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  ALUKAH

  The Seventh Day Series Book Five

  By Leslie Swartz

  Copyright 2019, Leslie Swartz

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020912588

  ISBN: 9798663979627

  Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of a heart.

  William Butler Yeats

  Prologue

  The man spilled thirty silver coins onto the sorcerer’s table and tucked his long hair behind his ears. “Give me something to ease my guilt, shopkeeper. And, if no such thing exists, give me something to end my suffering for I am shamed and pained by wretched remorse.”

  The sorcerer could see the anguish in the man’s eyes and took pity on him. “I have something,” he said, reaching into a basket under the table. “It will not take away what you are feeling, but it will give you time to make amends. Is that what you want? To make things right?”

  “I see no way of righting what I have done. My sin is far too great. But, if there is a way, I will have what you are selling.”

  “Very well.” He held out an ornate bottle no larger than his index finger kept closed with a tiny piece of cork.

  “A potion?” the man asked, taking the bottle and opening it, smelling the contents, and giving the sorcerer a suspicious glance. “Is this sheep’s blood?”

  “I assure you, it is not. Drink it and you will have your redemption.”

  Desperate, the man emptied the bottle into his throat, swallowing fast, hoping to avoid the salty iron taste of the deep red fluid. He placed the bottle on the table and cringed. He nodded to the sorcerer, left the bottle and the silver, and exited the shop, feeling no better than when he’d entered.

  He sat under the tree, its deep pink flowers seeming to mock him with their beauty, demanding he be happy when he could not be. He wailed, letting the tears stream down his face uninterrupted as he sobbed. He labored to breathe as his stomach ached, his guilt and grief overwhelming. “Tell me what to do,” he prayed, looking to the sky. “I will do anything you command. Give me a task and I shall complete it. What must I do to appease you?”

  The clouds parted, opening up to the clear and starry night. The moon revealed itself and in its light, he could see a discarded rope lying on the ground a few feet away. He stood, walked over, and picked it up. “Is this what you demand of me, Lord?” His voice quivered as he worked the rope into a noose. “Shall this be my punishment?” He threw it over the sturdiest branch and tied it in place. “I can not be certain if you wish it, but I would rather feel the agony of death than live with the grievous sin I have committed. Please forgive me, Lord, and if you can not, know that I understand, for in this life and the next, I will never forgive myself.” He climbed up the tree, sending the sparrows fleeing from their nests, placed the rope around his neck, and let go.

  A group of men with torches came storming through the forest, calling for the man to show himself. Hungry for justice, they were stopped in their tracks when they saw the body hanging, limp, its eyes bulged and its tongue protruding.

  “It’s The Betrayer!” one of the men yelled upon closer inspection.

  “Are you sure?” another asked.

  “Yes! I’d recognize him anywhere, even in this state. The coward took his own life.”

  “How will we have justice now?”

  “We will cut him down and bury his body in Akeldama.”

  “But, that’s for foreigners.”

  “He was a stranger to us, was he not? Did we know what he was capable of? Did he share his plans with any of us? No. He did what he did in secret. He hid who he truly was from all of us. Akeldama is what he deserves.”

  The men took the body to the field, dug a hole, and dropped it in. They covered it and left it unmarked, spitting on it before turning to leave.

  “Mmmff.”

  “Did you hear that?” one of the men asked.

  “Hear what?” another responded.

  “Mmmff.”

  “That.”

  “I did.”

  “As did I,” another chimed in. The men turned, realizing that the sound was coming from the grave. They stared, horror covering their faces as their hearts began to race.

  “Was he still alive?” the first man wondered.

  “He couldn’t have been,” the second said. “Could he?”

  The earth seemed to breathe, pulsating under the light of the full moon. The men watched in terror as one hand, then two appeared from underneath the soil.

  “We buried him alive,” one man uttered.

  He clawed his way out, the others too stunned to move. He rose, the dirt falling away from his clothes as he climbed out and stood upright. “What has happened?”

  The men stayed silent.

  “What have you done to me?”

  “You were dead,” one of them told him. “We thought.”

  His mind went dark, his thoughts replaced by instinct alone. The sound of pounding in his ears was so incessant, he could hear nothing else. His eyes went black and his teeth seemed to grow, causing the others to scream and run. He chased them down, one by one, ripping out their throats with his newly formed fangs. The taste on his lips whipped him into a frenzy. He needed more of the salty liquid covering his mouth. His eyes shined in the moonlight as he bent over the dying men, clamped down on one neck after another, and drank. When the last man was dead, the pounding stopped. As he came to his senses, he realized that the noise he’d been hearing must have been their heartbeats. He stood in horror, looking down at the men he used to call friends. “What have I done?” he whispered, wiping the blood from his face. “What am I?”

  He burst into the shop, filthy and covered in other men’s blood. “Charlatan!” he shouted, startling the shopkeeper. “You offer no redemption. You’ve made me a demon!”

  “Not a demon,” the sorcerer corrected. “You are now as I am. Alukah.”

