Vintage Soul (34 page)

When a match was struck, and a candle lit, the light was bright enough in that absolute darkness that he had to blink his eyes to clear his sight of the strobing video echo of the flash.
 
The room took on boundaries and the interior assumed shapes and shadows.
 
He saw the others standing nearby, and in the center of the room a long, ornate bench.
 
It was draped with cloth that he could not make out the colors or designs of, and piled with pillows.

The air was scented.
 
There were no braziers; it wasn't incense.
 
Bowls of herbs and spices lined shelves on the walls.
 
Fresh flowers were strewn about – lilies, Donovan thought, though he only felt them as his feet broke the stems and trampled the blossoms.
 
The scent was of lilies and roses – and something else.

There was a stench underlying it all, a rotten, sickening tang of decay that even the multitude of flowers couldn't overpower.
 
Somehow the sweetness of the blossoms mixed with that horrible stench was worse than it would have been on its own.
 
Donovan tried not to breathe too heavily. He stepped forward to stand beside the table.
 
Vein stepped up opposite him.

Kali stood at the foot of the table, furthest from the others.
 
Johndrow assumed a position of authority at the head.
 
Someone further back in the shadows lit a second candle, and Donovan was able to make out more details.
 
Vanessa's remains had been laid out carefully on the pillows.
 
With great caution she'd been positioned with her hands across her breasts in a death pose.
 
The skin, scarecrow sticks that had been her legs lay limp and misshapen.
 
The silence held for what seemed an eternity, and then Johndrow spoke.

“I have no words sufficient to thank you for what you have done,” he said at last.
 
“What was taken from me – from us,” he gestured briefly at Vein, and the others who stood further from the table, “was irreplaceable.
 
A life as long as mine is subject to many horrors, as well as joys.
 
The horrors can last an eternity, and the joys can be extremely far between.”

Donovan listened politely.
 
He didn't require a speech; the two of them knew what had been accomplished, and somehow, with the rotting bones and flesh of the one he'd been sent to save lying in front of him it all rang hollow and empty.

“It is time,” he said softly.

Johndrow nodded.
 
Someone stepped up behind him and placed two objects in his hand, then withdrew.
 
Johndrow held them, glancing first at one, and then at the other.
 
Donovan thought the vampire smiled, but in the dim light it was very difficult to tell.
 
There was a white flash of fangs.

He held out his hand, and Johndrow held out the first object that he'd been given.
 
It was the vial Asmodeus had snatched from the circle; the vial that contained the essence of what had once been Vanessa.
 
Donovan took it gently from the old vampire's hand, glanced at the second object Johndrow held, and frowned.
  
He needed nothing more than the blood for the ritual.

“I'll explain this in a few moments,” Johndrow said.
 
“Please, continue.”

Donovan put his questions aside and cleared his mind.
 
His presence wasn't strictly necessary for this ceremony.
 
Any of Stine's people, or possibly even Johndrow himself could have met the tenets of the simple ritual.
 
It was an honor, he knew, something that most mortals would never experience.
 
He did not fool himself into believing this made him anything special in the eyes of the undead.
  
They had their own ways, and their own society, and he was not a part of it – could not be a part of it without experiencing death and dark rebirth, but he was respected.
 
It was a memory to add to his long string of adventures, a moment to share over firelight in years to come.
 
It was also a sign of trust.

He raised the vial before him and lowered his head.
 
He turned to where Kali stood at the foot of the table, the South, and spoke the proper invocation, calling on elemental spirits and archangels alike to guard the proceedings.
 
He turned to Vein, repeated this action, and did so again by turning fully away from the table.
 
At the end, he turned to the North, and to Johndrow.
 
He spoke clearly and closed the protective circle about them.
 
The room rippled with – something.
 
It was a sensation slightly different from any in his experience, but he didn't dwell on it.
 
In this place, other powers were not far removed.
 
The circle was complete, and if such a thing was possible, they were safe within that ethereal boundary.

“I must ask you all,” he said softly, “not to move.
 
Some of you are standing within, and some of you without, the circle I have drawn.
 
Do not move, or that circle might be broken.”

There was no sound.
 
No one spoke in assent, but neither did they move.
 
Donovan hesitated only for a moment, and then turned back to Vanessa's remains.
 
He slid his hand down under the pillow directly beneath her head and lifted gently.
 
He moved very slowly and deliberately.
 
If he jerked, or stumbled, it could be disastrous.

When he held her head at an angle above the table, he turned to Johndrow and held out the vial.
 
Without a word, the old vampire unscrewed the top.
 
Donovan brought the open vial to the cracked, dried remnant of Vanessa's lips.
 
He whispered softly.
 
What he recited was a very ancient version of the last rites, but the words were spoken in reverse.
 
He'd memorized the incantation long years in the past, and reciting them brought a stream of images and memories to haunt his thoughts as his voice, soft yet firm, carried through the small chamber.

At first, nothing happened.
 
The blood ran down the parched, ruined throat and they heard it trickling and dripping as it wound it's way in and through, escaping through torn skin and staining yellowed, ancient bone a dark, shadowy hue in the dim light.
 
