“I did,” said Eph. “And even if it was all a fraud, I still prefer an economy based on metal-backed currency than one based on human blood.”
Make no mistake, all currency is blood.
“I would rather live in a dream world of light than a real world of darkness.”
Your perspective continues to be that of one who has lost something. But this has always been their world.
“Was always their world,” said Fet, correcting the Born. “Turned out they were even bigger suckers than we were.”
Mr. Quinlan was patient with Fet under the circumstances.
They were subverted from within. They were aware of the threat but believed they could contain it. It is easier to overlook dissension within your own ranks.
Mr. Quinlan briefly looked at Eph before moving on.
For the Master, it is best to consider the whole of recorded human history as a series of test runs. A set of experiments carried out over time, in preparation for the final masterstroke. The Master was there during the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. He learned from the French Revolution, the Napoleonic wars. He nested in the concentration camps. He lived among you like a deviant sociologist, learning everything he could from and about you, in order to engineer your collapse. Patterns over time. The Master learned to align himself with influential power brokers, such as Eldritch Palmer, and corrupt them. He devised a formula for the mathematics of power. The perfect balance of vampires, cattle, and wardens.
The others digested this. Fet said, “So your kind, the Ancients, has fallen. Our kind has also. The question is, what can we do about it?”
Mr. Quinlan crossed to an altar of sorts, a granite table upon which were set six circular wooden receptacles, each one not much bigger than a can of soda. Each receptacle glowed faintly in the lens of Eph’s night-vision device, as though containing a source of light or heat.
These. We must carry these back with us. I have spent most of the past two years arranging passage and traveling to and from the Old World in order to collect the remains of all the Ancients. Here I have preserved them in white oak, in accordance with the lore.
Nora said, “You have been around the world? To Europe, the Far East?”
Mr. Quinlan nodded.
“Is it . . . is it the same there? All over?”
Essentially. The more developed the region, the better the existing infrastructure, the more efficient the transition.
Eph moved closer to the six wooden crematory urns. He said, “What are you preserving them for?”
The lore told me what to do. It did not tell me to what end.
Eph looked around to see if anyone else questioned this. “So you traveled all around the world sweeping up their ashes at great danger to yourself, and you had no interest in why or what for?”
Mr. Quinlan looked at Eph with those red eyes.
Until now.
Eph wanted to press him more on the explanation of the ashes but held his tongue. He did not know the extent of the vampire’s psychic reach, and he was worried about being read and found to be questioning the entire endeavor. For he was still wrestling with the temptation of the Master’s offer. Eph felt like a spy there, allowing Mr. Quinlan to reveal this secret location to him. Eph did not want to know any more than he already did. He was afraid that he was capable of betraying them all. Of trading them and the world for his boy and paying for the transaction with his soul. He grew sweaty and fidgety just thinking about it.
He looked at the others standing there inside the vast underground chamber. Had one among them been corrupted already, as the Master had claimed? Or was this another of the Master’s lies, meant to soften Eph’s own resistance? Eph studied each one in turn, as though his night-vision scope could reveal some identifiable trace of their treachery, like a malignant black stain spreading out from their chest.
Fet spoke up, addressing Mr. Quinlan. “So why did you bring us here?”
Now that I have retrieved the ashes and read the Lumen I am ready to proceed. We have little time left to destroy the Master, but this lair allows us to keep an eye on him. Be close to his own hideout.
“Wait a minute . . . ,” said Fet, a curious tone in his voice. “Won’t destroying the Master also destroy you?”
It is the only way.
“You want to die? Why?”
The simple and honest answer is that I am tired. Immortality lost its luster for me many centuries ago. In fact, it removes the luster from everything. Eternity is tedium. Time is an ocean, and I want to come ashore. The one bright spot I have left in this world—the one hope—is the potential destruction of my creator. It is revenge.
Mr. Quinlan spoke of what he knew. What he had learned in the Lumen. He spoke in plain terms and with as much clarity as was possible. He explained the origin of the Ancients and the myth of the sites of origin and the emphasis on finding the Black Site, the birth site of the Master.
