Saint Michael Part 4

         “Wake up,” and a slap across the face were what penetrated through the fog of Lana’s mind.  Her eyes blinked open to see her grandmother’s living room.  Anne was sitting on the couch next to Nicole.  Everything was lined with a red mist.

         “How long have I been out?” Lana asked in a daze.  “And why am I tied to the chair?”  She wrenched at the ropes wrapped around her ankles and wrists.  It was then she noticed a bowl full of blood.  She glanced down at her wrists and saw the partially healed cuts there.  They had bled her to weaken her.  She was exhausted and needed blood badly.  Lana wasn’t even able to loosen the ropes.

         “You’ve been out for a few hours,” Anne answered.  Memories can back to Lana in a red fog.  Flashes of silver, rivers of blood, and Draven lying on the floor.  A sob rose in her throat, and she struggled harder.  She needed to get to Draven.  She needed to know that he was all right.  The ropes held, however, and Lana only succeeded in wearing herself out more.  She needed blood so much that she could not even shed a tear for him.  She tried to reach out with her mind to find Michael, Draven, anyone, but she could not escape the mist and the thirst.

         “You have betrayed the Assembly,” Anne said, rising to her feet.  “But most of all,” she said putting her face close to Lana’s and whispering, “you have betrayed me.” Lana could barely understand her words.  She was completely focused on the veins pulsing in Anne’s neck.  She shook her head to clear it and made an attempt to push the thirst away.

         “I had no choice,” she said.

         “You always had a choice,” Nicole chimed in.  “Why didn’t you come to me?  I could have helped you.”  Nicole sounded genuinely hurt.

         “You killed Draven,” Lana said accusingly, looking past Anne at Nicole sitting on the couch.

         “I did that so that you are no longer bound to him.  Now we can help you,” Nicole said, coming to stand next to Anne.  Lana looked at Nicole with pity.  Nicole had honestly thought she was helping.

         “No one can help her now,” Anne said straightening.  “She knew the consequences when she completed the initiation.”  As she spoke, she loosened the rope on Lana’s left arm and twisted it so that her tattoo was facing up.  It flashed accusingly in the lamplight.  Anne then picked up her knife, which has been lying on one of the end tables.  It was delicate looking, which ornate carvings on the hilt, but Lana was acutely aware of how much pain it could inflict on a vampire.  Most of her hunts had been with Anne, and she knew the pain a knife could cause.

         “Nicole, if you will,” Anne said handing the knife to her.  Nicole took the knife gingerly.

         “I can’t do this,” she said, staring down at the knife.  “It will kill her.”

         “She is no longer one of us,” Anne said impatiently.  “Cut that mark from her.  Consider this your initiation.”  Those words fell heavy in the air.  Lana, even in her stupor, knew how much this meant to Nicole.  She also knew that she would not survive that much blood loss.  Any other knife wound would have healed quickly, but this was a hunter’s knife and it was designed to bleed for as long as possible.  Lana watched with mounting apprehension as Nicole leaned over and pressed the blade to her skin.  Lana tensed as a wave of thirst and the frozen wash of the blade rushed over her.

         “I can’t do this,” Nicole said, pulling the blade away and turning toward Anne.

         “Then I will help you,” Anne said as she grabbed Nicole’s wrist and quickly sliced the skin from Lana’s arm.  The skin fell to the floor with a sickening slap, and blood began to ooze thickly from the wound.  Lana did not see Nicole’s horrified face or Anne’s triumphant one.  She was lost in the redness of her blood.  She watched her life drip down her arm and fall on the floor.  She felt the pulling of her blood from her veins.  The red fog turned to gray then black.  Before she passed out completely, she felt a voice calling her name in her mind.  It sounded far off and the pain overwhelmed her before she could focus on it.







         Michael was jarred awake by an intense pain echoing in his mind.  He felt Draven fading and without pausing even to find a shirt, he vanished.  He found Draven lying in a sea of blood.  His black hair glistened with blood and his normally tan skin was pale.  The gapping wound at his throat looked fresh.  Michael did not sense any hunters nearby so he rushed to Draven side and without hesitation, bit his own wrist and put it to Draven’s lips.  The drops fell into Draven’s mouth, but there was no response and for a moment, Michael feared it was useless.  After two thousand years of hating him, Michael actually found himself afraid to lose Draven.  Even Ari hadn’t been with him as long as Draven, and in his own way, Draven had saved him from the darkest time of his immortal life and now, Michael was unable to do the same for him. 

