Angel Souls and Devil Hearts (32 page)

God help me
, she’d said. Stefan had thought for an eternity that his people were beyond God’s help, but now, for the first time, he wondered.

Cody was nearly healed.

He sat up against the wall of the room in which Mulkerrin had ripped out his heart, and held his hand against the pink, new tissue that covered that wound. It was tender, it hurt, and he was,
for the moment, still too weak to move very far. His shirt had gone somewhere, and it had taken him a while to remember that Allison had used and lost his gun during their battle outside the hotel.
How long ago was that? He didn’t know. He was just happy that he still had his blue jeans and his boots on. The boots were made of very soft calves’ leather, and he would have hated to
part with them.

He smiled to himself; already his priorities were back on track.

Cody leaned on his hands and tried to get his legs under him to stand up. It wasn’t working. Thinking again, he arched his back, bracing it against the wall, and pushed with his legs,
which seemed a little stronger. Slowly, he slid up the wall until he was standing, leaning against it. He couldn’t support himself yet, but he was getting there.

The only problem was that as he was regaining his strength, healing, he was losing whatever it was he had gained when he’d been . . . dead. Or whatever. His mind or soul if you wanted to
believe in that kind of thing, had obviously been elsewhere, wandering around out there. He wondered if the sorcery, the power of the magic Mulkerrin was generating, had helped to heal him. He knew
for certain it had enabled his spirit to . . . What had it done?

It had traveled, it had spread. It had merged with the magic somehow, and he had been aware of all the goings-on around the fortress, of many of Mulkerrin’s twisted thoughts. But that
wasn’t all. He had become, suddenly and completely, aware of many things, including the loyalties and the hostilities of any combatant inside or outside the fortress upon whom he wished to
focus his thoughts. He heard the screams of those living hosts whose bodies had been commandeered by the ghosts of dead warriors, had, in fact, nearly been drawn himself into a human host before
all the humans had been forced out of the fortress. If his spirit had not been so intertwined with the magic surrounding the place, he might not have been so lucky.

And was that part of it? Mulkerrin’s spell to raise the spirits of the dead warriors—had that kept his own ghost around long enough to reinhabit his naturally healing body?

It was too much. Cody took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the wall. His legs were wobbly, but he could walk now. He searched for something, a shirt or jacket, to wear, but found
nothing. The healing wound felt vulnerable.

He knew that above, the shadows had returned, and that they were even now surrounding Mulkerrin, battering against the sorcerer’s protective field, trying to break his concentration, wear
him down at least enough to close the portals so no more demons could come through.

Cody still had some of the knowledge and awareness he’d gained when his body had been so traumatically wounded, but it was fading fast. He remembered certain things, or was aware that he
had
known specific things, but with his healing, and the growing consciousness of his brain, his body, that other awareness had slowly slipped away.

He could barely feel the connection he’d had to the rhythm, the life of the magic pulsing within the fortress, but it was still there. He could barely sense Mulkerrin now, but knew that
the siege was indeed wearing on him. He still didn’t know how Mulkerrin could have not sensed his presence, his awareness lurking there in the bowels of the fortress, but he was grateful that
the sorcerer had not noticed him.

And as for the knowledge, as he steadied himself with a hand on the wall, moving toward the steps that would take him up, there was one thing he concentrated on, one thing that he had learned
which he struggled not to lose. In his awareness he had examined his handful of meetings with John Courage, the words they’d exchanged, the battle they’d fought side by side. He’d
searched the shadows out there for knowledge of Courage, and when he’d been in mental contact with Rolf, and the woman Martha had brought up Courage’s name, he’d been able somehow
to read her as well.

At least a little. He didn’t know, really know, what Courage was. But he had a fairly wild guess. It frightened and thrilled him all at once.

But enough of that, he had to help his brothers and sisters. He had to help them be rid of Liam Mulkerrin once and for all. And he thought he might know how to set the sorcerer off balance just
enough for his people to accomplish their first goal.

