The Realm of the Vampire Council Series : Dark MM Urban Fantasy by Damian Serbu ➱ Series Tour with Giveaway
THE
VAMPIRE’S ANGEL
By
Damian Serbu
Excerpt:
Thomas walked back to Paris
after Anne pushed him out the door. Of course she was right. If he planned on
eternity with Xavier, waiting for even a couple of years meant little. The only
risk was Xavier’s mortal safety, but Thomas could protect him.
Still, he hated that Xavier
fought his true nature, and despite the peace within him, his passion against
the church intensified. Against his better judgment (he heard Anthony scolding
him in his head), he headed for the Seine and the glorious Notre Dame
Cathedral. It took no effort to locate the bishop. He scaled a wall, opened a
window, and seated himself on the end of a bed. The figure at its head slept
soundly so Thomas wiggled the mattress.
The man woke and screamed in
terror. With superhuman haste, Thomas covered his mouth and ordered him to
stop. “I won’t kill you if you obey,” he said. He let go of the bishop, who
cowered under his sheet.
“We need to chat.” Thomas got
up and walked around, taking in the room’s opulence: the expensive furniture,
the ornate china left from dinner, the silk vestments, all the finery that one
would find in the homes of Paris’s elite. He compared it to the sparse
conditions of Xavier’s room: the blank walls and broken desk. Thomas ran his
hand along the crucifix, mocking its inability to protect the allegedly holy
man. After a grand pause, he turned back to the bishop.
“I know I woke you and it’s
late, but I didn’t think that you’d accept my request for a visit.”
“What do you want? Take
anything.” The bishop’s voice shook.
“Do I look like a common
thief?” Thomas waved his hand at his own expensive clothing. “You and I have
other business.” He took a seat on the bed next to the quivering man and ran
his fingers along the wrinkled cheek, delighting in the bishop’s terror.
“It’s about a mutual friend.
But I warn you, our friend has no idea I’m doing this. If you utter one word to
him, I’ll break your neck. The same will happen if you speak of this to any
other soul or seek retribution. Agreed?”
The man nodded, hands trembling
on the sheet.
“I need you to write a letter
of retraction regarding the things you’ve said about Abbé Saint-Laurent. You
must admit you were incorrect and commend him for his fine work.”
“He defies the laws of the
church.”
“That’s not why you harass
him,” Thomas said, leaning forward, tone dangerous. “I couldn’t understand it
before I saw you. Why would someone insult a priest who serves a parish few
others would even enter? You tried to seduce Xavier and he rebuked you.”
The bishop’s pallor faded even
more at Thomas’s words. “I don’t know what—”
Thomas nestled up to the man,
put his face nearby, and massaged his leg. Though Thomas glared, the bishop
refused to look at him. Thomas blew into his ear and then grabbed his genitals.
After a second, he released
them and jumped off the bed. “Still want to deny it, Father?”
By now, the bishop was weeping
as he shivered. Thomas marched to a desk, snatched a parchment, and thrust it
at him. The bishop obeyed every command. He wrote three letters: one for his
official files, one to the Vatican, and one to Xavier, apologizing for his
mistaken condemnations and instead praising the young priest for exemplary
service. Thomas took them when he had finished, sealed them with the bishop’s
emblem, and slid them into his coat pocket.
“You have what you want. Leave
me,” the bishop said.
“Do you understand what I mean
to do if this isn’t the end of it?”
“Go away. You’ve won.”
Unconvinced that the bishop
grasped the severity of his threat, Thomas grabbed the foot of the bed and
broke it from its hinges. The mattress crashed to the floor and the bishop
rolled to Thomas’s feet. He cried and quaked anew. Thomas reached with a swift
motion and broke the man’s little finger. As the man howled in pain, Thomas
smashed through the window and jumped two stories to the ground.
Now, to celebrate. Time for a
kill.
As usual, people crowded the
bars and drank, gambled, had public sex, and railed against Louis. The tawdry
scene would produce a worthy victim or two. Thomas entered an establishment and
took a seat. Nothing unusual caught his eye. No one longed for his fangs to end
an unseemly life, until he heard a familiar voice. He turned, slowly, and saw
Marcel seated nearby and talking to the likes of whom Thomas never wanted to
even touch. They stank of men hired for dirty, illicit, and violent tasks.
