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L
ucan growled in frustration. He hung up the receiver on the public phone for the third time. For the third time, Aleksandar had not picked up his phone and it had rung through to voicemail. Lucan glanced quickly around the Toronto Pearson Airport terminal to ensure he was not being watched and tried once more.
He had not finished dialing the number when the boarding call sounded. Muttering to himself, Lucan hung up the receiver and boarded the plane with the rest of the first-class passengers. He felt his body tighten. He may already be too late.
Aleksandar walked with purposeful, long strides, his expression set like stone. Most people out at this time of the night crossed the street to avoid the seething ice of wrath that emanated from him. It was purely an instinctual action; an unconscious act of self-preservation. It was well they did so. Aleksandar was in a killing mood.
Three women lay unconscious around the city, prey to Aleksandar’s desire for strength. He had stopped short of killing them. There was only one person whom Aleksandar wanted dead, and he was saving all his ire for that.
The night settled around him in a thick blanket. The only light came from artificial sources. The cloudy sky made the air thick and damp, yet chill. It was a match for Aleksandar’s mood. The threat of a cold shower kept most people off the streets on a night like tonight, and the location of the derelict church where Aleksandar would trade his life ensured all but the most desperate were off the street. The city was not dead.
There was, no doubt, many a reveller in the heart of the city, keeping it alive with music, drink and the empty rituals of people with too much money and not enough sense. Here was quiet; a forgotten haven of drug addicts, prostitutes and runaways. Here, it was easy to be alone and lonely.
Aleksandar was lonely. He had for company various hidden blades strapped to his person. Had this been another time, he’d have stormed the church wearing armour and swinging his sword. That was another life; a life before Theodore Embraced him, a life where he was merely a general in the Bulgarian army, loyal to his emperor.
He should have died on the battlefield.
Pushing the memories and regrets from his mind, Aleksandar strode on, his long coat swirling around his ankles. He forced his thoughts on to strategy. He was facing a Nosphoros. What did he know of them?
Almost nothing.
He had never seen one, only heard of them whispered between words at the Grand Convenes that used to occur for celebrations. Part of him had believed them to be only myth, stories told between Opyri to keep them in line in much the same way human mothers told frightening tales to their children.
The Nosphoros were the bogeymen of the Opyri world.
The church came into view as Aleksandar rounded a corner. The door stretched high, a frozen yawn revealing teeth of broken hinges and rotting wood. This church was part of Aleksandar’s inheritance; property of the Üstrel family that became part of the Svetoslav fortune when hunters destroyed the House. It had been in such poor condition that Aleksandar had considered pulling the whole thing down. He had been busy with other projects and had not yet decided on its fate.
Now he never would.
He crossed the street and climbed the stairs. His eyes moved rapidly, taking in every movement, however slight, and his ears latched onto each sound. The door was hanging by the last screw in the bottom hinge. Any disturbance would probably ensure its collapse. Breathing out in a slow, measured sigh, Aleksandar stepped carefully through the gap, pausing to let his sharp eyes adjust to the poor light.
The ceiling was obscured by tattered plastic sheets and scaffolding, much of which had given up on their work and collapsed to the floor. The ends of the wooden pews were ornately carved and would have once been beautiful, budding roses in polished oak. Aleksandar walked forward slightly, stirring up dust and dried bird droppings. The place smelled of pigeon and rot.
Midnight eyes fell to the stairs that led to the altar. Neatly folded on the third stair up sat a pile of clothes. Sensing many pairs of unfriendly eyes on him, Aleksandar walked down the centre aisle to the clothes.
He knelt down to examine them. A police uniform. Sitting atop the clothes was a silicone face mask and gloves along with a pair of aviation sunglasses; a style favoured by law enforcement. The rubber and sunglasses would have protected the Nosphoros from the sun and hidden his grotesque features. It was clever, if rudimentary. No one would have expected one to wander around the city in full light of day.
Feeling the unfriendly eyes move closer, Aleksandar slowly stood. He did not need to turn around to know that behind him stood a small army of newly made Opyri. The Nosphoros had been busy. He also knew that many of them would not survive their Embrace. The Nosphoros were the first, and had become known as plague bringers. Their bite brought on an illness that was always fatal. The only chance anyone had of surviving their bite was to be Embraced. Most fell ill and died anyway.
