The Darkening Dream (37 page)

Al-Nasir’s anger mounted. Formalities, however, could not be forgone.

“
Salam alechem
.” He paused for a few seconds, then allowed himself to extend his teeth and claws. “Where is the girl?”

Both slaves threw themselves on the floor.

“Master, most grievous apologies.” Fouad’s voice was muffled, his face pressed to the hardwood.

“Your orders were to bring her, regardless.” Al-Nasir spat once on each of their heads. His thralls had clung to their pathetic half-lives so long they’d forgotten that some things were worth a little risk.

“We would have taken her, great Master,” Fouad said, “but another prevented us.”

“Who?” The vampire let his growl expand his ribs.

“A big man. I followed him myself once the girl returned home.”

Fouad dared to lift his face. A speck of bloody spittle gleamed in his hair.

“Sleek and deadly Master,” his oldest servant said, “we located another dwelling. Inside live the big man, a boy, and an old cripple. The boy passed near my hiding place — he was one of those whose scent you shared with us, one of the defilers who slew Nabil and Ahmed.”

“At least you have not failed utterly,” al-Nasir said.

The big slaves preened and smiled. Fouad rose from the floor and dusted himself off.

“Tonight I’m hungry,” al-Nasir said, “Tomorrow, I’ll attend to the young man myself.”

He would prosecute this new angle, but he had only a few days left before the Painted Man sent the beetle. The warlock’s plan remained crucial.

“Our beloved brothers must be avenged.” Tarik revealed his teeth, cut in imitation of his master’s. “We’ve made memorials for them. Do you have time to see?”

“Of course.” Al-Nasir couldn’t have cared less what little votives the superstitious Negros had devised for their dead brethren. Small gestures, however, served as the foundation for loyalty’s fortress.

“Thank you, Master!” Tarik more or less ran from the room — quite a feat for a man who weighed over four hundred pounds. He returned carrying two glass jars, each about a foot tall. “This, princely Master,” the slave said, indicating the jar in one hand, “is for Nabil, and the other is for Ahmed. I put what’s left of them inside.”

Indeed, the jars contained various insects and spiders, a few of which still moved. Scratched crudely in Arabic characters were the names “Nabil” and “Ahmed,” though the first of these was misspelled. Behind the amateur calligraphy, the vampire could see “Samson Farm Peach Preserves” embossed on the glass. He attempted his best approximation of a soulful look.

“I’m deeply touched.”

The huge slave beamed.

“Once the Great Plan comes to fruition,” the vampire said, “I shall rescue your brothers from whatever hell in which they reside and crown all of you as princes to serve at my feet.”

“Thank you, most glorious and merciful Master,” Fouad whispered.

Tarik, being younger, was more willing to impose on the vampire’s patience.

“When you slay the defilers, might you bring me some of their flesh so I may feed it to Nabil and Ahmed?”

Al-Nasir sighed. They meant well.

“That would pleasure us both.”

He took to the night to feed. Two or even three lives would be good. He’d been neglecting himself and he needed to be at his best.

Forty-Three:

Breaker of Horses

Salem, Massachusetts, Tuesday evening, November 18, 1913

A
LEX WAS SADDLING
B
UCEPHALUS
as the sun slipped down near the horizon. Fitting the horse with tackle was fine work — he had to remove his gloves — and his fingers quickly grew numb from the cold, wasting precious time. Thick white clouds of breath formed in front of both their faces.

It was a twenty-minute ride to the Williams house, so once he set out he alternated between walking and trotting. Bucephalus liked to canter, but earlier today, daggers of frozen rain had left icy patches on the road. Now the sun was gone, leaving only a lingering glow. Grandfather said that most vampires wouldn’t even dare that. Halfway to the edge of town the brightest stars revealed themselves. Orion and Sirius loomed overhead — the hunter ever a faithful companion, even if he stunk of dog. Far above, Alex heard an avian cry. Below him, Bucephalus tossed his head and whinnied.

A dozen yards ahead, a black shadow darted across the road. Alex urged Bucephalus into a trot. The shadow crossed again, going the other way. Then he felt it pass behind him.

Not good.

Bucephalus must have felt it too, for he reared. Alex struggled to retain the saddle. As soon as the horse brought his forelegs back to earth, he leapt forward. Alex clung to his neck and whispered a prayer to Saint George.

Stop, come to the trees
, a voice whispered in his head — silky, seductive, slippery as ice. Alex felt the wolf’s head medallion warm against his chest.
Ai sto diaolo
. He rode on.

A figure stood before him on the road — a man, he thought, but his shape bled into the darkness.
Stop,
the voice whispered.

With his horse now at a gallop, he couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to. The charging animal should have collided with the shadowy man, but he’d vanished. Alex glanced behind him. Nothing.

He startled to find the man beside him, keeping pace with the galloping horse. The stranger cocked his hooded head, and now Alex glimpsed the face — skin yellowy white, like ivory left too long in the sun. The vampire smiled at him, an endless procession of long yellow teeth.

You are just a boy
, the voice said.
Who sent you to my home?
The creature swiped his clawed hand across Bucephalus’ hind quarters.

The stallion let out a whinny of pain and stumbled but maintained his footing. Alex twisted himself to free his leg from the stirrup and kicked at the vampire, who veered off and vanished.

He was under no illusion that he’d seen the last of the creature. His best chance was to reach town as quickly as possible — hopefully the vampire wouldn’t attack in front of witnesses, and if he made it inside the Williams house it wouldn’t be able to follow.

