Chapter 18: Into the Darkness
Thomas Explains
The Peterson's backyard, once a showcase of suburban perfection, now lay in ruins. Purple flames had consumed most of the house, leaving only the skeletal structure standing. The birdbath remained untouched. A pristine, cream-colored pedestal with an impossibly smooth basin of water that didn't ripple even in the breeze.
"This is it?" Claire asked, staring skeptically at the ornamental fixture. It looked completely ordinary, if ostentatiously tasteless compared to much of the neighborhood.
Thomas nodded, approaching the birdbath with cautious reverence. "The homunculus wasn't lying about this. I can feel the energy signature." He circled the structure, examining the base. "These markings, they look decorative, but they're actually ancient protection symbols."
Margaret knelt beside him, running her fingers along the rim. "Clever. Hide your gateway to hell in plain sight, camouflaged as tacky garden decor."
"How do we open it?" Ethan asked, his voice still flat and emotionless since destroying the homunculus. The dagger taken from the clay creature was tucked into his belt, and occasionally his fingers would brush against it, as if making sure it was still there.
Thomas reached into the water, his hand passing through the surface without creating so much as a ripple. "It's not water," he explained, his arm submerged to the elbow. "It's a phase barrier. Looks solid from a distance, but permeable to those who know what they're dealing with." His fingers found something beneath the surface, and he twisted.
The entire birdbath shuddered, then began to sink silently into the ground, revealing a stone staircase spiraling downward into darkness.
"Well, that's not ominous at all," David muttered, adjusting the makeshift katana harness across his back.
Thomas produced a small flashlight from his pocket. "What?" he asked defensively, catching Claire's questioning look. "Not everything is ghosts and blood magic. Sometimes a flashlight does the job."
"Stay close," he warned. "The tunnels can be disorienting."
One by one, they descended the stone steps, Margaret taking the rear position to guard their backs. The staircase went down much farther than seemed possible, corkscrewing deep into the earth. Claire counted the steps silently: fifty, sixty, seventy, before they finally reached a level passageway.
The tunnel stretched ahead into darkness, its walls lined with smooth stone that appeared to have been cut with precision far beyond what should have been possible in pre-modern times. Strange symbols had been carved at regular intervals, their edges still sharp despite their obvious age.
"I've seen these before," Margaret said, examining one of the markings. "In the Codex. They're flow indicators, showing the direction energy should travel."
"These tunnels were designed as conduits, channeling power from the surface toward a central point,” Thomas confirmed. “Cedar Lane just modernized a system that was already here."
They moved forward cautiously, Thomas's light casting long shadows that seemed to writhe with unnatural life. The tunnel branched occasionally, but Thomas never hesitated, choosing their path with the confidence of someone who could sense the right direction.
"So," Claire said after they'd been walking for several minutes, her novelist's curiosity breaking through the silence, "you're a vampire."
Thomas's lips quirked in a slight smile. "Last time I checked, yes."
"But you're nothing like Alaric," she continued. "He's all..." she waved her hands vaguely, "monstrous and unstable and consuming people. You're just..." she trailed off.
"Not eating the neighbors?" Thomas supplied helpfully.
“Well, there was that one time with Margaret,” Claire waggled her eyebrows. “That’s a whole other question: vampires can fuck?” Thomas actually blushed, then signed.
“Vampires fuck a lot. Or, vampires that don’t eat humans do, anyway. Eternity can be boring and sex keeps our minds off of actually eating humans.”
"Ok. What's the difference between you and Alaric?"
Thomas considered the question as they navigated around a partially collapsed section of tunnel. "It's largely a matter of choice," he said finally. "All vampires have the capacity for monstrosity. Some, like Alaric, embrace it. Others find different paths. Alaric is the end state of a vampire that focuses on consuming as much blood as possible and converting it into magic. Centuries ago he was worshiped on Earth as a terrible, vengeful god. Until some humans came along with enough blood magic of their own to banish him to a pocket dimensional cell." He paused, “Humans with a little help.”
