Walking Shadows (27 page)

"That's… a tragedy," I murmured aloud.

"The hardest day is the first," said Abe, subsiding into habitual detachment,
"learning to be dead."

I couldn't bear to look at him anymore, so I turned to Evan. His expression almost made me turn
from him too.

"How about you, Evan? Why are you doing this? Make me understand it."

His expression was unfathomable. Stone.

"There must be a reason," I insisted. "Generation after generation of you doing
this thing.
Why
?"

"Look at him," said Evan, with a curt nod at Abe. "
Look
at him. Every
generation of us has grown up knowing vampires exist. They are out there, killing innocent people.
Killing our family. How could we see Abe, knowing what he is and why he was made, and
not
do
this?" The stone in his expression had crumbled and his eyes were haunted.

"I grew up knowing evil is real," he continued. "It's not an abstract concept. My
own grandfather was murdered just before I was born. Of course we do this, Lissa. Anything else
would be a betrayal of everything Abe lost and sacrificed, and everything my family has lost and
sacrificed since then."

That being the case, how could they ever stop? If I hadn't been so angry with him, it would have
been unbearably sad. "Not all of them are evil. They're mostly pretty horrible, but they don't
kill the way they used to. Things have changed in 300 years, surely. You don't have to keep doing
this."

The look in his eyes was almost enough to make me forgive him. Despair, longing and a brief flare
of hope that died in a moment, leaving his eyes more desolate than before. "I had a brother
once," Evan said.

"You have a son to carry on our mission," Abe said, an edge to his voice. "And
that is all that matters."

"That's enough, Abe," said Evan harshly. He had reassembled the stone veneer over his
expression. Addressing me, he said: "By the way, I wouldn't expect your friend Gary to get you
out of here, even if he knew where you were. I rent this place for a reason. He'll need an
invitation to get in. And you won't be giving him one." He handed Abe the damp cloth that he'd
just retrieved from the kitchen. Abe took it from him.

"Don't. Please. I'll suffoc…" He stuffed it in my mouth, mid-word and then pulled
the tattered strip of shirt over my chin and across my face again, wedging the gag in place.

"Sorry," said Evan, sounding it, "I have to take precautions."

Attempting not to hyperventilate while gagged and being held hostage requires a lot of
concentration. My sole focus for a while was to not panic. I made myself breathe slowly and steadily
through my nose. Whenever I stopped focusing, I thought of Kate or Gary and panic threatened again.

Consequently, several minutes passed before I regained sufficient equilibrium to realise that Abe
and Evan were talking.

"You swore," Abe was saying.

"I said maybe."

"It never ends."

"No, it doesn't."

"Perhaps Nathan will fulfil your oath."

"Leave my son out of it."

"Only you can do that."

"Shut up." Evan's pale skin was flushed. I kept my head down, but peered at him,
wondering what they were fighting about.

"Why did we come here?" Abe's tone was almost resigned, though a hint of defiance
coloured the demand.

"You know why. Those newspaper reports."

"Your father made you come, for he is too old to travel so great a distance now." There
was no reply. "And there is the mission."

"Yes, the mission." Evan scowled.

"Or did you come to spare your son the mission in his turn?"

"And why shouldn't I?" Evan all but shouted. "He should have a life."

"Like the life your brother Miles did not have? The one you do not have?" Silence
again. "And I?"

"You don't have a life, Abe. You're dead. Like Miles."

"Not like Miles. Miles's back was broken and all his blood sucked out."

Evan glared, and Abe sank back against the wall, a 300-year-old boy, defeated.

Evan seemed to think he'd gone too far. "The work redeems you, Abe. It redeems my father.
And me."

"I do not believe that any more." Abe's voice had sunk almost too low to hear.

Evan didn't move.

"I have never seen God," Abe continued quietly. "I have never seen Lucifer. Only
men, and what men choose to become."

"Don't say that," Evan's voice shook, "What we've done with your life isn't
meaningless."

Abe lifted his head to look coldly at his partner. "Mine is not a life. I am dead. You have
told me so."

"Abe, don't. We have to make it mean something. Otherwise Miles and everyone before him,
including you, died for nothing."

