LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

can’t,” said one of the vampires near the back of the room. The crowd parted, and he stepped forward, a heavy-set man in his forties, wearing a thick woollen jumper and a pair of dusty black jeans. “You can’t undo what you’ve done. But you can leave, and never come back. That’s what I want you to do.”

      Several of the vampires around the man shouted in protest, but he didn’t even acknowledge them. He stared levelly at Grey, his face as rigid as stone.

      “That’s what I want too,” said another, and the crowd hissed and gasped anew. The second voice belonged to a middle-aged woman wearing a long smock covered in garish splatters of paint.

      Grey looked at the two vampires who had spoken, and then helplessly at Lawrence, who stared back at him without an ounce of pity.

      “Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Do you want me to leave?”

      Lawrence looked at his old friend. “Yes,” he said. “It’s what I want. It’s all you deserve.”

      Grey put a hand over his eyes. For a long moment, it seemed as though no one in the room was breathing; the silence and stillness were absolute. Then Grey lowered his hand, and looked around at the men and women gathered in his study.

      “All right,” he said. “I’ll go.”

      There were shouts of protest, but he raised a hand and silenced them.

      “I let you all down,” he continued. “Worse than that, I let you believe better of me than I deserved. I’ll go, and I won’t come home until I find a way to atone for the things I did.”

      He smiled, the wide, genuine smile of a man who has been keeping a secret for too long, and is relieved beyond measure to have finally let it out.

      “If you would all excuse me,” he said. “There are some things I need to say to our visitors. I’ll come and say my goodbyes before I leave.”

      Slowly, reluctantly, the vampires of Valhalla began to file out of the room. Lawrence was the last to go, casting a final look at Grey as he closed the door of the study behind him. The expression on his face was one of profound disappointment.

      Grey watched them go, then turned his attention to the Blacklight team standing silently in front of him. Larissa was looking at him with open hatred, a look that Jamie was loyally replicating. Frankenstein and Morris were expressionless, staring at Grey as though they didn’t quite understand what had just played out in front of them.

      “Before the Russian Revolution of 1917,” Grey said. “Men who were convicted of treason against the Tsar were offered the choice of death or exile. The majority chose death. It seemed only fair that I allowed my friends to make the decision for me.”

      He walked back around his desk, and flopped into his chair.

      “I understand why you came to see me,” he said, looking at Larissa. “But did the rest of you have something you wanted to ask me? Lawrence though that you might.”

      Jamie stepped forward. “There is something,” he said. “We’re looking for Alexandru Rusmanov. We were told you might know where he is.”

      Grey looked at Jamie, then burst out laughing.

      “My dear boy,” he said, gently. “Did you look around as you made your way up here? We live where we live for a reason; because it is hundreds of miles from the nearest vampire. We have no desire to associate with any of them, especially not someone as violent and unpredictable as Alexandru. I’m afraid you were misinformed.”

      Jamie looked at Larissa, who refused to meet his eyes.

      “I must confess, I thought you were here about Dracula,” said Grey.

      Frankenstein flinched. “Why would we want to ask you about a vampire who’s been dead for four hundred years?” he asked.

      Grey looked at him with surprise on his face. “Because you know as well as I do that Dracula was not destroyed,” he said. “His throat was cut, his heart was pierced, and he bled out, but his remains could easily be revived. I thought you were going to ask me how to destroy him permanently.”

      Jamie’s head was spinning with questions. Thankfully, Morris asked the two most important ones first.

      “Why would we need to know that?” he said. “And why would we think you would have the answer?”

      “Even all the way up here, we hear rumours,” said Grey. “From the vampires who return here from the outside world, from the wolves making their way north. Even Blacklight must be aware that Valeri has spent the last century trying to revive his master; it is my understanding that he is close to accomplishing his goal.”

      Fear shot through Jamie, and he looked at Frankenstein. “That can’t be true,” he said. “Can it? They can’t bring Dracula back, tell me they can’t.”

      The monster looked at Jamie.

      “It’s theoretically possible,” he said, slowly. “With his remains, and enough blood, it could be done. But you don’t need to worry. The remains are lost forever. At least three expeditions in the last century have dug over every inch of the mountain where Castle Dracula stood, and haven’t found a thing. He’s gone.”

      “If you say so,” said Grey, looking at Jamie as he spoke.

      He’s not lying. Neither of them are. But one of them is wrong. God, I hope it’s not Frankenstein. Please let it be Grey.

      “In which case,” Grey continued. “My information is useless to you. If you’re sure there’s no chance of his return.”

      “Stop prevaricating,” growled Frankenstein. “If you are going to tell us what you know, then tell us. If not, then we’ll bid you farewell. It’s up to you. But I am not in the mood for games.”

      Grey nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone conversational. “I’ll tell you. In 1971 I spent some time in New York, for reasons that are personal. Over the course of several months, I became friendly with Valentin Rusmanov, the youngest of the three brothers. He was a punk at the time; his clothes were ripped, and he had orange hair and a safety pin through his nose. He could not have looked, or acted, less like vampire royalty if he had tried. We frequented some of the same clubs on the Lower East Side, and I attended some of the parties he threw. He was a notoriously generous host; vampires from the length and breadth of the east coast would come to his building on Central Park West, to take speed and cocaine, and drink from the seemingly endless supply of teenage runaways Valentin was able to supply.”

      Grey’s eyes glazed over at the memory, and a shudder of revulsion ran through Jamie.

      “There was a particular party, for which I don’t remember the occasion, that became legendary. By the time dawn broke, the inside of Valentin’s house looked like an abattoir. There must have been two hundred vampires there, and God only knows how many boys and girls who never saw the sunlight again. Valentin and I ended up on the roof, watching the light creep across Central Park, waiting until the last possible second to go inside and rest. While we waited he told me about his family.”

      The old vampire looked around his study, and smiled, almost shyly.

      “I was a little bit in awe of him, I must confess. He was beautiful beyond comparison, and he was turned by Dracula himself. In the circles I moved in, he and his brothers were like gods. And they knew it, too. So when he started to tell me how Valeri was just a loyal soldier who had no idea how to think for himself, how Alexandru was little more than an immortal psychopath, but was the only creature Valentin had ever been afraid of, I felt like I was being given the key to the inner circle. So I asked him about Dracula, and he told me that the stories failed to do him justice; that he was a greater man than history had ever recorded, and a more terrible monster than any legend had ever conveyed. And then he told me that he hoped he never came back, because he liked the world the way it was, and he had no wish to watch Dracula burn it down.”

      Everyone

Скачать книгу