"But don't you need blood?" Claire pressed, her writer's instinct for detail taking over. "To survive, I mean?"
"No, that’s just a myth" Thomas explained. "Though it makes us significantly more powerful. Our basic metabolism is stable. We don’t need to eat or drink anything, and we age much more slowly than humans. We aren’t human, and never were. The idea that vampires are converted humans is also part of mythology. We’re a different species. We’ve been here a long, long time, existing beside humans. Our numbers are finite, we don’t reproduce."
"So you’re like a vampire vegetarian," Claire mused.
Thomas chuckled. "I am, actually, when I bother to eat. I gave up blood centuries ago. Mostly. The occasional life-or-death situation excepted." His face turned momentarily dark. “I did have to drink some blood when Alaric was summoned. I wouldn’t have been able to fend off the cultists without some extra ‘oomph.”
"He's a pacifist," Margaret added from behind them, a hint of affectionate mockery in her voice. "The Gandhi of the undead."
"I wouldn't go that far," Thomas said, stepping carefully over a line of symbols etched into the floor, one of the traps the homunculus had warned them about. "I just got tired of the mindless violence. When you've existed for as long as I have, you start questioning the patterns you've fallen into. For me, that meant reconsidering my relationship with humans."
"So you're immortal?" David asked, speaking up for the first time since they'd entered the tunnels.
"More or less," Thomas admitted. "Though not invulnerable. I can be killed. It just takes considerably more effort than with a human."
"And your powers?" Claire couldn't help asking. "Besides the obvious strength and speed."
"Blood magic, primarily. Which isn't exclusive to vampires; we just have a lot longer than you all to master it. Humans can, too, with the right knowledge and resources. That's how Evelyn has managed to extend her life and build her power base. She might not be a vampire, but she's been using blood magic for a long time."
"Like the clay asshole," Ethan said flatly. "Clay and blood."
"Exactly." Thomas nodded. "Blood contains life energy, and with the right techniques, that energy can be shaped, directed, used for various purposes. The more powerful the blood source, the more powerful the magic."
They reached a junction where three tunnels met, forming a perfect equilateral triangle. Thomas paused, studying the symbols carved around each opening.
"Everything in this place is designed around geometric precision," he observed. "Sacred geometry; shapes and patterns that supposedly channel energy more efficiently." He pointed to markings above the center tunnel. "This way."
As they continued forward, Claire noticed Thomas rubbing his temples occasionally, as if fighting a headache. "Are you okay?" she asked.
He grimaced slightly. "I had to use a bit more blood magic than usual when we reinforced the ghost's perception and when I prepped Edgar for reconnaissance. I..." he hesitated, "I took a small sip of blood to boost my abilities. Since then, the hunger has been... present. Nothing I can't handle," he added quickly, seeing her concern. "Just a distraction."
Claire considered this. "Is that why you're helping us? Some kind of atonement for your past?"
Thomas laughed softly. "No offense, but humans always want to make everything about redemption arcs. Sometimes you just get bored of being a monster. Sometimes you realize there are more interesting ways to spend eternity than being a slave to bloodlust." He shrugged. "Besides, cleaning up after Alaric has become something of a hobby over the centuries. He gives the rest of us a bad name."
They walked in silence for a moment, the only sounds their footsteps and the occasional distant drip of water from the tunnel ceiling.
"Are werewolves real?" Claire asked suddenly.
Thomas looked at her with amusement, his ancient eyes crinkling at the corners, and he burst out in laughter. "You've seen a vampire elder god, watched a clay homunculus get stabbed to death, and your son's girlfriend get killed for a blood ritual, and you're asking me about werewolves?"
"Professional curiosity," Claire said, a little defensively.
Thomas laughed again, a genuine sound that echoed strangely in the ancient passageway. He didn't answer her question.
“No really, I want to know. What’s so funny?” Claire asked, s starting to get offended.
