Twilight Prophecy (17 page)

Then a third door opened, and Sarafina stood there, looking puzzled in her satin robe. “Will?”

She caught the scent of smoke that clung to them all, wrinkling her nose, and widening her eyes. “Will, what’s happened? Why are we on the
Nightshade?”

Will opened his arms, and she moved into his embrace. “The house is gone,” he said softly.

Rhiannon gasped.

Sarafina seemed to wobble in Will’s embrace. “How?”

“They burned it, didn’t they?” Rhiannon demanded, lifting a long lock of her own hair and bringing it to her nose to sniff. “With us inside. Those putrid mortal weaklings tried to murder us in our sleep.”

“Not just us,” James said softly. As he spoke, he moved, sliding an arm around Lucy’s shoulders to bring her to his side. Then he led her past the four cabins, one with its door still closed, and into the room at the end, which turned out to be a sitting room carpeted in pure white, with elegant brown and butterscotch furnishings that included a three-piece modular sofa and a two-piece love seat that sat at a right angle to each other, glass-topped tables, a wet bar and a huge flat-screen TV.

James picked up the remote from a holder mounted to the wall and flicked on the TV. Its satellite system took a moment to come online, and then he scanned through the channels, finally stopping on one of the twenty-four-hour news networks.

“There were fires all over the nation today,” he said, and the images on the screen backed up his words, as did the ticker running beneath it.

They all read the words scrolling there.
The so-called Human League, a group of anti-vampire vigilantes who describe themselves as humanity’s only
hope, have organized themselves in a stunningly short time. Their website has already logged more than 2 million hits. They’re claiming 300,000 members, and say they’re attracting more all the time. This group advocates the use of violence, and claims that only by wiping the vampire race from existence do humans stand a chance of surviving.

“The Human League?” Rhiannon looked from one face to the next. “And I suppose they think that’s clever? Sick, murderous animals is what they are. I’ve always said their kind ought to be wiped from existence. Maybe now the rest of you will finally believe me.”

“Shit, Rhiannon, you think just like they do,” James said.

She glared at him. Lucy put a hand on his forearm. “James is one of their kind,” she said softly. “So is Brigit, and so is Will. And I’m one of their kind, too.”

“And so were you once, Rhiannon,” James reminded her.

“I was never one of them. My father was a god.”

“A Pharaoh, love,” Roland said gently. “And I think all the young ones are saying is that there is good and evil in all of us. In humans, as well as in our kind. You know this is true. We’ve encountered rogue vampires.”

“Yes, and when we do, we destroy them. We police ourselves, unlike these weak-willed, morally bankrupt beasts who seek to destroy whatever they do not understand.” She shot Roland a glare, but he only winked at her, which had the effect of softening her expression immediately. Rhiannon sighed, and looked again at Lucy, then at Will and finally at James. “I assume it was the three of you who saved us from a fiery death?”

James nodded. “Not bad for a trio of filthy mortals, huh?”

“So we annihilate all but the good ones,” she hissed. “That will leave a dozen or so left breathing.”

“We’re in your debt,” Roland said, with a deep and formal bow toward James and Lucy. “What is the plan, James? Where are we going?”

“More importantly,” Rhiannon asked, “where is your sister? Tell me we didn’t leave her behind with this kind of mayhem—” she waved an arm toward the TV “—breaking out in the world of man.”

Brigit waited until sundown to send out a mental call. Not a spoken message, no words went out from her mind. No directions. There were a handful of mortals in the world who could pick up on telepathic exchanges, and she didn’t want to give her location away. At ten minutes past dusk she simply closed her eyes and imagined a beam of light shooting from her to them. The vampires. To any and all of them who might pick up on it. It was a brief flash, a beacon. Long enough, and strong enough, she prayed, for the undead to recognize it as legitimate and to home in on its source. Assuming there were any on the mainland who were still alive to pick it up.

She waited a half hour, and then she did it once again.

By the third time Brigit sent out her invisible call, her beacon, she was able to feel them gathering in the shadows just beyond the isolated stretch of beach where she stood. As the moon began to rise at her back, she felt no hint of mortals nearby, and so she lifted her arms to get the vampires’ attention—in case she didn’t have it already.

