Part 3 (1/2)
I say apologetically, ”They may not be much, but they are the only friends I have.”
The celestial being in the sharp black suit smiles quickly at me. ”I try hard,” he says, ”to love every human soul.”
He folds his hands in his lap. ”May I continue? Please, Christopher, don't try to run away from this. I told you that I'm here to help you. Do you understand? Help.”
”How can you help me?”
”You, Christopher, are on the cusp. You may move through both human and vampiric society with impunity. To humans, you are a human; to vampires, a vampire. In a few months, that will not be the case.”
”Why?” I ask. ”What will the case be?”
”Since you ask about the case, I'll tell you. You'll be too savage and crazy to fit in among the human population. To the vampires, if you haven't killed, you'll still be too human to run with them. Human, meaning reluctant to stalk people and suck their blood.”
The sky is graying. The lake looks like granite. ”I'm not going to stalk any people,” I protest, almost tripping over the words. ”I'm not that kind of person.”
The celestial being looks at me with eyes invisible behind his dark designer gla.s.ses. He tells me, ”You know what I am talking about. You know you are becoming a vampire. The vampiress recognized it in you. Vampires can see other vampires. And you don't reflect when the blood-l.u.s.t is upon you. You saw it in the lake.”
”I don't know -”
”Water doesn't lie.” He still stares at me. ”Your thirst is only beginning now. When you get angry, you become vampiric. And vice versa. When you get thirsty, you get angry without reason. Increasingly. You feel p.r.o.ne to violence. You feel p.r.o.ne to drink blood. In four months, your blood-thirst will have overwhelmed you. You won't be able to control yourself for long.”
”I don't have to listen to this,” I say. ”This is all the completest bulls.h.i.+t. I bet you're not a celestial being at all.”
”I am too a celestial being. Christopher, I can help you. If you help the Forces of Light and act as a secret spy in the ranks of the d.a.m.ned, then we guarantee that we will cure you one hundred percent of the fatal scourge of vampirism.”
He waits. ”And if you don't,” he adds with quiet simplicity, ”in five months you'll be dead. This is not a threat; it is the truth. Either you will not have killed, in which case you'll die of starvation, or you will have killed and been caught and lynched. Holy water to sear and blind you. A stake in your chest to finish you off.”
”What if I'm not turning into a vampire?”
”You are turning into a vampire. Don't doubt it.”
We remain there for a moment. I am standing, with mud drying on my shoe. He is sitting, with the gra.s.s blowing around him. I feel like I cannot hear my own thoughts. Inside my head it is silent. The sky is getting darker.
”You have heard of Tch'muchgar?” he asks me suddenly.
”The Vampire Lord?”
”Yes. That's the very one.”
”It's not a common name,” I say, shrugging.
”No,” he agrees. ”I can tell it is going to be a pleasure to work with you. Now consider Tch'muchgar: blasted from this world in man's prehistory by the Forces of Light, snared in the most potent of enchantments for his grotesque misdeeds, and imprisoned in a foreign world that happens to have one of its points of entrance underneath this fine munic.i.p.al reservoir. This is all true as you've heard it. Also very real are the spells that yearly must be cast here and in the White Hen Pantry off Route 62.
”This summer, Tch'muchgar will try to escape. He is locked in a parallel world - unable to move even a fraction, unable to see, seething with hatred. You see, we in the Forces of Light do not kill. It is a rule of ours: No death by our hands. Sometimes the greater punishment is to let something live.
”Though Tch'muchgar technically has no power in this world, he has managed to stain certain impressions on the minds of his vampiric servants. Vampires are loners, but he's convinced them to work together. The plan is that this summer, during your Sad Festival of Vampires, they will interrupt the spells of binding that your townspeople cast yearly to hold Tch'muchgar; they will interrupt the spells just when those bonds are being reforged and are at their most delicate. Then the Vampire Lord will return, burst back into the world, and chaos will ensue.”
”What do you mean?”
”I think I've been very clear so far, Christopher. Tch'muchgar the Vampire Lord will return and probably conquer most if not all of North America. Then he will most likely start to use mankind as cattle. Keep a few around as studs to corral and breed. Cripple their children. Lock each one in its dark little cubbyhole for easy storage until it starts to mature. Keep the race fed on a protein-rich diet. Then kill them, one by one, and drink their blood.”
I shuffle from one leg to the other.
”Okay,” I say. ”And me?”
”And you what?”
”What do you want me to do?”
The celestial being draws his fingers ticklingly along the bottom side of his jaw. Then he drops his hand to his lap again and nods. ”As I've said, you are useful to us in the Forces of Light. You can walk among vampires without being suspected. Yet you are so young and your spirit still so transparent that you would be hard to trace with spells and wizardry if something should go wrong.
”We need you to enter the dwelling place of vampires. We need you to take within an object that I will find for you at great cost and deliver to you. You will take this object, enter the vampires' enclave, and find the small gate they have opened to Tch'muchgar's prison world. You will take the object through the gate, activate the object, and leave it there. Once activated, it cannot be moved or touched by anyone who is wicked or evil. It was very well designed at much expense.”
”What is it?”
”It is called the Arm of Moriator.”
”So you would like me to travel to another world, carrying a body part?” I say.
”No. You've misunderstood me. Arm as in arms race. It's an archaic usage. The Arm is in fact a magic disk a few inches wide. I think it's blue.”
”What will it do?”
”I will explain precisely when the time comes, which will be in a few weeks. Let us say for the time being that the Arm of Moriator will stop Tch'muchgar from escaping when the vampires interrupt your townspeople's spells of binding. If he tries to escape from his prison world, he will pa.s.s out of that world but will not enter into another. He will thus cease to exist.”
The celestial being winds his fingers together with a sense of finality. ”Christopher, I am giving you the chance to save your world. I don't understand why you're standing looking confused and frightened. I am also giving you the chance to prove that you are, deep down, a human and not a vampire. If you can prove that to us, we will lift this curse. Your fate is tied up with this quest, Christopher. You can be a hero and a human. Or you can be a vampire. And degenerate. And be hounded down by a mob after you've chewed through the throat of some pretty girl in an alley.”
I think about that, looking out across the reservoir. Tom and Jerk are sitting much farther down the bank, throwing stones into the water. Tom points across to one of the islands. I look there and see a large bird flapping among the trees. I say, ”But I'm just - look, I'm -”
”Christopher, Christopher, your life depends on this. The lives of everyone you know, too. Remember, in four months you'll be ready for blood, unless you help. Remember the stake. Think about the squealing of your own vampiric little heart.” He smiles. ”I'll be in touch.”
”What if I . . . ? Isn't there some other way?”
”There isn't. You won't be in danger. You're on the cusp, remember? So you'll slip in and slip out. Undetectable. I'm sorry I have to ask you to do this. It really won't be as difficult as it sounds. An adventure. Just give me a few weeks to retrieve the Arm of Moriator and then we'll talk. Three weeks is a long time when you're becoming a vampire.”
My head is spinning. ”I don't know,” I say weakly. ”I'll think about it.”
”Christopher, this is the only way. Say yes.”
For a minute I stand there looking at him frowning with his lips pressed together. A little girl is riding a bicycle with training wheels on the ridge above us. Her father chases her and calls, ”Go, Stacey! Go!” He runs against the thickening clouds.
”Okay,” I say. ”If it's got to be.”
”It has got to be. Is that a yes?”
”That's a yes. I'll help.”