There was a group of worthy
victims. He could kill all of them, including Marcel, and rid himself of a
major problem. Then Thomas remembered those damn ethical guidelines Anthony
pronounced: never meddle in human affairs. Killing Marcel, even in a vial
setting, violated that principle. And he had already gone too far in violating
the ethic with his visit to Notre Dame. But that logic seemed faulty, until he
recalled his conversation with Marcel. What if the demon placed some spell on
Xavier to protect himself if Thomas came after him? Was such a thing possible?
Thomas had no idea what to do.
Frustrated, Thomas listened.
“You’re fine gentlemen, as
always,” Marcel was saying. “I hardly believe you dispatched that customer so
fast and without a mess. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf—”
“Enough talk, old man, get to
the point,” said one of the men. His breath hit Thomas from two tables away,
stinking of tobacco, rum, and a gross assortment of decay.
“Don’t take that tone with me.
I have a spying assignment, to watch two men. I need to know their patterns,
their friends, and their beliefs. Discover any weaknesses, any material for
blackmail, anything they conceal. Try to find out where they keep their money
and when they sleep. I must know anything and everything about both of them.
Monitor the two Saint-Laurents. One of you watch Michel, the other take
Xavier.”
“How long do you want us to do
this? It’ll cost you,” the other added.
“I’m well aware of your prices,
and believe me, this is worth the cost. I’ll expect a weekly report. One more
thing. Never go near their sister. When they visit her, walk away.”
Marcel described Michel and told
them where to find him and Thomas pictured the route to Xavier’s church as
Marcel gave it to the other man, depicting him, as well.
Thomas let Marcel leave,
against his better judgment, as the rules haunted him and his magic concerned
him. He followed the other two, however. He sensed enough to know that killing
them would not violate the ethic, at least not as much as if he had gone after
Marcel. These two had never met anyone from the family, so Thomas decided they
stood outside the ethic’s prohibitions. They walked a few blocks, singing
drunken songs, proud of Marcel’s coins and then entered a salon with rooms for
rent. Thomas stayed close behind when they entered their room. He waited a few
seconds and then burst in as they counted their money.
In a complete fury, he first grabbed the one intended to spy on
Xavier. He almost failed to notice the terror on his face as he crushed the
man’s skull between his hands. He paused as the cranium crunched like a
seashell and gore exploded all over the room. He dropped the corpse and swore
under his breath. He’d waited too long. The second man had escaped the room,
and his screaming brought other patrons into the hall to see about the
commotion. Thomas kicked the dead body before he swiftly went into the hall and
vacated the building. He could not risk going after the remaining man as he
stood among all these onlookers. Instead, he went to feed, once again hungry
for blood after several nights of depriving himself.
THE
VAMPIRE’S QUEST
By
Damian Serbu
Excerpt:
Xavier remembered the scene before him
well: the unused bridge on the outskirts of Paris, the no-man’s land—created by
Anne’s magic to ward off intruders—and the bright fire and living quarters
underneath it, where he and Anne lived for a time after returning to Paris.
It took Xavier several minutes to compose
himself after watching Thomas dart away before he came here. The sight looked
as if nothing changed since the French Revolution, when he and Anne spent many
good nights after Xavier reformed himself and prepared to return to Catherine
and to find Thomas to profess his love.
Despite the warmth he still felt for the
place, the atmosphere was disturbed. Anne had never let angry spirits or demons
haunt her realm, but Xavier sensed them all around. He headed toward the fire
and paused before it when he saw Anne. She lay upon a makeshift bed of straw
with blankets piled upon her still form. Her body was not three feet from the
fire, which threatened to set her bed ablaze.
“A little cold to be living under a bridge,
isn’t it?” Xavier walked toward Anne, who grinned when she saw her visitor.
“I sensed your undead self coming my way.
The spirits are already up in arms around here, sensing I can’t control them
like before.” Xavier felt comfortable the moment he heard her dialect, a
mixture of her Cajun upbringing with a French accent. She had a rhythm all her
own.
“I’d retort, but you don’t look well.
You’re awfully close to the fire.”
Anne rumbled with laughter under the
blankets, which sent her into a fit of coughing. Her thin arm came out from
underneath to wipe her mouth. She spoke when she calmed. “Well, then you don’t
need to ask about my proximity to the fire, do you? A dying, old person needs
warmth. Lots of it. Good thing a little spell here and there keeps my fire
roaring without much effort.”