“I’m Brigit Poe,” she said. “I am one of the so-called mongrel twins. The children of Amber Lily and Edge. And I have summoned you here because we need to organize, to band together, or else we’re going to be wiped out. Our kind faces annihilation. It is up to us to fight back.”

She paused there, hearing the muttering, seeing the pale faces in the darkness nodding in agreement.

“First, please, I must ask, have any of you had word of my family? The Poes, the Bryants, the Marquands?”

Someone shouted out, “I saw Eric and Tamara Marquand last eve. They were heading to some island they’d heard was a refuge. Urged me to go, but I wanted to wait, to find my family.” That pale face lowered, head shaking slowly side to side. “I found them too late. Burned while they slept.”

Brigit sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Is it true? Is there an island refuge?”

“Yes,” Brigit said. “There is. If you begin heading north by northeast, and scan continuously, you’ll pick up on the energy of others. But they won’t be transmitting mentally, you’ll just have to use your senses to locate them. Trust your abilities. Do not use your telepathy, or you run the risk of leading the murderous mortals straight to them.”

Again there was muttering. Brigit looked around them as they drew closer, and she found herself stunned by how few there were. Thirty, perhaps thirty-five. This couldn’t be all that remained, could it? There had to be more.

She cleared her throat, tried to refocus on her mission. “It must be obvious to all of you by now that the mortal world has learned of our existence. Vigilante groups have formed with the purpose of murdering vampires. They’re burning our homes, not to mention the homes of ordinary mortals with nocturnal tendencies. You are no longer safe where you live.”

There was muttering in the ranks, and she gave it a moment before going on. “I have two options to offer you now, tonight. First, my brother and the elders—Rhiannon, Roland, even Gilgamesh himself—are creating a safe haven on the island of which we’ve been speaking. It was formerly known as the Isle of the Impaler. Those of you who do not know of it, speak to those who do. Quietly, and not telepathically. Or simply do as I said and head north by northeast, opening your senses until you feel others of our kind are near. You’ll be safe there. It’s well-stocked with supplies, and its existence will be concealed. That’s your first option.”

“And what’s the second?” someone shouted.

She blinked and looked into those white, ghostlike faces appearing like stars in the darkness. “Join me. Join the resistance. Fight back. Wipe them out before they can exterminate us.”

L
ucy stood at the bow as the island came into view, and not for the first time, was struck by the contrast between where she was and where she was going. The yacht was modern and luxurious. The bridge contained every possible modern navigational marvel. The staterooms were the equal of anything a posh hotel could offer. The bathroom was as luxurious as the one in Will and Fina’s home, and each of the vampires had taken a turn using it to wash away the smell of the fire, before donning clothes chosen from the shipboard collection.

And ahead of them…? Ahead was the island, looming dark and foreboding, with a half-burned-out castle rising against the midnight stars like something straight out of a movie set. The sky was black velvet, and foamy froth sizzled with every wave that broke against the rocky shore. It couldn’t have been more evocative. More clichéd. And yet the sight of it made Lucy’s heart race. Part of her was dying to explore, to hear the history of the place, to poke around the crumbling ruins. But there was too much to be done for any of that. And already there were people on the island. A large campfire danced against the darkness, and around it, shadows moved.

As soon as they anchored the yacht in a deep harbor near the shoreline and deployed a gangplank onto the rocks, they all hurried to debark. Lucy knew that James was eager for news of his family. Hell, everyone onboard had friends, relatives and loved ones who were missing and unaccounted for. And the ban on using their minds to search must be driving them all to the brink of madness, she thought.

But even then, they paused as they gathered on the shore to look back to where Rhiannon stood alone. She’d stepped up onto a boulder that jutted out over the ocean waves, and stood there with the blue-black sea heaving before her. Slowly she lifted her slender arms over her head. The wind blew against the long black dress she wore, snapping the draping points of its long sleeves just as it snapped her raven hair. She closed her eyes. And Lucy watched, James at her side, as a thick fog began rolling from the very surface of the ocean, swirling and rising and thickening, boiling higher and higher, until it reached into the sky like a mountain, entirely blocking any view of the island from the mainland.

Rhiannon lowered her arms, opened her eyes, looked around and gave a brief, sharp nod. “That’s better.”

