And as he did, for the first time, he believed this could work. This could be the end of it, once and for all.
Except, perhaps, not for all.
But if he thought now about the likely cost of victory, he wouldn't be able to function. And Ialdaboth would win.
Not an option.
He tightened his grip on the large, warm hands he held in his own and felt the power move toward him. Down through the First Demons'
bodies, surging from their hearts, down their arms and out of their hands-and into him.
His vision blurred as it hit him. Gold from Lucien, silver from Aanu, the power came from the depths of them, the power that allowed them to feed from the life force of a human being. Soul-power, the source of it the primal energy of their own lives.
He focused. Leveled his vision and his attention on Ialdaboth, at the same time he let his own power uncoil inside him and draw in the power Aanu and Lucien were feeding him. It was instinctive, all coming together without his conscious control, the three power masses joining, coiling into a single entity inside him. It was huge. It was alive, swirling and pulsing in his chest.
It was too much.
He couldn't hold it, certainly couldn't control it. But neither could he stop it. It worked itself deep into the middle of his body, beating there. It wanted to burst out of him, but it wasn't time. Not yet. It coiled inside, waiting. He drew himself straight, barely aware of his surroundings, a dimness in his vision making it hard to tell where he was. Or who he was. There was no "self." No "Julian." There was only power. Ready.
Light and heat and purity.
Ialdaboth struck. His power flew out of his eyes and his mouth in a black column, viscous and thick, spinning away from Ialdaboth. Julian watched it come, slamming straight toward him like a battering ram. It hit him hard in the chest. The impact jolted him, making his body shudder in uncontrollable spasms. But it didn't break him.
Ialdaboth was giving his all. Vaguely, Julian realized the power inside him, the life force that had come from Lucien and Aanu, seemed to know instinctively what Ialdaboth could and would do, seemed able to judge their brother's power on a deeper level than he could have judged it. Ialdaboth's life force, the miasma of evil he had allowed his soul to become, all of it flowed out of him in a last-ditch effort to conquer. But as it struck him, Julian felt the mass of power inside him rise, so huge, so primal, so bright and intense he could barely contain it, much less control it.
Repelled.
And then absorbed.
Ialdaboth's eyes widened in surprise as his black column began to disappear into his enemy's body.
Julian shuddered, his body wracked with something so far beyond pain that his nerves could only interpret it as ecstasy. This would be his death. It had to be.
But he wasn't dying. And all of the evil First Demon's twisted power was inside of him, there with his own power, born of his reconstituted blood; and Lucien's, born of twelve thousand years of life and all he had learned in that time; and Aanu's, born as was Lucien's but given four thousand years to sleep. And as Ialdaboth's power, black and sickened, touched the purity of the others, it cleared, joined with them. And was healed. Thus transformed and melded, the power soared inside him until it filled him so completely, he had no knowledge or awareness of anything else.
He hung on with everything he had, clinging to his last shred of self-awareness. Only in that did he have any control over the raw force that he had become.
Suddenly, he felt Aanu, then Lucien, drop to their knees on either side of him, as the greedy demands of his own power wrung them dry.
Aanu's hand slid from his, then Lucien's. They both gasped as they hit the floor.
He had killed them. He'd known it would happen, as had they.
They had given him everything they had, because they knew he would have to use it; and he had taken it, because he had known there was no other way. He had simply bled them to death. And now . . . now he would do the same to himself.
He raised his hands, turned his palms toward Ialdaboth.
"You made a very big mistake," he said. His voice echoed in his own head, the words seeming to come from everywhere at once. "If you had read the Book, instead of destroying it, you would have seen this coming."
He curled his fingers and turned his palms toward the ceiling, and the last smoky black tendrils of Ialdaboth's soul came to him as if summoned, snagged on his fingers, roped up his arms, moved downward to join the already incomprehensible force boiling in his chest.
He harvested, gathered, and spun as Ialdaboth writhed, helpless.
And the part that was still him thought, This isn't possible. One creature couldn't hold and control this much energy. But the part that was no longer him knew differently, knew that whatever he had become, he could do this. It terrified him, but at the same time he exulted in it. The power moving inside him brought ecstasy more intense than anything he had ever experienced.
Suddenly Ialdaboth jerked backward as the last wispy thread tore loose and snapped across the room to its new owner. He was empty and broken, powerless. He caught himself, straightened, and stared at his nemesis through blank eyes. For the first time in his twelve thousand years, the first-born of the First Demons was only a man.
"You're aware this is over now," Julian said, and this time his voice felt more like his own. "You may speak if you like. I'll give you the time." He pressed his hands to his chest, waiting Ialdaboth's face went lax, and there was fear in his eyes. "You want me to beg for forgiveness? Or for my life?"
