Frank Tuttle - Hold The Dark

Evis motioned for me to sit, then seated himself as well.

“She is recovering.” The room was dark. There was a small candle burning in each corner, but I still couldn’t read Evis’s expression. “I shall tell her you inquired.”

I nodded. Evis reached into a pocket, found his dark glasses, put them on before whispering a word.

Light flared, bright and white, from a pair of glass globes hung on silver chains from the ceiling.

“For your comfort. By the way. Sara’s husband Victor wishes to extend to you his apologies. He fears his manner was brusque, in the carriage.”

I shrugged. “He didn’t tear my head off and eat it. I thought we got along famously.”

Evis grinned. “Nevertheless. We were all disturbed to distraction by what we discovered last night.”

“Oh, we most certainly were. That was…let’s see…” I unfolded and consulted my list, picked out the tenth name. “Milly Balount, wasn’t it? Or maybe Allie Sands?”

Evis nodded. “Allie Sands, we believe. Examination of the body revealed a tattoo, which matched one Miss Sands was said to possess.”

“Allie Sands. She was number nine. Snatched just before the new moon three months ago.”

“Indeed.” Somewhere, a clock ticked and tocked. Evis sighed. “How much do you know about halfdead physiology, Mister Markhat?”

“Very little,” I replied. “I’m not sure anyone does.”

Evis nodded, not in agreement but acknowledgment.

“Miss Sands was bitten many times. We estimate that some eleven halfdead fed on her.”

I stared. Halfdead usually hunt alone, that much I knew.

“Multiple bites result in the unfortunate condition you saw last night. To do such a thing is anathema, even to the oldest and most depraved of my kin. But it is not the first such attack we have discovered. I believe this is significant.”

“I’ll tell you what I think. You stop me when I’m wrong.”

“I shall.”

I took a breath. “Someone-maybe one of the Houses, maybe not-decided that snacking on Curfew-breakers wasn’t good enough anymore. This person or persons has other tastes. Tastes that include young women, consumed without the fuss and bother of plying them with flowers or sneaking through their windows.”

“We do neither,” said Evis. “But do go on.”

“So, once a month, our hungry friend arranges to have a dinner party. Catered, if you will. Someone lures the main course into a carriage with a bauble, or a bribe. Did Miss Sands have a silver comb among her possessions perhaps?”

“She did not. Though her somewhat avaricious business associates rifled her belongings before our agent arrived,” he said. “It is entirely possible such a comb was among her things.”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. She was chosen-like the rest-because she was young and pretty and she was a prostitute and no one would look hard when she turned up missing.” I made myself stare at those round black lenses. “How do you like my story so far?”

“It lacks certain elements.” He didn’t smile. “But, sadly, the theme is generally correct.”

“I’ll bet. So, once a month, and always in a different place, this industrious halfdead and several of his closest friends gather. They gather, and they wait. And at the appointed time-”

“At the appointed time,” said Evis, interrupting, “a young woman is brought out. She is abused, slain and left in the state you observed last night. And that, Mister Markhat-that, we will not bear.”

“Because if word got out, the Curfew laws wouldn’t keep mobs from burning the Hill to ash. Even the Regent couldn’t stop it. I doubt he’d even try.”

“That is a reason,” said Evis. “But it is not the sole reason.” He took off his glasses, squinted in the light, but looked me square in the eye and I looked him square back.

“How old do you think I am, Mister Markhat?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Forty, maybe. Give or take.”

“Correct. And how long will I live, in this state?”

I shrugged again. “A hundred years or more. Until the bloodlust drives you mad.”

He shook his head. “That may be so, among the other Houses. But I expect to live for another three centuries. Perhaps four, even-and at the end, I shall be old and feeble, but I shall be neither mad, nor more of a monster than you see here.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “That’s not the way it works. If it did, why all the old mad vampires?”

“Because they insist on sustaining themselves with the blood of their own species. Because they succumb to the hunger that drives them to slay their own. Because the hunger takes over, bit by bit, until nothing is left of the person but the physical shell and an awful, irresistible thirst.”

“And you?”

“We at Avalante resist. Oh, we must have blood. Bovine blood, porcine blood, any blood, save that of men. And because we resist, we will be spared the madness.”

“And that works?”

Evis nodded. “During the War, the House had dealings with a group of monks, high in the mountains of Chinlong.”

“They make that powder that keeps wounds from going septic. Sin-see, or something like that.”

“Cincee,” said Evis. “A most effective substance.” He reached down, donned his dark glasses again. “But did you know these monks are halfdead?”

I sat back. I hadn’t.

“I have walked among them. I have spoken with a man four hundred years old. He laughed and he walked with a stick, but he was of his right mind. I will be that man, Mister Markhat. And I shall not be alone.”

“You drink no blood.”

“We drink no human blood.”

“Do the other Houses know?”

“They do not. They would see it as a sign of weakness. They would attack, and we would waste valuable resources defending ourselves. Better to wait. Better to bide our time. Because, Mister Markhat, time is what we have.”

“Unless Martha Hoobin crawls out of the ground a month from now and kills everyone in a nursery school.”

“Just so,” said Evis. He sighed. “I will not deny your logic. But is it not possible, Mister Markhat, that I find the fate of these young women as awful as do you?”

I thought of Sara praying, and Victor crying.

“Maybe you do. Sorry. I fear I was brusque.”

Evis laughed. “Forgiven.” He rose, strolled to a wine rack, and motioned at the bottles and then at me.

“No thanks.” I rose too. It seemed like a time for pacing, since we were all old friends now.

“So how do we find Martha, before the new moon?”

Evis sighed. “I had hoped the warehouse would provide us with a name. It did not. It has been vacant for six years. A man named Amralot bought it and keeps it empty because he owns the facility next door and he doesn’t want the competition. We are assured he knew nothing of what took place there, or of Allie Sands.”

I frowned, walked over to the nearest row of books, realized the titles weren’t in Kingdom, and moved on.

“I had a thought, last night,” I said. “It may be offensive. Depends on how you feel about the Church.”

Evis laughed. “How I feel about the Church is irrelevant, considering how the Church feels about me.”

“They’re still trying to find mention of a hotter part of Hell just so they’ll have somewhere to wish you. And that’s on Mercy Day.”

Evis nodded. “Go on.”

I halted. “Doesn’t this once-a-month new-moon midnight feast business strike you as a ritual? I’m wondering, Mr. Prestley. Are there any former priests in the ranks? Not necessarily in Avalante-but elsewhere maybe?”

“Bravo, Mr. Markhat. Are you still determined to refuse my House’s offer?”

I was taken aback, despite myself. “Angels and devils. You mean I’m right?”