“Oh my God, that’s disgusting!” Anton declared, handing the empty bottle back to Juliette.

  Anton looked at his hands. “My fingers are tingling, is that normal.”

  “Sure,” Juliette affirmed, patting him on the shoulder. “That effect will only last a few seconds.”

  Anton shook his hands as if drying them. Licking his lips, he noted with a shrug, “Yeah. It’s gone now, and so is the taste.”

  “Excellent.”

  Anton moved to go into the barn where the rest of the team were limbering up. Juliette pulled him aside and offered, “A quick word Anton, I just wanted to say that you have been progressing really well, which is great to see.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, you’re much like your grandfather.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Anton asked doubtfully.

  “Arthur Slayne was my teacher, he has skills that I haven’t been able to master. He is an exceptional man, and the man I know is not a murderer. It is good that you take after him.”

  “You have a lot of faith in him.”

  “More knowledge than faith,” Juliette affirmed with a soft smile. She looked intently into Anton’s eyes, speaking with quiet conviction. “Arthur Slayne is a great servant of the Order of Thoth. You have every right to be proud of him.”

  A long silent moment passed between them. She reached up, hugging him tightly, and whispered, “You’ll be okay Anton, it’ll all work out in the end.”

  Anton hugged her back, a soft warmth flowing between them. His eyes moistened. Letting her go, he stepped away, a crooked grin playing at the edges of his mouth. “I better get to training.”

  “Yes, Anton. That’s best,” Juliette agreed with a warm smile.

  Anton walked into the training barn. He grinned broadly as he saw his teammates. A rush of euphoric joy exploded through his chest. They were all such great people, much more than friends, they were brothers and sisters in arms. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would rather give his own life than see any of them come to harm.

  Anton looked at Li and really saw her beauty, grace, and wisdom. Peter was standing next to her, with his easy-going grin, courageous, generous and loyal. Jay, poker-faced, stood to the side, his mind sharp and fast like his sword work, a natural leader carrying a dreadful wound. Yvette, standing at Jay’s side, lovely, purposeful, and protective. Chiara, next to Yvette, sensual, mercurial, and mysterious.

  Anton’s emotions surged, swirling around in a chaotic vortex.

  I’m all over the place, why is that?

  Suddenly his knees wobbled, the ground rose up to meet him, and his world faded to black.

  * * *

  Anton awoke into darkness.

  It was pitch black. Something made of cloth was jammed into his mouth and bound there with gaffer tape. His head was completely covered with a thick hood. He was being dragged across the yard. He could feel the gravel tearing at his feet. He tried to move, twisting and bucking against the powerful hands that held him. His feet and hands were bound with what felt like rope and try as he might he could not break free.

  What the hell’s going on? There are two of them, one on each side. I’ve got to do something quick.

  Stilling the surging panic in his mind, Anton fell into silence. He tucked his feet under himself and ramped. Pushing hard, he jackknifed upward. The grip on his right loosened, his heart leaped with hope, but the grip on the left tightened like an immovable rock, and he crashed back to the ground. A third assailant grabbed his ankles, and he was held aloft. Unable to gain purchase and leverage, he was rendered helpless.

  Where is everyone? He screamed silently.

  The trio carried Anton another thirty yards and threw him down. He expected to hit the ground, but there was nothing there. He kept falling for another couple of yards before crashing onto something solid. Sucking air into his lungs, he was assaulted by the smell of wet clay. He thrashed about, the smell got stronger, a terrifying realization cut through him as he dropped out of the Ramp.

  Oh, my God, I’m in a pit.

  Something landed on his back. Shovels struck the ground above him, an unnaturally fast staccato rhythm. Great clods of earth landed on top of him, pummeling him like fists.

  I’m being buried alive.

  More earth, clay, and soil landed on top of him. In moments, the weight of the soil became oppressive. He could feel the hood closing in around his face.

  I’m going to suffocate. There is no time. I must break this rope!

