Seven Minutes to Midnight

28

The vampire game only became more intense once school let out for the summer. I started sleeping all day, since we would meet at the cemetery all night. Lane continued passing around his bottle at every meeting, and without his influence clouding my judgment, I could now actually taste the liquid. I didn't think it was blood, but it was certainly disgusting. After my first full-on gulp, I started only pretending to drink. Even the touch of it on my lips made me cringe. I can't really describe the taste—like something curdled, left out too long, gritty and foul. I winced whenever I saw Frank or Veronica swigging it like seasoned drunkards.

Without the kids at school to frighten, it seemed like Lane's new goal was to frighten us. He had us doing everything from trying to levitate to staring each other down in an attempt to read each other's minds. During the levitation exercise, he had us all sitting cross-legged on the ground in a row, with our eyes closed. I had flashbacks to the yoga classes my mother signed us up for last year, especially when Lane started doing some kind of guided meditation. I knew he wasn't breaking his promise to me, because I felt fully aware of myself the entire time. Yet my mind went into another plane as it never had in yoga class. His words spun a featherweight web over me, and my body felt light and full of air.

Far away I had heard a whir, and through my eyelids saw a flash of light. My eyes fluttered open.

Lane stood there with a digital camera.

"You're taking pictures of us?" I exclaimed, bolting to my feet. Beside me, Veronica and Frank were slower to come out of their trances.

Lane didn't try to hide the picture. "I had to document this," he said, showing me the tiny screen.

I had to peer closely to fully see. "We're floating," I said softly.

In the photo, the three of us were lined up in a row, hovering high enough over the ground to cast shadows when the flash went off. Our faces looked peaceful and far away. There was no way it could have been faked, not in the handful of seconds since the photo was taken.

"Yes."

"Did you make this happen?" I asked him, my voice low so Veronica and Frank wouldn't hear.

"I cannot make you do anything without breaking my word," he said.

Telepathy did not make especially good fodder for pictorial evidence, but Lane had his camera again on the night everything really started to get weird.

I know, I know, as if things weren't already a little strange.

The lesson on this day was passing through solid objects. We each chose a tombstone, and stood on our hands and knees behind it, with our heads pressing against it. This time Lane warned us not to get distracted by the flash going off. As he did during the levitation exercise, Lane began speaking as we closed our eyes, telling us to imagine that the molecules of stone were slowly being pushed away from our skulls, allowing room for us to pass through.

The tombstone did begin to warm up through my hair as I applied pressure, but it still felt like solid stone.

"Having fun with your little human friends, Lanius? It is quite unfortunate that your mother never taught you not to play with your food."

The new voice was cold and cruel, and my eyes snapped open. In my peripheral vision I could see Frank and Veronica frozen like statues, still under Lane's influence. Though my body had suddenly grown cold with fear, I tried to hold still and keep my breathing steady.

It is difficult to explain exactly how this strange voice chilled me. Lane's had a magical effect, a soothing quality. It sounded superhuman, like that of an angel's, but still recognizable as human. But this voice grated against my eardrums. I felt it scratching at my brain. No human being could sound like that.

"It is none of your business, Malakhi," Lane snapped, his tone gone just as cold—although it still held its musical beauty.

"It isn't?" Malakhi's voice had come closer, though I hadn't heard any footsteps. "It is not my business that you hold these humans in thrall time and time again? It is not my business that you threaten all of us with your petty games?"

"No, it is not your business," Lane said. "You are the only one who threatens us, by interrupting me."

Malakhi laughed, an empty sound. I don't suppose you can imagine how it sounds, but it brought a sheen of perspiration to my cold skin, and my heart thumped against my ribcage. "I come with orders from Samael. It is certainly Samael's business, is it not?"

There was a long pause. When Lane answered, the defeat in his voice was impossible not to hear. "Yes."

"Good. Perhaps you would like to clean up this little issue right now? Samael has given me permission to help you."

My hands clenched at the grass and dirt of the grave I knelt on. I could literally feel the hunger in Malakhai's voice.

"No. I will take care of it on my own."

I exhaled as quietly as I could, my breath shaky.

"Very well, Lanius. I trust you will have this problem corrected by the next tribunal."

It was a long time before Lane replied. "Yes. It will be done."

"Excellent. Have fun finishing up with these... children."

I bristled a bit at the insult, but waited until his cold aura had disappeared and Lane again spoke, rousing us from our trances.

"Rise and come to me," he said.

The power in his voice called to me, but I dug my fingers completely into the ground, pulling up two fist-sized clods of dirt before I got up and brushed off the knees of my jeans and wiped the soil from my hands, just to be sure I was going to him by my own willpower.

Slowly I raised my eyes to meet Lane's. Then I knew.

The images he showed me—I can't even describe them. They were flashes so fast I couldn't pick just one, and they were accompanied by physical sensations, sounds and smells. The predominant color was red, the predominant sound was a scream, and the overwhelming sensation was pain.

I flinched, and Lane looked away, but it was too late. I knew exactly how close I had come to dying. Doubtless if Malakhi had known that Lane did not hold me in thrall, he would have killed me without a second thought. And it would have been very painful.

"Let us play another game," Lane said. "Follow me."

___

Author's Note

If anyone is curious about how far along in the story we are, I'm at about page 115 out of 188 in my Word document.  

The image at the top is a photograph by Francesca Woodman and inspired one of Lane's "experiments" in this chapter.