“If they were real, would you fuck one?” Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow and stepping closer to her. “Because if supernatural dick is your thing, I gotta tell you: the right vampire will rock your world.” Claire’s mouth dropped open as she blushed, and David started to object.
"We're getting close," Margaret interrupted, her voice tense. "I can feel the ambient energy changing. Whatever ritual Evelyn is performing, it's affecting the entire tunnel system."
The tunnel widened, opening into what appeared to be an antechamber. The walls here were covered in elaborate carvings: scenes depicting robed figures performing rituals around a central stone altar, while something monstrous emerged from above. The level of detail was disturbing in its precision.
"These carvings are old," Thomas said, tracing one with his finger. "But not ancient. They've been updated over time. Look, these figures are wearing colonial-era clothing. And these..." he pointed to another section, "...are clearly from the mid-20th century."
"A record of previous attempts," Margaret concluded. "Each generation of leadership documenting their work."
"And failing," Thomas added. "Notice how none of these scenes show a completed manifestation? Each attempt got further than the last, but none succeeded entirely."
"Until now," Ethan said grimly, staring at a blank section of wall, as if imagining their current situation being carved there next.
"Not if we stop it," Claire said firmly.
The ground beneath them trembled slightly, and a low vibration hummed through the stone walls.
"That's our cue," Thomas said, his expression hardening. "The ritual is progressing.”
Divided Forces
The distant rumble had been growing louder as they progressed, but none of them expected the sudden violence of the earth's movement. The tunnel shook, ancient dust raining down from the ceiling in sinister cascades. A crack split the stone floor between them, widening with alarming speed.
"Move!" Thomas shouted, but it was already too late.
The ceiling gave way with a deafening roar. Margaret lunged forward, shoving Claire against the wall as massive stones crashed down where they had been standing seconds before. When the dust settled, a mountain of rubble separated them from the others.
"Claire! Margaret!" David's voice came faintly from the other side.
"We're okay!" Claire called back, coughing through the thick dust. "Are you all alright?"
"Yeah," came Ethan's distant reply. "But there's no way through this."
Margaret was already examining the fallen stones, her experienced eye assessing the stability of the pile. "He's right. This would take hours to clear, and we don't have that kind of time."
"We need to find another way around," Thomas's voice echoed through the debris. "These tunnels form a network. There should be multiple paths to the central chamber."
"What do we do?" Claire asked, looking at Margaret.
"We keep moving," Margaret replied, pulling a small flashlight from her jacket pocket. "According to the homunculus, there should be a side passage about fifty yards ahead that eventually reconnects with the main tunnel system."
"Thomas?" Claire called through the rubble.
"I'll guide David and Ethan through the eastern passages," he replied. "We'll meet you at the ritual chamber. Be careful, Evelyn likely has more traps we don't know about."
"You too," Margaret said. She hesitated, then added more quietly, "And Thomas... watch your hunger."
There was a brief silence from the other side. "I will," he finally answered.
With no other options, they separated. Claire and Margaret headed deeper into their section of tunnel, while the others retreated to find an alternate route.
The passage narrowed as they progressed, the ceilings lower and the symbols on the walls more densely packed. Margaret led the way, her flashlight beam revealing glimpses of carvings that seemed to shift when viewed directly.
"So," Claire said, breaking the tense silence between them, "are we going to talk about it?"
Margaret didn't slow her pace. "About what? The vampire elder god? The blood cult suburbanites? Or the fact that your husband is about to confront the woman who sexually enslaved him?"
"About us," Claire said simply.
This time Margaret did pause, her shoulders tensing visibly before she continued forward. "Your sense of timing is for shit, Claire."
"We might not get another chance," Claire persisted. "If things go wrong down there—"
"They won't," Margaret cut her off sharply. Then, more softly, "They can't."
They walked in silence for several more minutes, navigating around a partially flooded section of tunnel. Claire noticed Margaret checking her weapons every few steps, a nervous habit she'd never displayed before.
"You're afraid," Claire realized aloud.