The toxic bite carried over to the Opyri, but their bites were not nearly as terrible. Victims of an Opyri bite would believe they were experiencing a relatively difficult flu. Few died as a result.
Aleksandar could smell the sickness in the Opyri gathered behind him. The Nosphoros had likely chosen his minions from the dregs of the city; the weary and ill, the afflicted, the mad and the addicted. They were intended only to die. If they were lucky, they would die fighting.
With the flick of his wrist, Aleksandar slid one of his throwing knives into his palm. He spared a glance up at the enormous image of Christ on his crucifix. Below that stood a statue of the Mother Mary. Her expression was one of resigned misery, as if she carried the burden that was the entirety of the sorrows of the world.
“Forgive me, Mother,” Aleksandar whispered.
He spun and let loose his knife. It landed squarely in the chest of the closest of the newly made Opyri. It took the gathered dying a moment to realise what had happened. That moment bought Aleksandar time enough to draw two long knives from the small of his back.
The Opyri surged forward, hissing like a pack of angered alley cats. Though they were armed only with their malformed claws, their superior numbers meant that Aleksandar did not cut through them unscathed. Still, his years on the battlefield, fighting for his emperor had stayed with him. He had never stopped practicing, even into modernity when guns had changed the face of war drastically. No one needed to know how to use blades anymore. But Aleksandar kept to his practice; the only link outside of his responsibilities to House Svetoslav that he had to a time when Theodore lived.
It was a short fight, not longer than fifteen minutes. Aleksandar spun after the last head rolled away from the body it had once belonged to, checking for more targets and finding none. He paused long enough to catch his breath and for his wounds to heal over. He stormed over to the first Opyri he felled.
The victim, no more than a teenaged boy in life, stared up at the ceiling of the church, Aleksandar’s throwing knife sticking straight out of his chest, with dead eyes. Aleksandar knew better. He grasped the hilt of the knife, pulling hard. The knife slipped free, a thick spurt of dark blood in its wake.
The Opyri breathed sharply in, his eyes jumping to life. Aleksandar grabbed the Opyri by the collar.
“Where is he?” he demanded to the youth.
Lifting one stick thin arm, the youth pointed to the back of the church at the door that opened into the vestry. Aleksandar glanced briefly before turning back to the youth. “You have the sickness,” he said. “And are dying.”
The boy nodded. He knew.
Aleksandar nodded back. He released the boy, who slumped down onto the ground, too weak to attempt to fight.
“I’m sorry,” Aleksandar said quietly before rising and walking to the vestry door. He yanked it open and stepped inside.
The vestry looked like any other. A table sat in the middle, and a bench to the side. The bench held all the accoutrements for mass. There was also a bookshelf, its shelves rotted and falling down, a scattering of rotten books on the floor around it. The wind whistled around the shelves. Aleksandar walked forward and felt the air as it rushed to somewhere far behind the bookshelf. Growling, Aleksandar tore the bookshelf down; an easy feat.
It fell to the ground, too rotten to make any sort of satisfying sound. Parts of it crumbled like overly soaked Christmas pudding. A gaping hole greeted Aleksandar, the presence of some stonework indicating that this was a deliberate build. Aleksandar barely paused before he walked into the yawning darkness, long knives in hand.
Lucan chewed at his cuticles as the taxi pulled into the driveway of House Svetoslav. Aleksandar had not picked up any of Lucan’s calls, and he feared the worst. The taxi had barely stopped before Lucan leapt from it. He recovered his suitcase, paid the driver and walked up to the house. The mansion looked dark and everything was uncomfortably silent.
Fishing out the keys he had kept, Lucan slid them into the lock. The door creaked open at the small push of the action. Lucan scowled. Walking in, Lucan was immediately assaulted with the smell of blood. Five dead Opyri lay in the foyer, laid out in a giant crucifix on the floor. Aleksandar’s guard. Lucan swore.
He rang Aleksandar’s phone again and heard a distant buzz. He followed it to the study, where the phone buzzed anxiously in the empty room. Lucan hung up his phone and walked to the desk.
