Vampire Babylon - Break Of Dawn Part 4

She was depending on that.When she made a show of getting up to leave, that did it. He yanked her toward the ma.s.sive, curved staircase that led to the hushed second floor. When they reached the top, he guided her past the portraits of sleeping Friends: women so beautiful they made Dawn cringe in self-aware inferiority.

Finally, they came to Jonah's office at the end of the gloomy hall, the scent of that minted something waiting as Kiko pushed open the door.

Inside, bookshelves towered, offering the scent of must. Burgundy drapes blocked the windows in fallen glory. A huge plasma television screen loomed like an eye that was closed in its own temporary slumber. Below that, a wide desk stood resplendent, the leather seat behind it empty.

Throughout the rest of the room, more portraits hovered, filled with sultry women at rest. But one painting didn't feature a person: right now, it showed only a field of fire. Once, Dawn had seen a shape in it-but only once. The subject had been hiding its face while a red cape shrouded its body. Long, dark hair had been the one discernable feature. Even though the painting brought to mind the Fire Woman over the downstairs mantel, there'd been something slightly off. . . .

Kiko took Dawn to a door in the room's corner. It blended seamlessly with the wall, making the entrance all but invisible.

Without any fanfare, he cracked it open, then paused. "The only reason I'm doing this is because things are coming to an end.

Besides, if I know what I do, then why can't you know the same thing, too?"

"Now you're talkin', Dr. Seuss."

Serious Kiko forged on. "I think the boss has always known that I found this out, but he never did anything about it."

Dawn caught a glimmer of-what was it?-fear? in her coworker's eyes. It shut her up good and well.

In fact, for the first time, she wondered if there was more to Kiko and Jonah's relations.h.i.+p than merely trust. Was it possible that the psychic's obedience had been earned through some terror, too? Was it the same with Breisi?

Suddenly, she wasn't so sure she wanted to be doing this.

Kiko looked away from her and into the dark room. "This isn't off-limits, so don't be afraid about coming in."

"I'm not afraid."

A soft laugh was his first response. Then a dragging pause. Then, "I'm not sure what all of this means anyway, but . . . Ah, what the h.e.l.l, here we go."

He pushed the door open all the way and pulled her into the room with him. Her breath caught on the same time-stalled scent you would find in a museum.

Kiko hit the lights and, at the blaze of soft gold, Dawn took a step back, especially when her brain registered what she was seeing.

An armory? When her eyes adjusted, she saw it was a small collection.

At the far end of the slim room, a suit of heavy leather armor stood bodiless while on display. It seemed to guard all the weapons posted on the walls and stands: bows and arrows, maces, swords, pikes, lances, spears, crossbows, staffs, muskets, and rifles-all sorts of firearms. Handheld goodies.

"Interesting," Dawn said noncommittally. "But . . . ?"

"Here."

Kiko led her over to the wall, where a dagger was posted. It was simply designed except for a symbol etched into the wooden hilt.

A deep, rough C. An identifying mark?He didn't touch it. "When the boss first hired me, I was poking around the house, just like you've done a million times."

Dawn nodded, finding no shame in admitting to her nosiness.

"And I came across this hovel." Kiko gestured around. "As you can imagine, I got kinda excited."

"You started touching everything." Dawn knew that Kik had a definite hard-on for warfare; this was a guy who splooged like a p.o.r.n star when she used her whip chain, for G.o.d's sake.

But then she understood what he was getting at. "When you grabbed stuff, you sensed images or feelings through touch." Besides having telepathic and precognitive talents, he had psychometric powers, too.

"Yeah, I got a reading. Someone was holding on to this dagger throughout the memory. The rest of the objects in here come up empty. I can't get a d.a.m.ned thing from them."

" 'Someone' was holding it?" He'd made the word sound spooky.

Sweat had really started to bead over Kiko's upper lip again. He fidgeted, and Dawn wondered if he was nervous or was feeling the effects of his cold-turkey pill withdrawal.

"I'm not sure who's in this vision," he finally said, coming to stare at the dagger. "I'm not really sure I want to know."

Gaaaaah.

But she couldn't help wondering if Jonah had been so lenient about Kiko's touchy curiosity in this room because any residual readings the psychic was bound to come up with didn't concern the boss much. Shouldn't that make her feel better?

Then why keep these weapons?

"So," she said, forcing herself to move on, "if this memory has nothing to do with the boss, why are you sharing it with me? How's that going to make me stay?"

