Twilight Prophecy

James took Lucy by the hand and tugged her back into the lab. She resisted, pulling against his grip, but he couldn't let her go, and he couldn't wait for her to get over her current state of shock and fear, or try to reason with her. He had to move her now, or they would all die.



He didn't blame her for being traumatized by what she had seen. He understood why she didn't want to walk through the gore that Brigit's zombie blasting had left behind. But again, no choice.



He yanked her arm when she tried to pull away, enough so that it hurt, because the pain would be the fastest way to cut through the haze of panic in her eyes. He could tell he'd reached her.



"There's another way out, Lucy. Come with me. If you don't, you'll die."



She stared at him as if she'd never seen him before and said, "Forgive me if I have to think about which option I prefer."



Angry words, delivered in a voice that was thick with unshed tears. He narrowed his eyes, impatient and remorseful and determined. Pulling her close, he hauled her up and over his shoulder, then strode through the lab. His feet slapped down into the remnants of the bodies, fat and flesh and parts of organs, and plenty of fluids. He heard her gag, whether at the sight or on the choking, cloying smells, he couldn't be sure. He was close to gagging himself. But he hurried onward, to a shelf along the rear wall. And then, holding her with one arm, he pulled on a hidden catch and the shelf swung inward, revealing itself as a door in disguise.



Once it was open, he stepped aside, and let Rhiannon and Brigit race through ahead of him. As Rhiannon hurried past, Lucy spoke.



"Pandora?" she asked. "Where's Pandora?"



Rhiannon stopped in her tracks, looking back at the woman hanging over James's shoulder. Then at James. He saw what was in her eyes. Surprise, and appreciation that Lucy, their captive, would be concerned about Rhiannon's unconventional pet. "I sent her away with Roland earlier. I...was afraid something like this might happen." Then she nodded at James. "Put her down, for God's sake. She can walk."



And then they hurried through the wall and down into the darkness.



"The tablet," Lucy whispered, as James set her on her feet and she peered into the deep gloom ahead of them.



"It's too late." He took her arm and led her down into the sloping, earthen passage, pulling the door back into place behind him. And then he led her onward, through utter darkness.



A moment later she stopped walking and turned to stare at him, though it was pointless, with no light to see by.



"Don't do anything stupid, Lucy," he said, wondering what she was up to.



"You mean like trying to reanimate rotting corpses, for example?"



"That wasn't stupid. That was necessary. This way." He took her hand to lead the way, holding it too tightly for her to try wriggling free and running back to those murderous mortals.



"Necessary? You're playing God, James. With human lives. What could possibly justify that?"



"The need to prevent the extermination of my people."



"No. No, those were human beings, with souls. What if they were in some kind of afterlife or-"



"I was given this ability for a reason, Lucy. I'm meant to use it."



"How can you possibly be sure of that?"



He refused to answer, because she was asking the same questions he'd asked himself. And yet, he'd been overwhelmed by amazement that his healing ability was so much more powerful than he'd ever realized. More than he could even have imagined. He wasn't just a healer. He had the power of restoring life to the dead. No one had that, no mortal, no vampire. Surely he had been given that power for a reason.



"I know my calling now," he told her. "I was born with a power normally reserved for the gods them selves. It's a power no one, mortal or vampire, has ever possessed. The power of life over death." He shook his head as she stared at him with horror in her eyes. He could see her quite clearly. He doubted she could see him much at all, aside, perhaps, from the outline of his form in the darkness. "I don't expect you to understand. You're just a human."



"Right. I'm not a god, like you, with this ever so useful ability to make rotting corpses do bodily harm. That wasn't exactly a resurrection back there, James. You're fooling yourself if you think it was."



"They might have improved with time."



"They were mindless, animated sides of beef."



"You can't know that."



"I saw that. And so did you."



He shook his head. The ground was sloping upward now, and he dearly wanted to change the subject. "Rhiannon has a car parked in a cave at the far end of this tunnel. Roland borrowed Brigit's T-Bird, leaving the bigger Lincoln in case we needed it."



