A Shade of Vampire 23: A Flight of Souls (8 page)

At least I had some new information about this place now. First, I could pass through the main door, and second, the entrance to the whirlpool—which I suspected was the only exit from this place—was guarded by ghouls, but… there was an exit nonetheless. I just had to figure out how to pass through it without getting caught. That seemed to be the impossible task before all of us ghosts, and what everyone had apparently failed at thus far.

The exit would no doubt be guarded by ghouls twenty-four hours a day. And with dozens of those things around the relatively small exit at any one time, I could see why it was so difficult. A part of me wondered why they didn’t just close the exit off. But I supposed, if what Marcilla told me was true, there was a lot of traffic coming in and out of this place, with the fae and the ghouls embarking on their own grim excursions…

I drifted further downward, looking for a spot to settle. The floor was uneven, sloping downward from the edges and dipping at its lowest point in the center—where all the ghosts were bundled. I chose a nearby corner to rest. Down here I felt more secure, less noticeable beneath the casual perusal of a ghoul.

As I began to furiously brainstorm my next move, I spotted something curious in the elevated corner opposite mine. It was the outline of another ghost. I found it odd that, although slouched and still, he was sitting, rather than lying like the rest of them. I narrowed my eyes to try to see clearly through the gloom. It appeared to be a man. And even more curiously, it looked like he was staring right at me. He was the first ghost in this pond to register my existence. As I scrutinized the man… I noticed something even more odd about his appearance. Despite my need to stay as inconspicuous as possible, I couldn’t help but leave my corner and move closer. I wanted—no, I
needed
—to get a closer look at his face.

It was bizarrely familiar and yet I was also certain that I had never met this man in my life.

As I arrived within six feet of him, I froze, gaping. I could no longer believe that my eyes were deceiving me. Even in the dim light, I could make out his features well enough to see that he was almost a spitting image of my father. But this man’s features were sharper than my father’s, his jaw narrower, his build less bulky.

I was wrong that I had never seen this man before.

I had, in an old photograph.

I felt as though I’d lost my mind as the name spilled from my mouth:

“Lucas?”

C
oming to
, I had a dull ache in my head. My throat felt horribly parched. It was agony just to swallow. My heavy eyelids slowly lifted open and gradually my vision came into focus. Propping myself up against my elbows, I realized in a panic that I had chains around my hands and ankles. And I was in some kind of dungeon. A pitch-black dungeon. In one corner there was a rickety wooden stool—the only piece of furniture in the room—and beneath me there was… straw. Straw which, strangely, was just as disconcerting as the manacles that bound me. It gave the feel of some kind of medieval prison.

What the hell is this place?

My breathing coming fast and uneven, I hauled myself into a sitting position. Then I tried to stand but I was too tall, my chains too short. I was forced to slouch, even as I strained against my restraints. They were stuck fast to the stone wall.

“Hey!” I rasped, wincing as my throat burned. “Hey! Where am I?”

My voice echoed eerily off the bare walls. I broke out in a cold sweat, fear coursing through me.

Damn it!

I was about to yell again when I caught the distant sound of footsteps approaching outside. I froze, my heart pounding. The heavy footsteps drew nearer and nearer until they stopped outside the door. Keys clinked and scraped against metal. A bolt was drawn, and then the heavy oaken door creaked open with agonizing slowness. A warm glow spilled into the dungeon from the corridor, and inside stepped the same man who had kidnapped me. Only this time, he wore no mask.

Derek Novak.

Fear turned to fury.

“You!” I hissed.

Derek eyed me with infuriating calmness. He walked over to me, stopping just far enough away from me that I could not reach out and swipe him.

I let out a growl. I couldn’t stand the thought of Derek Novak making a victim out of me. I would rather be staked immediately. Since I was unable to reach him, the only act of defiance I could manage was to spit at him, but he dodged, my saliva missing its mark.

“You do not like darkness?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbling.

“What?” I snapped.

“I’m quite positive that you heard my question.”

“No, I don’t like darkness!” I replied, hating that I was having to play along with his game. I might’ve been a creature of night, but no vampire liked to be stuck in a room completely devoid of light.

“Then you will want to step into the light, will you not?” He gestured toward the inviting glow of the corridor.

