In Memories We Fear (24 page)

Maxim turned his horse to face Adalrik’s. “Then what is mine? I felt . . . something back in the pub.”

“I’m not sure I can name it, although I could feel it as deeply as everyone else. It is a kind of awe. Everyone there saw you as brilliant, gifted . . . a scholar. They wanted to be near you, to be part of the world you were spinning with those words.” He paused. “I cannot help feeling envious. I could only hope for such a gift. Do not squander it.”

Maxim rode in silence the rest of the way home, thinking on all of this, even growing slightly excited.

He could inspire awe by simply opening his mouth.

 

The following night offered no time for literary discussion, and to Maxim’s further anxiety, Adalrik seemed determined to quit this place as soon as possible. There was a great deal of packing to be done—mainly books—and instructions to leave and arrangements to be made. The two of them would be traveling light, but Adalrik was having a number of boxes shipped to wherever they were going. As of yet, he would not say the destination.

“Must we go?” Maxim asked, wringing his hands. “No one bothers us here. I don’t see why we cannot stay.”

“It’s not safe,” Adalrik answered. “It is too well-known among my family.”

Who was this family he always spoke of? Part of Maxim wished to know, and another part wished they didn’t exist. The library looked ugly with so many books missing from the shelves, like an old woman who’d lost half her teeth.

“Come and sit for a moment,” Adalrik said. “There are important things to tell you.”

He sat in his chair by the fire, and Maxim joined him reluctantly. So far, with the exception of Maxim’s gift, every “important” thing Adalrik had to tell him had been unpleasant.

“There are a number of others like us,” his mentor began, “and we have existed in secret for centuries among mortals by following four unbreakable laws. As I tell you each one, you must swear an oath to uphold it. Do you understand?”

Laws? Maxim had never broken a law in his life. Well, until last night. But hearing about laws sounded safe. Perhaps tonight’s lesson would not be so unpleasant after all.

“I understand.”

“I’ve already told you the first law,” Adalrik went on. “No vampire shall kill to feed. This assures our safety and secrecy. Swear this to me. You will never kill to feed.”

“I swear.”

This was the first time Adalrik had used the word “vampire.” Somehow, it did not startle Maxim.

“The second law,” Adalrik said, “is that no vampire shall make another until reaching the age of one hundred years as an undead, and no vampire shall ever make more than one companion within the span of a hundred years. The physical and mental energy required is so great that any breach of this law will produce flawed results. Do you swear your oath?”

“I swear.”

“The third law is that no vampire shall make another without the consent of the mortal. Do you swear?”

“I swear.”

“The fourth and final law is that the maker must teach the new vampire all methods of proper survival and all four of the laws in order to protect the secrecy of our kind. Do you swear?”

“I swear.”

This rather lengthy exercise struck Maxim as pointless. With the exception of the first law, he gave no thought to any of this. He certainly had no desire to make another vampire—even if he knew how.

“There is a reason I am telling you all this tonight,” Adalrik said. “One of us has broken the laws and placed the rest of us in danger.”

The word “danger” got Maxim’s attention.

“One of our most trusted elders lost his reason, and he made three sons in the span of a scant few years. As a result, one of them was born unto us with no telepathic abilities at all. None. His name is Julian. He cannot follow the first law.”

This puzzled Maxim until he remembered how Adalrik had replaced the man’s memory the night before. “Oh . . . so he cannot . . . ?”

“You understand.” Adalrik’s eyes drifted. “None of us would ever harm another, but this situation has no precedent, and his maker refused to destroy him. Several of us had decided to take matters into our own hands . . . and then Julian began murdering us.”

“Murdering? You said we would live forever.”

“Some things can still kill us: fire, the sun, and decapitation. Julian is coming from the shadows with a sword and taking heads. No one knows quite how he always succeeds. But no one he’s attacked has survived.”

“Taking heads?”

The very thought of this, the image of some great vampire coming from the darkness with a sword, filled Maxim with a dread he’d never experienced. It almost made him ill.

“Do you see now why we have to leave?” Adalrik asked. “Why we must go someplace no one would associate with me?”

“Yes,” Maxim said, nodding. “I will help you pack the books.”

 

The following night, the deliveryman from Shrewsbury arrived after dark so Adalrik could discuss some final details for closing up the house. Maxim no longer feared leaving. Rather, he couldn’t wait to get away from here—the sooner the better.

Finally, a few hours past dusk, everything seemed settled.

“I think we’re ready,” Adalrik said. “We’ll ride into Shrewsbury, sell the horses, and hire a carriage for the journey to the coast. We’ll be more comfortable in a carriage.”

“The coast? Will that be far enough?”

“No.” Adalrik smiled. “I don’t think anywhere in Europe will be far enough. We’ll book passage on a ship and spend a few decades in the New World.”

When Maxim shook his head, Adalrik’s smile broadened.

“New York,” he said.

This left Maxim uncertain. He had no knowledge of New York. But then . . . perhaps Adalrik was right. If they wished to avoid Julian’s sword, the farther away the better.

As if reading his face, Adalrik grew more serious. “Listen to me. I’ve told no one, no one among our kind, that you exist. Should anything happen to me, you must disappear. You mustn’t let anyone know of your existence.”

The very thought terrified Maxim. How could he travel without Adalrik? Survive in a foreign land?

“I need a few travel documents from my desk in the library,” Adalrik said. “You get your bag, and I’ll meet you in the foyer.” He looked around. “I will miss this place. You and I have spent many happy hours here.”

The night before, Maxim would have agreed. Now he just wanted to saddle his horse.

“I won’t be long,” he answered, heading off to his room.

His bed was made, and a small bag of his clothes was neatly packed with a spare suit, toiletries, and undergarments. All his other clothes were boxed for shipping. His long coat lay across the bed, and he slipped it on before turning to leave. His attachment to this place had vanished the moment Adalrik told him of Julian. Now it was a house of threats.

