Near Death: Power of the Blood World

The second book in Kilpatrick's Power of the Blood World, NEAR DEATH is the story of the vampire David Lyle Hardwick - a poet who for over a centruy has lived in the unholy world of the undead, resiting his thirst for blood. Zero, a beautiful, wounded mortal, is sent to destroy him but falls for his seductive power and together they set out in search of his enemies. As their torrid love affair grows, so too does David's unspeakable tormented desire. He is becoming Nosferatu, and when his fury is unleashed who will be safe, not even his own kind...

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Near DeathPower of the Blood WorldBy Nancy KilpatrickMosaic PressCopyright © 2003 Nancy KilpatrickAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-0-88962-839-7CHAPTER 1The rented Vauxhall Nova lurched through the rusted wrought-iron gates. It sped up the quarter mile single-lane road to the circular driveway and turned right — the wrong way to turn in England.Behind the wheel a jittery blond cracked bubble gum and stared wide-eyed at the stately home. She was far enough from the city of Manchester that the headlights of her little car produced a beam under the fading sky. She could see that the place was enormous, two stories of stone spread out over a park-like untended lawn. Behind four white pillars stood an impressive double door. Flanking it right and left were windows; she counted sixteen little panes of glass in each. This was her first time across the Atlantic, only her third trip outside New York City and, except for the Governor's mansion they'd driven past when she and forty other girls had been recruited for a private party in Albany, Zero had never seen anything even remotely like this place. She switched the ignition off and unzipped her leather jacket. Under the front seat lay a black calfskin backpack, and she pulled it out. Inside she found a man's handkerchief, a cotton ball, a teaspoon, a lighter, and a clear plastic syringe with a needle already attached. A side pocket held a sandwich baggie of pale brown powder, rolled fat as a cigar.After dropping a few pinches of powder onto the spoon and adding Coca-Cola from the can she had been sipping from, Zero flicked on the lighter. Within seconds the combination of heat and Coke dissolved the powder. She used the cotton ball and lay the tip of the hypodermic in the liquid, then quickly withdrew the plunger, sucking up the heroin.Once her upper arm had been tied off with the handkerchief, she probed the inside of her elbow. At first she couldn't get a vein up, but soon a nub of blue reluctantly bulged against the skin. With well-practiced movements she got the needle to penetrate the vein. Liquid fire roared through her body. As always, the blaze scorched her heart first, then her head. She fell back against the seat sighing, waiting for the flames to singe her limbs.Time slipped past as the welcomed numbness finally anesthetized her soul.His eyes snapped open to the blackness of the cellar. He had listened as tires crushed gravel. Then to the engine die. There was only one, at least within the range he could sense. Oddly, it took nearly thirty minutes for the car door to open and then close.When her energy coalesced enough for action, Zero untied her arm. She shoved the baggie firmly down inside the black leather halter top she wore, dropped her purse into the backpack and tossed the works into the glove compartment. Now she was ready.She stepped out of the car and adjusted the front of a wide leather belt slung across her hips, hooked together by a jewel-eyed silver lizard devouring its own tail. As she grabbed the backpack through the open door, she checked her Leave It to Beaver watch. The little hand aimed at the Beaver's heart, the big one divided his balls. Five hours difference, the stewardess said. That makes it, what? she thought. Seven-thirty in Manchester? She didn't bother adjusting the time; she wouldn't be staying long.Zero peered in one of the dirty front windows. Too dark Inside to see much. Just to be on the safe side, she used the rusted knocker shaped like a thorny-stemmed rose to bang on the massive door. She didn't expect anyone to answer, and no one did; she went around to the back and got in through a storage shed where the lock was busted.Inside the kitchen she felt along the wall until she touched a light switch and flipped it. Nothing."Great!" she mumbled, rooting in the backpack, finally locating the flashlight and the sheet of paper. She used the beam to reread the note. Instruction number 7 said:     Search the house, every room,      no matter how small,      starting from the basement up to the attic.      Any door that's locked, including closets,      try the skeleton keys.      If they don't work, use the crowbar.      Remember, you must arrive well AFTER DARK.She was too blasted to feel anything more than a flutter of nervousness. Still, she thought, if they weren't making me do this, I sure as hell wouldn't be in this stupid place! She found the door to the basement. Although the sun had set, technically it wasn't dark yet, but she wasn't about to wait.One invader, her scents pungent: sweet-copper blood; skin slick with sour fear. And what? A bitter odor he could not place.He was not afraid, of course, simply curious. It made no sense. Surely there must be others. There are always others.But by fine-focusing his senses, he detected only this woman, making her way steadily if slowly toward him. His curiosity was already laced with anticipation. And that, he knew, would be dangerous. For her.The old stairs to the basement creaked, and Zero's foot slipped through the rotting wood on the third step. "Damn!" she yelled, the light careening around the cavernous room as she lost her balance. She scanned the layers of cobwebs and mounds of dust and dirt with her flashlight. The air was dank, mildewy. All of a sudden her arm stopped in mid-sweep and her heart began pounding hard. The center of the floor