SCROLLS OF THE DEAD-3 Complete Vampire Novels-A Trilogy (81 page)

Mentor didn't know where Upton might have taken Malachi. The Blue Mountains, where he'd first gotten the vampires together? Lanzarote, the Canary Island where Balthazar had brought together many more?

He could be anywhere in the world.

But why couldn't she reach him? She'd known his movements when he left home and traveled across Texas, trying to outrun the assassins. At any time in his life she'd been able to search him out and know how he was doing.

It seemed now he'd fallen into a black hole that had swallowed him whole. For the first hours after she learned of his kidnapping, she had heard faint echoes in her mind as if he were calling to her from another universe. She tried to link to him, but she couldn't latch onto the vibration. It was too weak, too intermittent, and then, finally, it was broken and there was nothing but silence. She had no connection with her son at all. It was as if he no longer lived.

She beat her hands on her knees in the darkness and swung her head back and forth in silent denial. He couldn't be dead. She prayed to God to take the thought away and not let her have it again.

He was . . . somewhere. He couldn't let her know where.

Even Mentor, who had much more power than she to find out Malachi's whereabouts, came up with nothing. He told her it was some kind of trick. Upton was malicious and he was brilliant, more so since escaping and being free for so long. He possessed most of Ross' great power, as Ross was his Maker, and combined it with his own massive intelligence, making him a formidable foe.

Mentor told her to keep trying. She'd find Malachi. Then he'd help her with the rescue. Meanwhile, he would keep trying to locate Upton. If they could find Upton, they would find her son.

If, if, if. But when? When?

She lay her head back in the rocker and closed her eyes, willing the vision of her son into the forefront of her mind. His tall lanky body that was so much like his dad's. His brown hair that showed more natural wave the older he grew. His dark eyes, so knowing and bright with understanding.

She would keep trying, of course, for as long as she lived if need be. She wouldn't let the son she loved be lost so easily. If she did not find him through telepathic means, she would hunt him down. She would have to leave her home and her husband and seek her son. She would begin interviewing vampires, traveling wherever it took her, until she came upon someone somewhere who either knew where Upton was or where her son was being held.

~*~

Sereny had taken the little Predator, Jeremy, off Dell's hands. The woman had enough on her plate trying to find her own son. Besides, the boy reminded Sereny of the son she'd left behind when the change had come over her. During the nights when they all made raids into the city, hunting Upton's vampires, Jeremy had been left at Mentor's house in the care of guards who also watched after the human woman there.

Jeremy took to Sereny right away, sensing she felt more compassion for him than anyone else did. She had brought him to Ross', where he ran after her through the house, asking her to play games with him, watching her as she performed the endless house chores that afforded her such peace of mind. She learned all about his twin sister, Dottie, and his grandfather, and the store they'd called Howard's Rattlesnake Farm. Jeremy could spend hours talking about rattlers and how much he liked them. He'd been fascinated by his grandfather's milking them for venom.

Sereny settled into a sort of imitation life, one close to normal, one like she'd lived as a mortal. A house to clean. A man to care for. A child to raise. It was the last gift, the child, that gave her the most joy. He was so bright and new to the life. He needed her to teach him and stayed close to her side, like a shadow. When she turned, he was there. When she worked, he played nearby. When she slept at night, he lay outside the bedroom door. They couldn't make him stay in a room, he said. He had always slept in a room with his sister. He didn't like it without her.

Ross came to Sereny only once during this time of domestic bliss. She was afraid he might banish her. He wanted her love every night, falling asleep locked between her legs, but she wasn't sure that was enough to insure her permanence. Ross had been a loner for a very long time. He admitted he didn't know what love was or what loving a woman was supposed to mean to him. Yet, he continued to let her and the boy vampire stay, and the days raced past as he got back to the business of supplying the Naturals and few remaining Cravens with the blood they needed.

He came once to her and sent Jeremy outside, admonishing him not to enter the house until he called. He was never harsh with the boy, but he frowned on his impulsiveness and demanded his own commands be obeyed without hesitation. Jeremy complied, knowing in some way that this vampire was greater than Sereny, and Ross could break him to pieces on a whim of anger.

