Twilight Prophecy (14 page)

“I should be the one bowing to you, Lucy. I understand that you’re the translator of the prophecy. And that now you’ve located Ziasudra’s remains?”

She shook her head. “It won’t do any good, your high—”

“Damien. Really, I’m just a man. I make my living as a magician, entertaining the masses in Vegas when I’m not on tour. Though I imagine my onstage vampire persona will be seen through now. They’ll know it’s for real, and I’ll be hunted, like the rest of us.”

She lifted her head, met his eyes. “You never found him again, did you? Your beloved friend, Enkidu?”

His eyes shifted toward the sea, maybe to hide the reaction she’d glimpsed at the mention of his friend’s name. “I like to think he’s in a better place.”

“All of this, all of it, this entire race began, because of your search to restore life to your best friend. And now James is going to try the same thing. He’s going to try to bring life back to a pile of ash. Don’t you see how futile that is?”

He met her eyes and stared deeply into them. “You’re very wise for a mortal possessed of only a few decades. And I said much the same thing, only an hour ago, to James. He’s hearing none of it.”

“But surely you have the authority to tell him to let this go?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I might. But I’m not convinced that, futile or not, it isn’t worth a try.” He sighed and glanced out toward the sea again. “Sunrise approaches, and I must go inside. But I had to meet you. If we both survive this, I would love to spend some time in conversation with you, if you would permit it.”

Part of her wanted to say that she hoped beyond hope never to set eyes on any vampire ever again, once this was over. If she lived through it. But the rest of her was in awe at having a real time conversation with a legendary historical figure she’d studied all her life. And she heard herself saying, “I truly hope we have the chance to do that.”

He lowered his head in a semi-bow to her. “Thank you for helping us.”

“I wasn’t given a choice. But in your case, you’re welcome.”

He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed the back of it gently. And when he straightened, he smiled and without turning said, “I fear you’ve been treating this gem with less than the tenderness and reverence she deserves, James. It’s a situation I would strongly advise you to remedy.”

“Fuck you, Damien.”

She gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth, but the great king only grinned, gave her a wink and then spun around and vanished right before her eyes, leaving only a sand-whirlwind to mark the spot where he’d been standing.

She stared at James, still stunned. “Do you have any idea who he is?” she asked.

He made a face, as if to say, duh.

“Of course you do. Well, that was just stupid. And rude. And uncalled for. And—”

“Several of my relatives have just finished reading me the riot act. Rhiannon, of all people, reported our entire conversation in the cave, and then Brigit took it upon herself to fill me in on the parts of your background that I didn’t yet know.”

She blinked twice, then averted her face. “You know about my family?”

“That they were murdered in the desert. That you were the only survivor. Yes. I know, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am, nor how much I regret what I said to you. You’re not a coward. You’ve been very brave, and I keep forgetting just how frightening this must be for you and—”

“Oh, please shut up.” She turned away, shaking her head.

“I mean it.”

“No, you don’t. You thought I was a coward a few hours ago, and nothing has changed, other than that you’ve found out where I learned to be so good at running away from danger, hiding while the people I love die, doing absolutely nothing to try to help them. I learned my lessons very well. And I’m alive today because of them.”

“You were a child. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I’ll never know, since I didn’t try. But the last thing I want or need is absolution from you, a man with no moral compass whatsoever.”

“I have a moral compass, it’s just not pointing to the same true north as yours does. That doesn’t make it wrong.”

“Interfering with life and death is wrong. I don’t care who you are or what your reasons.”

“Right. Tell me now that if you could go back, hold your hands over some corpse and, by doing so, prevent your parents being shot down in that desert, you wouldn’t do it.”

“I already told you, I did nothing to try to help them. What part of that do you not get?”

He was speechless, staring at her. “Where is he?” he asked. “Where is Ziasudra? Utanapishtim?”