  Anton took a breath, the hood dragging in close to his nostrils. He knew it was his last breath inside the pit. Closing his eyes, relaxing his muscles, his heart slowed. Silence rushed into his mind. Cold silvery fire surged from a point three inches in front of the base of his spine and arced along his limbs. He rested deeper into the silence. Time gave way, slowing down as his mind accelerated to a level he’d never reached before. Energy flowed through his body. His skin tingling as power coiled like a thousand forged springs tighter and tighter. He relaxed further, and terror fled. There was only the present moment, the pressure of the earth above him, and the power of the Ramp.

  Anton flexed, energy unleashing like a bolt of lightning throughout his body.

  There was a thunderous crack, like a shotgun firing next to his ear - something had broken.

  His hands and feet were free.

  Staying deep within the Ramp, power flowed, inexhaustible and pure. He pushed hard against the earth, and the mass of soil above him rose up. He scrambled in that split second where the earth and clay, seemingly ignoring gravity, floated above him. Getting his feet beneath him, he kicked as hard as he could. Reaching up he pushed through the loosened earth. He struck out blindly, his right hand reaching the lip of the pit, his fingers clawing into the gravel and clay. A moment later, his left hand went past it and found purchase as it dug into the ground. Surging violently upward, the soil above him flew into the air as he burst out of the pit.

  Dragging off the hood, he ripped away the gag. He landed in a half-crouch on the familiar gravel of the yard, facing away from the safe house. His eyes blazing, his nostrils flaring, sucking in air, he whirled around.

  Anton’s heart froze.

  “Oh, no!” he moaned in anguish.

  * * *

  It was deep night, a full moon sailed high overhead. A single light globe over the front door of the safe house competed with the moon to illuminate the yard.

  In front of the safe house, Li, Peter, and Chiara lay in pools of blood, surrounded by their weapons. Peter had the tail end of a crossbow bolt jutting out of his forehead, his face unrecognizable beneath the gore. Li and Chiara lay face down on the gravel, their clothes bloodied and torn.

  Beyond them, stood two praetorians in full combat armor and tactical helmets. Their mirrored visors were down, cruelly reflecting the broken bodies lying on the ground. They were carrying FN P90 submachine guns, and swords strapped to their waists. The smaller of the two praetorians fired first. The submachine gun ripping into life, smoke issuing from its barrel in gray blooms as each round cracked through the night.

  Already fully ramped, Anton twisted his right side back, watching the first rounds fly past. The vampire responded by tracking his movement. Anton blurred forward veering to his left, tracers and bullets zipping through the air on his right.

  He ran to where Li lay face down in a pool of blood, the Green Dragon lying naked next to her. Voiceless rage flooded through his soul like a freight train from hell. Moving instinctively and beyond all reason. He cartwheeled over the Green Dragon, picking it up and throwing it at the vampires in a single motion.

  The Green Dragon gleamed in the sparse light. A silvery whirling shaft of edged death spinning toward the vampires like a divine scythe. It cut through the gun smoke which eddied and swirled around it. The praetorians violently fell away to the left and right. Blood splashed in the grim light. The blade clipping the taller of the two vampires on the shoulder.

  The wounded vampire recovered immediately. He dragged his weapon up, stepping forward he fired at Anton. The second vampire regained their balance, running further to Anton’s right, straight-arming their submachine gun and firing single handed. Bullets were flying at Anton from both directions. He leaped, tumbling and rolling past where Peter lay. Peter’s sword and battle axe were on the ground, dropped from his dead hands. Positioned between the vampires, Anton picked up both weapons and threw them in opposite directions at the same time. The shooting stopped as the vampires dodged aside. Anton blurred to where Chiara lay face down on the gravel, scooping up her sword in a single fluid motion as more bullets began to whip past him.

  With Chiara’s sword in hand, Anton blurred forward in an arc, ending back near the pit. The move put the smaller of the two praetorians between the other vampire and himself. Advancing upon the closer vampire, he realized from their body shape that they must be a woman. She dropped the empty FN P90, swiftly dragging out her sword. Anton pressed his attack, he only had a moment to defeat her before the second vampire repositioned to attack with gun, blade or both.

