womb! For the fluids in the saclike core were not alone of resin and therefore less resistant. She saw the sudden movement, which caused her to start. It was the first time in al B.J.'s time that this had happened. And it meant that her Master was right: his beast was indeed quickening!
Then, without further pause (or, if anything, more urgently, while yet her mood was right for it) she worked the copper tubing down into the gummy resin, a good two-thirds of its length, until the funnel stuck up like a pouting mouth. And grimacing a little, but with no other sign of reticence, she cut the buck's throat and held its body steady on the rim, watching its life's blood spurting into the obscene bel-mouth of the funnel, from there to gurgle its way to the thing in the vat.
Down there, there might be a rudimentary mouth or mouths. B.J. didn't know, couldn't say. She only knew that the living blood of the buck would be absorbed into her Master's creature. A quart of blood, maybe. So little for so much, but enough. And only a little less for Radu, despite that he had only one-tenth of the vat-thing's bulk. But then, Radu needed - or demanded - so much more. And not deer's blood ...
In a while (surprisingly long minutes later, when the flow was less than a cloting trickle), B.J. dragged the buck's body to one side and drew out the long funnel. Taking it to a place where water fel verticaly from above, and cascaded into conjectural depths below, she washed the funnel out, replaced it in its wrappings, returned it to its niche behind the vat.
Then she cut out the raw, fresh heart of the buck to take with her, and toppled the stiffening carcass down the dark and unknown course of the waterfal. And now it was time to attend Radu.
The day had seemed very short; it was the season, and B.J. had had much to do. Outside, the sun was setting, the light fading.
Her eyes readily adjusted to the gloom of the cavern complex, as she returned to the sarcophagus, kindled a fire of bone-dry faggots from a pile of prepared wood, boiled water on a tripod and brewed tea. Hungry herself now, and succumbing at last to her own needs, she ate the buck's heart raw with teeth that formed razor cusps even as they worked at the wild flesh. Jaws like a steel trap finished the job in short order: not much by way of sustenance, but the heart's dark muscle had been strong and B.J.'s system would make best use of what litle there had been. She could have saved more of the buck, but hadn't wanted to glut herself. No, for now she must stay alert, and not give in to the inevitable drowsiness of her imminent... depletion.
Her depletion, yes, for her Master would have it no other way. How often had he told her: The flesh and blood of one's own must always be the dearest, as it is always the sweetest!' His meaning had never been entirely clear - at best it sounded sinister - but B.J. had taken it to mean that the blood of men and women, human beings, was the natural fare of the werewolf. And apart from a handful of occasions when she'd brought various thralls and recruits here, this perhaps dubious duty had been hers alone.
Fortified by her meal, now it was time ...
Radu's funnel was of soft beaten gold; only its needle tip was of copper. B.J. took it from its secret place, carefully wiped it clean, carried it up to the rim of his sarcophagus and gazed down on him. 'Master, I am ready.'
As am I, Bonniejean! His answer rang at once in her mind. As am I, yesss. And I have given thought to everything you've told me. Now, as you attend me, I shall tell you what must be done. For time is narrowing down, and my dreams scan ahead of me to strange new tomorrows. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with my ... my resurrection? And everything must be done to enhance it.
For while I have 'seen to that point, beyond it lies uttermost confusion. The future of all men and creatures was ever a devious thing, Bonniejean. And mine - and yours - no less. But for you 1 have seen a full and glorious moon: a wondrous good omen, yesss! While for myself,