Cin Craven - Wages of Sin Part 18

"Well," the old man, Mr. Pendergra.s.s, said, "at least we know she's kept her magic."

Fiona cried, "What's happened to her?"

Michael came to me and stretched out his hand. Such a familiar gesture. "Come, Cin, you must have some blood."

"Yes," I said in small, rather frightened voice and took his hand. He led me away from the bed, one hand holding mine, the other arm wrapped around my shoulders. I looked down as I heard the rustle of fabric around me. They had dressed me in my good funeral dress, the black lace covering the dove gray silk. The irony was not lost on me.

Michael stopped at the far end of the long, rectangular-shaped room. A small figure sat in a ladder-backed chair. It was a boy. I took a step back. Someone put their hand in the small of my back and gave me a little push.

"Go on," said a deep, gravelly voice behind me, "he's been bespelled. He won't feel a thing. Take just a bit to get you oriented and then we'll go out."

"I don't like this," came Mrs. Mackenzie's disapproving voice.

"Hush, woman," said the voice behind me, Devlin, and he pushed me gently forward again.

I took a few steps and the child turned his empty eyes to me. It was the street urchin who had held Missy for me the first day I had come to Mr. Pendergra.s.s for help. I stumbled backwards.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"You must feed," Devlin said and grabbed my arm.

"No!" I shouted and shoved at him. He had forgotten, in that small moment, that I wasn't human anymore and my new strength caught him off guard. He stumbled and I ran for the door. Michael reached for me but I side stepped around him and plunged through the open doorway. I slammed the door as I pa.s.sed through it and then stopped and turned.

"Lock," I said, pus.h.i.+ng my will into the heavy door. I could hear them pounding on it as I fled down the stairs. It wouldn't hold them for long.I realized when I reached the landing that I had been upstairs above Mr. Pendergra.s.s's shop. I pushed open the rear door of the shop, ran into the alley and kept running, blind to where I was going, blind to everything except the need to get away. It felt as if a stranger had taken over my body, as if the skin I was in wasn't my own anymore. I needed some s.p.a.ce to think and breathe and feel again.

I expected to tire soon but I didn't. It felt as if I could run forever. After awhile I realized that nothing looked familiar anymore. I was on a small, dark street, taverns and bawdy houses lining the avenue. I stopped and put my hands against the nearest wall, letting my head hang down as I stood there and breathed.

What had I done? What had I become? Who were they to offer up some poor, defenseless child as a captive snack for me? I shook my head. Turning, I leaned my back against the wall and looked at the sky. There were no stars, there rarely ever were in London.

"Hey now, wot we got 'ere?" said a disembodied voice.

A man walked out of the shadows, his clothing dirty and tattered over his pot belly. His head was bald and a full, rather impressive red beard covered his face.

"Wot's a foine lady like you doin' out 'ere? Slummin'?" he said, grabbing his crotch and adjusting himself obscenely. "Want a taste of ol' Ned?"

"You have got to be joking ," I said, more to myself than to him.

My first instinct was to scream and run, but I didn't. If I knew nothing about myself anymore I did know that I had nothing to be afraid of from this man. Let him come. He staggered up to me and I could smell cheap gin on him from ten paces. He reached out a hand and I batted it away.

"Don't touch me," I snapped.

"Ow, like it rough do you? Wot you say we take us a walk 'round the corner there an you let ol' Ned have a taste."

Hunger welled up inside me again, beating against me like some dark, winged thing. I could hear his heartbeat; I could feel his blood moving in his veins.

"No," I said, with a smile, "why don't we take a walk around the corner and you let me have a taste?"

His eyes widened. I turned and walked around the corner of the building into a small, grimy alley. I listened to Ned's stumbling footsteps following me. I sensed a small movement behind me and turned. Grabbing his hand as he reached for me again, I flung him against the wall.

"Don't ever touch me," I said. "Now, you want to know what it's like to be with a woman like me?" I said, laughing. A part of me heard the nearly hysterical edge to my laughter but the rest of me didn't care.

There was excitement and a bit of fear in his eyes. "You ain't the first fancy piece come down 'ere for a bit of a tumble."

