The Vampire Evolution Trilogy (Book 3): Blood of Gold Page 2

Here stood the author of the Rules of Vampire, which had given Hoss the meaning of his existence. As a human, he’d been adrift, seeing things that those around him couldn’t see, knowing the answers to problems but unable to get anyone to see the sense of his suggestions.

  Then he’d been Turned. At first, that had been equally confusing, but then he’d found the Rules of Vampire, and everything had fallen into place:

  Rule 1. Never trust a human.

  Rule 2. Never leave the remains of a kill, or if you must, disguise the cause of death.

  Rule 3. Never feed where you live.

  Rule 4. Never create a pattern. Kill at random.

  Rule 5. Never kill for the thrill. Feed only when necessary to eat.

  Rule 6. Never steal in the short term; create wealth for the long term.

  Hoss had become a believer in the Rules, and had made certain that the poor lost souls that found and surrounded him also believed. Because of this, they had survived the holocaust brought on by the Wilderings. At least, until now.

  Surrounding the vampires, both blue and gold bloods, were human vampire hunters, led by the two FBI agents Callendar and Jeffers.

  “They came to help us,” Terrill was arguing. “Without them, none of us would have survived.”

  “All right,” Jeffers said. “For that, I thank them. But for their future human victims, I damn them.” He turned to his partner. “We have them in our power, Callendar. Let’s finish it.”

  “These are not Wilderings,” Terrill said. “These vampires follow the Rules of Vampire. They will not kill unnecessarily.”

  Jeffers laughed. “How reassuring. I’m sure that their victims will be glad to know they were ‘necessary.’” He turned back to his fellow agent. “Come on, Callendar. We don’t have any choice. This is our job; this is what we were trained to do. But even more importantly, it’s what needs to be done.”

  Callendar hadn’t spoken since the argument began. He had his head down and was deep in thought. As the senior agent on the scene, it would be his decision: life or death for Hoss and his followers. Hoss thought he knew the solution to their problem, but it would be better if it came from the humans instead of him.

  Smoke curled over Crescent City. The wind was coming off the foothills and blowing the dark clouds out over the ocean. Everywhere a Wildering had been caught by the sudden emergence of the sun from the clouds, there was a blackened patch of soot, a shadow of a once-existing being. Some of the foliage and structures in proximity to the Wilderings’ doom had caught fire as well, and parts of downtown were now blackened rubble.

  The FBI agents and their police backup had just finished the unpleasant job of dispatching those victims of the Wilderings who had not yet Turned. This had entailed chopping off their heads, so the humans were covered with a mix of the red blood of those not yet Turned and the blue blood of vampires.

  Now the cops wanted to finish the job. They had bona fide vampires in their power, trapped by the sun and by their weapons. But some of the cops looked uneasy, for they knew that without the help of this band of vampires, in all likelihood, they would have perished under the onslaught of the Wilderings.

  As it was, only the unexpected emergence of the sun after days of fog and clouds had saved them from the Wildering infestation. Half the population of Crescent City had been Turned into vampires, creatures consumed by hunger for human flesh and blood. None of these newly Turned vampires had been instructed by their Makers in how to behave, so they had become a horde of Wilderings, consuming everyone in their path.

  In the distance, the survivors could hear sirens approaching. News vans had found their way to the fairgrounds and were pulling up outside the Armory, waiting to see who or what would emerge. It’s going to be hard to sweep this disaster under the rug, Hoss thought. Vampires are secret no longer.

  Hoss and his followers were of the old school of vampirism, trained and restrained to kill only when necessary, and above all, to follow the Rules of Vampire, which Terrill had formulated long ago. But they were no less dangerous for it. Hoss was young and newly Turned, but he’d always been smarter than everyone around him, young or old. He’d figured out early on that the only way to survive was to do as the Rules suggested.

  The only thing that confused him was that he’d just broken several of the Rules in succession, and yet it had seemed like the right thing to do.

