Armies of the Night* Now that sufficient time has passed to permit me to regain my perspective, I feel
that I am ready to record the events of that night of horror when our House nearly fell
from a concerted attack by the "Armies of the Night," an attack that infiltrated our own
ranks.
How shall I begin? Perhaps, the opening line of the annual "Bad Hemingway
Short Story Contest" would be appropriate. It was a dark and stormy night....
Earlier in the evening, my colleagues, Nick Boyle and Alex Moreau, and I had
realised that we were besieged by some unknown force. All external communication
had been cut. We needed help if we were to survive. I sent Alex to try to escape from
the island, while Nick and I remained to protect the House and what it contained.
Sometime after midnight, I made my final written journal entry and switched to a
voice activated recorder. I truly believed that unless help soon arrived, we would be
lost. I had to leave some sort of testimony to the events that would transpire. It would
be vital information for the Legacy.
Since we still had emergency power, I sent Nick to activate the Emergency
Perimeter Defense, which would electrocute any intruder who did not know the code.
He reported that the front door was open, then, over my headset, I heard the sounds of
a scuffle, and Nick's cries as he was apparently overwhelmed. By the time I reached
the foyer, it was vacant. I was now totally alone. Had he been captured? I could only
pray that was the case, for where there is life, there is hope. It was 12:52 a.m. when I
activated the House's defenses.
Considering the circumstances, I reasoned that our attackers must have
knowledge of the Legacy's methods. Therefore, in all likelihood, we had faced them
before. In my mind, I began to recount some of our most formidable adversaries of the
past few years.
The first that came to mind was the "Dark Priest," Levon Soltar, a warlock of
tremendous power, who had been killed by Nick's father many years before. He had
risen to inhabit the body of his son, Tom. I clearly recall his words even now, "This very
island, which so long has been awash in rectitude, will become the haven for my new
flock." However, he could not be our new adversary. I had seen him die, when Nick had
plunged a spear into his chest.
As I searched the darkened house, crossbow cocked and ready, I continued to
deliberate. In the drawing room, my piano revived the memory of Leigh Noir, the demon
who fed from the creativity of that young, piano "Prodigy," Eugene Kadar. I had
"weaned" Noir of that existence with the spear that supported a tapestry. It seemed to
be my evening for remembering all those enemies whom we had dispatched by pointed
weapons. It must have been the crossbow in my hands that was bending my brain
toward those thoughts. But then pointed weapons have always been my preference.
They lend a more personal touch.
Back to the matter at hand. I immediately set Leigh Noir aside as our invader...
he did not know the house. Our opponent definitely either knew the House personally
or had a blue print.
Whom did I next consider? I must consult the tape. It was my "Dream Lover,"
who came to me in the guise of Jessica, my old friend Samuel Kellig's assistant. She
sought to destroy the enchanted urn that had once imprisoned her, to assure her
everlasting freedom. To that end, she tried to seduce me, to feed from me as she had
fed from Samuel. She nearly succeeded. But with the help of my team, Kristin, Alex,
and Rachel, I ultimately saw her true form and called her by name, Lamia. I had
imprisoned that viper in Samuel's field box. Our enemy had to be another.
At that instant, one of our attackers tried to break through the french doors in the
drawing room, and was somewhat "shocked" at her electrifying reception. In the rain-blurred image of her face and palms, in my mind I "saw" the face and manacled hands
of Karen Morgan, the succubus, as she had been dragged from the pier into depths of
San Francisco Bay. I reported into my microphone that a female attacker had been
repelled by the EPD at 1:30 a.m.
Karen, a true "Black Widow," had been an ancient entity, who fed from men's
lust, but I believe that, in her own way, she had loved Nick. I must admit, she had
spared my own life for the sake of the friendship that Nick bore me. That surely
indicated some pure emotion in her.
