Vintage Soul (26 page)

In the barn, Donovan pulled out the crystal lens he'd used in the old church where Cornwell had died.
 
He glanced through it, holding it to either side of the gateway he'd used to reach the place.
 
There was nothing.
 
No trace of any passing but his own.
 
He stood there for a moment, his mind racing, trying to decide what to do next.
 

Asmodeus settled on his shoulder, and dug in suddenly with
taloned
claws.
 
Donovan cried out and turned to stare at the creature.
 
Their eyes locked in a steady gaze, and a wave of vertigo hit that nearly knocked him to his knees.

~ * ~

He flew. He swerved to avoid trees, but the motion wasn't his own.
 
Donovan rode Asmodeus' mind through the broken wall of mist.
 
Two figures fled through the graves, dancing around trees and sprinting with uncanny quickness toward the back gate of the cemetery.
 
They slipped the chain free without hesitation and dashed off down the trail.
  
He thought they would turn off toward the barn, following the old trail, but they didn't.

The two turned, glanced once over their shoulders, and then turned off the old deserted road on the far side from where Donovan had entered it.
 
The ground dropped away quickly into a ditch, and they followed this, though the earth was damp, and their feet left deep, squishy imprints in passing.
 
Ahead a large culvert loomed.
 
The two ducked their heads and disappeared inside without a pause.

The crow dove after them, dizzying Donovan with the rush of air and the impossibly swift passage of images.
 
They
dove
past the entrance to the huge concrete pipe, whirled in the air, dove back and plunged into darkness.
 
Donovan wanted to scream, but before he could even regain his breath, they soared out the far side.
 
It only cut under a secondary road, a drainage pipe for water.
 
There was no sign of the two, and he knew in that instant it was another gateway.

~ * ~

Asmodeus released Donovan's shoulder and took flight again.
 
Shaking his head, he turned to follow the crow back out the door of the barn.
 
He heard voices, and saw bobbing lights down the trail, but he avoided the guards easily as he wound his way up to the abandoned road.
 
By the time he reached it, slipping from tree to tree as swiftly as he could without breaking into the open, they had already turned onto the side road toward the barn.
  
He heard them discussing what to do next, but he didn't wait around to find out if they had the courage to visit the barn on their own, or if they planned to call the police.

Donovan crossed the road and slid down into the ditch.
 
He slowed himself, carefully turning seven times before entering the pipe.
 
He held the colored crystal lens out and caught immediate traces.
 
The wispy remnant of two travelers hung in the air, and without hesitation, he followed.

When he came out on the other side in an unfamiliar alley, he hesitated, but only for a moment.
 
He tugged the talisman free of his pocket, and held it out.
 
It swung to the right, and he took off at a run.
 
They couldn't be too far ahead.
  
He was sure they thought they'd lost him, and they couldn't realize he would use the talisman to trail the urn they carried.

The trail led onto the darkened streets.
 
There was no traffic, and Donovan saw no one on the sidewalks.
 
He followed the lean of the pendant's chain for five blocks, turned into another alley, and followed this to its end.
 
He came to a chain link fence.
 
It was locked, and a sign proclaimed “NO TRESPASSING – SERVICE ENTRANCE ONLY” in large, bold letters.

At the far end of a service drive, double doors stared back at him.
 
They were also posted, and he didn't need the talisman to tell him the urn had been taken inside.
 
The building hummed with energy.
  
Donovan pulled back to the alley's entrance, and gazed up at the side of the building.
 
He knew the place; it was the Tefft Complex.
 
He didn't know much about it, but he'd heard rumors.
 

Footsteps crunched loose gravel in the alley, and Donovan froze.
 
Someone was coming, and he had no time to try and figure out who it was.
 
Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, he pressed himself against the wall and waited.
 
High above, a crow cried.

SIXTEEN

The tower room was very dark, and Vanessa was weak.
 
She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the walls around her listlessly.
 
There had been no further visits from her captor, and other than the short blast of hope she'd felt when Vein and the others had rushed in, there had been no break in the utter solitude.
 
She thought about Johndrow and wondered where he was.
 
She wondered if he, too, would come crashing through the door eventually.
 
She thought not.
 
More likely he and the council had hired someone to do the work.
 
It was their way to hold back in the shadows and act only when all other avenues were closed to them.
 
It was her way too – or had been.

She wondered briefly what had happened to the others.
 
She had no doubt it was bad.
 
She tried not to think of all the ways they could have been destroyed, but there was no other game to occupy her mind.
 
She had several lifetimes of memories, but none of them comforted her.
 
She still felt the bond with Vein, so they were close by, but it seemed unlikely any of them would last much longer.

The silence was broken by a grinding whirr that came from the wall at her back.
 
She felt a vibration deep in the stone, and she shivered.
 
She'd heard it once before, and a glance to the side confirmed that the chains binding her had begun to retract slowly into the wall.
 
She rose quickly.
 
She knew she couldn't break the chains, but she had to try, and there was no time to waste.
 
