Read Online Of Saints and Shadows (1994) by Christopher Golden - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Golden
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noise was partially obscured by Una’s retching, but nevertheless they heard him.
“‘ The attic!” one shouted, as if none of them had considered it before.
Karl Von Reinman barely had time to consider Octavian’s advice. If he were to survive — if there were any way to save Una — he must accept his old. student’s claims. His eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, and he concentrated. on his disbelief He backed up four steps, ran at the window, and crashed through, the noise of the breaking glass and shattering shutters enough to tell them Immediately what he had done . . . the last thing they had ever expected.
He crashed to the ground amid the shattering glass, trying desperately to keep his concentration. He wished he could metamorphose, but he was certain the change would be strenuous, distracting, and therefore deadly. If he allowed himself even for a moment to become frightened, if he became even momentarily disoriented, he might fall back on his centuries of belief in the Christian myth of his own existence. And then he would hum just as surely as if he were at the center of the sun.
He smiled as he got to his feet, and if he could have spared the energy, he might have laughed. Octavian, his bastard son, had been right all along.
He glanced toward his front yard just as three men, led. by the one with the ax, rounded the corner and began to approach him. Though they were not dressed in their ritual garb, he knew them on sight, the way the mouse knows the cat, regardless of its breed. Vatican men. They were clergy!
Well, he supposed he shouldn’t really be surprised. It was only that he hadn’t expected retaliation so soon.
He sniffed the air — two more had come out the back and were behind the house and there was one cm the roof. The roof! Was he Santa Claus, that they thought he might climb out the chimney? No, they knew exactly what he was, and they were here to execute him. What Una had suffered would be nothing in comparison to what they must have planned for him.
The clergymen were almost upon him and he prepared. to fight, his mouth set with grim determination and a dark silence forced upon him by his need for total concentration. Though he was not burning, the sun beating down on him still hurt. Its pressure bore down on his hack, driving spikes of pain from all over his body to his brain.
The man on the roof dropped down onto Von Reinman’s hack with a net of some sort as another ran at him clutching a silver dagger. Looking at the dagger, he felt the vulnerability of his heart the way he had felt it in his eyes and testicles centuries ago as a human. He moved far faster than they, and had thrown off the net and its owner with one swift motion as he tossed the owner of the dagger to the ground yards away. The man with the net was scrambling to his feet as Von Reinman lashed out with his leg, his foot caving in the back of the man’s head. The skull gave way easily under his strength, and there was a slight sucking noise as he withdrew his foot.
The smell hit him immediately, and the previous night’s feast raced through his brain, reminding him of poor Una. He could smell them now, their blood; he could hear their hearts heat. It beckoned him, that smell, that sound, called to him to come and slake his thirst, to relieve himself of his desire, his hunger.
Karl looked up to see the man with the ax and another clergyman standing, unmoving, yards away. The priest who wielded the silver dagger and whom Von Reinman had hurled to the ground was up now and charging his back. His mind seethed as he realized this fool thought to take him by surprise. At the last moment he turned, a guttural snarl and the hate in his squinting eyes the only outward signs of his rage and pain. These priests and. monks, these pathetic, overconfident children, were insignificant. Yet the threat they posed was not. At a subvocal level, he chanted to himself “You do not believe, you do not believe.”
And it
“‘ The attic!” one shouted, as if none of them had considered it before.
Karl Von Reinman barely had time to consider Octavian’s advice. If he were to survive — if there were any way to save Una — he must accept his old. student’s claims. His eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, and he concentrated. on his disbelief He backed up four steps, ran at the window, and crashed through, the noise of the breaking glass and shattering shutters enough to tell them Immediately what he had done . . . the last thing they had ever expected.
He crashed to the ground amid the shattering glass, trying desperately to keep his concentration. He wished he could metamorphose, but he was certain the change would be strenuous, distracting, and therefore deadly. If he allowed himself even for a moment to become frightened, if he became even momentarily disoriented, he might fall back on his centuries of belief in the Christian myth of his own existence. And then he would hum just as surely as if he were at the center of the sun.
He smiled as he got to his feet, and if he could have spared the energy, he might have laughed. Octavian, his bastard son, had been right all along.
He glanced toward his front yard just as three men, led. by the one with the ax, rounded the corner and began to approach him. Though they were not dressed in their ritual garb, he knew them on sight, the way the mouse knows the cat, regardless of its breed. Vatican men. They were clergy!
Well, he supposed he shouldn’t really be surprised. It was only that he hadn’t expected retaliation so soon.
He sniffed the air — two more had come out the back and were behind the house and there was one cm the roof. The roof! Was he Santa Claus, that they thought he might climb out the chimney? No, they knew exactly what he was, and they were here to execute him. What Una had suffered would be nothing in comparison to what they must have planned for him.
The clergymen were almost upon him and he prepared. to fight, his mouth set with grim determination and a dark silence forced upon him by his need for total concentration. Though he was not burning, the sun beating down on him still hurt. Its pressure bore down on his hack, driving spikes of pain from all over his body to his brain.
The man on the roof dropped down onto Von Reinman’s hack with a net of some sort as another ran at him clutching a silver dagger. Looking at the dagger, he felt the vulnerability of his heart the way he had felt it in his eyes and testicles centuries ago as a human. He moved far faster than they, and had thrown off the net and its owner with one swift motion as he tossed the owner of the dagger to the ground yards away. The man with the net was scrambling to his feet as Von Reinman lashed out with his leg, his foot caving in the back of the man’s head. The skull gave way easily under his strength, and there was a slight sucking noise as he withdrew his foot.
The smell hit him immediately, and the previous night’s feast raced through his brain, reminding him of poor Una. He could smell them now, their blood; he could hear their hearts heat. It beckoned him, that smell, that sound, called to him to come and slake his thirst, to relieve himself of his desire, his hunger.
Karl looked up to see the man with the ax and another clergyman standing, unmoving, yards away. The priest who wielded the silver dagger and whom Von Reinman had hurled to the ground was up now and charging his back. His mind seethed as he realized this fool thought to take him by surprise. At the last moment he turned, a guttural snarl and the hate in his squinting eyes the only outward signs of his rage and pain. These priests and. monks, these pathetic, overconfident children, were insignificant. Yet the threat they posed was not. At a subvocal level, he chanted to himself “You do not believe, you do not believe.”
And it
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