"Look," Ross said, seemingly in a hurry to get out what he wanted to say. "It's this way, Sereny . . ."

She watched him closely for any hint he was about to send her packing. She would go, if ordered, but she really wanted to stay. Ross was not the hard man the rest of the world thought him. He could be gentle in their lovemaking, stroking her for hours as if there was nothing better he could ever find to do. He had an abiding respect for artistic endeavor, speaking of great masters in reverent tones, as if they were his priests. Any vampire who could hold onto a love for the creations of men was not totally lost.

He was honest about his debauchery, and didn't for a moment think he should repent. If she didn't want to share him that way, that wasn't his problem.

He loved to kill. But then, so did she. If it were a sin, they were both going into hellfire together.

"It's this way, Sereny," he continued. "I like the way you keep the place."

She smiled. Balthazar had found it distracting and useless. But this was a large modern home, nothing like she'd ever lived in before. It had many rooms, gorgeous furnishings, exquisite items that must have cost fortunes. She wanted to care for them. She was very careful, moving slowly and humming throughout the day, caring lovingly for the house and the priceless objects in it.

"I even like seeing you with the boy," Ross said, still agitated. "That Jeremy's got what it takes, you know? He's a brat right now, but I think he'll mature well."

She knew firsthand that Jeremy did have what it would take to survive. She'd gone hunting with him in a small rural area far outside of Dallas, showing him how to read potential victims, how to take the ones who were already hoping to die, or who deserved to die. There were so many.

"Anyway," Ross said, "as long as you don't try to boss me around, I won't boss you—and I'd like you to stay here. How's that?"

It was as close as he was going to get to saying she should be his partner, his mate. She kept smiling. "That's all right with me," she said. And then, without thinking, she stepped forward and kissed him until he put his arms around her back and drew her in close.

He pulled away. "You're a helluva woman, Sereny.”

“And you're a helluva man."

That was the level they met on and which gave them both so much pleasure. Man to woman. She had always known sex was one way to get back to the mortal souls that otherwise languished inside their immortal bodies. She had taught him that and the lesson was taking hold. It pleased her unimaginably.

~*~

Mentor stood poised to hear the worst—Bette had decided to go home. His house was empty except for the two of them now. The Predator clan had gone back to their duties as sentries, lab workers, delivery men, and business entrepreneurs. The uprising had been put down and except for the missing dhampir, all was back as it should be.

Malachi's disappearance weighed on him. He spent much of every day and night telepathically trying to ferret out the boy's whereabouts without success. It was an enigma. A dhampir as talented as Malachi should have sent out a signal of distress. Unless he was dead. Like Dell, Mentor didn't want to believe that. Besides, what would the dhampir's death do for Upton? No, it was another trick, a sleight of hand, a magician's veil that he had to try to rip away.

"Well?" Mentor stood in the living room, the book he'd been reading in his hand at his side. Bette stood at the doorway. He didn't see the urn, but it might be waiting on the hall table for her exit.

"I'm coming back," she said.

His throat closed as if a fist had squeezed it.

"I have to go home to close it up. There are some things I want. My altar. A Buddha statue. My teapot," she said, as if just remembering it. "I think I'll keep the house. Keep paying the taxes, keep the lawn mowed, that sort of thing. For the garden." She smiled wistfully. "We both love the Japanese garden."

He set the book on the coffee table and came to her, taking her into his arms. She laid her head against him. "You're so right. I do love the garden," he said.

They held one another, and Mentor thought he'd never been so happy. "Let me go with you. I can help."

"No, stay here. I want to . . . say my good-byes alone. The house was my sanctuary, not just the garden, the way it is for you. But now after so many years of sharing it with Alan, I know I can't be there alone anymore. It wouldn't . . . it wouldn't be the same."