MULKERRIN
! his mind shrieked, sending the angry, savage, attacking thought out along the thin strand of awareness that still connected him to the magic, a magic he had been able to sway
just a little when he was a part of it. The final bit of influence he had retained over the magic was used up now, as his mind slammed into Mulkerrin’s brain like a bullhorn screaming into
his ear.

The sorcerer recoiled as if struck with a physical blow, shook his head, and Cody felt his surprise, his shock, and his immediate awareness of what had happened, of who his attacker was. Every
one of the portals to Hell Mulkerrin had opened, throughout the city, had disappeared in that moment, and with his concentration gone, the barrage of physical force, the attack by dozens of
vampires on the barrier around Mulkerrin, continued. The sorcerer was off balance, and before he could attempt to retaliate, Cody cut his own connection to the magic, which was like letting go of
the string on a balloon and watching it drift away, sad to see it go, but fascinated by the beauty of the thing. The last thing he felt was Mulkerrin’s rage.

Cody felt better with each step he climbed. First things first, he thought. There had to be someone topside who would give him a shirt.

Salzburg, Austria, European Union.
Wednesday, June 7, 2000, 8:56
A.M.
:

Hannibal wasn’t winning. Unfortunately, as far as Commander Elissa Thomas was concerned anyway, he wasn’t losing either. She knew from the files she’d read
that some shadows had developed to the point where they were almost impossible to kill. The majority, however, had not become completely used to their abilities, or to walking around during the
day, even though five years had passed. Hannibal’s coven was no exception.

A constant attack might be enough to throw some of the less experienced of them off balance so that they lost control, or confidence, and began to fear the sun. If they ran, tried to find cover,
they’d never make it. Likewise, concentrated gunfire, hand-held rockets, even an overwhelming hand-to-hand attack might be enough to literally tear apart one of the creatures. If the pieces
of the thing could be kept from coming back together, it would be truly dead.

The problem was that the casualties among the UN security forces were as completely disproportionate to those among the vampires as their original numbers were. For every shadow they were able
to destroy, dozens of human lives were lost. As far as Elissa was concerned, that was far from a fair trade, but she didn’t know any other way to stop the evil bastard. She knew now, after
all the moments of curiosity, of wonder, how the myths and legends of vampires got started.

And then there was Rolf. Commander Thomas did not love Rolf Sechs. She barely knew him, after all. But even in so short a time, she’d come to care about him. She knew that he was not the
evil creature Hannibal was, and yet he had the same savage heart, the same talents, and that fascinated her. She had already decided she would stand by him when the shit hit the fan. And it
certainly would do that. Even now Roberto Jimenez was beginning to doubt Rolf; Elissa could see it in her commanding officer’s eyes.

But could she blame him? After all, it was the President of her own country who had been murdered. Life would never be the same for any of them, human or vampire, and Hannibal had changed it
all, thrown it all away. And for what? Ego? Bloodlust? Power? Or was he simply lonely in his cruelty, needing others to share in his perversity?

She didn’t know, and though she was curious, Elissa realized that the answers wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

We’re dying out here
, she thought, lifting a CAMEL tube to her shoulder. She was well back from the real hand-to-hand stuff, knowing that her troops would be hard to rein in without
her guidance, but she wasn’t out of it. She leapt to the hood of a nearby Mercedes, the light plastic of the CAMEL no burden, then sighted down the tube. The computer-aimed system zeroed in
on a number of targets, and she searched the sight for Hannibal.

She found him, cut off from his pack, surrounded by a large group which included Rolf Sechs and Roberto Jimenez. Roberto held in his hand a dagger, obviously silver, which she realized suddenly
was actually a weapon made from a crucifix. With the CAMEL, Elissa might have had a shot at destroying Hannibal, but Rolf and Jimenez were in the way. They’d have to do it themselves.

We planned this very poorly
, she thought, and then reminded herself that they hadn’t actually planned it at all. It had just sort of happened. In the battles to come, and she was
sure there would be many such conflicts as the world frightened by the U.S. President’s assassination, began hunting the vampires, there would have to be more planning ahead. If they’d
had only one-third the men and twenty times the CAMEL tubes, they would have destroyed all the shadows already, and a lot of lives would have been saved.

