She needed something larger than spiders and flies. It was a pity that there were no rats. Her flesh had tightened over her bones, becoming dry and hard like leather, and her hair, what she could see of it, had turned a filthy white. A long time ago, such changes might have tormented her. Now, however, she knew that flesh was much like a set of robes, changing to fit circumstance.

Besides bugs, she made the acquaintance of Khaled’s sister, Anmar. She was a pretty girl, still gangly and in the dawn of womanhood. Like her brother, she was a child of the harem, and he doted on her. And she, in turn, looked up to him. Even as Khalida had looked up to her cousin Neferata, before—

The thought brought pain. Neferata shoved the errant memory aside. Khalida was dead, as Naaima never failed to remind her. Dead and entombed for over a century, after refusing the gift Neferata had offered her, the foolish, stupid girl.

But Anmar was more receptive to the whispers of Neferata’s voice. The girl had taken to sneaking into her brother’s secret chambers. Mere curiosity became something else as Neferata’s psychic hooks sank into her mind.

Until, finally…

‘What are you doing in here?’ Khaled roared, grabbing his sister by the arm and wrenching her away from the sarcophagus. If she had been able to, Neferata would have hissed in frustration. The girl had been moments away from opening the sarcophagus and freeing her.

‘I was just looking—’ Anmar began, trying to yank her arm free of her brother’s grip.

‘Don’t!’ Khaled snarled, hurling her against the wall. The girl cried out and Khaled’s rage evaporated. He stared at his hands for a moment, and then rushed to her side. ‘I’m sorry little sister, I did not mean to hurt you,’ he said, helping her to her feet.

Khaled, Neferata whispered.

He froze. He straightened and looked at the sarcophagus, his face pale and sweaty. ‘K-Khaled,’ Anmar began as she reached for her brother. ‘What is it? It’s been speaking to me. What do you have in there?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing…’

Khaaaaled, Neferata purred. The tendrils of her mind unfurled, caressing his. He shuddered.

‘Get out of my head, witch. I’ve told you before, I will not listen to you,’ he said, grinding his fists into his eyes.

‘Khaled, who are you talking to?’ Anmar said. She glanced at the sarcophagus, and went as pale as her brother. ‘Is it… is it her? Is what the maids said true? Did you really… keep her?’

Aaaanmaaar, Neferata hissed, as she felt the girl’s gaze fall on the sarcophagus.

‘Who is that?’ Anmar said, looking to her brother for reassurance. ‘What is in that box, Khaled?’

‘Just an old dead thing,’ Khaled snapped. ‘It is of no consequence.’

No consequence, am I? Neferata said, vaguely amused. Then why do you stink of fear, my fierce Kontoi?

‘Quiet,’ Khaled shouted.

Perhaps it is because you fear yourself, and not this old dead thing, Neferata said. You fear your desires, Khaled… What do you want, my love? I will give it to you. All you have to do is—

‘I said be quiet!’ Khaled shrieked. He wrenched the lid open and glared at her. She could see herself reflected in his eyes, a mummified thing, covered with crawling insects, withered talons clutching the splintered shaft of wood that jutted from her heart. He fell back, gagging. Her jaws twitched, crunching a centipede between them. Anmar screamed.

Quiet, girl, Neferata hissed. Anmar’s jaw slammed shut and her hands flew to her mouth.

‘Leave her be, hag!’ Khaled snarled. He grabbed the end of the stake and jammed it deeper into her. Neferata’s withered frame shuddered. Her head slumped to the side and her staring eyes caught his, freezing him in place.

Why would I do that, Khaled? she said. Why would I do that when I am so thirsty?

Khaled pulled himself away from her. ‘No!’

So thirsty, Neferata said, not letting him break eye contact with her. Her will crashed down on him like a black wave. For weeks, her mind had wormed its way into his, even as it had Anmar’s. He had come incessantly to gloat over her, to speak of his dreams and plans and desires.

He wanted to be caliph, did young Khaled. But he was the son of a concubine and thus not in line for the throne, and besides, there were a dozen brothers ahead of him.

But I can change all of that, Khaled, she said, and he leaned close. You know I can. Abhorash told you, didn’t he? He told you what I am and what my kiss can give you, she continued. Her thoughts became his thoughts, and trapped his mind in a fog of red.

‘Khaled,’ Anmar quavered, reaching for him. ‘Please Khaled, close it…’

Free me, Neferata said. Free me!

‘Khaled…’

Khaled’s fingers tightened on the wood. Then, with a convulsive jerk, he ripped it free of her heart. Neferata sucked in a lungful of dry air and emitted a shriek, her long unused vocal cords flexing painfully. But mingled with the pain was the raw pleasure of life renewed. Life, so long denied her, flowed through her dry veins and she stretched, feeling the air and listening to the sound of her prey’s hearts as their rhythm sped up. The sweet smell of fear filled her nostrils and she hissed in pleasure.

Khaled stared stupidly at the splinter of wood in his hand, then up at Neferata. Her eyes blazed with a hunger long denied. ‘Yessss,’ she said.

‘Oh, no,’ Khaled said, stepping back, horror suffusing his features. ‘Anmar, get out of here!’

‘Khaled — what—’ Anmar began fearfully.

‘Run!’ Khaled screamed, lunging for Neferata with the wood. She uncoiled from the sarcophagus, leaping over him and landing between his sister and the door.

‘Too late, my Kontoi,’ Neferata rasped, claws flexing. She caught Anmar as the girl backpedalled. ‘Too late…’ Her fangs sank into the girl’s neck as savagely as those of a starving jackal. She worried the girl’s throat, tearing flesh and cracking bone, her tongue stabbing hungrily into the wound.

Khaled howled with loathing as he smashed the wooden spike into her shoulder. She snarled, dropping the half-dead girl, and batted his improvised weapon from his grip. Then, with sinister tenderness, she took his face in her hands and kissed him, smearing his mouth with his sister’s blood. He grabbed ineffectually at her wrists as she pulled him close.

‘Do not struggle, my love,’ she purred. ‘Soon you shall have all that you desire. This, I promise…’

The sun had been blotted out by thick clouds that spread like oil across the sky, as well as the surging, wheeling flocks of carrion birds that circled overhead waiting for the day’s reaping to be done. Unfortunately, Neferata had no time to admire the graceful curve of the birds’ flight.

The orc crested the palisade, venting a full-throated bellow of berserk murder-lust as it took off a Strigoi’s head with its crude axe. Neferata wove around the tumbling body and impaled the orc on her blade, causing it to stiffen and scream. She jerked her sword free in a crescent of blood and spun, lopping off its head as she came back around.

Even as its twitching carcass tumbled to the palisade ramp, more of them were pushing to fill the gap. Daubed in brutal, blue tattoos and war-paint and animal skins, they came at her in a rush. Their minds were too dull to enrapture with her dark skills, and she settled for dealing out quicksilver death. Stepping over the bodies, she saw that the others were faring similarly well.