He let her go, watching from the window as she left, his gaze following until she disappeared from sight. He went to her room and found the funeral urn. He brought it carefully to the living room and set it on the mantel over the fireplace. It should be in a place of honor. The man within it had loved and cared for the woman he adored. In his death, he wouldn't be forgotten by either of them.

Chapter 11

Malachi sat on the dirt at the bottom of the hole and stared into the twilight sky beyond the wooden latched opening. The first stars were coming out, tiny distant lights on a velvet display. It was as Upton had promised. He was fed. He was given water. He had a bucket sitting feet from him stinking of his own excrement and urine.

Nothing seemed to matter. The food was always tasteless to him and he only ate it because his stomach cramped if he didn't. When he thirsted, he drank from a canteen hung from a rope. When he must attend to his bodily functions he sat on the biting rim of the bucket and tried not to think about it.

After some days he realized the truth of his imprisonment. They were drugging him. Every time he ate a meal he felt woozy and disoriented and often fell over onto his side to sleep. He tried not to eat, but then he grew delirious anyway, and knew they were putting the drugs into his water. He could not go without either food or water unless he wanted to starve himself.

He tried and tried to think of a solution, but none came to him. If he did not eat or drink, he would die. Always, before he could get himself lucid enough to feel he could send out a call to his mother or Mentor, his captors would open the roof, climb into the hole with him, and beat him senseless with their fists and feet. He was too weak to fight back.

He caught himself daydreaming away the endless hours, piling little pebbles he found in the dirt into mounds before scattering them again. He found a pointed stick and scratched drawings and words into the earthen walls. He wrote his name. MALACHI. He wrote the word, GOD.

He wrote, HELP, INSANITY, and I'M NOT GOING TO DIE IN HERE. Meaningless. Meaningless.

When it rained, he sat in water that sometimes covered his legs, shivering and cold. They knew he would not get sick and he would not die. They were keeping him like a zoo pet, a mindless animal in a primitive cage.

When bordering on a lucid period just before his hunger forced him to partake of the tainted food, he sometimes felt a tear run down his cheek and he'd wipe it away with the back of his hand before any of the vampires saw. He was determined to endure it all. The drugs, the elements, the confinement. The silence.

One day his guards might make a mistake and turn their backs. One day they'd slip up and he'd notice and he'd get away. Upton had done it. Why couldn't he? Drugged or not, the food gave him strength and he needed that strength for the day opportunity presented itself. He convinced himself it would happen.

He just didn't know when.

He rocked on his buttocks with a rhythmic motion, his legs crossed, his hands gripping his knees. He watched the stars fill the sky. He saw the Milky Way spread across the expanse of space like diamond powder dusted across the heavens. Sometime later, time being something he could no longer measure, the moon slid across the opening of his cage in the ground and he smiled up at it. It was a full moon, a Malachi moon. His moon, promising long life, promising freedom.

As long as he could see the moon ride the sky and he could smile, holding onto the hope of a night when he could walk free again, he would survive this hellhole.

Mom, he called weakly in his mind. I'm here, Mom, can you hear me? I'm here in a jungle land, held captive.

His rocking motion slowed and he ceased moving. He had fallen back against the dirt wall and his eyelids had gotten too heavy to keep open. Sleep slipped into his brain, paralyzing it. His hands fell from his knees and he slumped to the ground.

He drifted into the dreamworld that was becoming more real than his waking world. In his dreams there was no prison pit, no guards, no mad, lurking jaguar face lurid with curiosity.

In his dreams, Malachi wandered dreamscapes unlike the world he'd lived in. They were like the dreams of his childhood, without the silver wolf who stalked him then. The arid landscape was swept with moonshine. It was entirely devoid of life. Nothing moved, not even a breath of wind. Malachi wandered there thoughtless and lost. He walked for miles through every dream, the landscape unchanging, the moon above never setting.

On waking each morning he recalled nothing of the dreams except the vast emptiness of the land that left a residue of melancholy like a dry taste at the back of his tongue.

I will be free again, he told himself over and over. I am not destined to die like a rat in a hole in the ground.