"Oh, trust me when I tell you that you've never met anyone quite like me. Now, close your eyes."

"So you can stick a knife in me gullet and take me purse? I don't think so, fancy piece."

I shrugged. "Fine, have it your way. You only have one thing that's worth stealing anyway."

"Wot's that?" he said, eyeing me suspiciously.

I leaned in toward him. He stank but I could smell his blood just under the skin. Hunger gripped me and I felt my teeth lengthen and sharpen. I ran my tongue over them, learning the feel of them in my mouth. I looked up at Ned."Your blood," I said simply.

He jerked back. "Wot the b.l.o.o.d.y 'ell?" he cried and tried to push past me.

I grabbed his shoulders and pinned him to the wall. The strength I had was amazing. I felt strong and powerful. I leaned close, Ned screamed and I sank my teeth into his neck.

Blood poured into my mouth with each frantic beat of his heart. I gagged at first, my mind rebelling at the thought of blood in my mouth, but then instinct took over and I drank deeply of the coppery liquid. Life, his life, poured into me. The blood, I realized, fed whatever magic created a vampire, whatever animated its dead body, and that magic mingled with my own. I could feel both of them inside me, rolling around like two sleek otters playing in a river. I could feel Ned's fear and, somewhere deep inside, a little bit of excitement as well. I stumbled back and he slumped to the ground before me.

Michael had said that a vampire couldn't kill with one bite but I reached down to check the man's pulse anyway. He was unconscious but still definitely alive. I rolled him onto his side and, fis.h.i.+ng in his pockets, came up with a dirty handkerchief. I wrapped it around his neck and knotted it over the bite wound.

"There," I said, frowning down at him, "maybe that'll teach you to accost young women on the street." I giggled and leaned against the opposite wall. "Good grief, man, you must have pure gin running through your veins!"

Other than feeling a bit drunk, I felt good now. My thoughts were no longer fragmented and I was no longer scared. I tipped my head back and took a deep breath... and smelled blood. I looked down at the sleeping man on the ground. No, it wasn't his. I inhaled again. It was further away and there was a lot of it.

Slowly I walked down the alley. The brick wall of the tavern to my left ended with another small alley littered with refuse. There was a large warehouse behind the tavern, its windows black with grime. I walked on silent feet to the window nearest the door and quietly reached out to rub a spot clean. When the grime didn't lessen I realized that it wasn't dirt; the windows were painted black.

There was no light in the alley and yet I could see as clearly as if the moon were full. I moved quietly to the door and very gently grasped the k.n.o.b. It opened on well-oiled hinges, just an inch or two, and the smell of fresh blood wafted from the interior, a.s.saulting my nostrils.

The warehouse was a large, open building two stories high and well lit inside with many lanterns. Nine male vampires were lounging around on various tattered and mismatched pieces of furniture. Another vampire, apparently their master, sat farther away from the others on what looked like a throne, one leg slung over the heavily-carved wooden arm of the chair. He was small and dark, his face rather common but strong and arrogant. He reminded me a bit of Napoleon, actually.

Wooden s.h.i.+pping crates lined the walls except for one blank spot opposite the door. There a man slumped to his knees, his arms pulled taut by chains which were bolted into the wall, his shackled his wrists raw and b.l.o.o.d.y. His head was hanging down, his face was obscured by shadows but he had to be an older man for his black hair was liberally streaked with gray. I saw the faint rise and fall of his breathing. Whatever shape he was in, at least he was still alive.

My gaze traveled back across the room and it was then that I saw the girls, that I finally saw what my brain had refused to see while I took in every other detail. Girls, perhaps half a dozen of them, scattered across the floor like forgotten toys in a child's nursery. Dead girls with their throats ripped out, their open eyes staring blankly. I gagged and spun around, running. At the end of the alley, past the still-sleeping Ned, I ran into someone. Strong hands curled around my shoulders.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Cin! Cin!" he yelled as I struggled against him.

Michael, I realized and collapsed against him.

"Michael," I said, trying to catch my breath, the images of the dead girls filling my head.