“He was Ziasudra all his life, and Utanapishtim in death. It was how the Babylonians referred to him, and now I know where they got it. The tablet called it his secret name, and said it was carved into the statue that is his urn. It’s one of three similar figures of priest-kings, male, nude, about nine and a half inches tall. Look for engravings of water, waves, the flood or a boat on it. If there aren’t any, you’ll just have to take all three.”

“From where?”

“Normally they’re in the Louvre. But you’re in luck. The Sumerian exhibit is currently on tour. Last I knew it was spending a month at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York.”

“How the hell am I going to get it out of there?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll think of some thing.”

He pressed his lips together.

“I’m going home now.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh, yes, I can. I kept my word, and now I’m holding you to yours. And if necessary, I think I could get King Gilgamesh to back me up on this.”

He sighed, clearly angry and getting angrier. “He has a wife, you know.”

“Who?”

“The great king.”

She frowned at his retreating back and wondered if there was any chance in the world that he was actually jealous. And for some reason, that notion banked her anger just slightly.

He’d been stomping away, or doing the closest thing he could do to stomping in the shifting white sand, but he turned back to face her again after only a few steps. “You can’t go home—because you’re wanted by the FBI.”

“What?”

“They’ve named you a person of interest in the murders of Lester Folsom and Will Waters. It’s all over the news. That’s how Brigit learned about your past. They’re saying the trauma of seeing your parents and their entire party murdered in front of your eyes did something to your mind, setting a time bomb in your sanity that finally went off. You snapped, and murdered Folsom and Waters, then ran for your life and have been in hiding ever since. Your face is being plastered everywhere. They’re offering a reward.”

She could barely raise her voice above a whisper to ask, “How much?”

“One million dollars.”

All the life seemed to go out of her at once. She sank down to her knees on the beach.

“I’m sorry, Lucy.” He was trudging toward her again. “I promise you, once my people are safe, I’ll find some way to make all of this up to you.”

Her lips parted to ask how on earth he thought he could possibly do that, but no sound emerged. Her throat was sealed, her stomach empty, her head pounding, her energy utterly gone. She sank down farther, covering her face with her hands. “You’ve ruined everything. God, you’ve ruined my life!”

“Me? How have I—”

“By involving me in your disaster! My career is over. My reputation destroyed. Even my freedom is hanging by a thread.”

“Look, I’m not the one who publicly executed an author and a talk show host, nor am I the one who set you up to take the fall for it.”

“You dragged me into all this! And now there’s no way out for me.”

“There’s one way out.” He sank into the sand in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “There’s only one way out as far as I can see, Lucy. You’re in this now. You have to see it through to the end. Help me find Utanapishtim. He’s the key to everything, according to the very prophecy you translated. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? That you’re the one who found it, and you’re the one here with me now? I think
you
were chosen, too. I think you were meant to help us survive.”

She lifted her head slowly. “I think you’d say anything right now to ensure my continued cooperation. And I don’t believe you anymore. You’ve lied to me. Broken promises to me. Abused and insulted me. Kept secrets from me—and I sense you still are.”

He blinked, perhaps surprised by her accuracy.

“Only one thing you’ve said to me rings true right now, James.”

“And which thing is that?” he asked, sounding morose, almost bitter.

“That I have no other way out. So why don’t you just go on inside and leave me alone? I certainly won’t run now that I know I have nowhere else to go.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am, but I’m not going to grovel. Have it your way.”

He got up and walked back toward the house, and she couldn’t help but watch him go.

Standing on the deck, looking out at them, was a woman she’d never seen before. A beautiful woman, tall and curvy, with long masses of raven-wing curls so black they appeared blue in the moonlight. She wore flowing skirts and scarves, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and more jewelry than Lucy even owned. She had to be Sarafina, the Gypsy. Yet another vampire.

Hell,
Lucy thought,
just shoot me now.

L
ucy slept on the beach, refusing to go into the house with James, though he cajoled. In the end she’d insisted, and also insisted that he leave her alone. She wasn’t going to run. Where could she go? And how could she hope to escape with a dozen vampires hot on her trail come sundown? No, she would stay. But she wasn’t going to pretend to be happy about it.

