Zen and the Art of Vampires (8 page)

“Oh, how awful,” I said, contrite at acting so rudely to a man who was mourning the loss of a loved one. “Poor man. I had no idea. . . . I'm so sorry.”

“It is no excuse for Kristoff scaring you, but it does, I hope, explain something about his mental state,” he said, opening the door, which he'd managed to get unlocked. He flicked on a tiny penlight, flashing it around the room. “Let us hope we find something here to explain the unusual situation you say has clasped you in its grip.”

We made a fast search of the bookshop, but there wasn't much to be found. Alec went through the papers stuffed willy-nilly into the drawers of an old rolltop desk that served as the owner's filing cabinet, while I examined each book on the rack where I'd nabbed my two books, flipping through the remainder to see if anything had been tucked inside any of them.

Twenty-five minutes later we returned to the car to find Kristoff leaning against its side, his arms crossed, his expression hard but relatively neutral. He was silent as we approached.

“There was nothing,” Alec admitted with defeat. “But I do not discount what Pia has told us. I think we should investigate the matter further.”

Kristoff came close to rolling his eyes, I could tell. “We have wasted enough time, Alec. We have few enough hours before dawn to reach the council as it is—”

Alec interrupted him, speaking in German.

I gnawed on my lower lip for a moment as the two men argued. I had a decision of my own to make—did I want to stick around and try to make them see reason, or did I want to get far, far away from the scary Kristoff? There was nothing to guarantee that the next time he felt like throttling me, he would stop before actually killing me.

Unbidden, my eyes went to Alec. Although Kristoff had more of a stark, visceral physical appeal, Alec was certainly no slouch in the looks department. If anything, he could be thought the better-looking, since his expression was warmer and friendlier.

I thought back to the twenty-five minutes we'd spent together in the musty darkness of the bookshop. Twice he'd brushed against me as we searched, and once, as he leaned over to fetch a scrap of paper, his arm pressed against my breast. He'd apologized and moved away, but I could still feel the sensation.

My fingertips touched my neck. Then again, I could still feel the steely grip of Kristoff's fingers.

I shook my head sadly. Even if there was a spark of interest in Alec to be breathed to life, the whole situation had a bad feeling about it. The sane thing, my down-to-earth brain pointed out, would be to leave now and not look back.

I did just that, not stopping to say anything, just spinning around and racing down the alley to the lighted square filled with people who would keep me safe. There was a shout that followed me, but I made it to the crowd without being stopped, breathing a sigh of relief that had far too much regret in it to make me happy. “Second time lucky, I guess,” I said to myself as I squirmed my way through the pulsing crowd to its center.

“Madam! Madam, please, you wait!”

A slight tug at the back of my shirt had me looking over my shoulder. The tiny Frenchwoman whom I'd bumped into earlier was squeezing her way between couples, a worried look on her face.

“It is you; oh, I am so glad. I must speak to you. It is very important.”

I was so relieved to see her I could have whooped. “Likewise! But maybe we should get out of here. I can barely hear you over the music.”

“What?”

I bent toward her and repeated the suggestion. She nodded and pointed to the café where I'd sent the ghosts. It was still open, serving the late-night crowd. I hesitated a moment, not wanting to remain out in the open where Alec and Kristoff could find me, but at the same time not wanting to face the ghosts when I was no closer to helping them. In the end, I chose the latter as the least worrisome.

As I entered the café, I saw Karl and Marta in the corner, huddled together. They stood at the sight of me, but I waved them back and squeezed myself into a chair at a tiny table. The sailor ghost was nowhere to be seen.

“Coffee?” I asked the woman as she pulled out a mirror and checked her reflection.

“
Non.
Wine!”

“I like how you think,” I said, smiling, and asked the waiter for two glasses of the house white wine.

“You must think I am very forward, but I assure you, it is most important that I speak to you.”

“As a matter of fact, I was looking for you, too.”

“You were?” she interrupted, taking the glass of wine the waiter offered. She took a small sip of it. “But you do not know why I sought you?”

“Oh, I think I do,” I said, smiling as I held up a copy of the Regency paperback. “Dancing people.”

She sagged in relief, reaching for it. “You did find it. I thought that you must have when I asked the book man and he said that an English lady with curly blond hair had just bought it.”

“You have no idea of the evening I've had because of that thing,” I said, dropping it into her hand. “I don't think you know just quite what you're getting into, though. I assume you're the Zorya?”

Her eyes widened. “You are of the light?”

“No.” I shook my head. “But I had an introduction to the folks around here who subscribe to that religion, and I feel it only right to warn you about them.”

“Warn me?” She surprised me by laughing. “Warn me about the Brotherhood of the Blessed Light?”

“They're the Ilargi, aren't they?”

Her smile faded. “No. Not anymore. It has been a millennium since that name was applied to us. We prefer the name Brotherhood.”

“Then who, exactly,
are
the Ilargi? Every time I mention the name people start looking wary or scared.”

She toyed with the stem of her glass for a few moments, her gaze avoiding mine. “The Ilargi were once brothers to my people. They were not of the light, but they served a purpose nonetheless. But they were corrupted and driven out, and now there are only a handful left. They have become tainted, you understand. They eat souls.”

“That sounds pretty nasty,” I said, the hairs on my arms standing on end. “No wonder everyone gets a bit weird when they're mentioned.”

“My people are trying to track down those Ilargi who remain, but it is not easy. They are cunning, you know? And they hide in the mundane world. But the Brotherhood is strong, so they pose us no threat.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” I said slowly, picking my words with care so as to avoid insulting her. “I just know that the people I met tonight seemed to be under the impression that I was you, and that I was going to marry an Icelander named Mattias.”