"What can it mean, if it never ends?"

Evan shook his head. "You don't understand."

"You dare?" For the first time, Abe was stirred. His tone was filled with contempt and
bitterness. "Your father has carried this mantle for 30 years; and I, for 300. You have carried
it mere months. I know the holy mission my father chose for me, and that I chose for
myself."

"I didn't mean that."

"You do not want to save your son," said Abe darkly, "You want to save
yourself."

With my usual impeccable timing, I started to choke. Despite the initial dampness of the cloth,
it was drying out my mouth. I'd been trying to push the wad of material further forward with my
tongue. Instead I'd shifted the tail end of it and it had fallen back into my throat.

Suffocating to death is not painless. It is filled with raw panic and terror. I thought I would
die in the moments it took Evan to realise I was not simply making trouble; was sure of it in the
longer moments it took for him to untie the strip of cloth and pluck the wad from between my teeth.
I sat there, tears streaming down my face, panting frantically for air, too shaken to be anything
but grateful I could breathe again.

"Get her some water," Evan told Abe. The boy disappeared briefly into the kitchen. This
time when he held the glass to my lips, I drank so eagerly I inhaled some of it and dissolved into a
coughing fit, still trying to drag air into my lungs.

At this inopportune moment, someone knocked on the door.

Evan swore and tried to tie the cloth around my face again. I surged away from him, as far as I
could while tied to a chair, still wracked with respiratory paroxysms.

"Get her out of here. Keep her quiet."

Abe clamped a hand over my mouth and started dragging me, chair and all, towards the corridor. I
twisted ineffectually, labouring to break free, make a noise, anything that would alert the visitor
to my presence. The plastic-coated cord binding me slipped down the legs of the half-raised chair,
freeing my feet at least. I bucked harder, trying to make him let go, but he held fast.

Evan had paused by the door, ready to check if it was an inconvenient religious doorknocker or an
even less-convenient enemy, so that when the solid wooden door burst open, he was perfectly placed
to be smashed in the head with it.

I wished I could have enjoyed it more - the solid
thunk
, the yell of pain, the crash as
Evan fell to the floor while the door banged open against the wall - but I was thoroughly distracted
by the man standing in the doorway.

Gary.

"Let her go."

He wasn't as glib as Errol Flynn but those three words were more than enough for hope to leap up
in my chest. Then plummet.

Gary was stuck outside, and with Abe's hand still squashing my mouth shut I couldn't issue the
vital invitation to
get the hell in here and rescue me
.

With surprisingly quick wit, Gary circumvented this limitation by reaching through the open
doorframe and seizing Evan by the leg. He gave a savage pull and dragged him closer until he could
grab Evan by the throat. Evan kicked, but he was no match for Gary's strength. Gary moved so
quickly, too, that he had Evan upright, pinned to the door frame with a single hand, before Abe,
with his hands full of keeping me quiet, could do more than call out.

I'd never seen Gary look so angry. I didn't know he was capable of it. His expression was utterly
stony except for his bared, pointed teeth.

Even though I knew that expression wasn't for me, it scared me. It also gave me hope again.

"Untie her," Gary said. I'd never heard him sound so cold before, either.

Abe didn't move, so Gary squeezed Evan's throat a fraction.

Evan, struggling for breath, scratched futilely at Gary's hand, his eyes rolling frantically in
Abe's direction. I wanted to yell at Gary to stop, but couldn't.

"Now!" Gary demanded.

His hand still over my mouth, Abe set the chair down and, one-handed, loosened the binding on my
wrists. I pulled my hands free and rubbed the red indentations, restoring circulation. Hands and
feet were free, but I knew how much faster and stronger Abe was than me, and he hadn't let me go
yet.

"I said," Gary squeezed Evan's throat, "
let
-
her
-
go!
"

Evan's face was going dark red, and a whimper in my throat betrayed my sympathy. I was torn
between wanting Gary to not hurt him, and being angry with Evan for putting all of us in this
situation to begin with.

Abe maintained his position. I could hear a smug challenge in his voice.

"If you kill him I will break her neck."