She slept until midafternoon, when hunger pangs hit, and then and only then did she come slowly awake. There was an umbrella stabbed deeply into the sand beside her, providing shade, and she wondered who had taken the time to put it there, even as she stood up, stretched and brushed the sand from her jeans. Staring out at the ocean, smelling the sea breeze that fingered her hair, she wondered how she could be in the middle of such utter beauty and perfect tranquility, and yet at the same time in the midst of chaos.

“Good afternoon.”

Lucy turned around, not having heard anyone’s approach. The man couldn’t be a vampire, because it was daylight and he was standing right in the sun. So he must be—

“Willem Stone,” he said. “Sarafina’s husband. This is our place.”

Frowning, Lucy studied him more closely. “You…you really aren’t one of them, are you?”

“No, I’m human. And they’re all dead to the world at the moment.” He winked when he made the lame joke. “Except for Brigit and J.W., of course. They’re out running some errands. Won’t be back for at least a couple of hours. And in the meantime, I have coffee, a dozen doughnuts and one of the most luxurious bath rooms you could ever want to see. And you’re welcome to all of them.”

She sighed. “It does sound tempting.”

“I promise, it’ll just be you and me in the house. Awake, anyway. And I’ll leave, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t throw you out of your own home.” She looked at the place, with its giant deck. Seagulls perched on the roof, a few more coming in, a few others taking off. Constant motion, like the ocean itself, with its waves rolling up onto the beach and hissing as they fled again, leaving foam and shells in their wake.

“Come on. I’m a great cook. I’ll make whatever you want, if you don’t want doughnuts for breakfast. Or you can do both, real food and empty calories.”

She smiled. “A doughnut and a cup of that coffee will do nicely. And thank you. I need a little normalcy more than you know.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

He walked her into the house, and just as he’d promised, the place seemed entirely empty. “Bathroom’s upstairs, first door on the right. And I put a change of clothes in there for you, too. They’re Fina’s, and her style doesn’t suit everybody. I hope they’ll be okay.”

Lucy felt a pang of regret for the things she’d left behind in the house the vigilantes had burned. Especially for the Kwan Yin pendant she’d left hanging on the bedpost. Thank God she’d imported the file to her phone. It was now the only copy of Folsom’s “eyes only” version of the book in existence, as far as she knew.

“Are you sure she won’t mind me borrowing her clothes?”

“She’s the one who picked them out.”

She lowered her head, sighing. “Thank you. I won’t be long.”

Lucy went up, half afraid of stumbling over sleeping corpselike bodies on the way, but she didn’t. She imagined there was probably a suite of darkened rooms hidden in the bowels of the basement somewhere, with emergency exits and secret passageways, and big locks on the doors.

The bathroom was every bit as luxurious as Willem had promised, and Lucy allowed herself to relish a very long, very hot shower that would have been even longer, had it not been for the siren’s call of coffee and doughnuts. The clothes were a decent fit, a long, broomstick type skirt of russet and orange, and a frilly white off-the-shoulder blouse with a gathered waist and short puffy sleeves. There were high-heeled black boots, as well.

She combed her hair and left it to dry naturally. She couldn’t find a rubber band or a scrunchie, so she was forced to hold it in place with a pretty silk scarf, which she knotted at her nape, its ends trailing down her back. Finally she headed down the stairs. The smell of coffee greeted her as she entered the kitchen.

She accepted the mug Willem held out and took a grateful sip.

“Feel a little more human now?” he asked.

“A lot more.”

“Good. Fina’s clothes look lovely on you, by the way. She’ll be pleased. And the doughnuts should complete the transformation.” He waved a hand toward the table, where a familiar pink-and-white box stood open, an assortment of doughnuts, éclairs and muffins awaiting her selection.

She took a powdered sugar-coated jelly doughnut and told herself she would have the chocolate frosted éclair next. She’d earned at least two goodies today. Then she sank onto a tall stool in front of the breakfast counter, took her first bite, washed it down with more coffee and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Now that’s heaven,” she muttered.

