The Night Eternal

They would know no love and could breed only by taking life. Never giving it. And, should the pestilence of their blood ever spread without control, their demise would come from the famine of their kind.

Columbia University

MR. QUINLAN SAW the different glyphs and the coordinates that signaled the location of the internments.

All the sites of origin.

Hastily, he wrote them down. They corresponded perfectly to the sites the Born had visited, gathering the dusty remains of the Ancients. Most of them had a nuclear plant built above them and had been sabotaged by the Stoneheart Group. The Master had of course prepared this coup very carefully.

But the seventh site, the most important of them all, appeared as a dark spot on the page. A negative form in the northeastern Atlantic Ocean. With it, two words in Latin: Oscura. Aeterna.

Another, odd shape was visible in the watermark.

A falling star.

The Master had sent helicopters. They had seen them from the windows of their cars on the slow drive south, back to Manhattan. They crossed the Harlem River from Marble Hill, staying off the parkways, abandoning their vehicles near Grant’s Tomb and then making their way through the steady night rain like regular citizens, slipping onto the abandoned campus of Columbia University.

While the others went below to regroup, Gus crossed Low Plaza to Buell Hall and rode the service dumbwaiter to the roof. He had his coop up there, for the messenger pigeons.

His “Jersey Express” was back, squatting underneath the perch gutter Gus had fashioned.

“You’re a good boy, Harry,” said Gus as he unfurled the message, scrawled in red pen on a strip of notebook paper. Gus immediately recognized Creem’s all-capitals handwriting, as well as his former rival’s habit of crossing out his O’s like null signs.

HEY MEX.

BAD HERE—ALWAYS HUNGRY. MIGHT CooK

BIRD WHEN IT FLY BACK.

GoT YR MESSAGE ABoUT DEToNAToR. GoT IDEA

4 U. GIMME YR LoCATIoN AND PUT oUT SoME

DAMN FooD. CREEM CoMIN 2 ToWN. SET MEET.

Gus ate the note and found the carpenter’s pencil he stowed with the corn feed and shreds of paper. He wrote back to Creem, okaying the meet, giving him a surface address on the edge of campus. He didn’t like Creem, and he didn’t trust him, but the fat Colombian was running the black market in Jersey, and maybe, just maybe, he could come through for them.

Nora was exhausted but could not rest. She cried for long bouts. Shuddering, howling, her abs hurting from the intense sobbing.

And when silence finally came she kept running her palm over her bare head, her scalp tingling. In a way, she thought, her old life, her old self—the one that had been born that night in the kitchen, the one birthed out of tears—was now gone. Born to tears, died by tears.

She felt jittery, empty, alone… and yet somehow renewed. The nightmare of their current existence, of course, paled in comparison to imprisonment in the camp.

Fet sat at her side constantly, listened attentively. Joaquin sat near the door, leaning against the wall, resting a sore knee. Eph leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed, watching her try to make sense of what she had seen.

Nora thought that Eph had to suspect her feelings for Fet by now; this was clear from his posture and his location across the room from them. No one had spoken of it yet, but the truth hung over the room like a storm cloud.

All this energy and these overlapping emotions kept her talking fast. Nora was still most hung up on the pregnant campers in the birthing zone. Even more so than on her mother’s death.

“They’re mating women in there. Trying to produce B-positive offspring. And rewarding them with food, with comfort. And they… they seem to have adjusted to it. I don’t know why that part of it haunts me so. Maybe I’m too hard on them. Maybe the survival instinct isn’t this purely noble thing we make it out to be. Maybe it’s more complicated than that. Sometimes surviving means compromise. Big compromise. Rebellion is hard enough when you’re fighting for yourself. But once you have another life growing in your belly… or even a young child…” She looked at Eph. “I understand it better now, is what I’m trying to say. I know how torn you are.”

Eph nodded once, accepting her apology.

“That said,” said Nora, “I wish you had met me at the medical examiner’s office when you were supposed to. My mother would still be here today.”

“I was late,” said Eph, “I admit that. I got hung up—”

“At your ex-wife’s house. Don’t deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“But?”

“Just that you being found here wasn’t my fault.”

Nora turned toward him, surprised by the challenge. “How do you figure that?”

“I should have been there. Things would have been different had I been there on time. But I didn’t lead the strigoi to you.”

“No? Who did?”

“You did.”

“I…?” She could not believe what she was hearing.

“Computer use. The Internet. You were using it to message Fet.”

There. It was out. Nora stiffened at first, a wave of guilt, but quickly shook it off. “Is that right?”

Fet rose to defend her. All six feet plus of him. “You shouldn’t talk to her like that.”

Eph did not back up. “Oh, I shouldn’t—? I’ve been in that building for months with almost no problem. They’re monitoring the Net. You know that.”

“So I brought this on myself.” Nora slipped her hand underneath Fet’s. “My punishment was a just punishment—in your eyes.”

Fet shuddered at the touch of her hand. And as her fingers wrapped around his thick digits, he felt as if he could cry. Eph saw the gesture—small under any other circumstances—as an eloquent public expression of the end of his and Nora’s relationship.

“Nonsense,” Eph said. “That’s not what I meant.”

“That is what you are implying.”

“What I am implying—”

“You know what, Eph? It fits your pattern.” Fet squeezed her hand to slow her down, but she blew past that stop sign. “You’re always showing up just after the fact. And by ‘showing up,’ I mean ‘getting it.’ You finally figured out how much you loved Kelly… after the breakup. You realized how important being an involved father was… after you weren’t living with Zack anymore. Okay? And now… I think maybe you’re going to start realizing how much you needed me. ’Cause you don’t have me anymore.” It shocked her to hear herself saying these things out loud, in front of the others—but there it was. “You’re always just a little too late. You’ve spent half your life battling regrets. Making up for the past rather than getting it done in the present. I think the worst thing that ever happened to you was all your early success. The ‘young genius’ tag. You think if you work hard enough, you can fix the precious things you’ve broken—rather than being careful with them in the first place.” She was slowing down now, feeling Fet pulling her back—but her tears were flowing, her voice hoarse and full of pain. “If there’s one thing you should have learned since this terrible thing started, it’s that