taste, the sensation on the skin – these are nothing. But buried in the flesh, it becomes something quite different.’
Dmitry nodded. He’d known even as a human of the belief that vampires feared garlic, but had never experienced it himself. Now, perhaps, he would be a little more wary. Zmyeevich continued the process until there was scarcely an inch of Iuda’s body that had not been implanted with either wood or garlic. Iuda screamed and shuddered with each new penetration, but did not grow weak. By the end of it, Dmitry saw Iuda more as a leg of mutton, prepared in a Petersburg hotel by some expert French chef who knew how to get the flavour of garlic to infuse every last fibre of the meat.
‘Come and look,’ suggested Zmyeevich when he was finished.
Dmitry approached, and peered closely at Iuda’s wounds, first examining one where a thick splinter of oak held open a flap of skin and fat just below Iuda’s bottom rib. Around it the flesh attempted to grow and reform, just as might the flesh of any wounded voordalak, but whenever it touched the wood, it was repelled, and so the laceration was in a constant state of flux, always trying to heal – never succeeding.
Next he looked at where Zmyeevich had placed a sliver of garlic. Here things were far worse. The flesh made no attempt to regrow. It lay dead and black, leaving a gaping hole in Iuda’s side. Yellow pus oozed from somewhere in the dark crevice that Dmitry couldn’t see. Even to a human the smell would have been repellent. To a vampire – smelling rotting vampire flesh – it was unendurable. Dmitry stepped away and breathed deeply.
‘Just an address.’ Zmyeevich was talking to Iuda now. ‘You must have had another home here in Moscow. Simply tell us where it is.’
It was only the second time Zmyeevich had bothered to ask, the first being right at the beginning, before he’d even laid a finger on Iuda. But Iuda would not have forgotten. It was a subtle approach; none of the great questions, along the lines of ‘How much of my blood have you hoarded?’ or ‘Where is Ascalon?’ It was just a simple question that could do little harm. And once Iuda was broken and told them the answer, everything else would follow.
But Iuda did not answer.
Zmyeevich turned away and let his eyes wander across the panoply of equipment that he had brought with him. His eyes fell upon an item and he walked over to it – a simple wooden bowl. He placed it on the floor and knelt down in front of it, rolling up his sleeve as he did so. He reached to the pile of knives – of every shape, size and purpose – and selected from them a lancet. He held the blade against the flesh of his forearm, touching it at one place and then another as though attempting to select the perfect spot. Then, without hesitation, he cut. Blood flowed quickly, running across his skin and dripping from his bare elbow into the bowl below.
While he had shown not a glimmer of fear or pain as he made the cut, now Zmyeevich’s face became contorted with strain and concentration. Dmitry understood the reason. If nature were left to run its course then the tiny cut to Zmyeevich’s arm would already have healed, with scarcely a few drops of blood shed. Only by the force of his will could he keep the wound open and deliver from it sufficient blood for his purpose – whatever that might be.
Soon he had enough, and he relaxed, breathing deeply, sweat glistening on his forehead. The flow of blood waned and died, and the gash began to close. Within seconds there was only smooth skin.
‘Hold his head,’ instructed Zmyeevich, standing and bringing the bowl over to Iuda. Dmitry did as he was told, though unsure of Zmyeevich’s intent.
‘Open his mouth,’ Zmyeevich barked.
Dmitry complied, forcing his fingers between Iuda’s lips and then his teeth, still failing to comprehend what was to come. Zmyeevich held the bowl of his own blood close to Iuda’s mouth and began to tip it forward. Iuda had not seen Zmyeevich bleed himself – his eyes had been closed and his head hung as he tried to cope with the pain of his myriad wounds. At the hint of blood on his lips he opened his mouth a little wider and drank greedily. Dmitry took the opportunity to push