His posture was a rictus of pain; his expression was agonized. It was more than the blood drying on his face or his blackened eye, which was now nearly swollen shut. He was hurt. Emotionally. It was killing him to see me in Menessos’s arms and enjoying it. I thrust myself away from Menessos, but as soon as our contact broke, all the ease and comfort evaporated.

Pain overwhelmed my every nerve, contracting every muscle. My body rebelled against living. Anguish swallowed me. I crumbled to the floor, writhing, unable to speak.

“Destroy it now!” Menessos commanded, pointing to the living room. “The hearth is already aflame.”

Johnny tossed the stake up in the air and caught it repeatedly. My pain continued, but the pinpoint of it rolled back and forth with the stake’s movement. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“It is a dangerous time for you to try to change this situation. There is but one outcome here: the destruction of the stake.”

“See, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. Maybe I shouldn’t destroy it after all,” Johnny said.

“Look at her! She will die if you do not act quickly!”

“Oh, I doubt that. Though if she did, it would spare her from the horrors of the…affection you’ll force on her.”

“You care for her so little? Her death would mean nothing to you? Not hers, or her grandmother’s and the child’s?”

Johnny paused to consider that. “To rid the world of you, it might be worth it.” He stepped forward. Menessos retreated. I screamed in wordless agony.

“You’re killing her!” Menessos shouted.

Johnny took another step, and another. “I’m killing her? I am?” With each step, my torture increased threefold. I was burning. I was freezing. My skin was being torn off. My brain was buzzing as every nerve in my body sent contradicting messages of the kinds of torment I could experience. Death would be a welcome release. I started praying to the Goddess, begging her to grant me that outcome.

“Why, I wonder, are you not the one writhing on the floor?” Johnny asked Menessos as he stopped beside me.

I managed to roll my head enough to see Menessos where he had retreated. “She is mortal yet,” he said. “That is why her pain is greater.”

“Really?” Johnny knelt beside me. He laid the stake on the floor only inches from me. I screamed and choked, and my eyes welled up and tears blurred everything.

“You are killing her!” Menessos shouted, each word emphasized.

“No,” Johnny shouted back. “You are!” Softer, to me, he said, “He’s using you, Red. And only you can stop it.”

Menessos stomped a trio of steps closer, but Johnny grabbed the stake and held it before him. “C’mon!” he shouted. “C’mon! Let’s see what happens. Let’s see which of us wins.”

I blinked away the tears. Johnny was on his knees, rigid and trembling, but not backing down from the vampire.

“He’s using you, Red. Using the mark. He’s transferring his pain onto you, to keep himself able to act. This pussy is putting twice the pain onto the mortal woman and taking but a small, unavoidable dose of it himself.” He cracked the stake on the floor beside me again. “You have the power now. Right now. Not him. You do. Use it, Red. Use it. Take the stake in your hand—”

“No! It will kill her!” Menessos insisted.

“No, Red. It will set you free. It will burn away the mark he put upon you.”

“That’s a lie! The whelp is lying, Persephone! He is willing to sacrifice you and those you care about! He said it already. And if you touch that stake, you will die.”

“He just doesn’t want to feel the pain, Red. He knows he’ll be overcome like you are overcome now. He knows he’ll be weak. He knows I’ll stake him through.”

“Do not listen to this nonsense, Persephone. He cares nothing for you! He has proven himself a devious plotter and a backstabber. Do not listen to him!”

“Take it,” Johnny whispered. “Take it.”

I moved my hand, only a little. It was like reaching blistered fingers into boiling water. A whine left my lips. “Hhhhhurts. I can’t!”

“Do it, Red. Just do it. It’ll all go away.”

Menessos shouted, “No! It is your life that will go away!”

I turned my back on Menessos and rolled to my side, coming inches closer to the stake. “Persephone, no!” the vampire wailed behind me. “No!”

I looked into those Wedjat eyes.

All I could think was that I had asked for a release and the Goddess had provided one. I sucked in all the air my lungs could hold and summoned all my strength, all my resolve. I seized the stake and, clutching it to my chest, I screamed my last breath.

Chapter 31

Thirst.

I stood before my grove of ash trees, sweating and weary. The sun overhead shone down unnaturally bright and hot. The once lush foliage of my ever-springtime meditation place was now wilted and dying in the heat. I dropped to my knees at the edge of the stream, cupped my hands together, and lifted handful after handful up to my mouth. At least the water was still cold. Rivulets poured down my throat and over my skin, and I was so grateful for the small relief they gave. I drank for many minutes before I’d had enough. I splashed a handful over my face. That was when I saw Her.

The buckskin mustang stood at the opposite side of the stream, head down, drinking also. The hot sun cast a bluish sheen on Her black mane, but Her dun-colored hide looked soft and sleek. I stilled and watched as if She were a wild animal I did not want to alarm or frighten away.

She drank and drank as I had done, and I relished this nearness. I yearned to touch Her, but knew that I could not. So I studied Her and memorized Her image, even the blurry part reflected in the water. It stunned me to see that the reflection was not that of a horse, but that of a woman kneeling and drinking with both hands, as I had.

I remembered that Amenemhab had told me this was the Goddess. He had said She appeared to me in the color of mild tarnish. If that color represented tarnish, then such a taint was acceptable—She was beautiful. Her presence comforted me, for surely I was dying and She had not abandoned me.

Suddenly the stream was drinking the mustang, slurping it up in a swirl of colors.

“No!” I shouted. “No! Don’t leave me…”

The woman of the reflection rose up from the water. Her hair was black like the horse’s mane, glistening and wet. Her copper skin radiated a soft glow. I realized it was the sun, which had traveled swiftly into a setting position, shining at Her back. She wore no clothing, but Her dark hair covered Her breasts, and Her stance was such that Her body was slightly angled away from me. One leg, raised enough to allow Her foot to rest on a rock so it was slightly higher than the other, protected Her modesty.

Her chin tilted slightly down, darkening Her eyes and expression. I wanted Her to look at me, to see me and be happy, but She did not face me directly. She gazed past me, to the east. Carefully I turned, curious as to what so fixedly held Her attention.

I saw smoke. Black smoke, rising past a grove of oaks.

Movement caught my attention. The Goddess pointed toward the smoke. I looked at it again and when I turned back to Her, She was gone.

I stood and walked toward the darkening eastern sky. Time passed so quickly! I began to run. I passed the oaks and stepped into a clearing where red-cloaked figures stood in a circle around a high, tapering pole. Firewood had been piled high and wide around the base of the pole, and a black-clad figure was bound to it. The fire had nearly reached the figure.

I hurried around the circle to the front of the bound figure. I could not tell who it was; the hood of the cape was pulled down low. But the figure struggled, the heat rising and smoke billowing chokingly upward. “What is happening here?” I asked. None of the red-cloaked figures acknowledged me. This wasn’t right. “What’s happening?” I shouted.