The Vampire's Betrayal (4 page)

There was no use alarming Werm about the danger of bringing back uninvited demons from the underworld. He needed all the concentration he could muster.

“Very well,” I said. “Werm, you wait there and do whatever Melaphia tells you. I recommend that you feed. You’ll need all the strength you can get, so use the human variety from the blood bank. It’s in the refrigerator underneath the bar.” The more civilized of our kind use animal blood to sustain ourselves, but the human vintage is more fortifying.

I knelt beside Jack’s body and tugged on the watch chain attached to his belt. The pocket watch I’d given him one hundred or so years ago fell into my hand. With a flick of my thumb, I removed it from its chain and went to the antique wall unit across from the desk.

“Do you think the shells will work?” Melaphia asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.”

Before I could remove the bone box from the drawer, Melaphia gave me a meaningful look and inclined her chin in Werm’s direction. I looked him hard in the eye and said, “Forget what you see here.” He would never remember seeing me remove the box. Glamour was a trick a vampire could use to enthrall humans and blood drinkers weaker than themselves. It was hard to master and some vampires never managed to. My skills were adequate. Jack’s were prodigious. Involuntarily, I glanced again at his motionless body, and my throat constricted. I silently gave myself the same admonishment I had just given Werm.
Keep your wits about you. For his sake.

“If they work, what can the shells tell you?” Melaphia asked once she saw that Werm could not follow our conversation.

I forced a smile. “I won’t know until I see—and hear. Any small bit of information might prove useful.” I didn’t say what I really thought: that I merely hoped the shells would tell me if Jack was still undead and could be brought back whole. If he’d already been damaged beyond help, I had a painful decision to make.

I let myself out the double-locked door from the vault to the little courtyard, mindful that I only had a few minutes before the sun rose. As in dreams, while the visions afforded by the shells might seem to span the breadth of a night, they never lasted more than a few moments in real time.

A thicket of bamboo guarded my privacy from the sidewalks beyond the estate grounds. The moon shone its reflection in the Japanese mirror pond, and in the same way that its pull awakened the tides, it stirred the mystical box.

The box had been carved by an African voodoo priest out of the skull of his father. It had been passed down to me by the man’s great-great-great-granddaughter, Lalee. The ancient shells within the skull rumbled with the roar of the nearby ocean as they called out to me.

I opened the box and stared at the shells. They were already beginning to rouse themselves. I held Jack’s watch over them and they danced. I shook them in their box and they rattled angrily, as if objecting to the disturbance. Then I pitched them onto the stones at my feet.

The roar of the surf in my head became deafening, and I felt myself transported through space and time. Dark, threatening clouds passed me by on either side, looking like the view out the window of a passenger jet in a thunderstorm. Or perhaps I passed by them. I felt my ears pop as if the atmosphere had changed radically, and I found myself hovering in a clearing in the underworld. The near-total absence of light was the same as it had been the first time I visited, and I would recognize the reek if I lived another five hundred years.

The shells were as accurate as always. The watch had helped them and led me straight to Jack. He was at my feet, almost close enough to touch, and he was wrestling a demon.

Without thinking I reached out to pluck the wretched thing off him, but my hands passed through thin air. I was an observer here, nothing more. Jack threw off his attacker and it writhed upon the ground like a serpent. Its scales glowed an iridescent green—beautiful in their way but ghastly, too.

The power of the shells whirled me about as Jack’s nemesis leaped to its feet. I concentrated as hard as I could to manifest myself. Jack needed my help, and I was convinced if I brought the force of my will to bear, I could make myself real in this place—at least enough to help him. The reptile appeared to have another painted upon its body. What manner of horror was this?

A wave of heat hit me as if I had just opened the door of a furnace, and I saw to my shock and revulsion that this creature was Eleanor. She yammered at Jack like a harpy. In my astonishment, the meaning of her tirade eluded me. She rushed at him again, and he flung her up and out into the arms of a pack of demons. Jack, who looked as fit as ever, ran for his life. The shells did not bid me follow him, and despite my efforts I did not feel my corporeal body materialize. However, my concentration did have one effect. Eleanor could see my image.