Margaret's laugh was brittle. "Of course I am. We're facing a millennia-old vampire lord and his blood witch consort with nothing but some silver knives, a teenage boy with PTSD, a husband with Stockholm syndrome, and a randy old hippy vampire."
"That's not what I meant," Claire said quietly. "You're afraid of what happens if we survive."
Margaret stopped abruptly, turning to face Claire. In the harsh beam of the flashlight, her face looked drawn, vulnerable in a way Claire had rarely seen.
"What a fucking mess! What do you want me to say, Claire? That this is love? That I've developed feelings for a suburban smut novelist with a teenage son and a complicated marriage?" Her voice caught slightly. "That for the first time in a very long time I've caught myself daydreaming about something besides the next hunt, the next case, the next monster? That I miss you all the time and it feels like I’ve lost something every time I’m not around you?"
Claire stared at her, momentarily speechless.
Margaret sighed, running a hand through her chin-length hair. "Yes, I'm afraid. I'm afraid because what I told you before was true: I don't do monogamy, I don't do settling down, I don't do normal. But with you..." She trailed off, looking away. "With you, I've started wondering what it might be like."
Claire stepped closer, closing the distance between them. "It might be awful," she said with a small smile. "I leave my coffee cups everywhere. I get writer's block and become insufferable. And I have a teenage son who, if we survive this, will need years of therapy."
Margaret's laugh was genuine this time, her eyes softening as they met Claire's. "I sleep with a crossbow under my pillow. I have a ghost roommate who judges my sex life. And I've never stayed in one place for more than six months at a time."
"Sounds like we'd be terrible together," Claire said, her hand finding Margaret's in the dim light.
"The worst," Margaret agreed, her fingers intertwining with Claire's.
For a moment, they stood there in the ancient tunnel, the weight of their circumstances temporarily lifted by the simple human connection between them.
"We should keep moving," Margaret said finally, though she didn't pull her hand away immediately.
"Yeah," Claire agreed. "Save the world first, figure out the relationship dynamics later."
Margaret smiled, a hint of her usual cockiness returning. "That's the spirit."
In the eastern passage, an uncomfortable silence stretched between David and Ethan as they followed Thomas through the winding tunnels. The vampire had moved ahead slightly, giving father and son an illusion of privacy that only emphasized the chasm between them.
"Your mother will be okay," David said finally, desperate to break the silence. "Margaret knows what she's doing."
Ethan didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
"Ethan, please," David tried again. "Say something. Anything."
"What do you want me to say?" Ethan's voice was cold. "I understand why you abandoned us for Evelyn? I forgive you for nearly getting us all killed? For getting Lila killed?"
David flinched as if physically struck. Then his expression hardened. "No, I don't expect forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But I'm getting tired of the silent treatment and death glares from a teenager who has no idea what it's like to lose everything you've worked for."
Ethan stopped walking, turning to face his father with barely contained fury. "You betrayed us. You chose her over us."
"I did," David admitted, his voice now edged with frustration. "I was weak. I made terrible choices. But you need to grow up, Ethan. The world isn't black and white. People mess up, sometimes catastrophically."
"Grow up?" Ethan's voice rose in disbelief. "Lila is dead because of you!"
"And I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life!" David shot back. "But your childish sulking isn't helping anyone right now. We're walking into what might be a suicide mission, and I need you focused on survival, not on punishing me for my failures."
"Don't you dare call me childish," Ethan stepped closer, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I watched the girl I love die because you were too busy playing ass clown sex slave to notice what was happening!"
David's next words were cold, calculating. "And what exactly were you doing while I was being manipulated by Evelyn? Sneaking around with Lila, getting into trouble, putting yourselves at risk? You're not as innocent in all this as you'd like to believe, son."
The words hung in the air between them, cruel in their partial truth.
Ethan's face went completely blank, all emotion shut down. "You're supposed to be the adult." His voice was deadly quiet. "But I guess expecting you to act like one was my mistake."
