The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1) (25 page)

As I pulled her blood up into my mouth,
letting it slide down my throat, I relished the shot of adrenaline it gave my
heart, kicking it into beat. My muscles tensed with the power she gave me. When
I felt our exchange come to a close, when her body collapsed in my arms, I withdrew
my bite, but like a soft breeze upon a stone I felt Evelina’s hand resist my
egress. She held me in place, trying to prevent me from pulling out.

“Change me,” she whispered. “Make me like
you.”

It was dangerously irresistible—a Siren
luring me to the shoal. I hesitated before resisting her offer and she passed
out in my arms. I had not done the irreparable, but making her faint was not the
gentlest way to feed off her. She would be hungover for several days.

I basked in the rush of her blood, licking
the ichor from my lips. I held her in my arms despite my wanting to fly through
the streets, over the wall and into the forest, just to feel my renewed vigor.
I was grateful to wash away the blood of the other two—hers was unrivaled.
When she stirred, I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand.
Vincent.
Her small dreamlike voice was in
my head.
Vincent.
I waited for her to
open her eyes.
Vincent.
I returned
the smile she gave me. “Evelina,” I whispered. “How do you feel?”

She blinked her eyes and sat up, looking
around the room. “Everything is the same,” she said.

“You were not out for that long,” I said.

“But why is it the same?”

It occurred to me then that she thought I had
turned her vampire. I could not contain my laughter—the thought was
ridiculous. When she pulled away from me, I released her.

“I told you to change me.” Her petulant tone
had returned. “I told you,” she said.

I did not bother telling her I do not take
orders from anyone, especially humans. “I will never make you vampire,” I said.
“I would regret your blood too much.” My confession stung her, but I was honest
nevertheless.

“I can’t go on like this,” she said. “I can’t
be human.”

She ripped the neck of her gown as though it constricted
her and slapped the inside of her arms, bruising the skin overtop her veins.
When she began to wail, I got up and left her there. The boy rushed in with the
newborn, as I was leaving. He did not have the courage to ask me what I had
done.

13 December.
— The perimeter is holding, though several new swarms have formed at
the end of the field near the border of the woods on the other side. We have
reloaded the powder on the outside of the wall and the plants are growing
rapidly. They will be flowering soon.

No sign of Wallach, though I expect a return
visit. If he got in as easily as he seems to have done, he will be back for
more. I can only hope he will be alone again.

The men will stay put—even the traitor.
I decided not to kill him, to give him a reprieve. We have taken away his
weapons of course, and I have told them that I will not hesitate to chain them
up if need be. In the meantime, I use them as watchdogs, keeping them on the
parapet in shifts.

15 December.
— It has been two days since I visited the girl. I regret hurting
her, if in fact I have, but she forgets her place, and mine. Alessandra tells
me she is doing better, though she still refuses to eat. I have ordered the
vampire to cover both Evelina and her child with the remaining incense oil. We
need to manage the growing number of bloodless outside our walls even if that
means masking the scent of the most desirable humans in our camp. The men will
have to do without—we barely have enough left for the girl and her
newborn.

I did not want to leave, but we needed fresh
water. I checked the perimeter before I left. I had cleared my mind, silenced
my inner dialogue, so I could listen for his frequency. I heard the waves
splash up on the rock, but no vampire. I heard the buzzing of vultures in the
fields pecking at the howling bloodless, but no vampire. I heard the low voices
of the humans, but no vampire.

With a sackful of powder, I made my way over
the wall and back to the ravine. I could not ignore my heart’s pounding, working
to consume the girl’s blood. My heavy feet crushed the soil beneath my boots,
as I made my way past the bloodless. The powder kept them away, but I moved so
fast they could not catch me if they tried.

