SCROLLS OF THE DEAD-3 Complete Vampire Novels-A Trilogy (108 page)

“He’s come to talk to you,” Corgi said. “He’s on his way.”

“Who?”

But Jacques knew the answer to that. The devil himself. The Big Kahuna. The Fallen One, the Great Ego who dared argue with his creator.

So be it, Jacques thought. He can’t make me do his bidding. I have free will. I am a free man. I do as I please.

A very small man came walking toward them from a bilious green dust cloud. He was dressed in a black suit and wore a black tie. He was, Jacques noted, quite spiffily dressed. Armani couldn’t have clothed him better.

He looked to be only a little over five feet tall with narrow shoulders. As he neared, Jacques saw that his hair was dark, and his face was light-skinned. He was pleasant enough, almost plain, except for the eyes. They were an odd shape, elliptical, and a strange color. His eyes were a deep tangerine, the color of a very ripe orange.

He came within four feet of Jacques and stopped. He did not smile. His eyes never blinked.

“You’re the one, then,” Jacques said. “I thought you’d have horns and cloven feet.”

“You must not mock me,” the little man said.

Jacques shrugged. “I admit I don’t know the protocol for receiving the Devil.”

The little man’s mouth stretched all out of proportion to his face, grew wider than his jaws could accommodate and still it grew. From out of this huge, misshapen mouth he roared, “I am the highest angel of heaven, you fool! Never call me the name man made for me!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I can make you hang upside down and twitch until you’re dead. I can take your feet and put them through your body into your head, turning you inside out. I can set fire to you, inch by inch, until you’re charcoal. Ask me why I may not do these things or other things, much worse, to torment you into obeying me?”

“I suspect I know why.”

“Because you’re here to do what I say, what I want you to do. Refusing isn’t possible. Death isn’t possible. Insanity will not visit you. There is no place to hide when I own the world and every country is my country. You do not have free will, my little friend. You belong to me.”

Jacques realized for once and all this was so. He had not wanted to climb onto the tail gate of the truck. He had not wanted to say the things that came from his mouth. It didn’t matter what he wanted or how he hoped to escape. This little man controlled him, both his life and eventually his death. This little man owned him, the way he claimed to own the world.

Jacques nodded. “I guess that’s the last word on it, then. Just answer me one question.”

“I know what it is. Why you?”

“Yes, why me?”

“You came from my belly.” The little man began to transform. He grew taller and taller, wider and wider. His clothes were shed and his skin grew wrinkled then darkened and became scaly. His head widened, his eyes rounded, his mouth grew into a snout. He was a beast, but no manner of beast Jacques had ever seen on the earth. He put great clawed hands onto a giant’s belly and threw back his monstrous head to laugh.

Jacques stared at the huge stomach of the beast and knew the devil told the truth. It was from out of that putrid mess he had been born. Born into his mother’s womb. From the belly of the beast into the world, trapped in the skin of a normal man.

He was the offspring of the monster.

He was the Son of the Son of the Morning.

He had nothing to do with Christ or with God—God who had created this angel-turned-beast in the beginning of time. Jacques was purely created out of the guts of the madman of the universe. That is why he never fit into school, wasn’t liked by his family, could not find a woman who loved him. Further, and more importantly, it was why he wandered aimless on the earth and why angels could not defeat him.

It was why he was born into the world. To do the work of his father.

This terrible monster.

This horrific master of the underworld.

This spiteful escapee from heaven’s gates.

Jacques, a humble Frenchman with a penchant for trouble, was nothing more and nothing less than the spawn of hell.

Chapter 32

Following the strange events of the miracle worker, Malachi continually missed connecting with Jacques. The way he kept missing the target, it was as if Fate had ordained he’d never fulfill his dream of revenge. Often he was hours or even days behind on the trail. Just once he arrived minutes too late. He appeared in a flooding Nicaraguan village where Jacques had caused the flood waters to recede, saving thousands of lives.

“He just walked to the edge of the village,” an old man told Malachi. “And disappeared!”

The old man had the gleam of fanaticism in his eye as he added, “He’s an angel! He is sent from God.”