Donovan paid no attention to the affect of the liquid, but concentrated on the words.
 
There were not many, and he spoke them clearly.
 
When the last syllable fell away to silence, he closed his eyes and waited.

Something moved in his hands.
 
It writhed and slid but he ignored the sensation.
 
A series of wet popping sounds echoed through the room, and a sound very like the tearing of rotten fabric followed.
 
The weight he held shifted and grew, but still he did not open his eyes.
 
The motion in and around his fingers stopped, and he felt something warm and silky.
 
The weight lessened, and then lifted away from him completely.
 
Still he held his silence, and did not open his eyes.

When soft fingers stroked his chin, he smiled, and when they slid down and he felt sharp nails tracing the pulsing vein in his throat, he finally opened his eyes.

She sat upright on the table, cradled in the pillows.
 
The stench had left the air, as if drawn from the room by a giant vacuum.
 
Her lips parted, as if she was going to speak, and Donovan reached out to place a finger across them, silencing her.

Pulling back very slightly, he turned, this time facing first to the North.
 
He caught Johndrow's fierce, triumphant smile, but did not hesitate to enjoy it.
 
He turned away from the table, and then across to Vein, whose expression was unreadable.
 
He turned to the foot of the table last, released the ward, and returned his gaze to Vanessa's.

“It is safe now,” he said softly.
 
“You are safe.
 
Welcome back.”

She stared at him for a moment, holding her silence, and then glanced around the room at the others.
 
Obviously the shadows that hampered Donovan's sight held no such power over hers.
 
She stretched then, like a beautiful, silky cat.
 
Her clothing had fallen away when she was removed from Ezzel's chains, and she luxuriated, pale, naked, and very much alive.

“Donovan DeChance,” she said.
 
“It has been a long time since I last saw you.
 
My memory is hazy, but since you are here, I assume it was you who freed me?”

Donovan nodded slowly.
 
He was on new ground here.
 
She was very old, very powerful, and after her ordeal, no doubt ravenously hungry for fresh blood.
 
The others would do what they could, he thought, none of them wanted the type of battle that might ensue if she attacked him, but his fears were unwarranted.

A small dark woman appeared from the shadows.
 
She stepped timidly to the table, and with delicate grace she pulled back her long, dark hair from her shoulder and offered her throat.
 
Vanessa watched her carefully.
 
Her eyes glinted, and her limbs tensed, but she managed to control herself.
 
She glanced at Donovan, almost an apology, then slid closer to the woman and leaned in.
 
There was a gasp – pain?
 
Surprise?
 
The woman's eyes rolled slightly and her mouth worked.
 
Vanessa held her gently, but firmly.
 
In a moment, with a shudder of effort, she pulled back. The woman stumbled slightly, but Donovan caught her arm.
 
Kali stepped to her side and applied a soft cloth to the punctures in the woman's neck and led her away.

Donovan stood, riveted.
 
The site of Vanessa feeding jolted him.
 
There was passion in the act, a sensual quality he'd never expected.
 
The woman had groaned in – what?
 
Desire?
 
Pleasure?
 
She had offered herself freely, and been spared.

“Don't look so shocked,” Vanessa said, laughing softly.
 
“A girl's got to keep up her strength.”

Everyone but Donovan laughed at this.
 
Johndrow, unable to control himself, stepped forward and swept Vanessa into his arms.
 
He lifted her naked body unceremoniously from the table and held her easily, gazing at her face as if he could drink her in and hold her there.
 
He laughed, kissed her, and lowered her to her feet.
 
She slid down his body, pressed close, and laughed gaily.
 
Vein stepped around the table and slipped a robe over Vanessa's shoulders.
 
She thanked him with a nod.

Johndrow turned to Donovan and held out his hand.
 
Donovan shook it and met the vampire's gaze.

“Thank you,” Johndrow said.
 
“You brought her back to me.
 
I believed that she was lost forever.
 
We could not have done this without your help.”

Donovan smiled.

“It was my pleasure.”
 
He turned to Vanessa, and bowed slightly.
 
“I had almost forgotten how lovely you are,” he said.
 
“It would have been a shame, had the world lost you a second time.”

She laughed and hugged him impulsively.
 
As she pulled back, she stumbled a little, and Johndrow caught her.

“You aren't up to your full strength, yet,” he said.
 
“We should get you some rest, and you must feed again.”

She shook off the momentary weakness, but nodded.
 
“You are right, of course.
 
But I want to know what happened.
 
I remember, up to a point, and then there is nothing but a great darkness.”

“There will be time for stories soon enough,” Johndrow replied.
 
“For now, Mr. DeChance needs his rest, as well.”

“I'll be sleeping for a week,” Donovan said.
 
“I'll be happy to tell the entire story that I know soon.”

He started to turn away, but Johndrow stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

“Wait,” he said.
 
“I will arrange the payment for your services through more usual channels,” he said, “But there is one thing more that I'd like to offer.”

He turned to Vanessa.
 
“I wish you could have been consulted on this, but of course it was not possible.
 
I hope you'll agree that it's appropriate…”