Fallen (30 page)

“Did the Mystic instruct you to kill
yourself, or have your friends perform the deed?” the angel
asked.

We thought about it for a moment. I couldn’t
remember those exact words, though we had taken that explanation
away from it.

“He told us that I was the key and had to be
removed from this world,” Oliver reported.

“Then that is what was meant,” the angel
said.

“But what does that mean, if not killing
him?” I asked.

“The Fae realm cannot be the answer,” Lycean
said. “You’ve been to Tidus several times since the dolls appeared
in London and still they live.”

“No, the Fae is rooted in the mortal world,”
Oliver explained. “It cannot exist independently of it.”

We all looked at one another. Our epiphany
came simultaneously.

“Tartarus!”

“It does exist independently of the mortal
realm,” the angel said.

“But isn’t Tartarus a prison only for angel
kind?” I asked. “The scriptures seem to indicate as much.”

“A prison only to angels,” the angel
confirmed.

“Meaning I would have to imprison myself
there,” Oliver deduced. “Dwelling there, the spell would be
broken.”

“Then why didn’t that happen when you both
went there a week ago?” Sophia asked.

We looked to the angel for the answer to
that mystery.

He smiled with kindness in his eyes to us.
“Black was still on Earth,” he said.

The answer seemed elementary. Both Black and
Oliver would have to be confined to Tartarus in order to break the
fallen angel’s spell on London. I only had one obvious question
left to ask.

“Once the spell is broken, would Oliver then
be able to return?”

Here the angel’s countenance fell somewhat.
“I’m afraid that would be impossible,” he said. “Oliver must bind
himself to Black and then cast himself into the oblivion of
Tartarus. Were he to leave, Black would then be freed.”

Our spirits fell in that moment. The angel’s
appearing had brought no hope, no good news to us. The heaviness of
our weight of despair had not lightened in the least, but grown
heavier. Oliver’s fate would not be death, but a fate worse than
death. Buried alive within the incomprehensible madness of
Tartarus.

Charlotte had long surrendered to the
incessant aching of her every muscle as she hung bound by strong
cords fastened to her extremities. These, in turn, fastened her to
the walls of the cylindrical chamber rising up around her. The skin
of her neck and wrists and ankles had been blistered and torn
through days ago by her struggling to be free. She was held fast in
Black’s trap, awaiting what exactly she had no idea.

Still, the aching of her muscles was in no
comparison to the terrible thirst that her days without feeding had
born in her. Charlotte needed blood very badly. The urge to drink
and be filled was quite maddening. And though she had long ago made
her pact not to kill innocents, she knew without a doubt that vow
would not withhold her now if given the chance.

Her perception of time was completely undone
in this terrible prison. She had no light from the outside, no
fresh air to breathe. They did not even allow her the opportunity
to bathe or relieve herself. Only water in small amounts had been
provided.

At last the door opened, and Charlotte found
herself anxious just for some change in her surroundings. A vampire
she knew by acquaintance only entered the room. Miles had still
been a youth when this war began. Even now she perceived his
inexperience and trepidation. He may not have feared human kind,
but Miles did fear her.

As he came fully into the chamber, the
unmistakable scent of man filtered through around him. He was
dragging behind him an elder gentleman—evidently someone they had
taken from the street. The powerful urge to sink her teeth into his
flesh and drink gnawed incessantly at the very fiber of her being.
She might have struggled to get to him, but her bonds prevented her
efforts, so she remained still, watching them both.

Miles paraded the elderly gentleman before
her like meat before a starving dog. Charlotte closed her eyes, not
wanting to think about the man, but knowing it was impossible to
put his blood from her mind. Miles seemed to be mocking her, but
she knew this young vampire was actually acting to cover his own
intimidation. Charlotte’s reputation as a deadly warrior among her
people was well known.

The man still wore a gray suit. He seemed
not to realize who it was that had abducted him, or the reason why
he had been brought into this cell to view Charlotte’s condition.
His eyes conveyed his dismay. Clearly he was appalled to see a
young woman kept bound under such conditions. But he did not see
her as a threat. At least, not yet.

Miles came to Charlotte cautiously without
seeming to be cautious. His eyes never left hers. He removed the
cord that gagged her. She knew exactly why. Black meant to keep her
alive and that required blood. At the same time, he was probably
aware of the predicament Charlotte had placed herself in. She had
long ago chosen to only feed upon the dregs of society—particularly
the criminal elements.

This man, on the other hand, was anything
but. He appeared to be a gentleman, a man of honest means and
dignity. And while all people may have skeletons in their closets,
he was not at all the sort Charlotte would have chosen for herself.
Black no doubt relished the choice she would have to make: satisfy
the incessant ache within, or cast aside her chosen morality.

Miles allowed the man to go free within the
cell. He backed away from Charlotte once the gag was free. The
gentleman stood against the wall waiting, apparently unsure about
what was going to happen next. Miles passed through the doorway,
glanced at the gentleman then at Charlotte.

“Have fun?” he said with laughter in his
eyes.

The door was shut again. Miles bolted it
from the outside. They were in here together—a starved predator and
her unknowing prey.

Charlotte glanced at the man then cast her
gaze toward the ground, shutting her eyes. She had to drown out the
voices shouting within her mind to feast upon this mortal. The man,
being kindhearted, did nothing to help her squash this instinct’s
call.

“My dear girl,” he said, approaching.

He was not bound in any way. However, this
would not help him. Had he been bound, he might have resigned
himself to sitting plaintively against the wall. Instead, he was
free within the cell, feeling pity for the young girl who hung
bound before him battered and bruised.

“Whatever have these fiends done to
you?”

He was presently beginning to examine the
ropes.

