The Necromancer's Gambit: Epilogues: Predators

I finally track him down to a church, the church where Pawn and the hunter first met. “How did you find me?”

“Rook’s story. The VC wouldn’t kill a mage without telling me- even a hunter.”

“If they told you, you’d demand your pound of flesh.”

“With someone like you, I’d have found a way to make an exception.” He bares his fangs at me and hisses, before he realizes what he’s doing. “You’re nearly feral. It happens, when you’re first turned. Have you eaten?”

“Are you offering?”

“Do you know why there’s a treaty? Because mages are different. The magic, it gets into the blood, taints it. Feasting on a mage, I’ve heard it described variously as like a sugar rush, or deep heroin high. It’s addictive. Leads to erratic, insane behavior- no better than starving wolves. There was a war for survival, mages against vampires. The first battle happened in England. They had numbers on us, but we routed them, so badly that it became apparent to them and us that they weren’t going to be left standing. So we made peace. But part of the rules, the cardinal rule, is vamps don’t snack on mages, not ever. That way truly lies madness.”

“You’re not here to kill me?”

“If you’d killed any of my friends, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I set the consecrated piece of wood between us. “If you want to murder yourself, you can- hell, I’ll help- but I think your church has rules against that.”

He hears something, too quiet for me. “Why haven’t they killed me?” I look to the shadows, and see the glint of light off vampire eyes.

“They didn’t murder you when they had the chance, because they’re better than you are. That doesn’t gel with what you’ve been taught to believe, does it? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but vampires are just like you or me. Same kinds of hopes, fears, hobbies. Everybody likes seeing an arrogant religious asshole get his comeuppance, but you’re one of them, now. And they don’t kill their own kind lightly. They’ll accept you, if you’re willing to put away all the zealous horseshit.”

“I’m a monster- abomination.”

“You were always a monster. But now that you recognize it, you’ve got a shot at redemption.”

“What does that mean?”

“How many people have you killed.”

“None. They weren’t people.” I’m getting tired of this maudlin shit; I grab him by the neck hair and shove him forward, into the moonlight. He can see his reflection against the stained glass of a window.

“You see those tears, idiot? You’re weeping, over the life you lost, and over the choices you’re now faced with. How monstrous is that? Your memories, personality, face, even your Catholic guilt, are all intact; you’re still the same old you- you now just have a specialized diet, and a very serious skin condition.”

He shakes me off, but doesn’t stop staring at himself; I don’t think he expected himself to have a reflection.

“I’ll lay it out for you, plain. You can’t stay here and brood forever. The hunger is real. Right now it’s a pang, but as the days go by, that pang will turn into an all-consuming drive. You will become an animal.”

“You ever gone too long without eating? You get surly, overly aggressive. That’s the human body preparing, in a world with finite resources, for you to fight for your next meal, to fight for your survival. Vampires aren’t any different, except, your meals are only the nearest foot traffic away, and you’re preternaturally strong, so there isn’t a lot that can keep you from your food. We’re all animals.”

“You will feed. And you will no longer be in control of yourself, so you will kill. More to the point, you’re in a church, so the person you’re going to be swooping down on, will be someone who came to your god for protection and solace. I don’t think it gets more abominable than that.”

“You want to fall on your stake: it’s the coward’s way out. I don’t feel that way about all suicide, but doing it now, just because you’re worried about seeing how the other half lives- that is cowardly. But I’ll steady the stake for you. Make it as painless as I can.”

“But I have to think, you didn’t join the Order because you wanted to get blood on your hands- I’ve seen that type and it’s not you. You wanted to make a difference, to sacrifice for a better world. Your intent was noble”

“Even if it paved my road to hell.”

“But we need to go back to the colony. It’s their deal. You should at least hear them out before you make any decisions.” That gets him enough on the hook that he follows me downstairs, and out to my car.

He buckles himself in, and once we're driving away from the church he speaks again. “We have a legend, in the Order; I don’t know that I believe it, but as a story, to frighten the initiates, it has its place. Christ said, ‘Except you eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life.’ That is what the first of the upir did; upon his death, they broke into his tomb, and devoured him. They were cursed and blessed with eternity; we slaughtered them for their heresy.”

“The story goes on. Contact with the Son’s blood, transformed them, and they took on something of his likeness. It was one of these that appeared to the apostles. It was also said that one of these was present at the martyring of the thirteen-”

“I always forget about Matthias; but John wasn’t martyred.”

“Wasn’t he? A man who lived at least into his 90s in that day, who scholars believe must have been at least three separate men? Who survived being boiled alive in oil? And the Latter-day Saints believe John was immortal, alive into the 1800s where he restored the priesthood.”

“A highly orthodox Catholic who accepts Mormon teachings?”

“Our philosophy is an iteration on Judaism. Mormonism is an iteration on ours. But as I said, it is legend. I don’t mean to put it for fact. I suspect it has more purpose in propaganda than as history. But for villains that wear the flesh of men, it… helps, to think them monsters. It eases the guilt over”

“Murdering them?”

“Putting an end to their blasphemy.”

“I think I get why you joined up with the necromancer. You're a true believer. You can't suffer a single vampire to live. There's consistency in that. But you chased Rook halfway across the city. I’m curious what you planned to do when you caught her.”

“Subdue her. I intended her no harm- I only wished to remove her from the action- which in a way, would have protected her from my less hospitable companions.” He knows I’m not buying what he’s selling; it’s possible he’s already figured out how to listen to a heartbeat. “I was appalled by the death of your Castle, but… he was harboring monsters. You all were. The girl was different. She had nothing to do with the colony, or the treaties; she was innocent. I would not have harmed her.”

“If I didn’t believe you, I’d kill you myself.”

“Were I lying, I’d deserve the hell you’d send me to… though I still question if it could be worse than the hell I’m in.”

He hesitates when we reach the Brownstone. It is, after all, the place where he was killed. “They can’t let a magically trained vampire roam free, so you don't go in there and they will hunt you down. Only it won't be some newly turned, untrained vampire. It'd be one of their Conservators.”

That gets him to leave the car and come inside. The doors are still broken, though a contractor put some padlocks in place that will at least keep out the uncurious.

“This is Scarlat.” I start.

“We've met,” he says bitterly.

“You think your new strength makes you formidable? She could kill both of us without breaking a sweet, and make our deaths beautiful.”

“Flatterer,” she says, with a smile that’s all fang.

“You’re a Conservator,” Michaelangelo says, breathless. He’s afraid, because the Order taught him rightly to fear vampires like her. And really, now that he’s a vampire mage, he should fear her doubly.

“We conserve the peace that exists. But I’m afraid that isn’t enough. We had long hoped that with time, our condition, like those of lepers, would come to be accepted. Instead, the world hates and fears us more each day. Literature and entertainment are not on our side, and they help to paint us with the cruelty of the few.”

“But we’ve found… a loophole. In the laws, there is room made for a special kind of conservator, one authorized not simply to protect and to react, but to anticipate potential threats, and neutralize them: Peacemakers.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means they do what it takes. If that’s forging treaties or talks, they do that. If hunters won’t see reason, well, they deal with that, too. As our numbers grow, naturally the numbers we have that are frail or weak- and susceptible to predators- grows. Some shepherds tend the flock through gentle guidance, a comforting rod and staff; some shepherds protect their flock by dealing with the wolves.”

“I'm still not certain we're not the wolves,” he says.

“You will be,” she says.