Blood Legacy: The House Of Alexander Part 10

Ryan processed the technical information. "And what is this 'state' you refer to?"

Susan cleared her throat. "It's called hibernation."

Ryan stared at the red-headed woman. "You think my father is hibernating?"

Susan's discomfiture was evident. "I don't know. I told you it was very speculative. But I saw something very similar in your system when you were recovering from your wounds the first time I saw you. It is possible that Victor's system knew it was under significant attack and began to shut down in order to minimize the damage."

Ryan was silent for a moment, then spoke quietly. "I think that your approach should also focus on an artificial agent rather than a natural event."

Susan wasn't quite sure she understood. "What do you mean?"

Ryan's words were quiet but there was an edge to her tone. "I don't believe that this is a natural virus or infection. I believe that this was an attack on my father."

Susan considered her words. "Then that would mean that someone has considerable knowledge of Victor's anatomy, that they were able to design a pathogen capable of overcoming his immune system." She shook her head. "I just don't see how that's possible."

Ryan was uncertain herself. "I know. But you have to consider the resources of those who stand against us." She gestured to the roomful of medical equipment. "This is effortless for any of my Kind. They simply have to find the right person to get to."

Aeron sat at his dinner table in a darkness lit only by flickering candles and the licking flames of the fireplace. There were times when he despised the harsh, artificial glow of the modern light bulb. And fluorescent lights were in a loathed category all their own. Halogen, Aeron thought as he gazed balefully at the waiting figure in the doorway, halogen made him want to kill someone.

The frightened servant stepped forward, knowing that the news he had for his master would not be taken well. He stood, nearly shaking, unwilling to speak until spoken to.

Aeron fingered the silverware of his place setting, particularly the knife. It was long, thin, and sharp, appearing to be a utensil more suited for a surgical procedure than an elegant dinner. He tapped his fingers on the crisp, clean, tablecloth.

"Well?" he said finally, his voice smooth and deceptively calm.

The servant swallowed hard. "There is no sign of them, my lord." He swallowed again. "They seem to have disappeared."

"Ah," Aeron said lightly. He rearranged the silverware, as if giving great thought to its relative placement. He was not pleased with the arrangement, and moved it back to its original position. He was considering moving it again when he became aware of the groveling servant once more.

"When?" he asked, his tone still light.

"They were tracked to their primary residence immediately following the meeting of the Grand Council. The residence was placed under observation, but after no signs of movement for several days, the residence was entered. There was no sign of either of the Alexanders. Ryan Alexander's manservant, Edward, was missing, as was the human female doctor and her son."

Aeron nodded, his expression still deceptively calm. "And when do you think they left?"

The servant, uncertain how to reply, made the mistake of stating the obvious. "Sometime between Ryan Alexander's arrival and when we entered the premises."

"Really?" Aeron said. "You think?" His expression grew cold. "Minutes," he said. "She was gone within minutes." He was having difficulty maintaining his air of calmness, although his tone was still tightly controlled. He moved the silverware again. "And, attempts to locate them-?"

The servant shook his head. "All have failed. My lord, it is literally as if they have disappeared off the face of the earth."

Aeron nodded. "Ah," was all he said. He delicately picked up the knife.

CHAPTER 9.

Ryan stood at the door of the discotheque. Located in the heart of a monstrous city, it was known to be a hotspot for tourists.

It was also full of Young Ones, Ryan thought to herself, she could feel them in all of their worldly, naive stupor, intoxicated with new, unimagined pleasures. She entered the club.

At first glance, the scene was so stereotypical of modern vampire movies that she thought it could not possibly be real. No one from her Kind could possibly find this situation interesting or stimulating. She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

The room was filled with beautiful young people, all in various states of undress, undulating to some horrible electronic noise. The lights were flashing on and off, reflecting from an endless array of mirrors. The air was thick with smoke and fog, pierced only by the red and blue lasers shooting from a rotating ball.

