A Vial of Life (A Shade of Vampire #21) (16 page)

I
gaped
at the couple as Jeramiah gripped the arm of one of the chairs. He turned it on its side and laid it down over the creaking floorboards.

“We will carve these now,” he said to Amaya in a low voice.

“How much should I carve?” the witch asked.

“Of course, we won’t need all of this wood. We’ll take what we need and then burn the rest. Just be sure to cut shavings from both of them.”

He left Amaya with the chairs and walked halfway across the room, where a round stone slab was propped up against the wall. He gripped its edges and laid it down gently on the floor before kneeling down over it and running his palms over its smooth, sanded surface. He glanced back over his shoulder at Amaya, who had already bent down with a sharp knife and was beginning to carve off shavings from the chairs. She worked quickly and with ease, as though she were slicing cheese rather than solid wood. Clearly she had placed some sort of charm over the knife. Within thirty seconds, she’d created a pile of splinters from both my mother’s and father’s chairs. She gathered them up in her palms and handed them to Jeramiah. He set them down on the floor, next to the round slab of stone.

“Hand me the adhesive,” he muttered. “And also the sealant.”

The witch picked up two cups that had been sitting on the dusty mantelpiece. One was filled with a thick white substance, while pooled in the other was a transparent, runny liquid.

“You’ll also need a brush,” the witch said as she placed the cups down next to the vampire.

She walked to one corner of the room where an old broom leaned against the wall. She turned it upside down, gathering strands of its bristles between her fingers, before yanking hard and detaching them from the wood. Reaching for her knife again, she cut off a long, thick slice of wood from one of the chairs, the tip of which she dipped into the bristles. Magically, the bristles clung to the stick. She approached Jeramiah, holding out her makeshift brush for him to take.

Jeramiah dipped the brush into the thick, white liquid and ran it in strokes around the center of the stone. Then, collecting some of the shavings between his fingers, he began to lay them out on the sticky stone surface, slowly and carefully, in the forms of letters. The white adhesive dried quickly, becoming transparent, and soon I found myself staring down at the words:

In honor and memory of Lucas Dominic Novak.

Jeramiah reached for the sealant and brushed a generous coating over the wooden letters. Then he stood up and gazed down at the stone with brows furrowed and a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Add a few flourishes around the edges, will you?” he asked the witch after a pause. “Even with the letters, it still looks rather bare.”

Amaya heaved a sigh and bent down over the slab, holding the same knife that she had used to cut my parents’ chairs. She angled the blade against the stone, and again, as though the slab was made of butter, she began etching a pattern of ivy leaves around the edges.

“Good,” Jeramiah breathed after she’d finished. His sharp blue eyes glistened slightly, and there was an odd warmth to them—warmth that I hadn’t witnessed in my cousin before.

A span of silence fell about the room as Jeramiah continued to admire the slab, now turned into a memorial stone. Still gazing at the two of them in disbelief, I found myself holding my breath—as though I even had any to hold—like I was afraid they might hear me. It was Amaya who finally disturbed the quiet.

“Do you think that one last call will be enough?” she asked.

Jeramiah took in a breath, his eyes darting toward the wind instrument that rested near the front door. “It will have to be enough,” he replied. “Nuriya’s favor only stretches so far.”

Amaya’s expression was doubtful. “And what if it doesn’t happen?”

Agitation played across Jeramiah’s face. He shot a sharp glare at the witch. “Don’t consider it.”

He dipped down to the stone again and trailed his fingers over its now uneven surface. “It’s perfectly dry now. It’s time we head for the Great Dome. The ceremony is still going on, and we ought to do this before the funeral is finished.”

“Wait,” Amaya said, alarmed. “Now? During the day? I thought the plan was to do it at night. What if somebody enters the Dome?”

“You’ll have cast an invisibility spell over the two of us. Worst comes to worst, someone enters the chamber and is unable to see us, but notices the stone. But I doubt it will come to that—not if we’re done before the funeral ends.”

Amaya still looked worried, but she didn’t argue. She swallowed and sealed her lips.