  Ramp and rage combined, barely holding back a storm of grief. Anton couldn’t think the words, ‘Li is dead.’ He hurled himself forward, silence flooding his torn mind like a tidal wave through a broken dam wall. Power surged through his body, Chiara’s sword moving so fast it was barely visible. The vampire retreated, blurring backward, her sword dancing, blocking, parrying - defending with everything she had - it was not enough. Anton lunged through her defenses, his strike piercing through her sword arm, her blade flying away from suddenly nerveless fingers.

  She took another step backward, her arm coming free from his sword. Anton stepped forward, his blade blurring again, lunging straight for her heart. She started a desperate, madly defensive open hand parry of the sword blade.

  A second blade caught his sword in a shower of sparks, the two blades pushing up, high into the air. The other praetorian was between them, his armored fist flashing forward, expertly catching Anton on the side of his head.

  Thrown to the side, Anton fell once more into darkness.

  * * *

  Anton snapped awake to icy cold water splashing on his face. He was lying on the bare ground of the training barn floor. He blinked for a moment, his eyes stinging from the freezing water and the sudden glare of the overhead lights. Wiping his face once with his hand, the horror came back with a rush.

  Li is dead! The thought ripped through his soul.

  His heart skipped a beat before being shredded by razor sharp claws of outraged grief.

  Not again.

  He blinked, something big moved above him, shadowing his face from the lights, it resolved into a familiar form.

  “Peter?!”

  “Hey, Anton,” Peter greeted him, grinning broadly.

  Anton leaped to his feet and whirled around. Li and Chiara were standing side by side in torn clothes. They were covered in blood and looked at him with obvious concern on their faces. Peter grinned at him, his face edged with traces of blood as if he’d given it a half-hearted wipe with a wet towel. The back six inches of a crossbow bolt stuck out from the front of his forehead. Under the bright lights, Anton could see that the bolt was held on by thin, flesh-colored straps that wrapped around Peter’s head.

  Francis stood opposite Peter, his face impassive.

  For a long moment, Anton was speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. His emotions swirled and roiled before relief won through and he pushed past Peter, hugging Li for all he was worth.

  Li hugged him back, sweet silence filling the spaces between them, and he whispered, “Oh my God, please never do that again.”

  “Never, I promise,” Li whispered back.

  Anton let Li go, turning to face Francis he stated with quiet intensity, “A test?”

  “Yes.”

  Anton sighed. He knew that he just had to deal with it. Whatever was necessary to take down Chloe Armitage, the Vampire Dominion and especially - Cornelius Crane.

  Anton asked curtly, “Did I pass?”

  A faint smile curled the edges of Francis’ mouth. “That remains to be seen.”

  Anton shook his head. “Juliette gave me a drug, didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Francis agreed.

  “It wasn’t a restorative?”

  “Correct. It was a psychoactive compound that makes it easier for you to believe in what you are seeing. The effect has worn off now.”

  Anton bit back a snark-filled comment. He took a deep breath, released it and offered, “Okay. Okay, I get it. I’m the new kid, so this is just typical stuff that everyone has to go through.”

  Anton looked at the faces around him, they were quietly shaking their heads; even Peter was frowning, his face speaking volumes.

  “Your kidding - this was just for me?” Anton asked incredulously.

  “Anton,” Francis explained calmly. “You’re a special case, we had to do -”

  “I’m a special case?” Anton interrupted, his efforts at remaining calm starting to fray.

  Francis put up his hands and shook his head. “Yes. Few people are switched on. Everyone else here has over a decade of training and are well known to us, you’re not.”

  Anton stared at Francis. “C’mon Francis, you know me! I’m not keeping any secrets, I’m an open book.”

  “I believe in you, Anton, but I don’t know you fully. We had to test you before you go into combat with the team.”

  “I can fight.”

  “That’s clear Anton, but that’s not the question.”