But getting there alive was going to be the problem. That awful shriek wasn’t reassuring. Nor the leathery flap of wings above him.

Highland Avenue was close now, lit by electric lights. Only one long loop of unpaved road to go. He pulled Bucephalus hard toward the field on his right, the vampire screaming from above as they streaked across tall grasses toward the lights. Bucephalus breathed in ragged pants, and sweat flecked his neck. Alex brought him alongside the fence that separated them from the paved street and at a low section squeezed his knees. The stallion jumped and landed heavily on the frozen shoulder of the road.

A man driving a horse-drawn buggy cursed when Alex spooked his team, then glanced skyward in bewilderment as the vampire shrieked again, higher this time.

Alex slowed Bucephalus to a trot, weaving between carriages and cars until he crossed right into the heart of town. The Williamses lived only a few blocks away.

He paused at the corner before turning from the busy road. The side street was well lit with only a single pedestrian in sight. He patted his horse. Three blocks to go. He pushed Bucephalus back into a trot. The exhausted animal obliged without complaint.

Alex smelled spices and the smell of decay. As he turned to look over his shoulder, Bucephalus reared again. A black shape swept past him, swirled about the road, and coalesced into the black-clad vampire.

Alex slid backwards. The saddle stayed with him, but the straps that bound it to the horse snapped loose — the vampire must have slashed the leather as he passed. Alex crashed into the icy cobblestones shoulder first. He thrashed his legs to untangle the stirrups. The vampire strolled toward him, his long white fingers twitching.

“Tell me everything,” he said. This time, his lips moved as he spoke. His accent sounded a little Turkish but not exactly. He looked more human than before. “Start at the beginning. If you tell me everything, I might not kill you.”

Alex shook his head as if to clear it. His legs free at last, he leapt to his feet and sprinted toward Bucephalus, waiting down the street.

“There’s no point in running, boy,” the vampire called from behind him. “Your hands are stained with blood, I could track you to the ends of the earth.”

Alex ran anyway. But before he reached his horse, he collided with the small man, now in front of him and hard as an iron post. One cold hand grasped his neck, the other his waist.

“I know you didn’t slay Nabil and Ahmed alone,” the creature said. His breath smelled of damp rotten earth.
Who was with you, and why did you come?

Alex hung in the vampire’s grip, paralyzed with terror, his chest burning. The coal-black eyes bore into his. They looked surprised, as if their owner had really expected Alex to answer.

The vampire was using his glamour, and it wasn’t working. And then he smiled. His yellow pointy teeth multiplied and lengthened and sharpened, row upon row of fangs. The hand at Alex’s waist reached up and tore his shirt and jacket.

There was a flash of heat, a sharp acrid tang mixed with a whiff of putrefaction. The vampire jumped back, opening and closing his fist. His snarl with all those teeth was hideous.

Again the wolf’s head medallion had proved its worth.

Alex ran. He closed on Bucephalus and flung himself onto the horse’s bare back. He kicked hard, and they galloped down the street. Behind him, he heard shrieks and the leathery flaps.

Two blocks to go.

They turned the corner onto the Williamses’ street. The black shadow whipped past. Alex felt a searing pain across his back but clung to Bucephalus with all four limbs. In front of him, the vampire pivoted to make another pass. His airborne form was dark and indistinct, its motion that of a huge bat.

Alex drove Bucephalus straight up the Williamses’ front porch, then yanked on the reins. The horse stumbled and slowed. Alex jumped down and grasped at the door. It was unlocked. He threw himself into the foyer and slammed the door shut behind him.

When he turned back, the vampire’s face was at the adjacent window, grinning, teeth glimmering in the light from the porch lamps. Taloned fingers tapped the pane. The face vanished. For a moment, there was silence. Alex knew better than to feel relieved.

The quiet lasted for perhaps fifteen seconds, then he heard horrible snarls — and then, mixed with the snarls, equine screams that broke his heart.

Alex sank to his knees. Tears streamed down his face as blood streamed down the windows. Bucephalus had been his since he was nine, had come with them to each of their homes, even following him across the Atlantic.

A new emotion all but overwhelmed his terror and heartbreak: the hot white burn of pure rage.

The other residents of the house poured into the room. Mr. Barnyard was first, foregoing his usual slobbery greeting to attack the front door. He scratched and pawed at the wood, emitting a constant, low growl. Next came Sam, followed by Anne and Sarah. After them were Mr. and Mrs. Williams and two boarders Alex didn’t know.

“What in creation is going on?” Mr. Williams asked.

Everyone stared at Alex.

“Alex!” Sarah said. “There’s blood all over your back.”

He stood there, frozen, mute. Sarah started to come to him, and he held up a hand, palm out.

“He attacked me.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “He followed me. I think he just killed Bucephalus.”

“Who attacked you? Who’s Buphacephalus?” Mr. Williams said.

“Bu
ce
phalus is his horse.” Sarah said. “Was it more than one
man
?” She widened her eyes at him, a kind of reverse wink.

“I’m calling the police,” Mr. Williams said. “Sam, get the shotguns.” Both left the room.

“It was
that
man,” Alex said. “The one with the creepy friends. He followed me here, and he had a knife.” His body unwound and the pain began in earnest. His back burned.

“How’d he find you?”

“He just came at me on the street, Sarah. I think he followed me across town.”