Page 159 of Envious Of Fire
The next instant, Markadian is forced out of his chair by the same mysterious power no one sees, like a marionette doll lifted upon its strings by experienced hands. For a brief flash, Markadian’s eyes turn glassy with terror when he stands, then darken with anger as he fixes his stare upon Mance, apparently being allowed to control his face.
Mance slowly circles through the chairs and tables toward Markadian, taking his sweet time. “Bet you thought you’d never see my handsome mug again, huh? Blast from the undead past, huh? You can put on that brave front with all these ass-kissers and fool ‘em, but I can see you shittin’ your pants from here.”
Markadian buries his ice-cold fear, even inside, covering it with a mask of indifference. Underneath the indifference is a loathsome humiliation, too, being degraded so easily in front of all his peers and colleagues.
Mance stops. “What is it, buddy? Too afraid to ask me how the wife and kids are doin’? Oh, shit, right, forgot. They’re dead.” He tilts his head, narrows his eyes. “You let them die … then sentenced me to die along with ‘em.”
“Sentenced you to live,” says Markadian.
“Behold, he speaks …!” exclaims Mance with overdramatic flair, then shrugs. “Sentenced to live … sentenced to die. Same thing when all your loved ones are dead n’ gone and you got nothin’ left to liveordie for.”
“And despite my mercy,” Markadian goes on, “you set my court on fire with your twisted fucking demonic flames, ending two immortal lives.”
Mance smirks. “Can you really still call them ‘immortal’ if they died so easily?”
“Your fire is not normal fire.”
“Are we flirtin’ with each other, or are you sayin’ all this forthe benefit of your clueless guests?” Mance takes a few steps closer, stops next to the chair where Ashara is seated, eyes still on Markadian. “Do any of them know what really happened? Do any of them even know who the fuck I am?”
“One of the immortals you took to their final death was a dear friend of Lord Xiang of the east region,” Markadian goes on, lifting his chin. “You are a wanted man from one corner of this country to the other.”
“Who the fuck’s Lord Xiang?”
For a brief moment, Markadian’s face reveals every effort he makes in trying to budge any part of his body, but nothing gives at all, like his arms and legs are bound in every possible direction by invisible rope, as tight as a second skin. “Enough with the theatrics. Tell me what it is you want.”
Mance’s grin returns. He says nothing.
That’s when the shadows around the edges of the banquet hall begin to move. Taking shape. Tall shapes. Heads. Capes. Swishing robes. Long hair and arms.
Vampires.
Some hop upon the tables. Others stand among the chairs.
Vampires and more vampires, filling the room.
Did they follow Mance here? Is Lazarus among them, if he even survived being shot by a silver bullet? Salazo? La-La and the other nightmares from the Devil’s Mouth?
Kyle has never experienced panic on a level like this.
Completely helpless. Unable to even turn his head.
“What do I want?” asks Mance without even a glance at the new arrivals to the party. He spreads his arms. “Same as every last fuckin’ person in this room, I guess.”
Then he rushes right up to Lord Markadian. Face-to-face. Still grinning. Eyes so dark with rage, they nearly burn.
He speaks the word through his teeth: “Blood.”
Markadian can no longer play brave.
Can no longer uphold his persistent expression of apathy.
There is true fear in his heart. And it reads all over his face now, all over his eyes. Even his lips start to quiver.
“By the way,” says Mance, squints, “I just decided I really did not enjoy being spat on.”
Then he lifts a hand.
Snaps his fingers.