When I reached the stream, I sensed something
strange. I was not picking up a frequency, but a familiar feeling overcame me, as
I pictured the faces of my missing clan—Maxine, Elizabeth, Jean, Stephen,
Veronica … you, Byron, all came to me. I felt the pull of our union, our
commitment to each other, our sacrifice. Sadness nagged at me, as I filled the
canteens and lugged them back to the camp. I would not see those faces
again—immortal beings I thought I would know forever. I will—

…
— The date escapes me—I
am guessing days have passed since my last entry. So much has happened—I
do not know if I can record it all from memory but I am determined to try. My
future is changed—our history too.

When I came back from the ravine, I was
oblivious to any danger. I did not check on the girl, I went to the smithy and
began my journal entry. You cannot imagine how I regret not seeing her, not
tasting her again. But the past is irrelevant …

I remember thinking about all the things I
would have to do to prevent others from finding us. I recall his image, as I
wrote the words that were my last—
will
was the final word my pen scribed before her scream tore up the lane. I smelled
the smoke at once, and then I heard his frequency, his low grumble echoed
through the camp. I rushed out of the smithy and flew the five paces to her
hovel—but it was too late.

She was gone, the baby too, and Alessandra
was … was no more.

The clone’s body was slumped over in the
chair. He had slit her throat, almost severed her head from her neck. It had
fallen to the side and rested on her shoulder. The cut was clean, made by the
edge of a talon. She had not sensed his approach, the danger. The baby held her
attention when he yanked her head back and dug his claws into her throat. She
still had a smile on her face. She did not have time to say my name.

I had mere moments to put the pieces
together. The fire was spreading, the smoke was thick. From the window, I saw
the source of it. The plants were on fire, the inside of the walls in flames. I
launched myself up and over the rising smoke onto the parapet, where I could
see more. The flames wrapped around the walls, sparked by his accelerant. His
frequency was dim but he was still here.

“They went that way,” the boy said, as he
pointed in the direction of the field to the north.

I could not smell her, see her, feel
her—she had vanished.

The flames agitated the bloodless, drew them
to the smell of flesh inside. It was not long before they got past the walls,
past the flames, and into the camp. I had lost too much time and needed to
catch him before he disappeared. I followed the frequency along the wall to the
back where it was strongest—I knew he was there waiting for me. I faced
the sea and looked out, relieved no bloodless rose from the water below.

“Răzbunare.”
The hushed word came up to
meet me.
“R-r-r-r-evenge s-s-s-sweet,” he said.
I
looked down at the face of the famed impaler, the raging pyromaniac, as he
clung to the rock beneath the ledge of the parapet. Vlad smiled at me with his
metal grill, his iron fangs a permanent fixture of his vampiric face. “For-r-r-r
Jean,” he said.
“If-f-f
mine burn—yours-s-s too.”

He scowled, as he released his claws and fell
back toward the sea. His body pierced the water like a torpedo, speeding beneath
the waves and away from the cliff. Lost to the deep, he left me with his
damage. He had helped Wallach invade the camp, causing the distraction that allowed
the nomad to get the girl and the baby, and kill the clone. For
revenge—all for petty revenge. He left with nothing but an empty
satisfaction. But he would pay—revenge
is
sweet and primal and mine.

“No!” The boy’s voice reached me up on the
wall. “Vincent.” His screams peaked—he was frightened. The bloodless came
over the wall, burning in the flames but coming nevertheless. It was as if
something greater than the smell of the men drove them to us.

I rushed down to get the boy. Several
bloodless were closing in on him, backed into a corner as he was. He had a
garden hoe and tried to hold them off. I sliced through the three of them,
dropping them with my talons, and then threw the boy over my shoulder, carrying
him to the smithy where I stored the seeds. We would use the powder to get the
men out. “Have you seen the other two?” I asked.

“In the old bakery,” he said. “Last I saw.”

The two men had run into a hovel that had a second
level, trying for higher ground. I grabbed the bag of seeds, my journal, and
the boy. We crossed the street through the smoke. The air was thick and he
could barely breathe let alone walk. I flung him over my shoulder again. The
bloodless stayed clear of us with the seeds in my hand.