Ryan stared, aghast. Even if she had not been compelled by decree, she would have killed them all simply for subjecting her to such stupidity.

She strolled into the nightclub, a dark-clothed figure who moved almost languorously in contrast to the frenetic movement all around her. She attracted no attention, ignored by Young Ones who still habitually mistook physical appearance for actual age. She walked up to the bar, and the bartender leaned over to her.

"I don't suppose you have any decent wine?" Ryan asked.

The bartender hesitated. There was something odd about the girl's voice. Although the din in the place was deafening, she was speaking in normal tones and he could easily hear her. The voice itself was odd, with a strange inflection and an authority that was far beyond her age. When she turned her gaze upon him, he froze, the gla.s.s he had been drying now motionless in his hand.

"I don't think we have anything that would be acceptable to you."

Ryan nodded. "I think you're right."

She turned, and the bartender had the impression that she moved in slow motion, an utter stillness about her in the ma.s.s of frenzied, writhing bodies. As he watched her walk toward the door, strangely, the movements seemed to reverse themselves. It was she who now appeared to be moving at normal speed, but the motion of everyone else in the room had slowed to a crawl. The faces and bodies of the dancers were frozen, contorted like those in an unfortunately-timed photograph. All the while the black-garbed figure walked leisurely toward the exit.

The bartender felt ice wash through his body. He dropped the gla.s.s and sprang toward the door, but he, too, was frozen in time. As the girl turned and smiled a wicked smile at him, he knew that he would never bridge the gap between them, that she had all the time in the universe, and that she would be a world away before the gla.s.s. .h.i.t the floor.

He was right on all counts but one. The gla.s.s never hit the floor because the floor disappeared in an explosion of gla.s.s, metal, and fire.

Ryan walked up the steps to the church, glancing at the light streaming through the elaborate stained gla.s.s windows. It made beautiful patterns in the night, a stark contrast to the source material of h.e.l.lfire and d.a.m.nation depicted in the frames.

She pushed through the doors, brushing by an usher who seemed unaware of her presence, his gaze pa.s.sing right through her. She pushed through another set of doors and settled into the rearmost pew, one of the few empty in the congregation. Her arrival attracted no attention, caused no interruption in the service.

Ryan glanced around the chapel. The decor was one she a.s.sociated with modern Christian broadcasts, spectacles she occasionally watched with equal parts horror and fascination. It had that curious mixture of attempted humility and tasteless opulence: an overabundance of gold leaf everywhere, excruciatingly intricate faux woodwork, an immense, oversized cross that Jesus Christ and all twelve disciples could not have carried. Elaborate sconces and candlesticks lit the room, casting flickering shadows on the stained gla.s.s that continued its depictions of the most horrific portions of the bible down the walls.

Ryan frowned. The message was clear: self-sacrifice promoted everywhere but here. She leaned back in her seat, her thoughts drifting to her childhood. The Church had been all-powerful then, immoral and corrupt. It had enslaved an ignorant populace, peasants like herself who had been illiterate and incapable of reading the word of G.o.d written in the incomprehensible language of Latin. She had killed a priest in the act of raping a child, and in return had nearly been executed. It was only the hidden intervention of Victor that saved her life.

Ryan smiled, and it wasn't pleasant to see. In her seven centuries, she had slain thousands, but the priest had been her first, and one of the most enjoyable.

She turned her attention to the current religious figure, idly examining him. He was handsome enough, with words that had a musical quality, volume that rose and fell, diction that was commanding and cajoling, conspiratorial and patronizing, promising and threatening. His voice drifted over his enraptured congregation, and Ryan felt her irritation stir. If there was anything worse than a religious charlatan, it was a religious charlatan who was one of her Kind.

There was considerable movement in the a.s.sembly, and it was apparent some sort of ceremony was beginning. Chalices were brought forward to the altar, and members of the congregation began to pair off. Ryan realized that some sort of communion was being offered, although she doubted this was exactly what Christ had in mind.