"What if they've already found it? What if they're waiting for us?" she asked.



She sounded terrified, and he felt a little sorry. "I'm scanning for their presence, and so are Rhiannon and Brigit. We would sense them out there."



"What if you don't? What if someone told them how to...how to block?"



It was, he thought, a very good question. What did he expect? The woman likely had a higher IQ than anyone he knew.



"If there's anyone out there-and there won't be-then we'll back off and take another fork. This tunnel has several. One leads out to the Sound, where there's always a boat or two nearby. Another leads deep into the forest, where we can go on foot."



"This place is like a fortress."



"My people are used to being hated, feared and hunted," he explained. "Though this latest uprising is above and beyond anything in our history-at least as far as I know."



"That's why you're wishing you had...some godlike ability to fix it, then. Isn't it, James? But you don't. You're a man, not a god. Part vampire, yes. Able to heal, yes. But not a god. You can't restore life to the dead-"



"I can. Or did you not see that for yourself back there?"



"I meant can't in the sense of shouldn't. Just because you're capable of doing something doesn't mean you should. Nothing good can come of working in complete opposition to nature itself, James."



"I have no choice," he said.



She blinked then, planting her feet quite suddenly, tugging him to a stop. "My God, is that why you want to find Utanapishtim's resting place? Are you planning to try to reanimate a man who's been dead for more than five thousand years?"



He faced her slowly. "You know where he is, don't you?"



"Yes. I think I do. And you're out of luck, thank God. According to your own tablet, back at the house, he was cremated, James. There's nothing left of him but ash."



Up ahead, Brigit called back in a harsh whisper, "It's all clear. Hurry up, you two."



Nodding, he pulled his captive into motion again. "I have to try."



"You're out of your mind."



"Look, I'm supposed to do this. I wouldn't have been chosen as the one to save my people if I couldn't make it work. It's not supposed to be easy. But I've got to try. It's what I was born to do."



"You are so full of yourself I can hardly believe you're the same man who was sneaking in and out of hospital rooms trying to cure dying children."



"Not trying to, doing it. And we're done discussing this. I didn't ask your opinion."



"I didn't ask to be kidnapped!"



"I get that. You would rather have run away and let everyone else fend for themselves. You told me you were a coward, and I guess I should have believed you. But get this. Just because running and covering your own ass are the things you would do in this situation, that doesn't mean they're the things I should do, Lucy. I will die for my people, if that's what it takes."



She yanked her hand from his and stomped past him, and for one brief instant, as she walked by, he distinctly felt that his words had torn open a deep, deadly wound in her heart, and left it wide and bleeding.



He'd hit a nerve. He didn't know why. And he regretted it, but he didn't know how to make it better. There was too much else going on for him to worry about the professor's hurt feelings at the moment.



She emerged from the tunnel into a cave, the mouth opening to the darkness of the night, and as predicted, a large black Lincoln Continental was parked there waiting for them. Rhiannon and Brigit were already sitting in the backseat, so Lucy yanked open the passenger door and got into the front.



James smelled the smoke and saw the glow coming from the direction of the house, though the woods blocked the mansion itself. He went around and got behind the wheel, then drove out of the cave and across the rough ground. He pulled the car onto the road a half mile from the mansion and headed away from it. A look in the rearview mirror showed him a night sky alight with an angry red-orange halo, and arrow-sharp flames licking at the very stars.



Lucy didn't speak again that night. Not to anyone. Not even to demand he let her go. He supposed she had figured out that he still couldn't do that. For one thing, she hadn't told him where to find the remains of Utanapishtim. And once she did, she would know where he was going next. He couldn't risk her telling anyone what he was up to until it was done.



And even with all that, all the worry and the remorse and the anguish of having lost friends, relatives, in this war...he still couldn't quite quell the thrill of challenging his powers to the ultimate extent. Restoring life to a pile of five-thousand-year-old ash.