"I'm showing you what I do know, and that I'm not covering anything up. And . . ." A drop of sweat trickled past his mouth. "I'm not even sure it's not the boss in the vision I got from this dagger."

Okay. Freaking out now.

"Once," Kiko added, "I dragged Breisi up here and actually took her into the memory with me. She didn't last through hardly any of it."

It took Dawn a second to comprehend that. Breisi, who had the calmest guts out of any team member, save for Jonah.

Kiko kept on going. "She told me never to bring her with me into a vision again. That's why I don't allow you guys to ride my skin, to touch me while I get readings. It's too much for most people to handle."

Now Dawn wondered if he was just scaring her off. Good try. "Are we going to do this or not?"

"If I have to."

She wanted this, the answers-any answers. If she experienced what Kiko had, maybe she could decide for herself whether this vision belonged to Jonah. After all, he'd been inside her. Wouldn't that give her judgment an advantage over Kiko's?

She moved to the dagger, holding out her hand, pulse banging.

"I'm ready," she said, oxygen tangled in her lungs. Without preamble, Kiko took her hand and put it over his own, almost belligerently, as if he hoped he would teach her a lesson.

As he touched the dagger, ice thrust into her chest, her head, and she jerked back.

But she was unable to disconnect from what she was seeing. . . . Sitting at a long dining table in a room composed of stone, torches flaming to provide light that wavered over the tapestry-ridden walls-sanguine hunting scenes.

There were many men at the table, all facing front, all silent as they watched whatever was playing out before them. Rough men, bearded and leathered, hunched over their dinner plates. Meat and grease clung to their facial hair.

Looking down, she saw that her hands weren't her own: they were big, strong, callused, one of them gripping the edge of a wooden table as a plate of half-devoured lamb and bread waited for her to finish them off. Her . . . his other hand was clenching a dagger, and it was coated with strands from the meat.

Then a blast of something coppery, something foul-feces and urine-hit her full force.

Slowly, she raised her gaze from the table, and she saw the reason for the stink. A nude man, drenched with blood, his mouth stretched open in sheer terror. His wrists and ankles were tied to two posts, blood and waste dripping from his body to the ground.

One eyeball hung out of a socket, and upon closer look, the skin had been flayed from his legs.

Next to the victim, a commanding man stood. It wasn't that he was tall; no, in fact, he was built like a cannon, strong and stocky.

But his face-his face. The thin shape of it boasted a long nose with flaring nostrils and large green eyes that left no doubt as to who was in charge. He held a b.l.o.o.d.y dagger as he a.s.sessed his prey.

Eat, eat, Dawn heard herself-him, the seer-think. The words were steeped in a foreign language, but somehow she understood everything. If you do not continue feasting, you will displease him.

Dawn didn't even taste the meat as she shoved it into her mouth. The seer wanted to retch on it.

But looking away would prove a weakness that could result in the seer's own terrible death.

So he ate. As did the other warriors at the table.

In the meantime, the commanding man addressed his guests. He had invited his most faithful followers to attend tonight, a group proven trustworthy through battle.

His long, black hair curled past his shoulders, his mustache cruel over his calm smile. "Witness the wages of inept.i.tude," he said, gesturing to his victim, a captain who had the misfortune of disagreeing with his sovereign's own plans.

Their leader was noted far and wide for both his ferocious deeds and crusading spirit. Though he reigned through fear, he had done much to keep his throne and his people protected. However, at this moment, this night, a deeper streak of brutality was emerging as the man traced his dagger blade over his victim's stomach.

"It is said," their superior began, "that the enemies of the cross of Christ intend to challenge us, if not on this night, then the next. Or the next. It is said that, soon, I might even find my head delivered to a most grateful sultan."

The men at the table made low noises of appeasing disagreement. As their sovereign turned back to his victim, the seer glanced at the warrior seated next to him. Dawn knew instinctively that he was a good friend who often served as a conscience, tempering the seer's own discreet indulgences. It was known far and wide that their superior expected piety in those around him, though he had been no saint himself. Still, it was prudent to appear a loyal man of virtue.

In the next chair, the seer's companion was quiet and still. His mouth remained in a line, his meal unfinished. He believed in their sovereign's strict code of ethics and held their leader to high standards.

Nevertheless, under the table, the seer nudged his friend, reminding him to obey. His companion paused, then ate a hunk of bread. Their leader had paused in taunting his victim, who had been reduced to quaking. He no doubt knew that if he lost consciousness, the sovereign would revive him, merely to visit as much agony on his prey as possible.

