Eternal Kiss of Darkness

Chapter 31

Mencheres lay on the bottom of the tub. The water had long since cooled, but he didn’t add more to heat the temperature. He hadn’t wanted to move lest it disrupt his concentration. For the past several hours, he’d stared at that looming wall of darkness in his mind, trying to tear it down brick by brick. Kira’s location lay past it, if he could only find a way to breach its indomitable defenses.

But all that occurred was the darkness edging closer until it seemed to have already swallowed him. He replayed Kira’s words in his mind as if they were talismans that could guide him. You ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? . . . When did you lose the ability to see past the darkness? . . . Survivor’s guilt . . . you might not see a future for yourself because you don’t believe you deserve one.

None of that should matter now. He might not believe he deserved a future, but he knew Kira did. That should be enough to make him relinquish every bit of guilt that might have been blocking him before. Kira loved him, and she believed in him in a way that no one else had before, ever. That alone should be enough to enable him to rip down that wall of darkness within him.

Yet despite his channeling every fiber of his being toward destroying that wall to learn Kira’s location before it was too late to rescue her and leave to meet Radje, the darkness didn’t waver. Its denseness seemed to grow instead, and when the timer went off on the watch Mencheres had set, he knew with great sorrow that Kira was wrong. This wasn’t a barrier he’d caused within himself, no matter how strongly her faith burned for him. It wasn’t survivor’s guilt, self-fulfilling prophecy, or his misinterpreting what he saw.

It was Duat, the dark underworld devoid of sky or land, and no one defeated death once its ferryman set his sights on them.

Mencheres rose from the tub, not even bothering to towel off before he pulled on his clothes. A calm purpose settled over him. Eternal darkness might await him, but before he entered Duat, he would bend that darkness to his purposes first. There was yet a way to save Kira.

Vlad’s expression was somber as he waited for him outside the bathroom. He asked no questions, but he would know Mencheres had been unable to breach that wall inside him. Otherwise, he’d be urging them to leave, so they could retrieve Kira.

“Perhaps we can—” Vlad began.

“I know another way,” Mencheres cut him off. His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “Though you might not want to stay to see it.”

B urning assailed her from the inside out even before Kira opened her eyes. Her mouth felt dry, her limbs ached, and somehow she had a stomach full of fire. For a few confused moments, she couldn’t remember where she was, or why she was manacled to a wall. Then it came flooding back. The three vampires ambushing her in Tina’s building. Radje bringing her here. Mencheres, scheduled to meet Radje tonight to trade his life for hers.

She didn’t move or do anything else to rattle those metal clamps and alert the guards that she was awake. They hadn’t left her alone once last night, to her dismay. Of course, Radje had been here, so perhaps the guards had put on a more diligent front for him. She heard them in the other rooms. They had humans with them, and those heartbeats sent Kira’s hunger into overdrive. Though this building seemed to be closed to the public, the ruins were a tourist attraction, giving the guards an easy supply of food.

But no guards were in the room now. Radje might not be here either. He might be on his way to Atlanta to meet Mencheres. What time was it? How long had the dawn kept her asleep?

Kira glanced around, trying to see if any glimmers of sunlight streamed in the room past hers. She couldn’t crane her neck enough to see any, or they weren’t there, but it didn’t feel dark yet. She still had time. The rapid thumping of those heartbeats called to her with a hypnotic lure, that burning in her stomach reminding her that she didn’t have much time, either. If she couldn’t control her hunger, it could drive her into a senseless blackout of bloodlust again.

Mencheres is counting on you, Kira reminded herself. She could do this. She wouldn’t let him down.

As quietly as she could manage, she pulled at the iron manacle around her wrist. It creaked in an alarmingly loud way, making her eyes dart nervously to the open archway, but no one came. Kira gritted her teeth and tried again. The irons still groaned in a manner that sounded like alarm bells to her, but from the sounds in the other room, the guards were occupied with the humans. Who knew how long that would last? She had to hurry.

Kira felt the iron begin to wiggle back from the wall. Elation flooded her, but at the same time, she heard one of the guards mumble, “Did you hear that?”

She shut her eyes and sagged in her restraints just in time. The guard entered, waves from his aura increasing as he drew nearer. A large hand cupped her face, lingering far too long for her comfort. That same hand gave her breast a rough squeeze next, but Kira forced herself not to react.

“Still out,” he muttered. Relief filled her as she heard him rejoin the others in the next room. She opened her eyes a slit, cautious just in case he’d pretended to walk out, but no one was in the room.

She might be able to pull the irons from the wall, but they were too noisy for her to get them out without alerting the guards. Kira gave her manacled hands and feet a ruthlessly analytical look. Broken bones would make a lot less noise than rattling irons. All she had to do was keep herself from screaming. She remembered the agony she’d felt when Flare had crushed her hand.