"Oh G.o.d, Cin, I'm so sorry. We really b.u.g.g.e.red this up. I swear to you we do not feed from children but Devlin couldn't bespell an adult for as long as he could a child. You needed fresh blood and we had no idea when you'd wake up. It was supposed to be just a little blood, Cin, just enough to calm you so that we could take you out and teach you to hunt. I swear to you the child wasn't in any distress and he wouldn't have felt a thing or even remembered it happening. You've got to believe me. This was not supposed to happen this way, I promise you, and I'm sorry as h.e.l.l about it."

"Thank you, Michael, I believe you and I'm very much sorry about everything too but now you've got to be quiet and listen to me a moment."

He looked at me and his brow creased. "You've fed." He glanced over my shoulder at Ned. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine. Michael, listen to me," I said, shaking him gently. "Dead girls, Michael, so many dead girls."

Michael's eyes widened. "What have you done?" he whispered.

I smacked him on the shoulder. "Not me," I hissed. "Vampires. Down the alley in the warehouse on the left."

He stood very still and inhaled. I knew he could smell it too, the blood. "Stay here," he said.

I grabbed his s.h.i.+rt. "Michael, don't go alone. There are too many of them."

"I'm just going to have a look. Devlin and Justine are behind me. Stay here and wait for them."

He walked off down the alley, his stride lethal and dangerous.

Memories of him naked in my bed flooded around me. I sighed. Barring the debacle that was my awakening as a vampire, I thought that perhaps this had been the best night of my life. No, that wasn't right. If I was in London it must be the next night. Had I been "dead" all day? Lying like a corpse in Mr. Pendergra.s.s's attic?

Good grief, poor Mrs. Mackenzie and Fiona. That must have been torture. And then I'd all but attacked poor Fiona. I sighed again. I'd have to beg on bended knee for forgiveness for that one. Would she forgive me, or from now on would she look at me and see a monster?

Footsteps sounded on the cobblestones outside the alley. I looked up to see Devlin and Justine approaching. Justine's long cloak swirled around her black silk s.h.i.+rt, fawn colored breeches and thigh-high boots. She reached out to me and grabbed my shoulders, speaking in a torrent of rapid French and petting my hair like a child. She produced a handkerchief from the depths of her cloak and dabbed at something, probably blood, on my chin.

"Justine. Justine, I'm fine," I said, grabbing her hand. "I stumbled across a nest of vampires. Dead girls, one man chained to a wall.

Michael's gone to look."

Devlin looked past me down the alley. Michael raised his hand and motioned to him.

"Come, love," he said, grimly. "Time to go to work."

Justine nodded. "Pauvre pet.i.te," she said to me. "We will make all of this up to you, I promise."

I nodded, hoping it would make her feel better and stop fussing over me, and turned to follow them down the alley.

Devlin stopped and turned to look at me. "Stay here," he said.

"I will not," I replied. "I'm not some helpless human anymore. I want to come and help." Devlin glanced from me to Ned, still unconscious in the alley. "No, you are no longer human. You're feeling strong and flush with power but the things we're going in there to kill aren't human either, Cin. They're just as strong as you are and you haven't yet learned to fight."

I stuck out my chin. "They're my vampires, I found them, and I'm going with you."

He threw his hands in the air. "Fine, but stay out of the way and don't get yourself killed."

We joined Michael at the end of the block. There was another argument about me staying behind, followed quickly by the same stay-out-of-the-way-and-don't-get-yourself-killed speech.

"Six dead prost.i.tutes, one chained man, ten vampires. The vamps are all blood-drunk and conveniently unsuspecting," Michael said with a wink.

Devlin smiled, pushed the door open and strode inside with all the arrogance of a lord. Michael and Justine flanked him and I stayed near the door, my back to the wall, and watched.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said, kneeling down and closing the eyes of one of the dead girls.

The man who reminded me of Napoleon stood, his hand reaching around to the sword cane propped against the side of his throne- like chair. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?" he snapped.

"You do know, don't you," Devlin drawled, "that the elders of the Dark Council have forbidden the killing of humans?"

The master shrugged. "What are a few dead wh.o.r.es? And now I ask you again, mate, who the h.e.l.l are you?"

Devlin stood slowly and stepped around the girl's body.

