Rose brought her foot down onto the man’s face with all her strength. His skull crumpled, and she felt the solid contact of her heel on the stone floor. Warmth flushed into her boot. She looked away, because she didn’t want to feed from the man who’d killed Jane. Then she kicked the mess from her foot and ran.
From the Egyptian room, she could hear the sounds of vampires hissing, and as she approached the entrance archway a brief flash of light brought her up short.
She screamed, hands covering her face. It was dark again, but the UV flash had imprinted itself on her pupils, burning into them an echo of the wall, sculptures, and floor patterns. She leant over and rubbed at her wounded eyes, and from the next room heard the agonized screams of more injured vampires.
I have to move past this, she thought. Got to get through to help. That’ll be Francesco in there, and it sounds like there are two of them. So she moved again, blinking rapidly and willing her sight to return. She saw Francesco first of all, turning the UV light in her direction and squatting down as he prepared to turn it on.
“It’s me!” she shouted, and then a vampire barreled into Francesco, knocking him to the ground and going at him with hands and teeth. Francesco fought back, and even through her blurred vision she saw the staggering violence being wrought on both vampire and Humain.
She leapt forward to help and then sensed movement to her left. She turned her head just in time for the other blinded vampire—eyes still steaming, thick gore singed onto his cheeks—to fill her field of vision. Rose went down, and the first swipe of his hand opened her cheeks and tore off most of her nose.
This one was strong. Stronger by far than the vampire that had attacked Marty and which she’d fought off. She tried to buck him aside, but his weight seemed pinned down, far heavier than he looked. She slashed back at him and felt her long, sharp fingernails parting skin, raking through flesh. But it seemed to have no effect. She could smell the cooked ruins of the vampire’s eyes and she poked her fingers at them, feeling her right thumb sinking into one sticky socket. The vampire hissed and drew back, and that allowed her the opportunity she needed. She sat up and flung her head forward, forehead connecting with his lower jaw and driving it downward, repeating the motion quickly until she heard a satisfying snap.
Francesco and the other vampire were on their feet, circling one another, their faces and chests tattered and torn.
From the distance came a low, persistent howl, grumbling like a large machine’s motor. Both vampires paused, heads tilted to one side as they listened. Rose saw immediately what was about to happen. She reached forward, still sitting up, and clawed into the flesh of the vampire’s thigh.
With one sweep of its arm, it knocked her hand aside, fingers and wrist snapping. She hissed and watched the two vampires run, flowing across the hall and then disappearing into shadows. She heard a door slam somewhere, and then the terrible silence.
“What the hell was that?” she growled, nursing her ruined hand. Everywhere ached as her body began repairing.
“Their master calling them back,” Francesco said. “They might have found it.”
The two Humains, torn and in pain, ran as fast as they could after the vampires.
With the room a mess of upturned boxes, spilled contents, and tumbled shelving, Duval came at Marty and snatched him from where he knelt. Marty would have gasped if the hold around his throat was not so tight. The vampire’s face was inches from his own, terrifying, a nightmare given life in these deathly shadows. He lifted the boy, stretching, and pressed Marty into the suspended ceiling.
Tiles fell around him as Marty was pushed higher. He kicked his legs, waved his arms, feet and fists connecting with the vampire but having no effect. He struggled to draw breath, but none would come. Metal struts dug into his back and thighs, and he felt blood flow as his skin was pierced in several places.
He’ll smell that, he thought, and then in the pale light he saw rosettes of his own blood splashing on the vampire’s face.
Duval’s tongue snaked out and licked each splash away with a delicate dexterity. And then he growled, “Where is it?”
Marty shook his head because he could not speak. His vision was blurring, and he thought he might die up here in this dusty, spider-infested crawl space. Then the vampire let go and stepped back, and Marty fell into a pile of smashed porcelain jugs and torn cardboard. He just managed to bring his arms up before his face, slashing his hands and forearms. More pain bit in. His body was a map of pain.
“I… I don’t know…” he managed before the vampire grabbed him again. He was thrown across the room, flung with the ease of a grown man heaving a puppy. He crashed into shelving, smashing his lips against his teeth. He tasted blood. It was sickly, and he spat it out, thinking as he did so that he should have swallowed.
As he sat upright, he saw Bindy watching with wide eyes, coiled like a snake about to strike. She wants to feed from me, he thought, and the idea disgusted him more than anything else. This was what he had to endure. This was giving the others time, and with every new pain inflicted upon him by the bastard vampire, he felt that much braver.
Duval glanced at Bindy, who moved quickly to the door and exited the room. A moment later she came back in, nodding.
Duval then walked to Marty, grinning. “We have your bitch sister,” he said.
Rose! Marty blinked, sweat and blood dribbling into his right eye. He wiped at it, only smearing in more blood from his slashed hand. Duval squatted and stared hard at him.
“I’ll tear her limb from limb myself,” he whispered.
“No.”
“Yes. I’ll let you watch.”
“She’ll fight you. She’ll die before you can—”
Duval leaned in closer. “You have no idea who I am, have you? And neither does your sister, nor her weakling friends. I’ll make you drink her blood.” He snatched up a chunk of ancient pottery. “But first, I’ll fuck her with this. Bring her in!” Bindy left the room again, and Marty closed his eyes in desperation, knowing what he should do but knowing also what he must.
“Room seventy-two,” he said. “It’s in room seventy-two.”
Duval grinned and tipped his head back, letting out a horrific howl that rattled shelves, brought dust from the ceiling, and seemed to seat itself in Marty’s deepest parts. It went on and on, and after he stopped he looked down at Marty one more time.
He stared, as if examining the boy, turning his head this way and that, watching the blood seep from Marty’s wounds. What is he thinking? Marty wondered. Does he think I’m brave? But no, there was nothing of that in the monster’s eyes. There was little there at all. He was a hawk playing with a mouse. When the door opened and the other two vampires entered, Duval stood and turned his back on Marty for the last time.
“Kill him slowly,” he said to one of the new arrivals. “Make it hurt. And when you’ve finished, make sure you take off his head. Meet us in room seventy-two.” He moved quickly to the door, and the other male vampire followed. Bindy glanced back once, and Marty read her expression: she wished it could have been her.
“Wait,” Marty said, but he bit back anything else. They’d fooled him about Rose: they didn’t have her at all. A stupid trick that he’d fallen for. He was fucked, well and truly, and there was nothing he could do about it. The last thing he’d give these bastards was the satisfaction of watching him beg.
Duval and the others left the room, and the vampire knelt before Marty and eyed his various wounds. His tongue slipped from his mouth like a giant slug, wet and heavy, tasting blood on the air. His teeth were many.