They had not bothered lighting many candles tonight, and the hallway was dark, but as he stepped from his bedroom, a cool gust of air blew against him, and he turned to see the back door was open.

He frowned, certain he’d locked it earlier, but when he moved to close it, he looked down to see the jam was broken. Someone had forced the door. His throat began to close up, and he did not call out. Instinct told him to remain silent and to locate Adalrik immediately. The safest place was behind Adalrik.

He put down his travel bag and walked silently down the hall. The library had two entrances, and he headed for the main one. The door was half-open, and he could see his mentor standing inside, shuffling through a desk.

This seemed a pleasant, normal sight, and Maxim walked faster. He was only ten steps away when something caught his eye . . . a glint of reflective light from the other entrance on the east side of the library, very near to Adalrik. The same survival instinct surged up in Maxim, causing him to change plans, and he stepped behind the door, peering through the crack beside the wall only a few seconds before the fear hit him.

He’d never experienced anything like it in his life—and he knew a good deal about fear. Waves and waves of gut-wrenching fear poured from the library, hitting Adalrik at the same time.

Adalrik staggered back from the desk, attempting to turn around, and a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair stepped from the shadows of the other doorway and swung with both hands gripping the hilt of a sword.

His blade sliced right through Adalrik’s throat, severing his head, which flew off and bounced against the red carpet. Maxim pressed against the wall behind the door, willing himself not to scream.

Then the memories hit him.

Image after image of Adalrik’s life erupted inside his mind. But the fear was still choking him, and few of the images even registered. He saw foreign places and countless people. A gypsy girl. A hardened soldier with a broken nose. Scene after scene of Adalrik leaning over a book with some stranger, and then . . . images of Brandon. Many images.

Maxim wanted to scream, but something, some shred of survival instinct, kept him silent.

Then he saw memories of himself here in the house, studying in the library, and his panic increased. Was Julian seeing these memories, too? If so . . . he would know! He would know about Maxim.

The pain and the images faded, and he forced himself to open his eyes. Julian was standing over Adalrik’s body, looking down. He did not appear to have suffered the same onslaught. Perhaps he had not seen any of the memories?

Adalrik’s words came back to Maxim.

Julian had not heard Maxim out in the hallway and didn’t know he was there. Maxim looked behind himself toward the broken back door. Then he peeked back through the crack. Still gripping the sword, Julian watched Adalrik’s headless body as it began to change, to lose its form. While Julian’s attention was so absorbed, Maxim slipped silently down the hallway and out the open door, leading to the untended gardens behind the house.

The fear that Julian had projected was still with him. It permeated deep inside his mind, mingled with his own natural fears, and became trapped there. All Maxim could feel was terror. All he could see was the sword swinging and Adalrik’s head hitting the carpet.

Maxim ran.

Within seconds, he reached the beginning of the dense forest behind the house. He’d never cared for forests, but now the trees and the darkness were a haven—the only place to offer safety. He had to disappear.

He ran.

 

Shortly before dawn, he stopped running. He didn’t know where he was, but it didn’t matter. As long as he stayed in the forest, away from people, Julian would never know he existed. All he could feel was fear, and all he could see was the glint of the swinging sword.

But he was safe here, alone among the trees.

Yet dawn was coming, and he needed to survive the day.

He chose a spot with loose soil and dropped to his knees, digging. The strength and durability of his slender hands surprised him. He dug himself a grave.

Once the hole was deep enough, he crawled inside and buried himself completely. Feeling safe for the first time in hours, he fell dormant.

 

He woke up that night with a stab of fear piercing through his brain. In the darkness of the grave he saw Julian’s cold, pale face.

He quickly dug himself out, not caring that he was filthy—barely even noticing. The fear in his mind had only increased during his sleep, and he began looking around for a place to hide. Yes, that was the answer. Find a place to hide, somewhere Julian would never find him.

He found a patch of heavy shrubs beneath an oak tree and crawled inside the prickly branches. He could see in front and to the sides, and the tree was behind him. He felt safe here and remained hidden like that all night.

He buried himself in the hole again before dawn.

That night, when he awoke, he decided it was time to change to a new location. It wasn’t safe to remain in the same spot for too many nights.

Heading deeper into the forest, he found a new place to hide, beneath a new patch of bushes.

 

This pattern continued for six nights, and then he realized he was hungry. He needed to feed. Somehow, he knew the direction back toward the house without even thinking about it, but he could not go back there, never back there. Instead, he headed in the same general direction, until he reached the road that he and Adalrik had taken to the village.

The thought of Adalrik almost paralyzed him with fear. He could not think of Adalrik without seeing Julian.

Slipping through the trees beside the road, he kept moving until he smelled smoke, and he peered out through the edge of the forest to see a small, isolated house. By now the hour was late, but he could hear people moving inside. His hunger grew, and he forced himself to creep up and peer through a window. Being out in the open was the worst thing he could imagine now, but he peeked inside a window to see an old woman, a young woman, a man, and several children. The children were sleeping.

He longed to feed on any of them, but to do so would mean luring someone outside, and he did not know if he could replace a memory as Adalrik had done. And what if someone else in the family saw him? His existence would be exposed. Julian would find out about him. He knew it.

But Maxim was so hungry.

What if he simply killed the victim or even the whole family? That would silence them. Adalrik’s laws no longer seemed to matter.

Yes, this prospect seemed best.

But . . . if he couldn’t replace memories, he’d have to kill every time he fed. Adalrik’s logic about secrecy tied to the four laws drifted through the terror in his mind. Stories of blood-drained bodies would reach Julian.

His thoughts shifted again. He could hide the bodies or burn the house down afterward?