Nightlord: Orb (35 page)

Mary watched me work for a bit, then started bringing me more of my homemade bricks.  She favored her injured arm, carrying one brick at a time in her good hand.  She didn’t seem to find them unduly heavy, despite her slight build.  I wondered how strong she was.  Her help moved things along much faster, though, and I finished with a little time to spare before sunrise.  I hadn’t thought I’d get them all in place until tomorrow.

When I finished jumping up and down, the chessboard seemed reasonably level and the bricks nicely seated.  We went inside and I stacked more wood on the fire.  It caught immediately.

“How’s the arm?” I asked, once we were settled in front of the fireplace.

“It’s good.  It doesn’t itch or tingle anymore, but I’m trying not to strain it until tomorrow.”

“Glad to hear it.  Do you have any preferences on what sort of blood you drink?”

“Not really.  I mean, human, obviously, if I have a choice, but anything will do.  The Phrygians are the picky eaters.”

“How fresh does it need to be?  Straight from the throat, or something cold from the fridge?”

“That’s a good question.  I’ve never tried storing it for any length of time.  The idea always struck me as risky.”

“Risky?”

“I would rather not run the risk of having to explain why I have blood in the fridge,” she pointed out.  “A burglar who quietly steals stuff and leaves is different from a burglar who notices the psychopath blood bank and anonymously reports it to the police.  You wake up that night with cops all over the house.  While it’s an interesting adventure, it’s also damnably inconvenient.”

“Huh.  I hadn’t thought of it like that,” I admitted.  “I’ll bottle some and you can try it later.  We don’t have to keep it.  In the meantime, if I have a small zoo of rats, rabbits, cats, squirrels, and all that sort of thing…?”

“Yes, I can manage that.  I’d prefer not to have rat, though, if you can manage it.”  She shivered.  “It reminds me of a bad day in London.”

“You mean a bad night?”

“No, I mean a bad day.  The London sewers have rats galore, and they will nibble on you if you sleep down there.”  She shivered and rubbed her arms as though cold.

“I’m sorry I asked.  I’ll see what I can do.  Now, let’s get you settled in.  Do you need something to sleep on?  Or does it matter?”

“Bedding is purely aesthetic,” she admitted.  “I like a real bed, but I’ve slept through the day curled up in a rain barrel and been none the worse for it.”

“I think we can do better.”

We set her up with a camping mat, pillow, and a blanket.  She settled into it and got comfortable.

“Halar?” she asked, as I opened the door to the stairs.

“That’s not actually my name,” I replied.  “I mean, I use it, sometimes, yes.  But the name I’m currently using is ‘Vladimir Smith’.”

“Vladimir?  Why does that sound familiar?”

“I have no idea.”

“So, what do you want me to call you?”

“Whatever you like.  Vlad, Halar, Dark, Hey You—any of that will do.”

“I think I like Vladimir.”

“Works for me.”

“In that case… Hey, Vlad?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry you’re having troubles.”

“I’m sorry you’re having troubles because of my troubles.  Can we forgive each other?”

“Of course,” she agreed, smiling.  “I might have a harder time forgiving myself, though.”

“Why?”

“I threw away my old life—and possibly my life, in general—for an adventure.”

“Then I hope you like adventure.”

“I love it.”

“Good.  We’re ahead on points.  Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

I went out back and started gathering up small animals.  Mary might not be starving, but the blood would do her good.  Besides, draining their vitality with tendrils was good for me; it was a busy night.  When I ran out of boxes and other containers, I had to stop collecting.  I hadn’t anticipated needing a kennel for rodents and miscellaneous vermin.

Oh, well.  It was shopping day.  I’d pick up more supplies and build something.

Wednesday, November 4
th

I went out to the stand after my morning hygiene.  Fred was already there, sitting in my chair.  He switched to the folding chair when he saw me coming.

“Hot soup?” he offered, holding up one of the two thermos.  I settled into the vacated seat.

“No, thanks, but you go right ahead.  You’re minding the store today.  I’m only here to keep the chair warm until the kids go off to school.”

“Oh?”

“Busy day.  It’s shopping day, for me.  I was wondering how I was going to manage, at least until you started holding down the stand.  Thanks, Fred.”

“My pleasure, Vlad.”  He blew on a plastic cup of soup and sipped carefully.

Once the kids waved goodbye on their way to school, I left the stand in Fred’s capable care and went to the local stores to pick up clothes.  A set of practical shoes and a pair of heels, some pants, shirts, underwear of all descriptions, and a dress.  It was easy; I asked the girl in the clothing section to help me and handed her a list of sizes.  I did my best to stay out of her way.  Women’s clothes are as arcane as any spell diagram.  They have more bits going all different directions.  Even dead women are complicated.

I also picked up some hardware supplies and the usual load of groceries.  If I lived in the city, I could use a delivery service for groceries.  More modern homes have a smart system that will monitor what’s in the fridge and the pantry.  When you’re out of whatever you put in, it automatically orders more and it arrives at your door, usually within hours.  I was too far out of town and the delivery radius.  Alas.

