House of Cards (4 page)

And Thomas said they “wanted what was inside her.” She assumed they meant . . . but maybe it was really . . . blood?

“We can’t feed on her ourselves, Thomas. Remember, we have to take at least one back to Master. And we finished off all the others.”

Others? thought Sherry. Holy Christ. What
others
?

Thomas turned his evil eyes toward her, a menacing look that chilled her blood.

“Well, let us not keep him waiting, shall we?”

Their laughter was positively hysterical now. And then she saw them. Long, white, and sharp, reflected perfectly off the torch held by the honey-haired woman.

Fangs. Every single one of them had fangs. Two pointed canine teeth distinctly longer than the surrounding ones.

Terror seized her heart and she tore herself away from Thomas. She had no thought but to get away from them, and if that meant going further into the catacombs without a light, then so be it.

He grabbed her shoulders again and held her back easily. Suddenly, she found herself soaked in perspiration, and frantic, but he was perfectly dry and calm.

“Silly girl. She can’t get away from us, can she, my friends? Doesn’t she even know where she is?” Thomas pointed to the wall above Sherry’s head.

Struggling desperately in her captor’s arms, Sherry looked up to where he was pointing. Between two large pillars of stone sat a great slab of the same material. Etched into its surface, in neat, unassuming type, were the words “ARRETE! C’EST ICI L’EMPIRE DE LA MORT.”

Confused, she kept staring at the words, begging them to make sense. A wave of horror spread across her body as her panicking brain finished the translation.

Stop! This is the Empire of the Dead.

She felt Thomas’s grip tighten around her, and his head leaned close to her throat. A sharp stabbing pain, a spreading warmth, and the whole world turned black. The last thing she heard was the maniacal laughter of the vampires resounding off the bone walls.

Chapter 3—The House of Cadamon

S
herry couldn’t believe how hard
it was to open her eyes.

It felt as if they were being pushed down by something, as did her entire head. Like someone was sitting on it. She was lying on her side on some type of cushion, her rucksack beside her. Pressing both hands against the soft surface, she managed to sit up rather quickly.

That was a mistake. The nausea was unbearable. She struggled to swallow the bile that came up in her mouth, which was so dry she’d swear it was stuffed with a hundred cotton balls. She took a few deep breaths, and looked around.

Was she still in the catacombs? It was hard to make out anything in such dim light, but she appeared to be above ground, in a room with all the makings of an elegant French salon. She was sitting on a very expensive eighteenth-century settee, with the original fabric still intact. Having learned a little about antiques from her father’s girlfriend, she hastily concluded it wasn’t a reproduction.

The rest of the furnishings were just as grand, with elaborately carved side tables and chairs, also covered in sumptuous fabrics. A grand piano stood off to one side, next to a fireplace with an enormously ornate wooden mantel. Above it hung an ancient sword that looked as if it had been plucked directly from the hands of a Round Table knight.

She felt a flicker of light dance across her eyes, and looked up at the largest chandelier she’d ever seen, including those she’d come across during a field trip at Versailles. She didn’t know how she could have missed it. It dwarfed everything else in the room. There were only a few candles lit on it now, which explained the dimness all around her. She noticed several crystal sculptures on the tables, and one on the piano, all crafted in the same style as the chandelier.

As if there were no end to the extravagance, a magnificent Turkish carpet was laid out on the floor, matching the damask draperies on the windows—

The windows! She clambered to her feet and tried to run, but she was so weak, she fell with a thud to the floor. Crawling on her knees and elbows, she made her way across the room. Windows! She could get outside! Maybe there was a balcony. She could call for help. Hell, she’d jump if she had to. Maybe they were only on the first or second floor. Maybe she’d been rescued by some mysterious aristocrat. Those degenerates who kidnapped her might already be on their way to jail.

She pulled herself up by grabbing the long drapes, tearing them aside with both hands.

Staring down at her were at least thirty grinning skulls. They filled the window from top to bottom, where an exquisite view of Paris should have been.

Sherry screamed and fell back, landing on her tailbone. She crawled to the next set of windows, and the next, but she knew what she would find. She only had to peek through the drapes to confirm her suspicions.

