Secrets of the Night Special Edition (91 page)

They fell silent while The Beautiful Galatea reached its climactic conclusion. She slanted a look at him, shocked to see the intense expression on his face. She'd give anything to know his thoughts. Would he always remain such a mystery?

* * *

As silent as a shadow, Galan left the deserted warehouse directly north of downtown
Miami
where a graveyard of neglected buildings polluted the landscape, and garbage cluttered the sidewalk. An occasional car sped past on the Boulevard, its headlights cutting a swath through the early morning darkness.

Enough feeding for now . . .

Within seconds, he arrived in his backyard, among the magnificent oaks and Australian pines. A glance upward revealed a quarter moon floating among the Pleiades, an array of brilliant stars lighting the night sky. The hibiscus bushes swayed in the breeze, a cool breeze, he supposed, but temperatures meant nothing to him.

Unable to banish morose memories, Galan recalled the events of almost one-thousand years ago, and all that had happened since then. Far better if he had died on the battlefield . . .

* * *

Hastings
, 1066

With no moonlight to guide them, Galan and Moloch clambered down Telham Hill, stepping warily among jutting stones and tree roots, while a cold Channel wind whipped tree branches, blowing dust into their eyes. The cries of the wounded echoed in Galan's ears, fusing into memories that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Moloch seemed not to notice.

"Where are we going?” Galan asked as he brushed a speck of dirt from his eye, his parched throat crying for a drink.” Moloch, I'm grateful you saved my life, but I want to return to my family.” And to Linette, his troubled heart reminded him. Oh, God, to hold her in his arms, kiss her sweet lips. . .” Please let me know how I can repay you, and if possible, I shall.”

How had Moloch saved his life? The question taunted him, tortured him, but he feared to know the answer. Briefly, he considered escape from this demon--for he could think of no other name for him--but just as quickly, he realized the effort would prove useless.

Stepping over a gnarled tree root, Moloch gripped a chestnut branch for support.” We'll discuss payment later. And soon, you may return to your family.”

"Why did you choose to save my life?”  Galan pointed back toward the battlefield.” Why didn't you save another man's life, or all their lives?” 

Moloch stopped to stare at him, his skeletal hands gesturing in the darkness, his wrinkled face a picture of sinister emotions.” Must I have a reason? I save whom I want to save. I have neither the time nor the patience to rescue so many.” He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound.” 'Many are called, but few are chosen. 'Doesn't your Bible say that?” he asked as his long, bushy hair blew across his face, his voluminous black robe billowing about him.

"I . . . I believe I've heard the priest read those words.”

"Let us hurry,” Moloch said when they reached the bottom of the hill.” We have much to do this night.”

Galan gave him a sharp look, increasingly worried but afraid to speak. Besides, Moloch had saved his life. The least he could do now was to follow him. Later, he would have to get away . . . if he had the chance.

They plodded through a marshy valley, the cold water seeping through his woolen leggings, making him shiver. Like giant monsters, tree branches thrashed in the howling wind.

As they followed a dirt path that edged a vast forest, so many questions plagued him, frightful suspicions making his mind churn with anxiety.

After a mile or so, they arrived at a church in ruins, its stone walls jagged and uneven, the black sky its roof. Why had they come to a church? A chill raced along Galan's arms and legs. An oaken door hung from broken hinges, banging back and forth in the wind. Neither speaking, they entered the nave where the cold stone floor under his wet leggings made him shiver uncontrollably.

With eyes now accustomed to the dark, he observed the cobwebs that festooned the wooden cross on the altar, the shattered baptismal font, the wrecked wooden pews. His gaze took in several multibranched candelbra, each one filled with tall candles. All these things paled beside his intense thirst, a thirst so strong it threatened to consume him.

"Why . . . why are we here?” he asked, every word an effort.” I beg of you, let us go where we can find a drink. Mayhap someone lives nearby. . . .”

"One thing at a time,” Moloch answered in his caustic voice.” This is my home, and--"

"You live here? You would defile a holy place--"

"--abandoned, as you can see,” Moloch said, pointing to the dark sky that stretched above them.” Destroyed by the Vikings.” He chuckled, a hissing sound that reminded Galan of a snake.” What better place for my . . . uh . . . residence?”  A demonic gleam lit his eyes.

Moloch moved away, a spectral figure in the blackness of night.

The hairs at the back of his neck prickled. An icy tremor of fear passed through him. Despite his thirst, his wariness increased, deepening into a strong desire to escape this Moloch. Run! a warning in his head sounded. He remained immobile, as if caught in a spell.

"Now let us have light,” Moloch said, “and then I'll give you a glass of wine, the finest wine you've ever tasted.”

Galan had never tasted wine, only ale, but no matter. His parched mouth begged for satisfaction.

Moloch moved from one candelabrum to the next, lighting each wick with a touch of his fingertip, and soon, the nave blazed with light. How does he perform these miracles?  Galan wondered, unable to remove his gaze from Moloch. He surely must be a warlock. The flickering candlelight cast wavy shadows on the stone walls, distorting Moloch's body, his shadow a grotesque monstrosity on a far wall. A fiend.

The church brighter now, Galan noted the dust that layered the floor and floated in the air, the scattered leaves that rustled along the stone floor, like the whispers of the dead.

"After I quench my thirst,” he said while Moloch lit the last candle, “and after you've told me how I can repay you, I must return to my family, my loved ones.” Especially Linette. He hungered for her, ached to hold her in his arms, kiss her sweet lips.

Why had Moloch brought him here? Why? Why? The question plagued him, a continual torment that made his head throb, his heart pound, his knees shake.

Moloch swung around to stare at him, a diabolical gleam glazing his eyes.” Yes, of course,” he replied, as if the matter were of little consequence.” Now, for the wine.” He stepped up to the marble altar to retrieve a crystal decanter of wine and a glass goblet.

