Cameo and the Vampire (8 page)

Kyrian sat with his chin in the palm of his hand, resting his elbow on one knee. "How are we going to destroy him?"

"Turn him—"

"Well, yes, but then what? How can we destroy something that vanishes the moment we're near?"

"Don't you know? You turned a vampire not long ago."

The lad pulled back uneasily, slowly folding his arms in front of him as if cold. "The situation was different. I didn't destroy him."

"Hmm ...." Carrington pulled on a blue mitten and batted his hands together to get warm. "Gibson and I'll have to kill it then."

"Who's Gibson?"

"He's a military man out of Lockenwood. He's investigating the deaths because it's been getting out of hand, and the local sheriff brought it to the attention of the crown, so they sent Lieutenant Gibson Reynard. He's on his way to Ponth to have a look around, and we'll be going with him."

"When?"

"A day or two, I think."

"Why did he stop here?"

Carrington shrugged, "Hospitable place to stay. Safe. Warm. Rumors of a an attractive, young acolyte named Sage? Probably any of the above. He's ... a man of war. He's not like us; he's killed people. Once you take a life, you just aren't the same anymore, your energy changes, your aura feels different.... You know what I mean?"

"Yes." Kyrian's voice was small. "But you're a warrior?"

He smiled, "Not in the same way. I'm trained to face down undead, but I've never taken a person's life."

"This sounds like a lovely conversation to interrupt."

They looked up at Caith, who wore a long, dark cloak coated in snow. The dog who had been playing with him was now on his heels.

"So," Carrington looked down at the snow, and then back up at Caith, slyly smiling, "you're going to feel free to jump right in and interrupt it?"

"Ha, ha, ha, good one. I did, as a matter of fact. Has anyone seen Sage?"

Carrington elbowed Kyrian in the side, "Mmm hmm. She's inside making candles."

"Oh, is she?" Kyrian spoke before Caith could reply to the insinuation. "Does she need help?"

"Oh, there we go. Looks like the new guy is going to beat you to her, Caith."

Kyrian and Caith surveyed each other warily.

"Uh, no, no .... It's not like that," Caith said.

"Right." Carrington stood up and headed for the temple door.

"Where are you going?"

"To see Sage."

"What? No!" Kyrian and Caith ran after him.

* * * * *

It was night. The wind was bitingly cold, and the snow blew up and around Cameo, Opal, and Jules as they made their own path through Lockenwood forest.

The view ahead was difficult, but as Opal turned to the right, he was able to make out the glittering eyes of his companions. They seemed to be able to see where they were going when he had no idea.

"We need to find some shelter!" someone said. Opal believed it was Cameo, but really had no idea because the wind was so strong, and the snow was pelting his face so hard that it stung.

"Where?!" was all he said, yelling to be heard about the din.

"The first place you see!" Cameo replied.

Suddenly Jules plowed ahead of them through the snow at a supernatural pace.

"Jules!" Cameo called.

Then Jules veered off to the right, vanishing completely into the whiteout.

"Where's he going?!"

"Maybe to find a shelter?!"

"For himself?!"

Cameo ignored the comment, unsure where he was going. "Jules!"

Chapter Four

"Hello, Ivy." It was the strange, tall man who had visited her once before.

She was alone in her home. As the girl glanced nervously around her rather meager surroundings, she wondered where she'd left her cooking knives, just in case her caller turned out to be untrustworthy. For one moment, she wrinkled up her nose when appraising the cleanliness as well.

"Oh, hello again." She smiled a fake, uncertain smile in his general direction.

He was standing directly outside the door. "You must invite me in."

Ivy suddenly met his eyes: the irises were so black, a stark contrast against his pale skin. She felt an urge to be polite. A few browned leaves tossed by on the crisp night wind. "Come in." Ivy stepped aside and allowed him to pass inside. "You must be so chilled. I can stoke the fire if you'd like."

He waved away the notion. "May I sit?"

"Yes, certainly." She shut the door to the little hovel.

Haffef took his ease in the one wooden chair that still had its back attached and rested his hands on the top of his black cane.