The part that Gus clicked with most was the three archangels—Gabriel, Michael, and the forgotten third angel, Ozryel—dispatched to fulfill God’s will in destroying the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.
“God’s hardasses,” said Gus, identifying with the avenging angels. “But what do you think. Angels? Really? Gimme a fucking break, hermano.”
Fet shrugged. “I believe what Setrakian believed. And he believed in the book.”
Gus agreed with him but couldn’t let it go just yet. “If there is a God, or some something who can send angel assassins—then what the hell’s He waiting for? What if it is all just stories?”
“Backed up by actions,” said Fet. “The Master located each of the six buried segments of Ozryel’s body—the origin sites of the Ancients—and destroyed them with the only force that could accomplish the task. A nuclear meltdown. The only Godlike energy on Earth, powerful enough to obliterate sacred ground.”
With that, the Master not only wiped out its competition but made itself six times more powerful. We know it is still searching for its own site of origin, not to destroy it but to protect it.
“Great. So we just have to find the burial site,” said Nora, “before the Master does, and build an itty-bitty nuclear reactor on it, then sabotage the thing. Is that it?”
Fet said, “Or detonate a nuclear bomb.”
Nora laughed harshly. “That actually sounds like fun.”
Nobody else laughed.
“Shit,” Nora said. “You have a nuclear bomb.”
“But no detonator,” Fet said sheepishly, and looked to Gus. “We are trying to get a line on some sort of solution to that, right?”
Gus answered, lacking Fet’s enthusiasm. “My man Creem, you remember him? Silver-blinged-up banger, built like a big, fat truck? I put him on it, and he says he’s ready to deal. He’s hooked into everything black market in Jersey. Thing is, he’s still a drug dealer at heart. Can’t trust a man with no code.”
Fet said, “All of this is moot if we don’t have a target to shoot at.” He looked at Mr. Quinlan. “Right? And that’s why you wanted to see the Lumen. You think you can learn something from it we couldn’t?”
I trust you all saw the sky mark.
Mr. Quinlan paused and then locked eyes with Eph. And Eph felt as if the Born could read every secret in his soul.
Beyond the limits of circumstance and organization, there exists design. What it was that fell from the sky does not matter. It was an omen, prophesied ages ago and meant to signal the birth site. We are close. Think of it—the Master came here for that very reason. This is the right place and the right time. We will find it.
Gus said, “No disrespect, but I don’t get it. I mean, if you all want to go read a book and think it has little clues for you on how to slay a fucking vampire, then go to it. Pull up a comfortable chair. But me? I think we figure out how to confront this king bloodsucker and blow its ass up. The old man showed us the way, but at the same time, this mystical mumbo jumbo has gotten us where we are—starving, hunted, living like rats.” Gus wa
s pacing, going a little stir-crazy in this ancient chamber. “I got the Master on video. Belvedere Castle. I say we get this bomb together and take care of business directly.”
“My son is there,” said Eph. “It’s not just the Master.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck about your brat?” said Gus. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression—’cause I don’t give a fuck.”
Fet said, “Cool down, everyone. If we blow this chance, it’s over. Nobody would ever get close to the Master again.”
Fet looked to Mr. Quinlan, whose silence and stillness communicated his agreement.
Gus frowned but didn’t argue the point. He respected Fet, and more so, he respected Mr. Quinlan. “You say we can blow a hole in the ground and the Master disappears. I’m down with that, if it works. And if it doesn’t? We just give up?”
He had a point. The others’ silence confirmed it.
“Not me,” said Gus. “No fucking way.”
Eph felt the hairs go up on the back of his neck. He had an idea. He started talking before he could think himself out of it.
“There might be one way,” he said.
“One way to what?” said Fet.
“To get close to the Master. Not by laying siege to his castle. Without endangering Zack. What if instead we draw it to us?”