His face set in concentration, Moloch poured the wine, then handed the glass to him.” Drink to your life!”

The crystal goblet pulsated with a rare radiance, glowing golden by the candlelight. Galan shook with fright. He wanted to run, but a power beyond his control stopped him.

"Are you not drinking any?” he asked, his throat on fire with thirst.

Moloch waved a languid hand.” I had a glass shortly before I found you. Too much wine does something to my brain,” he said, tapping his bony forefinger against his head.” But please, partake of your drink.”

He forced himself to take a slow sip. It had been more than a day since he'd eaten, and if he weren't careful, the wine would sicken him. Although desperate for more, he waited a moment to let the tart taste linger on his tongue.

With an appreciative smile, he raised the glass to his mouth again. After the second sip, everything within the nave blurred, the room spinning around him.

"No!” He slumped to the floor, and the glass slipped from his hand to shatter into a hundred pieces. The last thing he remembered was Moloch's maniacal laughter.” Now you shall join the undead!”

Hours later, when he awakened from his drugged stupor and discovered his body's ghastly transformation, he'd lain on the cold stone floor for the longest time, each passing second an agony. He stared at his hands, absolutely pale, as white as the snow in January. That much he could tell, even in the dark. And cold, dear God, so cold! Tears streamed down his cheeks. He clenched his hands at his sides, his nails scraping the stone floor.

Moloch's final words echoed in his brain . . . the undead . . . the undead.

By all the saints, what has happened to me? Blessed Virgin, how have I sinned that I should suffer so? He'd never see him mother and father again, nor his brothers and sisters. And never again know Linette's love. He rocked back and forth, pressing his hand to his head, sobbing uncontrollably. Through a haze of despair, he prayed for the strength to endure his body's unspeakable change.

God, please, oh, please. . .

An odd, salty taste fouled his mouth. When he touched his lips, his fingers came away stained red with blood. How had that outrage happened? In the dimmest recesses of his mind, he remembered Moloch saying, “Drink, now drink my blood,” and holding a wrist to his mouth.

Without warning, the demon came to stand beside him, his lips drawn back in a wild grin.” So you're awake now.”

Too shocked to stand, Galan raised himself on his elbows, anguish in every word.” What have you done to me?”

Moloch cackled.” Now you are as I am. A vampire!” He walked away, leaving Galan to his misery. Before he stepped out of the church, he called over his shoulder, “I shall return. I must feed now.” With one last burst of laughter, he left.

The undead. A deep, burning hunger gnawed at Galan's insides, a craving like nothing he'd ever endured. He sobbed brokenly for his family, for Linette, for all he'd known and would never know again. Please, God, he prayed, let this be only a nightmare.

The years and centuries stretched ahead of him, an abyss without love or hope, when he'd remain forever separated from his family and friends, from Linette, all those so dear to him. Blessed Virgin, how would he live? But he wasn't alive now, he was dead . . . and not dead.

His craving had finally driven him from the church, that, and Moloch's harsh tutelage, but it had taken him years to become accustomed to drinking human blood.

Throughout the centuries, he had to answer to Moloch, the fiend who always lurked in the background. Moloch, his mentor. His tormentor. Always careful to conceal his desire for mortality from Moloch, he wished, more than anything, he could elude that demon. . . .

But there is no escape, he agonized, returned to the present, where he stood beside an oak tree in his backyard. He pressed his hand against the rough tree bark, all his thoughts on Stevie. Strange how one person could make such a difference in his life. Of course, she reminded him of Linette, but Stevie had an inner grace, a personality all her own. Something told him he'd feel an attraction for her, even had he never loved Linette. He frowned, his mind raging with impossible dreams. If he were mortal again, if Stevie could learn to care for--

"In the name of Lucifer, what the hell's the matter with you?”  Next to the hibiscus bush several feet away, a too-frequent intruder sneered.” You look as if the last mortal had disappeared from the earth.”

Alarm sliced through Galan like a saber through cotton. Moloch! Stay calm.

"Surprised to see me?”  Moloch strolled toward him, his tangled hair blowing across his face, the long-sleeved black robe billowing in the night breeze, booted feet making a path through the grass.

Galan folded his arms across his chest.” I should be used to it by now.”

"Agreed.” Moloch joined him by the oak tree, the aged vampire's face as vicious as ever.” Why have you been acting so differently lately, as if you don't appreciate all I've done for you? Look what I've given you,” Moloch said, spreading his cadaverous arms wide, “power, immortality.” He shook his head.” Such ingratitude.”

"Have I complained?”  he asked, his conscience warning him to protect Stevie.

"Lately, you've changed,” Moloch said.” What's happened? That woman you drove home--"

Galan caught his breath.” How do you know about her?”

"I know everything. Don't think for one minute you can keep a secret from me. Why do you even bother with this mortal wench?” Moloch asked, his eyes narrowing to slits.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. By all the saints, he wanted to destroy this demon, drive a stake through his evil heart, burn him until he was nothing but ashes.” She's my concern, not yours.”

"Never forget--I'll not permit any bonding between a vampire and a mortal.”

Raw fear churned inside him. What might Moloch do to Stevie? Kill her? Transform her into a vampire? He shuddered but spoke in cool tones.” I repeat, let her be.” Not giving a damn about himself, he must tread carefully for Stevie's sake.

An expression of wicked pleasure warped the demon's face.” Don't you ever dictate to me. For your own sake, forget about this mortal woman. That kind will always be denied you. I'll see to that.” 

Moloch placed his bony hand on his shoulder, and it took all of Galan's willpower not to shove the hand aside.

"You will not mingle with mortals. You will remain only with your own kind. Plenty of the undead in this world. How long before this woman figures out what you are?”