“Just get to the point,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Very well,” he replied. “Once you have agreed to stop living in darkness, I will let you into the light.”

“You’re the one who put me here—!”

Derek bulldozed over me. “Once you agree to accept the truth about your father and stop blaming myself and my family for wrongs we didn’t commit, I will set you free.”

Every inch of my skin prickled at his words.
How dare he do this to me. How dare he!

I cursed at him, stringing together as many swear words as I knew.

At this, Derek merely nodded and even smiled slightly. “Not ready yet?” he asked. He shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”

With that, he turned his back on me. Sweeping out of the door, he closed it behind him, plunging me back into darkness.

T
he first signs
of true life showed in the ghost as I spoke his name. Slowly, he leaned closer toward me, his jaded blue eyes narrowing. His face, gaunt and worn, twisted as he scrutinized me.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice faint. Though as washed out as his tone was, it was uncanny how much it resembled my father’s.

“Benjamin,” I replied, still stammering with shock. “Benjamin Novak.”

His dead eyes sparked with alarm, and then he began shaking his head, forcefully for one I’d presumed to be so lifeless.

“No!” he gasped. “Not again! Not again!”

His hands shot up around his head and he scrunched his eyes tightly shut. His face contorted as though in some kind of agony, he moved back into his corner, where he curled up and hid his head behind his knees.

“Not again!” he whimpered. “Don’t do this to me!”

What is he talking about?

The man must’ve lost his mind.

How long had he been down here? He had died before my sister and I were even conceived. That meant he’d left his body almost nineteen years ago. The nature of his death had been sudden and unexpected—with my grandfather taking him down with a bullet. I guessed that was cause enough to become a ghost. But had he really been trapped in The Underworld all that time? I recalled Marcilla’s words, how all of these ponds were ordered chronologically—the older the recruit, the deeper they were in The Underworld. We were deep. Very deep.

“You’re not my son!” he shrieked. His voice rang horribly loud through the water. So loud I feared it would attract the attention of the ghouls. Even some of the other ghosts, comatose against the ground, stirred a little, their heads tilting toward him. “You’re not my son!”

“Shh!” I hurried toward him as he continued to shout, cursing that I was unable to grab his shoulders and shake him into silence. “Please, Lucas! You must be quiet!”

But he only continued to howl and insist that I was not his son.

Utterly bewildered as to what the heck was going through his mind—
why does he even think he has a son?
—I moved close to his ear and spoke as quietly as I could to avoid making any more noise than we had already. “I know I’m not your son!” I hissed. “I never said that I was. I’m your nephew.”

At this, he stopped shrieking. Slowly, his hands moved away from his head and lowered at his sides. Then even more slowly, his head raised from behind his knees and his blue eyes, glinting with pain, met mine.

He frowned deeply.

“My… nephew?” he breathed.

“Yes,” I replied, nodding vigorously. I was just relieved that he had stopped causing such a ruckus. “Derek Novak is my father. Sofia Claremont-Novak, my mother.”

His lips mouthed my parents’ names, although no sound came from his mouth. Then his eyes widened, a gleam of urgency in them. His voice rose to a whisper. “And where is my sister?”

“In The Shade,” I replied, “caring for her newborn. Where the rest of our family is.”
At least, those still living.

His mouth formed a hard line, and then he fell into silence.

The fact that Lucas didn’t think to ask about his father, Gregor—who had still been alive at the time my grandfather had killed Lucas—said a lot about his feelings toward him.

Lucas’ frown deepened and then, as if somebody had flicked a switch in his mind, he began shaking his head again, but at least this time he didn’t let out another howl. He just sat there, looking tortured and confused.

I’d never known my uncle. I only knew him through my parents’ eyes as being malicious, vindictive, and terribly jealous of my father. If I hadn’t recognized Lucas by his likeness to my father, I never would’ve guessed that the lost, broken man sitting before me now was him.

Such bewilderment washed over his face that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Lucas,” I said, attempting to snap him out of the daze he had fallen back into. I wondered whether he could concentrate on any train of thought for more than a few moments. “You must tell me what happened to you. How long have you been down here?”

He swallowed hard. “I… I do not know,” he replied after a long pause. “Th-There are no calendars in Hell.”