Evan's feet were off the floor and he was kicking feebly. Gary's countenance became more fierce.
"I'll tear your heart out if you touch her."

"Only if you can reach me," jeered Abe. "And you cannot. You are an unholy thing
and you may not enter without invitation."

Gary's eyes narrowed, and then he looked at me, and his ferocity dropped away to something less
angry, but no less determined.

He stepped into Evan's house.

Gripped by a violent shudder, worse than his characteristic crossing-the-threshold-uninvited
quake, his grip on Evan faltered.

The hunter collapsed to the floor, gasping. His green eyes had rolled up to look at Gary. I
couldn't tell if he was horrified or awed.

Abe was definitely horrified.

Bellowing denial, Abe let go of me, and I fell painfully to the floor. When I'd righted myself, I
saw that Abe had grabbed the knife from the dining room table and was plunging towards Gary. I
screamed warning, but Gary had recovered sufficiently to hold up his hands in preparation.

He seized the blade of the knife, which was a really stupid thing to do. It was extremely sharp
and it cut into him. Abe wrenched the weapon to one side, trying to pull it free, and come free it
did, lopping off Gary's index finger in the process.

All three of us paused, watching the digit fall and bounce. Then Abe lunged again and the blade
of the knife disappeared into Gary's right side. Gary stared down at the hilt in surprise.

Abe began to pull it out again. Gary seized Abe's arm, holding the knife in place. In a fever of
fear I realised what Gary had already worked out - it was the best way to keep Abe from using the
knife to stab Gary in the heart.

Scrambling to my feet, I threw myself at the table to look for another weapon. Anything. There.
Next to my things. I grabbed my keys, my wallet, stuffed them in my pocket with one hand while I
snatched up one of the blood-tinged syringes with the other. I pulled the cap off it with my teeth
and turned.

Evan had pulled himself out of Abe's way and lay there panting, hands against his own bruised
throat, watching the tense struggle. The knife was shifting in Gary's side, widening the wound.

I jammed the needle into Abe's back and thumped the plunger home. Abe reached one hand behind to
slap me away and pull at the syringe I'd left in his skin, but splitting his attention allowed Gary
to break free. Abe staggered back. The knife remained embedded in Gary's side.

Abe was staring at the retrieved syringe in bewilderment. I ran past him, then stumbled into Gary
as Evan threw himself at my legs. I tried to kick myself free, and then Gary laid in with a solid
sneaker to Evan's ribs. With a cry of pain, Evan let go.

Abe tried then, snatching at my shirt, but the heroin was doing its work, and when I smacked him
in the ear with my cupped palm - so that the concentrated noise would bang distractingly into that
excellent hearing - he let go.

I pushed Gary towards the door. He wrested free from me, bent to gather up his severed digit, and
then he was out, pushing me ahead of him.

He stopped running, streets later, and I nearly screamed in frustration. "What are you
doing
?" I demanded, in a near-shriek, when I had to run back to where he was crouched in
a pool of shadow beside an old brick office building. He didn't answer. He was too busy muttering
curses as he lifted up his shirt. The knife was still sticking out from between his ribs. I squatted
beside him, trying to keep out of sight.

Gary wrenched the knife out and threw it into the bushes nearby. He didn't even stop to watch the
wound close, like I did, gruesomely fixated on making sure it happened. Instead, he dug into his
pocket and took out his severed finger.

"Come on, come on," Gary was murmuring in a frantic undertone. He splayed his damaged
right hand in front of him. Holding the digit in his left, he licked the raw end, turned it until it
faced the right way, then held it against the stump and pushed it.

Nothing happened.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

The memory of what Mundy had tried to do with his own ruined arm came to me, and I fell to my
hands and knees in the undergrowth. I found the knife, handed it to him. He stared at it. "Cut
it," I urged. Comprehension dawned and he snatched it from me.

I couldn't watch as he drew it across the skin that had closed over the knuckle, but I heard his
drawn-out, hissed "Yes", and knew that it was taking.

When I dared look again the line of skin between his knuckle and forefinger was fusing.
Realigning and dissolving back into whole flesh. He flexed the hand gingerly.