Charlotte attempted to spurn his assistance.
“Stay away from me,” she said. She wanted to scream at him to leave
her alone, but her pleas were feeble and half-hearted at best. The
gentleman, being kind, disregarded any such notion. He intended to
free her, as any gentleman would.

He came close, too close, trying to loose
the bonds that held Charlotte fast to the walls of their cell. The
odor of mortal flesh and blood became overpowering. She wrested
against the sweet sensations, fighting them by will alone. She
would not succumb, she could not. A terrible battle raged within
her. She pushed and pushed, until finally the aching began to
subside.

The gentleman, however, was unaware of this
battle and certainly unaware of her victory. His fumbling with the
cords had ceased moments ago. His hands dropped as he stumbled
backward away from Charlotte. He reached up to his neck, clutching
his right side. His hand came up before his bewildered gaze covered
with fresh blood.

Charlotte couldn’t understand what had
happened. Hadn’t she been winning over her body? The metallic taste
assaulted her senses anew. His blood was upon her lips. Her victory
had been nothing more than unconsciously satisfying those damnable
cravings while the gentleman stood near trying to free her.
Fortunately, he had not. Otherwise, she might have leaped upon him,
finishing the deed.

As it was, though, the gentleman was still
very much alive, though dazed and confused. He stumbled backward
until he met the wall, appearing quite surprised by the entire
situation. Even with his wounds and the crimson stain upon his hand
he probably did not understand what had happened.

He slumped against the wall, sliding down
until his knees wobbled and he fell over on his side. The gentleman
lay there gasping like a fish. Charlotte watched him remorsefully.
But at least the ache was gone. She couldn’t help the relief she
was feeling. Still, eventually she would have to feed again. What
would happen then?

Miles stood outside the cell door, feeling
quite good about himself. At least, he thought he was feeling good
about himself. He was serving Black faithfully, after all. Surely,
there was no reason to fear.

Your master, Sinister, does not realize what
you’ve done here. What will happen to you when he figures it out.
Will he care for his sister?

He serves Black as we all do, Miles decided.
Sinister would not dare to go against the fallen angel.

Really? This girl is his flesh and blood.
And you are responsible now for adding to her torment. Black cannot
be killed, but his vengeance might easily fall upon the one
guarding her.

I’m just doing what I’ve been told to do by
Black, Miles reasoned.

You are a traitor to your people. You have
chosen to betray your king, Tiberius. Surely, his daughter’s
tortuous death will bring down his fury upon a traitor such as
you.

But what can I do about it? Black will not
listen to reason. He will not release the girl.

But Tiberius and Sinister would at least
know that you attempted to help them.

Yes, he thought. That’s true.

If you go now, there may still be time to
warn your master before the girl dies.

Miles walked away from the cell he had been
guarding. Then he was suddenly running, then flying in the form of
a crow. He would warn Sinister before it became too late, before he
and Tiberius learned of his part in all of this mess.

The good angel stood behind in the corridor
as Miles went. He had remained entirely invisible, whispering doubt
into the young vampire’s mind, manipulating his fears according to
the angel’s own design.

He turned to the cell door. Within,
Charlotte was still held fast in bonds. The angel did not unlock
the door, or enter her cell. Neither did he perform any sort of
conjuring that would have enabled her to free herself. He did,
however, smile as he watched the young vampire go. A moment later,
the angel had disappeared entirely.

One had only to follow the fresh trail of
corpses in order to find Sinister and the other Breed warriors
accompanying him. Black had finally given them permission to begin
a gleaning of the inhabitants of the city. After all, with so many
citizens in London and the surrounding countryside, quite a lot had
not been captured during their primary campaign using Black’s
dolls.

Of course, they consisted mostly of the very
poor—homeless dregs whose lives were of little value to either
Black, or society at large. Given their druthers, many of these
hapless poverty-borne wretches might have begged for exactly the
release Sinister and his vampires offered. Death, it might be
reasoned, was a better alternative to their ceaseless misery and
suffering.

However, Sinister and his Breed cared
nothing about the feelings of these poor souls. Neither did they
carry out their mission with mercy. A great many had died already
in quite gruesome fashion. They were vampires. All they considered
was the need for prey having beating hearts and that sweet
sustenance flowing through their veins.

A thousand vampire warriors had descended
upon London’s survivors. These unfortunates had spent recent days
watching as so many people were taken by mysterious burlap dolls.
Now, despite having seemingly escaped this bizarre apocalypse, they
had become food for another army.

Miles flew across London searching for his
brothers. He stopped along the way, finding an elderly woman
cowering in an alleyway. Only she knew the horrors she had
witnessed. When Miles found her, he drank her quickly, dropping her
lifeless body as he transformed back to his crow form in pursuit of
his master again.

He finally found them in Whitechapel where a
great many of the poor and criminal elements had been left
untouched by the dolls. The Breed were ransacking the entire area,
scouring the place clean of the living. When the time came for
their inevitable push outward, these vampires would be well fed and
ready to fight.

Sinister was not difficult to locate. He was
at the forefront of the carnage, not to mention that each vampire
had their own recognizable scent. They could locate one another
over long distances.

The vampire prince dropped his current
victim as Miles transformed before him. “Where have you been?”
Sinister demanded.

“My lord, I have pressing news concerning
your sister,” he said.

Immediately, Sinister gave Miles his
undivided attention. Around them, the carnage continued unabated.
Drawing a vampire away from his bloodlust was nearly an impossible
task.

“What has happened?”

“Black has imprisoned her,” Miles reported,
nervously. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction his news might
cause.

“What are you talking about?” Sinister
demanded.

“She is being kept in the warehouses where
the dolls are made, my lord,” Miles continued. “She was beaten and
bound there days ago by Black himself.”