“The next night, as a first step to vengeance, she turned her beguilements upon Maximus. Five years later, she convinced that vampire to turn her. Soon after, Willim turned me.”
The silence returned. Sleet became snow, big globs of slushhitting the windshield as the auto-drive vehicle took them home. EJ downed his cooling coffee. Ate the rest of the donut. Angie nibbled, her eyes on Walter. Waiting. A patientknowingin her eyes.
“Ten years after that,” Walter eventually continued, “the day she came out of the devoveo, she turned the tables on Maximus. This I know only by records and by Nyoka’s retelling, for I remained in the devoveo for another year.”
EJ hadn’t heard the term in years, but remembered that the devoveo was the decade or so that vamps had spent in insanity after being turned. Things were different now. The insanity lasted far less time, and fangheads’ power was also far less. Only the old ones, turned long before theChange, when they got back their souls, still had true vampire gifts.
“Nyoka killed her vampire sire,” Walter said, “her own father who had abused her so. She destroyed his entire family. Killed every white person on the plantation. She sent the slaves into the mountains to hide.
“Word went out about a slave uprising. When the authorities came, they found the plantation and the houses deserted except for the bodies, none of which had a mark on them. That night, she killed the authorities in the same way, all but one. Him, she sent back to tell all who would listen that a devil had taken over the plantation.
“A military regiment came next. She killed all but one. Him she sent back, again with the message that a devil had killed everyone.” Walter’s words fell away, as if they dropped from a long cliff. As if he had never spoken them before. With a slight smile, he said, “Many whites left the island for a time, for safety.
“I had presumed that, since they had no marks on them, that Nyoka had drained them dry and healed the bites, but now thatI have seen the working she threw at us, my assumptions may have been incorrect. Heart attacks. Brain aneurysms. Strokes.”
His smile disappeared. He shrugged faintly, but it wasn’t diffident. There was grief in that slight movement.
“The plantation Nyoka had emptied eventually sold to new owners. Willim and his business partner bought it. Most of the slaves were caught and brought back, including Nyoka. Willim laid eyes upon her, and he desired her. She let him take her, so she could use him for her own ends.”
Walter looked down at his hands, his face unexpectedly full of emotion that EJ couldn’t name at first. And then he knew it. Bittersweet love, soul-deep hatred, vengeance, reprisal, and desolation all intertwined. Love for Nyoka. Fear for her. Fearofher. Hatred for Willim.
“Under her influence,” Walter said, “Willim tired of Jamaica. He sold everything to his partner and took six human slaves and us with him to Wales.
“On the voyage, Nyoka made Willim totally hers, her prisoner, her servant. Though he had been a drinker of blood for many years, her mesmerism was greater than his.” The vengeance that had been contained in the intense expression took over Walter’s face.
Again EJ’s mind and body automatically tightened as if for battle, but Walter didn’t attack. Didn’t move except to breathe.
“When we anchored off the quay, we took the small rowboat to shore under the dark of night. Nyoka dove into the black water and vanished into the darkness. Willim went insane with grief.” Walter smiled. “As you children might say, she got away clean.
“Years later, when the Brits outlawed slavery, she came back.”
His smile changed again. This time it showed loneliness,pain, joy, shame—emotions so complex EJ couldn’t parse them at all.
“She found me, chained in Willim’s dungeon in his country house. She helped me to freedom. Fed me of her own blood.
“Finally I was…free. We hunted together through Europe for decades, until she fell in love with two others and left me. I joined another band, wilder, angry, full of hate. With them I hunted and drank and cavorted and laughed and grieved, mourning my lost life. Mourning Nyoka.”
His eyes dropped to his hands. “Nyoka’s magic is a beauteous and hideous thing. It is wildfire and star-flung skies; it is frozen lakes glittering with flickering torches. It destroys those who love her. And now a demon rides her body.” His face was so anguished it looked as if he would walk into the sun to get beyond the pain.
Softly, EJ said, “A succubus. A powerful one. I heard its music.”
Angie swept her eyes to his. “I didn’t see that in her.”
EJ shrugged. Took another donut. Bit in.
The vehicle’s speakers ticked with an incoming call. Angie said, “It’s Alex,” and pressed a button. “Alex,” she said.
“We’re all together,” EJ said. Though the queen’s security people likely knew exactly where they were.
“Well aware, Lil Dude,” Alex said, confirming his guess. “Well aware. I got news.”
“Go ahead,” EJ said. “We’re on speaker.”
Alex said, “I tracked down some little-known fanghead lineages. Including Marrazzo’s.”
“I assumed you did that when I started dating Asshat,” Angie said.
“I did, but a deep dive into his history wasn’t necessary because, according to all existing records, Asshat’s maker, Terenzio Marrazzo, died in the Witch War.”