Easier said than done, but she had no choice.

Kira clenched her jaw shut, bracing herself. Then she slowly, mercilessly pulled her hand down, forcing not the iron from the wall but her hand through a circle far too narrow for it to fit.

Flames of throbbing pain shot through her hand as her bones crunched together, sounding like someone grinding coffee beans for their morning brew. A shudder went through her, and she fought not to make any sound. When her hand cleared the iron clamp, it was twisted into an irregular shape for a few seconds; it hurt even worse as it healed. Then, even though the burning in her hand subsided, the one in her stomach seemed to increase.

She was running on fumes when it came to blood. She’d depleted more of her limited resources by injuring and healing herself, and she still had another hand and two feet to go.

Kira gave a bleak look at the room where the guards were. You can do this, she chanted to herself. Radje thought she was just an average new vampire, helpless against these restraints and his guards. She’d show him just how much he’d underestimated her—and Mencheres.

She looked at her other hand. Then, with gritted teeth, Kira began to pull.

M encheres sat cross-legged inside a circle, his hands on his knees, his attention focused on the late-afternoon sun. He faced west, the direction from whence death came. Directly in front of him lay a silver knife and an empty cup. Vlad stood several feet from the circle’s perimeter, his jaw flexed and the scent of smoke emanating from him.

“This is madness.”

Mencheres picked up the silver knife. “I told you not to watch. You chose to regardless, but you must not interfere. You risk more than your life if you do.”

“We’ll go to Radje,” Vlad all but growled. “You’ll hold him with your power, and I’ll burn him until he begs to tell you where he has Kira. That is a viable plan. Not attempting to summon a god from the underworld with a bizarre black magic ritual that will probably kill you.”

“Radje is no fool,” Mencheres replied. “He knows if he reveals where Kira is, I would kill him as soon as I secured her. Or Radje would refuse to reveal her location long enough to break whatever time limit he’s set with her guards, so they would kill her. He’s dared too much not to see this through, and even if I give him what he wants, he will still kill her.”

“Kira could still get away. She’s stronger than any of them realize. You do not have to do this.”

Mencheres almost smiled. “Yes I do. In fact, I know now that it’s been preordained.”

Duat and the god of the underworld lay just beyond the edge of that silver knife. He picked it up, watching the blade flash in the moonlight. Then he picked up the empty cup with his other hand.

“Registered in their names, known by their bodies, engraved by their forms are the hours,” Mencheres began to recite from the Amduat in his native Egyptian tongue. “Mysterious in their essence, without this secret image of the Duat being known by any person. This image is made in paint like this in the secrecy of the Duat, on the southern side of the Hidden Chamber. He who knows it will partake of the offerings in the Duat. He will be satisfied with the offerings to the gods following Osiris. All he wishes will be offered to him in the Earth.”

When Mencheres finished speaking, he shoved the blade through his chest, directly into his heart. The silver burned with a fiery agony that felt like it filled his every vein in an instant. The last time he’d performed a dark ritual, he’d used steel instead of silver. But to summon the ferryman of the underworld, Mencheres required more payment than his blood and the bones of murdered comrades. He required the knowledge of sacred symbols drawn in blood that flowed from the edge of death.

“Aken,” he chanted. “Ferryman of the dead, ruler of Duat. I summon thee.”

He willed out his blood from the wound in his chest, holding the cup underneath it. His blood flowed in a steady, aching stream that felt like acid pouring from him. When the cup was full, Mencheres could barely move from the pain, but he needed to, even though the slightest shift of the blade would shred his heart and kill him. He couldn’t use his power to hold the blade immobile, or to do what needed to be done next. His power was useless inside the circle.

He dipped his finger inside the cup, coating it with his blood. Despite the danger that jostling the blade would bring, he bent forward and began to draw the first of twelve symbols that would call forth Aken.

As soon as the first symbol was completed, shadows began to form inside the circle. Akhs, the damned souls of the underworld. If he wasn’t strong enough to complete the ritual by drawing all twelve symbols, the akhs would consume him, sweeping his soul to Ammut, the Devourer goddess.

The darkness in his vision seemed to taunt him. Was it the endless River of the Dead that the ferryman would arrive on, if Mencheres were successful? Or was it the never-ending darkness of Duat, where he’d be condemned as one of the eternally restless akhs? Had his failure been fated long ago, and he’d spend all eternity trapped like the shadows that now encircled him?

“Mencheres,” Vlad said, ignoring the warning not to interfere. “Stop this now.”

