Right to Silence

by Lily Luchesi

  Price whistled. “One in fifteen years? That’s quite a track record, Mr. Quinn. Remind me not to cross you!”

  “Oh, you’ll learn quickly that neither of these two are forces to be reckoned with,” Linwood spoke up. “Now, if you lads will excuse me, I have an engagement I must keep. Till tomorrow, lads.” He nodded at them all and left the library.

  ***

  This part of the story many of you will know: how Leander Price remained in London, searching for Veronica Delarue, and how he met Mr. Vincent Cross, future father of Angelica Cross. The part you might not be familiar with was the true reason behind his anger over Vincent falling in love with the very vampire they had set out to kill.

  ***

  After Dr. Finnigan had performed surgery on Price’s injured hand and shoulder, he went to hospital to visit him, much against Benjamin’s advice. It was true Price was a loose cannon, and very disillusioned to the fact that not all monsters were as evil as they had all once believed, Michael could see one thing his brilliant lover could not: Leander Price was suffering from much more than xenophobia: he was suffering from a broken heart.

  Against such a malady there was no prescription to provide, no care to give except time. He still wanted to go and speak with Leander, to give him some perspective, and to lend him an ear as the only other person who could have any idea what the young man was dealing with.

  He entered Price’s hospital room, and the young hunter turned away from the doctor.

  “I do not wish to speak with you. Leave me,” he ordered.

  Michael did not reply, but sat down at his bedside. “I know.”

  Leander turned hateful hazel eyes on him. “What do you know? Unless it is your realisation that all monsters are just that— monsters —then we have nothing to discuss.”

  Michael shook his head, refusing to be pushed aside by the American’s bad temperament. “No. I know about you...and Vincent.”

  Usually, it was Brighton who noticed the nuances of one’s expression, but when it came to love, the simplest and yet most complicated emotion, Michael felt he was much more of an authority on the subject.

  Leander spluttered, his tanned skin darkening with rage and embarrassment. “You— you are positively mad, Doctor!”

  Michael shook his head. “Most probably I am. Most probably, we all are. But that is neither here nor there. Do you know why I was forced to leave Whitby and come to London? Because I was accused of sodomy. They wanted to hang me, and I just barely was able to escape execution due to lack of proof. They were correct about me, of course, but to think they wanted to murder me just because of love...it still pains me, even now.

  “When I came here it was a fresh start. I vowed to live by the law, even if it meant I had to spend my life alone. It seemed preferable to be lonely rather than dead. And then a werewolf victim came into my practice and I met Benjamin. I was terrified, Price, absolutely terrified, both of how I felt and if my emotions would get me found out and killed. I became very fortunate with Benjamin, and despite needing secrecy to secure our wellbeing, we are as happy as can be.

  “What I am trying to say is that, society might despise us, but society has no hold over us. It should not have hold over you, either. It’s quite obvious how much you cared for Cross. Did he care for you as well, before he met her?”

  Leander was not looking at the doctor, instead his eyes were gazing out the window, into the courtyard below. The weak sunlight streaming into his window illuminated his hazel eyes, and Michael saw that there were tears clouding them.

  “Price, you can talk to me. Let it air in the open, and perhaps then it will not hurt so much,” Michael said.

  “There. Is. Nothing. To. Discuss,” Leander said, grinding the words through clenched teeth. “What would you have me say? Hmm? I made the foolish mistake of falling in love with an older man who chose a monster over me? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said quietly.

  “Sorry does not change what happened. Now that you’ve got what you came here for— my confession —you can get out and I never wish to look upon you again.”

  That was the last time Michael ever saw Leander in this life, as he left St. Bartholomew’s and went back home, he found he was exceedingly grateful to have Benjamin Quinn there waiting for him.

  Chapter Six

  London, England

  January, 1832

  Benjamin Quinn sauntered into his office at the county morgue, the office that Scotland Yard paid for thanks to Detective Chief Inspector George Linwood, with his usual amount of arrogance and grace. The night before he and Michael had taken down a small coven intent on calling up demons to possess nearby humans, and he felt powerful, the way he always did after solving an important case.

  Before he even lit the lamps, he could smell iron and salt, the acrid tang of blood he had gotten so used to in his decades as a hunter multiplied tenfold. Gagging from the powerful stench, he lit a lamp and saw exactly why the office smelt like a slaughterhouse: it had been turned into one overnight.

  There were four bodies on the floor, all of them with their throats ripped out and nearly bloodless. They were bloodless because their blood had been strewn around the office in an Underworldly vandalism attempt. Written on the wall facing the door in blood were two words: REMEMBER ME?