A beautiful young woman stood and walked the aisle to the pastor. The rapt congregation waited in a mixture of antic.i.p.ation, worship, and l.u.s.t. The woman kneeled, offering her wrists. Attendants to the pastor stepped forward with chalices and jewel-encrusted daggers. Simultaneously, with well-practiced moves, they sliced the woman's wrists and began draining her blood into the goblets. The woman moaned in agony and ecstasy, and the pastor cupped his hand beneath her chin, causing her to rise. The attendants did not spill a drop as they rose with her. The pastor said some incantation, then lowered his head to her neck, slicing into her throat with his teeth.

Ryan watched the spectacle with only mild interest, turning her attention to those surrounding her. They were being driven into bloodl.u.s.t, stoked by their religious fervor. When the woman at the altar collapsed, they were driven nearly to a frenzy, and began pairing with one another.

Ryan was curiously unmoved by the scene. She had been witness to much depravity during her long life, and this barely on her scale. If these people wished to Share in the context of a religious experience, so be it. But she did have a job to do.

The pastor immediately noticed the tall figure as she stood in the back of the church, incredulous that he had not seen the golden-haired stranger before. She was startlingly beautiful, with a unique presence that seemed to shift the s.p.a.ce around her. She was a welcome addition to his flock and he motioned for her to step forward.

As the figure began to walk up the aisle, those she pa.s.sed broke their bonds, one by one raising their heads uncertainly. Those they fed upon also raised up, drawn to the fair-haired one.

The pastor felt his excitement grow. He could not tell how old this girl was, although he did not think she was as old as his century mark. His congregation was made up of entirely Young Ones, their l.u.s.t so great they constantly killed one another. It would be pleasant to have someone slightly older, someone more powerful to sate his hunger. His eyes gleamed as the girl approached. He did not know if he could control his own pa.s.sion, however, nor guarantee the girl's life.

Ryan sensed these thoughts and was amused. Over time she had grown more and more capable of disguising her presence, and at times it was nearly a game to her. The pastor held out his hands to her, but Ryan did not take them. She could disguise her presence, but she could not hide the power in her touch.

The pastor misinterpreted her hesitation. "Do not be afraid, my child. The Lord will welcome you into his everlasting arms."

Ryan's amus.e.m.e.nt grew. "I really don't think so. I don't think heaven would welcome me at all."

Evidently, the pastor was also deaf to sarcasm, because he again misinterpreted her meaning. "I am certain you are worthy, my child. Kneel, and it shall be proven so."

Ryan gazed at him. Without revealing the full extent of her power, she began to put pressure on him, subtly at first, but steadily increasing.

"I bow before no one," she said quietly.

Confusion was apparent on the pastor's face. He felt an immense downward force, and the oddest desire to kneel. He withstood the impulse only seconds before he went down on one knee, and then the other. The entire congregation grew silent and still, spellbound and at the sight of their leader on his knees before the golden-haired stranger.

"You do not know me," Ryan said, "But I am going to give you a gift." She raised her finger to her lips and ran the very tip lightly over her front teeth. A drop of blood appeared on the fingertip.

The pastor stared at the finger, as did the rest of the congregation. He was mesmerized by the drop, an infinitesimal amount that created a boundless ache within him he did not understand. He raised his eyes to the girl's, who gazed down at him.

Very slowly, Ryan allowed her presence to be known. And very slowly, those in the room saw her as she truly was. Fear and longing swept through the church, settling most firmly on the pastor kneeling at her feet. His terror was infinite, surpa.s.sed only by his craving for her blood.

Ryan stared at the man, then at the drop on her finger. "It will kill you," she said resolutely. "But then again, most vices eventually will."

The drop wavered before him, but there was never any doubt as to his decision. He grabbed the wrist, but could not budge the arm, so powerful was the creature in front of him. Very slowly, Ryan lowered her hand, touching the finger to his lips. She pulled it away instantly, leaving only a touch of red.

