Shortly afterwards he heard the lock turning and two men, in full military camo, entered his room. They were holding semiautomatic rifles and Marcos, looking closely, noticed that their uniforms were made for biological warfare. However, they were not wearing their respirators; these were hanging from their belts.
“Get up and follow us!” came the strict order from one of the guards.
Marcos did not argue. He was led to an ancient elevator, through a corridor dotted by doors on both sides, leading to rooms similar to the one he had woken up in. Fleetingly he noticed that there were several buttons on the control panel of the elevator, all accompanied by little tags that were erased or faded, to the point they had become illegible. The guards noticed what he was looking at and pushed him back before selecting the floor they wanted. The elevator rumbled and rocked, as if it was about to fall apart, but did respond to the command and began its slow ascent, groaning all along as it carried the weight of its passengers. They walked out to another corridor, this one with a single door standing at its end, where two more men, identically dressed to the ones escorting Marcos, were standing guard.
The room at the end of the corridor turned out to be impressively large, in much better repair than anything Marcos had seen up to that point. It had received a fresh coat of paint recently, it was properly lit and air-conditioned, while a massive world map was hanging from the wall to the left of the entrance, half a dozen computers sitting right across and a round table laden with packs of papers and smaller maps at its center; the room resembled a modern guerilla command center. Almost buried behind a fairly large pile of files was a middle-aged African American with gray, short hair, dressed in civilian clothes. The second they walked in he looked up at them, closing the file he had been studying. His gray-blue eyes, which seemed somewhat faded, like his hair, gave him a tired and disappointed look. The man got up from the chair he had been sitting on and approached them. He was of average height, coming up to Marcos a little below chin level. He looked at him from head to toes and then gestured at the guards to leave them alone. The two men stood like that for a few seconds, silent and still, staring at each other, until Marcos was the first to break the silence:
“Nice place you got here”, he said, pointing at the room around them. “Admittedly, the elevator is a bit old and some day it will kill you all, but otherwise this is a beauty”, he joked, not with particular success, judging from the cold expression on the face of the man standing opposite him.
“My men saved you before the police had the chance to get hold of you… or, worse still, the fiends who were escorting Janis Brooks, the vampire you killed”, said the gray-haired man, stressing the word vampire. “Now, what I would like to know, before I let you go, is why you did it”, he added.
“The only good vampire is a dead vampire”, answered Marcos with a smile, continuing his act of a madman who cared little whether they killed him or not.
The gray-haired man, who still hadn’t given his name, returned to his desk, picked up the file he had been studying earlier and passed it on to him. Marcos opened it; inside, there were photos of Erica, himself and, worse still, one that showed him with Erica on her bike, as they were fleeing Eddie’s place, the drug dealer the young vampire had killed. Marcos felt some stress but, always quick to react, responded with the same smile as before as he handed back the file:
“I see you found the whore I’ve been pursuing. Perfect. I shall take one of those Benelli riffles I saw your men carrying and head for the location of this particular young lady. Do you accept credit card?”
He felt a blow to the back of his leg and suddenly he was kneeling on the floor, with a combat knife pressing on his throat. While he was quipping, a man had approached silently from behind, catching Marcos completely unaware.
“He’s lying, James. I am certain of it, I can feel it”, said the man with the knife.
“Sir Philip!” exclaimed the gray-haired man. “Even if what you claim is true, if you kill him, we’ll never know the truth”, he added, trying to placate the man yielding the serrated blade.
The knight held Marcos in that same position for a few more seconds, while considering what to do and finally, with a dissatisfied grimace, let him go and moved back.
“Call me when you want me to kill him”, he told James, the man with the gray hair, and then exited the room, as quietly as he had appeared.
Marcos got on his feet and saw him walk away, stunned, as the man was actually wearing armor, but he had managed to avoid making even the slightest sound. He rubbed his neck, mechanically, and then turned towards the gray-haired man in the civilian clothes.
“So… eh… thank you?” he told him, numbly.
