An evil laugh rose in his throat as he dragged her down a flight of stairs to the basement. He opened a door and flipped a switch, flooding the room with light, light that did little to dispel the blackness that gathered around her, a darkness so thick she could feel it crawling over her skin.
A long metal table stood in the middle of a magick circle. Jimmy Dugan's corpse lay on the table, obscene and withered in death. A stake had been driven into his heart. His body had been drained of blood.
She turned to look at Loken, her insides going cold with terror when she saw him, really saw him, for the first time. He was neither man nor warlock but some creature out of a nightmare. His eyes were blood red, his ears long and pointed, more like horns than human ears. His teeth were white and sharp.
She looked back at the table, her eyes widening when she found herself staring into Jimmy Dugan's eyes. And then, to her horror, the young vampire's appearance began to change. His hair turned from brown to black, his eyes from dark brown to the deep blue of midnight. His shoulders grew broader, his legs longer, and suddenly it wasn't Jimmy Dugan's body chained to the cold metal table but Roshan's.
A scream rose in her throat, echoing off the walls, the floor, the ceiling. She screamed until her throat ached. Screamed with, terror and revulsion. And mingled with her screams was the sound of Anthony Loken's satanic laughter…
She woke with a start, her face and body bathed in sweat.
Scrambling out of bed, she threw back the curtains and opened the window, then stood there drawing in deep breaths of fresh air.
A dream, it had been nothing but a bad dream, and yet she couldn't shake off a feeling of impending doom.
Sometimes dreams were just dreams, and sometimes they were glimpses into the future.
Hurrying downstairs, she went into the kitchen. She pulled a heavy silver bowl from the cupboard and filled it with water, then placed it on the table, her fingertips tapping impatiently while she waited for the water to form a smooth surface.
Passing her hands over the bowl, she stared into the water, murmuring, "Secrets hidden, dark and deep, show me where my love doth sleep."
Slivers of color spiraled up from the bottom of the bowl, swirling across the face of the water until they formed a picture of Roshan. He was lying on his back on a large bed with a carved wooden headboard. A dark blue sheet covered him from the waist down. His skin looked very pale against the bedding. Eyes narrowed, she stared at him. He didn't move, didn't twitch, didn't breathe. She shivered in spite of herself. He did, indeed, sleep like one who was dead. But at least he was safe!
Now, if she only knew the whereabouts of his lair.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, the water shimmered, the colors running together and then painting a new image on the face of the water, and now she was looking at the hallway that ran from the front entryway to the living room. The focus of the picture narrowed until it showed a small door located near the entrance to the living room.
Brenna frowned. She had searched the house from top to bottom trying to find where he slept. How had she missed that door?
Memorizing the location, she ran her fingertips through the water, erasing the image. She poured the water down the sink then went into the hallway. She walked the length of the corridor but there was no sign of a door.
Standing at the end of the entryway, she gathered her powers around her.
"A hidden door is here today, bring me the Sight, show me the way."
There was a ripple in the air, blue motes gathered around her, then outlined a small narrow door located on the left side of the hallway. She stooped in front of the portal. There was no latch. Dropping to her knees, she ran her hands over the door, murmured, "Ah-hah!" when the door opened inward, revealing a long staircase that led down, down, into darkness. At her touch, the blue motes faded and then disappeared.
Returning to the kitchen, she found a candle, then made her way back to the hidden doorway. A quick incantation lit the candle.
She hesitated a moment, then, one hand braced against the wall and the other holding the candle out in front of her, she crawled through the doorway, then walked down the stairs.
She paused at the bottom. At first, she thought she was in the basement, but the basement was much larger and filled with old furniture and boxes. She glanced around, seeing nothing until she used the Sight again. And then she saw it, the faint outline of another door. This one was average size. Once again, there was no discernable latch; once again, she ran her hands over the front and sides but this door refused to budge. She tried several incantations, but to no avail. The door refused to open.
With a sigh of discouragement, she turned and went up the stairs. What would she have done if the door had opened? Did she really want to see Roshan lying there, unmoving? Had she been able to get close to him, she would have been unable to resist touching him. Would his skin have felt cold, lifeless? Would he have known she was there?
When she reached the head of the stairs, Morgana was sitting there, waiting for her. The cat regarded her through narrowed yellow eyes, her expression clearly stating that breakfast was long overdue.