  “What’s the question?”

  “Will you keep your head -”

  “While those about me are losing theirs?”

  Francis nodded. “Precisely.”

  Anton realized that Francis was worried about him cracking up under pressure.

  “Now please take off your shirt,” Francis directed, indicating Anton’s clothes with his right hand.

  Memories of Gang and the night his Ramp capability was switched on flooded Anton’s mind. He took off his shirt and was surprised to discover a dozen white dots the size of his thumb, stuck to his skin. They had tiny red lights in their centers that blinked steadily with the beat of his heart. He was starting to get the picture. He sighed and asked expectantly, “You had me wired?”

  “Monitored,” Francis corrected. Moving in, he peeled the dots from Anton’s skin.

  “Turn around please.”

  Anton turned, and Francis collected another dozen patches.

  “Done,” Francis declared, tapping Anton on the shoulder. “Now have a shower, drink plenty of water and get some sleep, it’s past two in the morning.”

  Peter clapped Anton on the shoulder, and affirmed, “You aced it mate, nothing to worry about.”

  Anton gave him a dark look for a moment, sighed and conceded, “What the hell. I’m starving.”

  “We have some pork fillets I picked up from the White Hill butchers this morning.”

  “Of course,” Anton looked hard at the traces of blood on Peter’s face, “pig’s blood?”

  “Yeah. A couple of big buckets worth.”

  “I don’t want to know,” Anton noted. Reaching up, he ripped off the fake crossbow bolt, which came free with a snap.

  “Hey!” Peter yelped.

  “Suck it up, princess. I think you owe me one for this.”

  Peter laughed, pushing Anton playfully toward the barn door. Li and Chiara were already halfway across the yard with Francis. Anton and Peter followed them.

  “Where’s everyone else?” Anton asked.

  “Jay and Yvette are getting patched up by Juliette,” Peter observed.

  “Oh,” Anton grunted. “Jay’s going to be pretty upset with me stabbing Yvette in the arm.”

  Peter shrugged his shoulders. “He knew the risks, he volunteered for the role.”

  “Probably enjoyed shooting at me.”

  Peter pulled Anton abruptly to a stop and declared, “He’s not allowed to shoot you. Remember the impact of the drug. They were deliberately shooting past you, just close enough to allow you to believe it was real. They both shed blood tonight to allow you to be tested. I suggest you think about that.”

  Peter turned back to the safe house, and offered lightly, “Let’s get inside, I’ve a delicious Cajun spice that will be great with the fillets.”

  “Sure,” Anton agreed, his stomach growling and his mind buzzing with thoughts. It was one shock after another. He felt stupid to allow himself to feel comfortable at the safe house. Could he trust Juliette and Francis? He had to, there was no one else. They would not have done something this extreme unless they believed it was absolutely necessary. The fact that they had done it said a lot about how bad the threat must be.

  Anton stood still for a second. Struck by the question - am I the risk?

  Anton was overwhelmed with nameless emotions. He clenched his fists, then relaxed them, taking a couple of deep breaths. Peter was a step ahead, pushing through the front door and didn’t see his reaction. He was suddenly very much alone.

  Mom, Dad, Gang … I miss you all … I miss my old life.

  * * *

  Francis sat opposite Juliette in the briefing room. The doors were closed, and they were alone. Juliette’s fingers flashed over the keyboard of her laptop, projecting a graph onto a white screen hanging on the wall.

  “What have we got here?” Francis asked, frowning at the graph.

  “It’s extraordinary,” Juliette declared, using a red laser pointer to indicate an early section of the graph. “Anton goes off the chart right here, when he’s buried in the pit.”

  “Li confirmed that Anton was switched on by Gang on the fifth of May,” Francis noted. “It’s now the eighth of August, he’s completed the physical transformations of the Ramp.”

  “This is more than physical transformation, there were over fifteen hundred pounds of soil on top of him, and he’s pushed it aside like it wasn’t there.”

  “Hmmm … where does this place him relative to Order norms?”

 

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