H.T. Night's 8-Book Vampire Box Set (135 page)

Just before I was borne aloft, I reached
down and grabbed the item I’d been seeking: the ceremonial stake
that Parker had dropped.

As I was lifted into the air, someone
screamed, and I thought it was one of the teen blonde runaways, it
was so high and girlish. Instead, it was The Answer, Erasmus Cole,
wriggling beneath one of the demons. So much for personal growth
through self-empowerment...

The stake in hand, I relaxed and let the
demon carry me into the chilly night. Up high, without the branches
of the tree to shield the view, I caught the full glory of the
glistening Mount Shasta and could understand why humans fell under
its mystical spell.

But at the moment, I had a different type of
spell to worry about, and I thought I’d be next on Parker’s
menu.

Instead, the demon that had snatched Erasmus
Cole made a beeline for the stone bitch’s mouth, obviously an
overachiever that hoped to get a right-hand seat at the throne.

I recognized the irony of Erasmus finally
learning the true meaning of sacrifice, but I doubt he appreciated
the lesson. Because the demon laid him squarely between the
statue’s creaking basalt lips, and they came together with a loud
clatter.

I was close enough to see Erasmus’s eyes
widen in shock and pain. In his last moment, he stared at me, and I
could have sworn he smirked a little bit, as if secretly pleased
that at least he wasn’t the only one to serve as Parker’s
late-night snack.

But the smirk died away with a final scream,
and Parker slurped and sucked, draining his vital sauces into
whatever passed for the belly of the beast. The statue was
invigorated by the fresh feeding, and she threw open her mouth to
roar, letting Erasmus’s crushed corpse fall to the ground while
dark, glistening blood streamed down Parker’s chin.

She raised her arms into the night, as if
acknowledging the mist-shrouded mountain, and she took a couple of
lurching steps toward it. I wondered if the statue had some innate
connection with the mountain, born from its stone and harboring its
power. She was moving much better now, more strong and fluidly, and
I knew the feeling, because I was also rejuvenated from my recent
feeding.

As the demon clutching me soared through the
chilly air toward Parker’s head, I tightened my grip on the
stake.

I couldn’t help gazing at her hard, smooth
neck and wondering if my fangs were strong enough to pierce it.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Just as that thought occurred to me, I saw
that something was happening to the stone itself. It seemed to be
changing color or shape. Or both.

No, it was changing composition.

Indeed, it seemed that the more blood the
entity consumed, the more the stone transformed into something
living. It wasn’t quite there yet. It was still somewhere between
flesh and stone, parts of it pliable and horrific, like a
collaboration of Stephen King’s and H.P Lovecraft’s worst
nightmare.

Blood dribbled from its rapidly
transmigrating lips. Lips that had once been stone, but were now
stretching back to reveal a deep, black maw, with rows of curved,
ivory-colored teeth. I could have easily been looking into the
opening of a cave with so many stalagmites and stalactites.

But I wasn’t. I suspected I had been duped
once again. I suspected for this creature’s transformation to be
complete, it needed one last meal.

One last blood sacrifice.

It needed me.

And all my precious vampire blood.

Jesus, I’d stepped into it again.

Above me, the demon beat its black wings.
The wind of its downdraft thundered over me. I sensed the hate and
evil coming off the creature, the repellant emotions spreading down
to me like a living, foul thing. Its black talons hooked under each
shoulder, gripping my upper arms. A painful deathgrip, for certain,
but a pain I ignored.

One thing I knew how to do was kill an
immortal. Demons were no different. Especially demons who inhabited
living bodies, be it flesh or stone. Kill the body, destroy the
creature. Or at least, send the creature back from whence it
came.

I glanced up at my dangling right hand which
still held the stake tightly. How strong was I? Very strong, fully
rejuvenated from my recent feeding. Strong enough to take on a
flying demon? I didn’t know, but I was about to find out.

