Necroscope #07 - Vampire World 2: The Last Aerie by Brian Lumley

Author:Brian Lumley [Lumley, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-02-05T21:54:20+00:00

Nestor’s Art

Glina Berea crouched low, the hair of her head brushed by roots dangling through the soil of the ceiling, her fingers occasionally scrabbling at the stone-paved floor of the bolthole tunnel, panting as she fled through the fallen ironwood’s dead root system to the secret exit. Out there the deep dark woods, which she knew like the back of her hand; clouds covering the moon, holding back its light; an owl hooting sleepily in the distance. She could escape, flee into the woods to one of the many hiding places she knew there. But as Glina passed through the disguised outer door and let it swing back on its hinges, her thoughts were not so much for herself as for the fate of her mother, father, and … and one other.

If only she’d had time to -

‘- Time to what, Glina?’

Barefoot, she skidded to a halt in wet leaf-mould and saw a shadow grow up beside her out of the gloom; but a shadow that knew her name. An even darker blot in the dark of the night, it flowed upon her, towering huge as if to crush her with its awesome power and presence. But…

… That voice. Didn’t she know that voice?

‘And so you do remember,’ the shadow sighed with its deep, dark, tantalizing voice, and moved closer still. And again she thought:

That voice.’ Can it possibly be? If so, then he had chosen the worst possible time to return. And why was he so still, so very silent?

As hoarse shouts and a crashing sound erupted from the cabin, and a muted squawking like throttled chickens but in her father’s choked voice - and moments later her mother’s fearful screaming - so Glina realized that the worst of her fears had been utterly selfish: that she would be left on her own. But now, if this stranger really was him …

Heart fluttering, scarcely breathing, she reached out a trembling hand and touched his arm - and in that same instant the clouds cleared the moon. Pallid light struck through overhanging branches down into the small clearing, and Glina saw that it was indeed Nestor. He stood there with his eyes half-shuttered, handsome as hell, dark in a cloak the colour of night. And clasping his arm, she gasped. ‘Nestor! It is you! But come, we must run, hide. The Wamphyri are here!’

‘I know,’ he said, in that sepulchral voice which was his and yet not his.

Then … he opened his eyes wider and she saw their scarlet glow, the convolutions of his vampire nose, and the white gleam of his teeth. And she knew that it wasn’t only his voice which was him and yet not him. ‘Nestor!’ Her jaw fell open and she half-swooned into his arms.

But: ‘Ah, no,’ he told her, gathering her up. ‘Not simply Nestor, Glina, not any more. For from now on you must call me Lord.’

As his needle teeth struck into the fluttering veins of her neck, so she succumbed more fully

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