'Fight for yourself, slut! That is all I ask. Not for me but for yourself - if you desire to live!'
Helen cringed away from him. 'I only - ,
'Only be quiet!' he snarled. 'You must fight for yourselves, for I shall not be here. I'm leaving with the dawn, when they'd least expect me to leave. But you three will remain. While you are here they may be fooled into thinking that I am still here.' He nodded and smiled.
'Yulian, look at you!' his mother suddenly hissed, her voice venomous. 'You were always a monster inside, and now you're a monster outside, too! I don't want to die for you, for even this half-life is better than none, but I don't intend to fight for it. Nothing you can say or do shall make me kill to preserve what you've made of me!'
He shrugged. 'Then you'll die very quickly.' He turned his eyes on Anne Lake. 'And you, Auntie dear? Will you go to your maker so passively?'
Anne was wild-eyed, dishevelled. She looked mad. 'George is dead!' she babbled, her hands flying to her hair. 'And Helen is... changed. My life is finished.' She stopped fussing, leaned forward in her chair and glowered at Yulian. 'I hate you!'
'Oh, I know you do,' he nodded. 'But will you let them kill you?'
'I'd be better off dead,' she answered.
'Ah, but such a death!' he said. 'You saw George go, Auntie dear, and so you know how hard it was. The stake, the cleaver, and the fire.'
She sprang to her feet, shook her head wildly. 'They wouldn't! People... don't!'
'But these people do,' he gazed at her wide-eyed, almost innocently, aping her expression. 'They will, for they know what you are. They know that you're Wamphyri!'
'We can leave this place!' Anne cried. 'Come on, Georgina, Helen we'll leave right now!'
'Yes, go!' Yulian snapped, as if done with them, utterly sick of them. 'Do go, all of you. Leave me - go now. .
They looked at him uncertainly, blinking their yellow eyes in unison. 'I won't stop you,' he told them with a shrug. He got to his feet, made to leave the room. 'No, not I. But they will! They'll stop you dead! They're out there now, watching - and waiting.'
'Yulian, where are you going?' His mother stood up, looked as if she might even try to take hold of him, detain him. He forced her back with nothing but a growl of warning, swept by her.
'I have preparations to make,' he said, 'for my departure. I imagine that you, too, will have certain final things you want to do. Prayers to some non-existent god, perhaps? Cherished photographs to look at? Old friends and lovers to remember, while you may?' And sneering, he left them to their own devices.
Tuesday, 8.40 A.M. middle-European time, the airport in Bucharest.
Alec Kyle's flight was due to leave in twenty-five minutes and the passengers had just been called forward. Kyle would be in Rome in two-and-a-half hours; given that there would be no problems with his connection, he'd be into Heathrow around 2.00 P.M. local time. With a bit of luck he would reach his destination in Devon with half an hour to spare before Guy Roberts and his team went in and 'cleaned up' at Harkley House. Even if his timings were wrong, Roberts should still be in situ at the house when- finally he did arrive. The last stages of his journey would be by MOD helicopter from Heathrow down to Torquay, and on to Paignton in an air-sea rescue chopper courtesy of the Torbay coastguard.
Kyle had made these final arrangements by telephone from the airport via John Grieve in London as soon as he'd discovered that he couldn't get a flight until now. And mercifully, for once, he'd got the call through without too much difficulty.
On hearing the call for embarkation, Felix Krakovitch stepped forward and took Kyle's hand. 'A lot has happened in a short time,' the Russian psychic said. 'But to know you has been... my pleasure.' They shook hands awkwardly, but both men meant it. Sergei Gulharov was much more open: he hugged Kyle close and kissed his cheeks. Kyle shrugged and grinned, he hoped not too sheepishly. He was only glad he'd said his farewells to Irma Dobresti the previous night. Carl Quint nodded and gave him a thumbs-up signal.
Krakovitch carried Kyle's hand luggage to the departure gate. From there Kyle went on alone, through the gates and out onto the asphalt,