Hell
. Was it possible that he believed that this was actually Hell? That in all the time he must have spent here, he’d never discovered that this was all a hoax?
No wonder he lost his mind.
I wondered if he’d been caught by the fae, as I had.

Again, I felt the urge to grip his shoulders hard and shake him in an attempt to ground him somehow. But all I had was my words to get through to him.

“You know that this isn’t actually Hell, right?” I asked, gazing firmly into his eyes.
And what did he mean by his “son”? Is he aware of the existence of Jeramiah, after all?
I wanted to flood him with questions, but his mind was terribly fragile. I needed to take this in baby steps.

Lucas squinted at me. “What?”

“Neither you nor I are in Hell. We are in the realm of ghouls.”

He continued squinting, as though he was having problems comprehending my words.

“Do you hear what I’m saying?” I pressed. “How did you get down here? Were you caught?”

He nodded slowly, and then shook his head a second later. “Not caught.”

“Then? How did you get here?”

“An angel led me here. It… it was my fate.”

So he was caught, just like the rest of us.
He would have been within the catchment date of the fae’s operations; Marcilla had told me this kidnapping had been going on for nearly five decades now.
Perhaps he’d hung around The Shade for a while, and then felt the urge to escape his half-life.
I grimaced. “That was no angel, Lucas. It was a fae.”

“Fae? What is a fae?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I had been too preoccupied with other questions to find out much about the creatures from Marcilla. “They’re con artists,” was the simplest way I could think to reply. “They made a contract with the ghouls—these evil creatures that surround us—decades ago and provide them with a constant flow of ghosts. The fae prey on those wishing to pass over to the other side, and spread a rumor among the ghost community that they’re some kind of messengers of heaven.”

Lucas stared at me, stunned, as though a moment of clarity had fallen upon him. “That…” he murmured. “But I knew that.”

I frowned. “You knew what?”

The certainty that had sparked in his eyes died down a little. “At least, I thought I knew,” he muttered. “I… I’m not sure what I know anymore…”

Apparently not only had he lost his mind, but also his memory.

Then, to my horror, he began groaning again.

“Listen,” I said, trying to catch his fading gaze. “Whatever these ghouls have done to you, you’re not thinking straight.”
To put it lightly.
“I can help you, Lucas. I can tell you the truth about what’s really going on here. But you must keep quiet. Okay?”

He stopped groaning and nodded slowly, even as he looked uncertain whether he could trust me. There was fear in his eyes that reminded me of an untrusting child. Betrayed, vulnerable, weak.

I decided that for now, it was best not to ask any more questions—questions that he was clearly in no state to answer. I was surprised that he even knew his own name anymore. Judging by the looks of the ghosts floating at the bottom of his pool, I certainly doubted they knew their names. They looked so far gone, so… dead. Compared to them, Lucas was in good shape. I found myself wondering again why he appeared to be in a different category. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. I needed to try to get through to him. He’d obviously been here for at least a few years, and he was bound to know more about this place than the ghosts on the upper levels. Perhaps he could tell me something that would give me a clue as to how to escape.

I settled next to him in the corner, but to my surprise, as soon as I sat down, he scooted away from me, creating a distance of a few feet.

I tried to maintain steady eye contact with him. First, I needed to try to jolt his memory. But to do that would require some improvisation on my part… “I’m going to run through what I think happened to you,” I began. “Try to remember and correct me where I go wrong… You became a ghost after Aiden shot you with a hunter’s bullet. Then you passed some time in The Shade, watching our family live their lives.” As I reached this part of the story, I realized that perhaps he had been around to witness Gregor’s death after all, and that was why he hadn’t bothered asking about his father… I paused, wondering if he would interject.

He remained quiet, but at least his eyes were fixed on me. He was listening.

“You witnessed many happenings around the island,” I went on. “Disasters and celebrations alike. Then your soul grew tired of waiting around and watching others live. You felt the urge, the desire for something else. Something more. To go somewhere where you truly belonged. You then came across some other ghosts. They told you about the myth of the glowing portals, and you believed it. You went to one such portal at midnight, and that was when you were caught by the fae.” I paused again. He was still listening. “They looked like angels, but instead they brought you here and you’ve been here ever since. In the realm of the ghouls.” As I finished, and he still made no signs of talking, I couldn’t help but ask him in exasperation: “Are you really telling me you thought you were in Hell all this time?”

