.
Xanna paced back and forth in a small room. The door was locked; she'd heard it click behind her when they had shoved her in here. She had fought, kicking and clawing, all the way to this place. It hadn't helped her any, because there were six more of them than there were of her. And they were all vampires.
That was what surprised her most, almost more than the fact that she was the object of this assault. She had gathered from Cameron that there probably wasn't much more than 5 vampires in the entire state, much less within Crixton itself. And yet, here they all were, about a half a dozen more than Cameron had thought. Where did they come from? she wondered. They seemed to know much more than I did about vampirism. They can't be as young as I am. They must be much older. Who is their Ancestor?
Will Cameron be as unhappy with these vampires as I think he will? She stopped pacing at that, and stared out the window, up at the darkness. The lights of the city created a background glare that hurt her eyes. Blinking them shut, she turned away, not recognizing her whereabouts from what little she could see.
With a sudden shock, she realized that the window in sunlight would illuminate every part of the room. There wasn't even a closet for her to hide in when daylight came. And it faced east. I hope they tell me what this is all about, and maybe think to move me before I become ashes, like Francois did, she thought, panic rising.
She heard a click from the door, the bolt sliding back, and spun to face whoever came in.
Xanna was surprised again when she saw the diminutive woman who entered. The woman came up to just the middle of Xanna's chest, and had curves that she had always associated with Marilyn Monroe. Her hair, loosely pulled back into a braid, was blacker than midnight, and her eyes slanted slightly in her face, as if there was a drop of Asian blood in her family tree. They were the bright blue of the sea. Her features were molded together so that the result could only be called beautiful. In the light from the city, her skin was deathly pale, and her lips even redder than blood, and Xanna knew then she was a vampire. The instant the woman closed the door, Xanna felt again a smothering of age. Almost gasping beneath its effects, she knew that this one was old. The blanketing feeling of many centuries lay heavy upon her, but not quite as heavy as that she had sensed from Cameron the first time.
Trying hard not to waver beneath this aura, Xanna stood her ground and demanded, "Who the hell are you, and what right do you have to kidnap me like this?"
The woman smiled, and Xanna shivered at the long canines she revealed. "I'm no one of any great importance right now, but I will be again," she replied enigmatically. "And I have every right to do this. You may not agree." She shrugged. "But I do think that an Ancestor and Childe should be together, don't you?"
Mikhail was still pacing back and forth in Cameron's office. He had been ever since he'd accepted the fact that Miriel, the vampire he hated more than the life she'd given him, had taken Xanna. Cameron sat silently in his chair, thinking, his eyes hooded. He was waiting with half an ear for Mikhail's next outburst. It wasn't long in coming.
"Why, damnit!" Mikhail stopped pacing. "What did Xanna ever do to her? If she wanted to cause me pain, she should have just taken me instead."
"You would not, then, have this exquisite feeling of torment." Cameron's cool voice cut through the cloud of Mikhail's self hate. "You care for Roxanna more than you care for yourself, your own existence. Therefore, you must know that she is in danger to suffer enough so that Miriah . . . Miriel, is satisfied. That, more than anything else, is what she desires. She lives for tormenting those weaker than she. I knew this about her when she told me her name was Miriah."
"Didn't you know that she had another name?" Mikhail demanded, irate. "Isn't there some way you could have seen the person she really was? We might have avoided all of this!"
Cameron shrugged. "I could only accept the name she gave me. I don't really like to pry, and although I could have broken her defenses and read the truth in her mind, it would have been at a considerable cost. It did not occur to me to do anything else. I had never met her before, and it is sometimes difficult to do history checks on vampires. Even my most trusted associate could not have done it with much accuracy. We change names and domiciles so frequently to avoid suspicion. You know this, and should practice it."
Mikhail sighed. "Yes, I do. It's become second nature."
"Well, then." Cameron stood and walked around the desk. "The thing to do is not to debate what we might have done to avoid this, but to find a way out of the trouble we are in. Agreed?" Mikhail nodded. "Now. First, we must find a way into Miriel's lair, and get Roxanna out."