The pastor's eyes rolled back in his head, both in pain and ecstasy as the blood shot through his veins like lightning. His last thought was that the agony was more than he antic.i.p.ated, but worth it all the same.

Ryan turned to the shocked and mesmerized congregation. "You know what I expect of you," she said, her words easily carrying in the silent hall. She stepped down from the altar, and casually walked down the aisle. No one moved until the black-garbed figure had disappeared.

They sat for a long time, staring at one another.

And then they went about the Lord's business.

CHAPTER 10.

AERON FELT ABIGAIL'S APPROACH a great distance off. He knew why she had come. Her intelligence sources were as good, if not better, than his own. He had been expecting her.

She swept into his parlor, a cool, elegant, feminine presence in stark contrast to the dark masculinity of his furnishings. He held out his hand and she offered hers. He brushed his lips across her skin, and dismissed her escort with a glance Abigail settled, smoothing the skirt that never wrinkled. She did not bother with small talk.

"It seems our young prince has resurfaced."

"Oh really," he said noncommittally.

Abigail smiled, not fooled by his demeanor. "Yes. The papers have reported a 'terrorist attack' in which over 400 Americans were killed in a discotheque."

Aeron did not perpetuate his charade of ignorance. "Yes, 380 of which were our Kind. Clever girl," he added, half to himself. "Took out a crowd of Young Ones in a single blow."

Abigail, "And a church."

Aeron raised an eyebrow. This he had not heard.

"Apparently one of our Kind was a pastor who had decided to transform his entire flock, creating one of the many cults among our Kind."

"Ah yes," Aeron said sarcastically, "The inevitable blending of religion, l.u.s.t, and death from lesser beings who cannot handle the simple fact that we are killers."

Abigail smiled. "In this case, death, as in the 'angel of death,' was the predominant theme. Accounts from the few survivors describe the visitation of 'the bright morning star' who sowed ma.s.s confusion, resulting in the destruction of almost the entire congregation."

"She killed them?"

"Oh no," Abigail said, "She didn't have to. They all killed one another."

Aeron contemplated this fact. "And you're certain it was her."

Abigail nodded. "There is no doubt."

Aeron was impressed. An interesting strategy. "It appears our young friend is pursuing quant.i.ty over quality, although I must confess the ingenuity of her methods thus far is remarkable as well."

"If you will remember, her father employed the same 'creativity' in his elimination process, although he did not have nearly the mobility or the resources that she has now. And," Abigail said thoughtfully, "I don't believe there has ever been a hunter of this magnitude, not even Victor."

Aeron was silent for a moment. "How many from the congregation?"

Abigail's reply was cool. "Over six hundred."

Before Aeron could fully digest this number, she added. "And that doesn't count those destroyed in the collapse of skysc.r.a.per yesterday, a strategic accident."

Aeron glanced up sharply. "How many total?"

There was a hint of recrimination in her voice. "Nearly two thousand."

Nearly two thousand. Aeron turned the number over in his head. Two thousand in three days. Granted they were the weakest of their Kind, one step from being human, but still ...

"We must give an order of dispersal," he said, thinking aloud. "No large gatherings. We can't make it too easy for our little hunter."

Abigail agreed, in principle. "It will be difficult. Our Kind are ever-social, drawn to one another by desire. If Young Ones willingly engage in the act of Sharing knowing they potentially face death, a more 'abstract' threat of death is unlikely to deter them." She paused, deep in thought for a moment before she continued.

"I have the feeling that Ryan is simply sending a message right now, expressing her disdain for this process. She wanted to personalize the initial strikes."

Aeron listened intently. Abigail knew Ryan better than almost anyone else. "And what would you expect her to do next?"

Abigail was thoughtful. "Ryan will not run about killing our Kind, as most hunters have done. It is beneath her. Where others revel in the power and death they perpetrate, Ryan simply doesn't care."