Jeramiah headed out of the living room and crossed the hallway. He stopped at the woodwind instrument and, picking it up, stowed it in his belt, beneath his robe. Then he returned to the living room. He placed his hands either side of the memorial stone and stood up with it.

“Cast the spell now,” he ordered Amaya.

As the witch’s palms twitched, I was certain that she had cast the spell—yet I could still see both of them as clear as day. Apparently the vision of ghosts was not susceptible to being impaired by invisibility spells.

“Now vanish us to the Dome,” Jeramiah said.

Amaya planted a hand on Jeramiah’s shoulder, and both of them disappeared from the spot.

If I’d had a heart, it would’ve been hammering in my chest by now, blood pounding in my ears.

I need to reach the Dome.

I hurtled toward the nearest wall of the living room, and, passing through it, I emerged from the dilapidated farmhouse, reappearing in the dark field outside. The crowd of ghosts was still gathered round the building. They looked like they had hardly budged an inch since I had left them. Some looked after me as I whizzed across the fields, shooting toward the direction of the woods, while others even called out to me, but I ignored them all. I had tunnel vision as I urged myself faster and faster.

It was only a matter of minutes before I arrived at the Great Dome—but these were minutes when Jeramiah and Amaya could have been doing God knew what. When I entered the meeting chamber, it was empty, except for Jeramiah and Amaya standing right at the front, near the raised platform where my parents’ chairs had been. In their place now rested the memorial stone Jeramiah had created for his father.

Two clusters of incense had been lit on either side of the slab—the thin sticks had been stuck into the cracks in the floor to keep them upright. Jeramiah, standing a few feet back from the memorial slab, his eyes calm and steady, appeared to be waiting for something. He was watching the two incense clusters intently, and it was only now that I looked at them more closely that I realized how quickly they were burning and how much smoke they were emitting. Clearly, these were no ordinary incense sticks. They were burning at the speed of a match, and as the sticks disintegrated, the room was choked with a thick smoke. I could only guess the kind of aroma that emanated from them, but as Amaya strangled a cough, I imagined that it would be overbearing. The smoke was so thick that I had to move closer to the couple to see what they were doing.

Jeramiah reached inside his robe and drew out the wind instrument. Raising the mouthpiece to his lips, he blew into it, and it sounded out louder than ever. So loud that I staggered back. This was the loudest I’d ever heard the melody, and certainly the closest that I’d been to it. I stared at the vampire as he played, his fingers moving skillfully over the keys, as if he’d played the instrument his whole life. From far away, the sound was breathtaking—more beautiful a tune than I could ever play.

According to the clock hanging from the wall, he played for only five minutes before he replaced the instrument within the folds of his robe. Silence overtook the Dome.

It was more than clear to me by now that this instrument was like a kind of dog whistle for ghosts. Nobody else could hear it—not even Jeramiah.

“Do you really trust that old yogi?” the witch asked.

Jeramiah’s jaw twitched. He grunted curtly. “Throughout all the years I spent in India, he was the only true medium I came across. He knows more about ghosts than almost any supernatural. Yes, I trust him.”

Doubt still flickered in the witch’s eyes. “It’s just that… I mean, you’ve been playing that thing every few hours for the last two days. How do you even know it’s called anyone?”

“That will soon be clear to me,” Jeramiah replied, his eyes settled on the memorial slab. “Now we must be silent.”

He lowered to his knees and tilted his head slightly downward before whispering words that sent chills down my spine. “Father, if you heard my call, make yourself known to me.”

He’s trying to summon… Lucas Novak?

Could it possibly be that my uncle became a ghost?

“Send me into a deep, dreamful slumber,” Jeramiah said, his voice slightly raised as he addressed the witch. “I need to make myself available.”

“What if somebody comes?”

“You’re a bag of nerves, Amaya,” Jeramiah said impatiently. “Just do as I say. We’re invisible, for a start, but if somebody comes, even in my sleep you can transport me elsewhere to safety. But I don’t wish to be unconscious for long. Watch the clock and wake me up in ten minutes. That will be enough time for me to know whether or not my attempts have been successful.”