"You know where the bitseach is?" Mikhail asked, surprised.
"Yes. After all, we were friends. Or so I thought. I often called on her to visit. She has a large country house on the edge of town. I remember many times she wasn't there when she said she would be. I wonder now what exactly she was doing?"
"Didn't you wonder then?"
"No." Cameron looked a bit sheepish, an expression that didn't suit him at all. "I simply assumed she was out feeding."
Suddenly, Mikhail stopped moving. He stood staring at the burgundy velvet curtains. His mouth gaped open and a surprising thought rocked him to his very core. "Oh, my God," he whispered. "I can't believe it."
Cameron started to reach out and grab his shoulders, but refrained. "What?" His tone was dangerous. "Tell me."
Slowly, Mikhail forced his eyes to focus on Cameron again. The shock had returned them to their normal golden color. "Do you know, I've only just realized that this has very little to do with you at all?"
This time, Cameron did take him by the shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. "What are you saying? She has demanded that I leave America, and return to Europe. This has everything to do with me!"
"No. That is only a fringe benefit, so to speak. Her real objective is to destroy me, not you. She might let you live. I don't think I will be so lucky. I rejected her, from the instant she made me a vampire. She expected I would die at sunrise. She found out somehow that I didn't, that I didn't need her help to survive as a vampire. She didn't like that one bit, and she is now going to have her revenge for the slight I gave her." Mikhail laughed bitterly, and Cameron distinctly heard an hysterical edge to it. "Oh, is she twisted! If anything, I should take revenge on her, for doing this to me."
"Get a hold of yourself!" Cameron shook him a little. "This isn't going to help Roxanna. The way to help her is to pull yourself together and help me get into Miriah's lair. My guess is that is where they have taken her."
"Why is this any of your concern?" Mikhail tried to remove himself from Cameron's grasp, but failed. "I've already explained to you why she's doing it. It has nothing to do with you!"
"Because I care for Roxanna too!" Cameron hissed at him. "I don't know how, and I certainly didn't mean for it to happen, but I love her like she were my daughter. It is almost as if she were my Childe, not yours. And that is why it is my concern. I spoke to Miriah a few days ago, and mentioned Roxanna. She must have divined how much I cared for her, and decided to use her as a lever against me. It won't work, though, because we are not going to give Miriah the satisfaction she so desires. Do you hear me?"
Mikhail nodded. Slowly, Cameron released his shoulders. "Good," was all the elder vampire said as he turned back to his desk. After he resumed his seat, he studied Mikhail intently, steepling his fingers. Very softly, almost so soft that even Mikhail's heightened sense of hearing was strained, he asked, "Are you willing to commit the most evil crime one of us can do to another? Are you willing to give Miriel the Final Death?"
Mikhail was silent for no more than a few seconds. "Yes. For what she has done to Xanna, and to me, she deserves it. Yes."
Cameron nodded. "I thought so. Very well." He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a pistol that looked like a .45. He stood again, and walked to an antique wardrobe that stood against the wall. "The gun will incapacitate her long enough to use this." With those words, from out of the wardrobe, he pulled out a long, sharply pointed piece of wood, and what appeared to be a short sword, about 2 feet long. "And we shall stake her out to greet the sunrise." His eyes glowed red as he spoke.
Mikhail took the .45, and checked to see if it was loaded. He cocked it, and stared steadily at Cameron, who still held the stake. "I am ready."
Cameron stood. "Let us go, then."
Xanna's eyes grew wide. "Wh-what do you mean?" she stammered. "I don't even know who you are! Mike . . . Mikhail is my Ancestor, not you!"
"Oh, how can you say that?" The woman spoke mock-despairingly, in the classic pose of woe, with the back of one hand pressed dramatically to her forehead. "After all that I gave you! The gift of eternal life is yours, and you treat me like this!"
"Don't give me that!" Xanna said harshly. "You didn't give me any kind of wonderful present. It's a curse, and Mikhail gave it to me. Not you!"
