Bloodliner (22 page)

*****

 

Chapter 59

Arthur shoved him back down into his stone tomb. "Get your strength back first, old woman. I don't want you claiming I had an unfair advantage when I beat you to a bloody pulp."

Jonah couldn't help laughing.

He was actually feeling pretty good. For one thing, he and Stanza had finished their trip through time and returned to their bodies in the temple ruins in 21
^st
century Herculaneum. Arthur and Mavis had made it back too, and had been waiting for them when they arrived.

After that, they'd found Hercules' buried tomb atop a nearby hill, following the instructions he'd given them in the past. Arthur had smashed open the tomb with brute force...and Stanza had just awakened Hercules with drops of blood (her own, this time).

On top of everything, Jonah knew he'd made progress with Stanza. She'd really opened up to him while they were buried alive in Herculaneum. Even now, with her usual hardass attitude firmly in place, Jonah still felt like they had a stronger connection.

All in all, not a bad day. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood for once. People were even goofing around.

"I want three things," Hercules said as he clambered out of his tomb. "A cask full of
blood
, a cask full of
wine
, and a
woman
full of
fire
.
In that order
."

"Patience," said Arthur. "Pace yourself, old woman."

"
Four
things!" Hercules shoulder-checked Arthur. "Number four is
five
minutes
to kick this bull's
ass
!"

Jonah gave Stanza a wry look and hiked a thumb toward Hercules. "Didn't he just sleep for two thousand years?"

Stanza flashed him a warm smile. "Demigod plus vampire equals lunatic."

"Boys will be boys," said Mavis, who also had a smile on her face. In fact, she couldn't seem to
stop
smiling since she'd returned with Arthur from the past.

"All right, break it up." Stanza raised her voice but didn't move any closer to the wrestling match that had broken out between the living legends. "I said
break it up
."

Hercules and Arthur stopped wrestling but didn't stop laughing.

"We have to get moving." Stanza sounded as commanding and businesslike as ever. "Nicolo Borgia has a major head start on us."

"Bound for Scythia, aye?" Hercules grinned and popped an elbow into Arthur's side. Arthur smacked him across the head in reply.

"Yes," said Stanza. "We're going to the site of the lost city of Gelonus, where you performed your thirteenth labor."

"Which is in Russia," said Jonah.

"Near the Volga River," said Stanza. She'd worked it out on a crude map in ancient Herculaneum. "There's a lake where a legendary sunken city went down...the city of Kitezh. I'm guessing Gelonus and Kitezh are one and the same."

"What do you think is in Gelonus?" said Mavis. "What is Nicolo after?"

"Whatever it is," said Stanza, "now that we've got King Arthur
and
Hercules, we're better equipped than ever to take it away from him."

Hercules shook his fists in the air and roared. "This will be my
fourteenth
labor!"

"The sun's gone down." Arthur gazed out of the cave at the twilight sky.

Mavis marched over and swept his arm up in the crook of her own. "Let's go scout the area," she said, pulling him out of the cave.

"Wait!" Hercules stomped after them. "There might be minotaurs lurking about!"

When everyone else had left, Stanza turned to Jonah. "Thanks for not saying anything about the...you know. My problem with being buried alive."

"There's nothing to tell," said Jonah. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

Stanza smiled and touched his arm. "Well, thank you anyway."

And then...

And then...

A minute after she'd left, Jonah stood by himself in the middle of the cave. Reliving what had just happened.

I can't believe it.
His cheek still tingled. His heart still pounded.

Did she really...

Things were going better than he'd hoped. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Like her last name, Miracolo. A miracle.

They called for him outside the cave, but he lingered one more moment, remembering. Tingling.

She did it. She really did it.

She kissed me. On the cheek.

She kissed me.

*****

 

Chapter 60

"Love blooms amid danger most mortal," said Shakespeare. "Thus has it always been in life and thus in my work upon the stage."

Watching through a spyglass, he saw Mavis kiss King Arthur on a hilltop while Hercules capered, chasing a rabbit. Movement caught his eye, and he shifted the glass; now, through the entrance to the cave where Hercules had slept, he spied Stanza kissing Jonah on the cheek.

"What would Puck say, I wonder?" Shakespeare turned the glass back on Mavis and Arthur, who were still kissing...at least until Hercules showered them with handfuls of grass. "Some pithy jest, no doubt, reflecting on the folly of love and its predestined span—no more than a lifetime, no less than a breath.

"More like he'd play a trick, misleading all to stray from loving arms into the beds of beasts and goblins." Shakespeare chuckled and put down the spyglass. "Therein lies a tale, I think. Perhaps when this is over, by the riverhead of Heaven, I'll have reason to discard the ways of darkness and put pen to page once more."

Just then, Shakespeare heard someone sigh beside him, and he lowered the spyglass.
Genghis.

"Don't you
ever
get tired of hearing yourself drone
on
and
on
?" Genghis rolled his eyes and wagged his head. "Just so you know, if people ever tell you you're not
boring
them to the point of
suicide
, they're full of capital ess-aitch-eye-tee."

Still not a sign of it. I know the storm is coming, but I know not the time or shape of it.

Not once since Shakespeare had beaten him on the rooftop in Berlin had Genghis mentioned it. He'd acted the same as always, as if he'd forgotten altogether that Shakespeare had broken his arm.

But I know he remembers. I know he bides his time.

And as that hatred curdles in the capsule underground, I must construct my own defense and stand fast against the evil season.

"What news, Genghis?" said Shakespeare.

"Next time,
you
can do the up-close spying." Genghis rubbed his temples. "Being a mist for too long makes me feel the same way I do when I'm around you for ten seconds. It gives me a splitting headache."