“The sacristan?” Her smile was back, albeit with a wry cast. “I have not met him, but yes, we are to marry. It was supposed to be tonight, but”—she glanced at her watch—“it is too late now. The ceremony will have to take place tomorrow instead. Oh, but here I am talking and talking and I have not even introduced myself. I am Anniki. You are . . . ?”

“Pia Thomason. And can I just say how glad I am that you found me? If I had to explain to any more people tonight that I'm not the Zorya, I think I'd probably need locking up in a padded room. The ghosts will be thrilled to see you, too, although one of them is apparently wandering around looking for rum. I understand they need help going somewhere.”

“Spirits? You have seen some? Ah, but that is to be expected.” She set down her glass of wine, her smile fading. “It is one of the jobs of a Zorya, you understand. We shine the light that illuminates the path of the dead.”

“So I gathered. Better you than me, although I have to say that Karl and Marta seem like nice enough people. Er . . . ghosts. But still, I'm sure they'll be delighted to know you can help them.”

“It is the job of the Brotherhood. I will be the light the lost ones seek,” she said simply.

I sipped my wine. “This is probably out of line for me to ask, but don't you find those Brotherhood people a little too . . . well, intense, for lack of a better word?”

She frowned a little frown. “Intense? What do you know of the Brotherhood?”

I shook my head. “Not much really, nothing other than some connection to northern lights and the moon.”

“The light has its power in the moon,” she said in all seriousness. “But I see it is not that which disturbs you most. You were
afraid
of the Brotherhood?”

“Not afraid, just a little uncomfortable,” I hedged, not mentioning how Kristoff had threatened me.

She was silent for a moment, sipping her wine before she leaned forward. “You are mundane.”

I was a bit taken aback by the comment. Did she just insult me?

“You are not of our world, but you have kind eyes, and you have seen much tonight that most people will never know exists. I will tell you about the Brotherhood so that you will understand why they are intense. There is darkness in the world. You have felt it, have you not?”

“You mean like terrorists and such?” I asked, confused.

“No, that is part of the mundane world. I speak of true darkness—Dark Ones, they are called, although they are better known as vampires.”

“Vampires!” My urge to laugh died with a glance at her serious expression. Clearly she believed what she was saying. . . . That or she was a very good actress going to a whole lot of trouble to pull my leg.

“Yes. They do not like that term because people fear vampires, and they wish for the world to view them as victims, rather than as the evil murderers they are, but you must not let yourself be fooled. They are born of darkness, and carry it within them, spreading their evil like a disease. You know that they have no souls?”

I blinked a couple of times and shook my head.

“It is so. They are born without them, damned just as demons are damned, only they do not bear the stench of Abaddon on them so noticeably.”

“Abaddon being . . . hell?” I guessed.

“More or less, yes. The vampires have existed since the beginning of man's time, hoping to dominate them, to infect them with their darkness until all the light is gone from the world. The Brotherhood seeks to destroy them, to wipe out their evil, to cleanse the world of the poison that they would use upon innocent people.”

“Good god,” I said, seeing the truth shining in her eyes. “How can this have been going on and no one in the—what did you call it? mundane world—knew it existed?”

“The Dark Ones are very clever,” she said, sitting back. “They hide themselves with mortalkind, blending in so that their evil is not discovered until it is too late. But the children of the light have existed through the ages to find them, to cleanse them of their darkness.”

“Wow,” I said. “I'm just . . . I guess I'm flabbergasted that this has been going on around me and I had no idea.
Vampires!
We're talking about the same thing, right? Wait—are we talking about the sexy Frank Langella type of vampires who seduce women, or the Gary Oldman-scary bun-head guys who kill people?”

Anniki frowned. “I do not know of this scary bun-head people you speak of, but I assure you, there is nothing romantic about the Dark Ones. They are heartless, soulless fiends who want only their own domination over the mortal world. And they are nearly impossible to kill.”

“Really? So the old stake through the heart is just a fallacy?” I asked, fascinated despite the horrible subject matter.

“It would slow one down considerably, yes, but not necessarily kill him unless it was done using the power of the light.”

“Sunlight?” I asked, thinking back to the stash of
Buffy
and
Angel
DVDs that sat next to my TV.

“They burn much easier than mortals, but it would take a long time exposed to sunlight to do more than cause them discomfort. They do not burn up in a flash as seen in movies.”

“Huh. What do you know about that. Holy water?”

She shook her head. “The Brotherhood has over the centuries worked out the best ways to destroy their evil. But we are not callous, heartless killers as they are—we call upon the light to cleanse the Dark Ones, to purify them in a ritual that allows them redemption rather than damnation.”

“Holy Jehoshaphat,” I said, shivering a little. I rubbed my goose-bumpy arms. “I had no idea. No wonder the Brotherhood folk were so grimly determined. Where exactly do you fit in with all of this?”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “My sister Sara . . . she was the last Zorya. She . . . she was killed two weeks ago, probably by a Dark One. They found her with . . .”

She slumped against the wall, digging through her bag for a tissue.

“I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Please don't distress yourself by telling me any more,” I said, feeling horribly gauche.

“No, it is all right. Sara would have wanted people to know how bravely she gave her life to the cause of the light.” She gave a harsh little laugh. “Some people call us reapers, you know. Reapers. As if that is all we do.”

“I'm sorry,” I said again, not knowing what else I could say.

She dabbed at her nose and eyes and made an effort to gather her control. “When I heard that Sara had been killed, I was destroyed, you know? But then the Zenith told me that I was to take her place.”

“The who?”

“Zenith. It is a title, the name of the person who heads our order. Since I was not with Sara when she died, I could not take the stone from her. The Zenith told me to pick it up here before I went to marry the sacristan, but me, I am horrible with the directions, and I lost the information where to find the stone. But now you have found it for me, so I can take up the battle where Sara left it.”