It was almost dawn when they arrived at a gorgeous-but normal-gorgeous, nothing out of a period fantasy-house on a jutting peninsula that thrust itself into Salem Harbor like a forefinger pointing out to sea.



It looked to Lucy like the kind of place a presidential family would go for a weekend summer break. And yet it was filled with vampires, she was sure of that. She didn't know how many, but she knew there must be a den of them.



Brigit and Rhiannon hurried inside as soon as the car came to a stop in the curving driveway. Lucy saw Roland in the doorway, as he flung it open to greet them, and she could tell there were others beyond him, though she barely glimpsed them.



"This is Will and Sarafina's place. They're friends," James said softly.



"I don't care." She sat in the car, hugging herself, staring at the sea.



"She's a Gypsy-and a vampire, of course-and he's mortal. You won't have to be the only human around anymore."



"I told you, I don't care."



He sighed. "Please come inside, Lucy. I need to find out if there's any word from my family and-"



"Then go. I'm not setting foot in that house until the sun comes up and the undead freak show closes down for the day, all right?"



He was wounded. She felt it, and she didn't care about that, either. His words had really hurt her earlier.



"I can't leave you alone."



"If you don't, I'll never tell you where to find Utanapishtim."



He blinked at her. She saw, but refused to meet his eyes.



"I want some time to myself. I'm going to go down to that beach, and I'm going to sit there and watch the sunrise, and I don't want you to bother me. I'm not going to run away. If I did, you'd only find me anyway. But I want this time alone, and if you don't give it to me, I swear to you, James, I will refuse to help you even if Rhiannon kills me for it."



And with that she opened the car door, hefted her bag up onto her shoulder, got out and walked away from him. She walked into the darkness, onto the white sand, down toward the water's edge. And that was where she would stay, she decided. She would wait for the sun to rise, when they would all-most of them, anyway-finally, fall silent and asleep....



Like the dead.



God, it was all just too much.



She sat in the sand, drew her knees up to her chest, lowered her head and let the tears flow. She heard James open and close the car door, and then his footsteps crossing the large wooden deck, the door opening, then shutting behind him. Finally, she thought. Solitude.



And so she sat there, weeping and wondering how the hell it was that she had been dragged into a war that was not her own. And how it was that she had let herself begin to care what some half-breed demon angel thought of her.



Because she did care. He thought she was a coward. And it probably wouldn't hurt so much if it wasn't quite so true.



She was still weeping when, a few minutes later, a large hand landed on her shoulder from behind. She lifted her head, dashed away her tears and tried to pretend she hadn't been crying. "Sorry. I'm just so...stupid."



"That's not quite the way I've heard it."



It wasn't James's voice.



She turned at last and found herself face-to-face with an imposingly handsome man, large, broad, with raven hair and eyes and skin that seemed dark for a vampire. And yet she had no doubt that was what he was. And, in fact, an old one. He exuded power. The glow in his eyes was almost constant, and his skin was even more flawless than the others' were.



"I'm not going to hurt you, Professor. I actually...I came out to thank you. And to introduce myself."



She blinked, staring up at him, not moving. He should have seemed ordinary. He wore jeans and a forest-green knit pullover sweater with the collar of a white T-shirt showing at the neck. But he wasn't ordinary at all. She got chills, he was so far from ordinary.



"We share some interests, I understand."



"D-do we?"



"Ancient Sumer. You study it...and I lived in it. Ruled it, actually." He extended his large, powerful hand. "I'm Damien Namtar, but you'd be more familiar with my earlier name. Gilgamesh."



Her eyes widened, and her heart tried to pound a hole straight through her chest.



"You...can't be..."



He smiled gently. "Idib balazu nam he-ebtarre."