"The gains outweighed the suffering, I hope," said Shakespeare. "Tell me the story."

Genghis rolled over and lay on his back, staring up at the stars. "We're going to Russia." He said it idly as an afterthought before a nap on a summer's night.

"I hope you've more in the cup than 'Russia,'" said Shakespeare. "You might as well say 'universe' and I would be as well-informed."

"A lake near the Volga River," said Genghis. "A lost city called Kitezh, which Stanza believes is the same as the lost Scythian capital of Gelonus, where Hercules performed his thirteenth labor." Genghis rolled his head to face Shakespeare and sneered. "Enough detail for you? Would you like me to carve a map in my flesh?"

"Such a map would be of much good use," said Shakespeare, "but your flesh would heal too quickly, smoothing over every scar before we'd gained a mile."

"Yeah, that's a shame," said Genghis. "If only my wounds lasted longer."

Shakespeare didn't take the bait. "We should send our troops ahead, I think, to scout our destination. Even as a mongoose clears the vipers from a field, they'll rid the pitch of lurking vermin."

"No they won't," said Genghis. "They're gone."

"Our troops?" said Shakespeare.

"Uh-huh." Genghis nodded and looked innocent. "So much for our backup."

I didn't see it coming.

Shakespeare concealed his surprise, though he knew he wasn't fooling Genghis. "Did they say where they were going when they left?"

"Nope." Genghis plucked a long blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth. "No one saw them leave. Funny how someone can just disappear like that."

Suddenly, a wave of panic crashed through Shakespeare.
James!

Shakespeare had been too caught up in observing the rabbits. He hadn't checked on James and Thomas for a while.

If my rash strike at Genghis has cost James his life, I'll never forgive myself.

Shakespeare fought to keep his voice under control. "The boys haven't seen them, either?"

"Beats me," said Genghis. "I haven't seen the boys in a while, come to think of it."

He plays me.

Like the Puck, he works a trick for dark amusement, tripping me on the roots and pebbles of my own concern. Though he looks not upon my face, taking care to seem uncaring, he peeks out from between the curtains on stage and swells with silent bliss at the success of his measures.

I must show him not one flash of worry.

Shakespeare set aside the spyglass and slowly got to his feet. He looked one way, then the other, but didn't see James or Thomas. "Maybe they're off finding dinner among the shepherds' flocks, or in the village streets."

"If you say so." Genghis yawned.

Murder's in the air.

I swear on the grave of my Anne, if he's done them, I'll murder him for his trouble.

Shakespeare wandered the tall grass on the hillside, searching for a trace of either child. As the minutes washed by, each as empty as the last, the killing flame within his chest roared and blossomed.

To Hell with the truce between our sects. I'm about to commit an atrocity.

He should have kept a closer watch on James, and he knew it. Genghis' interest had been clear from the start.

He would not have brought along Thomas if he'd had no designs on James.

The twins had been kidnapped and converted at a very young age, then given to seal a bargain between the opposing orders of
Cruentus Estus
—one to Shakespeare, one to Genghis. Shakespeare had never given up hope of reuniting the brothers and undoing whatever damage Genghis had done to Thomas.

But he had not considered that Genghis might want to do the same...or failing that, might rather see both dead than corrupted in his eyes.

And now, the hour has struck. Both are lost, and I in mantle black and brutal aspect must throw wide the gates of hell, tasting only vengeance on the twice-crossed blade.

The killing flame leaped in Shakespeare's chest as he turned toward his enemy, choosing which torture to inflict first.

Nothing is sacred. For what he has done, I'll leave no bone unbroken.

Shakespeare balled his fists and marched toward Genghis.

Steel your mind against this deed, it must be done. You are summer lightning in the forest, burning off the sickly wood to save the good.

Cut away the cancer; the world will be well rid of it.

Just a few steps away, Genghis rolled over on his side, turning his back on Shakespeare. "Wake me up when you get your shit together," he said sleepily.

Shakespeare continued his march.

Stow away the moon. Let not one flower's face behold the war I am about to wage.

First, I will cripple him.

Genghis didn't stir as Shakespeare marched up to his side and raised a foot, about to bring it down with crushing force upon his knees.

Do it.

The fox and the night-owl whisper in the brush, hoping to wet their tongues in the blood of the kill.

Do it now.

Then, just as Shakespeare found the nerve, he heard a voice.

"Stop!"

It was James.

Shakespeare swung away from Genghis and spun to look in the voice's direction. Some distance away, he saw the two of them, James and Thomas, emerging from the forest.

Each had a body slung over his shoulders—James a goat and Thomas a boy. They were talking and laughing as if they'd always been together, always happy, always compatible. As if the goat and the boy were fishing rods, and the subject of conversation were girls instead of monsters.

Shakespeare waved when they looked in his direction. James waved back, and Thomas said something and laughed.

Thank God.

Oh, what I was going to do. Even Genghis couldn't heal from that infernal vivisection.

Shakespeare as Satan, gone beyond even the wickedest violations charted in a centuries-long career as a vampire.

Just then, Genghis rolled over and sniffed the air. "Soup's on," he said, and then he sprang to his feet.

But nothing shocks me anymore about myself.

In fact, I have just one regret.

On his way past Shakespeare to meet the boys, Genghis clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing to worry about," he said with a wink. "This time."

But I'll remedy that soon enough. By the wings of Puck, I swear it.

Genghis blew Shakespeare a kiss and then jogged to his supper—the boy, not the goat.

I'll finish him. When this is done, I'll write his exit from the stage, coinciding with the gruesome plan I spun of late.

And I will leave in
everything.