She sat on a broken chair that was now more of a stool and watched him as he inspected the ceiling, and at long last he settled back on her face. She had been trying to sleep when he knocked, so she could only guess how terrible she probably looked.

"You are lovely, as always," he said softly, and on cue, as if he knew what she'd been thinking, but she didn't believe that.

He chuckled to himself, completely relaxed. "You're Sir Terrence Penmbrander's daughter, aren't you?"

"Oh, now, what ... what would make you think that?"

"You are. Don't be ashamed; he was a heroic man in his time. He fell from grace, it's true, but when he was a knight, one of the elite of Shandow, he was a great conqueror. He helped expand Belfour's lands deep into the south, into Ponth. I have great respect for military. So talented in the art of warfare, so practiced in how to kill a man. It's really quite an art form."

"How do you know those things?"

"I remember him."

"He wasn't my father."

"You have a sister, as well: Gwendolyn. And up until recently your mother lived here with you, but sadly she passed away a year ago."

"Yes, that's true. Do you live in town? In Terrence? I don't think I've ever run into you before … well, the other day."

His eyes lingered on her gentle features, and then he favored her with a simple smile. "Ivy, I know who you are. You are Lady Ivy Penmbrander, a lady of the court in Shandow. Your father was Terrence Penmbrander—the town is named after him—and now," he turned to look at the sparse table before him, "you've been reduced to this life. Living in a hovel, working as a washerwoman, and your sister working in the kitchens of the palace in Shandow.

"You don't deserve this life. You're too good for it. You were born in a Keep in Shandow, born into a noble family. The gods willed it."

She leapt to her feet with tears in her eyes, angry. "Our relatives left us here! When Father died, they shunned us, they left us in poverty. If you're here to test my allegiance to the crown, you're going to be disappointed and might as well clap me in irons right now, because I don't have any love for the King or any of the unholy royal court either."

Haffef sneered. "I'm not necessarily a supporter of the Belfours, though I bear them no ill will. I'm simply an admirer of Lady Ivy."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his now. She was still in her bedclothes, a worn-out off-white shift that she hoped he couldn't see through. "Do you always find out this much information about a lady before you call on her in the middle of the night?"

"Only when I'm serious."

"About ... what?" She almost hated to ask, because she was a little concerned where this line of thought might be going.

"Oh, Ivy," he said at last, weary. "I'm not a threat to you. I could never be."

She had put the stool between herself and Haffef subconsciously, but as he looked down at the stool, she realized it was there. "Sorry."

He admired her young face thoughtfully. "When I'm serious about marriage."

"Marriage?" she whispered. The concept of marrying a strange man she had only clapped eyes on once before was uncomfortable, and yet very flattering. She had to hide a smile. He was clearly a man of means, and the idea of living in a house where she didn't have to beg for scraps of food from the local temple was an enticing one. Still, though, she had no concept of who he was, really ....

"Of course, I wouldn't know whom to ask for your hand. Your parents are, sadly, dead and your relatives are cut off."

"I guess I would be that person."

"The one I'd have to ask," he said in his velvety voice. "Yes, well ... would you consider me?"

"Um..." She looked away. Her face was full and pink and so fresh ... so full of life as she looked away. Her long, dark hair fell against her shoulder in a bit of a tangle, caught in the firelight.

* * * * *

Haffef stared down at the brownish bones laid out on his dining room table and felt the unwanted presence of an intruding thrall.

Jules stood before him, uneasy in Haffef's home. A seemingly deserted farmhouse, surrounded by acres of plowed fields, in the middle of nowhere.

He glanced over at the bones laying on the table to his left. They were laid out on a very fine linen tablecloth, and the rest of the room was in complete disrepair, the paint peeling off the walls, the floors creaking as if they would give way with one wrong step.

"Where is Cameo?"

"She's in Lockenwood forest. On her way to Yetta."

"Why isn't she here?!"

"I don't know."

"I called you both. Did she disregard my wishes?" Haffef looked down at Jules, who was doing his best not to make eye contact with his
Master
.

"We didn't speak. I came to you as soon as I felt the call."