"'When you cross the threshold, it is a blessing,'" she translated, blushing at the compliment. "Thank you." Then she shook her head in awe and quickly scrambled to her feet, brushing the sand from the front of her khaki cargo pants and pressing her palms together in front of her body, then bowing slightly to him. "It's...it's an amazing honor, great king, to meet you. And a bit of a miracle. And I feel like I might faint, so I'll apologize in advance if-"



"I should be the one bowing to you, Lucy. I understand that you're the translator of the prophecy. And that now you've located Ziasudra's remains?"



She shook her head. "It won't do any good, your high-"



"Damien. Really, I'm just a man. I make my living as a magician, entertaining the masses in Vegas when I'm not on tour. Though I imagine my onstage vampire persona will be seen through now. They'll know it's for real, and I'll be hunted, like the rest of us."



She lifted her head, met his eyes. "You never found him again, did you? Your beloved friend, Enkidu?"



His eyes shifted toward the sea, maybe to hide the reaction she'd glimpsed at the mention of his friend's name. "I like to think he's in a better place."



"All of this, all of it, this entire race began, because of your search to restore life to your best friend. And now James is going to try the same thing. He's going to try to bring life back to a pile of ash. Don't you see how futile that is?"



He met her eyes and stared deeply into them. "You're very wise for a mortal possessed of only a few decades. And I said much the same thing, only an hour ago, to James. He's hearing none of it."



"But surely you have the authority to tell him to let this go?" she asked.



He shook his head. "I might. But I'm not convinced that, futile or not, it isn't worth a try." He sighed and glanced out toward the sea again. "Sunrise approaches, and I must go inside. But I had to meet you. If we both survive this, I would love to spend some time in conversation with you, if you would permit it."



Part of her wanted to say that she hoped beyond hope never to set eyes on any vampire ever again, once this was over. If she lived through it. But the rest of her was in awe at having a real time conversation with a legendary historical figure she'd studied all her life. And she heard herself saying, "I truly hope we have the chance to do that."



He lowered his head in a semi-bow to her. "Thank you for helping us."



"I wasn't given a choice. But in your case, you're welcome."



He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed the back of it gently. And when he straightened, he smiled and without turning said, "I fear you've been treating this gem with less than the tenderness and reverence she deserves, James. It's a situation I would strongly advise you to remedy."



"Fuck you, Damien."



She gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth, but the great king only grinned, gave her a wink and then spun around and vanished right before her eyes, leaving only a sand-whirlwind to mark the spot where he'd been standing.



She stared at James, still stunned. "Do you have any idea who he is?" she asked.



He made a face, as if to say, duh.



"Of course you do. Well, that was just stupid. And rude. And uncalled for. And-"



"Several of my relatives have just finished reading me the riot act. Rhiannon, of all people, reported our entire conversation in the cave, and then Brigit took it upon herself to fill me in on the parts of your background that I didn't yet know."



She blinked twice, then averted her face. "You know about my family?"



"That they were murdered in the desert. That you were the only survivor. Yes. I know, and I can't tell you how sorry I am, nor how much I regret what I said to you. You're not a coward. You've been very brave, and I keep forgetting just how frightening this must be for you and-"



"Oh, please shut up." She turned away, shaking her head.



"I mean it."



"No, you don't. You thought I was a coward a few hours ago, and nothing has changed, other than that you've found out where I learned to be so good at running away from danger, hiding while the people I love die, doing absolutely nothing to try to help them. I learned my lessons very well. And I'm alive today because of them."



"You were a child. There was nothing you could have done."



"I'll never know, since I didn't try. But the last thing I want or need is absolution from you, a man with no moral compass whatsoever."



"I have a moral compass, it's just not pointing to the same true north as yours does. That doesn't make it wrong."



"Interfering with life and death is wrong. I don't care who you are or what your reasons."



"Right. Tell me now that if you could go back, hold your hands over some corpse and, by doing so, prevent your parents being shot down in that desert, you wouldn't do it."



"I already told you, I did nothing to try to help them. What part of that do you not get?"