Malachi thought once he had picked up the thoughts of the vampire who traveled with Jacques, but it turned out to be another lone rogue merely immersed in contemplation of a new Christ come to earth.

As Malachi shimmered into existence and understood he had found the wrong vampire, he said, “You’re wrong. He’s not the Christ. He’s a man, an evil man.”

“Who are you to say?” the rogue asked, baring teeth and backing away. “Who asked you to come here? I’ve heard of you. The dhampir who turned vampire. The Great Revenger stalking our holy man.”

Malachi shook his head at the rogue’s assessment. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Get away from me.”

“How did you know who I was?” Malachi asked, intrigued. They were in Cairo, a city billeted by UN troops to keep it from an uprising with its neighbors. The whole Middle East had been warring for decades now and it seemed no one could stop them. A troop truck rumbled by with armed soldiers. Malachi and the rogue vampire watched until it passed before resuming their conversation.

“Everyone knows who you are. You’re a legend.”

“How’s that?”

“The dhampir kept captive in the jungles of Thailand? We know you. The wife you had who was killed, you say, by the new Christ. The months of searching you’ve been doing. We know. Word spreads. You’re no more than a rogue yourself, yet you judge those like me who have gone out on our own.”

Well, at least the rogue had the last part right. Malachi was definitely on his own. It seemed to him he had been born to live alone, despite his happy few years with Danielle and his son. The majority of his years had been spent with his family, but the years he’d spent as a captive and then as a tracker were the ones that were the most vibrant in his memory.

“I think you may be right about me being as much a rogue vampire now as you are. But you’re wrong about Jacques.”

“Is that his name?”

“Yes. You don’t even know his name? You just call him ‘the New Christ’?”

The vampire pressed his lips together as if Malachi was making fun of him. “That’s what he is,” he insisted.

“Would the Christ slit the throat of an innocent woman?” Hot coals seemed to burn in Malachi’s belly. His anger was always near the surface, ready to explode. “Would a man sent by God draw back a poor woman’s head and take a knife to her throat that way?”

“It’s your word he did that. None of us saw it. But I’ve seen him do miracles. They’re saying he might even save the vampires.”

“From what?”

The rogue’s eyes widened in surprise. “From our affliction, of course. Are you an idiot as well as crazy?”

Malachi knew he was getting nowhere with this vampire. He had made up his mind about Jacques and that was it. He even thought he might be made human again. Live again. As a mortal, as a man.

Ridiculous.

More troop trucks rolled by and Malachi and the rogue automatically began walking together down an alleyway so as not to draw attention to themselves. They didn’t look Egyptian. They might be stopped and questioned and asked for papers.

“Where are you going now?” the rogue asked.

“Wherever there are miracles.”

“I’ll go with you! I want to find him too.”

Malachi stopped and grabbed the other vampire by the arms. “You’re not going anywhere with me. You’re a deluded man, a fanatic. You think Jacques is a savior and he’s not. I can’t make you listen. Now get out of my way.” Malachi shoved him and hurried to the end of the narrow alley, turned to the right and immediately began to shimmer and transform. He had to get away from here. He didn’t need one of Jacques’ diehard followers tagging along with him, getting in the way.

He heard the rogue call out at his back, “Wait! Wait for me.”

But Malachi was gone.

~*~

Vohra sat cross-legged on a raw silk beige pillow near the large rectangular pool in his court yard. Malachi paced the tiles, agitated.

“He moves fast,” Vohra said. “I can’t keep up with him.”

“So you don’t know where he is, either.” Malachi’s exasperation was growing. He had been following in Jacques’ wake for months without catching him. He had thought Vohra, one of the oldest of all the vampires, could help him as he had helped him before. It was a bitter disappointment to find out he couldn’t.

“I know where he is now, at this moment, but before you can get there, he’ll be gone. It isn’t as if he doesn’t know you’re behind him.”

Malachi turned to face his host. “He knows I’m after him? How long has he known?”

“Since he left Rome. He’s surrounded by vampire soldiers and he has gained an innate knowledge of his own. He’s growing in supernatural abilities.”