David rubbed a hand over his face, the anger draining away as quickly as it had come. "You're right. That was unfair. I'm sorry."
"Save it," Ethan said, moving past his father to catch up with Thomas. "We have a job to do."
David watched him go, the gulf between them now wider than before. With a heavy sigh, he followed, knowing he'd just made everything worse.
Thomas moved swiftly ahead, deliberately putting distance between himself and the humans. Their argument echoed through the tunnels, but he was barely listening. All his concentration was focused on fighting the growing hunger that clawed at his insides.
The scent of blood was everywhere now – splashed on the walls in ritual patterns, soaked into the very stone of the tunnels. Centuries-old blood, recent blood, blood infused with magic. The air was thick with it, and Thomas found his fangs extending involuntarily in response.
He paused at a junction, leaning against the wall as a wave of hunger hit him with nearly physical force. His vision pulsed red at the edges. The self-control he'd cultivated over centuries was fraying rapidly in this place saturated with blood magic.
Ahead, he could see fresh droplets on the tunnel floor – someone had passed this way recently, bleeding. The crimson trail led deeper into the labyrinth, toward the central chamber where Evelyn would be performing her ritual.
Thomas took a step toward it, then another, drawn by the siren call of fresh blood. He could almost taste it already, could feel the rush of power it would bring him. Power he would need to face Alaric.
Just a taste, the hunger whispered. Just enough to strengthen you for the battle ahead. They need you strong...
He was halfway down the tunnel before he realized what he was doing. With enormous effort, he stopped, forcing himself to turn away from the blood trail.
The voices of David and Ethan drew closer behind him. Their heartbeats thundered in his ears, the sound of blood pumping through their veins suddenly deafening. Every instinct screamed at him to feed, to take what he needed from these convenient prey.
No. The thought was a command to himself.
But the hunger was stronger here than he'd ever felt it, amplified by the ancient magic permeating this place. If he stayed with them, he wasn't certain he could maintain control.
Thomas made his decision quickly. Without a word of explanation, he slipped down a side passage, putting distance between himself and the temptation of human blood. He would find his own way to the central chamber.
Behind him, he heard David call his name in confusion, but he didn't turn back. Better they think him a coward than discover what he might become if the hunger won.
The passage he'd chosen descended steeply, winding ever deeper beneath Cedar Lane. The air grew warmer, carrying the unmistakable scent of ritual magic and ancient power.
Convergence
The three separate paths they had taken through the labyrinthine tunnels all ended at the same massive chamber. Claire and Margaret arrived first, emerging from a narrow passage that opened onto a stone ledge overlooking the central ritual space. They pressed themselves against the wall, taking in the scene below.
The chamber was enormous, far larger than should have been possible beneath a suburban neighborhood. Its walls were carved from bedrock in a perfect circle, rising to a domed ceiling at least fifty feet above. Ancient symbols covered every surface, glowing with a pulsating red light that cast the entire space in a bloody hue.
"There," Margaret whispered, pointing to the center of the chamber.
On a raised platform stood Evelyn Whitmore, though she bore little resemblance to the pristine HOA president they had known. Her blonde hair hung wild around her shoulders, streaked with what looked disturbingly like blood. Her ceremonial robe, crimson and gold, was open at the front, revealing ritualistic markings painted across her naked body that caught the light from dozens of black candles arranged in precise geometric patterns across the floor.
She stood before a stone altar, her arms raised as she chanted in a language that seemed to physically distort the air around her. Atop the altar rested a chalice that glowed with an unnatural light: Lila's blood.
And hovering above it all was Alaric.
The vampire lord existed in a state of flux between dimensions, his form constantly shifting and reshaping itself. One moment he appeared almost human. An unremarkable middle-aged man with an unremarkable face; the next, he was something else entirely.
"We're too late," Claire whispered, horror evident in her voice. "She's already started."
"Not too late," Margaret replied grimly, checking her weapons. "The ritual isn't complete. He's still unstable."
