Darkness Descending (31 page)

The three figures continued to hover. “Your weapons are useless against us,” one laughed.

“You haven’t got a chance,” a second said.

Jesse trembled. The tomb was chilly and quiet, the air still reeking from the remains of the fledgling they’d slain. She blinked hard against the painful dryness of her eyes. The Telave females seemed quite capable of dodging the bullets without much effort.

How do you kill something that has every advantage?
she asked herself. The answer hung in the back of her mind, but she refused to acknowledge it.

Jesse closed her eyes to rally her wits and will. She forced herself to breathe deeply through her nostrils to still the churning in her stomach. No. She wouldn’t. Never. There had to be another way to defeat these things.

Sam held his shining icon higher. “You may think you have the upper hand,” he called, “but I still have this. You can’t come near me as long as I’m holding it. All I have to do is wait until sunrise and you’ll have to slink off back into your shadows.” He bared his teeth. “And then I’ll hunt and stake your asses.”

The creature floating in the middle clicked its tongue. “It’s true we have to retreat when the morning sun rises.” The female form grew misty again. “But she doesn’t.”

The teenage girl Jesse had allowed to survive stepped back into the crypt. Her eyes gleamed with an unnatural chatoyancy in the lamplight, the undulating luster a strange amber shade. There was no innocence around her, only a hovering shroud of absolute evil. As one of the women stroked her hair, the girl regarded them with profound sadness, but this swiftly turned to contempt.

“You should have done what your friend advised,” the female creature said to Jesse, her gravelly voice chillingly eerie, thanks to the crypt’s acoustics. She raised her hand, showing the short dagger she carried. “I’ve pledged my life to serve my masters.”

Jesse reached for her own weapon even as Sam raised his gun. She was already aware the number of bullets loaded in his gun’s thirteen-bullet clip was perilously low. He couldn’t have more than one, two at the most, in the clip. She’d have to make every shot count.

“And I never make the same mistake twice,” she said. The girl had just signed her death warrant. Never, ever, bring a knife to a gunfight. She glanced toward Sam. “I’ll handle this one.”

He gave her an encouraging look. “Be my guest.”

She never got the chance to fire.

Dashing across the void separating them, the girl launched herself toward Sam. Caught off guard, he smashed into the far wall under the force of her weight. Even though Sam was bigger and outweighed the teen, her determination gave her the strength to take him on. This gave her the edge she needed. When Sam tried to shove her away with his free hand, she drove a knee into his chest.

A gush of air rushed past his lips. “Damn it, get off me!”

The teenager kneed him again and slammed the holy icon in his hand against the cold marble. The piece skittered away, breaking the small circle of protection it had afforded him.

Sam released a slew of curses as he attempted to buck her off and rise to his feet. “You little bitch!”

The teenager lashed out a third time, catching him squarely in the balls. Then she threw herself on top of him, stabbing him in the abdomen with her blade.

It all happened so fast that Jesse was barely able to comprehend what was occurring through the melee.

She questioned neither her actions nor how long she would be able to keep up the strenuous battle. She knew only that she was the one who’d have to do the fighting to keep them both alive.

Rushing into motion, Jesse gripped the thick hair at the back of the girl’s head, and then leveled the muzzle against the teenager’s temple. Clutching her weapon for all she was worth, and believing she could right the wrong of her bad decision, she pulled the trigger.

The girl’s head exploded.

Jesse immediately let her drop. The dead teenager’s brow smacked the floor as a stream of blood frothed from her mouth.

She dropped to her knees beside her downed comrade. The dagger still protruded from his gut. “Sam? Sam, can you hear me?”

He didn’t answer.

Jesse couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not, for his profile was hidden beneath the layers of his hair. “Sam, come on, man. Work with me.”

“You can’t help him now,” she heard a voice say from behind her.

Belatedly remembering the vampire women, Jesse shot a look over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of their bodies shifting and spinning into an iridescent haze. All of a sudden, they burst apart, disgorging a hail of bats. The size of house cats, they swarmed in a cloud of gauzy wings and sharp fangs.

Jesse shrieked, blinded by the vicious bats beating against her body, scratching her face and tangling in her hair. Deafened by their intense flailing, she tried to escape the biting mouths piercing her skin and drawing blood. Her weapon dropped from her hand as she tried to beat them away. She stumbled like a woman afire, falling to the stone floor. Rolling over and over, she curled into a protective ball.

The bats persisted, crawling all over her. She felt as though they were eating through her skin, devouring her, penetrating her nose and mouth to suck the air out of her lungs.

A howling scream of sheer terror escaped her.

Then there was silence. She felt nothing. She heard nothing.

Jesse pushed herself up, looking quickly around. Seeing nothing, she climbed to her feet. Her mind awhirl with thoughts, she looked every which way. “Where are you?” she murmured.

A whispery voice sounded in her head.
Turn around.

She slowly pivoted. Her heart thumped, raced, and she felt her blood flow through her veins, cold fear overtaking her more quickly with each passing second. “Oh no.”

The vampire women hovered behind her. The only thing that might have protected her was now far beyond her reach. She silently cursed the stupid decision that had persuaded her to leave behind the cross Maddox had offered her. He’d given it to her in the good faith that it would keep her safe.

“Are you ready for some more?” the female creature in the middle asked sweetly.

Again, panic reared up inside Jesse. A primordial voice from deep within her subconscious told her to run and not look back.

She silently assessed the possibility. The crypt door still hung wide. If she could get through it, she might have a chance—not a very good chance, but a chance nevertheless.