She was still underground. She hadn’t been rescued. She’d never left at all.

What
was
this place? She’d never heard of chambers like this anywhere in the catacombs. They were just enormous caverns in which the dead were stored. Was it possible someone
lived
down here?

She looked up, and nearly fell backwards again. Thomas was standing directly above her. She hadn’t even heard him enter the room.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the giant vampire spoke first.

“Come along, my dear. You’ve had enough of a rest. Mustn’t keep Master waiting.” Again, that evil, malicious grin.

“Please, just listen to me—” He grabbed her arm and began dragging her towards the door. She made a desperate attempt to snatch at her rucksack as they passed it.

“You won’t be needing that.” He gestured to the bag with his free hand.

“Please, I do need it. I want it with me when I—please.”

Thomas rolled his eyes and motioned for her to take the sack, quickly.

***

She appeared to be in some sort of medieval baronial hall, with wood-paneled walls and a long, sturdy oak table to one side. Near the end of the table was a great stone fireplace even larger than the one in the drawing room suite. This one had an actual fire roaring inside it. Coats of arms, too many to count, were displayed around the walls. A chandelier hung from a triangle of chains fastened at the ceiling, like an enormous wheel. Dozens of candles stood interspersed among the spokes.

Did they have a different room for every century?

She only had a moment to take all this in because her gaze soon became fixed on the fireplace. Before it stood the five other vampires who’d kidnapped her that evening. They were all staring at her, smiling as if she were something delicious. All except the boy. He was standing slightly apart from them, avoiding her gaze. She saw the same hardness in the others now that she’d originally noticed about him. Hard, shiny eyes. Hard, shiny hair. And bodies that she was fairly certain were indestructible.

Another man, one she’d never seen before, was centered in front of the fireplace. His palms were on the mantle, his back to her. Somehow, Sherry didn’t need to ask who he was.

“Master!” called Thomas, his voice echoing off the stone floor. “Here she is, just as I promised!”

He caught her by the nape of the neck, and forced her to walk toward the fire. The Master turned around.

“Welcome, my dear girl! Welcome to the House of Cadamon.”

His voice sounded soft and relaxed, but with a rigid quality beneath it that she didn’t care to explore. His white hair was almost shoulder-length, curling just slightly at the base of his throat. He had small, watery-blue eyes that creased down at the edges, as if someone were holding his eyes half-closed. Sherry hated their color. It reminded her of old people she’d seen with eyes like that. She knew it was a mean thing to think about the elderly, but that didn’t erase her revulsion. When she saw the Master, her mind kept conjuring up the type of sick people you saw in nursing homes, the ones who had nothing left to look forward to in life. Just an endless, heartbreaking wait for death.

“Well, don’t just stand there, young lady!” He smiled even more broadly, revealing what she now knew to be fangs. “Come closer, so I can see you.”

With one hand at her neck and the other at her waist, Thomas walked behind her toward the older man. The Master moved in a circle, examining her closely.

“Ah, very nice. Just right, in fact. Well done, Thomas.” The tall vampire smiled with satisfaction. “But what’s this I see?” The Master moved her hair back slightly, exposing her throat. Now that it was drawing attention, she became aware of a terrible soreness. Like someone had punched her in the neck. She hadn’t been thinking about it before now. Too busy looking for a way to escape.

It was where Thomas had feasted on her blood.

“Thomaaaaaas . . .” The Master eyed him with feigned disapproval. Thomas cast his glance downward in mock shame.

“Forgive me, my Lord. I was starving. I could not resist.”

Peals of laughter escaped from between the Master’s lips. “Oh Thomas, you rapscallion, you! You feed more often than anyone I know. Starving indeed!”

Thomas looked up, grinning, at Sherry.

“Ah well, I swear, if you weren’t one of my favorites . . . but never mind now. There’s still plenty left for me.”

There was no way they could drink any more of her blood without killing her. She was going to die tonight.

She gave begging one more try. “Please sir, I know you must be hungry, and you’ve been waiting patiently—”

“Very patiently,” he murmured, stroking the side of her head.