He noted the photo of the desiccated corpse Aleksandar had placed on the table with the word ‘Nosphoros’ written across it. He had figured it out, but too late. In the dim hope that he might yet be able to aid the Prince of House Svetoslav, Lucan picked up Aleksandar’s phone.
He swiped the screen. The phone was unlocked. Lucan’s heart leapt slightly. Aleksandar was no fool. He had left avenues for aid, should any show. First, he checked Aleksandar’s call history. There were multiple calls from Lucan, and a call from an unknown number. Lucan checked the text messages, his heart sinking.
They had the girl. Nothing else would have drawn Aleksandar out. Lucan next checked Aleksandar’s list of contacts. He nodded when he saw an entry for Detective Brody. He tapped the number.
Detective Brody smiled as Brendon took a large bite of the pizza he had brought in for dinner. He did it mostly to be useful and cover his anxiety. Alicia hadn’t yet called. She should have reached her safe house by now.
His phone buzzed.
“That’ll be her,” Brody said, taking up his phone. His face fell when he saw Aleksandar’s name on the screen. He answered.
“Detective Brody.” It was not Aleksandar’s voice.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Lucan.”
The butler.
“They have her.”
Brody froze, his eyes caught Brendon’s and the detective knew that Brendon had heard.
“Aleksandar has gone after her. He will die. I need your help.”
“All right, I’m coming. Where are you?”
“The House. I will come for you. If he sees police, he will kill them both.”
“He? Who is he?”
“I will explain when I get there. Where are you?”
“I’m not giving the location of the safe house. Tell me where to meet you, I’ll get there.”
“Me too,” Brendon said, throwing his piece of pizza down and standing.
“No, you’re not,” Brody replied.
“Let him come, Detective,” Lucan said down the line. “We may need his help.”
Detective Brody took a breath to argue, but realised it would be a waste of time. Though he didn’t like it, he nodded.
“Fine. Where do I meet you?”
“The closest entrance is the service corridor at the metro station on Giving Street. You know the station?”
“Yeah, I know. Closest entrance to what?”
“I will explain later. Meet me at Vankleek Hill Park. Hurry.”
The phone line went dead. “Come on then,” Brody said. Brendon was out of the motel room first, as if he was afraid Brody would change his mind if the detective had a chance to close the door on him.
They hurried down the steps and into Brody’s car before the guard had returned from his dinner break. Brody sped away, his jaw clamped in an effort to contain his anxiety. He looked across at Brendon.
“You all right, kid?” he asked.
Brendon nodded. “I’m not going to let them hurt him,” he said quietly. “I owe him everything.”
Brody sighed. What was it about Aleksandar that so inspired the people around him? Brody couldn’t see it. All he knew was the feeling of revulsion every time he got close to one of those bloodsuckers. He half hoped they would be too late to save Aleksandar. But where would that leave Alicia? Brody grimaced and drove faster.
It was the smell that struck Aleksandar first. Dried earth, mould and damp, and unwashed bodies mingled with rotting flesh. Tales of Nosphoros lairs had ill-prepared him for the stench. It was Alicia’s scent mixed with the horror that caught him off guard as he approached the small, dim patch of light that promised the end of the tunnel. She was here. And she was close.
Aleksandar stepped carefully, his footfalls silent as he approached the opening of the tunnel. Once at the edge of the soft light that flickered into the small space, Aleksandar stopped, testing the space with his tongue, his nose and his eyes. There was a small precipice at the edge of the tunnel exposed to the rest of the enormous cavern. The incline in the tunnel had not been steep, so Aleksandar was vaguely confused as to how there could be ceilings so high that their limit was lost to darkness.
Alicia was in a chair near the far end of the cavern. She sat alone and trembling, bound to a sturdy chair. She wore an old-fashioned nightgown; a play on the expectations of the behaviour of vampires, no doubt. Aleksandar’s eyes lingered on her. She was gagged, but showed no signs of physical harm. The Nosphoros would not need to use any to get her to obey him. She would only have to make the mistake of looking into its eyes.
“Step out, my lord,” a soft, thin voice said. “I know you’re here. I can smell you.”