I also got some spice containers—small, ceramic vials, about the one-ounce size.  Plus some electronics, including the video screen for Bronze.  And another shipment of charcoal, along with a large drum of kerosene.  She likes kerosene.

Once home, I aimed a wireless signal toward the barn and set up the video.  A little work with a remote control, a soldering iron, and some wire made it possible for her to stomp the television channel, volume, and power buttons without crushing anything.  She seemed pleased.  I got the feeling she was mildly bored.  Nothing serious; she’s quite capable of being a statue for years on end if she has to.  While that may not bother her unduly, I’m sensitive about it; I don’t like letting her be anything less than happy.

I assembled a garment rack in the basement while Mary’s stuff was running through the wash.  Thank DuPont for modern fabrics!  At least I didn’t have to worry about dry cleaning or special wash requirements.  Eventually, I hung it all up for her.

Once I had that done, I paused to look at her.  One could almost think she was asleep, but she wasn’t breathing.  I checked for a pulse and was unsurprised to find nothing. Her hand was room temperature.  Her skin was dry and pale.  To all outward appearance, she was a corpse.  Which was certainly understandable, but left me with much to ponder on the subject of different species of vampire.

What started vampires?  Are vampires from each universe unique?  Or are they descendants from one proto-vampire?  Or some combination of differing vampire sources?  When you have a demonic blood infection that makes you a vampire, how does that react with a viral vampire infection?  Do they fight, or do they mix?  Does the subject explode, melt, or grow stronger?  Is it possible to have hybrids of vampire species?  Or hybrids of certain combinations?  Or do they all reject each other?

This is, I think, a dangerous line of experimentation.  I’d still like to know, though.

Then it was carpentry for cages, with wire mesh for doors over each of the boxes.  I went ahead and lugged those things down into the basement as well, lining them up along one wall.  Might as well keep everything in one spot.  Besides, I didn’t want anyone to wander into the barn and wonder why I had a dozen boxes of rodents on hand.  Of course, I didn’t want anyone wandering into the basement and wondering why I had arcane diagrams, sacrificial animals, and a body on hand, either, but I’ve made it much harder to get into the basement.

I transferred my current catch downstairs, dumping them in categories.  Rabbits in one box, possums in another, and so forth.  All except the skunk; I left it in the box out back of the barn.  I wasn’t bringing it inside.  It was aggravated and I didn’t have vitality-draining tendrils to subdue it at the moment.

No cats.  I didn’t find any cats.  Rats in the barn, yes.  Stray dogs in the neighborhood, sure.  But no cats.  I still haven’t seen any.  I wonder if they can smell me, or something.

I filled the spice vials with rabbit blood.  I can do that during the day; blood doesn’t crawl over to me unless it’s after dark.  All the vials went into the fridge—and I mentally thanked the Ardents for not buying a smartfridge.  If Mary could stand to drink a vial tonight, that was worth knowing.  We could go through one vial a night until we decided the blood had gone bad and we’d have ourselves a good idea of the shelf life involved.

Next was the mail.  There was a nice thank-you note from the Etierre family—a formality, really, but a polite one I appreciated.  The rest was junk mail.  Unsurprising; not many people were going to send me a letter.  I was mildly surprised there was still a postal service.  I would have thought everything would be digital, but I guess some things never change.  Firebrand found the junk mail delicious.

For about half an hour, I worked on my interdimensional portal experiments, but I couldn’t really get anywhere with it.  I can distort the fabric of space in a localized area, but I need to start building an actual
gate
.  Maybe I can enhance it with technology, but it seems as though I’ll need to base it in magic and modify it from there.  I suspect the gate-builders in Zirafel didn’t really understand the fundamental nature of what they did.  They merely achieved an effect, much like early scientists used magnets and wire to make electricity.  It worked; that was sufficient. 
Why
it worked wasn’t so important, as long as they got results.

Which kind of sums up most of the thinking over there.

Then school was about to let out and I had to get back to the stand.  Charity.  If I’d known this was going to eat into my schedule so badly, I might not have done it.  Then again, maybe I would, anyway.  I guess I’m a softie.

Fred and I got the morning loot sorted out and I met the Three as their vehicle dropped them off.  When they took over the stand, I started re-sorting the stuff in the house.  Anything that could stand to be out in the barn went out to the barn.  It cut down markedly on the clutter.  It was also a much slower day.  The initial rush of donations lightened to a steady trickle.  The Three weren’t too thrilled about that, but when Gary’s cab pulled up and let him out, they were ecstatic.

It was a bit of a teary-eyed moment for everyone.  As for me, I got something in my eye.  Fred pretended not to notice.  Oklahoma can be dusty even after a lot of rain.  Seriously.

Edgar’s family planned to put Gary up until Mark got out of the hospital.  Gary and Edgar went off to get him settled in.  After a while, Gary came back and I helped him go through donated clothes to find stuff that would fit him and didn’t “look goofy”—his words.  I also assured him he didn’t look like a burn victim.  He seemed overly concerned with hiding the damage.  Habit, I suppose.

Fred and I sent the kids home early when the contributors stopped showing up.  The Four were not well pleased, but they took it with fair grace, aside from Luke’s vocabulary.  Fred and I sorted out the evening take and I thanked him again for his help.