The vampire stood in silence for a moment, thinking, seemingly calm, and then he lashed out. He was an inch from Jules in a second and knocked him to the floor an instant later. "I have little use for you; it was Gwen I wanted!"

Jules felt as if he'd been hit by a building. He wasn't quite certain what had happened at first, but then, before he could scramble to his feet, Haffef pulled him up by his hair and threw him out the half-opened door.

"Get out!" the vampire shrieked. "Get out!" He leapt onto Jules' back and punched him in the back of the head.

Jules moaned but attempted to stand again as the vampire helped to lift him to his feet and then kicked him in the back so hard that the assassin felt something break.

"I want Gwen. If you ever come back here, I'll kill you." He flipped Jules onto his back and assessed his handiwork.

Jules' hands shook as he tried to protect his face. An instant later the vampire was gone.

The assassin had been thrown fifteen feet from the house and lay in the dirt. As he looked up, he could see a zombie not far from him, working the land, and then he refocused his eyes and saw figures milling about in the distance. Zombies. Hundreds of zombies, similar to Chester, still wearing the tattered remnants of clothes, all with farm tools working the Master's land ... acres of undead.

"Oh, gods," he sighed. "My soul is lost. My life has become this horror." He attempted to pull himself to his feet, but something was wrong; his body wasn't working. It was as if his legs weren't there. He tumbled back onto his belly. Jules looked about himself, at the cursed farmhouse behind him, the empty fields in every direction, and the undead working hard at tilling the already well-tilled soil in the night.

It was like something out of a nightmare, and he began to crawl through the dirt and snow, anxiously avoiding the mindless creatures wielding sharp implements above him.

* * * * *

"This isn't exactly the Lakestar," Opal grumbled as he sat down against the drafty wall of an abandoned barn.

Cameo set down her pack and shook out her wool cloak. "No."

"Well, at least you're here with me."

She smirked. "Flattery, Opal? Are you feeling better?"

He faked a smile and then lied, "Oh yes, yes."

"Your hands must be frozen."

Opal didn't reply or bother to look down at the useless things. He just watched her as she moved closer and dusted the melting snow from his collar.

"Whiskey? It will warm you."

He shook his head.

Her long hair was wet and stringy, and it rested against his chest as she fixed his hair and retied the large, black bow that held it in place.

"You look lovely," he whispered against her cheek.

She pulled back to look at him. She had indulged him with new clothes and new cosmetics, partly because she knew the complaining could only get worse and partly because she missed seeing him in full-blown dandy attire.

He leaned forward and kissed her.

She smiled. "I should try to start a fire."

Opal paid no attention to what she'd said and instead wrapped his splinted arms around her and pulled her close.

The door flung open, suddenly slamming against the barn, and then the wind and snow blew inside in one big gust. Within that swirling spiral of snow was Jules. He shambled inside and closed the door behind him, pressing his back against the door.

Cameo leapt to her feet. "Where did you go?"

He rested the top of his head back against the rickety door now, breathing heavily. "Haffef called us."

"Us?" She moved toward him. "I didn't hear him."

Jules looked down at her; his face was bloodied.

"What happened?" she asked, knowing the answer: Haffef had beaten him.

He pulled away from her. "Nice rouge, by the way," he said bitterly as he stumbled into the barn.

Cameo wiped her mouth. "I take it that he was upset that I didn't come when he called."

"Good guess."

Opal folded his arms over his chest as Jules set the provisions down beside him.

"I was at his house, and you should've seen his house.... Oh, right. You probably have."

"No. I've never seen it."

He turned to look at her. "It's a ramshackle farmhouse, and everywhere you look there are zombies—"

"Zombies? Like us?"

"No. More like Chester was.... They're working the farm, but there's nothing to be done, it's the dead of winter. And your sister was there. Her bones were lying out on the dining table." He met her eyes for one moment, and then he looked away, "It was ... I don't know.... I don't even know how to describe it."

"Where?"

"Beyond the town of Ponth. Southwest. There's a large forest, and then there it is, in the middle of nowhere."