Aidan sank down along the crater wall. He hurt too much to move his legs at first, but as he breathed and focused and tried to overcome the pain, he realized there was more to his inability to move than just the shock. That bullet had hit him quite near the center of his back, and exited out, he now realized, through his gut.
The rain kept falling.
He gasped, struggling to breathe, looking up at the darkness above. Another flare went out. He glanced around the crater, wondering if there was something, anything he could hold to pull himself out.
Chelsea’s wedding picture floated by his eyes more than once as the water rose.
He flailed, shaking uncontrollably and gasping for air on a hard, cold tile floor under bright lights. The incongruity between the surface under him and the water and mud became too much for his confused mind to ignore. Alex found his fight for air get easier to win with every breath, yet he still fought. The jumble of sensory information left him trying to synthesize perception and memory.
He was at once in dire danger and basically safe, falling apart for no reason in the empty lobby of an auditorium that kept returning to a battlefield. Alex knew he couldn’t explain this to anyone who might see. No one would understand. He crawled and then staggered toward the bathroom nearby and shut himself inside. He reached for the lock without thinking about it and then curled up on the floor.
The silence helped, as did the lights and the reassurance of a solid floor. He stared at the pattern in the tile. Workmen had laid this out years ago. Hell, maybe it had been a woman who did it. Maybe he’d been black, or Asian, or Latino. He wasn’t in Europe, and it wasn’t 1917. He felt himself calming down again.
Then the door slammed outside, still too loud to ignore. Alex jerked into a fetal position, covering his head and neck with his hands. The door slammed again and again as people emptied out of the auditorium. To Alex, it was too much like an artillery barrage. The footsteps echoed in his mind like charging boots.
He lay shaking on the floor all alone until he heard only silence again. In his brief flashes of lucidity, he wondered when his past would leave him alone.
* * *
In life, Don Geraldo Rafael de Leon had been a servant of the crown, a hero to his people and a slayer of pirates. He had sailed repeatedly between Spain and the New World, braving storms and hostile natives and all the spawn of the Devil that lurked beneath the sea.
He died in the deep end of an empty swimming pool in Malibu.
Witnesses crowded all around the pool’s edges. Some cheered for the Spaniard and his band, others for his opponents. Were it not for the floodlights hung from the palm trees just for the party, Don Geraldo would have seen more witnesses on the balcony of the extravagant mansion that rose above the shallow end. He knew they were there, though. Were it not for their presence, he never would have agreed to this fight.
Don Geraldo and his five companions dressed for the formal occasion that the invitation had described. They wore silk breeches and hose, fine jewelry and shirts with delicate lace. Naturally, they each carried their ornate rapiers, as befit their stations. That did not mean the Don and his men came looking for a fight, as they were happy to tell anyone… but they also carried their pride, and would not lay that down for any challenger.
To their surprise, a challenge came over a dispute spanning the nights of two centuries. Don Geraldo could not evade the confrontation through diplomacy. His host knew all along that this would come. Indeed, it was likely the reason that the challengers received invitations.
Don Geraldo’s men willingly put themselves between their liege and danger as their opponents-both of them-charged in with a bloodthirsty howl. Some in the crowd mimicked and echoed that howl; others gave voice to cries of their own.
Spanish rapiers turned out to be poor weapons against vampires. Stabbing blades did little against men and women whose vital organs no longer served much purpose. Yet to their credit, the line of Spanish vampires held their ground with blades drawn and gave battle, slashing and stabbing with fierce elegance. Their rapiers cut through leather and flesh. For a brief moment, Don Geraldo entertained a brief glimmer of hope.
Then he saw the heavy blade of an axe cleave through Rodrigo’s neck in a single blow. Enraged eyes hidden behind an iron helm and an inelegant, savage red beard glared at him as Rodrigo’s headless body fell, soon to crumble to ash. The enemy dressed in a mismatch of modern clothing and armor made in old styles but with modern technique. Don Geraldo saw black leather and black denim, but also bracers and a mail shirt. None of that mattered to him as much as the bloodthirst in the Viking’s eyes. Don Geraldo’s men closed ranks before the muscular Viking could advance.
Fighting continued. So did the cheers. Bass-heavy dance music boomed over speakers set throughout the wide pool patio, but the melody could hardly keep up with the pace of a battle between vampires. Don Geraldo watched his men give battle, come up short, and quickly fall.
The last of his men, Esteban, was not even given the dignity of death by the blade. He was seized at each shoulder by the other Viking, whose blond hair hung to his chest, and hoisted off his feet. The Viking bit savagely into Esteban’s neck. Blood sprayed everywhere as the larger man gnawed at the flesh of his screaming victim.
The bearded one stalked forward, leaving his brother to feast. “You have had a long time to pay this off, Geraldo,” he seethed.
Proud to the end, Geraldo refused to show fear to a barbarian like this. “I have always paid my debts, Unferth,” he said with a defiant twitch of his chin. “If you had a legitimate claim, yours would have been paid honorably.”
His hand reached into the folds of his black silk cape. He had one chance at this. It would not likely kill Unferth outright, but a proper blow would at least stun him for several minutes. Geraldo would then have to take on Bjorn, but he could at least evade the other Viking’s sword long enough to stab out his opponent’s eyes. Then he would have the rest of the night to deal with them both. As long as this worked…
Unferth kept coming. He had to recognize the trap, but he was too arrogant to care. With practiced speed and precision, Geraldo drew his black powder pistol and leveled it at Unferth’s head.
Moving with surprising speed, Unferth slapped the pistol up and away. It went off, sending its lead shot up at the crowd. A mortal brought along as refreshment took the shot across the face. He died instantly, swaying backward and then pitching forward into the pool, a trail of blood flowing in his wake.
The crowd laughed.
Don Geraldo and Unferth moved together, though not by the Don’s consent. He brought up his rapier; Unferth brought down his axe, severing Geraldo’s hand at the wrist. Geraldo stumbled back. Unferth kicked him hard, applying enough force to the Spaniard’s gut to lift him up and send him flying the last two feet before he hit the back wall of the pool.
Don Geraldo’s eyes opened just in time to see the blade of Unferth’s axe come straight down into his head, and knew that rather than being his end, this was just a final cruelty. His skull split under the axe, but Don Geraldo was a vampire. Pain and disorientation overwhelmed him, but he did not die until the axe came down again, this time on his neck.
Cheers and applause from vampires in a vast array of clothes greeted Unferth and Bjorn as they emerged from the pool. Some guests wore faithful reproductions of the garments of their breathing days. Others dressed in more modern fashions that nevertheless bore the mark of their centuries-old sensibilities. Modern fashions could be seen, too. They provided a way to differentiate guests from food.
The brothers ignored the praise and cheers. They had business here. On their way back to the house, though, Bjorn made a detour to walk up to a set of tables covered in modern electronics equipment. Behind the pile of gear stood a pale-skinned man of apparent youth. His pallor marked him as a vampire, but his headphones and constant dancing motion indicated that he was quite new.