“Yes, very patiently, I understand, but is there anything I can say that will convince you not to kill me? I’m a very good person and . . . and I haven’t done anything wrong.” To her chagrin, she was perspiring again, despite the chill in the air. Hot tears began running down her face. “I know that doesn’t matter, but I’d really, really like to keep on living, if you don’t mind . . .”

“Hmmm . . . I don’t know, dear. You don’t seem particularly strong . . . or beautiful.” From the corner of her eye, Sherry thought she saw the boy flinch. “Although I’m certain you’re reasonably bright, you’re not a prodigy, are you, like Gavin here?” Sherry turned to see another one of the vampires smiling smugly at her. That must be Gavin. “Did you know he solved Panack’s Compendium by the time he was only five years old? It had eluded even the greatest mathematicians for centuries! We’re quite proud of him.”

Sherry almost opened her mouth to tell him she might be telekinetic, but quickly changed her mind. They would almost certainly ask her to
show
them, and she was so terrified and unfocused right now, she doubted if she could lift the smallest button.

“There—there must be
something
I could do. I can cook a little—” The vampires burst into laughter at her suggestion.

“Or clean—I’m very clean. I’ll dust your furniture, scrub your floors. I’ll do anything, anything at all—”

“You don’t sing, do you?” the Master interrupted. “Or dance? Or draw, even? The nights here are so long, as you can well imagine. We crave entertainment more than anything else.”

No, I can’t imagine being an unrepentant serial killer, thought Sherry, but she said nothing.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I can’t really do any of those things.”

“Pity.” The Master sighed, almost apologetically. “If only you had some useful talent or skill, then we could keep you. As it is, well . . .”

“I can recite poetry!” blurted out Sherry.

The Master raised his eyebrows. “A poet? Well, that
is
something. Please.” He gestured to her. “Let us have a demonstration of your talent.”

Remember something, she begged her tired brain.
Anything
.

She tried to bring to mind poems she’d read, the ones from school. Anything to satisfy this morbid creature’s curiosity. But all that came were fragments, not the whole poems themselves. Well, she’d take what she could get.

“Okay, um, here goes.” She cleared her throat and wiped sweaty palms on her jeans.

“ ‘And . . . and you have every kind of kind, from first to last and back again. Overwhelming as any flood, penetrating as the rain.’ ”

The expression on the Master’s face was one of complete blankness. She didn’t dare look at any of the other vampires.

“Well, if you don’t like that one, um . . .” Think, Sherry,
think
. “Oh—here’s another. ‘I love you as everyday, as commonplace. Rainy days, hopeless days, scared-to-death-of-boredom-days. No end in sight, but I go on . . . to love you in my shaken ways.’ ”

The Master was frowning slightly now.

Oh God, this wasn’t working. “Okay, okay, I have a different one. Um, ah, let’s see—yes—‘Despair lives in art, hope sleeps with grief. We stare at lives stolen by Nottingham thieves.’ ”

The Master let out a long sigh.

“I—I can’t think of any more right now.”

“Well, that, my dear, will never do.” The white-haired vampire shook his head. “After all, what good is a poet who knows only three verses? You’d repeat the same lines night after night, year after year, until we were all bored to pieces. No, my sweet little Sherry. I’m afraid there’s only one thing you’re good for now.”

She whirled around as one of the other vampires closed the enormous stone door where she and Thomas had entered. She hadn’t seen any of them move around her to shut it, but she heard its deep, resounding thud echo in her chest. Just like when she’d first seen the boy, only much, much worse. As if there was any need to close the door. There was nowhere to run, and certainly not fast enough for her to escape.

And then, just for a moment, Sherry’s heart stopped beating.

“Pl—”

The Master was standing a hair’s breadth in front of her, before the word even left her mouth. A faint, lustful smile played on his lips.

It was the smallest of whispers. “Please,” she breathed. “
Please
.”

The Master lifted both hands to her throat, presumably to smooth back her hair before he—

“Wait.” Sherry’s heart skipped another beat, then started again. She looked over to where the boy was standing, in a corner apart from the rest. She heard his voice utter the heavenly, magical words:

“She can read tarot cards.”