The vampire ethic forbid interaction with
humans a vampire knew in life not only because it threatened exposure, but to
remove the temptation to cross them over in order to save them. Xavier wondered
today, however, if it also protected their emotion. Other than Catherine,
Xavier avoided the misery of seeing his dear and close friends grow old and
die. Anthony allowed Xavier to continue seeing Catherine, at Thomas’s pleading.
Saying the Vampire Council allowed it because of the “unique circumstances,”
whatever that meant, Xavier continued to see her but no one else. Here Anne
lay, too gaunt, freezing under a bridge amidst the winter’s snow and coughing
because she laughed.
Xavier also knew she would refuse him even
if he offered her eternal life. He already had as a last desperate attempt to
avoid saying goodbye to her those twenty plus years ago. She had bent over
laughing, telling him he already knew the answer, which he had.
“Does the spell keep your bed from catching
fire?” Xavier kept a safe distance, always afraid of flames, more so since his
visits from St. Michel.
Anne laughed again. “Get around here to the
other side where those nasty flames won’t get you. Do you think I’d let this
fire do any harm to you?”
“Of course not.”
“You look well, abbé.”
“I am. Or was, until you sent saints and
Jesus after me. Did you send them to torture? It was hard enough saying goodbye
to you the first time when I knew you were young and had a full life ahead of
you.”
Anne reached over and patted him on the
arm. “What is this talk of Jesus? You think he listens to me? Or that I command
St. Michel?”
“Well, you know something. I didn’t say
anything about the archangel’s visits. Or the scar he left atop my head.”
Xavier bent his head to show Anne, who howled again with laughter.
“Not my doing. I swear. I called for you,
but not through him. We can’t always control the gods with how we want things
done, can we?”
“At least you find it funny.”
“I do. Nothing like a good archangel to
scare you to death and get you going.” Anne coughed again.
“You’re dying.”
“Yes.” Anne nodded and closed her eyes.
“And it’s about time. I lived a good, full life. Happy, mostly. Not bad for a
black woman in a white world chased by the church for what I believed. Don’t go
around feeling bad or moping because of me. It’s time, and I’m ready.” She
reopened her eyes and wiped at a tear.
“Then why am I here? Or was I right, you
couldn’t resist torturing me one more time?” Xavier smiled at his friend, whose
eyes twinkled despite how she flinched in pain every time she moved.
“It was a way to return the favor of how
much I worried about you, when you tried to drink yourself into oblivion, as I
dragged you all over France. And for the fact you brought a vampire into my
life. Then two, and finally yourself. I owe you a lot for those tricks, you
know. You could repay me with the last rites if you’re still available as a
priest.”
“You’re dying, and you’re in a lot of pain.
And you want extreme unction? Even though you never did believe in my church?”
“A church you don’t believe in, either.
It’s complicated, isn’t it? Dying, I mean. And faith?”
“It always was.” Xavier leaned over and
touched his cheek to Anne’s. “Perhaps all of our long theological discussions
taught me that more than anything else. We have to keep our minds open, don’t
we? We never know how God will approach us.”
“How right you are, abbé. You’re a comfort
to me.”
“But you didn’t bring me here to talk about
theology. Or to administer the sacrament? What else?”
Anne’s eyes grew wide with fear. She
clutched at Xavier’s hand with a power he thought had long since left her. Then
she wept. “I didn’t know who else to call, where else to turn. I don’t have
power anymore, or I could have done this myself. I hate asking this of you. I
know you aren’t supposed to do it. But I need you.”
“What is it?” Xavier petted her hair. “Tell
me.”
“I’ll show you.” Anne pointed to the
fire.
The flames flared to the top of the bridge,
causing Xavier to shrink back. Then they died down but left in their place a
vision of another land Xavier had never seen. The image appeared as if from a
dream. Xavier could tell the event occurred, despite the fact the people and
buildings were blurred, not real and solid. The scene engulfed Xavier. He felt
Anne reach over and grab his hand. Her presence and comforting voice surrounded
him, though he could not see her. “I’m right here. It’s the only way I know to
show you. I’ll bring you back once you know. You’re in New York City. In
America.”
