To Curse the Darkness (14 page)

“Start from the beginning,” Julie prompted. “Tell him how it happened.”

Conrad glanced furtively at her. “How what happened?”

“Tell him how you were turned.”

“
Dios mio
.” Fear seized Damian's chest in an icy fist. There were certain subjects Conrad had always refused to talk about—for very good reasons, or so Damian had had been given to understand. If Conrad had somehow decided it was time to lift that ban, then perhaps Damian needed to reassess the threat level. Perhaps things were not ‘ten times' worse than before. Perhaps they were a hundred times worse. Or even a thousand. And for Julie to be so cavalier about the matter, to push Conrad to speak when anyone could see he didn't want to…that somehow seemed even worse. “
Chica
! Why are you doing this?”

“I was a soldier,” Conrad said. The words came slowly, as though they were being pulled from him by some external force.

No, not pulled, Damian thought suddenly. Extracted. Painfully. One by one. Like teeth. Or perhaps like fingernails. He shuddered as thoughts of tortures past floated to the surface of his mind. Not that he'd personally been subjected to many such things, but there had always been rumors.

“My company was returning home after…after some campaign or other, I forget now which one it was. I can no longer remember with whom we were fighting or over what. It hardly matters, though I'm sure it must have seemed very important at the time. We were less than a day away—I do recall that part. It's one of the few clear memories I have from that time. I remember the sun shining through the green leaves of the trees that lined that familiar road, the joy that swelled within my heart as I contemplated seeing my home and my family again. And then…oh, the despair as joy turned to ash and the hope of ever reaching home again was ripped from out our grasp.”

“What happened?” Damian asked hesitantly, not certain he even wanted to know.

Conrad shrugged. “We were waylaid by vampires—yes, even during the daylight hours when most of our kind prefer to be indoors. They did not need to be particularly strong, you see, for the weapons they wielded had been tipped in a sort of poison. The Elixir they called it—although I, of course, did not learn its name until much later. It sounds a pleasant sort of substance, does it not? I assure you, it was anything but that. The name is far too gentle for anything so…so hellishly potent.”

Damian nodded. “I remember. You mentioned something about it after you were captured last year.”

“Indeed.” Conrad smiled grimly. “If you recall, I explained then that it was created to be used on vampires, even
Invitus
. So you can imagine the devastating effects it had on humans. We never stood a chance.” He shrugged and then continued, “When the effects wore off, we found ourselves chained in the dungeons of the
Hera Noctis
, as my mistress had styled herself. The Queen of the Night—another overly romantic name that failed to hint at the horror within. Over the next few days we were repeatedly bled while my would-be sire took her time deciding which of us she favored: who she would keep as slaves, who would be used as fodder.” He broke off, laughing harshly. “I was one of the lucky ones, or so I was told. Apparently the flavor of my blood met with her approval.”

“
Querido
, stop,” Damian protested. “I don't need to hear about this.”

“Yes, you do,” Julie snapped. “Stop interrupting. Can't you see how hard this is for him? Just let him speak.” There were tears in her eyes as she prodded Conrad once again. “Go on, Grandfather. Tell us more.”

Grandfather
. The name brought back so many memories—most of them happy, a few bittersweet. Damian felt the sting of tears in his own eyes as he recalled the look of surprise on Conrad's face the night Damian first suggested the twins call him that.

Was there a reason why Julie was using it now? Or was it just a habit retained from childhood?

Conrad's voice had sunk to a whisper. Damian had to practically strain his ears to hear him. “I was more dead than alive by the time she reached her decision. When she offered me the choice between life and death, I had no
real
idea what it was I was agreeing to. I knew only that I wanted to live.” He shook his head. “Had I known then what I was actually choosing, had I known even a fraction of what that choice would entail, I think I would have begged for death instead. I hope I would have.” Conrad groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Maybe I wouldn't have either. Maybe I deserve everything that's come with it.”

“Why are you doing this?” Damian demanded, glaring furiously at Julie.