She barely lifted her foot before one of the demonic women vaulted into the air, knocking her to the ground. The bitch was stronger than she was, but fear added to her already-unnatural strength and gave Jesse the edge she needed.

She shoved the creature away, lifting and driving her knees into her breasts as she came down on top of her. Jesse kicked out again, rolling to her feet and backing away. The evil thing regained momentum, coming at her with the speed of a runaway locomotive. The creature slammed Jesse against the wall of the crypt. Her head smacked hard marble.

Groaning, Jesse lashed out, her flailing hands finding solid flesh. She desperately tore at the creature’s face and neck but to no avail. The beast’s hands circled her head, smashing her head into the stone as if trying to crack an egg.

Blackness flowed across Jesse’s vision. She thought she heard her sister saying her name repeatedly, but as moments ticked by, the ghostly voice of her twin sounded farther and farther away until stark silence prevailed.

Giving her head one final smash, her assailant stepped away, watching as Jesse slid down the wall.

“Please . . .” Jesse tried to speak, but the words died in her throat. A feeling of hopelessness closed in around her.

The woman bent over, one hand gripping her hair and pulling her to her feet. Wrenching back Jesse’s head, the creature opened its mouth and dipped sharp fangs toward Jesse’s vulnerable exposed throat.

Jesse blinked to clear her vision. It didn’t help. She was dizzied by the hard blow and felt faint when a distinct whiff of sulfur burned her nostrils.

The vampire bit, deep and hard.

“Please . . . No!” Jesse cried, though she knew no one could hear her. Darkness swept around her, cocooning her in an airless void.

Still perched on top of the ravaged coffin, Maddox lit his third cigarette. He’d portioned them out at one per hour in an effort to make the pack last. Multiple scenarios had already gone through his mind since Reyen had abandoned him. There were a thousand ways that Indian could have killed him, each more painful and worse than the last. He thought it more than a little ironic that the bastard had chosen to literally bury him alive. When it wasn’t occupied by one of the undead, a grave was a pretty peaceful place to be. There was plenty of quiet in the middle of the night, plenty of time to think.

It would definitely give him time to mull over his sins and make peace with his place in the world.

It was also a miserable fucking way to die. Trapped underground with no food or water, he’d slowly starve. Day after day he would grow weaker and thirstier.

He’d already tried the obvious escape, which was to try to lift one corner of the slab out of place. The trouble with a box grave was that the block of marble was perfectly cut to fit inside the low stone parapet outlining the grave. It was literally like being locked inside a stone chest.

Sighing, he flipped open his cell phone. Its small bright light cast various shadows around the small space. Creepy-crawlies insinuated themselves in his field of awareness and gave him the impression he was surrounded by shifting dark patches.

There was no signal, of course. All the cell provided, aside from a comforting bit of illumination, was the date and time. And time, when one was trapped underground, moved like molasses in the winter.

Taking a deep drag off his smoke, Maddox flipped the phone shut. “Ah, technology,” he muttered. “I knew you’d fuck me over in the end.” He’d never liked the modern world, believing that people were way too tied to their computers and iPods. Modern life wasn’t like the old days at all, when a man had to use his feet to get where he wanted to go and his hands to make an honest living.

Were people even really worth saving nowadays? It was a question he’d asked himself ten thousand times. Most times the answer was an unequivocal no. The heart of man, where the deepest, darkest secrets lurked, was essentially one of sinful intentions.

Yet he couldn’t judge, for he, too, had fallen.

If there wasn’t any redemption, any way to repair the grievous sins he’d committed himself, he supposed he might as well fish out his pocketknife and cheerfully put a few well-placed slices in his wrists. It wouldn’t be a fast way to die, but it would be effective.

But he didn’t want to do that—not yet, anyway.

He checked his stash of smokes, which was due to run out before sunrise. Food he could do without. Ditto water. The sole reason he’d managed to remain calm and in control was because of the wonderful drug called nicotine. He could have used a slug of whiskey to go with it. Next time he’d pack a flask in his backpack.

His brow wrinkled. If there was a next time.

To distract himself, Maddox took another long drag off his cigarette. He was grateful for the burning rush that filled his lungs, and exhaled a gust of smoke through his nostrils. As exhausted as he was, his system was in overdrive.

His mind shifted to plan B, which was much less dramatic.

Come the morning, cemetery workers would be returning to the newly sealed grave to add the finishing touch, a load of marble gravel to be spread over the slab to give it a more aesthetic and pleasing appearance for visitors. When those boys came to pour the rock, he supposed he could yell at the top of his lungs.

Hoping they were men brave enough to ignore the many superstitions that surrounded a New Orleans cemetery, and actually uncap a grave they’d sealed only the day before, he supposed he’d be rescued. How he’d explain the lack of a body and a half-burned coffin was something he’d have to deal with when the time came.

After he got out of jail, he imagined he would go and strangle Reyen—cheerfully and with a smile. Maddox grimaced, and a sour taste filled his mouth. His face was still a raw mess from the demon’s sharp claws. Thank heaven above a Palindrome had a self-regenerating system. The scars presently marring his skin were from his mortality, before he’d become a victim of the Telave. Given a few days, all traces of the damage would vanish. All he needed was rest.

Extinguishing the remnants of his cigarette, Maddox attempted to make himself a little more comfortable. He’d already opened the second half of the coffin, settling down on the undamaged portion of its plush interior. If nothing else, he had something soft to cushion his ass. He’d stretched out his long legs, propping his boots on the opposite end.