Buildings huddled close together, and dirt
and grime covered everything. The stench of feces and garbage in the muddy
streets offended his senses. It was night, with little light illuminating
anything, though Xavier could see well because of either his vampiric vision or
Anne’s magic. A strapping young man in his twenties came meandering around a
corner, whistling a tune and tossing an empty bottle in the air, only to catch
it again. “My grandson, Duncan,” Anne said.
“You have a grandson?” Xavier looked around
for Anne in the vision but saw nothing but New York City. “I never knew.”
Anne chuckled. “This was my secret. I
didn’t talk about them because I missed them too much. It was a painful memory.
And continues to be. I was raped in New Orleans before we came to Europe. They
took my baby away from me and hid her. I never met my child but learned through
magic to watch her from afar. I cared for her from a distance the best I could,
and then for her husband and son when they came around. Now stop talking to me.
We haven’t much time and you need to see this. Memorize his face for me.”
Xavier glanced back to the young man, who
almost caught up to where Xavier stood. Xavier burned the man’s image into his
mind: the height, around six feet, the short-cropped hair. He was hit by the
man’s beauty. He had a square jaw and chiseled face with the hint of a smile.
His full lips enticed Xavier. Absent Thomas, Xavier thought he could fall in
love with the man. Or, at least, lust.
Just as he almost lost himself in the
fantasy, two horses came storming from an alley. The white riders snarled as
they raced through the streets, then one took out a club and swung it over his
head. Xavier ducked before remembering none of it was real. Duncan whipped
around in surprise and then terror when he heard the horses behind him. Xavier
saw the club smash into the young man’s head. Duncan fell to the ground.
The two men reared up their horses and
jumped down. As Duncan tried to gain his senses and lurch away, one of the men
punched him. Blood poured down Duncan’s face as he yelped and tried to get away
to no avail. They hit him again and heaved him over one of the horses.
Xavier almost threw up. He had run over to
help Duncan, to intervene, screaming at the men to stop. Of course he knew they
heard nothing. But he screeched again in anger when both got back on their
horses, the one with Duncan again hitting the man over the head with the handle
of his revolver. At that, the scene went black and Xavier stumbled back into
reality.
Xavier had fallen beside Anne’s bed with
the blood tears streaming down his face. “That happened?”
“It did.” Anne wheezed more than before,
Xavier assumed from the exertion of showing him the image. “I can’t see him
anymore. They took him. I’ve looked and looked and asked spirits I dare not ask
for help. Nothing.”
“How long ago did this happen?” Xavier got
up, wiped his eyes, and returned to Anne’s side.
“Not long. I have one more thing to tell
you, and then to ask for my favor.” Anne coughed and trembled, barely able to whisper.
“I went to dark places after they took him. This body,” she motioned down
herself, “was fine not one week ago. Healthy as a horse. Until I went to the
black magic to find him. I pleaded with the demon to take me and free Duncan,
but he laughed in my face. He cackled, saying I was of no use to him. These
things happened, he told me. I offered him my soul. But he laughed again,
saying no one wanted it. Imagine, a demon telling you your soul’s worthless.
Then his eyes turned fire red and his nostrils flared. ‘I’ll tell you what
happened. That’s it. If you’ll release the spirits you captured from me, and
then agree to die. Soon.’”
The story sent shivers down Xavier’s spine.
“Oh, my friend, was I stupid.” Anne
coughed. “I should have known a desperate person gets tricked by the demon.
Happens every time. I need to save Duncan so badly. I said yes.” She shook her
head in dismay. “I said yes. The minute I uttered the word, the spirits I saved
from the black realm soared away, crying in agony as the demon took possession
of them. I screamed at him to uphold his part of the bargain. He stalked back
to me, black as night except for those burning eyes, and smirked. ‘Slavery.
They took him to slavery. He’s safe and sound now in the South.’
“And he disappeared. I screamed again at
him. I sought to get him back. But we made a bargain, and like a fool I
accepted it. All these years, I refused the black magic. In one stupid moment
of desperation, I let it all get away from me. Gone were the spirits I
protected, and I glanced down to see this emaciated body. He kept his promise
to tell me what happened, but it did me no good. It meant nothing.” Anne
stopped talking as she labored to breathe, sweating from the painful memories.
“So you called for me.” Xavier sat beside his
friend, who nodded her head.
“I’m so sorry,” Anne whispered. “I don’t
expect you to do it. I don’t need repayment for anything I ever did for you,
it’s not about that. It’s…” Anne drifted off, crying.
