The Darkening Dream (30 page)

Mr. Nasir was waiting when Parris arrived at the townhouse. It smelled like the beach house. He wondered if the new agent was buried under this porch, too.

“You swore an oath!” the vampire said. He looked older again.

“I panicked,” Parris said. “I got inside, but the Horn isn’t there. It’s not even in this world. He hid it. We knew each other. I can’t go back to my old life. He probably called the police, or worse.”

“Stop babbling and explain yourself.”

Parris told him about Mr. Engelmann. “It’s there and not there. He made a hole in his cellar, years ago from the feel of it, and hid the Horn in some other place. There are so many realms, we’ll never find it without a key.”

“I still don’t understand.” The vampire wasn’t smiling tonight.

“Think of the universe as an onion, with the normal or material world at the core. Heaven, hell, and all the places in between form myriad layers. Mankind has conceptualized endless mythologies, and each exists in a celestial realm.”

“Like the places inhabited by
djinn
and
ifrit
?” the vampire said. “Their ilk are most capricious.”

“I’m sure they have their weaknesses,” Parris said. “Demons and angels, too. But to find a particular hell, one needs a guide, or a key. A person or thing that knows how to get there.”

“In time, we shall make this
magi
open the passage,” the vampire said. “But there is other news. My old lair was attacked, and one of these trespassers reeked of Gabriel. Maybe they know how to retrieve the Horn.”

“Can you find this person?” the pastor asked.

“I’ve tasted their blood. I’ll find them if I have to drain every soul west of the sea.”

The vampire seemed to be growing as Parris watched, his fingernails and teeth at least.

“Fouad, prepare one of the extra rooms for our guest,” Nasir said. “He’ll be staying under your watch until he finds a way to our prize.”

Nasir lost what little color he had. His hair thinned and became patchy, his frame more skeletal. The teeth and the claws became long and yellow. His eyes were pits, lifeless as the grave.

“You have disappointed me tonight,” he said.

Parris backpedaled, but not fast enough to elude the old vampire. He felt a sting across his cheek. The monster stepped back, flexing his arms, his corpse-like ribs rising and falling. He brought his reddened talons to his mouth, the hideous tongue slithering across the pastor’s blood.

You will find the way into this place
, a voice screamed in his head. “Through the ward again, across the skein between worlds. The Horn will be ours. The demon shall be bound, and the very heavens shall quake and fall.”

And Parris had thought they were becoming friends.

Thirty-Three:

Day of Atonement

Salem, Massachusetts, Monday morning, November 10, 1913

S
ARAH DREAMT SHE WAS
in a great hall. The high ceilings were covered with molded coffers, the floor was of spotted terrazzo, the walls adorned with rich tapestries.

A hundred guests sat at one side of a long, narrow table, the ram-headed man on a dais near the end. His body was wrapped in heavy robes, his shoulders covered in ermine, and his head crowned with a plume of ostrich feathers. He was old, his dark green muzzle peppered with white. One of his curling horns had broken off near the base.

The other guests seemed hazy, indistinct. Faces elaborate masks — some expressionless white, some checkered, others with long gilded noses and leering smiles.

Sarah sat next to the wolf. A purple and gold embroidered collar held his furred head high. He looked at her intently, his eyes red as rubies.

“My Lady Isabella,” he said, “perhaps I was too forward in visiting your chambers last night.”

She glanced down at her ball gown and saw the emblem of the doe.

Trust the wolf
. It was Isabella’s voice, in Sarah’s head.
At the moment of the passage, his cruelty and kindness shall unlock everything
.

“I’ve no regrets, your excellency.” Sarah felt her lips move, but the voice wasn’t hers. “Are you enjoying your visit to our fair city?”

The wolf’s long ears twitched, and he gazed out the arched windows at the crystalline blue lagoon.

“Be careful what you say. We’re being watched.”

Sarah followed his gaze to find the ram joined by two companions. The gray bat sat on his left, the giant beetle on his right.

I died twice, and the beetle’s fire hurt more than the bat’s cuts
, Isabella’s voice said.

The wolf’s furry snout tilted in Sarah’s direction. “The sun’s glare drove me west, but I find the same dark advisors.”

Livered servants set a domed tray before the couple, revealing a pastry-topped pie. A page in a colorful doublet wore Charles’ face.
Only you can bear the dark gift unscathed
. He bowed theatrically then deftly sliced the pie with his sword.

Three white doves burst from the pastry, cooing loudly. They took flight, accompanied by applause from the guests.

The wolf poured red wine from a crystal decanter into a matching goblet. “Would you like some? The vintage is exotic and ancient, quite lovely.”

Sarah accepted the glass. The wine was spicy, meaty, salty. She drained her goblet and took a few bites of the poultry-filled pie.

The wolf gestured again to the head of the table. The bat gorged himself on thick red wine straight from the pitcher, the beetle’s ebony limbs were encrusted with tidbits of meat. The ram merely watched, head cocked to the side.

“Tell me about them,” Sarah said.