I just couldn’t wrap my mind around how nobody could have told him. Or perhaps… he had been told but he’d forgotten.

The sentience in Lucas’ eyes grew as I asked the question. He nodded slightly, but then the nod was immediately followed by a shake of his head.

“I… think I remember… somebody told me,” he said, squinting as though dredging his memory. “The… The Underworld?”

I nodded vigorously.

He continued to squint. “The light, I remember that, too. And the angels or… fae, as you say. And then… white coffins. There was more than one of us.”

It was a relief how even his voice was beginning to sound—so much more sure of himself compared to just a few moments ago.

Perhaps he wasn’t quite as far gone as I’d feared. Perhaps all it took was a little nudging for the cobwebs of his memory to clear, to jolt him into remembrance.

“You’re remembering,” I said, hoping to encourage him.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I am.” There was a profound look on his face, as though he’d just solved an ancient mystery. “Then… I was taken to a pool, and thrust there with other ghosts. Some of them spoke of the glowing creatures being false messengers, as you tell me now. But then I… I must’ve forgotten along the way.”

“Did you ever try to escape?” I asked. “Surely you must have?”

Lucas faltered. And then the glint in his eyes dimmed again. I realized I’d made a mistake in asking the question. He wasn’t ready for it yet. I was certain that he was sinking back into his shell, but then he whispered, “Yes. I did. Too… many… times.”

His answer made me dare to continue this line of questioning.

“What did the ghouls do to you when they caught you?”

At this, he pursed his lips, his eyes darkening. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he breathed. “I don’t want to,” he added, more forcefully.

“It’s just that… I’m trying to escape myself,” I pressed. “I want to know what I’m up against.”

Lucas’ eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t try, boy. Don’t try. I-It’s not worth it.”

“I’m
going
to escape,” I said, my voice a little louder than I had intended it to be—more of a correction and reassurance to myself than a statement to Lucas. “I’ve already decided. So anything at all you can tell me would really help.”

“I have told you,” he said faintly. This time, I really was losing him. His eyes averted to his feet, glazing over. Then he drew up his knees again, closing himself off to me, to the world.

He didn’t like talking about the ghouls. That much was clear. I should not have pushed so far in my questioning yet I just couldn’t help it. I was desperate for any information at all. I racked my brain for something I could say to lure him back out of his shell again. My mind turned to one of the first things he’d said to me. That I wasn’t his son.

“I know your son,” I blurted, before even considering how he might react.

It worked. His eyes snapped up to me, sparked again with life.

“My son?”

I was still dying to know how he even had a clue that he had a son—for everybody, including even Jeramiah, seemed to be under the impression that Lucas had no idea that he had impregnated the local miller’s daughter. But I resisted the urge to ask him now. “Yes, your son. I’ve seen him. And he… He very much wishes to see you. His name is Jeramiah. Jeramiah Novak.”

Lucas’s eyes widened in wonderment. “Jeramiah Novak,” he repeated softly. Then a look of anxiety played across his face. “Is he still alive?” he asked in a strained whisper.

“Yes,” I said. “He is a vampire. He is alive.” Granted, I didn’t actually know where Jeramiah was right now—but I assumed that he was alive. Why wouldn’t he be? He would’ve left with Amaya, after his failed attempts to finish off my parents and grandfather.

“What is he like?” Lucas asked.

Now I would have to lie.

An asshole just like you were
would have been the truthful answer, but not the most tactful one in this particular circumstance.

“He, uh… He looks like you,” I replied. That was about the most I could bring myself to say about Jeramiah at this point in time. And it wasn’t even all that true. Jeramiah did not look much like Lucas—at least, I hadn’t been able to recognize the resemblance. In hindsight, I guessed there were similarities; their eyes, height and hair color. But otherwise, I guessed Jeramiah must resemble his mother more than his father.

“He’s actually been trying to reconnect with you,” I went on.

“Reconnect,” Lucas murmured, leaving the word hanging in the air.

I cast my eyes up at the surface of the pool, still paranoid that the ghouls would be on the hunt for me to file me back in chronological order… most likely after they were done “disciplining” me, whatever that entailed.