"You're awake. I heard you swallow,” Lathe growled.
Luke sat up, touching his forehead. His fingers came away covered in drying blood. “I'm awake,” he agreed.
"How could you fuck that up? Walk up to him, let him suck you off, and stick him. What part of that did you mess up on?"
"He knew the needle was there. He knew you had the chain, and he knew the drug would have no effect on him.” Luke touched his forehead again. He had a lump. It was healing, but he would need to feed before it healed entirely.
"You didn't know that for sure."
"I did, actually. I only went along with your stupid plan so that I could talk to him without being taken completely over."
"And you couldn't have told me?"
"If I'd fully formed the thought to put it into words, I'm sure he would have been able to read that part as well. However strong you think it is, believe me, Lathe, you've underestimated it. It's stronger than that."
"Impossible."
"The only reason why you're not groveling on your knees right now is because he doesn't particularly want you there. If you think you can contain this thing, you're fooling yourself."
"You're just saying that because you want all that power to yourself."
"What?” Luke demanded. “Are you hearing me, or am I just wasting my breath, such as it is? He will destroy anything in his way, and he's already calling more vampires to serve him."
"And what do you suggest we do otherwise?"
"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just stating the situation."
"And what are you, personally, going to do about it?"
Luke exhaled and touched the lump again. “I'm going to get Cory back."
"And failing that?” Lathe asked.
"I don't know,” Luke said. But he did know. It would only sting to bow down once.
It was dark out. Luke went upstairs to the second floor. He wasn't alone. The woman had stopped crying, but she was still there. The man in the attic, the murderer, the patient on the stair—and there were more people in the house. He saw indigents, not only the man Lathe had killed in the basement but dozens more from the winding paths.
One of the dead wore a World War II uniform. Several were dripping wet, filling the room with the smell of river water and decayed leaves. Women, children, some so old and so faint they wore buckskins. The room wasn't quite twenty feet by thirty, but the dead were layered. They all needed the vortex back.
"I'm sorry,” he told them. He went outside, under the cold stars. There were more dead under the ground. The vortex had chosen this land centuries and centuries ago, and it had cost dozens and dozens of lives. Human lives, which were frail enough to begin with. And now that thing was in Cory, and if Cory remembered any bit of it...
Luke pressed his hands against his face.
The first vampire walked down the old bridge in the middle of the road. The road was cold, coated with the ice fog that had crept up from the river, and a traffic light's reflection turned green, yellow, red, and then green again. The vampire walked right past Luke and knelt down in the grass in front of the house. He was older than Luke; that much Luke did get from him. But he was empty inside. There was no evidence of ability, nothing like what Luke could do, or what Cory could do. When Luke closed his eyes, he felt Cory like a burning torch, and this vampire in front of him was a bare spark. There were others, coming closer, and Luke didn't know why he didn't like that at all.
He called up one of his old feeders, Jose, and paid for the cab to wait outside. They didn't speak. Luke didn't feel like it, but fresh blood was so much better than any blood pack. When it was over, and Luke wiped up the young man's semen, he got dressed a bit slower than usual.
"You never call anymore. Did you find someone else?"
"I fed from my partner,” Luke said. “He liked hunting."
"Don't lose my number again, please. I like you."
Luke kissed his cheek and gave him money for the fare back. “I won't. I like you, too."
Jose closed the door behind him. Luke locked the door and lay down on the couch. He felt the blood work into his system, better than any alcohol, and while he didn't sleep, he sank down into the gray inside him.
The knock on the door was more of a rap, like how a cane would sound against glass. Luke pulled himself up from his sleep and stumbled to the door. Still half asleep from the sluggish blood in his system, he pulled open the wooden door.
And stopped. The desire to touch his throat—or better yet, to kneel—was instantaneous and all but uncontrollable. His master, Marcus, stood on the porch, the black car behind him gleaming in the moonlight. Marcus was the night. His dark eyes met Luke's with disdain he was trying hard not to show. He brought a lit cigarette up to his lips, the horrible smell of smoke curling around his mouth. He wasn't alone; a young pet stood behind him. It wasn't the same one Marcus had left him for. This one seemed even greener—and frightened.
"Master,” Luke said, the word cutting his throat. “What are you—"
"Are you going to invite me in?” Marcus demanded.
No, Luke wanted to say. Bugger off would have worked as well, but he stepped back. “Please,” he said.
"Please what, Luke? That's not specific enough."
Luke closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to tell him to go away, but all he wanted to do was invite his master in. Luke remained motionless by the door, unable to speak.
Marcus stubbed out his cigarette, smile wide on his face. “Luke. I asked you a question."
"Now isn't a good time, Master,” he said finally.
Marcus reacted as though Luke had slapped