After closing the door, Brenna bent down to scratch Morgana's ears, then went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself and the cat.
Deep in his lair, awareness stirred through the sleeping vampire, roused by the uncanny feeling that someone had been watching him. Yet he sensed no threat to his existence, no immediate danger. And then Brenna's scent was carried to him on a fleeting breath of air. She had been in the outer chamber of his lair. He had only a moment to ponder such a remarkable occurrence before the Dark Sleep dragged him down into oblivion once again.
Anthony Loken stood in the doorway of his laboratory, his brow furrowed as he regarded the body on the table. Such a foolish boy, to believe that anyone could produce a cure for the Dark Trick.
With a shake of his head, Loken removed the tubes from the limp, pale arms, then, careful to make sure the stake remained firmly buried in the boy's chest, he lifted the body into his arms and carried the bloodless corpse up the stairs. Opening the front door, he glanced right and left to make sure there was no one in sight and then tossed the vampire's body out into the yard. There was a feint sizzle as the sun's light fell on preternatural flesh and then, in the blink of an eye, the body of Jimmy Dugan went up in flames.
Loken stared at the patch of barren ground where the boy's body had been. Nothing remained to show that Jimmy Dugan had ever existed. Efficient, Loken mused. Most efficient.
Closing the door, Loken returned to his lab. In all his years of searching, Dugan was the first genuine vampire he had found. A good sign, he thought At last, fortune had smiled on him.
He opened the small refrigerator where he had stored the vampire's blood and withdrew one of the vials. Now that he had what he needed, perhaps he would finally be able to discover what it was about the blood of the undead that allowed vampires to heal almost immediately from any wound, to change their shape, to travel great distances in a blur of movement. But it was the vampire's ability to survive for centuries that Loken craved. Why should he be subject to the few years of a mere mortal life span? He was a man of intelligence and power, a warlock without equal, yet he was subject to the ravages of age, disease, and death. True, some wizards lived to a vast old age, but he did not intend to grow old and weak. His lifelong goal had been to find away to enjoy a vampire's power without a vampire's cravings or limitations. And now, at last, that goal was within his grasp!
He pulled the microscope from the shelf and placed it on his desk. After pulling on a pair of gloves, he prepared several slides with the blood of the vampire.
He placed the first one under the microscope, and then, quivering with excitement, he bent his head over the instrument and stared into the eyepiece. For several moments, he forgot to breathe but simply stared at what he saw. He had spent years studying hematology, yet nothing in his experience enabled him to interpret what he now saw, a constantly shifting mass of red blood cells so dark as to be almost black, cells that appeared to devour one another until only a few remained, and these, to his complete astonishment, quickly began to multiply, and then the whole sequence started again.
Shaking his head, he removed the first slide and replaced it with a second, and then a third.
What did it mean? If he was to inject himself with the vampire's blood, would it endow him with the vampire's power? Or would the vampire's blood consume his own until nothing remained?
A guinea pig, that was what he needed.
He quickly put everything away, wiped a bit of dried blood off the examining table, removed his gloves, and turned off the lights. A guinea pig shouldn't be too hard to find. One of the gullible pseudo-vamps from the Nocturne. A bum off the street. A runaway teen. One of the unemployed young men who gathered near the bus stop in the south end of the city looking for work. He had only to take his pick.
Whistling softly, he left the lab, making sure to lock the door behind him.
Roshan found Brenna in the kitchen fixing dinner and talking to the cat. He stood there a moment, admiring the softly rounded shape of the woman, the silky sheen of her hair, the way her jeans molded to her slim shape, the sound of her voice.
She blushed when she glanced over her shoulder and saw him standing in the doorway.
"Don't let me interrupt your conversation," he said.
"Morgana looked quite interested in what you were saying."
"How long have you been standing there?" Brenna asked, her blush deepening to a most becoming shade of pink.
"Not long enough."
Morgana glanced from Brenna to Roshan, then darted out of the kitchen.
"I don't think she likes me," he mused.
"She will, in time."
"I doubt it. Few animals will tolerate my kind."
"I am sorry. I do not know what I would do without Morgana. She is all the family I have," she said wistfully. "All I have left of my past."
"You were looking for me today." It wasn't a question. "You were in my lair."
She looked at him, her silence an admission of her guilt.