"I don't care what you do," Julian said. "I just thought it would be the right thing to do, to give you time to speak."
Ialdaboth spat. "Fuck you."
"All right, then," said Julian, and lifted his hands away from his chest, and let the power go.
It burst out of him, a huge, violent wall of shining, brilliant light.
Now I'm dead, he thought. A body can't explode and still live.
But he could hear his heart beating, and the hand that grabbed the chair behind him for support was his own. And it was through his own eyes that he watched the monstrous, dazzling mountain of energy he'd unleashed slam into Ialdaboth. It crashed into his face and chest, covering him in a shimmer of gold-white light. It encased him, head to foot, and he convulsed helplessly within it. His skin turned gold, then shattered, until his skeleton hung suspended in the aura of light. Finally that shuddered, as well, broke into a man-shaped form of glittering dust, and the luminous mountain of power contracted, gathering the shimmery remains into itself.
Then it turned. Julian stood rooted as it rushed toward him. He heard himself howl when it hit him, and he staggered as it flooded back into him. But it felt smaller now, no larger than his own soul, and he was able to accept it with a deep, gasping breath and a single convulsion of something that was not quite pain. He regained his balance, swallowed, breathed.
He was alive. More than alive. He was himself again.
Quickly, he dropped to his knees beside Lucien and Aanu. Had he left them anything? Anything at all? He only needed half a heartbeat.
Gently, he touched Lucien's chest. He had known him longer, was more familiar with the patterns and rhythms of his energies. He felt nothing. But had he drained Lucien, or was he himself too drained to be of any use? He couldn't tell. Channeling that massive power had taken more from him than he'd ever dreamed he could give. It would regenerate-somehow he knew that-but he didn't know how long it would take. And he needed something now. Otherwise neither Lucien nor Aanu would ever breathe again.
He pressed his hand harder into Lucien's chest, seeking a heartbeat. But also seeking something else, something he wasn't completely sure of. A new instinct had taken over. It made him lean closer, until finally his face lay against his hand, then he moved his hand away, pressing his ear against the place where Lucien's heartbeat should have been. He laid his palms flat on Lucien's chest, closed his eyes.
There. Faint, almost beyond his ability to sense it. A spark of something.
He reached for it, wrapped his own energies around it.
He had no idea how or why this worked, but he knew it did. And he knew it was his power, unlike any power any creature on earth had ever wielded. Later, when he could afford the time, he'd let himself marvel at it. Maybe even be humbled by it. Right now, he could only rejoice in his ability to sense that spark of life left inside this man, his friend, whom he'd been so certain he'd lost.
That spark, that tiny ember of near-life, seemed to grow even as he touched it. It sought him, reached for him, and he let his power enfold it.
Nestled in that light, the spark grew. He nurtured it as best he could-he hadn't quite gotten the feel for this new energy of his yet, all its permutations and possibilities. He could only ride with it, let it carry him where it needed to go. Until, finally, he felt something stir under his ear, heard the vague and trembling beginnings of a heartbeat.
And suddenly he knew. Understood what had happened, what had changed. Lucien was alive, but he had been changed. He had power that could restore Lucien's life, but not his immortality. There just hadn't been enough of him left.
Julian forced away the surge of regret that threatened his concentration. He nursed the growing spark of life carefully for a few more moments, until he was certain it would not go out if he left it.
Then he shifted his attention to Aanu.
Again, the tiny flame, the barely distinguishable spark. It was enough to find, to nurture, to feed from and carefully augment, layer by glittering layer, until Aanu, too, breathed again.
The effort should have drained him, but it didn't. Instead, he realized as he leaned away from Aanu, he felt stronger, more focused.
Full of light and power, as if nothing had been taken from him, but only absorbed.
Drawing a deep breath, he sat back and scanned the room to see Lilith, Jarod, and William all huddled on Lilith's bed, all looking at him, expectant.
"Are they . . ." Jarod ventured.
"They're alive," Julian answered. He touched Lucien's chest again, assessing the life force pulsing there. It was more than just the heartbeat-it was everything that made Lucien alive. It had grown, strengthened, even since he had finished his careful tending.
"They're alive," he said again, reminding himself. Now that he could think again, all he could summon was sadness. Why would they have to pay such a price, when he had paid nothing? Indeed, had become stronger because of their sacrifice? It wasn't right.
They could chose to be Turned, to become vampires-but Julian didn't think either of them would. But even if they did choose that path, they would never again be what they had been. That power, that near-limitless indestructibility, was gone forever. The First Demons were gone.
"He's gone," said Lilith suddenly. "Ialdaboth. He's gone. He's dead." She smiled, laughed, then abruptly began to cry. "He's not in my head anymore. He's dead. Really, truly dead."
Jarod put his arm around her.