         Michael was about to pull away when Draven’s hand slid up his wrist and pulled it closer.  Draven’s teeth punctured the bites that had already healed.  Blood flowed freely from master to fledgling, and Michael began to see the edges of the knife wound begin to close.  Michael pulled his wrist away when he felt that he could give no more.  Draven looked up at him with conscious eyes.

         “You’re some guardian angel,” he said whipping his mouth.

         “Next time,” Michael said, standing and dropping Draven’s head on the floor, “I’ll leave you for dead.”

         “Next time,” Draven said slowing getting to his feet and rubbing the still open wound on his neck, “you’ll probably be the reason I am on the floor.”

         “That’s true,” Michael said with a half-smile.  He sat on a box and looked at Draven seriously.  “Now tell me what really happened here.”

         Draven fell into an ornate chair that looked like it was left over from Beauty and the Beast, and he related everything that had happened since he left Michael’s apartment.  The knife wound burned in his back as he told about the surprise attack by a hunter.  The slice on his neck still trickled blood as it tried to heal.  This would be the third scar he had received from one of their blades.  Draven was not at all happy about the scar that would now ring his neck.

         “So wear something to hide it,” Michael said impatiently.  “Where would they take Lana?”

         Draven closed his eyes and sifted through the memories.  There seemed to be so few compared to the thousands of years both he and Michael had experienced.  Draven chuckled darkly.  “Lana is the granddaughter of a council member of the Assembly.”

         “You can really pick them,” Michael sighed.  “This means that they will kill her.”

         “They can’t have.  I would know.”

         “In your half-dead state, I doubt it.”  Michael ran a hand through his blond hair.  “Where would they have taken her?”

         “Her grandmother is the kind that would want to handle this personally.  Probably at her house.”  Draven gave Michael a reference and they appeared in her front yard.  Through the front window, they could barely see Lana tied to a chair with Anne and Nicole standing in front of her.

         “So,” Draven said, looking over at Michael, “is there a plan or are we just going to storm into an unfamiliar house with at least two hunters, maybe more, one of which is a council member?”

         “We could go ring the doorbell and introduce ourselves,” Michael said with a devilish smile.

         “Oh yeah,” Draven said miming ringing a doorbell.  “‘Hi, we’re the vampires who killed and then changed your granddaughter.  Can we have her back now?’”

         “You’re right.  Probably not the best plan.”

         “She is so far gone in the thirst that I can’t even talk with her.  All I can see is red.”

         “Maybe we could draw…” Michael trailed off as he noticed that Draven’s eyes had glazed over.  He glanced inside and saw a drawn knife.  He quickly grabbed Draven and transported him back to the apartment.  They fell onto the bed as Draven’s body convulsed, and he screamed Lana’s name.  His eyes flashed wildly, and Michael had to exert all his willpower to keep him from vanishing.  Michael held Draven down and waited for him to come back to himself.  After a few moments, Draven lay still, with his eyes closed, breathing heavily under Michael’s restraint.  Michael eased off but watched him closely.  Draven propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Michael with haunted eyes.

         “They are going to leave her for dead, interred in the family tomb,” he said through heavy breaths.







         Ever since the creation of the Assembly, they had interred their dead.  It was a tradition that oddly reflected the lives of vampires.  Their rituals, however, ensured that none of their dead would come back as a vampire.  Since a hunter’s death was usually caused by a one, there had to be certain assurances that their good work as a hunter would not be blemished by their return.  Therefore, the head and heart were both removed and wrapped separately within a heavy stone tomb.  Lana was facing nothing less than the entire ritual, but she was so far gone from blood loss that she could not even lift a finger to stop it.  In reality it was a blessing.  She would not be dead when they prepared her for her burial.  It was the sound of a car starting that punctured her haze.  She could make out the silhouette of a driver against the light of a passing car’s headlights, but it was only for a few moments before she lost herself in the waves of pain that radiated from her heart to every extremity.  After what seemed like only seconds, she opened her eyes briefly again to see a whirling pattern of stars framed by a fog of red.  She heard voices and saw shadows of people that blended with the crosses and tombstones until she could not tell the difference, and her world faded into darkness again.







