âYou know, Iâll be moving on soon, too.â
âStop trying to be like Mister D. Back at our inn, weâre shorthanded and could use some help,â Amne said, putting her strength into the arms sheâd twined around Ry.
Heartlessly prying his way free of the girl, Ry got to his feet. The severity of the gaze he concentrated on the door made Amneâs anger turn to fear.
âWhat is it?â the girl asked.
âSomeoneâs coming.â
âWhat?!â
âFrom the first floor. Theyâll be coming up the stairs any minute now. And thereâs a bunch of them.â
âWell, I donât hear anything. And how come you know all this?â
But Ry couldnât afford to let that question leave him reeling. The footsteps from the first floor were now climbing the staircase, and even Amne could hear them gathering just beyond the door.
âI donât like this,â said the girl. âWho on earth could it be? I didnât think there were even that many people in the whole house.â
Just as Ry was considering an escape through the window, there was the sound of the lock being disengaged and the door slowly opened. The figure that waded into the feeble light was familiar to the two of them. As were the wraithlike figures that lingered to the rear.
âYouâre still awake, it would seem,â the figure said.
âBut youâre . . .â Amne began through chattering teeth.
âMadame Mayor . . .â said Ry.
__
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D got off his horse in the courtyard. A crisp incandescence filled the ruined garden this evening. Moonlight. He looked at the window. A human figure melted into the fleeting lamplight.
D entered the mansion. As he walked down the ancient corridor, he seemed terribly well-suited to the mansion by night. More than anyone else, this young man was a perfect match for decay.
The door to the room was open. The beautiful figure that sat by the window turned to face D.
âA little late, arenât you?â Price said mockingly.
âWhat are you doing?â
âIâm waiting. For the singer, that is. I, too, grasp the beauty of the night.â Once the youthful warrior had confirmed that D had his eyes shut, his expression became one of amazement.
âAnd are you going to become a descendant of the night?â asked the Hunter.
âWhy would you ask that? You know something after all, donât you? Once again, I ask you the same question. Why have you come here, D? â
âBut thatâs not something for the singer to decide,â D continued in a leaden voice.
âWell, who shall decide then?â
âThe will of the nightâthe one who created both the singer and the song.â
âAnd that would beâ?â Price began to ask as he left his place by the window without a sound. His eyes were giving off a red glow.
The seat by the window was reserved for the singer. Price was dumbstruck as he gazed at the woman in the gossamer gown. Particles of light glistened in the folds of her dress.
âI have heard your song,â Price said in an absent-minded tone. âAnd thatâs why Iâve come here. I finally realize that I was summoned.â
But there is need for only one of you , a voice chimed in his headâthe voice of a lady. A voice so beautiful it would be impossible to judge what kind of woman she was.
âThen that would be me.â
There is one more. And he will surely come here as well.
âSo, who gets to decide?â
The will of the night.
Price looked at D. The man whoâd given the exact same reply as the phantasmal singer had solidified into a statue hued like the very darkness.
âWho are you?â he asked. âWhat are you supposed to be?â
His answer came quickly.
âIâm a Vampire Hunter.â
But Dâs next words were directed at the illusion: âThereâs more than one of you.â
Is there?
The voice in