If she let them grow too short she'd have no leverage.
 

Vanessa pressed herself to the wall, leaned down, and kicked her feet hard against the stone.
 
She launched forward, hit the floor running, and shot to the end of the chains with incredible speed.
 
She hit the end of the restraints and pushed harder.
 
It was like slamming into a wall, but she threw herself into it.
 
She heard a groan of machinery from somewhere below, and thought, just for an instant that she might do it.
 
The chains were so taut they thrummed.
 
Then she slid back half an inch, and another.
 
She strained against the inexorable pull, but it was no use.
 
Within moments the chains had fully retracted, and she hung helplessly, spread eagled against the wall.

The outer door opened again, and her captor stepped inside.
 
He carried a leather bag in one hand, and he placed this on the floor, closed the door, and then turned to smile at her.

“Bravo,” he said, clapping his hands mockingly.
 
“That was an astonishing display of speed and strength; and yet, at the same time it was a waste of time.
 
You must have known the chains were enchanted.
 
I took very special precautions with you, studied your kind for years before I set the spells.
 
I assure you, the restraints are more than adequate.”

Vanessa continued to struggle, but she was weak from the lack of fresh blood, and it was difficult to fight back the rage that threatened to consume rational thought.
 
He was so close she could smell him.
 
She tasted the tang of his blood through his clothing and his skin, and she remembered that taste.
 
It was powerful blood, old and rich, and despite her captivity and impending final death, she craved it.

He stepped closer and examined her carefully, as if she were a horse, or an animal he intended to purchase.
 
Vanessa shook with fury, and as he leaned in close she snapped at the air, closing her fangs on nothing but his scent.

He laughed.
 
Stepping around her, he pulled a small control box from his pocket.
 
He pressed a button.
 
The wall behind her made another sound, and before she was fully aware of what had happened, a steel collar slid out of the wall on either side of her throat and clamped in front.
  
Now her head was all but immobile.
 
He reached out and stroked her hair.
 
He ran his hand down her cheek and teased one long, manicured fingernail over her chin, then slid it back along the top edge of the collar.
 
She trembled at the touch and tried to shift her jaws nearer to his flesh, but the collar held her easily

“That should do,” he said at last.
 
“Our time together has grown short, and I can't afford to have you whipping around and making a nuisance of yourself.
 
I'm sure you understand.
 
This isn't about you, after all, lovely as you are.
 
It's about life.
 
My life, to be precise.
 
I intend to make it last a long time, you see, and you are going to help.
 
I need something that you have, and once I have it, the formula I create will make me immortal.”

Vanessa's eyes flashed with anger and he laughed again.

“Oh, not like what you possess,” he said.
 
“What you have is a great gift, there's no doubt of it.
 
To live forever, as long as you are able to borrow the blood of others to keep you young; it's a concept worthy of hours of debate and certainly better than the mortal alternative.
   
You do have your weaknesses, though, don't you, Vanessa?
 
You miss out on all that fine sunlight, for one thing.
 
You can't appreciate a good steak or a cold beer without flavoring it with fresh blood.
 
There is so much more to life as I know it; why would I willingly give it up when there is an alternative?”

Vanessa tried to shake her head in negation, but she was held still and helpless.
 
He smiled at her again.
 

“Aren't you curious?” he asked.
 
“I'd have thought you'd spend your last few moments asking questions.
 
For instance, what happened to your friends who tried to break in and save you so valiantly, or, what are you going to do with me?
  
I know I'd be thinking about those things if it was me chained to the wall.

“We have a little time,” he continued, “so I'll go ahead and tell you.
 
It will pass the time.”

As he spoke, he turned away from her and walked back to where he'd left the leather bag.
 
He retrieved it and placed it on the bed where she'd been sitting moments before.
 
He unsnapped the top and began to remove the contents one item at a time.
 
As he pulled each free, he examined it carefully.
 

From where she hung bound to the wall, Vanessa couldn't see what he did clearly.
 
In the periphery of her sight she saw him pull something long and flexible free of the bag.
 
She heard a sharp clinking sound as something made contact with glass.
 
He worked steadily, paying no attention to her at all as he organized and manipulated the items on the bed.
 
When he had finished, he turned to her again, and the smile was back on his face.
 
It was not a pleasant expression, but had the slick, oily aspect of a serpent.
 

Vanessa closed her eyes.
 
She had no idea what he was planning, and she didn't believe there was any chance she could do anything to stop him, but if she lost her mind, he would win without a struggle.
 
If she let him frighten her to the point where her mind snapped, there would be no return from it. She also needed to snap free of his scent.
 
She knew, now, that the blood he'd fed her was not his own.
 
It hadn't been fresh, and with the weakness of her captivity dulling her senses, she'd just assumed that it was.
 
Now she felt the draw of his lifeblood and knew she'd never tasted it – never would taste it – and its proximity drove sharp talons into her concentration, shredding it.

With a great effort, she spoke.

“What have you done with the young ones?”