“Vincent.” Paul’s voice came at me through
the smoke. The men were in the bakery but burning bloodless had trapped them.
Beck was bit and Paul could barely stand. I will admit for a brief moment I
questioned my intention. I should have fled, left them there amidst the flames
and bloodless. I needed to track the girl—I needed to get out. “Vincent,”
Paul’s second cry appealed to my heroic side.

The boy grabbed a pitchfork off the wall and
ran toward the trapped men. He dug the prongs into the first bloodless and it
dropped easily, aflame as it was. I destroyed the others swiftly and freed the
men, pulling out the seeds and ordering them to make the powder. “We have to
get out,” I said.

“How?”

“Over the wall.”

“But the flames,” Helgado said. “We can’t.”

“Through the gate then,” I said.

I believed the powder would make the
bloodless disperse and we could walk right out the front door. The camp was a
cacophony of howls and fiery roars. I could not see the bloodless, as I made my
way through the lane with the men, tossing the powder around them. The market
square was a scene of chaos—blind chaos. The smoke was thick but I could
hear the frightened fowl cluck in their coop. I think it was at that moment
everything slowed to a halt and the scene turned black and white. The smoke
cleared and revealed the bloodless toppling over the walls as if aimlessly
throwing themselves inside. They were like ants fleeing a poisoned hill,
running away from something rather than to it.

Suddenly everything went mute and I was
oblivious to the men screaming at my side. The sound of the camp’s large doors
flying open deafened me, as the barrier exploded, the wood splintering beneath a
heavy blow. Only when the smoke escaped from the entrance, as if sucked through
the opening, did I see the cause.

“Du Maurier.” Rangu’s voice boomed with
wickedness, as I barely trusted the vision that came to my eyes. An insult to our
kind, he was a demonic aberration worse than Scylla or Demogorgon—hideous,
gargantuan, transformed into something so unnatural I have yet to recover my
senses. I cannot record the atrocity on these pages—but his guttural
chuckle will haunt me always. “Vin-n-n-n-ncent-t-t-t-t-t!”

His appearance was not even the worst of it,
for greater misery flanked him—my kin—Stephen and Veronica. Once
lithe, beautiful, they were now transformed like Maxine into beaked, twisted,
bulging-eyed creatures. Veronica stepped forward first, extending her hand. She
made a trill sound that stung my ears and sounded like
join us-s-s-s-s-s
.

“I-I-I …” I stuttered, trying to reason with
her but was barely able to speak. Stephen stepped forward, his blood-red eyes
looking through me. His hair was disheveled with missing clumps and what looked
like brain matter caught in its strands. He had obviously been bludgeoned in
the head.

When Veronica came forward, I could not move,
the horror of them both was too much. Stephen struck at me first, knocking me
back thirty feet. The men had already fled and the bulk of the powder was gone,
but it did not matter since it did not affect the bloodless vampires. Stephen came
at me again, throwing his whole body on top of me. The force was violent, the
momentum powerful. He pressed his face up against mine and I tried to see him
as he once was, but could not. He was no longer one of mine. Rage filled me,
sadness inspired me, and I reached for the nearest thing. When he had knocked
me over, we toppled the water cart and one of its wheels was next to me. I
grabbed it, ripping it from the axel, and slung it over his head. I threaded
him between two spokes, crushing his malleable skull with the steel. When I got
the wheel around his neck, I used my talons to sever his head from his body.

Veronica came forward next, her shrill scream
deafening me again. She reached for her beloved’s body and yanked it off me,
and then lunged for his severed head and attempted to place it back on his neck.
I thought I was in a dream. She slammed the head down onto its body until it
finally held itself and was newly fused together—Stephen was reborn. I
did not have time to rise, for Rangu’s bellow came from somewhere above me, and
when I looked up, he hovered over me, black tar seething from his grin. “Rmmmph!”