He was speechless, staring at her. "Where is he?" he asked. "Where is Ziasudra? Utanapishtim?"



"He was Ziasudra all his life, and Utanapishtim in death. It was how the Babylonians referred to him, and now I know where they got it. The tablet called it his secret name, and said it was carved into the statue that is his urn. It's one of three similar figures of priest-kings, male, nude, about nine and a half inches tall. Look for engravings of water, waves, the flood or a boat on it. If there aren't any, you'll just have to take all three."



"From where?"



"Normally they're in the Louvre. But you're in luck. The Sumerian exhibit is currently on tour. Last I knew it was spending a month at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York."



"How the hell am I going to get it out of there?"



She shrugged. "I'm sure you'll think of some thing."



He pressed his lips together.



"I'm going home now."



"You can't."



"Oh, yes, I can. I kept my word, and now I'm holding you to yours. And if necessary, I think I could get King Gilgamesh to back me up on this."



He sighed, clearly angry and getting angrier. "He has a wife, you know."



"Who?"



"The great king."



She frowned at his retreating back and wondered if there was any chance in the world that he was actually jealous. And for some reason, that notion banked her anger just slightly.



He'd been stomping away, or doing the closest thing he could do to stomping in the shifting white sand, but he turned back to face her again after only a few steps. "You can't go home-because you're wanted by the FBI."



"What?"



"They've named you a person of interest in the murders of Lester Folsom and Will Waters. It's all over the news. That's how Brigit learned about your past. They're saying the trauma of seeing your parents and their entire party murdered in front of your eyes did something to your mind, setting a time bomb in your sanity that finally went off. You snapped, and murdered Folsom and Waters, then ran for your life and have been in hiding ever since. Your face is being plastered everywhere. They're offering a reward."



She could barely raise her voice above a whisper to ask, "How much?"



"One million dollars."



All the life seemed to go out of her at once. She sank down to her knees on the beach.



"I'm sorry, Lucy." He was trudging toward her again. "I promise you, once my people are safe, I'll find some way to make all of this up to you."



Her lips parted to ask how on earth he thought he could possibly do that, but no sound emerged. Her throat was sealed, her stomach empty, her head pounding, her energy utterly gone. She sank down farther, covering her face with her hands. "You've ruined everything. God, you've ruined my life!"



"Me? How have I-"



"By involving me in your disaster! My career is over. My reputation destroyed. Even my freedom is hanging by a thread."



"Look, I'm not the one who publicly executed an author and a talk show host, nor am I the one who set you up to take the fall for it."



"You dragged me into all this! And now there's no way out for me."



"There's one way out." He sank into the sand in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. "There's only one way out as far as I can see, Lucy. You're in this now. You have to see it through to the end. Help me find Utanapishtim. He's the key to everything, according to the very prophecy you translated. That has to mean something, doesn't it? That you're the one who found it, and you're the one here with me now? I think you were chosen, too. I think you were meant to help us survive."



She lifted her head slowly. "I think you'd say anything right now to ensure my continued cooperation. And I don't believe you anymore. You've lied to me. Broken promises to me. Abused and insulted me. Kept secrets from me-and I sense you still are."



He blinked, perhaps surprised by her accuracy.



"Only one thing you've said to me rings true right now, James."



"And which thing is that?" he asked, sounding morose, almost bitter.



"That I have no other way out. So why don't you just go on inside and leave me alone? I certainly won't run now that I know I have nowhere else to go."



"I'm sorry," he said. "I am, but I'm not going to grovel. Have it your way."



He got up and walked back toward the house, and she couldn't help but watch him go.



Standing on the deck, looking out at them, was a woman she'd never seen before. A beautiful woman, tall and curvy, with long masses of raven-wing curls so black they appeared blue in the moonlight. She wore flowing skirts and scarves, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and more jewelry than Lucy even owned. She had to be Sarafina, the Gypsy. Yet another vampire.



Hell, Lucy thought, just shoot me now.