         Michael and Draven watched and waited.

         “Do you think that they will fulfill all the rituals with her still alive?” Draven asked, as they stood behind a stone cross watching five hunters carrying Lana toward the mausoleum.

         “Would we have done any different?” Michael said looking over at Draven.  “So how do you want to do this?”

         “Well,” Draven said, turning his attention back to Michael, “you’ve always been the one with the plans.  Most of them are Catholic if that helps,” he added with a cocky grin.

         “I don’t think I can pull off an archangel gimmick on hunters.” 

         They watched the three of the hunters left.  One stayed at the entrance as a guard, while the other two began to patrol the cemetery with drawn knives.  Michael gave Draven a look that he hadn’t seen in centuries, but recognized in an instant.  He returned with a knowing smile, and both vanished.  The two hunters on patrol died quickly, falling to the fang and filling Draven and Michael with their hot, flowing blood.  As if on cue, they both appeared at the entrance to the mausoleum at the same time.  This time, however, the startled hunter managed to swipe his blade across Michael’s bare chest.  Michael caught the man’s arm and twisted it until it snapped.  He then bared his fangs and bit deep into the man’s neck.  He swallowed the pain of the broken arm, the anger and resentment, the white-hot hate, but no memories, not from a hunter.  Michael felt Draven puncture the opposite side and together, like that night in Rome, they finished off the hunter.







         Lana was barely aware of what was happening to her.  She fought through mental depths of black fog to gather together what little reserves remained to her.  Her eyes opened to gray stones, heavily shadowed by the flickering light of torches.  Glittering plaques lined the walls, marking the resting places of great hunters.  The failures, she knew, were buried in the farthest chambers, far away from sight and memory.  She could see her grandmother reciting an incantation, but could not make out the words.  Anne drew a knife, and Lana tried to push herself up off the stone table.  Anne made an abrupt gesture and two hands appeared and pushed Lana back down.  She looked up to see Nicole bending over her.  Nicole would not meet her gaze, but instead stared off into the darkness.  Anne said something to Nicole, who answered with a wide-eyed look.  Lana was still fighting the thirst and pain that misted her mind and could not make out what they were saying.  She could tell that there was an argument.  Anne jerked the knife in the direction of the stairs leading up and out of the mausoleum and Nicole practically sprinted up them.  Now it was only Lana and Anne in the shadowy stone room.  Anne walked toward Lana, twisting, not her own delicately carved knife, but Lana’s knife in her hand.  It caught the light and flashed menacingly at Lana.  She knew how many vampires had fallen under that blade.  She would just be another notch in the hilt.  But she had become more than the weak ones who had died under that knife.  She was an initiated hunter, killer of thirty-five vampires, granddaughter of a council member, killed by Saint Michael, resurrected by Draven, and though her past fought against her present, she was a vampire.  And Fate be damned, if she was going to die under her own blade, she was going to fight.  Anne leaned down to whisper in Lana’s ear.  “I’m sorry.”

         “Not nearly sorry enough,” Lana answered, and using the last of her strength, her hand shot out and pulled Anne’s neck to her fangs.  She bit deep and her body convulsed at the blood that exploded into her mouth.  She felt Anne struggling in her embrace, but her limbs were locked in place.  Lana grimaced as she felt the blade puncture her side, but nothing was going to stop the torrent of blood that flowed down her parched throat.  She felt the blood filling and revitalizing her body.  Only when Anne’s body went limp did Lana let her body slid to the floor.  Lana swung herself up and sat on the edge of the table for a moment.  She followed the blood as it coursed through her limbs, lending her renewed energy.  She pulled the knife from her side and let it fall to the floor next to Anne’s crumpled body.  Lifting herself off the table, she stood and began to leave.  Next to Anne lay her knife, which must have fallen from its sheath during the struggle.  Its delicate carvings danced in the torchlight.  Lana picked it up and slipped it into her own sheath.

         “You betrayed me,” she whispered to the corpse, and walked away without a backward glance.







