Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [178]
He pulled me to my feet, and we stood on the foot of the grave, hand in hand. I looked up into that face, met the turquoise flame of his eyes, but it wasn’t me that was pulled into his gaze. It was he that fell into mine, and I knew, because I had a glimpse from his mind to mine, that my eyes were solid pools of black with stars glittering in them. It was the way my eyes had looked when Obsidian Butterfly, a vampire that thought she was an Aztec goddess, had shown me some of her power. She was powerful enough that no one argued with her about whether or not she was diety. Some things aren’t worth the fight. I’d used the power I’d learned from her only twice, and both times my eyes had filled with stars.
The night was suddenly less dark. I could see details, colors, things that my own eyes could never have seen. Requiem’s shirt was so green it seemed to burn like his eyes. It was a kind of hyperfocus, and it wasn’t just sight. His hand in mine felt heavier than it should have, more imporant than it should have, as if I could feel each whorl of his fingertip like tiny silken lines against my hand. To make love like this would either be the most wondrous experience of your life, or drive you mad.
I remembered this power, but it wasn’t what I needed. I had another flash from Requiem’s mind, a tiny flash of fear, quieted almost immediately, because I was touching him and I didn’t want him to be afraid. The stars in my eyes drowned in a rush of flame, black flame with a center of brown, as if wood were the flame, and fire what it ate.
My eyes were, for a moment, what they’d be if I’d been a vampire. They filled with dark, dark brown light, so dark it was almost black. I turned those glowing eyes toward the grave, and Graham saw them.
“Oh, God,” he whispered.
“Get off the grave, Graham,” I said, and my voice was mine, almost.
He just knelt on the ground and stared up at me.
“Move, Graham,” I said, “you won’t want to be there when I’m finished.”
He scrambled to his feet and moved, until I told him, “Good enough.” He stayed close, eyes wide, fear like a scent off of his skin, but he didn’t run, and he didn’t try to distance himself. Brave boy.
I knelt on the hard ground and drew Requiem down with me, so that he knelt behind me with his hands on my shoulders. He was like some huge solid wall of quiet strength behind me. I’d known that I amplified Jean-Claude’s powers when I was near him, but I’d never felt anything like what was happening now. It wasn’t a triumverate of power between Requiem and me, it was that he was one of Jean-Claude’s vampires, and that made him mine in a way. Mine to call on, mine to use, mine to reward.
I bent until my hands touched the ground, until I could feel the dead just below me. It was as if the ground were water, and I knew there was someone drowning just below me, and all I had to do was reach down and save them.
I whispered, “Edwin Alonzo Herman, hear me.” I felt him stir, like a sleeper disturbed by a dream. “Edwin Alonzo Herman, I call you from your grave.” I felt his bones grow long and straight, felt his flesh coalesce around him. It was like restuffing a broken doll. He remade himself, and it was so easy, too easy. The power began to spread outward, began to seek another grave, but some small part of me that was still me, knew better. It wouldn’t be just one more grave. I knew in that instant that I could raise this cemetery. That I could raise them all. No blood sacrifice. No chickens. No goats. Nothing, but the power blowing through me, and the vampire at my back. Because the power wanted to be used. It wanted to help me, help me caress them all from their graves, pull them to the light of stars, and fill them with . . . life. It would feel so good to lift them all up, so good.
I shook my head