Vampyre: Desire Immortal

Chapter 11

The Heart Once Stopped

The heart once stopped rests now forevermore.

The reawakened one is evil to the core.

*****

"I hold the trinity in my hands," Perdix mumbled.

The alchemist was at his workbench.

"The trio of Universal Wisdom and Light: Mercury. Sulfur. Salt. You are here before me. Why in Jupiter's realm can I not see the answer?"

He'd ransacked Fye's house and found the sacred scroll.

Dry drops of ox blood o'er a dying fire.

Fill a quill and blow into the wind.

The heart once stopped

Will quiver faint and beat again.

The answer had to be here. Somewhere. He kept going over the ancient text.

His eyes were bloodshot, and his head pounded. How many days had it been since he had lain his head down upon his bench and slept?

He did not know.

The muscles in his back burned like hot irons had been dropped inside his tunic. The candle burned low in the stand. The wind whipped outside. A storm was coming up. He glanced around to the tiny window at his back.

The shadows of dusk were fast approaching.

Something touched his foot. A rat, he thought. He kept reading.

It tapped his shoe again.

Again.

Harder this time.

"Fadoodle. You rats must go somewhere else to play your games. Can't you see I have so much work to do?"

The nudge was even harder.

Peering under the table, Perdix saw no rats. Only the Book of Spells lay at his feet. He had brought it back with him from the cemetery. But he had no use for it. He could not read Latin. Unlike Fye, his knowledge had been hard-earned and self-taught. He had no direct line to the Ancients.

"I wonder how she talked to them," he muttered.

He put the book on the table alongside the scroll. The black hole in the center of the bishop's book gave off a smoky smell. Like Fye. She smelled of many things, including smoke.

"Oh, Fye. Had I not insisted! Had I not asked for aid! You were right! You were right! I am a foolish old man in love with her and the idea of saving her. I am a foolish, old man. A foolish, foolish old man! Forgive me, Fye. Forgive. It is all my fault. My fault."

The scarred work table began to shake. The workbench tumbled backwards, and Perdix fell on his back on the floor. He got on his knees, grabbed the table, and peeked up over the its edge. The charred circle in the center of the Book of Spells glowed red like an ember. An acrid curl of yellowish-green smoke rose to the ceiling. There was an audible 'whoosh' and a blue flame popped out of the center of the black hole, burning hot and bright like a beacon.

How strange, Perdix thought. The center burns hot, and yet the book itself is not engulfed and turned to ash.

He gingerly touched a corner of the book. It was icy cold to the touch.

"I must get the bishop. I must," he muttered.

Turning to leave the room, he stopped in his tracks.

The bishop would do no good. He'd screwed up the spell that night in the graveyard. On purpose? Perdix shook his head to clear his thoughts. He did not know. What must he do?

"Oh, Fye," he yelled. "If I but had you here to guide me. To steer me toward a true answer."

Yes!

He whipped around and grabbed the book, prostrated himself on the floor and placed it on his face. His fingers curled into two tight fists. His knuckles were white. The long, dirty fingernails gored his palms, and blood pooled on the stone floor.

When he awoke, it was morning. A blackbird hopped on the windowsill. In his mouth, he held a long white feather. Perdix groaned and rolled over on his side. The Book of Spells fell beside him. Sunrays lit the dust motes, and for an instant, the old man watched them dance reels before his eyes.

The blackbird moved to the edge of the sill. Its beak positioned inside the room, it dropped the feather, and Perdix watched it float to the floor beside him.

"Give me strength," he said.

As he stood to his feet, he felt the pricks of a thousand white feather quills drag across the lining of his stomach wall.