  His face went hot as he bounded toward the table. “You’ve made me a monster! An abomination!”

  “I only gave you the option. Had you remained alive, no change would have befallen you.”

  “Take it away! Return me to my true self.”

  “This is who you are. There is no going back. Don’t you understand? I’ve given you what you wanted.”

  “I did not ask for this.”

  “Time. So long as you stay out of the sun and keep your head and your heart, you will live forever. No matter how long it takes, you will one day find the redemption you seek. In the meantime, you’ll possess strength beyond measure. Women will fall at your feet. Those things may seem fleeting, but they will be a source of happiness for you until you get the--”

  The man gripped the sorcerer’s throat, his rage once again taking over. He pulled out his trachea, the sound of his voice having become too irritating to take. He broke a chair over the shopkeeper’s head, shattering it to pieces. He picked up one of the chair legs, leaped on top of him, and plunged it into the sorcerer’s heart. When he’d gone still, the man got up and began to run.

  He ran all night, faster than he’d ever run before. Faster than anyone should have been able to. He ran until he found himself in a country he didn’t recognize in a tiny village on the other side of the Salt Sea. He felt weak, tired, and hungry. He sought refuge in an inn, but the keeper refused him, not recognizing his speech. Exhausted and overcome with what felt like starvation, he pounced, drinking the innkeeper dry before moving on, going from one room to the next, killing everyone in the building. Yet unsatisfied, he blew through the village, killing man, woman, and child, from house to house, feasting on an abundance of blood and misery. When he was finished, there was no one left. The village was dead.

  He returned to the inn, the threat of sunrise upon him. He hid in the kitchen, the only room with no windows, found a
bag of grain to put under his head, and went to sleep, his guilt rising up in his chest as he drifted off. His slumber was restless, the screams of his victims emblazoned in his subconscious. He had nightmares of their cries, of their faces and he’d continue to have the same horrific dreams every day for the remainder of his life.

  Chapter 1

  Phindi walked the halls of the converted fortress, the vampires in her keep all quiet in their beds as the sun made its fiery rise above the thick, stone castle. Dated to fourteen seventy-seven, she’d chosen the citadel in Alexandria as her command center for its strategic location. Centered between the two realms she now governed, Egypt was the perfect place to bridge her lands and monitor the happenings in both. There were rumors of someone calling himself ‘King’, but nothing substantiated, so she had her best spies out every night hunting for proof. In the meantime, she did her duty as Duchess by mediating disputes, paying the bills of those in her charge, overseeing the renovation of the building she occupied, and filling it with flame lilies. She couldn’t stand most flowers. She found them frivolous and distracting, but she knew to be an effective leader she would have to be more than the Queen’s general. She’d have to be seen not only as a warrior but as an ally, someone that cared about her people’s problems and someone that they could relate to. Decorating her residence was one way of showing a softer side of herself, even if no such side existed, and flame lilies, while beautiful, are highly poisonous which Phindi saw as their one redeeming quality.

  As she headed to her rooms, she heard a crash coming from the main hall followed by what sounded like a hundred men screaming. She looked down over the railing of the loft to the grand room below. The main entrance had been broken through and men poured in by the dozens, all cloaked in forest green and shouting, “For the King!” They wielded sleek, steel spikes, some burning their hands as they unsheathed them, the room now flooded with early morning daylight. They bounded up the stone staircase, determined, like hunters searching out their prey. Phindi took three seconds to get her bearings as she acclimated to her current predicament. Her home, her sanctuary, her fortress was being invaded.

  “Rebels!” she boomed through the halls, pounding on the doors of the sleeping loyalists. She rushed to the armory at the end of the hallway, pulling swords and spears from their places on the walls and turning back to distribute them to her people, but by the time she’d returned, the fighting had already begun.

  Half of the loyalists were slaughtered in their beds while the rest fought barehanded against the armed force, tearing heads from bodies and throwing their attackers over the railing. Phindi tossed weapons to her subordinates, leaving none for herself. She flew at the rebels, fangs bared, her arms outstretched. She drove her sharp nails into their abdomens, yanking out intestines before reaching up into their chests and clawing out their hearts.

  As more men flooded the building, a voice came from behind. “Your Grace!” Phindi turned to see one of her fledglings holding her assegai. “Forgive me. I went into your rooms to retrieve it.” The girl held it out to her and she took it, nodding in approval.

  Above the entrance hung a massive banner, rolled up and largely ignored. Phindi leaped up onto the railing, took aim, and threw her spear at the gold cord holding it in place. The banner fell, its deep purple velvet blocking out the sun’s rays, enabling the loyalists to descend, meeting the intruders in less confining quarters. They pounced, hacking off heads and running rebels through with their swords. Phindi leaped through the air, pulling her spear from the wall and landing confidently on her feet. She took her weapon in both hands, using it as a blunt instrument with which to knock her opponent to the ground before raising it above her head, her foot on the man’s throat.

  “Who sent you?” she demanded.

  The man laughed, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “My King.”

  “Who? Who is this self-proclaimed King that blasphemes against our Queen?”

