The Night Eternal полностью

The five were asked to provide their names, and each man lied. Eph signed a scribble next to his pseudonym with a dull pencil. Mr. Quinlan stood in the background, before a canvas wall thumping with rain, while four strigoi stood golemlike, one pair of sentries at either flap door.

Mr. Quinlan’s story was that he had captured five outliers squatting in a cellar beneath a Korean market on 129th Street. A blow to the head, suffered in the act of subduing his cargo, explained his glitchy telepathy—whereas, in fact, Quinlan was actively blocking the vampires from accessing his true thoughts. He had shed his oversized pack, laying it down on the damp canvas floor near his boots.

The humans first tried to untie the binding knots, in hopes of preserving the rope for reuse. But the wet nylon would not budge and had to be cut. Under the watchful eyes of the vampire guards, Eph remained standing with his eyes down, rubbing his raw wrists. It was impossible for him to look a vampire in the eye without showing hatred. Also, he was concerned about being recognized by the strigoi hive mind.

He was aware of a disturbance brewing inside the tent. The quiet was awkward, the sentries directing their attention at Mr. Quinlan. The strigoi had picked up on something different about him.

Fet noticed this too, because he suddenly started talking, trying to direct attention away from Quinlan. “When do we eat?” he asked.

The human with the clipboard looked up from his note-taking. “Whenever they feed you.”

“Hope it’s not too rich,” he said. “I don’t do well with rich foods.”

They stopped what they were doing, staring at Fet as though he were insane. The lead man said, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Good,” said Fet.

One of the strigoi noticed that Mr. Quinlan’s pack remained on the floor in the corner of the room. The vampire reached for the long, heavy bag.

Fet stiffened near Eph. One of the human personnel grasped Eph’s chin, using a penlight to examine the interior of his mouth. The man had bags beneath his eyes the color of black tea. Eph said, “Were you a doctor?”

“Sort of,” said the man, looking at Eph’s teeth.

“How ‘sort of’?”

“Well, I was a veterinarian,” he said.

Eph closed his mouth. The man flicked the light beam in and out of Eph’s eyes, intrigued by what he saw.

“You’ve been taking some medication?” asked the vet.

Eph didn’t like the vet’s tone. “Sort of,” he answered.

“You’re in pretty bad shape. Kinda tainted,” said the vet. Eph saw the vampire drawing the zipper back on the pack. The nylon shell was lined with lead from the X-ray aprons of a midtown dentist’s office. Once the strigoi felt the disruptive properties of the silver blades, he dropped the pack as though scalded.

Mr. Quinlan rushed for the pack. Eph pushed the veterinarian, knocking the man all the way across the tent. Mr. Quinlan shoved past the strigoi and pulled a sword quickly from the pack, turning, holding it out. The vampires were at first too stunned to move as the surprise presence of silver, in the form of a weapon, held them back. Mr. Quinlan advanced slowly in order to give Fet, Gus, and the others time to grab their weapons. Eph felt a hell of a lot better once he got a sword into his hands. The weapon Mr. Quinlan brandished was actually Eph’s blade, but there was no time to quibble.

The vampires did not react as humans would. None of them ran out the door to escape or warn others. The alarm went out psychically. Their attack, after the initial shock, came swiftly.

Mr. Quinlan cut one down with a blow to the neck. Gus rushed forward, meeting a charging vampire and running his blade straight through its throat. Decapitation was difficult in close quarters because the broad slashing required to sever the neck risked wounding others, and the blood spray was caustic, laden with infectious worm parasites. Close-quarters combat with strigoi was always a last resort, and so the five of them fought their way out of the quarantine intake room as quickly as possible.

Eph, the last to arm himself, was set upon not by vampires but by humans. The veterinarian and one other. He was so startled, he reacted to the attack as though they were strigoi and stabbed the vet through the base of his neck. Red arterial spray spritzed the wooden supporting pole in the center of the room as both Eph and the veterinarian stared at one another with wide eyes. “What the hell are you doing!” yelled Eph. The veterinarian sank to his knees, and the second man turned his attention to his wounded friend.

Eph backed away slowly from the dying man, pulled on his shoulder by one of the others. He was shaken; he had killed a man.