Chapter 2 #2
The trees shivered and shook. Leaves tumbled to the ground as branches cracked ominously, splitting apart so that dark, poisonous sludge oozed in thick streams down trunks.
The large fin-shaped roots shuddered and creaked in protest. The ground rippled, then rolled and pitched as if trying to dislodge something foul from its depths.
Lojos stood slowly, turning to face the three vampires as they emerged from the root system and spread out in an attempt to surround him.
Long tongues, like those of lizards, darted out in an attempt to capture the droplets of blood that had been dispersed in the air.
The three were dressed similarly, in dark trousers and lighter shirts.
To Lojos, they appeared in shades of gray.
Their attire didn’t impress him any more than their hair.
They looked as if they wore ill-fitting wigs.
The strange thing was their faces were oddly familiar.
Or at least, they had the appearance of being triplets—triplets that imitated Lojos and his brothers’ features.
They didn’t come close by any means, but the resemblance was there—faintly, but there.
To his knowledge, they didn’t have cousins who were triplets.
Take a look at these three, he advised his brothers. Do they remind you of anyone?
Change your appearance, Lojos, Tomas ordered. All of us should. They look too much like us for it to be coincidence. Try to engage them in conversation. We need to know what they’re up to.
Does our hair look like that? Mataias asked.
I certainly hope not, Tomas said. That hair is more appalling than their twisted faces. Surely, we don’t look as bad as that lot.
If we do, our brethren should have warned us, Lojos said.
Tomas turned away from the three vampires to face the new ones hurrying behind them to seal off any retreat.
They emerged from three different locations, their attire far too similar to the three accosting Lojos.
Only their faces and hair were different.
He stared at them for a moment, aware that their appearance had thrown him off.
When he had advised his brothers to change their appearance, he had done the same.
Looking at the three vampires rushing to cut him off from the others, had it been possible for him to feel astonishment, he would have.
Not wanting his brothers to turn from their tasks, he sent them images of the three he faced.
The vampire on his left wore his atrocious hair falling to his waist in what appeared to be a bird’s nest of tangles. Worse, clumps were missing from his scalp, while other places had far too much hair shooting up in a ridiculous manner like sprouts.
He is definitely attempting to look like Benedek. He named an ancient they had been traveling with a week earlier. Thank the stars we know Benedek’s hair is not so hideous.
Good grief. Why would they want to appear as such buffoons? Lojos asked.
Look at this one, Tomas advised, showing the vampire approaching from his right. His hair is worse than Benedek the imposter. He sent the image of the vampire to his brothers. He must be imitating Petru.
Petru was another ancient who had found his lifemate in the hills above Dellys, Algeria, on the Mediterranean Sea.
His hair is exploding out of his head like a whitish-gray pelt found from roadkill, Mataias observed. Good grief, you don’t suppose he ran across a dead animal and tried to use its fur for hair?
What has hair that long? Lojos asked. And why is it lopsided on him?
I do wish I could take a quick picture and send it to Petru, Tomas said. He held up his hand to stop the rush of the three vampires. “Hold. I recognize you as our legendary ancients.” He did his best to pour awe and respect into his voice.
The three imposters stumbled to a halt, giving him time to show the last image to his brothers, that of the vampire who had been heading straight at him.
This one is a very poor replica of Nicu.
His hair is likely supposed to be black—you know, that absence of color.
Looks gray to me and as if it has never been washed. I swear there are maggots in it.
“I am here with my traveling companions hunting vampire. We never expected to run into ancients such as yourselves.”
My adversaries have arrived, Mataias said, sending the images to his brothers. Again, they are impersonating ancients. The three had stumbled to a halt as Mataias bowed low in greeting.
The first image Mataias sent his brothers was of a vampire with a face that could have been that of one of their ancient brethren, Dragomir.
Dragomir had found his lifemate, Emeline, and certainly hadn’t turned vampire.
The horrendous display of hair on his head was nearly Tomas’ downfall.
Tomas wished he had a real sense of humor.
By staying together, the triplets had retained a semblance of humor.