"Au contraire." Suddenly the woman was completely serious. "What you have is power. You are one of the most powerful beings in the world now. Homo sapiens lamia would probably be the Latin term, or perhaps Homo sapiens sanguinarius. In either case, it means the vampire, and that is what you are. It is not a curse. You are stronger and faster than the rest of the world. You will never age another day, and you will never die if you are careful. If you are not, someone will suspect, and you will be staked. If the staker knows enough to cut off your head, you will be nothing but dust within moments. A stake alone will not kill you immediately, but you won't be able to move, and you will hurt. If the stake is not removed, then you will slip into a vampiric coma, and wither away. It is not a pleasant way to die." Her eyes looked through Xanna, focused on the long ago and far away.
"How do you know?" Xanna asked pointedly. "You are obviously still existing. It can't have happened to you."
The piercing blue eyes were staring at her again. "Don't be so impudent, Childe. I may then have to discipline you. And you wouldn't like it." Her eyes floated away again. "Do you know what the most terrible crime among vampires is?" Her voice was peaceful, as if this were a dream.
Xanna felt panic begin to claim her again. Bravely, she fought it back down. "No. I assume that it would be in killing another vampire."
The woman smiled, and it had the same dreamlike quality as her voice. "How could you know? You are so young. No, Childe. The worst crime isn't simply killing another vampire, or assisting in their demise. No, the worst crime is in drinking the blood of that vampire, to gain his power. This is done especially if the other vampire is older. It is called daemonism, because you are acting like a demon to your own kind. If it can be proven to others that one has fed upon one of his own kind, sentence is carried out immediately, and it is death, in the most horrible and painful way possible. This usually starts with a brutal beating, but what follows in always the same. The offender is staked through the heart, tied up and set upon a funeral pyre. The pyre is lit, and then . . . you burn to ashes." Her eyes were blind to the world around her as she stared at the past.
Xanna was chilled to the soul. "How do you know that?" she asked softly, almost not wanting to hear the answer. "Did you see it?"
"No," the woman said softly. "I lived it." Her eyes returned to the present, and she strode regally around the small room. "That is the reason I came to America in the first place. None of the European vampires care what happens over here. I drained one of the older vampires in France. I thought I hadn't left a clue that it was me. Suspicion fell upon me anyway, and it turned out that one of his retainers had seen me leave the house. That nailed the lid on my coffin, but I couldn't get away. I knew the paralyzation of the stake, and watched the other vampires around me as they gleefully started my pyre. They threw me to the flames and left, for it is custom to let traitors die alone. But they threw me too hard. I flew through the flames, and landed safely on the other side. I landed hard enough on my back to loosen the stake in my chest. Through great strength of will, I managed to force my hands up and pull it out, inch by bloody inch. It was nearly dawn by the time I finished, and I was ravenous for blood, for I had lost much of mine, and the fire aggravated the condition. So I hunted and found a safe haven for the day. That very evening, before any other vampires were stirring, I paid passage on the first ship leaving Europe, and ended up here."
Xanna shivered. This is why I hate what I am! her mind screamed. She is what I don't want to become! She is twisted, a monster! Mike, help me, please . . . .
"So," she heard her voice quaver as she spoke. "What does all this have to do with me?"
"My dear Childe . . . ."
"Stop calling me that!" Xanna shouted, suddenly not able to take any more. "I'm not your Childe! I can't be! It was Mike!"
The woman smiled an unpleasant smile. "Didn't Mickey ever tell you about me?"
"No." She spoke curtly. "I don't even know who you are."
"You mean, he never told you about Miriel, his true love?"
The final words hurt her, but she struggled not to show it. "No. Not in the slightest. You must have slipped his mind."
Miriel frowned. "That's not very nice, Childe," she said pointedly. "So, I will tell you another short tale, and I'm sure you will like this one.