  “This is bullshit,” Jeffers exclaimed. He raised his crossbow and pointed it at Hoss. “Let’s end this.”

  In a blur, Terrill was at his side, snatching the weapon away before Jeffers could pull the trigger. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

  Jeffers looked stunned, but not cowed. “Impressive. You really are a new breed of vampire. But there are only a couple of you gold bloods,” he said, raising his voice so that the other cops could hear. “You may kill me, and you may take out a lot of us, but eventually we’ll take you down.”

  “Actually,” a voice said from the door of the Armory, “there are four of us.” Officer Robert Jurgenson walked in, accompanied by a stunningly beautiful woman.

  “Jamie!” Sylvie shouted, and sprinted toward her sister. “You’re alive!”

  The two girls hugged, the younger sister tall, dark and human, the older one shorter, red-haired and apparently now one of the Golden Vampires. “Thanks to Robert,” Jamie said.

  Their appearance seemed to finally decide Callendar. The newly Turned policeman was his former brother-in-law, and it was obvious that he didn’t relish a fight to the death with this new breed of vampires, whose capabilities weren’t fully understood.

  “Enough,” he said loudly. “We won’t fight you. But we can’t in good conscience let a pack of vampires free. This is what has to happen.” At these words, both sides visibly tensed. “I will require a promise from them.”

  Hoss nodded. He’d thought this would be the compromise from the beginning and had been formulating his response.

  Callendar continued. “You must promise not kill humans again. All of you… or you must leave this country forever. If you can’t agree to these terms, we will have to finish this now.”

  “I accept,” Hoss said. He turned to his followers and spread his arms. One by one, they all agreed to the conditions.

  “You believe them?” Jeffers asked, disbelieving. “These are vampires, Callendar! Lying, murderous, night-stalking vampires!”

  “I will take their word,” Callendar said. He raised his hand to forestall the inevitable protests and looked at Hoss sternly. “But if you break your word to me, young man, I will hunt you and all your followers down, I promise you.”

  Again, Hoss nodded. He was already planning his trip to England. It was time he joined the real Council of Vampires.

  #

  Terrill finally relaxed. He’d done his duty to Hoss. It was clear that the young vampire and his followers were not yet ready to be tested by the golden blood. Now he could turn his attention to the woman for whom he’d long been searching.

  Jamie looked worn, yet even more beautiful than he remembered: leaner, her face chiseled, missing all the baby fat that had obscured her high cheekbones. Her freckles, which had made her seemed innocent and unspoiled, now seemed to highlight the experience written on her face. She was leaning against the cop, Robert, and it was obvious they were a couple.

  Jamie was Terrill’s unexpected progeny. After decades of not feeding on humans, he’d had a moment of weakness, and this young woman had been his victim. In remorse, he’d tracked down the girl’s family, and had unexpectedly fallen in love with her younger sister, Sylvie.

  He’d sworn never to kill a human again, and despite great provocation and danger, he’d stuck to his vow. When he’d been trapped and forced into the daylight, it had turned out that all his suffering, the provocation and temptation that only centuries of resolve had helped him overcome, had Turned him human again. He was the first and only vampire to Turn back since the beginning of time.

  His own Maker, Michael
, had long planned for a new kind of vampire to emerge, but Terrill becoming human had been unexpected. When Michael had Turned him back into a vampire again, so he could fight in the coming battle, Terrill had become something new to this world: a vampire with gold blood, who could walk in daylight, who was stronger and faster than any blue-blooded vampire.

  He could Turn others, but there was one important catch: only vampires who refused to kill humans could be transformed. Any other vampire would be destroyed by the infusion of gold blood. So far, few had been willing to take the risk.

  “Jamie,” Sylvie was saying. “Why did you run away?”

  “I wanted to protect you,” Jamie said. “I didn’t trust myself.”

  Sylvie smiled sadly, tears welling in her eyes. “You don’t protect someone by breaking their heart.”

  Jamie grasped her sister and buried her head in Sylvie’s shoulder. Terrill heard a muffled sob. “I understand that now. I won’t leave you again.”