“Because it's important that you know.”

“Is it? Why? I've gone centuries without hearing these details. I fail to see why it should suddenly have become important now.”

“Well, if you'd just be quiet and listen for a moment, maybe you'd understand! I'm not doing this for my own enjoyment, you know.”

“Do you know how
Invitus
are made?” Conrad interrupted their argument to ask.

He had raised his head. The expression on his face was bleak and bitter, but it was his words that left Damian shocked almost speechless. He stared at him in alarm. “What did you say?”

“No, of course you do not,” Conrad continued, answering his own question. “No one does anymore. And do you know
why
that is? It's because of me; that was all my doing. I was the one who decided that no one should know. I've spent centuries killing or threatening those who would share the knowledge, bullying people into burying the information. I told myself it was so that no one else would ever be forced to endure what I and every other
Invitus
have been through. But there was more to it than that. I didn't want anyone to know about the degradation we had suffered, the depths to which we were forced to sink. The truth about what we'd become.” His expression grim, he gazed hopelessly at Damian. “I didn't want
you
to despise me.”

“
Querido
…”

Conrad shrugged. “It doesn't matter, I suppose. In fact it's actually quite comical. As a result of my efforts, everyone thinks it must be a most complicated process, when in truth it's very simple. So simple, in fact, that I don't doubt the first
Invitus
were created completely by accident, or perhaps as the result of random cruelty. Someone liked the results and decided to duplicate them.”

Julie gave his shoulder a small nudge. “Go on. We're listening.”

“After you are turned, after that initial feeding—the one that solidifies the changes so that there can be no going back—you are starved. Repeatedly. Prolongedly. Until the beast emerges, your venom turns caustic, your soul shrivels and rots and you finally descend into madness.”

He paused then, and reached for Julie's hand. He looked searchingly at her for a long, breathless moment before once again fixing Damian with a haunted gaze. “That was one of my greatest fears when the twins were babies, that they'd be damaged through our mishandling of them, that in our ignorance we might unwittingly turn them into monsters.”

“I remember now,” Damian blurted as a stray memory surfaced. “You said something very like that—more than once, I think. At the time had no idea what you meant. It puzzled me that you should worry so.”

Conrad shrugged. “Did I say that? I no longer recall. All I know is that every growth spurt left me terrified. For, you understand, they would not have become just ordinary monsters. They'd have been monsters with the potential for unlimited power. How could I trust myself to raise them, to train them, to teach them not to kill? How could I trust that they would not kill
you
in the course of a childish tantrum? It was unconscionable that I should allow that to occur. You were already taking such a chance, risking so much on my behalf. And had they survived into adulthood, what then? Could I ever have acknowledged them—two new
Invitus
of my own making? No, they'd have been marked for death immediately. We'd have had to keep them hidden forever, isolated, alone. What kind of life would we be giving them? Death would be so much kinder.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Then later, when Marc refused to eat, when you conspired with him in his goal to starve himself—I thought for certain I would lose my mind at that point.”

“I…” Damian began and quickly shut his mouth again.
I did no such thing
. That's what he wanted to say. But he had, hadn't he, in a way? “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“No,” Conrad agreed. “As I said, no one did. My fault. I should have realized sooner how dangerous secrets can be.”

“Why didn't you tell me? I can understand you keeping it from everyone else but didn't I deserve to be kept informed? At the very least it would have helped me to deal with Marc in a way that would not have caused you so much distress.”

“How could I tell you?” Conrad dropped his gaze. “Were you not listening? I did not want you to know. I'd hoped you'd never find out, that you'd never learn what I'd done, how I'd—”

“What have you done that I should revile you for? I've no doubt you were treated shamefully, but surely you cannot fault yourself for that.”

“Tell him the rest,” Julie urged quietly, giving Conrad's hand a quick squeeze. “There's more to it than just not eating, isn't there?”

“There's… Yes, there's a little bit more to it than that.”