She sighted the CAMEL at another shadow, a female she had seen close to Hannibal and who she assumed was one of his elite. The sighting locked on target, Elissa pulled the trigger as easily as
she might a pistol’s, and the missile launched. She’d counted to one when the vampire erupted in a great splash of body parts. It was a messy death, Elissa decided, closing her eyes to
the carnage, but it was the fastest way to kill them, merciful really.

Hannibal was surrounded. The human soldiers had slung back their firearms so as not to kill one another, and pulled out sharp knives instead. Jimenez brandished the crucifix
dagger that Rolf had seen him use at the fortress, a dagger exactly like those Mulkerrin’s followers had used in Venice five years ago. Rolf and Jared and two other shadows were there,
closing in on the renegade.

Renegade. A strange word for a vampire, Rolf thought. There was a time, not long ago, he knew, when only kind-hearted creatures like Octavian and Cody were considered renegades. Rolf had done
his share of hunting, along with all the others. In the ignorance that comes from arrogance, he had believed that humanity were little better than cattle. He had never been the vicious killer that
Hannibal was, enjoying murder for its own sake. Rather he’d been like a human, kind to his creatures until it was time for the slaughter, and even then, sometimes sad for them.

What a pompous fool he’d been! They did not have to kill. There was another way to live, a better way. They’d had to be forced into it, by being thrust into the public eye, but it
was a good life. And now Hannibal was going to ruin everything. The American President had been killed, and if Rolf knew his former boss, the murder would have been quite a spectacle. It might
already be too late to prevent the changes Hannibal intended, Rolf knew, but that did not mean he could go unpunished.

It was a silent vow: he would see Hannibal dead.

But what was Hannibal up to now? They had the renegade surrounded, but he wasn’t running. He could simply transform and fly away, but instead he stood his ground against the mob around
him. Certainly Hannibal knew that if he fled, Rolf and the humans would follow, but he had to know he would have a better chance of survival if he did run.

Rolf looked at the elder vampire, saw that his eyes were desperate, white hair flying wildly as he whipped his head from side to side, looking at his attackers, looking over them where he could
to gauge the rest of the battle. And then Rolf understood. Hannibal was overwhelmed, trying to run the battle from where he fought, cornered. He sent orders and received information through the
mind-link he shared with those of his followers who were his blood-children, and with the battle not going as well as he’d hoped, he must have been confused about his next move.

Next to Rolf, Jimenez lunged for Hannibal.

No! Rolf thought, reaching out to snag the back of the commander’s jacket, even as Roberto’s arm swept out, dagger slashing through the arm Hannibal held up in protection. Even as
Hannibal hissed at the pain of the silver passing through his flesh, Rolf pulled Commander Jimenez back just in time to save him from retaliation, a swipe of Hannibal’s talons that was meant
to tear Jimenez’s face off. Hannibal went after the commander, and Rolf stepped in the way.

The battle was joined.

Rolf growled, motioning to those around him to stay back, and they did.

This must be it, Rolf realized. Hannibal had not fled because he knew any clash must come to this, a one-on-one, tooth-and-claw battle with his former deputy. While working together for the SJS,
the two had woven a pretense of mutual sufferance, no more. Five years of unspoken hatred, mistrust, hostility, now seethed within them both. Rolf was elated that the day of reckoning between them
had finally come.

Renegade
, he thought.
Killer
!

And perhaps his hatred was enough to carry the essence of his thoughts to Hannibal’s mind, because the savage seemed to respond.

“Traitor!” Hannibal yelled into Rolf’s face. “Coward!”

Rolf lost all sense of self, and of time. He and Hannibal were now inseparable, their transformations, metamorphoses, almost one with each other. In their hatred, their explosive bloodlust,
their minds forgot the patterns of the deadly creatures they had shifted their shapes to in the past. Instead, the flesh flowed, picking and choosing among the deadliest attributes of those forms,
claws lengthening, fur sprouting, snouts stretching to accommodate razor teeth. Hannibal twisted his head and tore a chunk from Rolf’s face with a horn that had appeared on his head.