“How magnanimous of you,” was the dry reply.
“I am sorry it took so long.”
For once, Daphne said nothing, but she did keep close, peeking around him. Not that her discretion mattered. Basil could smell life. The curse of the dead.
“How unlike you to bring me an apology.” Basil neared, almost gliding in his robe. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had human blood.”
When she squeaked, he reached behind to reassure, not even understanding why. Since when did he care about a human’s fear? Before his own incarceration, he’d brought more than a few willing and unwilling repasts for the undead man living below ground.
An old friend that, rather than kill, he’d imprisoned, reasoning some form of life was better than none. Having lived in confinement, he now knew better. Which was why he’d come. To give his friend the mercy he deserved.
Basil stopped just out of reach. “If the Shaitan roam once more, then why do you come here? You should be hunting them.”
“As you said, it’s been three thousand years since I promised to return. Your release is long overdue.”
“You’re not here to free me, are you?” Basil lowered his hood and canted his head, baring his neck. “Let’s get this done. Kill me before I change my mind and decide this hellish existence is worth it.”
Kill someone that used to be his friend until an unfortunate accident.
He put his hand on Basil’s shoulder, their gazes meeting in understanding.
Only before he could act, a tiny woman inserted herself. “Hello, in case you didn’t notice, you are both speaking in a language I don’t understand. I’ve had enough of this. Who is this guy? Why does he live underground?”
It took him a moment to flip from his birth tongue to the English he’d learned. “This is Basil. A friend I owe a debt to.”
“I thought you said he was dead.” She eyed Basil. “Looks alive to me.”
“Only because of the curse running through his body.” At her curious stare, he explained. “Basil was infected with something and died, only to rise again with a taste for blood.”
“So he’s a vampire.”
His turn to appear curious. “I do not know that word.”
“Vampire, someone who was bitten or turned into the undead and who lives by sucking on the blood of others.”
“You’ve heard of them. They exist in this time?”
“I don’t know about exist, but there’s been tons of stories told about them. Movies made. Books written.” She shrugged. “They’re considered quite romantic.”
“You jest?” he scoffed. Only to have Basil exclaim in the language they shared, “What does the woman say?” Azrael explained.
Basil appeared intrigued. “Ask your woman, in these stories, these vampires, they lived above ground?”
He relayed the question, and she nodded. “Yes, but at night, you know, because of the whole sun allergy thing.”
It took only a moment to translate.
Basil glanced at him, and Azrael shook his head. “No. You know the rules.” In his day, the undead were killed on sight. However, when it came to his close friend, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Those who made the rules are long dead,” Basil reminded.
“But they were created for a reason.”
“To protect the fragile humans. I’m aware. But even this deep, I know they’ve multiplied. Can you really say that they’re at risk given their numbers now?”
A good point. “Letting you leave this room means condemning some of those lives.”
Basil shrugged. “Would you feel better if I said I’ll only feed on the bad ones?”
Daphne tugged at his sleeve. “What’s he saying?”
“He says if I free him he will feed only on the wicked.”
“I’m cool with that,” Daphne replied, drawing Azrael’s ire. “Don’t glare at me,” she huffed. “Honestly, if your vampire friend is eating criminals, then that makes the world a better place, doesn’t it?”
Despite not having the words translated, Basil grinned, knowing she took his side. Azrael could see the charming flirt who’d had all the girls falling at his feet. “Perhaps your lady friend can aid me in this new world.”
Azrael bristled and, rather than admit a strange jealousy, stated, “I should speak to the others before making that kind of decision.”
Basil’s nostrils flared. “You want me to wait some more? And would you have wanted to wait if you knew freedom lurked within reach?”
He wished he could say he’d have taken the righteous path; however, after being imprisoned so long, he would have done anything to see the blue sky again. Even if released, Basil would never be able to bathe his face in the sun. But he could have a better existence than this.
Azrael glanced around the crypt. “I thought I was doing right by you.”
“You locked me away and then disappeared. If it weren’t for the wolves in the woods, I would have starved.” The wild creatures were immune to the imprisoning magic. They could come and go, keeping Basil company—and fed.
“As you are aware, humans rule the world currently. They will notice if you murder them for food.”
“I haven’t waited this long for my freedom to be stupid,” Basil spat.
“If you cause problems, I will come after you.”
“Only if you survive your hopeless mission. How much are you willing to sacrifice this time for a world that doesn’t care?” Basil taunted.
A reminder that the path he’d set himself on ended only in two ways: death or further imprisonment.
I won’t be locked away again.
He just couldn’t.
And he also couldn’t do it to Basil.
He moved to the entrance of the crypt and held out his hand. He couldn’t pull on any magic in here, but he did have a weapon that could slice through the spells that layered this place.
The dagger marred the sigil, and he could practically feel the energy snap free. Over and over, the spells binding this place eased as each sigil was broken.
The final one was by the bottom step. And he paused before slicing it as well.
Whoosh. The spell hiding the tomb collapsed, and he half expected to see Basil rush past him.
Instead, that pale blue gaze stared back down the corridor. Basil took a step back then another.
Azrael frowned. “I thought you wanted freedom.”
“I did, three thousand years ago. Lucky for me, someone helped me escape my prison well before you.” As Basil spoke, Azrael could hear rustling. As of fabric.
When Basil emerged, he was dressed in modern clothes. Denim. A collared shirt. The lenses he wore on his face dark.
“You’ve left the crypt?”
In perfect English, Basil stated, “For more than five hundred years now. Although, I will admit, the first century of that is a blur. Unlike you, I didn’t have anyone else. I went mad for a while. But it passed.”
“Why pretend?” Azrael asked.
“Because I was curious. Curious to see if you would kill me or let me go, or worse, condemn me again.”
“You tricked me.”
“And you honestly thought you should kill me. I’d say your infraction is greater.”