The Gathering Dark by Christopher Golden Page B

him and her voice dropped.
    “You’re a vampire,” she said, as if the word were foreign to her lips. And perhaps it was.
    “Such a broad and vulgar term,” Kuromaku told her. “I’m no more a vampire than you are a chimpanzee. They still hide in the shadows and tombs, fancying themselves creatures of darkness right out of Stoker’s fevered imagination. I’m a businessman. Once upon a time, I was a warrior. Nothing more.”
    Those last two words rang hollow, even to Kuromaku himself, but Sophie did not challenge his assertion. For a long moment she only stared at him, shifting nervously from foot to foot. The media coverage of the Venice Jihad and subsequent melees had revealed to the world the existence of vampires and demons, and the difference between traditional vampires and beings like Kuromaku himself, who had once called themselves shadows. Books had been written, films made, thousands of hours of news coverage devoted to the revelation that the supernatural was fact rather than fiction, that evil existed. While the Roman Church crumbled for its part in the Venice debacle, faith in general thrived around the world.
    For if demons existed, why not something else? Why not divinity?
    Kuromaku smiled as he thought of it, glanced back across the Montmartre at the dead demon, this revolting, savage, filthy beast whose very existence proved to millions the existence of God. To millions of others, however, it would be perceived as just another hoax. No matter how much video was shot of it, no matter how many images ended up on the Net, there would be those who refused to acknowledge its existence for the very same reason; because if this thing was real, chances were there were more benevolent powers in the universe as well, and that just fucked up their worldview completely.
    “If that smile is meant to be comforting—” Sophie began.
    He raised an eyebrow and his grin widened. “It wasn’t. I’m sorry. And there’s nothing amusing about what just happened here. I was just thinking that no matter how many times the darkness bleeds over into the light, some people refuse to believe there’s anything to be afraid of.”
    Sophie’s bright blue eyes were no longer sparkling. She glanced past him at the blood and brain that was painted in a fanned arc across the front wall of Sacré-Coeur and she shuddered.
    “But there is.”
    Kuromaku placed a hand gently on her shoulder. Startled, she let out a tiny gasp and looked up at him. He nodded, kneading her shoulder just a bit.
    “Yes. There is,” he said. “But not everything in the shadows is something you need to fear.”
    For a long moment she stared at him. Then, at last, she gave an uncertain nod. Sophie licked her lips to moisten them, her body shuddering as her breathing quickened, and she stepped closer and laid her head upon his chest.
    “Thank you,” she whispered.
    He frowned. “For what?”
    “For being a light in the darkness.”
    Sophie withdrew from him and glanced around. Kuromaku followed her gaze and suddenly he saw their surroundings with clarity for the first time. The hundreds of spectators, the dead and the wounded, the blood-splashed cathedral, the remains of the demon, the police and EMTs. He had seen all of it before but this was the first time he had truly taken in the entire scene.
    All of Montmartre was silent save for the barked orders of the police and the low whispers that rippled through the crowd. Some of them were staring at the blood or the demon but the majority of the crowd was focused instead upon Kuromaku himself. Several official-looking police officers were muttering among themselves, casting furtive glances in his direction as though they were preparing to question him. This was bothersome only in that he knew there was nothing he could tell them that they did not already know.
    “It’s going to take me a while to . . . figure out what to make of all this,” Sophie said. “But to begin with, do you mind if we go