Vampyre: Desire Immortal

Chapter 2

The Alchemist's Spell

The earth sleeps for all save the nocturnal creatures of the night. They are alert and roaming. It is the feeding hour.

*****

"Why in heaven's name are you still up? The hour is late, and demons play in the time before dawn."

It is Gilia.

"Get to bed this minute. You will catch a chill. Off. Off to bed. Why can't you sleep? Was it the wind?"

"You heard it, too?"

"Of course," she said. "It howls like a mad witch from Gilvynna."

"Perdix says . . ."

"Please, milady. Permit me to speak. You mustn't listen to anything that old Mahoun says. He is a fox, that one is. The devil's apprentice, I say. And a mighty old, worn out one at that! Put no stock in the witchcraft he does. I don't. And you shouldn't either."

"You favor Urien because my father likes him so," I said. "I pumped ship in your hand, and you took it straight to Urien. What did he tell you? Did he say I am mad because my piss tastes of henbane? Tell me, Gilia. Tell me now."

"You speak nonsense, child. It is late. Now, get to bed this minute. Up all hours. I swear my eyes will snap shut tomorrow from the lack of sleep, tonight! Get to bed. You will be the death of me, yet."

*****

The brown-headed little boy was still crying. The piece of black stale bread should have stopped the flow of tears. Mitings were such spoiled little mongrels these days.

Perdix watched intently as the white horse the child sat upon slowly made its way through the cemetery. They had already spent many hours here. His arm shielded his face as he glanced at the progress of the sun.

Clop clop. Maybe, he thought, I have picked the wrong graveyard.

That was ridiculous. Ars magica. The stars would never let him down. Not now.

The crying slowed. The little boy had the hiccups. Perhaps, he should have chosen the blonde one. No. The omens pointed to this one.

Chosen.

But such a frightened little fawn.

Perdix spat upon the ground.

The horse stopped. He twitched his long tail, batting the few flies that buzzed around him. The breeze picked up, wafting through the leafless tree limbs, bending the branches like skeletal claws. Perdix looked up. Strands of long, steely gray hair whipped across his face. His beard blew over his shoulder. The dingy layers of dirty rags danced away from his body, flying about like flags on a pole.

The sky darkened from blue to charcoal. Clouds roiled overhead. Perdix heard a clap of thunder in the distance. His breath caught in his throat.

Was this a false alarm?

Would the nag begin his course again?

A white-hot finger of lightning struck near the round tower of the old church. Sparks flew from the tree it blasted in two. The ground shook beneath their feet, yet the three stood suspended as in a painting. The clouds split in twain. The sunlight, binding earth to heaven, beamed its steady rays upon one gravestone.

The horse neighed and pawed the earth with its hoof. Perdix smiled. If he'd been brought to this place and forced to pick one stone where evil lived, it would be this very one.

Sinking into the earth and green with moss, the lichen-speckled marker was one of the oldest in the cemetery. The flat stone slab lay flat in the ground like a table top. It bore no name, only the family's crest and a cobra and quiver of arrows. Nevertheless, he knew who rested there.

Dyryke d'Cerroj.

Warrior of Death.

Goose bumps prickled his skin. The die was cast. Now, it was time for the real work to begin.