“Who’s going to stop him, then? Can he be stopped? Most of the world now thinks he’s their savior. His name is all over the data charts. Everywhere you look his face is flashed to millions. His exploits are detailed and making him the most famous man in the world. Millions proclaim him their leader and even pray to him. Cults have cropped up and churches built in his honor. This is insane.”

Vohra clasped his hands in his lap. He wore a white robe that fell from his brown shoulders in folds. Sunlight gleamed from his dark, shoulder-length hair.

Vohra took his time replying. When he did, what he said stunned Malachi. “He’s part of the plan, Malachi. You can’t stop the wind or rain. You can’t stop this.”

“You don’t believe he’s the real Antichrist, do you? He’s tricking people.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s the real one. Perception, reality, the result is the same. If you are called a vampire, you are a vampire, is that correct? If you are called a liar, you are a liar, because that is what the perception of you is, right? Think about this, Malachi. Your anger has blinded you to it. He indeed performs miracles and saves thousands wherever he goes. Did you know the Pope has even given him his blessing?”

“Oh my god.” This news shook Malachi. His face turned red with an even deeper anger. He grimaced and his incisors lowered so that he looked menacing.

Now millions of Catholics worldwide would believe in Jacques. It was awful, a catastrophe.

“Yes,” Vohra said quietly, his eyes hooded and expressionless. “it is a catastrophe, but it is meant to be.”

“Then the world’s fate is predestined. It’s all just a chess game. Kings take over and rule the world. But the moves are laid out beforehand. We are the pawns.”

“In some ways, yes, we are. And you are the ‘pawn’ prophesized to end the Deceiver’s reign.”

Malachi flung his arms out and frowned. “Me? Not me again! I thought that prophecy was wrong. How am I going to lead a war against…against the Antichrist or whatever he is?”

“I can’t tell you how or when. I just know you will. He has to be defeated, you already know that. It isn’t just the fulfillment of revenge you seek, though that is what you think, what you feel in your heart. Your loss drives you.”

“But that’s only part of it, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. You will begin to gather the vampire nations to you. You’ll have to do battle. The outcome can save the world and avert…the greatest catastrophe of all.”

“But if it’s all predestined, then who wins?”

“You do, Malachi. We do. The vampire might have been put on earth for this very reason. We have all wanted to know why. Why do we exist? Why would a just God allow it? What is our purpose, other than to kill and to decimate?”

“And?”

“And maybe we exist because we are the only ones with enough power to put down this Jacques and his soldiers.”

Malachi stayed in a UN controlled hotel that night, refusing Vohra’s offer of a room in his villa. He wanted to be alone to mull over what he had been told. He wouldn’t say it was what he had learned, because it might not be the truth. Vohra knew many things, but he was not God, was he? He was a vampire. Claiming that it might be the vampire who had been created in the beginning just to go up against the Antichrist, or the man people thought was the Antichrist. Where? At Armageddon? In the plains of Israel?

It was all too biblical for Malachi. Much too religious. Why, he didn’t even know that there was an all supreme being, so how could he believe in ancient prophecies—by vampire or religious prophets? Jacques was a trickster bent on a position of power over people. That is all he was.

During the night, while he rested and dreamed, Malachi’s room filled with shadows. He thought it was the dream, but when he forced open his eyes he saw the dream was real.

Vampires. Dozens of them. Crowding the room, hovering over him. Many of them wore the saffron robes of the monastery in Thailand.

Malachi sat up in bed. “What are you doing here?”

“Vohra sent for us. He said we are to stay with you.” It was the monk who had sent him on his way after he recovered from his time in the block of ice. He recognized the square jaw and the deep-set eyes.

Malachi sprang up from the bed. “Vohra’s wrong. He made a mistake. You aren’t supposed to be here. I don’t want you here.”

“We’re sorry, Malachi. We must stay. Wherever you go, we go with you.”

And it was that way for the next many days. Malachi tried to vanish, but it didn’t work. Wherever he appeared, the group was with him, watching him, waiting. More came, and more yet, until Malachi couldn’t walk down a street any longer without attracting attention. He could not take a room for the vampires burst its seams, hanging from the ceiling, crawling up the walls, covering every inch of floor space.