The shells wanted me to see what I had wrought. This is what I had consigned her to? I knew she would be cast into the underworld, but this? She’d been damned to a fate worse than that of the demons I’d seen when last I came this way.

She was becoming something more vile than anything I’d ever imagined, a fate she would suffer through all eternity. And I was to blame. I tried to help her fight the demons back but found that I still couldn’t touch them. I looked down at my hand and it was ghostly and insubstantial. Still, the demons must have decided they were afraid of my image, for they retreated.

When Eleanor was sure they had gone—at least for the time being—she turned to me and began to hiss and writhe. Her hatred of me was palpable. “You—come to rescue your boy, have you? Screw him! Look what you’ve done to
me
!”

“What are you?” I asked, ignoring her fury.

“Don’t you know what happens to vampires who wind up in this place? You’ve certainly killed your share of them. I am one of the double-damned, the Sluagh. We’re not welcome in heaven
or
hell. The management thinks up special punishments just for us. Because of my lovely snake tattoo, now I’m a serpent. I wonder what your special penalty will be.”

I wondered why I had never heard of the final death sentence of the vampire, but then I was the only person I knew who’d ever gone to the underworld and come back to tell the tale.

I felt myself fading and was glad of it. I couldn’t stand to look at poor Eleanor a moment longer. Her eyes fixed on me; this time she didn’t fight back against the others. In fact, she clasped two of the damned to her naked body. Surprised, they began to run their hands along her thighs and torso. “If you can’t beat them, why not join them, eh, William? Or fuck them. Once a whore, always a whore.”

The last thing I remember seeing of her was a familiar glint in her eye that told me a horrible truth. Somewhere inside that freakish body, the real Eleanor remained.

“William! For the love of the gods, wake up!” Melaphia was tugging at my collar with both hands, raising my head and neck up off the flagstones. I heard Werm’s scream and Melaphia’s warning for him to go back inside.

A searing pain lit up the side of my cheek. The one facing east. I scrambled to my feet and made it back inside.

Breathless, she joined me in the vault and slammed the door. “I’ll pick up the shells later. What happened? What did you see?” she asked, helping me to the easy chair between the bar and the coffins.

“Don’t make me speak of it. Please.”

“Oh, no! Jack—”

“It wasn’t him. I think Jack is all right. For now.”

Alarmed by the din, Deylaud and Reyha had come from elsewhere in the house and were barking in panic. Werm sank to his knees and stroked the two dogs into calmness. Reyha whined pitifully and went to lick Jack’s cheek. I could see a vivid red streak across Werm’s face from where he’d tried to brave the sun to assist Melaphia with me.

“Let’s hurry, then,” Melaphia said. “Maybe there’s still time.”

“Yes. Is everything ready?”

Melaphia nodded. She had arranged the candles in a circle around Jack and Connie. In strategic places, there lay bundles of herbs, incense burners producing fragrant curling smoke, several bottles of my best whiskey, vials of oils and powders, and charms of all kinds.

“Very well. Let us join hands. Melaphia, did you find the information you sought?”

Melaphia shook her head.

“It can’t be helped. Let us begin.”

The three of us knelt in a circle as Melaphia started to chant. Her head made a rhythmic motion from side to side and I could tell she was falling into a trance. Her chant began in English, changed to an old French dialect and then to an African tongue I had never heard before. She was reaching out and reaching back, entreating any entity who could help us, especially Jack’s special
loa.

After a few moments she began to speak intermittently in a voice that was not her own. If that were not unnerving enough, she then answered herself back in her own voice using one of the strange dialects. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she clearly became more agitated by the moment.

Suddenly, she jerked her hands away from Werm and me and sprang to her feet. She flung her arms wide, threw her head back, and screamed, “No!”

Jack

I’m not sure how I knew it wasn’t a dream. I’d gone knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door and gotten it slammed in my face, so I could understand being a little hazy. But this was real.