And then, even as Lucy was staring, awestruck, at the woman, there was a joyous shout. Everyone turned to see other vampires come running toward the shore. A woman with bloodred hair and the face of an angel slammed into James so hard she nearly knocked him over. He caught her up in his arms and spun her in a circle, then kissed her face over and over.

And just when Lucy was starting to feel the rising tides of a jealousy that was as fierce as it was irrational, he set the woman on her feet again and said, “Lucy, come and meet my mother, Amber Lily.”

Lucy spent the entire night surrounded by them, and it was nothing like she would have imagined. She met James’s family, all of them young, strong, beautiful couples who appeared to be in their thirties or even younger. He introduced them as his parents, Amber Lily and Edge Poe, and his grandparents, Angelica and Jameson Bryant, and as “the closest thing to great grandparents I could have,” Eric and Tamara Marquand. And yet it was as if she were meeting her peers—hell, Tamara could have been one of her students.

This entire new society, with its web of relation ships and its nonexistent aging process, was going to take some getting used to.

And then she realized that no, it wouldn’t. Not for her. She wasn’t going to be around them much longer, anyway. James had promised to return her to her life as soon as possible, and that time was rapidly approaching.

She didn’t know if he would triumph, or how he could possibly hope to save them. But she did know they couldn’t remain on this island forever, and that if they were to survive, they would have to find a safer place, one farther away from man, where no one could ever find them again. And though he had once turned his back on this way of life, this society of the undead, it was very clear to her that he would not—and probably
could not
—do so again. They were looking to him as a leader now. Not to Damien, the onetime king, as would seem logical. Not even to Rhiannon, the queenlike Egyptian high priestess of Isis, with the power to control nature.

No, it was James they all looked to for salvation. For leadership. It was as if he were their king.

And while Lucy was bursting with pride to see him assume the mantle and the heavy burden that came with it, she also knew it meant there was no future for the two of them. She was no vampire queen. Nor did she want to be. And wherever these people ended up, James was going with them.

And
she
was not. She was going to return to her mundane little house, her job and her dusty lab in the university basement, with her bits of clay and her notebooks. And her cat, Huwawa.

She decided to put all that from her mind for the night. Because there was true joy around her, and it was difficult not to let it in. There were happy reunions, families finding each other, old friends reunited. Over and over, all night long.

But though touching, those were not the events that rocked her most deeply. Those came later, as other vampires began arriving. They came mostly by twos and threes, or even all alone, in tiny rowboats, motorboats, canoes. They came with terror-filled eyes and scalding tears, having lost the ones they loved most.

Lucy had withdrawn from the intimacy of the fireside reunions. She was an outsider, knowing little about their conversations, their reminiscences, the names of friends still unheard from. Like a stranger at a huge family reunion where everyone knew and loved everyone else, she’d felt out of place and awkward. So she’d left James to the throng of loved ones demanding his attention and wandered back to the beach alone. There she’d begun meeting the incoming refugees, directing them to where the others were setting up campsites and shelters in the shadow of the hulking, hollow castle.

And then a small canoe wobbled onto shore, and a man—a boy, really—jumped out, gathering a girl into his arms. Lucy ran forward into the surf to help.

He was young. So was the girl he held, though you could barely tell, with most of her hair burned down to the scalp and the skin of her face looking like a melted crayon. Her clothes hung in blackened tatters.

The young man looked up, his face streaked in soot. “Please, please, I need help. She can’t die, she can’t—”

The girl opened one eye, the one she still could, and somehow Lucy felt her pain. It was pouring out of her in telepathic waves, probably because it was too much for one person—even a vampire—to contain.

“Lay her down—over here, in the cool grass,” Lucy instructed, and then she turned to shout for James at the top of her voice. When he didn’t respond immediately, she turned to the young man. God, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen. “Stay with her. I’m going to get help.”

“No one can help,” he whispered. “And I don’t think she’s going to make it until dawn.” He lowered his head, tears streaming, sobs wracking his shoulders. “God, Ellie, what will I do without you? Why did they do this to us? Why? We never hurt anyone. Never.”

“James!” Lucy shouted, and this time she ran in the direction of the camp.

