“No,” she said, “I’m a monster.” And in those four simple words her tone changed from playful humor to something else. She packed that word with such intense sadness that I was momentarily left speechless. Before I could fumble out a reply the line went dead.

I stared at the phone. The LED tracer went from green to red. Trace incomplete.

“Okay,” I said aloud. “That was surreal.”

Ghost stared at me with huge doggie eyes. Sadly he offered no wise insights into what the hell was going on.

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Kingdom of Shadows

Beneath the Sands

One Year Ago

They walked through the shadows, two incongruous figures that did not look like they belonged in the same century let alone the same reality. Vox found it very amusing even while it was frightening. He admitted to himself that Grigor scared him. In Vox’s estimation, Grigor—with his pale skin, black clothes, and otherworldly demeanor—would scare anyone. He wondered how much of it was window dressing to sell the idea of immortal monsters, and how much of it was the real deal. Not knowing the difference is what made the fear sweat run icy lines down Vox’s back.

After all, Grigor was in many ways the real deal. He was one of Upierczi, the reigning king of his kind. Ancient by any ordinary standard and, if the stories the Scriptor’s father had told him were true, faster and more powerful than any of his followers—and they were faster and stronger than …

Than what? He asked himself. Than humans?

As they walked, Vox pondered that question and his fear grew and grew.

Grigor led him through a maze of tunnels, some of which looked to be centuries old. Some of the tunnels opened into well-organized living quarters, with proper lights, rooms like dormitories, niches for worship, mess halls, and many rooms for training. There were cells down there, too, and as they walked past, Vox could hear the wretched whimpering of female voices.

He paused. “What’s that?”

Grigor turned and regarded the line of cells with heavy-lidded eyes. “Breeding pens.”

“Who are those women?”

“They are not women,” sneered Grigor. “They are cows. If they are lucky, if God favors them, they will bear a Upierczi son.”

“If they don’t?”

“Then they are less than useless to us.”

He spat on the floor and turned to continue down the long corridor.

Vox lingered for a moment. One voice, a very young voice, suddenly screamed with the absolute and immediate horror of someone who was being brutally used and who knew, with absolute certainty, that no one would ever come to rescue her. It made Vox feel sick. He tried to tell himself that it was the chemo upsetting his stomach. If it accomplished nothing else, the lie at least kept him from vomiting.

He hurried to catch up to Grigor.