Willem nodded, taking a huge bite of his own glazed sourdough doughnut. “I agree.”

“Where are the others?” she asked, then added, “I don’t even know who’s here. Sarafina, Roland and Rhiannon, and…Gilgamesh—I mean, Damien. Anyone else?”

“Shannon. Damien’s wife. You’ll like her, she’s…from this century.” He made a sheepish face. “Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, they’re all safely tucked away in the basement.”

“I figured as much. Is it full of secret passages and hidden exits?”

“Just the one—there’s a tunnel straight out to the cliffs above the ocean, but we’ve never needed to use it. It’s just a precaution. And Pandora’s down there, too, on guard duty, with a bowlful of food and a velvet cushion. But truly, we’re safe. No one bothers us out here.”

“Even now? I mean, the locals must…notice that they see you, but not her, by day.”

“We say she works in Boston. It’s a bit of a com mute. Gone before daylight, home after dark. It seems to work.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“You think they’ll wonder why she hasn’t aged. But really, women seem to find aging optional these days.”

She laughed. “Well, some do.”

“Either way, I’m sure no one suspects we’re anything unusual. Even with the madness going on in the world right now. Still, better safe than sorry.”

“Speaking of what’s happening out there—what sort of errands are James and Brigit running? I mean, if it’s all right for me to ask.”

He blinked rapidly. “Why wouldn’t it be all right? You’re family, Lucy.”

She averted her eyes. “Because I have the Belladonna Antigen, you mean.”

He nodded. “Yes. That, and the fact that you’re turning your life upside down to help us.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I didn’t have a choice about the helping part. And as for the Belladonna thing, I don’t really know what that means—I mean, to them. I know what it means to me. I’ve known for years now. And I’m okay with it. But other than that they all had it, too, when they were human, and that they can sense those of us who have it now, I know next to nothing.”

“No one’s talked to you about this?” he asked.

“No. I found that much out…on my own.”

“I see.” He nodded, but he looked slightly pissed off. “I suppose James is distracted.”

“I’d say obsessed is a better word. And maybe starting to get a little bit drunk on his own power lately, but I think he means well.”

“The antigen makes you prone to being a night owl, sleeping during the day. It makes you grow more and more sensitive to sunlight, and eventually it starts to cause some physical problems. Some weakness, dizzy spells. Are you having any of those yet?”

“No.”

“Then you’ve got time before you really need to know any more about that.”

But she already knew. The effects of the antigen would kill her before she hit forty. That was a lot to contend with. She frowned. “Do you have it?”

“No. I can never become what they are. We have ways around that, and I can fill you in as much as you want later on. Right now you’re probably more interested in knowing about you. About how this thing impacts you. Do you know they can’t harm you?”

“I…heard that somewhere.”

“Well, it’s true. Vampires are compelled to protect the Chosen—that’s what they call people with the antigen. Sometimes they risk their own lives trying to protect them, and sometimes they do it in spite of themselves. They’re driven. It’s like a genetic imperative.”

“I see.” She was riveted.

“You don’t need to fear them, Lucy.”

“I guess not.” She took another bite, then asked, “Do I get any other…you know, extra abilities with the antigen? I mean, like being able to read thoughts, the way they do?”

“You might. Mainly, though, that tends to happen with only one of them.”

“Only one?”

He nodded. “
The
one. You see, for every vampire, there’s one of the Chosen with whom the psychic bond is far stronger than with any other. It’s a powerful connection. An unbreakable link. And it remains, even after that human becomes one of the undead, if indeed they do.” Tilting his head to one side, he asked, “Why do you ask? Have you experienced telepathy with anyone?”

“No.”

“Well, when you do, that one will protect you with his or her life, if necessary. More than likely you’ll be compelled to do the same in return.”

“That would be a switch. I’m not exactly the protective type.”

He smiled at her as she finished her doughnut, then pushed the box closer. She took her éclair, reached for the pot in the center of the table and refilled her mug.