  Around them, the police were cleaning up. Several of them stood near the cloistered vampires in the dark corner, still uncertain whether they wanted to let them go. Nightfall was hours away. The tension probably wouldn’t dissipate until Hoss and his crew were gone, but Terrill felt the situation was stabilized.

  “Now what?” he heard Clarkson say. He turned to the former Council of Vampires member. She had been an unexpected ally, and another in the line of vampires that Michael had tried to create. She had accepted the golden blood without harm.

  Terrill shook his head. It still wasn’t clear what he and those who had tasted the golden blood had become, or what the ramifications were.

  “Damned if I know,” he said.

  #

  Across town, the answers to Terrill’s questions about his future were, at that moment, being formulated.

  Marc had returned to the thrift store. It had been looted even before the Wildering surge had occurred. Ordinarily, Marc would have been dispirited. After all, he’d spend most of his adult life trying to help the homeless and the dispossessed, and it was disappointing that they were probably the ones who had raided the unguarded store.

  But Marc barely noticed the disarray. He went to his office in the back and swept his arm across the desk, clearing it. His laptop was gone, but it didn’t matter. What he wanted to write––what he was impelled by a higher force to write––seemed as though it should properly be written by hand. Because it came from God, not man, that seemed more respectful somehow.

  He had watched helplessly while Fitzsimmons, the leader of the Council of Vampires, had killed Michael. The white-haired vampire, the oldest of his kind, had not resisted his death. Instead, he had turned to Marc and said simply, “Remember this, son. Tell the story.”

  Marc found a fresh pen and began to write.

  “The Ancient One, Michael, gave his life that we might live.”

  He stopped and stared into the distance. How do I know all this? he wondered. Where is it coming from?

  It was as if he’d always known, and that he had been Turned so that he might understand and record the vast changes that were taking place in the world. Knowledge had come to him that there was no way he could have possessed, as if it had been passed down through the blood of Michael himself.

  He knew that his true test was still in the future. Someday, he himself would have to take the Sacrament of the Holy Golden Blood, as all vampires would. Then he would find out if he was truly worthy of the understanding that had been granted him.

  He began to write once more.

  “From the Blue Blood of the last true vampire, Michael, came the Golden Blood of Terrill, that the vampire race might be redeemed from evil and join God’s creatures in the light of his wisdom.

  “The vampire race need no longer hide in darkness, for they have been given the choice: join in the love of God, become Golden, and renounce your evil ways. If you refuse Michael’s sacrifice, if you do not partake of the Blood of the Chosen, you shall be damned forever and ever, no longer vampire, but a lower order of beast, one of the ravening horde, the Wilderings, who have no soul, no salvation.

  “Come to the light, and ask humbly that Terrill give of himself, that you might be forever redeemed. Turn away from the darkness and your thirst for blood and become one with God.

  “If you do not, if you refuse this offering, you shall be hunted down and destroyed, and your soul shall melt into the ground and become of the earth, and be forever lost. Your kind shall be doomed to eternal darkness and emptiness. You shall be exterminated and you shall exist no longer.

  “But join us, and you shall have everlasting life, in harmony with mankind and with God, and with all the peace of the world. Become Golden and walk in the Heaven on Earth that shall be eternally your right of Making. Turn, as you were Turned, and become Holy. Join Michael and his Maker, God above.”

  Marc wrote feverishly into the night, and in the morning, as a ray of sunlight landed on his exposed hand and burned him, he looked down and realized he had filled up all the loose paper in his desk and several notebooks as well.

  He slept. When darkness fell and his vampire senses woke him, he returned to his desk and wrote through the night again, and again into the next night, writing until his eyes blurred and his fingers couldn’t grasp the pen.

  Finally, it was complete. He hadn’t written it: God had. It had flowed through him, already formed and complete. It was the word of God. He was merely the conduit, the holy vessel.