was taken up by a large stone coffin."Gimme a hit!" she whispered, reaching automatically for the heroin. But the idea of being out here alone, with no help in case she OD'd, scared her. And she wasn't really hungry. When she finished what she'd come for, she would treat herself.Snorting's a waste of good dope, she thought, sprinkling a little of the drug onto her fist. As she sniffed the fine powder, the flashlight slipped from her grasp and bounced down the steps.So much heroin cruised her blood stream that Zero didn't even get a buzz, but within seconds she'd convinced herself she felt calmer. When she reached the bottom of the steps she picked up the light and cautiously approached the rectangular box. She ran the beam across one side and read the inscription:David Lyle Hardwick 1863-1893 May God Have Mercy on the Souls of PoetsZero forced herself to the side of the casket and placed everything that she was carrying on top, which left the room eerily lit. Bracing her feet, she shoved against the lid with all her might, trying to slide it off. The heavy lid edged along slowly, and pretty soon she was sweating.When the lid went as far as she needed to move it, she picked up the flashlight and peered in. "Oh God! This is sick!" she whispered. The body of a man dressed in old-fashioned clothing lay on moldy satin. Wavy below-the-shoulders blond hair framed a sculpted ashen face. Delicate pale hands were folded over his chest in a classical death pose. He did not seem to be breathing but the note had told her that didn't mean much.Hands shaking, Zero reached into her bag and pulled out a mallet and a wooden stake. "Man, I can't do this!" she cried. Through her heroin haze the fear she heard in her voice almost reached her, and almost felt too close. She decided another morale-booster wouldn't hurt, and had two quick snorts, dulling the terror before it could crowd her further.But finally, shaking, she positioned the sharp point of the stake where she thought his heart might be, raised the hammer and swung.An icy hand sprang from the coffin and grabbed her by the throat.As the tools hit the concrete floor, she was forced backward, gasping for breath. The hand was followed by the rest of his body lifting out of the coffin. In the dim arc of the flashlight beam, she caught a glimpse of blazing eyes and a face twisted with rage, like something coming to life out of a nightmare.Dreaming. I must be dreaming, he thought. She's returned.But within seconds the stark reality before him solidified. This was not Ariel after all. Still, the girl was as pretty. A modern Aphrodite, despite the heavy makeup, David thought. Small, delicate, just like Ariel, with probably a lovely figure beneath all that leather. The colors, corn-silk hair, and azure eyes, were definitely not the same. They made her appear soft and feminine.But there was a not-so-sweet aura about her too, a ragged edge that he couldn't put his finger on, something beyond the fact that she had just tried to slam a thick chunk of hawthorn through his heart. Lord Byron's wry words drifted to mind:     Perfect she was, but as perfection is      Insipid in this naughty world of ours.He hurled her across the room.She slammed upright, front first into the stone wall, and spun around like a cornered rat to challenge him. "Bastard!"As he moved toward her, she looked utterly terrified, although her voice disguised it."You better watch yourself, man! Hey, look, take it easy, okay? I got dope. We can party, have a time, ya know? I can make you feel good."This was what he'd sensed. She was hard, brittle. That made her unpredictable, although no real danger to him. He grabbed her arm. His voice sounded raspy to his own ears; it had been a long time since he had spoken. "Who are you?"She stared at him as if seeing a monster in a horror movie.He gave her a little shake to jolt her back to reality."Name's Zero. Hey, look!" She reached between her breasts and eased out a plastic bag, which she jiggled in his face."Smack. Almost pure." She gave him a seductive grin, so obviously phony that it was pathetic. He nearly felt sorry for her. "You're kinda cute," she said. "Yeah, I could make you feel real fine."David snatched the bag out of her hand and pitched it into a dark corner."Hey!" she screamed. "You nuts? That's three grams — fifteen hundred bucks worth! Know how long I gotta work for that shit?" She swung at his face, slicing skin with razor-sharp nails, and would have drawn blood if there had been any to spare.He shoved her up against the stones, fighting to control a violent urge. "Why did you try to kill me?"She glared, shaking her head a little from side to side. Suddenly her leg jackknifed; her knee narrowly missed his groin.Without thinking, David, who, despite having committed unspeakable acts, had never struck a human being, shocked himself. He heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh ring through the hollow basement, and realized that his palm had made contact with her cheek. She did not look startled, but he was rattled by what he had just done."You've a pretty face," he hissed, struggling to get his emotions under control. "Much more of this and I don't imagine it will be as attractive." He hoped that would be enough to intimidate her. But all the while he was thinking: She's a masochist, bent on luring me to sadism. And I'm participating. Has Ariel altered me this much?"Forgive me," he said.Her eyes filled with contempt, and that made him angry again."You pricks are all alike. Well, there's nothing you can serve up I can't take. So fuck you!" This time she landed a solid punch to his solar plexus.He pulled her wrists behind her back and yanked her across the room backward worrying that she might enjoy being abused. And he understood his own nature enough to see that he could too easily accommodate such dark fantasies. But despite all that he might be, David had never been a brute, and he had no intention of becoming one. He would find another way of dealing with her.On the