With barely leashed fury his deep voice rang through the warehouse, "We are The Righteous. We are the defenders of the innocent."

Justine stepped forward, "We are the hand of justice."

Michael pulled his claymore from its scabbard. "We are the sword of vengeance."

The master's eyes widened in recognition. He snapped his fingers at the other vampires. "Kill them," he said but I saw the fear in his eyes and I noticed that he made no move toward them himself.

The nine other vampires stepped forward on their leader's order, each picking up a weapon as they came. I watched in fascinated horror as Devlin and Justine dispatched two of their attackers, the vampires' heads rolling to the floor at the first stroke of their swords. The other vampires seemed to be more skilled than the first two and as the battle started in earnest the sounds of clanging metal rang through the building. As I watched them fight I understood why the name of The Righteous had caused that flash of fear across the leader's face; they were surely the stuff of Evil's nightmares.

The sight of Michael in battle captured my full attention. I knew now what Devlin had seen that night at Falkirk. He moved like a symphony of death. Every step was calculated and precise; no thrust of the sword was wasted. Three of the vampires were on him.

He blocked one's sword and his fist shot out and smashed into the vampire's jaw. Michael spun, his foot catching the vamp across the side of the head, bringing the beast to his knees. Michael plunged his sword deep into his attacker's heart and rode him to the ground.

He jerked the sword free, the blade slicing upward, catching the next vampire in the stomach. The vamp raised his sword but when it fell Michael was no longer there. Quicker than my eyes could follow him he was behind his enemy, the great claymore falling across the vampire's neck, severing its head. As he turned to face the next man I noticed that the whole time a small smile lingered on his lips. He was good at this and he enjoyed it, enjoyed facing an enemy and besting him with nothing but his cunning and his steel. He was made for this; his lithe, lethal body fairly humming with the thrill of battle.A movement caught my eye. The master was moving toward the door, attempting to escape. I thought about staying where I was and trying to stop him but Devlin was right, I didn't yet know how to fight and if I got into trouble with the master the distraction could get one of my friends killed. I eased away from the door, staying in the shadows and skirting the battle in the opposite direction. The chained man moved, swaying slightly. I supposed I could be useful and check on the old fellow, see if I could get him free.

I crept past the wooden crates lining the wall, trying to be as un.o.btrusive as possible, and knelt before the man. His head still hung forward, his hair falling to cover his face. I put my hands in his hair and pushed it back. It was far softer than it looked, sliding through my fingers like silk. I gasped at the face that looked up at me. I'd thought he was old, because of the gray in his hair, but his face was young, perhaps ten years older than me. He was handsome, not unearthly beautiful like Michael or overwhelmingly masculine like Devlin, but handsome nonetheless. His brows were dark and his eyes were an odd shade of deep amber. The utter loathing I saw in those odd-colored eyes made me rock back on my heels.

"Don't be afraid," I said. "I'm here to help you."

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice raspy as if he needed water.

I squared my shoulders, "The Righteous."

I got the feeling that the name meant something to him as his gaze traveled over me from head to toe in frank disbelief. He looked out into the center of the warehouse and what he saw there must have satisfied him because he nodded and then, with a clinking of chains, pointed one long finger past me. "The key," he said.

I looked over my shoulder and saw the large silver key dangling from a hook on the side of the master's carved throne. I sprinted across the open s.p.a.ce, grabbed the key from the hook and ran back. Kneeling once again in front of the man, I opened the shackles. His wrists were raw and b.l.o.o.d.y, the flesh eaten away where the cuffs had chafed him. I took his hands in mine.

"We need to get you to a doctor," I said, looking at the jagged, open wounds.

"Let me go," the man said, pulling his hands from mine.

"Don't be afraid, please, we need to get you some help," I said, reaching again for his hands. Perhaps I could bind his wrists with some clean fabric until we could get him out of here.

His face was suddenly very close to mine. A growl sounded low in his throat. An honest-to-goodness predator's growl, like I'd heard from Michael the night I'd first summoned him. Whoever the chained man was, he wasn't human. Nothing human had ever made that sound. My eyes flew to his. I was suddenly very aware of how close I was to him, how vulnerable.