"I met the handsome devil in Dublin, in 1850 or so. He was desperately in love with me. He was also very jealous and prying. I took him out one evening, because I was getting tired of feeding simply off him. He thought he was getting the influenza, because he was tired all the time. He never connected his fatigue with blood loss. Having taken him out, I ignored him, and left with another man. Mickey didn't like it and followed me. I knew he was there, so when I fed, I drained the man and made sure Mickey saw it. I was buzzing, almost drunk from the alcohol the man had consumed, and I wanted more. Mickey had been almost in a stupor before he saw me and my . . . friend leave. So I drained him as well. But by this time, I knew that drinking so much all at once would result in my being ill, unable to feed for a couple nights. Thus, I decided to get rid of some of extra blood the best way I knew how. Mickey wasn't quite dead, so I offered him immortal life, and he took it."
"No. Mike wouldn't have." Xanna was firm in her conviction, but her voice wavered.
"Ah, but he did. However, he thought that it was God, come to personally conduct him to Heaven. That is why he accepted. I saw it in his mind, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing." Her tone turned ugly, filled with anger as she continued. "But then, when I offered to help him with this fantastic gift, he refused! He refused me! I couldn't believe it. I left him there to die for his impudence. I was so furious with him that I left Ireland entirely the next evening, and returned to France. It wasn't too long afterward that I was careless enough to be caught for daemonism. I was still brooding about Mickey, you see. That is why I was caught. He is at fault for this." She opened the front of her blouse as she spoke, and Xanna gagged in reflex before turning away. She glimpsed a hideous puckered scar in the center of Miriel's chest, right next to the breast bone. It was purple and red. Some of her ribs appeared to have shifted, giving her a lopsided aspect.
Xanna breathed deeply a few times before returning her gaze to Miriel. Thankfully, the older vampire had closed her shirt, and its folds obscured the deformity of her chest. "Is that why you took me? To get even with Mike for something he had nothing to do with? That hardly seems logical or fair."
"Logic has nothing to do with it; justice does." Miriel said fiercely. "I want satisfaction, and I mean to have it." Her tone modulated, became sweet again. "But that is not the only reason you are here with me." She took a step closer to Xanna, who took a step back and felt her shins bark up against the bed. "You see, you are the key to more than one vampire I know. Strange how that should happen, but there it is. You see," her voice dropped to a whisper. "You know Cameron as well. And he has something I want."
"What? What can he possibly have?"
"He is Eldest." She gestured with her hands and arms to make her point. "Among the vampires here in America, he is the only one older than I. The Eldest is like a king among vampires, he holds such power. And I want that power. I have yearned for it for so long."
"So, you want Cameron to leave so you can be Eldest? That doesn't seem . . . ."
"No." Miriel stared deeply at Xanna, who recoiled in terror at the sudden glowing red of her eyes. "There is much more than that. I want his blood."
Mikhail stared at the sky. The lights of the city blinded him, made his eyes ache like they hadn't in decades. He closed his eyes, and tried to center his thoughts on Xanna, to calm himself. He recalled each word of their first conversation, and the longing he'd had to see her again. The urge to see her again had been strong enough for him to follow her to her home, and to watch her for a week. He would have watched her forever, keeping her safe, if she hadn't gone down to the lake that night.
Something joggling his elbow brought him back to himself. He opened his eyes to see Cameron standing in front of him. They were close to Miriel's house, and Cameron had just made a quick reconnaissance of the area. Even in the glare of the city lights, Mikhail could see his eyes burning. "What happened?" he whispered.
Cameron was enraged almost beyond the point of speech. Through clenched teeth, he spat, "She's created a Childe. She's created more than one Childe. I thought I saw six, when the last time I was here, there were none."
Mikhail felt his mouth go slack. Six Children! He started to cross himself, but stopped, remembering what he was. "This just got a lot harder."
Cameron's mouth twisted. "Mikhail, you are a master of the understatement." He turned and motioned Mikhail to follow him.
"His blood? You mean, you're going to . . . to . . . " Words failed Xanna as she comprehended the depravity of the creature before her.
Miriel smiled that evil smile again. "Yes, Childe, you comprehend. I want more than his position. I want his power."
"You monster!" Xanna cried, hurtling herself at the other. But before she could even land a solid blow, she felt herself flying across the room, and cracking hard into the wall. She landed with a soft thud on the floor. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth when she looked up. The smaller woman didn't appear to have moved, but Xanna could see the telltale smear of blood on the back of her hand.