“You were desperate,” Xavier finished for
her. Anne nodded her agreement. “And friends never abandon each other. Ever.
I’ll find him.”
As if at last hearing what she needed,
Anne’s hand went limp in Xavier’s. Her open eyes stared into the vacant night,
and the fire went out. A chilled breeze blew under the bridge, carrying with it
the unsavory smell of death.
“I’ll find him,” Xavier said again, knowing
Anne’s spirit hovered nearby.
Numb, Xavier moved into action. Without
comprehending how he gained the knowledge, Xavier knew what he had to do. He
constructed a funeral pyre and then leaped atop it with Anne in his arms.
Setting her on the structure, he kissed her cheek softly and administered the
last rites, as she requested. Once on the ground, he rebuilt the fire. Slowly,
so as not to burn himself, he reconstructed the roaring conflagration. The
priest in him took over as he said a funeral mass while Anne’s body burned to
nothing.
It embarrassed Xavier he spent so much time
with her and never knew about that part of her life. In the vision, he sensed
the agony it caused her but also felt the deep bond of love she had for her
daughter and grandson. As he gathered Anne’s things and heaped them on the fire
to follow her into the afterlife, he discovered recent letters between her and
Duncan. She had reached out to her grandson, and he rejoiced at finding his
grandmother when he always believed he would know nothing more about his
family. These, Xavier tucked away in his coat pocket.
So that was the quest St. Michel commanded.
Perhaps Anne would never require such a thing of him, but the archangel
expected as much. Besides, Xavier did not need the divine command to spur him
into action. Anne had saved him. When drunk and despondent, Xavier ran to her
for help. She pulled him into her grasp and led him throughout France, letting
him decide for himself to become sober, waiting at the seaside while he had a
brief romance with the sailor who helped him to understand his sexual longings,
and then back to Paris and reconciliation with Catherine. Anne nurtured him
until he went to Thomas, his true love, and began eternal life with the man of
his dreams. He could never repay her.
But
he could save the one thing on earth Anne held dear to her. He could go to
America to find and save Duncan. With or without a guarantee of protection from
St. Michel for violating vampire laws, Xavier had a moral and spiritual
obligation to go on the quest.
THE
VAMPIRE’S PROTEGE
By
Damian Serbu
Excerpt:
Charon walked briskly toward the traffic
light, continuing on the path to the little wine bar across the street where
he’d intended to go before his new straight pal delayed him. Without a word,
the guy caught up to him.
“You care where we go?” Charon asked.
“Nope.”
“You’re weird.” Part of this whole scenario
absolutely creeped Charon out, like the time the dude approached him about
getting into porn, but unlike that time, another part of him wanted to listen
to this one’s proposal or insanity or whatever. Like some fatal attraction drew
him to this stranger.
The guy laughed softly. “You’ve no idea.”
Even stranger. Whatever. Charon intended to
keep this in public and safe. Might as well enjoy a freak session with a
straight guy while he waited for his semen to build back up for another run at
some hot little number. Might even spend the night with the next one.
Charon sat at a small table to the side,
expecting the guy to take the opposite seat. Instead, he went over to the bar
and ordered something. He returned with two empty red wineglasses and set them
on the table.
“My treat.”
“I don’t let guys treat me. Leads to
expectations and bullshit.”
Again the dude laughed. “Typically, I
suppose so. Drink anyway. This is a very expensive bottle, and I would hate to
drink it alone.”
“What’s your name?” Charon asked.
Dude smiled. “In time.”
This got more fucked up by the minute.
Total mistake to engage the lunatic, no matter how good-looking or powerful his
aura. “Don’t you even want to know my name?”
“I don’t need a formal introduction,
Charon. Though in a minute, I’d like to learn your real name, and not the
frat-boy image you portray.”
“You know my name?” Charon’s jaw dropped
open, but he recovered quickly. “And I don’t go for frat-boy covers. I am who I
am.”
The man nodded. “I stand corrected. You’re
quite right. It’s not some façade but rather your true persona. That’s why
we’re sitting together, actually. Though I still know it’s not your given
name.”
The shop owner appeared with the bottle of
wine, holding it out to the guy with a sweeping gesture. “Not many ask for this
one. Rare. With a wonderful bouquet! Still, it usually sits there for quite a
while.”
“Because most can’t afford it.” He sounded
like Charon with the snotty, dismissive answer.
