Cory shook Lathe, and he jerked in the air like a rag doll. “You've been a constant source of annoyance,” Cory said, face completely blank. “Did you think I would let you harm him?"
"Cory—” Luke began, but it was too late. Blue flames, as cold as ice, ran up Cory's arm, and while they should have burned him, they didn't. Cory wasn't completely a vampire anymore, Luke supposed. Lathe, unfortunately, still was, and when the flames touched his face, curling around his ears and throughout his hair, he began to melt.
Vampires are hard to kill, but not impossible. Luke jerked back, his revulsion at watching Lathe come apart instinctive. Cory continued to hold him, even as the fingers of flame slid up inside Lathe's nostrils, into his ears, and down his throat when he opened his mouth to scream. Once the flames became internal, Lathe burned away from the inside. Eventually Cory opened his hand, and that which remained of Lathe, the waxy remnants that turned to dust the moment they hit the floor, left a sooty black stain where they fell. Cory wiped his hand off on his shirt in disgust.
"You have no part in this. You may go,” Cory told Marcus's pet. The pet's eyes showed white all around, like a frightened horse, and Luke felt Cory casually break the lines that held him to Marcus. With their breaking, the pet bolted. Luke hesitated, watching Cory watch him go, and there was compassion in Cory's face. Maybe there was more of Cory remaining than he thought.
"That was my property,” Marcus snarled. His fangs were out. A whole lot of good that would do him, but he stood ready to fight as though Cory were just another vampire. Cory turned to him once the outside door had slammed shut, and he snapped his fingers. Another cold flame appeared just over his fingers, and he pointed casually at Marcus's feet.
The flame leapt across the distance, making Marcus jump back, and Cory smiled, obviously enjoying this new game. He snapped his fingers again, but this time Luke stood between him and Marcus.
"Stop it,” he said.
"Stop what?” Cory asked. The dead in the room leaned toward Cory like a starving man to a piece of roasted meat. The thing inside Cory had grown fat and powerful off their spirits, if that was the right word for it, and the vortex itself had trapped them to this location. The closer the dead were to him, the firmer they looked, and they reached out to grab him with hands that shook.
"Give me back Cory, and I'll let you live,” Luke said.
Cory laughed. “How about I keep Cory, and I'll let you serve me. If this is a negotiation, you have to understand what your bargaining position is."
The dead around Cory looked at Luke, begging in their silent fashion to be allowed to take back what had been stolen from them. “It's not me you have to bargain with,” Luke said.
"Luke, do not challenge me,” Cory said, his voice flat. Luke took a step closer, so that they were chest to chest, and kissed him first on the lips, then on the cheek, then on the forehead.
"I'm sorry if this hurts,” Luke said.
"What are you doing?” Cory demanded. “Stop this nonsense, right this instant."
"Okay,” Luke said. He looked away. It was the dead man wearing the World War II uniform he saw first. They were hungry as well, as hungry as the vortex was, but inherently timid. They leaned towards Cory, desperately, and looked at Luke with dead, pleading eyes.
Luke shook his head. There was nothing he could give them. Nothing except ... permission. He opened his mouth, the words failing him, but then found his voice. “Take back what's yours,” he said.
The soldier nodded. He was the first one to reach inside Cory and pull out something blue and purple. He held it in his fist, going solid for just a second, and then vanished with a flash of light.
Cory reeled back, but Luke held him. A native man was next, taking a larger piece, then the homeless man Lathe had fed on. One by one, the dead took back what was taken from them, and if Cory could have pushed him aside before, he had lost the ability. He clung to Luke now, and Luke supported them both. Luke became afraid that there would be too much taken, that they would start taking pieces of the real Cory with them, but when the last of the dead left them, the vortex was still inside Cory.
But it was weakened. Cory blinked and then grabbed Luke by the shoulders. For a moment they both stood there. When Luke looked into Cory's eyes, he saw only Cory. They kissed, lips soft. Luke held still for just a second, questioning more than anything, but it was Cory. It smelled like him, tasted like him, even felt like him. It was Cory. It was all Luke could do to stop himself from pushing Cory down.
"It's still in him,” Marcus snarled. From his cane he pulled a blade.
Cory wasn't facing him, and Luke couldn't stop him in time. He tried to push Cory to the side, at least get him out the way, but he knew even as he started to push that it wouldn't be fast enough. The blade was coming down, and it would have separated Cory's head from his body faster than slicing through a piece of paper.
Cory stopped; his back went rigid. He turned, even with the blade still slicing, and though it should have been faster than Luke's eye could follow, Cory raised his hand and froze Marcus.
He cocked his head, something Luke had seen the vortex do, and it chilled him. “This one belongs to you,” he said, and it wasn't Cory's voice, not entirely. But when he looked at Luke, his eyes were the same green Luke had always known. “Should I spare him?"
Marcus's eyes widened. It was the only