I focused on that idea for a while. It made sense. Nick was missing. Karen had
loved him. Although she had fed from lust, it had left her empty. She hadcraved a real
affection, which she had found in my colleague. Again, I had reached a dead end...
literally. I had seen Karen die that night in our trap and execution on Pier 3. I wonder
though... she had been imprisoned all those years in that Sierra gold mine and had yet
survived. Could she have survived her watery grave? No... I recall the surprise and
terror in her eyes as she sank.
Suddenly my reveries were shattered by the sound of breaking glass. A dark
figure charged at me through the door from the foyer. My crossbow's quarrel caught
him dead in the heart. Hearing a second set of footsteps, I called Nick's name, then
gave chase to a shadow that raced up the stairs. Thankfully, better sense took control.
If I could identify the body, we might know who sent him. However, when I returned to
the drawing room, the body was gone, and only a small pool of blood remained on the
bare wood.
I ran a sample of that blood through computer analysis. By then it was 2:37 a.m.
As I sat at the console, waiting, I returned to my contemplation of the situation. It was
clear that there was more than one assailant, but the leader was still a complete
mystery.
My mind turned toward the demon, Jordan, a disciple of "the Enlightened One,"
Lucifer himself, and his cult of arsonist children. However, I quickly deduced that he
would never come after me directly. T
However, the thought of burning churches drew me to Nick's old SEAL
commander. Nick had suspected him of masterminding the assassinations of prominent
members of the clergy, and had concentrated on "Finding Richter".
That madman had sworn his allegiance to an evil, Mesoamerican spider god. He
had wanted Nick to join his resurrected army of the dead, but it was only Nick that he
had wanted... not me... and Nick had destroyed him.
The computer arrived at its results. The blood was that of a dead man.
Suddenly, the alarm sounded. The EPD had been disarmed, a breech had been made
at Quadrant 4. With crossbow in hand, I raced downstairs to the kitchen... and nearly
shot Alex, who was entering through the french doors of the breakfast nook. Thank
God my reactions were either too fast or too slow, or I might have needed to find a new
aide-de-camp.
Alex was drenched and exhausted. As I looked into her eyes, they seemed
disoriented. She explained that she had tried to make it across the island to the cove,
but there had been too many and she had been forced to return. She said that the
house was now totally surrounded.
As I escorted her to the stairs, I told her that Nick had either been captured or
killed. She told me not to worry... that Nick was very strong. As she spoke, I could focus
only upon her hypnotic voice, her lips, her eyes. Time seemed to stop. I was partially
mesmerized. She told me to wait there, at the bottom of the stairs, and. I did, but I
wandered to the mirror. There my mind's eye "saw" not only my own reflection, but
another as well... that of Philippe d'Arcy, whom we had believed to be a master
vampire... one whom "the Light of Day," sunlight, could not harm. Behind me, on the
stairs, I sensed a presence.
Suddenly, I knew who our enemy was... but which one of that clan... Justine?
No, she was dead... killed by her own creator, Philippe, to prevent her from fully
initiating Alex into the ways of the Undead... by draining Nick of his life's blood.
Philippe had wanted Alex for himself. Therefore, Justine had to die. I remember the
shock on her face... that a master would kill his own initiate.
But Philippe was dead as well... killed by Alex to save my life. Who did that
leave?... My colleague, Alexandra Moreau. My heart sank at the thought that the taint
of vampirism had returned to corrupt her.
Knowing that it could not possibly be Alex alone, I needed to re-arm myself, and
so retreated to the library. I snatched a silver cross from the wall, and raced in search
of my colleagues. I did not have far to go. I found Alex, feeding from Nick, who was
sprawled across my own bed. Having already lost considerable blood, he was barely
conscious.
I cried for Alex to stop. Intoxicated by the taste of Nick's blood, she said it was
too late. In the candlelight, I could see the blood on her lips. I was horrified. I saw
"Darkness Fall" upon our House. I implored that it was not too late... not if she stopped
of her own volition. "Remember," I said, "you must reject the powers of darkness. The
vampires... the Undead... are trying to pull you back." With all my power I urged her to
fight them. She heard me... she tried. I had to help her remember that Philippe was
dead, that she had killed him with her own hands.
