03 - Evolution by Greg Cox - (ebook by Undead) Page B

that the city
glittered like a crystal chandelier, outshining the full moon above.
Even though Kraven’s stolen memories had prepared him for the sight, the
revived Elder gaped in wonder nonetheless.
    Truly, this brave new millennium had wrought many
changes, not the least of which was his own unexpected metamorphosis.
Leathery wings carried his wizened form above the transformed city.
Although his mummified appearance testified to the fact that he had not
yet fully recovered from his long repose, despite the blood of Kraven
and his decadent underlings, Marcus had wasted no time embarking on this
vital quest. With Viktor dead at last, the time had finally come to
fulfill an ancient vow, solemnly sworn upon a bygone night of blood and
fire. For over eight hundred years he had bided his time, but now the
long wait was over.
    But first I must find this errant kinsman of mine.
    “Michael Corvin.”
    Following Kraven’s blood memories, he swooped down from
the sky toward an unprepossessing neighborhood in central Pest. Night’s
umbrageous cloak, and the swirling snow, concealed his descent from
whatever mortals might be awake at this ungodly hour. His eyes fell upon
his destination: a broken-down, old brownstone on a dimly lit block in a
bad part of town. The lonely streets looked devoid of life.
    In contrast to the city’s starry appearance from on
high, this region of Pest had declined dramatically since Marcus had
last walked these streets. Little remained of the gorgeous baroque
architecture erected by the Hapsburgs after over a century of Turkish
occupation. The dilapidated brownstone was an ugly pile of bricks,
blackened by decades of smog and soot. Steel-shuttered windows and
garish graffiti suggested that the homely edifice had been abandoned for
some time.
    Which was not exactly the case.
    Marcus touched down upon the snow-covered roof of the
building. According to Kraven, this site was often used by the Death
Dealers as a “safe house”. A locked door barred entrance to the
brownstone, but the Elder easily ripped the door from its hinges. He
tucked his wings against his shoulder blades as he passed through the
narrow portal.
    The smell of rotting corpses and foul lycan blood struck
him the minute he entered the building. Descending a flight of stairs,
he found a scene of utter carnage. Lycan bodies littered the floor,
surrounded by pools of clotting blood. Broken glass, chipped plaster,
and bullet shells added to the clutter. Many of the lycan soldiers still
clutched their formidable-looking modern muskets in their lifeless
hands. Marcus was saddened, but not surprised, to see with his own eyes
that William’s subhuman spawn still infected the earth. Over the
centuries, they had proven damnably hard to exterminate, especially
after the coven’s ill-advised attempt to domesticate them back in the
Dark Ages. Lucian had taught them the folly of that enterprise.
    Perhaps it is just as well, he mused. Destiny surely has its own plan for
William and his breed.
    Turning his thoughts away from the past, Marcus
contemplated the bloody detritus before him. Obviously, a battle had
been fought here, mere hours ago. He searched the faces of the dead
lycans but was disappointed to discover that Michael Corvin was not
among them. That would have been too easy, I
suppose.
    Broken glass crunched beneath the leathery soles of his
taloned feet as he strode through the gory debris. Crates and cardboard
boxes cluttered the suite. An interrogation chamber boasted chains,
shackles, and a heavy steel chair. Snow blew in through a shattered
window. Bloody torture implements rested upon trays and counters. A
weapons locker contained an arsenal of modern firearms. Fluorescent
lights glowed overhead.
    He scanned the aftermath of the battle, looking for… ah,
yes! Black eyes widened at the sight of illuminated screens,
consoles, and keyboards. Glowing images shifted upon the screen, as if