He met her halfway, nearly bowling her over. She gripped his hand, and tugged him with her. “Hurry!”

They ran side by side, then came to a stop. The boy was holding the young woman in his arms again, rocking her and sobbing. “She was on fire. I threw her into the water. I thought I could save her, but…”

Lucy lowered her head as her tears spilled like waterfalls. She couldn’t contain a gulping sob that drew James’s eye, but he looked away quickly, going to the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Lay her back down and step away. Let me take a look.”

“It’s t-t-too late. She’s…”

“Please,” James urged. “Let me try.”

The boy stilled and lifted his head slowly, staring at James and perhaps finally sensing that he was different. Not vampire, not mortal, not one of the Chosen, as Lucy was. He was something else altogether.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“James Poe. You?”

“Jeremy,” the kid said. “Why is your name familiar?”

“I’ll tell you later,” James said. “Lay her back down. I think I can save her, if you just let me try.”

The boy frowned, but he obeyed, lowering the girl’s body to the grass once more. He remained kneeling beside her.

James knelt on her other side and pressed his hands to her body. And in spite of herself, Lucy moved closer, dropping to her knees right next to James, riveted as she watched the light begin to pulse from his hands. That soft white-gold glow that was unlike any light she’d ever seen, natural or manmade. It suffused the young body, the poor ravaged, charred body.

“Please, let it work. Let it work. Let it work,” she whispered, not even aware she was saying the words aloud. The boy was looking at her, and then at James again and then his eyes returned to his beloved.

It seemed to Lucy that the girl’s charred skin began to smooth itself out, the blackened parts to fade to brown. Difficult to be sure in the darkness. Surely she was wishing for it hard enough to play tricks on her mind. But no, it was happening. The burns grew even lighter, gold, then orange, and then slowly muting into pink. The hair on the girl’s scalp came twisting and writhing from within, and it was like watching time-lapse footage. Only it wasn’t. It was real. This was real.

And not for the first time since she’d been lying on that sidewalk, watching her life bleed from her body, Lucy saw the pure beauty of James Poe, and of his gift. He became, once again, an angel in her eyes.

The girl’s body was restored and whole. Her eyes blinked open, then widened. And then Jeremy yanked her upright and into his arms, and the two clung, sobbing and crying and laughing and holding each other as if they would never let go.

James rose to his feet, moving away from them, and before she knew what she was about to do, Lucy rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him hard to her. He grasped her around the waist as she buried her tear-damp face against his neck and whispered, “You’re amazing. You’re a miracle, James. You are so incredibly special.”

One of his hands stroked her hair, and he bent his head to whisper back, “We’re not alone, Lucy.”

Sniffling, she pulled back from him just far enough to wipe her eyes dry and take note of her surroundings. The rest of the vampires had gathered, every one currently on the island, and they were standing around in a semicircle, apparently alerted by her earlier shouting. They’d seen it all. And they looked at James now in such intense awe that she thought they might all be about to take a knee. To genuflect.

She didn’t blame them, but she felt instinctively that adoration like that was the last thing James needed. She tugged on his arm. “We need to talk, James.”

“We will. On the way back to the mainland.”

She blinked in shock. “James, you can’t leave them. They need you, don’t you see that?”

“They need me to go do what I’m supposed to do.”

She stared up at him, her rejuvenated hero-worship already beginning to fracture, a tiny hairline crack opening in its formerly crystalline surface. “To find Utanapishtim? To try to raise a man from the dead after five thousand years?”

“It’s my purpose.”

“No,” she whispered. “
This
is your purpose. Don’t you see that now? This, these people, they’re your true calling. You need to be here, to heal the innocent, to save the wounded, to ease their pain and, where it’s still possible, restore life to those who’ve had it snuffed out unfairly and before their time. Not to try breathing life into a tiny mound of ash and bone.”

“Look at them,” he said to her.

Unwillingly, she turned her gaze to the sea of faces, all of them looking to James as if he were their only hope. And she realized that there
was
hope in those faces now, where before there had been only devastation and despair. He’d put it there, that hope.

And now he was determined to fulfill it.

“We have to go back and end this madness. It’s time to find Utanapishtim. It’s time I fulfilled my life’s purpose.”