way out of the basement he picked up the backpack.As she was pulled along backward, Zero noticed that the whole house was dusty, unlived in. What a creepy place, she thought, like a haunted house. She knew she should be frightened but the fear could not break through the solid barrier the drugs had created. And she was grateful. But that wall wouldn't hold for long. And when it crumbled, she would be in major trouble.The second-floor room he brought her into seemed as if no one had been inside it for half a century. A trail of their footprints followed them across the floor.He tossed her onto a large four-poster bed. A cloud of dust from the dirty quilt sprang into the air. As she watched him bolt the door and light half a dozen candles, Zero touched her cheek, thinking to herself what a bastard he was. That thought dimmed as she looked around.Old chairs with blackened doilies over the backs and on the arms sat by the stone fireplace. There were wood tables, all sizes and shapes, some with yellowed lace ruffles around the legs. Pictures in oval frames hung on filthy flowered wallpaper.The hardwood floor had a large braided carpet covering most of it, the wool too soiled to tell the color. What a pigsty, she thought.While he examined the contents of her backpack, she examined him. He was rumpled but noble-looking, like somebody from another era caught in a time warp. But a real psycho, she thought. Thinks he's Dracula.His skin was white as a piece of paper, and his clothes hung on him like he was anorexic. He looked too serious — a worrier. She'd bet he had looked that way when he was a kid too.When he finished checking everything out, he checked her out with startling hazel eyes."Your identification indicates your name is Kathleen Stevens.""Everybody calls me Zero," she said with hostility."You're from New York." He read from her driver's license, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Twenty-five years of age. Single." He dropped her wallet back into the bag. "And a killer."Zero laughed. "Takes one to know one, right? What're you, a vegetarian vampire?""This note, with these instructions. Who gave it to you?"She took a deep breath and held it. She would never tell him, no matter what he did to her. I wish I had that H, she thought as he walked to the bed. She tensed, ready for him to hit her again."Zero, you have a serious problem." He was trying to sound mean but wasn't quite pulling it off. "Are you so high you don't realize where you are? You've waded in far over your head. Whoever you're protecting is hardly worth what can happen to you."She jutted her chin out, trying to look tough. Men are always more brutal if you let them see you're afraid, she thought."Who sent you?" David felt stymied. He knew he sounded like a gangster from an old movie. But he was ill-prepared for so much resistance from a mortal. Ariel had left him unprepared for much of anything.This girl was too doped-up to hypnotize. He had no idea how to decipher what this was all about — who had sent her — short of thrashing her, and he certainly had no intention of resorting to that. Enough damage had been done.She's a pretty thing, he thought, much like a small, timid creature of the forest. He laughed suddenly at his own romanticism. Small and timid! A poisonous spider, he realized.He had tried to ignore her blood scent, but now it threatened to overwhelm him. A week had gone by since he had last fed.Unable to stop himself, he yanked her to her feet. Around her throat she wore a black band with a silver fox's head attached. The fox's black jeweled eyes matched the eyes of the lizard. He ripped the choker away and had his teeth at her jugular before she realized what was happening.Oh but he wanted to break the skin! The hot sweet earthiness flowing beneath it called to him. That warmth would coat his mouth and slide down his throat and expand him, reviving the sparks of life. It was a sensation he never forgot, one he wished could last forever. The blood was the promise that kept him going.A thought crossed his mind: She may be so stoned she won't remember what I'm doing to her. But this blood was tainted with narcotics; he recognized the odor now; the drug, of course, explained such peculiar behavior. His efficient body could separate the nutrients out and expel the poison, but the heroin would temporarily disorient him, and at the moment he could not afford to be out of control. This blood would not satisfy. More important, he refused to betray all that he believed in. Submitting to his obsession was debasing enough. If he must feed, and he knew he had no choice, it would be when and how and on whom he chose.Shaking, he stepped back. His teeth ached to the roots, and his jaw went into spasm. She saw his teeth and a look of total disbelief flooded her face, a look he had seen on so many other faces."Who sent you?" he demanded, allowing her a good view, hoping the shock would jolt the truth from her.She put a hand up to her neck then took it away. Dry fingers did not reassure her. She stared at him with horror."Tell me, Kathleen. Why do you wish to suffer?" He felt stronger for his decision. His facial muscles began to relax and the hunger tearing at his gut subsided a fraction. She's lovely, he decided, her colors as delicate and ethereal as those in a painting by Reynolds. Mesmerizing. Like a cobra, he reminded himself. (Continues...)Excerpted from Near Death by Nancy Kilpatrick. Copyright © 2003 Nancy Kilpatrick. Excerpted by permission of Mosaic Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

About the Author

Nancy Kilpatrick was born in the U.S. and now lives in Montreal, Canada, with her black cat Bella. She has published 26 books, including 14 novels and 5 collections of short stories, and has edited 7 anthologies.When not writing she spends her time traveling the world, lecturing, visiting castles, cemeteries, ossuaries and mummy museums with her photographer companion Hughes Leblanc.

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