  Not normally one for dramatics, Benjamin’s body shuddered and his knees weakened. He turned and vomited up his breakfast in the bin he kept beside his desk.

  It had been thirty years since he had last seen the wily vampire Peter Mabuz, and in those decades he had not heard hide nor hair about the creature. There was no proof, no solid evidence, but he instinctively knew that this was the work of the only monster he had ever let get away.

  I have no idea why you’ve returned, but you just signed your own death warrant, he thought, getting to his feet and going to wire Linwood. Mabuz wanted to play a game of cat and mouse? He had no idea he had just baited the most dangerous cat in London.

  Mahon Quinn never came around to the library where Benjamin, Michael, and George held their secret meetings, so when he showed up that evening, Benjamin knew that Peter Mabuz was now much more deadly than he had been.

  Ben thought that his elder brother looked even more out of place than he did as he walked stiffly through the stacks of old books. Mahon was the type of man who had what Americans called a world class poker face. To see in those cold, grey eyes the distinct brightness of worry made Ben’s heart beat a bit faster.

  “I have had people in my department take photographs of the crime scene,” he said without giving anyone a proper greeting. “None but a vampire could have killed so many humans in such a manner. If it is Mabuz, and thus far I think we are correct in assuming it is, then he has waited three decades to come back and...what? Taunt you?”

  Benjamin sighed. “That is what I do not understand. Why is he back? He has the honour of besting me once. Why return?”

  He saw Michael’s eyes light up. His beloved had never been the sharpest, but if left to brood upon an idea, he would oftentimes come up with brilliant theories, even if many of them did not pan out.

  “Because chances are, you came the closest to killing him than anyone else. Mabuz hasn’t been a vampire for very long, not like the ones we usually hunt. He still has that mortal desire for adrenaline, not unlike yourself, Benjamin,” he said. “I do not think he has had that taken from him in just three centuries.”

  “Do not compare me with that monster,” Benjamin said.

  “I’m not,” Michael replied. “I am simply saying that he still has human tendencies, albeit the kind mortal serial killers normally display.”

  Benjamin sat back while the other three discussed Mabuz and how he was not dissimilar to mortal murderers. He had a nearly eidetic memory, and he replayed the brief fight with Mabuz over in his mind.

  “He promised to come back,” he muttered.

  All three men turned to look at him, but he barely
registered their presence. This had always been Mabuz’s plan, even when he did not know who they were. He always wanted to do this, but why now? Why, thirty years later when they were both in middle age? Not that their age had slowed them down: on the contrary, they seemed to be getting better as they got older.

  “He wanted to either get stronger, or lure us into a false sense of complacency.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “Um, did you want to let us all in on this fascinating conversation you are having within your own mind, love?”

  Benjamin blinked, realising he had once again gone deep into his own subconscious. He had done that quite a bit in his youth, but had managed to curb the peculiarity except for in very dire circumstances, such as these.

  “Peter Mabuz planned for this,” he said aloud. “When we fought him, he said ‘till next time’. It is why he waited that confuses me.”

  “Vampires— like mad men —do not need reasons, little brother. You know that.” Mahon stood up and lit a pipe. He usually never smoked near so many books, but it seemed even he was unsettled enough to break his own rules.

  “If he wants a battle, then we shall give it to him,” Michael said. “And this time we shan’t let him escape.”

  ***

  Benjamin was an expert at reading an enemy. So why had it taken him decades to figure out what it was that Peter Mabuz wanted? That being said, he still was not quite sure what it was that the vampire sought from him. A challenge, that was evident, but what else could he possibly desire from baiting him like this?

  Michael was cleaning their weapons— Ben was rubbish at any sort of housekeeping, and he knew Michael had accepted that by this point —and watching Benjamin as he paced around their flat. Michael’s eyes on him grounded him, made the tumult in his head settle back to a dull roar. Ben had never loved anyone more, and no one had ever been able to calm him just by being in the same room as he.

  Ben suddenly stopped pacing and walked towards the kitchen table, where Michael was doing his cleaning. The smaller man looked up, surprised, as Ben took him into his arms and kissed him passionately. Ben held him close, now suddenly facing their mortality in a much more serious fashion than they ever had with any previous adversary.

  Michael laughed lightly when Ben pulled away. “That was quite unexpected.” He tucked his now silvering blonde head under Ben’s chin, a perfect fit. Ben knew madmen. Even immortal ones wanted the same thing: death and destruction. And if Mabuz was after him, he knew he’d want to hurt him as much as he could. And the way to hurt Benjamin would be to hurt Michael. He refused to let that happen. He’d protect him with his own life.