“What is this shit?” said Gus. “Suddenly you have a plan, hombre?” Gus smiled at the others. “This ought to be good.”
Eph swallowed to keep his voice in check. “The Master is keyed in on me for some reason. It’s got my son. What if I offer it something to trade?”
Fet said, “The Lumen.”
“This is bullshit,” said Gus. “What are you selling?”
Eph put out his hands and patted the air, asking for patience and consideration for what he was about to suggest. “Hear me out. First of all, we dummy up a fake book in its place. I say I stole it from you and want to exchange it. For Zack.”
Nora said, “Isn’t that pretty dangerous? What if something happens to Zack?”
“It’s a huge risk, but I can’t see getting him back by doing nothing. But if we destroy the Master . . . it’s all over.”
Gus wasn’t buying it. Fet looked concerned, and Mr. Quinlan gave no indication of his opinion.
But Nora was nodding. “I think this could work.”
Fet looked at her. “What? Maybe we should talk alone about this first.”
“Let your lady speak,” said Gus, never missing an opportunity to twist the knife in Eph’s side. “Let’s hear this.”
Nora said, “I think Eph could lure him in. He’s right—there is something about him, something the Master wants or fears. I keep going back to that light in the sky. Something’s going on there.”
Eph felt a burning sensation ride up from his back to his neck.
“It could work,” said Nora. “Eph double-crossing us makes sense. Draw the Master out with Eph and the fake Lumen. Leave it vulnerable to ambush.” She looked at Eph. “If you’re sure you’re up for such a thing.”
“If we have no other choice,” he said.
Nora went on. “It’s crazy dangerous. Because if we blow it, and the Master gets you . . . then it’s over. It would know everything you know—where we are, how to find us. We would be finished.”
Eph remained still while the others mulled it over. The baritone voice spoke inside his head: The Master is immeasurably more cunning than you are giving it credit for.
“I don’t doubt that the Master is devious,” said Nora, turning to Mr. Quinlan. “But isn’t this kind of an offer it cannot refuse?”
The Born’s quietness signaled his acceptance, if not his full agreement.
Eph felt Mr. Quinlan’s eyes on him. Eph was torn. He felt now that this gave him flexibility: he could potentially carry out this double-cross or stick to the plan if indeed it appeared it would succeed. But there was another question troubling him now.
He searched the face of his former lover, illuminated by night vision. He was looking for some sign of treachery. Was she the traitor? Had they gotten to her during her brief stay inside the blood camp?
Nonsense. They had killed her mother. Her duplicity would make no sense.
In the end, he prayed that they both possessed the integrity he hoped they’d always had.
“I want to do this,” said Eph. “We proceed on both fronts simultaneously.”
They all were aware that a dangerous first step had just been taken. Gus looked doubtful, but even he seemed willing to go along with it. The plan represented direct action, and, at the same time, he was eager to give Eph just enough rope to hang himself with.
The Born began encasing each wooden receptacle inside a protective plastic sleeve and setting them inside a leather sack.
“Wait,” said Fet. “We’re forgetting one very important thing.”
Gus said, “What’s that?”
“How the hell do we make this offer to the Master? How do we get in touch with it at all?”
Nora touched Fet on his unbandaged shoulder and said, “I know of just the way.”
Spanish Harlem
SUPPLY TRUCKS ENTERING Manhattan from Queens traveled the cleared middle inbound lane on the Queensboro Bridge across the East River, turning either south on Second Avenue or north on Third.
Mr. Quinlan stood on the sidewalk outside the George Washington Houses between Ninety-seventh and Ninety-eighth, forty blocks north of the bridge. The Born vampire waited in the spitting rain with his hood covering his head, watching the occasional vehicle pass. Convoys were ignored. Also Stoneheart trucks or vehicles. Mr. Quinlan’s first concern was alerting the Master in any way.