Aleksandar ground his teeth and did not move.
“No? A shame. You might have saved him.”
Him? Aleksandar’s heart felt a sudden sharp pang as his mind went immediately to Brendon. The sound of a large switch being flipped echoed in the cavern and new lights turned on, revealing a circle of free-standing ultra violet lights encircling a figure chained to the ground. Filthy and emaciated though he was, Aleksandar recognised him right away.
Stoyan.
“No!” Aleksandar whispered as new light flooded that circle. He moved before he could think, flying from the tunnel and leaping to the ground towards his friend. Stoyan began to scream as the UV light ate at his flesh. Aleksandar landed, rolled and stood, sprinting for the circle. He did not have time enough to find the switch and turn it off. He did have strength enough to break those chains.
The room flooded with bodies, rushing Aleksandar, a tsunami of half-alive flesh. Aleksandar knew they were innocents, humans made Thralls; slaves to the will of the Nosphoros. It didn’t matter to him in that moment. What mattered was saving Stoyan.
His long knives flashed with brutal effect, cutting those innocent lives short. The Thralls collapsed in silence, robbed of their futures as Aleksandar danced against the crowd. Still they came in numbers overwhelming. Aleksandar lost sight of Stoyan in the press, yet he danced on, spurred by Stoyan’s screams of agony.
Alicia watched from her chair, tears streaming down her cheeks as Aleksandar fought desperately to save Stoyan from an agonising death. The number of Thralls was too great, growing even as Aleksandar cut them down with terrifying efficiency. From where she sat, Alicia could see Stoyan writhing in the centre of the circle, fighting the chains which held him in place.
His skin smoked and crackled, splitting in several places. Alicia could hear the pops and hisses his flesh made as the ultraviolet light roasted him. She saw the first licks of flame flicker at his shoulder, then more flames; flames everywhere until Stoyan ceased his screams, collapsing to the ground and halting his struggles. The flames continued until there was nothing left of Stoyan but a small pile of bone-white ash.
The ultraviolet lights flickered, then turned off.
Alicia turned her eyes back to Aleksandar, who still fought. A movement on the wall of the cavern caught her eye. The pale-skinned demonic creature that had kidnapped her climbed down the side of the cavern as if it was a spider, its large, dark eyes trained on Aleksandar.
Sensing his intent, Alicia screamed. Her screams proved ineffectual; muffled by the gag she wore, and by the fact that she was too late. The demon jumped before sound escaped her throat, taking Aleksandar to the ground.
The Thralls backed away as Aleksandar flipped the demon over and rolled to his feet. Unable to do anything but watch, Alicia kept her eyes trained on Aleksandar as he fought the creature. Their movements were blindingly fast, Aleksandar with his long knives and the creature with its claws and stake of pale wood. Alicia had trouble keeping up with them, but she knew it was Aleksandar who drew first blood.
The demon shrieked, drawing back a brief moment before attacking again. Around and around they circled, dodging and striking, often both simultaneously. Alicia found herself praying, as if the sheer force of her will would ensure Aleksandar would overcome the demon he fought.
She almost had her wish. Aleksandar struck twice and spun, driving one of his blades through a small opening in the demon’s defences, down into the creature’s chest from the clavicle. He would have pierced the beast’s heart had not a Thrall, sensing his master’s danger, leapt forward in an unexpected tackle.
Aleksandar stumbled forward, the Thrall clutching desperately to his back. He spun quickly to try and dislodge the Thrall. Seizing the opportunity, the demon lunged forward, driving its stake deep into Aleksandar’s chest.
Alicia screamed again, her tears renewed as Aleksandar’s knees buckled, then gave way. He fell backwards, the Thrall scrambling free before hitting the ground, and there, lay still. The Thralls dispersed immediately, giving Alicia a direct line of sight to Aleksandar’s body, a stake rising from the middle of his chest. She stared in disbelief.
The demon paused a moment to observe Aleksandar before straightening, adjusting his robes and vanishing back into the shadows.
Alicia barely noticed his departure. She could only stare at Aleksandar’s body as tears traced their way, unnoticed, down her cheeks.
Dead. Aleksandar was dead.