As the stone creature that was rapidly
turning into something more than stone opened its mouth wide,
waiting for its special-delivery meal, I reversed my grip on the
stake—and had a moment of panic when I nearly dropped the damned
thing. I had just enough leverage to drive the point hard into what
would pass as a calf on the demon that held me.

Another thing I know about
immortals...nothing is impervious to silver.

I stabbed down hard—and although bullets
might have bounced off its black hide—the silver stake plunged deep
inside. The creature shrieked and jerked violently, and released
its grip on me.

I dropped like a rock.

But there was a method to my madness. I was
falling short of the hungry mouth...and directly toward the beast’s
heart. Did I really believe that a stone statue had a heart? No. No
more than I had a heart, as my own human organ had quit beating
ages ago and been replaced by an ancient rhythm of misery.

There was dark magick at work here.
Otherworldly magick. It was, after all, such magick that kept me
alive—and fueled the beast before me. In a strange way, we were of
the same flesh, birthed from the same dark hole in the
universe.

Who created such magicks, I didn’t know.
Toward what purpose, I knew not either.

But one thing I did know was this...dark
magick can be undone, and one such way was a silver stake. Be it
through undead flesh or living stone, the silver would drive the
demon out.

I wondered how much of Parker—the human
Parker—was still in the thing, and if she would die along with the
creature.

Great. Another innocent victim on my
scorecard.

But I couldn’t let that stop me.

And as I tumbled through the night air,
falling toward the beast, I righted myself.

I held the silver stake out before me with
both hands.

And drove it deep into its stone chest.

The statue bellowed. Except it really wasn’t
a statue anymore. It was something else now. Something living.
Something from mythology. It could have been a Titan. It could have
come from the pages of The Odyssey. Or stepped out of the Arabian
Nights, but whatever it was, whatever it had become, it was
dying.

And it would not go quietly into this good
night.

It thrashed wildly on the dirt stage while I
hung from the protruding stake handle with all my strength. The
monstrous creature began stomping and shaking, and I could have
sworn even Mount Shasta cowered with fright.

Finally it swatted at me and I went flying,
landing head over ass in the nearby grass. When I sat up, I saw
that the stone statue had completed its transformation even while
it writhed in its death throes.

Standing on the stage was something straight
from the bowels of hell. A blackish creature with wet-looking skin.
It towered over me, and as it threw back its head and roared with
rage, I realized with some certainty that I might have been looking
at the devil himself.

And if not the devil, surely one of the most
vile, wickedest, bitching-assed entities I had ever seen.

It clawed at its chest and found the silver
stake. The creature pulled it free and heaved it aside, but it was
already much too late. Having witnessed the deaths of vampires and
other creatures of the night, I knew the damage was already done.
The center could not hold. Steam hissed from the wound.

Overhead, the flying demons circled their
dying dark goddess.

Then, one after another, they dove down into
the exposed pit on stage, tucking in their wings and disappearing
from view.

The demoness—or perhaps even the
devil—dropped to a knee. It held its chest, where steam continued
to hiss through the small puncture wound. It raised its head and
its red eyes fastened onto me. I think I might have swallowed. I
know I scooted back in the grass.

It seemed like the creature might fall over.
It was certainly leaning heavily in one direction.

Instead, the red light disappeared from its
staring eyes, and the black flesh was replaced by stone again. The
lifeless statue had returned—a statue that was even now teetering
on stage.

I watched as it slowly fell over, crashing
with such force that the ground shook and a dust cloud erupted.

When the dust settled, I couldn’t help but
notice that the statue had fallen directly over the pit into
hell.

Sealing it completely.

Chapter Twenty-eight

I wasn’t in the mood to hang around and
answer police questions about the death of Erasmus Cole and several
others. Let them try to come up with a logical explanation from the
testimony of the drugged-out Cloudland groupies, or some dimwitted
security guard.