Fet and Eph stood in the shadows of a doorway in the first block of the houses. In the past forty-five minutes, they had seen one vehicle every ten minutes or so. Headlights raised their hopes; Mr. Quinlan’s disinterest dashed them. And so they remained in the darkened doorway, safe from the rain but not from the new awkwardness that was their relationship.
Fet was running their audacious new plan through his head, trying to convince himself that it might work. Success seemed like an incredible long shot—but then again, it wasn’t as though they had dozens of other prospects lined up and ready to go.
Kill the Master. They had tried once, by exposing the creature to the sun, and failed. When the dying Setrakian apparently poisoned its blood, using Fet’s anticoagulant rodent poison, the Master had merely sloughed off its human host, assuming the form of another healthy being. The creature seemed invincible.
And yet, they had hurt it. Both times. No matter what the creature’s original form was, it apparently needed to exist in possession of a human. And humans could be destroyed.
Fet said, “We can’t miss this time. We’ll never get a better chance.”
Eph nodded, looking out into the street. Waiting for Mr. Quinlan’s signal.
He seemed guarded. Maybe he was having second thoughts about the plan, or maybe it was something else. Eph’s unreliability had caused a rift in their relationship—but the Nora situation had driven home a permanent wedge.
Fet’s main concern now was that Eph’s irritation with Fet not negatively impact their efforts.
“Nothing has happened,” Fet said, “between Nora and me.”
“I know,” said Eph. “But everything has happened between her and me. It’s over. And I know it. And there will be a time when you and I will talk about it and maybe even have a fistfight over it. But now it’s not that time. This has to be our focus now. All personal feelings aside . . . Look, Fet, we are paired. It was you and me or Gus and me. I’d rather take you.”
“Glad we’re all on the same page again,” said Fet.
Eph was about to respond when headlights appeared once more. This time, Mr. Quinlan moved into the street. The truck was too far away for any human to make out the operator, but Mr. Quinlan knew. He stood right in the truck’s path, headlights brightening him.
One of the rules of
the road was that any vampire could commandeer a vehicle operated by a human, in the same manner as a soldier or a cop could a civilian’s in the old United States. Mr. Quinlan raised his hand, his elongated middle finger evident, as were his red eyes. The truck stopped, and its driver, a Stoneheart member wearing a dark suit underneath a warm duster, opened the driver’s-side door with the engine still running.
Mr. Quinlan approached the driver, obscured from Fet’s view by the passenger side of the truck. Fet watched as the driver jerked suddenly inside the cab. Mr. Quinlan leaped up into the doorway. Through the rain-smeared windows, they appeared to be grappling.
“Go,” said Fet, and he and Eph both ran out from their hiding spot, into the rain. They splashed off the curb and across to the driver’s side of the truck. Fet almost ran up into Mr. Quinlan, pulling back only at the last moment when he saw that Mr. Quinlan wasn’t the one struggling. Only the driver was.
Mr. Quinlan’s stinger was engorged, jutting out from the base of his throat at his unhinged jaw, tapering to its tip, which was firmly inserted in the neck of the human driver.
Fet pulled back sharply. Eph came around and saw it too, and there was a moment of bonding between them, of shared disgust. Mr. Quinlan fed quickly, his eyes locked on those of the driver, the driver’s face a mask of paralysis and shock.
For Fet, it served as a reminder of how easily Mr. Quinlan could turn on them—any of them—in an instant.
Fet did not look back until he was certain the feeding was over. He caught sight of Mr. Quinlan’s retracted stinger, its narrow end lolling out of his mouth like the hairless tail of some animal he had otherwise swallowed. Flush with energy, Mr. Quinlan lifted the limp Stoneheart driver out of the truck and carried him, as easily as a bundle of clothes, off the street. Half in the shadows of the doorway, in a gesture of both mercy and convenience, Mr. Quinlan snapped the man’s neck with a firm rotation.
Mr. Quinlan left the destroyed corpse in the doorway before rejoining them on the street. They needed to get moving before another vehicle happened along. Fet and Eph met him at the rear of the truck, where Fet opened the unlocked clasp, raising the sliding door.