Creatures of Forever (The Last Vampire #6)(10)
Author: Christopher Pike

"What do you want?" he asks in a much softer voice than he used at the convention.

I step closer. "I should ask you that question, Dr. Stoon," I say.

"What do you want?" He does not hesitate. "We told you."

"You told me little. Who are you people?"

He smiles slightly, cocky bastard. "Who do you think?"

"Extraterrestrials."

"You are partially right, and partially wrong. We have been here a long time."

"How long?"

"Don't you remember?"

His question disturbs me, his voice. I realize he is trying to overpower me with his eyes. His are at least as strong as Linda's. Try as I might, I cannot pierce his aura to read his mind.

"I remember nothing of you. Answer my question."

"Over a thousand years," he says.

"Where did you come from? Originally?"

"There is no simple answer to that question. We move in space and time, through dimensions and distortions."

"Are you here to distort humanity?"

"We are here for the harvest."

"For which side of the harvest?"

"There is only one side—the expansion of the self, the growth of self-awareness."

"Sounds nice. But at whose expense?"

He snorts. "The expense of all those too weak to move forward. Why do you ask these questions? We know you are a vampire, the most powerful vampire on Earth. We have watched you for centuries. You do what you wish; we do as we wish. We are brothers to you, sisters. Why don't you join us?"

"It doesn't sound like you want me as a brother or sister. It sounds like you want me as a blood bank." I pause. "Or do you already have some of my blood?"

He makes me wait. "We do," he says finally.

I stiffen. The confirmation wounds me.

"When?" I ask. I feel violated.

"Over a thousand years ago."

"When?" I demand.

He gloats."K alot Enbblot. Chateau Merveille."He pauses before he says the next words. "The Castle of Wonder."

I tremble, not just in my body, but in my very soul.

In all my long life, there had never been darker days.

Yet I thought I had escaped his aerie unscathed.

"Landulf,"I whisper. "Oh God."

Dr. Stoon grins. "Landulf took the best you had to give, now we will take it again. With or without your assistance."

I back up involuntarily. "You lie!" I gasp. "He never touched me!"

Dr. Stoon speaks with scorn. "He did more than touch you. He bled you, used you, and then twisted your mind so that you didn't know. But don't you remember now, Sita? As you swam through the waves away from his castle? Swam to what you thought was freedom? Even the ocean water could not wash offthe contamination you felt then. Yet you thought you had won, defeated him. Just as you think you will defeat us now."

I cannot stop shaking. The images his words invoke—Icannot bear to see them in my suddenly shattered mind. Landulf and his sexual magic, satanic practice that used terror and pain for fuel. The human sacrifices, bodies split open with dirty knives, and worst of all the spirits that would appear at his bidding, vicious creatures from an astral hell buried beneath unheeded cries. From the Temple of Erix at which the Priestess of Antiquity had once guarded the Oracle of Venus, in southwest Sicily, he sent forth these unclean spirits and dominated the minds and hearts of men and women throughout southern Eu­rope. Inviting the hordes of invading Moslems, show­ing them the weaknesses in the Christian world's defenses and so betraying his own race, Landulf had changed the course of history in the ninth century. And so he had changed my life, putting a stain on it that more than ten centuries had not totally erased. I tremble for many reasons, all of them unbearable. Landulf had indeed touched me, I remember, kissed me even, with lips that often enjoyed raw human flesh.

Yet I still thought I had tricked him.

"I will defeat you," I whisper without conviction. "If you have anything to do with him, I will not rest until all of your kind are wiped out. Landulf was a demon, and you use his name as if he were a hero. Your power is a travesty." I aim the matrix. "You will all die."

Dr. Stoon grins and lowers his hands. "We are not alone."

I glance left and right, see nothing, hear only the desert.

Yet I sense the truth of his words, sense a presence.

"Tell them to show themselves," I say carefully. "If you want to live one second longer."

"Very well." He bows his head slightly.

Suddenly there are three figures in red robes, one on each side, another at my back. Each carries a matrix in his or her hand, although their faces are shadowed, as are their minds. They are humanoid but that is allI know about them. They have me in their sights. There seems to be no escape. Dr. Stoon sticks out his hand.

"The matrix, please," he says.

I shake my head. "I will vaporize myself before you will have my blood."

He is amused. "Try."

I try the weapon on him. But it doesn't work.

"We neutralized it at the convention," he explains.

I throw the weapon aside. "You don't want me dead."

"True," he says. "But we will kill you before we allow you to kill us. Lay facedown on the sand."

"I hardly think so," I say, and my attention goes to the figure on my right, the one whose hand shakes ever so slightly, This person—Icannot even see his eyes—but I know it is a male, weaker than the others that guard me. Even though I cannot read his mind, I can sense the general character of it. This is an important assignment for him, one that he has had to struggle to win. If he completes it successfully, cap­tures the vampire's blood, he will receive some type of advancement. But if he fails, he will be killed. Indeed, he is especially fearful of Dr. Stoon. He wishes the doctor dead. That is the chink in his psychic armor. He does not care for his associates, hates them in fact, wishes they all were dead so that all the glory could be his. My eyes fasten on his hidden face, my thoughts drill into his cranium.

Kill them. Burn them. Vanquish them.

The man's arm trembles more.

"It is not wise to refuse us," Dr. Stoon says.

"Do you still give me a chance to join you?" I mutter, stalling for time. Never before have I focused so hard, called upon the depths of my will. The strain is immense. For even though this one is the weakest, he is still strong beyond belief.