“It is too late,” he gritted, dipping his finger again in the cup of blood. Even that slight movement felt like it rammed the knife deeper into his heart. He tried to concentrate on the crimson liquid as he drew the next symbol instead, attempting to ignore the blistering pain and the overwhelming compulsion to pull the knife out at once. If he pulled the knife out, the akhs around him would immediately become corporeal and devour him. But the longer it took him to draw the symbols, the more power the akhs derived. They fed off pain, and with the silver in his chest, Mencheres was a feast for them. The stronger they grew, the more solid they would become.

Mencheres dipped his finger back in the cup. Kira’s blood was part of him, her essence mixed together with the blood from the other donors he’d fed from. This would not be the closest he came to being with her again. She’d believed in him enough to risk her life with Radje, a person who’d already been responsible for her death once. He might have failed her that first time when he took her mortality, but he would not fail her this time.

He drew the third symbol even as the shadows of the akhs began to swirl faster around him. Mencheres shifted position to make the symbols circle him, the pain that caused almost making him convulse. He forced it back and slowly drew the fourth symbol. Each had to be precise; an error would nullify the ritual and condemn him. The silver in his heart felt like it began to grow tentacles, trying to destroy him with its own terrible will. He gritted his teeth, concentrating on the lines of the next symbol he drew. Seven more left before he was finished.

That pain continued to burn inside him in merciless waves. As the akh shadows increased their swirling dance around him, they lost their vaporous appearance to form hazy, manlike shapes, mouths opened in what looked to be snarls. Vlad muttered something, but Mencheres didn’t listen. He was too focused on keeping his hand steady as thunderbolts of pain wracked his body. The longer the silver was in his heart, the more it would break him down, shattering either his ability to draw or compelling him to end it early by snatching the blade from his chest. This ritual wasn’t designed for the wielder to succeed. It was meant for failure, which was why Patra never used it against him when she sought to kill him through magic.

Six more symbols left. By the gods, he was only halfway there. He’d never finish in time.

Mencheres kept drawing regardless, his vision almost hazy from the all-encompassing pain and the swirls of akhs around him. They solidified with every passing moment as they continued to feed off his pain. When they were solid, they would feed off his flesh. It wouldn’t be long now.

A seizure nearly sprawled Mencheres into the carefully drawn symbols before him. His hand shot out, stopping his momentum, but coming within centimeters of smearing one of those symbols. He closed his eyes, taking precious seconds to try to force the pain back into something manageable, but it only continued to spread. His eyes snapped open in growing dread. The more he concentrated on ignoring the pain, the more it grew, as did the akhs, who now clearly resembled people instead of formless shapes.

“Kira will be dead by sunrise if you do not finish this, ” Vlad urged, sounding almost hoarse in his agitation.

Mencheres focused all his attention on drawing the eighth symbol, letting the pain flow freely through his body. It shook him, rustling the blade, sending more agonizing spurts through his limbs, but the only thing he concentrated on was keeping his hand steady. His whole body began to shudder, the suffering building to an intensity that made him wish for death so the pain would cease. He would only need one rogue tremor to jostle that blade too forcefully. One smear in a symbol for it to all end. It’s inevitable, the darkness whispered seductively. Why should he suffer trying to stave off something that could not be overcome?

Kira. Dead by sunrise.

He fought to keep his vision and his hand steady. Growls came from the akhs now, growing louder as they sensed their victory approaching. Mencheres forced himself not to look at them but to finish drawing the ninth symbol. Those growls grew louder, wisps of their fingers brushing him as the circle they flew around tightened further still. He didn’t look up. He kept drawing even as the pain inside him grew to where all he wanted was to twist that blade in his chest to free himself from it.

“Hurry . . .” Vlad grated out.

Mencheres’s hand wavered, and his vision clouded as he began to draw the tenth symbol. The akhs stroked him now, their hands flicking his back, arms, and shoulders, trying to get to the blade. He hunched forward as much as he dared, the searing anguish from that movement making his vision disappear completely for a moment. He forced himself to keep drawing, using his memory to form the lines, until very faintly, he could see again. His vision was narrowed to only the smallest space, but in that space, he could draw the eleventh symbol.

Fangs sank into his back, tearing at his flesh. He gave a hoarse shout. The akhs were solid enough that they had begun to feast.

He ignored the teeth slashing at him as finished the eleventh symbol. Then, using all of his strength to keep them away from the blade in his heart, Mencheres began to draw the last symbol. Agony exploded in him, darkness swam in his vision, and his hand shook while the akhs tore at him, but he kept drawing. Kira’s face flashed in his mind, her full mouth parted in a smile. He focused on that with his last conscious thoughts.

Let the akhs devour him. Let the blade slip too deeply in his chest. Let the darkness of Duat come. He would still not stop drawing the symbol that led to Kira’s safety.

A great roar filled his ears as Mencheres drew the final lines of the symbol. Then the blackness did claim him, drowning out that roar inside the eternal veil of darkness.