James kept on staring at him, with an insistence that made Marcos feel as if the older man could see straight into his soul.
“Tell me everything, from the very beginning”, the man told him after a couple of seconds spent in silence, “and we shall see whether you should be thanking me or not” and again he gestured at the file with the envelopes he had given him a little earlier.
Carefully, as not to show signs of satisfaction or gladness, Marcos opened the file once more, sorting in his head the story he would tell the man. He had been prepared for the possibility of interrogation, and this one was turning to be a rather friendly one, taking place over a desk, without handcuffs or torture. Now all he had to do was make some small adjustments to the story he would come up with, so as to include the photos in the file. He glanced at these, closed the file and looked at James.
“Where would you like me to start?” he told him with fake apathy.
Erica opened her eyes; she was lying on a massive double bed, with a pink mosquito net draped over it. Confused, she sat up, pushing aside the silky cloth. Her head felt like it was about to split from the headache; not even when she had been turned into a vampire had she experienced such pain. She looked around; the room was richly appointed, with paintings hanging from the walls, elegant vases in the corners, while the bed was made of carved wood. She glanced at the paintings; she could see that these were masterpieces, but she knew nothing of the fine arts, so she simply turned her back to them and exited the room, sliding open the twin door.
As she was walking out, she came across an equally richly furnished and large sitting room, with a huge screen mounted on the opposite wall and a small statue standing at its center, which depicted an Indian deity. Around the room there were couches, forming a seating area centered on the statue and the screen. On one wall there where two windows extending from the floor all the way to the ceiling and a set of wooden French doors right between them, which were open. She saw Lucas lounging on a deck chair, enjoying the view, as the house was situated on a hillside. He hadn’t heard her, for it was windy out there. Erica continued observing the place around her. To her left there was a door leading to a kitchen and next to it a second one, made of glass, allowing the dining table behind it to show. To her right there was yet another door, also open, leading to a corridor, dotted by the doors to several other rooms, all closed.
At exactly that moment, one of those closed doors opened and Travis appeared. The second he saw her, a wide smiled appeared on his face and immediately he run to her.
“You’re awake!” he said happily, placing his hands on her shoulders, as if he were about to hug her.
He paused for a moment, doubtful, and then lowered his arms.
“I was beginning to get worried!” he continued, somewhat hesitantly this time.
The giant heard him and entered the sitting room, sparing Erica from an awkward moment. He looked at her, neutrally; his face was like a mask, betraying no feelings.
“How are you?” he asked her, coldly.
Erica replied that she was feeling fine and Lucas proceeded to ask her the question that actually interested him:
“What did you see?”
“Whatever she saw, it physically affected her, so you could wait a little for her to fully recove
r!” Travis responded, annoyed, before Erica had the chance to do anything.
Then Erica held him by the arm in order to calm him down and repeated:
“I’m fine. A bit hungry, with a mild headache, but I’m doing all right. Sit down, I have some things to tell you, I was able to regain some more of the memories of Naram-Sin”.
Lucas closed the French doors behind him and stood behind one of the couches, placing his palms on the back of the furniture. He did not want to sit; his agitation would not let him stand still. Travis, before taking a seat, run to the kitchen, opened the fridge and got from it a bag filled with blood, like the ones used at hospitals. He tossed it to Erica- who looked at him a bit oddly, while simultaneously catching the bag in midair- and then sat down, waiting to hear the story.
“Now, before I begin… Where are we? I think we had agreed we were not to attract any undue attention”, she said, addressing them both.
“We’re on a hill, outside Volt City! There are no other houses around and no one saw us carrying you from the plane, don’t worry! I made sure of that!” said Travis excitedly, proud of himself.
“And the owners?”
“Dead, in one of the back rooms”, Lucas said, somewhat troubled. “Your boy here has a penchant for blood and violence”.
