. “Nobody will ever be able to open the passage for him. You know that, right? If we send him back there, nobody can ever help him again.”

With all her soul, Madeleine hopes he is right.

“Then do it now,” she says.

“Do you feel up to it?”

She nods weakly. Her face is on fire, but she is alive. That is all that counts. And she swears she will stay that way.

“We’ll do it,” Madeleine says, sounding resigned. “And then I’ll leave.”

Ismael lowers his eyes.

“Madeleine.”

“If I survive this day, Ismael, I swear I will never see any of you ever again.”

Ever again.

Louis took his foot off Loisel’s broken back.

“
Traitor
.”

Again, he said it in just a whisper, and again, Madeleine had no trouble hearing it, as if he had spoken directly in her ear.

“Get out of here,” she said.

She reached for the iron cup and held onto it. Sparks rose from her fingers. Her hair danced with static.

“You are no longer welcome in this temple, Louis. You were banished.”

“This temple?” the albino asked. “Some temple.”

He walked into the nave. With every step, the snow melted under his shoes, and steam that looked like grimacing creatures rose around his legs.

“This temple and all the others,” he said in a sickly sweet voice. “They are mine, Madeleine. It was written.”

The scales on his jacket gleamed brighter as he approached the fire. Madeleine did not look away.

“I will stop you. Like I already did once.”

“Is that so?”

He stopped and pointed his chin at Loisel’s broken body, which was bleeding out under the stone archway.

“Did you stop his death? Did you keep any of them from dying? Of course not. You did not stop anything at all, and now my ritual is almost over. It just took longer than I planned.”

At that moment, Madeleine heard dozens of wings flapping. Crows were flying toward them from all around. Enormous birds stirred up the mist with their shining feathers. Silently, they perched, one after the other, on the ruined walls of the chapel. Their round eyes stared at her, focused and waiting. She felt their greed.

“What are they?”

“You know. They are souls. That is the game we are playing, isn’t it? The game of souls.”

Madeleine gripped the chalice tighter, bending the metal. She felt an intoxicating strength consuming her, illuminating a black light in her heart.

“It is yours they will carry away, Louis. Not mine.”

Louis smiled.

“Oh, you think so?”

“Oh, I think so,” she said, dropping the iron cup that she had finished crushing.

She opened her hands, throwing out the power they had collected, and she watched it spread out like a wave of heat, rippling the air, swooping down on the man in the snakeskin jacket. She spit out words—the keys—containing all her fear and anger, all the energy that she could pull from her mind in the memory of the saints’ blood she had drunk.

“
Ate masher shochvim, kumu ki haet lenekama highiya! Shimu koli! Shimu et milot hamachshefa hashchora!”

Something lifted up the snow in front of the albino.

He shook his head, observing the buried creature that was rising, dragging itself out of the earth and stones. A relic. A stolen soul.

“Idiot,” he whispered.

The creature rose to its feet, and he saw it was a dog, or at least what was once a dog. But this was not the ridiculous poodle Madeleine had sacrificed. Louis knew what this dog was. It was the Doberman whose throat he had cut on the altar. Twenty-five years ago, the Doberman had been a puppy. Dragged from veil of death, the animal was now bigger—much, much bigger. It had had the time to grow, as had its anger and frustration. The dog’s ghost was now a river of hate raging toward the person who had sacrificed it.

Louis froze. His eyes narrowed into blood-red slits. His smile, however, did not vanish. He made a sign in the air and blew a spell off his fingers.

The creature opened its enormous fang-filled jaws, sticky with rot. It leaped at him.

In one smooth movement, Louis seized the creature’s throat. The animal screeched, sounding half dog, half human. It furiously clawed the air.

“Attack!”
Madeline yelled.
“Attack him! Take him away!”

The ghost could not. Held as it was by the throat, the dog could not bite Louis or free itself. Louis hoisted the dog higher, holding it effortlessly. The powerless creature’s eyes sparked with rage. Its powerful fangs grew and then grew some more. The flailing thing no longer looked like a dog, but instead like concentrated fury.