I could see the recollection in her eyes. I was winning, but at that instant Marcus
intervened. I had seen him die twice. First, when he had jumped from Nick's hospital
window. Later, at the morgue I had seen his corpse which had been autopsied, long
before being introduced to our coroner. Then, later, I myself had killed him in the
tunnels beneath Golden Gate Park. Too late, I remembered a conversation with
Rachel. I had told her that legend has it that a master vampire could never be killed.
Thus, the true master vampire was revealed... in the blond, boyish, Victorian elegance
of Marcus.
He gloated that most people had never guessed because of his youth. He
explained that once one dies young, one is young forever. Now that both Justine and
Philippe were dead, Alex's initiation fell to him. Again, I urged Alex to fight.
Marcus forced me backwards. Looking up into my eyes, he said, "Philippe may
have been stupid enough to engage you in a test of wills over Alex, but I won't make
the same mistake. This time all Alex has to do is watch." I fought those blue eyes with
all my strength... all my will, but I felt my power drain away. Marcus, with all his ancient,
primal force and expertise was too potent. While I still had control of my mind, I tried to
drive the cross into his chest, but he easily slapped it away. I heard its metallic clang as
it slid across the floor. I was lost.
I sensed death in those fangs as they touched my neck. Suddenly, Nick was on
him. Somehow my friend had found his strength. He had grabbed the cross from the
floor and drove it into that abomination. My mind was once again my own. I ran for the
window and threw it open. Sunlight flooded across the master vampire, who boiled
away to dust and vapour - so much for that legend. Nick and Alex and myself were
safe, thanks to each other's strengths.
Personal note:
That morning I wrote: Vampires have walked the earth since the dawn of time,
always ready to prey on whoever might fall beneath their sway. Luckily, Alex was
stronger than most, yet without the Legacy, she too would joined the ranks of the
Undead. For in a world where evil knows no bounds, only the vigilant survive.
Now, however, I wonder. Yes, we all saved each other that night. We
vanquished that particular abomination. "Only the vigilant survive," I had written. But is
that true? I have seen the vigilant, the most experienced, the best fall beneath the
ceaseless onslaught of evil.
Has that taint of vampirism been purged from Alex's soul? Or does it lie like a
dormant virus, waiting to burst forth when resistance is low? Sometimes it seems that I
have fought evil for my entire life, yet I still cannot fathom its nature. Is it a disease of
the soul, or is it a real, pathological ailment whose presence even our most advanced
science cannot yet detect? Like a contagious pestilence, it invades and overpowers its
victim.
Just as I have seen strong, healthy people vanquished by pneumonia... by
AIDS... by infection, I have seen "good" people, dear friends, unable to resist the power
of the Darkside. They struggled against it with all their might, with all their goodness,
and yet they lost. There have been times that I myself have barely escaped. I cannot
help but wonder whether I too carry the sleeping virus within my own soul. Was it
contracted like any contagion, or was its seed always present, like some flawed gene
buried deep with the chromosomes... a silent time bomb, awaiting a moment of
weakness? Is this what we see in children who take a perverse delight in tormenting
the weakest amongst them? Is this what rules us when we do not speak up for that
child, or choose to ignore the fate of a neighbor on Kristelnacht, or look away from the
killing fields of Cambodia?
I don't know. All I do know is that doubt is a luxury a precept cannot afford, and
so I fall back upon the barest foundation of all. For every darkness there is light, for
every evil there is good, and God is in His heaven. This is all I know with certainty.
Therefore, this is the philosophy which I must live by and for.
* A clip show from Season 3, Episode #64, written by Garner Simmons & originally aired on Showtime 14 August 1998. This synopsis appeared in Jigsaw, Issue No. 40.