It was more remembered than real, but he knew the situation and the appearances of the vampires impersonating ancients would have been hysterically funny.
He was definitely going to keep the images in his head so that when he came across his friends, he could show them.
The fake Dragomir’s hair was parted in the middle and slicked back from his head with some oily substance. Several chunks hung from the scalp as if the vampire had used a toupee and haphazardly glued it in place.
The second vampire Mataias faced was no doubt meant to be Valentin Zhestokly.
He resided in the United States, as did Dragomir.
Val’s lifemate, too young to claim, lived in San Diego, and the Carpathian hunter would never leave her without his protection.
The body was nearly emaciated, and again, the hair was atrocious.
Only aspects of the face allowed them to recognize who the vampire was attempting to be.
The third vampire was no doubt meant to be Ferro, another ancient who had found his lifemate, Elisabeta, and resided in the States.
Any ideas on why they would be impersonating ancients? Lojos asked.
It would have to be their master’s idea, Tomas mused.
Justice, then? He would know every ancient, although not what happened to them or where they would be, Mataias ventured.
Tomas kept his attention centered on the three vampires, who were sniffing the air and testing it with long, chameleonlike tongues. The reptiles could have tongues up to forty-seven inches in length, and the tongues testing the air for droplets of Carpathian blood seemed that long or longer.
He gave a short bow toward the three vampire imposters cutting him off from his brothers, doing his best to appear respectful and not quite bright. “What service may we offer you?” he asked.
The three imposters exchanged gleeful looks. The one pretending to be Benedek answered in a voice that was more a growl than an actual voice. “We have been hunting these long nights and are near starving after our battles.”
“Offer freely of your healing blood, brother,” the imposter Petru said eagerly.
You believe Justice has finally turned vampire? Mataias asked.
Tomas hoped not. It would be difficult enough to track and kill the beast, let alone a combination of beast and vampire, but his reluctance had nothing to do with that.
He would do his duty to his people and humanity without question.
Justice was a legendary Carpathian. He had followed his code of honor for more centuries than any other.
In the end, he had sacrificed his life and sanity for his brethren, saving them and condemning himself to a torturous existence in the very bowels of hell.
It is possible he has turned vampire, but more likely he persuaded the nine to impersonate ancients to throw us off.
After all those centuries of living by his code of honor, Tomas believed Justice might be insane, but he doubted if he would become vampire.
Maybe he just wanted to believe there was still hope for his brothers and himself.
To what purpose? Lojos asked. What would he believe he could gain from such a parody?
A delaying tactic? Tomas ventured.
We do not know it is Justice, Mataias said. If it isn’t and a master vampire is close, we will have to be prepared for his attack.
It was unnecessary advice—they had been battling vampires for centuries—but those continual reminders aided them in never becoming complacent.
The imposters spread out, circling each of the ancients, sniffing the air, trying to find the trail to the elusive scent of ancient blood. They swayed back and forth, long, hard nails clicking together, feet stomping into the ground in a locking pattern very familiar to the ancient hunters.
“Come to me,” the Benedek imposter ordered. “Give me your blood to sustain me on these endless hunts.”
Obediently, Tomas bent his head toward his wrist as he stumbled forward two steps and appeared to trip. At once, the three vampires rushed him.
Out of the corner of his eye he observed the three vampires nearest Lojos swaying and chanting, their hands in the air.
A locking spell, Lojos, he warned.
His brother would recognize the mesmerizing patterns the imposters created to hold Lojos in place, making it less dangerous for them to approach, but the warning would serve to remind his brothers, as well as himself, of the various tricks vampires often used.
The three vampires facing Mataias didn’t bother with niceties or pretending to be civil. They rushed the ancient, confident they had him trapped and helpless.
Tomas slid across the ground seconds before the three imposters reached him.
As he did, he targeted the legs of fake Benedek, hitting at full speed with centuries of experience striking his target.
He knew exactly where to hit on the body to do the most damage.
His heels slammed into Benedek’s knees, shattering them.
It only takes eighty pounds of pressure to break a kneecap. He applied far more than that.