The waiter attempted one more time to chat
but gave up and uncorked the wine, poured it, and took his leave.
“He usually talks up a storm.” Charon
smelled the wine. Exquisite.
“Tiresome.”
Charon laughed despite the guy unnerving
him. “I enjoy his chatter. Nice enough.”
“Nice doesn’t usually appeal to you.”
Charon tasted the wine. “That’s the second
time you claim to know something about me. And kind of got it right, but not
quite. I like nice people. In small doses. And when I seek it. Before this gets
any stranger and you reveal that you’re a serial killer or whatever, would you
explain what the fuck’s going on? How did you know my name? What exactly do you
want?”
This odd companion lifted an eyebrow and
took a long drink of the wine, then held it in his mouth for several seconds
before swallowing and closing his eyes. After a long moment, he opened them
again. “That is wonderful. Perhaps you’re right about him. He recommended it,
so I should go lighter on him.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
“I don’t intend to answer it right now.
Since you’re so eager to get on with our business, allow me to cut to the chase.
At this point, you’re free to go as you choose. That freedom won’t last long.
The longer you persist with hearing my offer, the more entrapped you become in
the game. I’ll explain everything, on my time—not yours, but you’ll have to be
patient. When I finish this small monologue, I’ll ask a few questions. More
curiosities than anything, to fill in a few gaps in my knowledge. You may
answer or refuse. Any refusal becomes an end to our conversation. That is,
until you reach the point of no return. Understand?”
Charon swirled his wine and laughed.
“You’re even more fucking nuts than I thought. Whacked completely out of your
mind. You somehow think you’re the Phantom of the Opera.”
“Yet still you sit here. You obviously
sense that I offer something marvelous.”
Charon raised his eyebrows. Kook.
The man leaned over the table toward
Charon. “Even in your brilliance, with all your wealth, your complete control
over all situations, and utter disregard for those around you in your quest for
whatever you want, I possess something you would die for. It would rival the
rather impressive art collection on your walls.” Again Charon wondered how this
guy learned so much. “Your furniture, the penthouse, none of that can measure
up to this opportunity. But you have to play my game to get it or even find out
what it is. First question. And I warn you, don’t piss away this opportunity
with your attitude.”
He paused, but Charon said nothing. How did
he know so much about Charon? Instinct told Charon to accept the offer to get away
and leave at once. Nothing good could come from this impossibly weird
conversation, could it? On the other hand, he gained that information about
Charon for a reason, the bottle of wine spoke of wealth, as did his Guess jeans
and DKNY tank top. The Rolex, too.
Charon looked around. The owner of the shop
chatted away with a couple of other patrons and four other customers sat around
a table across the way. Perfectly safe. Might as well continue. If anything,
this totally odd interaction amused Charon for a while.
“What’s your question?” Charon lifted his
glass and smelled the wine again.
“How did you get the nickname Charon?”
Charon shrugged. “In college, from my
fraternity brothers. No big deal.”
“Of course not. But you must admit it’s
intriguing. I already figured they labeled you with it. Let me rephrase the
question. You seem more like an Eros, the way you convince anyone who sees you
to fall in love. Or, at least they think they want to love you, until they meet
the real you.”
“Well, you just answered your own question,
didn’t you? I hardly act like Eros, pining for true love and offering it to
those around me.”
“Still, then what about Apollo? A beautiful
and powerful God. Or Achilles? He’d even match your sexuality. But Charon? Have
you seen the depictions of him? Snarled and ugly as he demands payment for
crossing the river into death.”
Charon laughed at the brief lesson in Greek
mythology. He already knew it, of course. Truth be told, Charon fit his image
much better than those dazzling names and personas. “They may match my
appearance better. Yeah. That’s true. But I got slapped with Charon because I
paddle anyone who comes my way across the River Styx toward gloom, only humor
them to get what I want. The name is about where I lead people.”
“Charming.” The man smiled and then tilted
his head back and roared with laughter. “Especially that you so embrace the
negative moniker given by those closest to you. Your truest friends even think
you’re a fiend.”
“Yeah, well, speaking of charming, it’s not
like they’re much better.”
The man nodded. “To an extent. At least,
they were. Yet since college, they returned to their given names. Reformed
their behaviors quite a bit, this weekend notwithstanding. You, however”—he
shook his finger at Charon—“still go by your Greek god’s name to the point of
doing it anywhere you go, not just with them. You still party like a freshman.