Travis turned towards him, about to respond to the giant, but when he saw Lucas’ cold stare, chose to say nothing. Erica looked at them both, but she also avoided any comment. She did not want to become involved in childish arguments in those circumstances. She recalled the scenes she had seen. Several pieces of information swimming in her mind were beginning to make sense, like the pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place. However, some gaps remained; she knew that she still hadn’t seen everything.
“I experienced some of Naram-Sin’s memories, when he along the other leaders went to do battle with something they referred to as ‘the Creature’”, she told them once she had their undivided attention. “Naram-Sin was a member, a leader, of a human army aiming to eradicate the unholy creatures of the night. Along with the other leaders, they became the first vampires. One of his companions, a deformed man by the name of Archytas, appeared to know more than the rest of them. He led them to a place called ‘White Mountain’…”
Lucas cut in.
“That is the name of the highest mountain in the Alps, in Europe”.
Travis looked at him, surprised, mouthing the word “how”, but eventually they both allowed Erica to continue with the story:
“At the top there was a magic lake, which looked as if it contained molten silver or some similar metal. Archytas knew how to safely cross it and led them to its center, where a whirlpool formed, drawing them inside the mountain, under the lake, in the realm of that Creature. It was crawling with small humanoid creatures that resembled living shadows. Now, this is where this whole situation becomes really interesting”, said Erica, with eyes that glimmered. “Archytas was carrying the sword known to you as the sword of Saint Peter… And it proved particularly effective against those shadows. Their master, the Creature, was a prisoner down there. Someone had erected obelisks, covered entirely by protective runes and they had it chained over a pool filled with the same molten metal as in the lake. The thing is, this unholy being was beginning to overcome the chains of its prison. Either it was able to create new shadows, or it was somehow able to summon and control them. Its body was still imprisoned, but it could exit it as a powerful Shadow in order to fight. The warriors managed to defeat it, but barely and only with the help of Archytas.
“I didn’t manage to see what happened next, these memories and visions are extremely taxing, but I do know what Naram-Sin suspected. He felt that the one who had imprisoned the Creature in that place was no other than Archytas himself and that the silver lake on the mountain served as some sort of barrier against those creatures. His sword, which had proved so effective against them, appeared to have been forged from the metal of the lake. He knew exactly where they should head, as if deeply familiar with that place… And, most importantly, the Creature had been waiting for him, it sounded like it knew him and expected him to return”.
Erica stopped talking, waited for them to absorb all she had told them.
“You said they emerged victorious… If they defeated the Creature, how did they end up becoming vampires?” asked Lucas, but Erica did not have an answer, and so Lucas continued: “The part of the story about the White Mountain I knew, at least in part. I was one of the few men who did not follow Naram-Sin and the others. Not because they did not need me, but because someone had to stay behind, in case none of them returned; someone capable of training a new army, able to hold its ground against all those unholy spawns of the night. It took them twelve months to get to the top of the mountain and for an entire month the men waited there for their leaders to return from within the lake. None of the leaders did, and eventually the men thought them dead and returned; entirely unopposed, as all the creatures were gone. They didn’t know what to make of all this and I didn’t know what to do. Until one night, almost two years to the day the campaign was launched, when the leaders did return. None of them had any recollection of what had happened, or at least this is what they claimed. On that very same night all of them revealed the beast lurking within, they were no longer the men who had departed all those long months ago. Naram-Sin was the first to turn; the first vampire. Crazed by his thirst for blood, he murdered his own family and single-handedly defeated all those capable of resisting him. On that same night he changed me, turning me to a vampire. In short, dear girl, whatever it was that you saw in that vision of yours, one thing is certain…” he said and the giant briefly paused, his voice cracking with emotion. “One thing is certain… they did not defeat the Creature. For, had they defeated it, now I would not be a vampire, feeding off human blood, murdering defenseless people”.
With those words, the colossal man turned about and returned to the balcony. He was in pain, this much was clear, but he was too proud to let them see that tears were pooling in his eyes.
