Cirque du Freak Imagines

Nightmares

Spoilers for Killers of the Dawn (book 9)

————————————————————
"It seems our paths must part, Sire."

"Aye," Vancha croaked bitterly.

"We shared some good times," Mr Crepsley said.

"Great times," Vancha corrected him.

"Will you sing my praises in the Halls of Vampire Mountain when you return, and drink a toast to me, even if it is only a glass of water?"

"I'll drink a crate of ale to your name," Vancha vowed, "and sing death songs till my voice cracks."

"You always did take things to extremes," Mr Crepsley laughed. Then his gaze settled on me. "Darren," he said.

"Larten," I replied, smiling awkwardly. I felt like crying, but couldn't. There was an awful emptiness inside of me and my emotions wouldn't respond.

"Hurry!" Gannen Harst shouted. "My grip is slipping. A few more seconds and I'll?"

"A few seconds will suffice," Mr Crepsley said, not one to be rushed, even when death was beckoning. Smiling sadly at me, he said, "Do not let hatred rule your life. My death does not need to be avenged. Live as a free vampire, not as a twisted, revenge-driven creature of despair. Do not become like Steve Leonard or R.V. My spirit will not rest easy in Paradise if you do."

"You don't want me to kill Steve?" I asked uncertainly.

"By all means kill him!" Mr Crepsley boomed. "But do not devote yourself to the task. Do not?"

"I can't - hold - any longer!" Gannen Harst wheezed. He was trembling and sweating from the strain.

"Nor shall you have to," Mr Crepsley responded. His eyes passed from me to Vancha and back again, then up to the ceiling. He stared as though he could see through the layers of rock, concrete and earth above to the sky beyond. "Gods of the vampires!" he bellowed. "Even in death, may I be triumphant!"

Then, as the echoes of his final cry reverberated around the walls of the cavern, Mr Crepsley let go of the chain. He hung in the air an impossible moment, almost as though he could fly - then dropped like a stone towards the steel-tipped stakes beneath.

Mr Crepsley dropped. He was impaled on the stakes. He died.

And it was awful .

I can't even say that it was quick and merciful, as it was for the Lord of the Vampaneze, because he didn't die straightaway. The stakes didn't kill him instantly, and though his soul didn't linger long, his cries while he writhed there, bleeding and dying, burning and screaming, will stay with me till I die. Maybe I'll even carry them with me when I g-

Darren woke up with the remnants of a scream in his throat and his mentor at his side.

"Darren," Larten says frantically, "it was just a dream. I am here." Darren sniffles.

"Mr.- Larten?" He asks throatily. "You're not dead?"

Larten shakes his head and wraps his arms around his apprentice.

"I never died," Larten says, "my soul was merely," he paused for the right word, "misplaced." Darren sobbed.

"Do not worry now," Larten quickly added, "I am right here, and I do not intend on going anywhere anytime soon." Darren nods and hiccups.

Larten awkwardly strokes his hair until he falls asleep, which is when he lays him back into bed with the utmost care.

"Sleep well Darren," he said, "and I will be in my coffin if you need anything else."