Altogether, it was a busy day, but a good one.

I showered, whistling, while the sunset killed me and did its hot-insect dance all over my skin.  I endured it, rinsing away the byproducts of fatality.

Damned if at that moment I didn’t get that feeling again.  Someone was watching me.  Some sort of supernatural attention was focused on me and I could feel it.  Was it someone from Rethven?  Or one of the so-called gods?  Or was it more local?  A house of magi, perhaps?  Or a particularly old and mystical vampire?  Whatever it was, it ignored the house’s scryshield entirely.  The shield didn’t even register anything trying to look in. 

The trouble was, I couldn’t figure out what was doing the looking.  I couldn’t even tell why I felt it.  Admittedly, I’m much more psychic than the average bear, so I would think I could detect anything looking at me.  Yet, there was nothing but a feeling of being watched.  No scrying distortion, no spirit hovering in the air… just a
feeling
.

Since I was in the shower, I took appropriate action.  I ignored it until it went away.

Suitably dried, dressed, and disguised, I went downstairs to check on Mary.  She was still asleep, though, which seemed odd.  I sat down on the floor and waited, puzzled.  Running tendrils over and through her, I couldn’t find anything wrong.  Structurally, she seemed sound.  Spiritually, she was a soul bound into undead flesh.  It all seemed in order, at least for her.

Her eyes snapped open.  She stretched and sat up.

“Good evening,” I offered.  “Sleep well?”

“How…?  How long have you been there?”  She glanced around the room, noting with alarm the clothes and the cages.  “And who else has been down here!?”

“Relax.  I’m an early riser.  The moment the sun touches the horizon, I’m up and moving.  You seem like a late sleeper, at least to me.”

“So, you’re the only one who’s been down here with me?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

I chuckled.  She seemed so plaintive.

“Yes.  I promise.  No one has been down here but me.  I moved everything with my own hands.  I swear.”

“Okay.”

“Do you need to clean up?  Or do you bother with that?” I asked.

“Every day.  A lady should always look her best, don’t you think?”

“Fair enough.  Should I leave your clothes down here, or would you rather have a bedroom to keep them in?  It may seem awkward to have a makeshift basement camp.”

“I’d be happy to have closet space up there and sleep down here, if that’s all right with you.”

“I’ll take care of it.  Go ahead and take the bathroom; I’m already done with it.”

“Actually, I should have breakfast, first.  It can get… messy.  Besides, I’ll need to brush my teeth.”

“Oh.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Really?”

“I don’t generally leave a mess.  Well,” I countered, thinking of some of the more violent meals, “not a bloody mess.  It’s complicated.  But you go ahead.”

“If you know a way to do it without making a mess, I would be eternally grateful if you would teach me.”

“Eternally?” I asked.  “That could be considered hyperbole from anyone not immortal.”

“How about millennially?”

“Impressive.  Like I said, it’s complicated, but I’ll show you later.”

“Okay.”  She examined the boxes/cages and nodded, looking at the animals.  She started at one end and worked her way along, reaching into each box with that feathery tendril and wrapping the creatures, one by one, within it.  Initially, each animal panicked, then it settled down, then it collapsed as the last of its life energy drained from it.  Once that was done, she picked up each unresisting form and sank fangs into it, sucking the blood and squeezing the body.  It wasn’t really all that messy, but it would still require explanations if she didn’t clean up first.

“I think I’ll be in the bathroom for a bit,” she informed me, once she finished.

“I think you mean ‘for a bite’.”

“No, ‘bit’ is the past tense of ‘bite.’ I already did the bites.  Now I’ll need the bathroom for the bit.”

“I like that one.  Hold on a second,” I told her.  “Watch something.  Wipe your chin and hold the blood in your hand.”  She did so and I stepped close to her.  I pressed my sleeve against her forearm and the blood on her hand crawled along her skin toward mine.  It met the sleeve, soaked into it, sank through, and even the stain vanished as it absorbed into my skin.

“That’s how I avoid making a mess.  It all soaks in.”

“So I see,” she sighed, faintly.  “I don’t suppose this is it a trick I can learn?”

“It’s something that comes to you, eventually.  I didn’t work on it; I noticed it happening.”

“It’s becoming much more tempting to ask for some of your blood,” she grumped.  “It must be insufferably convenient to be able to do that.  I can’t tell you how many times bloodstains have been a problem, and not only for my wardrobe.”

“Fair enough.  I’m not dead-set against it, but I’m not sure how you’ll react to having my blood in you.  We’re not alike.  It might not go well.”

“I may need to,” she said, sadly.  “We’re still in a lot of trouble.”

“True.  But you go ahead and hit the bathroom; we’ll discuss it more when you’ve finished your evening routine.”

“Oh, and do you have some of that makeup?”

“Of course.”

“May I see it?  And a comb?” she asked.  I handed her a new compact case; I have spares.  She opened it, dabbed it, and gestured me to turn my head.  She treated the area along my left temple, near the hairline.  She handed me back the case and ran a comb through my hair.

“There,” she said, returning the comb.  “You were a little rumpled.”