"Have we learned our lesson yet?" Miriel asked sweetly. "It's not wise to attack me, Childe."
Xanna reached up to wipe away the blood. She said nothing, just glared at Miriel with red embers for eyes.
Miriel started to pace around the room, her hands clasped behind her back. "You haven't asked yet, so I will ask the question for you. 'Why do you keep calling me Childe?' I know that you think I didn't create you. Are you sure?"
Slowly, Xanna pulled herself to her feet. Curtly, she replied, "Mike was the only one who knew where I was. I told him where I lived the night we met, and I am morally certain that he didn't tell anyone."
"Ah, but do you know that?"
Xanna snorted. "Who would he tell?"
Miriel smiled unpleasantly. "He told me. Yes, yes," she continued as Xanna started to protest. "I know, he wouldn't tell anyone. But he didn't have to. I usually keep pretty close tabs on Mickey, even though he has no idea that I do. I knew when he left Crixton every evening as soon as the sun went down that something was amiss. After a couple days, I followed him. I saw him watch every evening a particular house near a small pond. There lived a young woman and her mother, alike in almost every aspect." Xanna felt the cold hand of fear grip her heart at these words. "The young woman was pretty, with dark brown hair and eyes like amber. Mickey could not tear his eyes away from this girl, and when she occasionally wandered down to that dank pond, he followed her, just to watch. From this, I could guess that Mickey wanted her, not for feeding, but for something else, a meaningful relationship with a mortal. Impossible. Late one night, this woman walked down to that pond, and walked around it to the side shaded with trees, where both Mikhail and I were hiding. He had no idea I was there; I can cloak my presence very well. She was almost within my grasp, it required that I simply leap out at her, and she would be mine . . . and I would have revenge, of a sort, on Mickey." Her eyes stared deeply into Xanna's, and the younger woman shivered. "So I did. I intended to drain her, but Mickey saw the struggle, or heard her cry, and I was forced to leave her, still alive, but about to die. From my hiding place, I could see Mickey give the unfortunate woman the gift of eternal life, though it broke his heart to do so.
"Of course, that was you, my dear. So, I did, in fact, have a hand in making you. I may not technically be able to call you Childe, but I have a claim of some sort."
"I do not acknowledge that claim." Xanna spoke coldly, eyes fire in her face. "You are not my Ancestor."
Before she could even blink, the older vampire was gripping her throat with one hand, and squeezing tightly, while the other held her wrists. "I grow very tired of your impertinence," she hissed. "You will come with me." With that, she dragged Xanna by the throat and hands out of the room and down the darkened hallway.
Mikhail followed Cameron closely. For several minutes, from the cover of the trees surrounding the house, they had watched the new vampires that Miriel had created. Now, they would try to sneak past them, and on into the house. Four of them were standing in the yard, acting as guards. One stood upon the veranda, keeping watch on the front door. The sixth one was no where in sight. Mikhail assumed that he or she would be at the rear door, if there was one, and whispered such to Cameron.
Cameron shook his head. "No," he murmured soundlessly. "The back door is not guarded. The last one is inside."
The vampire guards were not expecting anyone to try to enter the house, Mikhail noticed. They were only perfunctorily watching, and, for the most part, were entranced by their newfound powers. Slowly and as soundlessly as only a vampire can move, Cameron and Mikhail made a circuit through the trees to the other side of the house. The back door was nailed shut, they discovered upon testing it. Cameron shrugged; this made no difference to him. Within moments, the door was no more than kindling, and they were inside the house.
The back door opened to the kitchen. They stood there for a moment, listening. All was silence. Then, they clearly heard the sound of a blow, and a loud thump from upstairs. Before Cameron could blink, Mikhail had left the kitchen, and dashed toward the outline of a staircase barely visible against what little light seeped in from behind the curtains. Cameron sped after him, heart sinking, thinking that their element of surprise would be lost if he didn't stop the younger vampire. He caught up with him just as Mikhail was about to start up the stairs. "Quiet!" he hissed, almost silently. "Do you want to be discovered?"