Tossing his blade to the ground, their superior held up his hands to his warriors and continued his speech. "I think I should not ever make an appearance with my head on a platter!"

Soldiers slapped their hands against the table in agreement. And although the seer still clutched his dagger, he and his friend responded in kind, as well. After all was said and done, they did not wish to see their leader-their land-vanquished by the enemy. They had often risked their own lives to make certain this never came to pa.s.s.

Their leader held up his palms, and silence tightened the air.

"I will not perish at the hand of an adversary. We will not." He tilted his head. "I have made it so."

Without warning, he reached out to the bleeding victim, s.n.a.t.c.hing the man from his bindings in a motion so swift that the eye barely caught it. A sickening rip sucked through the room.

Gradually, the seer's eyes focused on the abomination in front of him.

On a human beast gripping two halves of his prey's body in each hand.

A collective gasp from the warriors led to utter quiet.

"I," their leader said, a giddy tremor in his voice, "shall never be destroyed." He dropped the two halves like so much discarded meat, then approached the long table. "And you shall be as I am." His tone had turned low, strangely persuasive. "I ask you to join me in eternal dominance where, together, we shall always rule. We shall have the strength to conquer not only the infidels, but all."

A pause stifled the room, and their superior lowered his gaze at his men. The seer's gaze blended in confusion, as did his mind.

Enthralled, Dawn heard him think. Swayed . . .

Moments later, thunderous noise grew in force as the soldiers rose in forceful compliance. In spite of himself, the seer stood, too, under a compelling, unquestioning sway. His loyal friend also obeyed, his voice raised in the same primal glee.

"Immortality," their leader yelled as he ran his blazing gaze over his followers, connecting with them one by one. "It is ours!"

The very idea thrilled the seer. No fear in battle. A life of glory and joy. It could all be his. . . .

He loosed a gut-level yell of agreement, too.

Their leader's gaze traveled the table, the roaring men. Then he came to the seer, his eyes resting on him.

He reached out a hand.

The seer did not notice anything in his path; he did not even take the time to drop the dagger he was still fisting. Vision going red, he barged over the table, upsetting plates of food in his rush to obey.

He came to bow at his leader's feet. His sovereign helped him up, laughing as he flicked a glance to the seer's dagger.

"My first," the G.o.d said, his eyes glowing with such promise that the seer could not resist. "Do you vow your soul to me in exchange for the world? Do you promise always to fight in this glorious war we will wage for our land and our people?"

"Yes." Fevered, needing, hungering. "Yes, I do."

With care, the sovereign brushed the seer's hair back from his neck, c.o.c.ked his head back. Then struck. The seer's sight bled to gray, though he could still hear his own shocked cry of anguish.

Empty, piercing pain, his veins like hollows in his very body- The world turned black, drained. His soul, the very essence of him, dying.

Yet, then, like a flower as it blooms, darkness was replaced by glorious images: riches, women, all that the seer's heart had ever desired.

He fell to the ground, heaving in air. Something within him grew, building, consuming his body. Rage, arrogance . . .

Craving.

The seer turned his head to his fellow warriors, locking eyes with his constant friend, who was watching him with blank wonder.

Saliva flooded the seer's mouth as his companion smiled, just as their superior had.

Then the seer caught scent of it: blood. He sniffed, guided by a twisted desire to the torn body. Crying out in ecstasy, he pounced on it, burying his face in the meat, lapping up thick liquid. In his excitement, he dropped the dagger- With a push of horror, Dawn jolted to reality, slamming against the ground. She gasped for breath, jarred by her fall, by what she'd seen. A film of defiled nastiness coated her skin, her bones.

Above her, Kiko stood, his s.h.i.+rt soaked with sweat as he s.h.i.+vered. "Didn't I tell you? I knew I shouldn't have-"

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" she grated out. "Who were those . . . things?"

"I don't know. . . . I don't know. . . ." His eyes were reddened, haunted and pained.

"Where were they?" she asked. "And when . . . ? What happened after . . . ?" Then comprehension descended as she started putting two and two together. "Vampires. Oh, G.o.d, who was that guy with the crazy eyes-the one who tore that man in two, Kiko?"

Now the psychic looked scared, as if she'd asked a question he'd been wondering about, too. As if he'd been afraid to know the answer.

"You've studied vampire lore, Dawn."