throw back his head and howl into the night. What am I doing wrong?
You’re doing fine. Go home. Rest.
For a moment he felt almost reassured. It was as if a soft hand stroked his fevered brow. A gentle breeze pressed against the burning fear. He thought of blankets and sleep in a comfortable place. He remembered the room he used to sleep in, hidden under the streets, and all the candles he’d brought to light the place. That had been home until the Prophet found him, until the Angel took him in his arms. Sweet, sweet Angel. The Disciple closed his eyes and swayed, almost smiling.
Then he remembered that if he did not bring the Demon and the Prophet what they wanted, they would deny him the Angel’s touch. If he failed them, he was also failing the Angel and didn’t deserve the gift of eternity.
He would be punished. He hurried up the street, repeating the words over and over in his head.
He would go to Pioneer Square, he decided. Therewould be people there even tonight. That was always the best place to hunt. He’d find someone.
Lost him, Char thought. Mind games with other people’s property were not her thing, anyway. The stick-figure man was heading for Pioneer Square, Char realized after she’d trailed him for a few blocks. And Daniel had told Helene Bourbon that he wanted to return underground. She would have started her search for Daniel there if she hadn’t gotten lost earlier. It was possible to access a ruined section of the oldest part of Seattle from Pioneer Square. In fact, parts of it were a major tourist attraction. The underground really wasn’t a vampire hangout, it was just too obvious. During the day, tourists were led through the area, and there was a gift shop in one of the abandoned nineteenth-century buildings that had been covered over when the streets had been graded.
Char remembered going to a party down there once, a haunted house Halloween party that was put on by a tour company. It was supposed to have been spooky, but the mortal tourists had been unaware that the nests of Seattle were also at the party. The strigoi stayed on after the tourists left. Char remembered how musty and damp the place was. It smelled of garbage from nearby alleys, as well. It was certainly not an appealing place for even children-of-the-night-type vampires to call home.
That Halloween party was the only time she knew of that the local community had gathered in the Seattle underground, and that was well before Daniel’s time. She supposed the strigoi that had been involved in the child sex abuse ring might have used the underground as agathering place, or maybe Daniel was a local boy who played down there and that was where he had been picked up. But why would Daniel return to a place where he’d been abused? Maybe because he was an infant, she supposed, and a damaged one at that. The poor kid wasn’t sane; maybe he’d gone looking for his lost innocence. Innocence, he’d discover if he lived long enough, was highly overrated. Or so she’d been told.
There was no one in the square he could use. The Disciple knew it even before he set foot in the place. Winter clouds were close overhead, no music spilled into the square. Even the gulls seemed to have taken the holiday evening off. The quiet was unnerving. The stillness, or something in the stillness, made the Disciple’s skin prickle. A sense of being surrounded by sound-deadening shadows crept up on him, flowed over him.
He spun around in a dizzying circle, assuring himself all was well. There were a few derelicts asleep under the trees or huddled on the benches. The bars that were open were just about empty. Lights were off most places. He stopped beneath the wrought iron bus stop pergola and wrapped his scrawny arms around his middle. It was so dark and lonesome here.
Go home.
The voice sounded so soft, so soothing, so kind. He closed his eyes and he could almost make out the shape of a black cape and hood made out of purest
You’re doing fine. Go home. Rest.
For a moment he felt almost reassured. It was as if a soft hand stroked his fevered brow. A gentle breeze pressed against the burning fear. He thought of blankets and sleep in a comfortable place. He remembered the room he used to sleep in, hidden under the streets, and all the candles he’d brought to light the place. That had been home until the Prophet found him, until the Angel took him in his arms. Sweet, sweet Angel. The Disciple closed his eyes and swayed, almost smiling.
Then he remembered that if he did not bring the Demon and the Prophet what they wanted, they would deny him the Angel’s touch. If he failed them, he was also failing the Angel and didn’t deserve the gift of eternity.
He would be punished. He hurried up the street, repeating the words over and over in his head.
He would go to Pioneer Square, he decided. Therewould be people there even tonight. That was always the best place to hunt. He’d find someone.
Lost him, Char thought. Mind games with other people’s property were not her thing, anyway. The stick-figure man was heading for Pioneer Square, Char realized after she’d trailed him for a few blocks. And Daniel had told Helene Bourbon that he wanted to return underground. She would have started her search for Daniel there if she hadn’t gotten lost earlier. It was possible to access a ruined section of the oldest part of Seattle from Pioneer Square. In fact, parts of it were a major tourist attraction. The underground really wasn’t a vampire hangout, it was just too obvious. During the day, tourists were led through the area, and there was a gift shop in one of the abandoned nineteenth-century buildings that had been covered over when the streets had been graded.
Char remembered going to a party down there once, a haunted house Halloween party that was put on by a tour company. It was supposed to have been spooky, but the mortal tourists had been unaware that the nests of Seattle were also at the party. The strigoi stayed on after the tourists left. Char remembered how musty and damp the place was. It smelled of garbage from nearby alleys, as well. It was certainly not an appealing place for even children-of-the-night-type vampires to call home.
That Halloween party was the only time she knew of that the local community had gathered in the Seattle underground, and that was well before Daniel’s time. She supposed the strigoi that had been involved in the child sex abuse ring might have used the underground as agathering place, or maybe Daniel was a local boy who played down there and that was where he had been picked up. But why would Daniel return to a place where he’d been abused? Maybe because he was an infant, she supposed, and a damaged one at that. The poor kid wasn’t sane; maybe he’d gone looking for his lost innocence. Innocence, he’d discover if he lived long enough, was highly overrated. Or so she’d been told.
There was no one in the square he could use. The Disciple knew it even before he set foot in the place. Winter clouds were close overhead, no music spilled into the square. Even the gulls seemed to have taken the holiday evening off. The quiet was unnerving. The stillness, or something in the stillness, made the Disciple’s skin prickle. A sense of being surrounded by sound-deadening shadows crept up on him, flowed over him.
He spun around in a dizzying circle, assuring himself all was well. There were a few derelicts asleep under the trees or huddled on the benches. The bars that were open were just about empty. Lights were off most places. He stopped beneath the wrought iron bus stop pergola and wrapped his scrawny arms around his middle. It was so dark and lonesome here.
Go home.
The voice sounded so soft, so soothing, so kind. He closed his eyes and he could almost make out the shape of a black cape and hood made out of purest
Similar Books