Cloudland was a cult, so the square press
would deliver the typical horror stories and veiled moral lessons
about the dark mastermind behind what would likely be called “group
suicide.” Erasmus Cole would get a zillion hits on his website, and
probably a few losers and loners would be inspired to join the
cult. Maybe even some charismatic idiot would try to take
charge.

Mount Shasta would get in the news and the
hotels and bars would be filled and crystal sales would boom, and
all the Lemuria legends would get some play. The History Channel
might show up for a feature documentary one day.

But none of that mattered. I’d seen such
stories play out over the years—pretty much everywhere I’d ever
been, come to think of it.

It made me feel as lonely as ever. It seemed
I was always walking away from the wreckage.

I heard crying and wailing from inside the
buildings, which I took as a good sign. At least some of them were
together enough to experience shock and horror, instead of
believing the apocalypse had come and that it was time to join The
Answer in whatever sicko afterlife he’d promised them.

I was nearly to my car when I heard a rustle
in the nearby stand of trees.

I spun, wishing I had kept the silver stake.
What if one of the winged things had been late to dinner and was
still on the prowl?

Then Parker stepped from the shadows. Or, at
least, the young woman Parker had possessed and upon whom I’d
fed.

“Hello, Spider,” she said, shyly.

Crap. Why did this always happen to me?

I studied her face in the moonlight. She
looked like just another teen, a girl and a woman all thrown
together in the same confused mass of flesh that all her kind
learned to deal with. Her eyes were downcast, and her hands were by
her side.

She didn’t look like a spiteful demon intent
on ripping my heart out and feeding it to the devil.

“Is it you?” I said.

She nodded, biting her lip as if she were
about to cry.

But she didn’t cry, and I took that as a
good sign. Tears would have meant she was trying to trick me,
playing on my hero impulse until I let down my guard again.

I nearly said, “Prove it,” but how do you
prove you are human except by doing stupid human stuff like falling
in love?

Instead, I said, “I’m glad you didn’t
die.”

Her face lifted and her eyes widened in
shock. I noticed for the first time that she was intensely
beautiful. “You mean...you didn’t know? You would have killed me to
get rid of that beast?”

I shrugged. “So, are you really Erasmus
Cole’s daughter?”

“No. He...” She looked away, ashamed, and I
realized I didn’t want to know the degradation and manipulation
she’d endured. “He used me.”

“Well, that’s good in a way,” I said, as her
eyes welled with tears that didn’t fall. “I imagine the taxes on
this place are a real pain in the ass. Who’d ever want to inherit
it?”

I heard a distant siren echoing through the
valley. Maybe one of the security guards had slipped out, or one of
the disciples with a contraband cell phone had put in a 911
call.

“You want a ride?” I asked.

She headed toward the car, and, like a true
gentleman, I opened the door. I guess I was right to trust my
instinct. She wasn’t bad, she was just weak.

Just like me. God help us all.

When I got behind the wheel, she touched her
neck and said, “Did you really bite me?”

“Nah. I just made a pit stop to fuel up for
the finish line.”

“How did you kill it?”

“I got lucky.” I turned the key.

We got out of there and rode in silence,
passing a fire truck, three cop cruisers, and an ambulance coming
from the other direction. I kept it under the speed limit until I
could no longer see Mount Shasta glistening in the rearview, and
then I punched it to the floor.

I felt her hand crawl to mine. She drew away
a little at the chill, but then tightened her grip. I let her. I
don’t know why.

“Erasmus was right about one thing,” she
said. “You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah,” I said.

We’d made ten more miles before she spoke
again. “That debt I owe you? The thing you said I’d need to do for
you if you killed Erasmus Cole?”

Her finger teased the pad of my thumb. I
almost wished she was a demon trying to manipulate me instead of a
fool falling in love with the wrong guy.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I meant what I said. I will do
anything.”

She scooted over in her seat until I could
feel the warmth of her body. At that moment, I would have traded my
soul for a little warmth to give back.