  Marc wandered out into the dark, found an ATM and removed all the money in his meager savings account. The next morning was dark and cloudy, and he dared to venture to the local Best Buy, where he purchased the cheapest laptop he could find.

  A few nights of typing and the manuscript was complete. He uploaded the entire thing onto the Internet, with the simple title The Testament of Michael.

  Chapter 3

  The trapdoor at the top of the basement stairs was locked, but Simone pushed hard against it and the lock gave way. It wasn’t so much that the lock was flimsy as that she was very strong.

  “Hello?” she called out softly. “Master? Are you here?”

  It was silent. Her heart lifted and she climbed out onto the first floor. The house was completely boarded up, but Simone could see daylight leaking through the cracks between the plywood panels. It was so dark inside the house that she shouldn’t have been able to see much, but it was as clear as day to her. It was as if everything was bathed in some strange form of illumination. Every nook and cranny, everywhere it was dark, stood out sharply, but when her eyes passed over areas where there was normal light, her vision shimmered uncertainly.

  Simone went to the kitchen, grabbed the big wrench from beneath the sink and sat on the floor, where she pounded at the links of chain nearest her wrists until one of them split enough for her to pry the chain off. Then she got to her feet and went to the drawer she knew held a big steak knife. She took it out and, holding it, felt safer. She had decided she wouldn’t let the Monster take her alive again. She’d die first.

  Simone knew they had to hurry, and yet… she was famished. She opened the refrigerator, and a foul odor washed over her. Apparently it hadn’t been plugged in, because everything inside had rotted. She started to slam the door, but held back at the last moment. There was a rotting, Saran-wrapped steak sitting on the top shelf that still had a little red blood on it.

  Before she knew it, she had removed the meat and was gnawing into it. Her brain wanted to reject the food, but she was already swallowing, and her body was accepting it. In fact, it tasted better than anything she had ever eaten.

  I may regret this, Simone thought as she ate the whole thing. I’ll probably get sick.

  But it didn’t feel that way. Eating the tainted flesh felt entirely right.

  Shaking her head in puzzlement, Simone moved to the back door. It was not only locked, but also blocked by heavy furniture that would take time to move. She trotted back down the hallway toward the front door, he
r bare feet slapping on the wooden floor. She suddenly remembered that she was wearing only a flimsy nightgown.

  She turned into the nearest bedroom and went to the closet, where he kept the coats they were allowed to wear when they went outside. She put on a long coat and ran her fingers through her tangled hair, then proceeded to the bathroom to check out how she looked in the small mirror there. She dared to flick on the light.

  What she saw––or rather, what she didn’t see––didn’t make sense. Is the mirror gone? she wondered at first. But no, there it was, reflecting the view all the way back into the dim hallway. In the mirror, the bathroom looked as it had always looked, but there was no one in it. She was standing right there, in front of the mirror, but there was no image of her.

  Simone closed her eyes and swayed on her feet, feeling the blood drain from her face. She fell forward and caught herself on the edge of the sink. As her hands hit the porcelain, the knife in her grasp slipped and nicked her right forefinger.

  She saw the blood oozing, though she felt little pain. The blood was blue. Somehow, in the shadows of the bathroom and the dim light, the color was off. She shook her head at the sight and opened the cabinet to look for a bandage. The cabinet was empty except for a rusty razor and a squeezed-out tube of toothpaste.

  It was the sight of these simple toiletry items that finally brought tears to Simone’s eyes. It was such a small thing… but she hadn’t brushed her teeth except with her own fingers for years, or put on deodorant, or shampooed her hair. Once a month, the Monster allowed the girls a quick shower––for his sake, she thought, more than theirs. She suspected that they were so inured to how they smelled that they didn’t notice it anymore.

  She looked down at her finger and saw that the strange blue blood had stopped flowing. When she ran water from the faucet over her finger, she couldn’t even see the cut.

  How strange. Simone reached for the tube of toothpaste, lifted it to her lips and managed to get a small bit of it on her tongue. It tasted sharp and sweet.