Blood Wyne (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #9)

Blood Wyne (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #9) Page 34

He was an older man, in his sixties, it looked, but he was wel built and he would have his vampire strength.

I decided that it was better to ask questions later, and slowly slid one of the stakes out of my belt. As I crept closer—I didn’t want to chance throwing it and missing, warning him in the process

—Wade eased his pack down. But we weren’t dealing with just any ordinary kil er.

Charles was a vampire and he had the same acute hearing we did. He leaped up, out of the tub, his body wet and slick from the water. Although he was naked, I felt an icy chil race through me. He was a psychopath, he was a vampire, and he had no remorse for what he was doing.

“Charles—listen to me. Give it up. Now. You let us take you in and we’l make sure you get help.”

I was lying, of course—I ful y intended to take him out. This wasn’t any ordinary murderer whom you could toss in jail and forget, letting him rot. A vampire serial kil er was far too dangerous. We had to take him out, to dust him.

Charles glanced at me, looking mildly confused. “You know my name.”

“We know al about you. We know you were a priest, and that you were turned into a vampire.”

Another shift of the head, another start of surprise.

“Go away.” He raised his hand, as if shielding his eyes from my gaze. I could see the conflicting emotions race across his face. Guilt, anger, rage, hunger, al tied together. Oh yeah, Charles wasn’t playing with a ful deck, that was for sure. In the blink of an eye, he’d grabbed his jeans and slid into them. I winced. They were covered with dried blood. Apparently he washed his body to remove the sin of his actions, but he conveniently forgot to clean his garments.

“Charles. You have no choice. You can’t run because we’l hunt you down. Come quietly and we can get you some help.” Wade entered the room behind me. “You know you feel bad about those women—”

“No! They were whores, Jezebels. They were evil, tempting women and the only way I could save their souls was to cleanse them.” His voice was querulous and tinged with argument.

“Charles, you are aware you’re a vampire now?” I didn’t want to overlook the obvious. Since some ghosts weren’t aware they’d died, maybe in the break that happened to his psyche, he’d lost track of the fact that he was a vamp.

“I am their savior. I am here to wipe the world clean of harlots and sinners. I am the sword of blood and justice. My God has forsaken me, but I wil find myself in his graces again when I have cleansed the Earth for him.”

Oh, delightful. Not only was he a psychopath, but he had a martyr complex, too. Just what we needed.

“Charles, please—if you are the sword of justice, then hear us out.”

“You are spawn of the devil. I know what you are! You are like Jezebel, the beauty who would have tempted me. I fel . . . my God, I fel .” Tears began to streak down his cheeks. “I wanted to touch her—it was so hard, so very hard. I tried to resist, but she lured me in and I couldn’t stay away from her.”

His sire had used her glamour to reel the priest in. No wonder he was so guilt-ridden. He must have been true to his post, but no FBH could withstand the lure of a vampire. Especial y if she was older.

Charles took a step back and reached for something. I gauged whether I had a clear shot of his chest, but he was aware enough to keep his body turned just so that if I threw my stake, it would lodge in his arm. And that wouldn’t slow him down.

I motioned for Wade to begin edging toward the other door. We didn’t want him escaping again. Wade nodded and Charles glared at him as he clasped whatever it was he had picked up.

I prayed it wasn’t a stake-shooting gun that some FBH fanatic had worked up. We’d heard tales of a few lately, using the same technology as a spear gun to shoot wooden stakes.

But when he opened his hand to show me what he was holding, my fear factor jumped off the scale.

“Charles—put that down. We can talk. If you are the new savior, then you real y don’t want to use that.”

“It won’t hurt me. I’m immortal. I’m invincible. I cannot be kil ed.” And every word he said was fil ed with self-confidence. Charles real y didn’t think he could be kil ed. And he was holding what looked to be a live grenade.

CHAPTER 22

“He’s got a grenade!” I frantical y motioned for Wade to stop. He quickly took in the situation and changed course.

Grenades and explosions, though not a guaranteed death, could do a great deal of damage.