“The bat has long flown through the dark sky, his own nature anathema to all he once held dear. I try to hate him, but he gave us what time we had. It’s the beetle who took from me all that was mine.”

“And what of the ram?”

“He looms behind them all, painted in sunlight yet never illuminated. Since before creation he has died and been reborn. Like me, revenge is all he has left.”

Softly at first, she heard the low and mournful blast of the great horn.

“After I am gone, if another were to share my blood…” she heard herself say.

The wolf stood.

“My lady. Will you do me the honor of allowing me to kiss your hand?”

Now the blare of the horn reverberated through the hall.

“I don’t bite.” His gem-bright eyes gleamed.

The beast, for all his finery, was still a beast.

But Sarah offered her hand. He sniffed at it, his nose cold and dry — then without warning, nipped her fingers. It stung, and brilliant blood stained her pale sleeve.

Sacrifice is strength, and strength will save our souls
, Isabella’s voice said.

Sarah woke.

She lay very still, carefully holding the dream details in her head while she lit a candle to transcribe them into her notebook. The window was open, and the cold air nearly blew out the flame. Once she had down everything she could remember, she descended to Papa’s study.

“How did you hurt yourself, Sarah? There’s blood on your cuff.”

She glanced at her left hand. Nothing.

“The other one,” Papa said.

She examined her right.

“Just a scratch.” She shuddered at the memory of the wolf. “I’ll clean up after we talk.”

Papa tapped his desk. “I know you borrowed my watch yesterday — and your grandfather’s
tallus
.”

Sarah tried to swallow but her throat was closed.

“Last I checked,
thou shall not steal
was still in fashion.”

“You were praying. I had to get back to Emily.”

“You could’ve left a note — well, never mind — what did you find?”

Sarah told him, then waited while he retrieved some tobacco and packed his pipe.

“Combining the ritual I taught you with Freud’s hypnotic technique was very clever, although it doesn’t absolve you. I wasn’t aware that disciplines could be hybridized like that.”

Theoretician through and through.

“Emily’s very sick,” she said. “It started after a bracelet showed up on her ankle made of her hair braided with the warlock’s.”

Papa cradled his head in his hands for a moment.

“That sounds like traditional witchcraft, or perhaps a Creole spell. A binding, literally and figuratively.”

“Would you know how to break the spell?”

He took a few drags on his pipe. “I’ll do some research, but every occult system has its own style. Witchcraft is gimmicky, intricate, and what’s more, I’m not expert with its mechanisms. Emily’s very soul is caught up in it. To break the spell but leave her alive and untarnished… I don’t think I could manage that.”

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

He blew two concentric smoke rings. He really was quite good at it.

“The sheriff searched the pastor’s house. He appears to have vacated the premises.”

“I don’t think he’s working alone.” She told Papa what she knew about the vampire and about last night’s dream. She concentrated on what had happened, as opposed to what was said or felt, editing out only the parts about her and Alex.

Papa blew another ring. “This is rather worse than I thought. You were very foolish to antagonize this foe.”

As fearsome as he is, he serves another
. Sarah thought of the bugs pouring from the Moor’s flesh and the bat’s claws slicing her belly. She scooted her chair forward and squeezed her father’s hands.

“But you said God made demons to test us, that we must fight them.”

“I was speaking in the abstract.” He sighed. “This is my fault in more ways than you know.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. Tears leaked onto her cheeks.

“Sarah, Sarah,” Papa said. He rubbed her hands. “It’s going to be all right. Monsters are real, evil is real, but so is God, so is love.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. I thought I did, but it’s not clear anymore.”

He considered, stroking his beard. She found this familiar mannerism comforting.

“Like the monster I faced in Vienna, this undead and his warlock seem drawn to the Horn. They must be stopped, and Emily must be saved. This is why God has sent you these dreams.”

“But how?”
We must both die twice before we save each other.

“We’ll be very careful.” He squeezed one of her hands again. “So long as this vampire isn’t invited, he cannot enter our house, and my defenses make it impenetrable to his minions.”

“No strangers, no exceptions,” Sarah said. “But what about Mama and Mary?”

“I’ll talk to them,” Papa said. “And no going out at night. You and your friends are to be inside an hour before dark.” He jabbed his finger at her. “No exceptions to that, either!”

She bristled, but he was right.

Papa raised the object he’d been holding in front of him. It was a small silver
mezuzah
.

Here, O Israel!

The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart

and with all your soul and with all your might.

The
Shema
, the central prayer of their faith. A white light shone from the charm. Brighter than bright, it bathed her like the noon sun in summer. She felt as if her very soul had been laid bare. Then the light vanished, and Papa returned the
mezuzah
to his desk.

“What did you do?”

“Some secrets are merely truths, hidden and not revealed,” her father said. “I’ll show you some techniques that work well with the
mezuzah
, then you’ll go to school. The world is a dangerous place, and I’ll not leave you unprepared. But don’t think, young lady, that I’ve let you off the hook.”