Lucien moved a little on the floor, and Julian leaned toward him. Slowly, Lucien opened his eyes.
"Hey," he said, and smiled a little. "I'm alive." He sat up, and Julian moved to help him. Lucien lifted his hands and looked at them. "I'm alive. That's so cool."
And, finally, Julian felt a wash of peace, of accomplishment, come over him. It was over.
It seemed too mundane to Julian, meeting in their usual configuration in his office only hours after he had torn the souls out of the last two First Demons. But that was what they did, because it was what they had always done. It was familiar.
Aanu sat with his head bent, his hand against his chest. "My heart beats differently," he said, his tone more than a little perplexed.
He looked up at Lucien. "Does yours?"
Lucien put his hand against his chest. "Yes. Faster. A little louder, I think." He shook his head a little, smiled. "It's interesting, don't you think?"
"We're going to die," said Aanu. "We're actually going to die."
Lucien shrugged. "Well, not this afternoon."
Aanu grinned. "No, I suspect not."
Jarod took off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirttail.
"What about you, Julian? Have there been any changes?"
He had examined both Aanu and Lucien, pronouncing them both fit and healthy, but quite mortal. Julian wasn't certain how the doctor had made that determination-something in their blood, perhaps-but it had only been confirmation of what all three of them already knew.
"I feel stronger," he said reluctantly. Lorelei laid a hand on his shoulder, but he found no comfort in her touch. "It shouldn't be this way," he said. "I should have lost something, too."
"It's your power," said Lucien gently. "That's what it says in the Book, though not very clearly or explicitly. Your gift is to give life back."
"But when-and to whom?" That was the hardest part, he thought. A gift it was, a profoundly powerful gift, but who the hell was he to decide who was worthy of it? Though he had yet to explore the limits and depths of the power, he might conceivably be able to raise the dead, make vampires mortal, make mortals immortal.
Just who was he to be given that kind of strength-or responsibility?
"You start with the vampires," Lucien said. "The power came to a vampire. Therefore, it's meant for the vampire community.
Others can follow your lead, become something other than bloodsuckers. We live on life-all of us do-but your way doesn't demand death. There are options now, different paths we can take.
Mortality for the Children, courtesy of the good doctor, here. Possibly mortality even for the adults, by using some aspect of your powers."
He shook his head. "Everything's going to change. I hope I'm here to see at least some of it."
"I'm sorry," said Julian.
"Don't be." Lucien shook his head again, his expression a mix of wonder and bewilderment. "Everything's going to change. Even the Dark Children will have a chance to be saved. And I get to stay with Vivian for a while. It really couldn't get much better than that."
Julian looked at Aanu, who had sat quietly through the exchange. Julian had no idea how much of the conversation Lucien's brother had been able to understand. In Sumerian, he said, "What about you? Are you all right?"
"Yes." Aanu pressed his hand more firmly against his chest.
"It's a different sound but a lovely one. And I, too, may live the rest of my life in happiness."
"Old age," said Lucien, then lapsed into English. "I don't care what Vivian says. I think it's gonna be cool."
Epilogue.
Five Months Later Lorelei's hand clenched hard on Julian's, until he thought his fingers would snap. His other hand pressed against the huge, round mound of her belly as she strained with the burden her body carried. "Okay, stop at the end of this contraction." Jarod's voice was steady.
He sounded almost as if he'd specialized in the delivery of babies, Julian thought, rather than in the study of blood. They'd discussed the idea of having Lorelei deliver in a hospital, with a regular obstetrician, but she had balked, afraid they might see something untoward about the babies and try to take them away.
"I'm not stopping," Lorelei snarled between clenched teeth. "I want these things out of me."
"Just wait for the next contraction," said the doctor gently. "I want to be sure the babies are situated right."
As he checked the position of the first baby's head, Julian watched, caught up in the wonder of seeing even this small portion of his child. Lorelei's belly tensed again, and Jarod pressed his fingers against the baby's crown.
"Go ahead. Push. I'll keep it from going too fast."
The baby had other ideas, though, and in spite of the doctor's guiding hand, it slithered out after two more gargantuan efforts from its mother. His mother, Julian noted as the doctor passed the slimy, blood-streaked form into his hands.
"Now, wait just a minute for me, Lorelei. Breathe through the next contraction." The doctor quickly clipped the first baby's umbilical cord and clamped it off. "Get him on a towel over there, Julian. Wrap him up and dry him off a little. We'll give him to Lorelei as soon as she's done."
Lorelei's silence worried Julian. She should have been swearing profusely by now. He hoped she was just tired. He wrapped the baby in a soft towel and held him where she could see him, while Jarod coached her through the second delivery. She looked all right-in fact, she was swearing quite eloquently with her eyes.