Travis kept his eyes on Lucas for a few moments, as the giant was leaning on the rails of the balcony, his back turned to them, distracted for the most part, as he was thinking about what he had been told and not because he was concerned about the giant. Eventually, he turned to Erica and simply asked her:
“Now what?”
“Now… now we stick to Marcos’ plan and focus on the reason we decided to come here in the first place. I may be feeling tired, but I sense that soon I will recall more of Naram-Sin’s memories, so I can better understand what happened with the Creature, as well as Archytas. In the meantime, however, there’s no reason for us to sit idle; let us carry out our mission. How did Marcos do?” she said, determined.
“Well, he did manage to infiltrate the Order’s bunker. They hold him there, captive, but they trust him enough, so he managed to send us a message. I was able to trace its source, so now I know exactly where they are”.
Erica looked at him, surprised.
“So quickly? Within a day since we departed from Athens…”
“Well, not exactly. I’m not sure how to break this gently to you, but it’s been almost a week since you began having those visions on the plane. You have been sleeping all this time… Regardless, whatever we decide to do, we must act quickly. In his message, Marcos indicated that there is a knight present there, one Sir Philip, you may have heard of him, who is rather suspicious and our boy is not sure how long he can keep up the act, without the rest of them becoming suspicious of his motives as well”.
Erica knew exactly who this knight was and she felt the pressure immediately; not for the plan, but for the safety of Marcos. If the knights felt that he was in league with the vampires, they would kill him without hesitation. She did not know exactly why, nor was she inclined to realize the reason, but she did not want Marcos to die.
“Tell Lucas we’ll be heading out as soon as possible”, she announced to Travis with determ
ination and immediately opened the plastic bag he had given her a while ago, sucking at it hungrily; she had to be ready.
Numbly, Travis got up from the couch and headed to the balcony, to let the giant know. He had noticed Erica’s reaction when she heard that the life of a human might be in danger. It didn’t please him, it didn’t please him one bit. Jealousy and anger alternated within him, but he was lost as to how he might tackle this problem. At least, not yet. He slid open the doors to the balcony, at the same time burying his feelings deep inside; he did not want Lucas to sense his irritation.
Cheops was standing in front of the massive brazier at the center of the room, strewn with still beating hearts. He was gazing at the flames leaping sporadically from the glowing embers. Many times in the past he had tried to understand what sort of magic was keeping the hearts of the Dead ones still alive, but he had failed. The heat emanating from the brazier was uncomfortable to him, yet he remained there, almost charmed by it. After all, he had nothing else to do, nothing but wait; wait for his appointment with Death. He rubbed his head; the khat he was wearing, the ceremonial headgear of the pharaohs, was grating. For the millionth time, he thought about removing it. He was dressed in the manner a man of his social status would have been dressed in the old times, the age of the pharaohs; the times when he was still a man and not a vampire, one of the Ancients. He wanted to die dressed like this, in the arms of a sweet nostalgia. He thought about throwing himself in the brazier, to find out whether the powerful magic lurking within would be able to destroy him, but this, too, was unbecoming of a man of his status. Once more he checked the swords threaded inside his belt, the golden armbands, and the golden necklace sitting tightly on his collarbones. Other than these, he was wearing a plain linen trouser. His bare feet were touching the cold marble beneath his soles, but at least cold was not something that bothered the vampires. He drew one of his twin swords, a khopesh; a short Egyptian weapon with a curved blade, like a sickle. Its handle was made of golden-plated wood, but he had made sure the blade was forged of silver. He toyed for a while with the sword in his hands; it was particularly light, well-suited to his combat style. With a sadistic smile, he sliced one of the hearts beating within the brazier, taking care to avoid the heat of the coals as much as he could. He knew that at this very moment one of the Dead, somewhere on this planet, was howling in pain. He enjoyed that feeling, the fact that in some way he retained a semblance of control over his life. He removed his sword, returning it to a small hook on his belt, since there were no scabbards able to accommodate these weapons. The cut on the heart immediately healed.