Some, if powerful enough, could put an end to a vampire. This was a smal space, enclosed, and the explosion would be devastating. Not to mention that it might bring down the entire tunnel system around here.

“You don’t want to do that.” Wade’s voice was even. He steadily moved toward the vampire, one smal step at a time. “Put the grenade down and we can talk. If you are the new savior, then maybe we can help you.”

Charles slowly shook his head. “You want to stop me—the spirits told me. They told me you’re the spawn of the devil, that you’re not anointed by the blood of the Lamb.”

I stared at him. He’d lost it and there was no coming back. The only thing we could hope for was to get the grenade away from him intact, because no matter what, we couldn’t let him escape again. A vampire with a martyr complex on the loose: Not Good. A vampire with a martyr complex on the loose with a live grenade: Very Bad. With a glance at Wade, I slowly began to move in.

Playing along wasn’t working. It was time to be straight.

“Charles, listen to me. You aren’t a savior. You aren’t the sword of God. You’re a vampire—you were a priest and a vampire kil ed you and turned you. She should not have done that. She was wrong and I’m so sorry. But now, you’re kil ing innocent women to get back at her. Can’t you see how twisted your logic is—” I stopped. Wade was frantical y shaking his head at me.

“You’re wrong. I’l prove you are. I am immortal! ” And Charles pul ed the pin.

“Run!” Wade dashed toward the cavern and I fol owed suit. We managed to clear our way through the short passage into the one leading back into the cavern when the explosion rocked the area. Smoke bil owed from behind us as the Earth shook and the sound of rocks crashing to the ground echoed around us. Living surround sound. I covered my head and suddenly Wade was leaning over me, trying to protect me from the fal ing debris.

The passage we were in reverberated with heavy rock fal as dust fil ed the air. Grateful neither of us needed to breathe, I waited until only a trickle of pebbles echoed through the passage.

As Wade slowly crawled off me, another slide of rocks echoed from somewhere up ahead. I gingerly pushed myself to my feet and felt for my flashlight, which I’d hooked to my belt loop.

I flipped it on to find a cloud of dust flickering in the thin yel ow beam. Squinting, I tried to see through the settling debris. Damn. Our way back into the cavern was blocked by thousands of pounds of debris. The tunnel had broken down near the entrance, and even as I pressed against the rocks, I knew it was futile. We might manage to clear our way out—after al , we could go a long time without blood and we didn’t need air—but it would take an awful y long time to get out from this direction.

Wade examined the tunnel on the other side.

“How is it?” I asked, coughing as the dust fil ed my mouth. “We’re fucked over here.”

“I think we can manage to squeeze through there.” He flickered his light up to show a crawl space between the roof and the top of the rocks. It looked narrow but possible. We were strong enough to move some of the rocks to give ourselves more space, but we’d have to be careful not to start another rock slide.

“Shit, this is so beyond fucked. Here, let me crawl up there. I’m lighter and wil have less of a chance of setting off another avalanche.”

Holding my penlight between my teeth, I slowly inched my way up the precarious mountain of loose rubble. The rocks were mixed with bricks on this side—the side leading back into Charles’s lair—and a layer of dried, powdered mortar seemed to cover everything.

Twice, my footing slipped and a cascade of debris rained down toward Wade. He didn’t flinch, merely held his flashlight steady to give me extra light to see by. I managed to reach the top after about ten minutes of cautious maneuvering. I would have used my ability to hover, but I would have stil had to scramble over rock and ruin to reach the crawl space.

Gingerly, I probed the space, testing how steady it was. Another trickle of rubble and then one large boulder went rebounding down, crashing to the floor below, taking a stream of debris with it.

Wade lightly jumped back, out of its way.

“Sorry, I barely touched it. Better it went now than later when we’re trying to crawl through here.” I flashed my light into the narrow gap and was pleased to see that the rock slide was only about five feet wide. “I think we can do it. I’m going through, then you join me when I cal from the other side.”