Eyes glowing ferally in the half-light, Mikhail shook his head. "Follow me," Cameron whispered, and started up the stairs.
Xanna could not fight back against the strength of the vampire that held her. She could wiggle her fingers, and she could just barely draw air in past the hand gripping her throat. Damn, it's lucky I'm dead, or I'd be unconscious for sure, she thought, nearing hysteria. Miriel led her only a short ways before opening another door and thrusting Xanna inside. Xanna staggered a few steps before regaining her balance and looking around. Her heightened senses told her that Miriel was in the room with her, but she quickly forgot about her as she saw what this new room contained.
The long room was a chamber of vampiric horrors from top to bottom. There were bottles of blood lining the walls on shelves. Stakes of various sizes and sharpness of points were displayed like swords. A small black velvet curtain, when drawn, would hide the mahogany box that contained a silver crucifix. Xanna's eyes could only just barely look at it without giving her immense pain. The window was covered by thick draperies, but not of velvet. The room was lit only by lanterns and long tapers. In the center stood a table, long and tall, and stained with blood. There were shackles of iron affixed to each of the legs.
Xanna gasped in fear, staring first at the stakes, then the many bottles. "Oh, my God. What is this place?"
Miriel spoke, a lazy smile on her lips. "This is my cruor-atorium. I often call it my sang-atorium." She giggled madly. "I sometimes take a Childe and drain him, especially if he has been disobedient. Sometimes, I do experiments with their blood, to see how potent it is, and how it reacts to sunlight and the crucifix." She walked over to the box, careful not to look directly at the cross, and caressed the wood briefly before drawing back her hand. "Can you feel the power of the cross, Childe?" she whispered, massaging her hand, still not quite looking at the icon. "This particular one was taken from a monk in the . . . let me think, it was a long time ago . . . ." Her face screwed up in concentration. "Well, I can no longer remember the century. Suffice to say it was long ago, and the monk was of great faith. It didn't help him a bit, because he still died. True, he didn't die by my feeding on him, because the crucifix and the power of his faith behind it wouldn't allow me to touch him. But he broke his neck falling down the monastery stairs going to Vespers." Her long canines glinted in the candle light. "How terrible, to slip and fall like that. What a shame."
"What are you going to do to me?" Xanna asked, horror etched on her face. "Are you going to . . . treat me like a disobedient Childe?" She shrunk away from the smaller woman, searching desperately for some avenue of escape. She thought she heard a creak as if of a floor board under great weight, but wasn't sure, because Miriel started to speak again.
"Oh, I don't know," she said, studying the grain of the wood in the table, and running her fingers over the surface. "Perhaps. That would depend on you, my dear." Suddenly, those piercing blue eyes were locked on Xanna's own. "Do you want to be treated that way? I assume not." Frantically, Xanna shook her head, and Miriel's voice grew harsh. "Then you had better start acting like you respect your elders, you insolent little bitch!" She plucked a stake that looked as if it had been recently sharpened from its holder and menaced the young woman with it.
Before she could take more than a step, however, the door exploded into the room with incredible force. Xanna cried out and covered her face with her arms, trying desperately to avoid the splinters. Miriel was out of the line of fire, and screamed in rage when she saw what had happened. Xanna quickly looked up and sighed in relief. Mikhail stood framed by the empty doorjamb, gun in hand, with Cameron slightly behind him.
"We have heard enough," Cameron stated evenly, pushing past Mikhail to enter the room. His eyes were blazing red as he studied Miriel. "Miriel Pierce. I have heard you say that you drink the blood of others of your own kind. That they were your Children is of little consequence. I can guess that you once drank the blood of one older than you, and acquired a taste for it." He shuddered involuntarily. "You have created Children without the permission of the Elder, being me. By that alone, you are sentenced to the Final Death. Because you drank the blood of vampires, you will be staked and burned."
Miriel smiled craftily, and said, "Oh, I think not, Cameron. One of us will continue to exist, and the other will Die. But I plan to live, and glory in drinking your blood!" With those words, she flung the stake she still held at Xanna.