         Michael and Draven began their descent into the crypt.  They hadn’t gotten very far when another hunter came flying up the stairs at them.  Draven had his fangs in her neck before he even realized who it was.  Michael caught a glimpse of her face and quickly pulled Draven off Nicole.  Draven gave Michael a dark look, but Michael gestured to the figure sprawled on the steps and Draven recognized Nicole.

         Well, Draven whispered in Michael’s mind, it’ll keep her out of trouble for a while.

         This leaves only Anne, Michael pointed out.

         She could be a real problem, Draven answered.

         They continued down the stairs without incident, but at the bottom of the stairs, they ran right into Lana.  She whipped out her knife and they tensed to attack.  Realizing who it was, Lana slipped the knife back into its sheath.

         “Let’s talk elsewhere,” she said disappearing.  Draven followed her back to the apartment, but Michael paused long enough to see the dead hunter’s body and Lana’s knife lying on the stone floor.

         When Michael arrived, Lana was sitting on the couch, while Draven was examining the wound on her side.  He watched as a few crimson drops fell onto the white fabric.  Draven brushed a hand along her ribs to catch the remaining blood, which he licked off his fingers absentmindedly.  She’s upset with us, he stated.

         “You’re bleeding,” Lana said, standing and brushing the blood off Michael’s chest.  He smiled as he pulled away and went to sit on the couch next to Draven, leaving Lana standing there.

         “Now what?” he asked, dropping onto the cushions.  Lana took a deep breath and sat between the two.

         “Well, the Assembly will be hunting us with a passion now.”

         “Define us,” Draven said with a laugh.  “You were the one who killed the council member.”

         Lana shot Draven a dark look.  “That was my grandmother.”

         “How long until they give up?” Michael asked, trying to divert her attention.

         “Who knows?” Lana said with a sigh.  “Hunters have long memories and something like this will be passed on through generations.  Maybe Saint Michael can work a miracle and make it so this never happened.”

         Draven stifled a laugh.

         “We should separate,” Michael said, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the couch.  He looked exceedingly old to Lana, as if all the years had suddenly caught up with him.  She glanced over at Draven.  For once the mischievous half-smile was gone from his face.  He looked tired and worn out as well.

         “It will only be for a while.  What are a few decades to vampires who live for thousands of years?”







         Nicole led the group of hunters up the stairs and to the apartment.  It was easy to find Michael’s den.  They paused for a moment before breaking down the door and rushing in.  The room was empty.  Everything was white—the furniture, walls, and carpeting.  Everything but the few blood spots on the couch.  Nicole ran her fingers over the stains as the rest of the hunters investigated the rest of the apartment.  Her fingers strayed the unhealed wounds on her neck.

         “There’s no one here,” some one behind her reported.

         Nicole scanned the room.  She noticed a note on the table next to the couch.  It was addressed to her.  She snatched it up and ripped the envelope open.

         Nicole,

         I knew you would be the one to come.  As I’m sure you have noticed, no one is here.  Michael told me what happened.  I’m sorry I have shattered any black and white concept of reality you might have had.  Maybe we will meet again in the future, but I do not see that ending well.  Thank you for your friendship, but if we meet again, one of us will die as I’m sure you know.

         —Lana

         Nicole folded the note and slipped it into her pocket.

         “They have eluded capture for hundreds of years.  We aren’t going to find them here,” she said walking out the door without a backward glance.







         A hand on his shoulder woke Michael from his reverie, and he turned to see a tan man with dark hair and a cocky half-smile.

         “If it isn’t Saint Michael,” Draven said, his smile widening.

         “And the right hand of Samael,” Michael said returning the smile.

         The two stood in the darkness staring at the brick building and they waited.

         “Is she here yet?” Draven asked, scanning the street.

         “No,” Michael said with a laugh.  “Patience never was your strong suit.”

         “No,” Draven said with a wry grin.

         “I hope nothing has happened,” Michael said staring out into the night.

         “She can take care of herself.”

         “Always the hopeful one,” Michael said with a half-smile.

         As they were talking a figure in a long dark coat appeared on the sidewalk across the street.  It stood staring at the school for a moment before turning and crossing the street.

         “You two idiots don’t know enough to get out of the open, do you?” Lana said, her laughter ringing in the clear night air.  “Come on,” Lana said.  “I know this great café where we can talk.”  And the three disappeared into the night.