“You asked what the twins were up to. They got a few hours sleep, of course, and then headed out separately. They’re trying to see if they can find their relatives. Their parents, grandparents. If they find them, they intend to stand guard until nightfall, then bring them back here.”

“And then what?” she asked. “It sounds as if it’s not safe for any vampire out there right now.”

“We have a plan, a place to go. An island. We’re spreading the information by word of mouth, vampire to vampire. Many are already on the way. I could actually use an extra pair of hands today, to help me get our yacht stocked with supplies, so we’re ready to head out ourselves. Are you game?”

She felt herself smile just a little bit. “I have no other plans for the afternoon,” she said. “And as long as you keep using such lovely bribes as hot showers, fresh clothes, delicious coffee and gooey doughnuts, you’ll probably find me quite helpful.”

“I thought so.”

James stood outside his parents’ home, a beautiful Appalachian Mountain cabin.

Or at least it had been. Now it was a pile of rapidly cooling ash. And there was nothing left. Nothing. Not a stick of furniture, like the antique rocking chair where his mother had cradled him as a baby. Not a scrap of clothing, like the long leather coat that had become his father’s trademark.

Nothing.

And he didn’t know whether his beautiful parents had been at rest when the place had been burned and now lay, no more than ashes themselves, amid the ruins or not. He tipped his head toward the sky, whispering “Why?” as he dropped to his knees. Tears burned his skin, and his face twisted into a painful grimace as his fangs extended and his fury raged.

Finally his rage subsided, pushed out of the way by another thought. He wondered if he could find his parents’ remains among all this ash. And if he did, whether he could restore them. Heal them. Bring them back.

Rising, scrubbing his knuckles across his cheeks, retracting his fangs, he stumbled into the still warm ashes of his childhood home and bent to press his hands to the charred remains, then closed his eyes and willed the light to come. Willed the power of life to beam from his hands. When it didn’t, he moved to another spot and tried again, and then again and again. For hours he knelt in the wreckage, trying to restore life to ash.

But either his parents weren’t there or their deaths were beyond his ability to undo.

It killed him to give up. But when it became obvious that staying was useless, he forced himself to get to his feet, to move on.

And he prayed with everything in him that his family had made it to safety before the humans—his other family—had attacked.

He was ashamed that he’d turned his back on his own kind in favor of trying to live as a human. That he’d been repulsed at the thought of living as a vampire. It was clear to him now who the real beasts were. And they were not the undead.

Two hours later, Lucy found herself standing on the deck of one of the most luxurious yachts she’d ever seen, not that she’d seen many. The
Nightshade
had four cabins, two Jacuzzis, a galley and a dining room, living room and wet bar. It was like a floating five-star hotel. She’d never been onboard a yacht before, but she seriously doubted most were this high end. Willem piloted it expertly through the waves. They’d taken it from the marina, and were speeding toward the harbor and the house. The shoreline was on their left—port, she corrected mentally. As she watched it speeding past, thinking this was actually a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, she suddenly caught a whiff of something that wasn’t so pleasant.

“Willem, what is that?” she asked, pointing.

At the helm, he followed her gaze to where smoke and flames were licking up toward the sky. And then he swore. “God, that’s my house!”

Lucy’s jaw dropped, and she sent him a look of stunned horror. His wife was in there.

And not just her. They’d left five vampires asleep and defenseless in a home that was now ablaze. Rhiannon and her cat, and gentle Roland. The great king Gilgamesh himself!

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she willed the boat to go faster.

Willem pushed the throttle all the way forward, and the front end of the boat lifted above the water as it picked up speed. She could feel the immense power of the engines propelling it, and the ocean wind in her face kept her tears from spilling over.

As they drew nearer, they could see fire trucks rolling into the driveway, sirens wailing, lights strobing in the late afternoon sun. By the time Willem had guided the massive vessel up to its deep water pier, dropped anchor, jumped off and raced toward the house, the firefighters were manning their hoses, sending rivers of cooling water onto the place.