Mikhail howled "No!" as the stake flew past him. Even with his great speed, he couldn't deflect the wooden missile in time. Xanna shrieked in agony as it pierced her chest, pushing past her breastbone and imbedding itself in her. The force of it threw her back against the wall, hard enough to jar bottles of blood off the shelves. They crashed to the floor, shattering and releasing their contents. Xanna sank slowly to the floor, aware only dimly of her limbs, her whole attention concentrated on the burning pain in her chest. Blood smeared down the wall in her wake. Her eyes seemed to glaze, and she could move not a muscle.
Mikhail watched in anguish as her body slumped to the floor, her blood soon mingling with that from the bottles. He could do nothing for her now; first he needed to get her out of danger. Behind him, he heard Miriel scream again in rage. He turned, gun held at the ready, and saw Cameron and his Ancestor grappling for control of the stake Cameron had been holding.
Cameron, too, had watched as Xanna had been impaled by the stake. That moment of distraction had proved almost fatal for him, for Miriel had tried to take the one he still held loosely in his hands. He had superior strength, being older, and male, but her eyes glinted in a way he could only identify as insanity, and her powerful blow belied her small stature. For the first time in centuries, he was truly frightened for his existence.
Mikhail sighted carefully, but could not pull off a shot, because of the desperate dance they were doing around the room. The table tipped to the floor, and then Cameron and Miriel both smashed into the shelves on the far wall. The lantern set there wobbled crazily for a moment, and fell. Fire sprung up around it, and spread quickly, following the trail of the lamp oil. Next, the branched candelabra fell as Cameron's back brushed it. He grunted in pain, but did not burst into flames.
Half the room was a conflagration, and the blaze crept slowly to the ceiling. Desperate to leave before it blocked the door, Mikhail decided to risk a shot. He shouted "Miriel!" hoping to distract her.
It worked too well. Both combatants glanced at him. In the instant they stopped moving, Mikhail squeezed the trigger.
Miriel cried out, and staggered back away from Cameron, her grip on the stake loosening. Blood started to spurt from her shoulder. Cameron wrenched it out of her hands and reversed it. The point entered her breast at almost exactly the same spot as her previous stake. She screeched in pain, and slumped to the floor, reaching futilely for the wood in her chest.
Mikhail turned quickly away, knowing she was of little threat now. Crossing the room in a single bound, he knelt by Xanna and scooped her up in his arms. When he turned back, he saw the fire about to consume the table, and licking its way toward the door. Cameron was fumbling inside his suit coat, and Miriel's face was frozen in horror and suffering. "Cameron!" he bellowed over the roar of the blaze. Cameron's head snapped up. "Come on! We must go!"
Cameron shook his head. "You go! I'll follow you in a moment. I can stand the fire better than you or Roxanna. Get her out of here!" His fingers finally touched the hilt of his short sword, and he pulled it out.
Mikhail didn't stay to argue. He leapt through the door, just as the flames reached the jamb. Cradling Xanna carefully to his chest, trying not to push the stake any further into her, he ran down the stairs. The fire had eaten through the aged wood of the house, and spread downstairs. The kitchen was starting to burn. Mikhail carried Xanna through it, to the safety of the bushes and trees outside. Just as he was dashing through the kitchen door, though, a flaming brand struck his cheek, and he cried out in pain. After gaining the bushes, he laid his burden down lightly, and turned back to the house. Most of the upper story was in flames.
Cameron leaned down to speak in Miriel's ear, to be sure she heard her final words. "Now, Die," he whispered, beginning the ritual phrases of the Final Death. "Thou hast lived centuries, and now thou wilt die for thy crimes." With that, he cut off her head. Her mouth was permanently frozen into an "oh" of horror and shock. It landed with a dull thud next to her body, and both were soon in flames.
He turned to the door, only to find it was blocked by a wall of fire. From the roar behind him, he knew that the only window was barricaded to him as well. Well, he thought, taking a deep breath. How well can I stand the fire? Squaring his shoulders, he jumped through the inferno before him, feeling the flames sear his undead body.
On to the Epilogue.
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