On the opposite side of the chamber, another passage opened, and David and Ethan emerged, crouching behind a fallen column. Claire spotted them and caught David's eye across the vast space. He nodded, indicating they were unhurt.
"Where's Thomas?" Margaret murmured, scanning the chamber.
A third passage opened onto the ritual space, and the vampire appeared, his face tense. He took in the scene, his ancient eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation.
For a moment, all three groups remained hidden, watching as Evelyn continued her ritual, unaware of their presence. The air in the chamber grew thicker, charged with dark energy as she poured something dark red into a complex pattern on the altar.
Then, without warning, she stopped mid-incantation and smiled. Her laugh filled the chamber.
"Welcome, friends," Evelyn called out, her voice echoing unnaturally in the vast space. She turned slowly, surveying the chamber with predatory confidence. "I've been expecting you."
At her signal, robed cultists emerged from hidden alcoves around the chamber. At least two dozen of them. "Did you really think you could sneak into my sanctum undetected?" Evelyn laughed, the sound like broken glass. "I heard your approach from the moment you entered. "You're too late to stop the Ascension," Evelyn continued, her eyes finding each of them in turn. "But I'm so pleased you could join us. Especially you, David. Your body has been so carefully prepared to serve as Lord Alaric's vessel."
David's face paled, but he stood from his hiding place, the katana drawn and held with surprising steadiness. "Not happening, Evelyn."
Evelyn's smile widened. "We'll see." Her gaze shifted to Thomas. "Thomas! Still fighting your true nature? How’s that working out for you?" She laughed. Thomas's eyes had fixed on something across the chamber: a cultist whose arm had been freshly slashed, blood dripping freely onto the stone floor. The vampire's body tensed visibly as the cultist ran toward him, his fangs extending despite his obvious effort to control himself.
"Oh, does that distract you?" Evelyn called mockingly. "Poor Thomas, always denying himself. Always so hungry." She made a small gesture, and the bleeding cultist turned abruptly before he reached Thomas, running down one of the side passages. A fresh trail of blood marked his path.
"Don't," Margaret called out, but it was too late.
Thomas's control shattered. With a snarl that was more animal than human, he launched himself into the tunnel, following the bleeding cultist into the darkness.
"No!" Claire shouted, but Thomas was already gone, the hunger finally overcoming his centuries of restraint.
Evelyn laughed again, triumphant. "There’s enough silver and rose petals in that idiot's blood to keep Thomas passed out for a year. One down," she said, turning back to the altar. "Now, shall we continue?"
She raised her hands to resume the ritual, but one of Margaret’s knives flew through the air, narrowly missing Evelyn's throat and embedding itself in the stone beside her.
"You missed," Evelyn said, her smile never faltering.
"Did I?" Margaret replied, already moving from her hiding place, another blade in hand.
The knife in the altar began to glow, the silver heating rapidly to white-hot as the runes Margaret had carved into it activated. With a sharp crack, the stone altar split, the chalice of Lila's blood tipping precariously.
"Stop her!" Evelyn shrieked, her composure finally breaking.
The cultists surged forward, some moving to protect their leader, others advancing on the intruders. David leapt from his hiding place, wielding the katana with the remembered skill of collegiate fencing lessons, cutting down the first cultist who approached Ethan.
Claire emerged from cover, firing Margaret's crossbow at a robed figure rushing toward them. The bolt took the cultist in the shoulder, dropping him to the ground.
"Get to the altar!" Margaret shouted, already engaging two cultists with her short blades. "Destroy the chalice!"
Claire reloaded the crossbow, taking aim at Evelyn, but a cultist grabbed her from behind. She spun, driving the butt of the weapon into her attacker's face with desperate strength.
Across the chamber, Ethan had broken away from David's protection, moving with single-minded purpose toward the altar where Lila's blood still glowed. A cultist moved to intercept him, but Ethan drew the dagger he had taken from the homunculus and drove it into the cultist's neck without hesitation.