“Okay. But be careful.” Wade kept his light aimed in my direction.

I flattened out onto my back and began to wiggle through the gap. The stones were sharp and rough, abrading my hands as I clawed my way through. I went in, face toward the ceiling, to avoid poking an eye out or any such nasty business. Extending my arms above my head, I used my fingers to claw a hold into the ceiling and pul ed myself along with my hands as I pushed with my feet. The going was rough and rocks jabbed me in the back, but final y my head broke through and I birthed myself out of the channel, only to find that no floor was in sight—just an endless pile of rocks extending to fil the tunnel halfway to the ceiling.

I cautiously inched my way onto the swath of rubble. I had just passed the fork and was back in the five-foot section of tunnel right before Charles’s lair. It must have been better reinforced than the section leading back into the cavern, since the rubble didn’t reach the ceiling here. I could see the top third of the entrance leading into his chamber—which was relatively clear. That was some strong brickwork in there. Of course it had survived several earthquakes, so what was a hand grenade?

“We’re fielding more rubble over here, but we can make it back into his chamber. Come on.”

“On my way,” Wade shouted back.

Cautiously, while Wade made his way through the cleft in the rocks, I inched my way toward the chamber where Charles had exploded the grenade. I reached the arch leading into his lair and slid through the opening. The room was stil il uminated by the demon lamps—three of them had survived, but a fourth had been crushed under the weight of rocks fal ing down from one side of the wal .

I hurried over to where Charles had been standing, and there was nothing to see. If he’d been kil ed, he would have turned to dust. But suppose . . . suppose he’d survived?

No, my mind answered. That wasn’t possible. He’d been holding the grenade . . . or had he?

Had he lobbed it at us when we ran? Could he have possibly escaped?

“Any sign of him?”

Wade’s voice startled me, and I jumped. He was at my side in the blink of an eye. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. So, any clue as to—”

A sound alerted both of us, and we turned just in time to see some of the rocks moving from the mini-slide over against the wal . And then I saw a foot kick away a boulder the size of my head, and then another.

“Charles—that has to be him.” I glanced around, looking for a stake. The ones on my belt had splintered in the chaos.

Wade grabbed up a board and smashed it over his knee, so one long sliver stuck out from the end. He tossed me the other piece and, though not a perfect point, it was pointed enough to use as a stake.

Charles rose from the bed of rock, a triumphant glimmer in his eye. “I told you. I am immortal.”

“You were lucky,” I said, hissing as my fangs descended and I began to circle him. Wade took the other side, and we hedged him in, trying our best to keep him from escaping.

“I am the sword of justice.” Charles started in my direction, his face awash with the joy only a martyr can feel. “I wil cleanse Earth of the abominations of the flesh and al the world wil know of my coming and tremble.”

I ducked in then, as he raised his hands in triumph, joyous and feral. He’d left his chest open to attack and I raced directly into him, ramming him with the piece of wood, feeling the rip as it tore through his chest and into his heart. Charles stared at me, disbelief replacing the joy, and then—

with one last shriek—he was gone. Dust floated to the ground where he’d been standing.

“Martyrs usual y don’t have a lot of common sense,” Wade said, putting down his own makeshift stake. He knelt by the lingering wisps of dust and ashes that were the only remains signifying Charles’s existence. “He was a tormented soul. Even if we’d caught him before he turned murderous, I don’t think we could have done anything for him.”

“Neither do I.” I looked around the room. Religious icons littered the wal s, but Charles had spread blood on them—no doubt the blood of innocents. “I’l never get over the fact that religion can be such a boon, a salve to some, and a license to murder for others. Extremists from any faith scare me.”

“Now our question is, can we get out of here?”

We examined the door opposite the tunnels and found that they led directly to a manhole tunnel.

I floated up, dislodging the cover to peek out. We were in the park. Only two blocks away from where we’d gone in. There was a crowd down near the original manhole, and Chase’s car was there.

Wade and I jogged down the street. I could see Chase standing there, Iris beside him.