There’s nothing mature in your life. Now, that could be the trust fund you
stole and live off. No need for responsibility with you.”
Fuck. How did he know about that? Nobody
knew that. Nobody. “Can you read minds or something?”
“No, I can’t. I like to toss you little
tidbits from time to time to keep you interested. But it’s not time for me to
explain that yet. We’re still learning about you.”
“What else is there to tell?” Charon became
uneasy again. “You nailed it. I don’t intend to change. Charon suits me just
fine. I like it.”
“And being unencumbered by relatives or
people close to you helps as well.”
Charon nodded and took a big drink. “You
got it.”
“Though I learned a lot, I still haven’t
figured out if you mean that or resigned yourself to it.”
“I’m not lying to you.”
“Perhaps to yourself? Anyway, I’m sorry
I’ve frightened you to this point. I didn’t know how else to get your
attention.”
Charon poured each more wine and gave in
completely to the moment. Something held him here despite his initial fear and
the general creepiness of what this guy knew. He either needed to bolt now or
stick to it. No one ever intimidated him into fear or submission.
“Actually, you’re lying to me for the first
time. You’ve enjoyed this. You love the fear and control over me, as much as I
do when I get it over other people. But you were at least right. It got my
attention. So no more bullshit. What other questions do you need answered
before you reveal this amazing game you want to play?”
The man smiled and leaned far across the
table toward Charon, mere inches from his face. “That’s the Charon I’ve grown
to know and love. That’s better. Good.” He moved back into his own space. “Your
real name?”
“Blade Haden. How on earth did you know
everything else but that?”
He smiled. “Just making sure you were still
compliant, despite the real you coming to the surface. Of course I knew it. You
gave it to yourself.”
“Well, I never knew any other name.”
“I know. So, Blade Haden-cum-Charon. I
think we’ve almost advanced to the next stage.”
“Your point of no return?”
He nodded.
“Then let’s cross it.” Charon drained his
glass.
“You don’t want to ask any questions? Maybe
I’m a cold-blooded killer and chose you as my next victim.”
“Then I’m already dead. And I did wonder
about that. But I hardly think that’s your game because this took too long. You
took too much care for something as pedestrian as that.”
“Come now, humor me with a little
something.”
Charon thought for a minute. He really had
nothing else but wanted to move to the next thing. “Okay. What’s your name?”
“Good question. I’m afraid you don’t need
to know it.”
“Seems like we might spend some time
together, at least for the night. Am I supposed to just shout ‘Dude’ every time
I want your attention?”
He laughed. “Fair enough. How about this?
Call me Styx.”
“Sticks? After all this buildup, you want
Sticks?”
He shook his head. “S-t-y-x.”
“Ah. I see. You like my nickname and want
to be like me.”
“I’ve
no desire to take on someone else’s persona. Give me more credit than that. But
I do intend to be the river that transports you to where you long to go. Just
as the River Styx provides our dear Charon with transportation.”
THE
BACHMANN FAMILY SECRET
By
Damian Serbu
Excerpt:
My thoughts then turned to Gramps.
Overlooking his yard reminded me of the fireflies Gramps and I had spent hours
catching when I was a kid, before we moved to Colorado and afterward on our
summer visits here. I remembered the special cages we’d bought at the drugstore
for them, but they rarely lived past a couple of days. I didn’t care. I’d go
out and catch dozens more. And Gramps never complained, never let on he might
have wanted to do something else.
The ghosts of their little lights blinked
at me, as if calling from the past. I wondered why none appeared tonight, and
then my grief overcame me, and I wished Gramps were still alive. I thought
about his appearance earlier in the afternoon. Why was he so scary? And how
come he didn’t look as solid as he had earlier? He changed once I got to the
house. What was going on? That wasn’t the Gramps I knew. Maybe dying changed
him. But I didn’t want to believe anything bad about the man who loved us so
much in life.
I also thought about the faces in the attic
window I’d seen from my walk. I wanted to believe a family member got the door
open and went up there, but I knew the attic door was still jammed. I didn’t
even have to try the knob to know. So who, then, was at the window?