It should have been a dream. I knew that I didn’t deserve to see something so precious even from a distance. It was like some divine power had said,
Look but don’t touch. This is not for you.
But for some reason I was meant to see it.

I understood that what I saw was an abbreviated version, like the trailer of a movie. Connie held her laughing little boy on her lap. They talked and sang. He took her by the hand and showed her his world. It was everything a boy could want. Then he ran off, following a colorful balloon, trying to catch its string. She knew she couldn’t follow, and that it was time to leave. Then I saw a glow coming over the horizon like the sunrise. I looked for a place to hide, but there was nowhere. I closed my eyes and waited to burn to a cinder.

But it wasn’t the sunrise. It was an honest-to-God band of angels. When they topped the horizon, the glow of their power hurt my eyes. I squinted, but I could still make out that the one in the lead carried a sword. He held it out to Connie, and she looked at it in wonder.

I understood that Connie was about to be told her destiny, given her earthly assignment. But she was also being given a choice. The powers of good knew why she had come to the underworld. They had granted her first wish: that she see her son in heaven. But then there was the matter of the second reason: to wreak vengeance on the man who had taken him from her.

The angels told her she could do battle with whatever remained of her ex-husband’s spirit in hell and remain with him there, or she could fulfill her destiny on earth.

Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.
Of course she would make the right choice. Who wouldn’t, when they put it that way? Yet I understood that the assignment she was about to accept spelled doom for me and my kind, just as Melaphia had said.

She was being sworn in as the Slayer.

A beam of light purer than a ray of sun out of a cloudless Savannah sky struck the hilt of the sword. Just when I was about to turn away from it, I heard Connie ask, “What must I do?”

“You must find the twin of this blade on earth,” the angel said. “Look on it well. When you find it, you will be transformed into a killer of blood drinkers. You are to purge the earth of their evil. This is your divine mission. So it has been prophesied. You are the Slayer.”

Connie looked the sword up and down from its hilt to its tip, memorizing it. “I will slay them with the twin of this sword,” she said, as if in a trance.

“You will also be granted great strength and other weapons besides,” the angel said. “But never forget…”

Before the angel could finish, there was a roar louder than forty-three stock cars revving up at the start-finish line.
Gentlemen, start your engines.

I felt myself tumble backward, spinning like a top. I heard a loud whistle and felt a sting as if gale-force winds whipped all around me. Everything was dark again. It felt like I imagined it would if there was gravity in space and someone pushed me off the moon. I was hurtling toward earth at light speed, out of control.

The last thing I thought before I hit the ground was:
Where’s Connie?

Four

William

An orange-and-blue fireball the size of a wagon wheel sprang from the fingertips of Melaphia’s right hand. It caromed around the room for a scant few seconds as if seeking its freedom, bounced once on the hearth, and disappeared up the chimney, spinning like a dervish. The whole display was over so quickly I wondered if my mind had played a trick on me, but Melaphia’s earsplitting scream proved it was not my imagination.

Her cry reverberated in the vault loud enough to make the dogs, who had frozen in terror at the sight of the fireball, dive for cover underneath the chaise in front of the bar. Fearing for her still-fragile mind, I stood up and shook her by the shoulders. This trance was too deep, too dangerous. And Satan only knew what the significance of the flaming ball of light had been or what might be next. I couldn’t sacrifice Melaphia for Jack. That’s the last thing he would have wanted.

I could tell the exact moment Melaphia came back to herself. Her eyes became clear and focused narrowly on mine. “I failed him, William,” she wailed. “I couldn’t do it.” Giving way to sobs, she buried her face against my chest.

Someone tugged on my pants leg and I looked down into Werm’s slack-jawed and staring face. He was pointing in Jack’s direction with his other hand. I turned and saw that Jack was propped on one elbow, his mouth working like a beached fish, with no sound coming out. A quick glance at Connie proved her condition to be unchanged.

“Jack!” Melaphia shouted. She and I sank to our knees beside him.

“You did it!” Werm shouted, patting Melaphia on the back.

“Welcome back,” I said. I gathered Jack into my arms and hugged him briefly before turning him over to a squealing Melaphia.