Amaya gulped, then nodded. Jeramiah lay on his back, stretched out directly in front of the raised platform where Lucas’s memorial stone reigned over the room.

The witch fumbled her way over to Jeramiah and, feeling his form, placed both of her hands on either side of Jeramiah’s head. Flattening her palms, she moved her thumbs up and down Jeramiah’s forehead, slowly and gently, until it was clear that the vampire had fallen asleep. His breathing pattern changed, becoming slower, deeper, and the muscles in his face relaxed.

The minutes that followed were tense. Silence engulfed the room once again, leaving me to brood over what exactly Jeramiah was trying to accomplish by attempting to connect with his father’s ghost.
And how did my cousin even get into The Shade to begin with?
I moved closer to him, daring to stand just two feet away and stare down at his face, still slack and expressionless. The smoke in the room was beginning to thin now, and I could see all the way across the Dome to the other side, where the entrance was. I half expected to see the ghostly form of my uncle strolling through it, but as the minutes passed, I saw no such thing.

Ten minutes went by, at which point Amaya approached Jeramiah. She reached down and touched his forehead, making the same gentle motion with her thumbs against his skin. His eyes shot open, and he sat bolt upright.

I could tell from the dark look that took over his face that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted, and from Amaya’s expression, she had realized that too.

“Well?” she whispered.

Jeramiah shook his head slowly. “Nothing.” His voice was thick with disappointment.

“So what does it mean?”

Anger flashed in the vampire’s eyes. “It means that when my father died, despite the sudden circumstances, he did not become a spirit.”

Amaya frowned deeply. “I don’t understand how you can just draw that conclusion,” she said. “Any number of things could have gone wrong. To start with, what if his spirit simply wasn’t close enough to hear your call? What if—”

Jeramiah shook his head, causing Amaya to trail off. “No. If my father became a ghost, he would’ve been hovering near The Shade. When people become ghosts, they feel bound to return to where they most consider home. Even despite the hostile environment that my father had to endure while living here, this was his home, and the only place in the world where his soul could have found refuge. I learnt enough from my teacher to know this to be a fact. Even if my father took a break from the island, he wouldn’t have ventured far, and the call I made was powerful enough to have reverberated across the Pacific Ocean. He would not have missed it.”

Amaya paused, crossing her arms over her chest. She ran her tongue along her lower lip, as though weighing her next words.

“So what now?” She cocked her head to one side. “I think you’ve caused enough destruction to this place… You’ve replicated the sense of hostility that your father endured, both surrounding and within the island—first by using my potion to attract swarms of savage mermaids, and then burning the homes of the islands’ leaders to the ground. You also dishonored them further by destroying their thrones and using the wood to craft a memorial in honor of your father… Jeramiah.” Her voice and gaze softened. “You have done enough for your father. Wherever he might be, I’m sure that he would feel avenged. Let’s leave this place and allow his and your souls to rest in peace…” Amaya drew in closer and, feeling for Jeramiah’s arm, aimed a kiss against his jawline.

Jeramiah’s face was stony as ever, and he appeared unmoved. He remained rooted to the spot.

“Besides,” Amaya continued, “as you already reminded me yourself, Nuriya’s leniency only stretches so far. We have already extended our stay past the time you requested from her, and if you force her hand, I fear you’ll regret it.” She peeled back the end of her right sleeve and began rolling it up her arm. “I’m surprised our marks haven’t been burning unbearably already…I’m just going to remove my invisibility for a second.” After apparently removing the spell, she pushed the sleeve up high enough to reveal her right bicep. Gazing down at it, she gasped. I moved nearer to see what had surprised her, but I should have guessed… she no longer had a tattoo.

Shock registered in Jeramiah’s eyes as he rushed over to the witch and gripped her arm, staring down at her bare skin. It was completely devoid of even the slightest trace of the black cross, as though it had never been there to begin with.

“Oh, my,” the witch breathed.

Jeramiah let go of her, and, parting his robe, rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to examine his own arm. His, too, was devoid of any signs of the imposing tattoo that had once marred it.

He fell silent, his demeanor infused with thoughtfulness.

“Interesting,” he said, his voice low. “Very interesting.”