Darth growled and I whipped my head toward
the bed to see her staring toward the side of me. She snarled and rose to her
feet, the hair on her back standing straight up. The hair on my arms rose, too,
when I turned and saw Gramps sitting in the corner, rocking in a chair. I went
over and turned on the lights to get a better look. He appeared solid again,
human even, and his gentle face seemed loving and reassuring, not irate. Gramps
smiled at Darth and made a peaceful gesture for her to sit down, which she
obeyed. She stayed on guard, but stopped growling.
Then he looked at me and smiled. I smiled
back. “I miss you,” I said, and he nodded in a way he used to do, when he was
sympathizing with me.
Again questions shot through my mind with
no answers in sight. What did he want me to do? And how come I was the only one
in the weird family he came to? His ghost stood and walked toward the door and
looked back when he reached it. He motioned for me to follow, then waited.
Confused, I went with him, but made darn
sure Darth came along. And even though he’d been so weird and pissed during the
afternoon, I trusted him. Lord, I thought, I’m talking about a man
who’s dead, but he’s taking me on an evening stroll through his house. I
hoped my parents or someone in the family didn’t decide to get up for a drink
of water or anything.
Gramps took us to the attic door and,
without making a sound or movement, opened it and pointed. Well, the door
opened by itself. I stared at the opening, feeling a new sense of dread, and
refused to move, refused to step inside the room with the horrible energy, with
all the bad feelings in it. I had never gone up there while Gramps was alive,
and I couldn’t go now, even with Darth, even with Gramps’s nice ghost encouraging me.
Gramps still smiled despite my resistance.
He looked at me and signaled he loved me by placing his fist over his heart and
then pointing at me. He next drew a necklace around his neck and pointed into
the attic.
No way, I thought. Jewels? Is Gramps showing me the jewels? I
watched and he lifted his fingers to his lips in the shhh gesture. He wanted me to keep the news a secret. But from
whom? And how come I got to know? I started to ask him, but he disappeared and
left Darth and me alone in the hall. The attic door closed and locked shut
without a sound as Gramps’s ghost vanished, leaving me more confused than
before, if possible.
Okay, so Gramps shushed me. Did he
disappear because I tried to speak? Was he mad again? A chill passed down my
spine and the hallway became icy cold, as Darth resumed growling in the
darkness. I strained to see what bothered her when I saw Gramps again coming
down the hall, but he was frowning, angry, and back to the pissed-off version
of a spirit. What was going on? He was no longer solid, either, as I stared
right through his form. Plus, he appeared younger than he was when he brought
me to the attic not five minutes ago. Had I disappointed him? Was he angry I
started to talk?
He drifted up to me and opened his mouth,
and like when his laughter filled my head, his voice flooded my brain. “Where?” he screamed as he circled Darth
and me.
Scared shitless, I ran toward the stairs
and dragged Darth behind me. The ghost—Gramps?—stayed in the hallway and moved
in violent circles. I felt the air as it swirled around. Why was Gramps kind
and gentle one minute and then attacking me the next? What was going on? And
why did he tell me about the jewels and then get all pissed?
I sprinted across the first floor to the
back door where Darth’s leash hung, grabbing it as I opened the door and ran
outside with her at my heels, not bothering to hook her to the leash until
after we stood in the backyard well away from the house. My heart pounded, my
entire body trembled, and I struggled not to slump over.
I glanced at the house to see if anyone
followed me or turned on a light because of the commotion, but the scene
appeared serene and quiet. Like no maniac irate ghost spun around like a madman
in the upstairs hall. Good, because how was I going to explain what happened? Oh, don’t worry. Go back to bed, Mom. Just a
pissed-off ghost in the hallway. No biggie. It’s under control. I needed to
take another walk, get myself together. I started to turn away when Gramps
looked out the landing window and glared down at me with glowing red eyes. Even
angrier than a moment ago.
“What?” I whispered. “What did I do? Why
are you so mad?”
I
pulled Darth away and headed out the gate, down the street, with no idea where
to go or what to do, except I needed to get away from the house and the furious
ghost. I sprinted down the sidewalk, my entire body still shaking, paused after
a few blocks, exhausted, and glanced back at Gramps’s house. Even from a
distance, I made out its shape and saw the gables peeking out from behind the trees.
Despite all the warm memories, the place felt like the devil’s lair in the
blackness of night.
This sounds like an epic Vampire series, I have added these titles to my TBR and wish-list and am looking forward to reading. Thank you for sharing the book and author details
ReplyDeleteThank you for having me stop by!
ReplyDelete