“Tell him what happens next. After you've been starved.”

Damian had been regarding them both uneasily. Now he noted the shudder that passed through Conrad's frame. He watched as Julie surreptitiously wiped tears from her eyes. Nothing in their behavior gave him any reason at all to believe he'd heard the worst.

Conrad shrugged. “Well, eventually you're fed, of course, since otherwise you'd die—which, even by then, believe me, you'd have counted as a blessing. Each time your hunger reaches the point where you're driven to insanity, when your mind is gone and you are no longer in control of your actions, you are allowed a…a small meal, what would be referred to nowadays as a snack, I suppose, just enough to keep you from expiring. Live food only, barely enough to blunt the knife edge of your hunger, and always in ways intended to further compromise your soul.

“My first few meals, for example, were made up of those from my company who had not been among the ‘lucky' few chosen to receive a new life. Or so I was told at the time. It's possible that some of them, perhaps, were simply nobler than the rest of us and had chosen death before dishonor. I don't know which would be worse, for their deaths were neither quick nor pleasant.

“They'd been bled too, of course, during the course of their captivity, so that their bodies held very little in the way of nourishment. One at a time they were locked with me inside my cell. I tried to resist the urge to kill them, but the beast cared about nothing but its own survival. Each time, when the madness cleared and I returned to myself, I was faced with the evidence of what I'd done, of whom—or rather, what—I'd become.”

“
Querido
…”

“More often than not I'd find myself still on the brink of starvation, tearing into a body that had been gutted, dismembered, ripped to pieces. These were men who'd once fought beside me, friends and comrades whom I'd trusted with my life—and who'd trusted me in return. Ah, but to the beast they were nothing but fodder. So it…
we
…I…killed them all to save ourselves.”

“That's enough now,” Damian said—or tried to say. His voice was but a whisper, but even that barely made it past his lips. That single word—
we
—and the savage undertone with which it was spoken—frightened him like nothing else Conrad had said up until now.

He cast a worried glance at Julie. His fingers itched with the need to snatch her from Conrad's side—to get her out of his reach, out of harm's way. Perhaps she read his thoughts, for she shot him a warning glance and shook her head.

After a moment, Conrad continued. “Eventually, of course, I'd gorged my way through the lot of them. New victims had to be found. I still tried to resist by every means I could think of, but my mistress would not allow it. More than once, I was punished for my stubbornness, for my insubordination. I was made to endure longer periods of starvation, and given smaller rations. Babies. Young children. It horrifies me to think it—and at the time, of course, I had no idea—but I believe now that she did not just stumble upon them. That many children could hardly have been wandering about all alone in the woods, after all. No, she must have purposely sought out the most innocent of victims—and all because of me. Because of my stubbornness, my refusal to accept what I'd become. Sometimes their mothers were made to watch. Sometimes I was allowed to eat them too. But always afterward, as a sort of reward, I suppose.”

“How long…?” Damian asked, but his voice broke on the question. He had to take a deep breath before continuing, “How long did this go on? How long were you forced to live in this manner?”

Conrad, sunk in his memories, appeared not to have noticed the pause. “How long?” he repeated in a voice that seemed eerily detached and altogether too conversational in tone, given the subject matter. “I don't really know. Time lost all meaning in that hellish place. One decade simply bled into the next without cessation. Perhaps a couple of centuries?”

“Centuries?” Damian repeated in disbelief, earning himself another sharp look from Julie.

Conrad shrugged. “More or less. It wasn't always like that, of course. It did eventually occur to me that it was better to kill my victims quickly, while I was still in control of myself, rather than allow them to linger. A quick death, and one that was relatively painless, that was the one small mercy I could offer them. And I did find some peace in that. Mostly, however, I lived for those moments when I was allowed into the arena to fight against other vampires. My goal was to kill as many of my kind as I could, before I myself was killed. I thought of it as ‘evening the score' a little,” he said on a laugh. “As though Justice's scales could ever be balanced on that account.”