  “He is our redeemer. He saves us from your bitch Queen’s tyranny.”

  Her eyes widened as her anger grew. “Your disrespect will not go unpunished. Know that on this day, you dishonor not the Queen, but yourself.” She brought the spear down hard, sinking it in his chest and through his heart. His eyes went dim, the last bit of life leaving him. She pulled out the assegai and surveyed the room. A handful of her people remained, their shoulders slumped as they grieved the loss of their friends. Everyone else was dead. “Go to your rooms,” she commanded. “It is day and you are exhausted.”

  “Will you inform the Queen of this treachery?” one of the girls asked.

  “Yes, but not until I can offer her a solution to the problem. I will find out where this ‘King’ hides while he sends others to fight his battles. I will gather troops. I will form a plan and with Her Majesty’s blessing, I will root out the traitor and scorch the earth to cleanse him from it.”

  The vampires bowed and scurried back up the steps to their rooms, locking themselves in for the day. Phindi looked over the bodies, spear in hand, resentment building like a wall in her chest, hard and strong. She would raise her army. She would find this King. She would have her revenge.

  Chapter 2

  “Can I come in?” Gabriel asked, her eyes bloodshot and her expression grim.

  Wyatt stepped aside, closing the door behind her as she entered. “You knocked.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you ever knocked on a door in your life?”

  “Once or twice. Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure. I was about to have coffee. You want some?”

  She cringed. He poured himself a cup, the morning sun lighting up the apartment in a flood of golden radiance.

  “You sure? You look exhausted.”

  “I haven’t slept.”

  “Soda?”

  She nodded. He set his cup down and got the caffeinated beverage from the fridge. He slid it across to her as they sat at the island and she opened it, downing half the can before stopping to take a breath.

  “So, what’s going on? Another crisis? You need me to throw a ball of lightning at a Kraken or something?”

  She shook her head, eyes fixed on the soda can.

  “Lucifer giving you a hard time?”

  She let out a grieved sigh. “No, Lucifer’s probably dead.”

  He choked on his coffee. “Dead? Of what?”

  “Oh, you know, not listening. I mean, I’m not sure, but I can’t feel him anymore, so I’m assuming he’s not on Earth, which means he’s dead.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “That’s not what I want to talk to you about, though.”

  “It’s not? Because that’s a pretty big deal.”

  “It’s not. Listen, I don’t normally talk to you about my problems because I don’t want to burden you. You have enough to deal with. But, I can’t go to Uriel with this without upsetting Sinclair, Wendy isn’t back from New Zealand, and Lucifer’s gone, so--”

  “Hey,” he said, reaching across the island and putting his hand over hers. “You can always talk to me.”

  She nodded, tears forming in her eyes. She looked up at him as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m afraid you’ll hate me.”

  “I won’t,” he promised, the pain on her face breaking his heart.

  “I hope that’s true.” She brushed away her tears and took a deep breath before beginning. “When I was fifteen, my parents killed me…twice, after they killed my girlfriend and her family.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Yeah. Pushed me down a flight of stairs, broke my neck. Then, shot me in the heart. My best friend saw it happen and he lost control. He killed them. He’s been in prison for the last twenty years. He was in prison…until last night.” She took a sip of soda, preparing herself to continue. “We met when we were ten. My parents took me to the city to see A Christmas Carol on Broadway. He was outside the theater panhandling, homeless, so I convinced James and Ester to bring him home. He stayed with us for a few da
ys until my mom called social services and they took him away. He got put in foster care and I was scared I’d never see him again, so I ran away to find him. He was just a few streets over, so no one even realized I’d gone. We were inseparable for years after that. He took care of me when Ester would hit me or I’d get overwhelmed by all the thoughts in my head that weren’t mine. He moved in after the Murphys’ funeral so I wouldn’t be alone. He waited until I found Uri and Raph. But, then he turned himself in. He was afraid he would hurt me or someone else. He was having a hard time reigning in who he was.”

  “Who he was?”

  She sniffed as she fought to control her emotions. “He was one of us, B. Camael. The Wrath of God.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. So, he’s out now?”

  “He was.” She wiped away more tears as she explained. “I visited him every week for the last twenty years. I told him everything that was going on with you and the others. I told him everything about everything. I grew up with him. He knew me, you know? And then, God came calling.” Her tone turned resentful as she took another drink and slammed the can back on the counter.

  “God? He spoke to you?”

  “No, He just downloads information to my brain like a fucking laptop whenever He sees fit. It’s pretty unpleasant. When I found out where Dia’s descendants were, I also found out what Cam’s purpose here was.” She covered her mouth as she held back sobs. Unable to stifle her emotions, she continued through the tears, her voice going up an octave as she moved from the island to the sofa, sitting down and hugging her arms as if she were cold. “I had to tell him to break out of prison, drag him to a fight, and watch him die doing God’s work. I had to burn his body so he could go home. I killed him, B. I killed my best friend.”

  He sat next to her on the couch and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “You didn’t kill him.”