𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐦

Act V, Scene I

His hollow eyes narrowed in irritation, and he thrust out his hand toward her, the knotty muscles in his arm flexing.

"Enough of this!" he shouted. "Come! You are mine! We will be joined in the Marasim Alwahda, and the world will kneel at my feet."

Again, he spoke in Arabic that she could somehow understand. The completion of the rites, perhaps? She didn't know or care.

Stepping back, Lucy shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but no," she said in firm refusal. "You didn't say 'please'."

From the depths of the fog, Virgil shot through the darkness like a bullet from an elephant gun. Passing directly through Lucy's body, he leapt high in the air, unsheathed his sword and brought it down across the Nosferatu's chest with staggering force.

The dhampir ducked, pivoted, and slashed again, his blade slicing through his enemy's bare, muscular back.

A crimson geyser erupted from both planes of the Nosferatu's torso, spraying liquid life across the deck. He roared.

On the upper deck, Lucy regained consciousness in her protected hiding place next to Evelyne, unharmed. The "Lucy" that had lured the Nosferatu onto the ship had been nothing more than an incorporeal copy — or "astral projection" — made manifest by a clever incantation.

"Well done!" Lucy said to the enchantress. She stood, brushing the dust from the neglected floorboards off her dress. "He believed it was me."

"He's strong, Lucy," Evelyne said. Her high, regal brow was creased with worry and concentration. "Stronger than anything I have ever encountered. I will need him in place for at least five or six minutes longer for this to work. He must not be allowed to wander."

Lucy nodded. "I understand," she said.

She ran to the stairs and descended to the main deck. She would be at the ready, should Virgil need her help.

Lucy slowed to a stop twenty paces from the fight, just in time to see Virgil attack from above, his blade reflecting the light of the many hanging lanterns lit across the deck. He dove through the hazy air, striking down and left so fast, his arms and sword momentarily vanished. The blow did not land, however, as the irate Nosferatu batted the sword and its wielder aside like an irritating insect.

Virgil landed on the deck on one knee, tilted, pivoted, and propelled his blade upward, slicing the Nosferatu's leg open from calf to thigh. Virgil ducked and rolled between his legs, but the Nosferatu twisted at the waist and swiped Virgil across the back with his curved claws. Long, diagonal tears appeared across the back of Virgil's coat, but if the claws had torn his flesh, he did not acknowledge it.

He rose to his feet, swift and fluid as an African caracal. He stalked around the Nosferatu, lightfooted, his rapier at the ready.

His opponent snarled as a slick ribbon of dark blood dripped from his leg to the smooth planks of the deck, varnishing the wood an angry red. He glared at the dhampir, the blackness of his bottomless eyes seeming to deepen and expand.

Virgil advanced and swung his blade. As the sword was about to make contact with the cerulean flesh of his enemy, it reversed direction, and made a second stroke from an unbelievable angle that resulted in fresh blood gushing from the Nosferatu's left shoulder.

Growling, the Egyptian vampire covered the new wound with his clawed hand, and stumbled back from the impact of the blow. Above him, a shape arose like a giant, ominous raven as the immortal hunter once again took to the air.

Virgil dove, bringing his blade down with the crushing force of an angry wave, the sharp edge poised to slice through the top of the Nosferatu's glabrous head.