  There was a knock at their door, and Michael disentangled himself from Ben’s arms to see who it was. It was Mrs. Ludlow, their proprietor, who was now quite elderly and did not have long for this world.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, but you received a wire just now,” she said, handing Michael the paper and then wished them a good evening.

  Benjamin waited impatiently to see who it was from.

  “It’s from your brother,” Michael said. “‘I have a lead on P.M. Stop. Meet me as soon as possible. Stop. I will be at the abandoned church. Stop. Bring weapons’.”

  Benjamin was already out of his seat. “Well, well. It seems that brother dearest is taking a proactive role in hunting again. Took him quite some time, didn’t it? Come, Michael, come! Perhaps this shall all end tonight.”

  The two hunters hailed a taxi outside their flat and Benjamin drummed his fingers impatiently against his leg, wishing the horses would move faster. This case had haunted him for decades, and he was finally ready to put it to bed.

  Benjamin Quinn had the most impressive hunting career in all of London, and Peter Mabuz was the one that got away. He had been a constant itch in Benjamin’s mind, a reminder of his failure. It was time to end the torment.

  “Do you think he found Mabuz’s hideaway?” Michael asked, breaking his train of thought.

  “That is precisely what I think, and we will be waiting there for the monster when he returns. The church is not far from where we tracked him and lost him. As I said, even vampires are creatures of habit. He returned to his old hunting grounds, as I suspected.”

  They told the taxi to alight a few blocks away, just in case, and they walked the rest of the distance. Michael had a firearm, while Benjamin brandished a blade. If Mabuz had returned earlier than Mahon had expected, they would need to be prepared for the worst.

  The church was beautiful, even in its state of ruin. It had been built centuries ago, and the monks who had lived there had been killed by vampires. The story was a legend, and few people knew that it was actually true. Quite the fitting home for a bloodsucker.

  They entered through the backdoor, and there was utter silence.

  Benjamin took in his surroundings as well as he could in the dim lighting. Pews torn asunder, a desecrated altar, broken stained glass windows. No sign of anything living or Undead. There was blood splattered, most of it very old, on the floor and the pews. It smelled musty, and dust rose in clouds with their every step.

  “Brother mine?” he called, trying to hide the uncertainty that was creeping into his mind. All of a sudden it hit him, and he felt like an utter fool. Mahon Quinn had not been in an active physical investigation in decades. What on Earth had made him think his brother would suddenly change his habits and enter a disgusting place such as this?

  “Michael, get out, now,” he said in a hurried whisper. “There’s something amiss.” He grabbed the doctor’s arm, but they were both stopped by a maniacal laugh from above them.

  Floating down from the rafters was Peter Mabuz, looking very much like a man who stepped from a painting, too clean and too perfect to be in this dirty building. His arms were still partly transformed into bat’s wings, stretching his upper body inconceivably. He had not aged.

  They could hear the flesh shrinking and the bones realigning themselves as his wings became arms again, and he leaned casually against the gore-splattered altar. His dark eyes were as blank as an inkwell, and his smile stretched unnaturally.

  “You can’t possibly be leaving so soon,” he simpered. “You’ve only just arrived. Just in time for supper.”

  “You sent the telegram,” Michael said, eyes wide.

  Mabuz chuckled. “A bit behind, are you not, Doctor? I believe your partner figured that one out minutes ago.” He took a step towards them. “Well? Come now. You can’t possibly expect me to believe you’re going to stand there and just allow me to dine freely, are you?”

  “No, we most certainly are not, Professor,” Benjamin said, brandishing his blade. “After tonight, you shall never dine on another human being again.”

  “You speak in such a grandiose manner not befitting your station. I’ve already bested you once, and fooled you now. I must admit, I do not have much hope for you.” Mabuz smiled and Benjamin felt chilled at the sight of it. If he was this psychologically challenged as a vampire, what kind of horrific human being could he have been?

  He couldn’t strike: Mabuz was both stronger and faster than he was. Usually when hunting vampires, he let the vamp make the first few moves, knowing they always left openings for him to attack. Mabuz seemed more intelligent than the average vampire, so Benjamin was stuck.

  Mabuz walked towards them, as a predator would talk its prey in the wild. “What to do with you… I so enjoy drinking from worthy prey. I feel that I gain a bit of each victim’s essence after I drain them dry, and you are certainly brilliant, Mr. Quinn. Oh yes, that is why I returned, to take inside me the best hunter in Britain.”

  Michael stepped forward and fired his gun, hitting Mabuz in the shoulder. “If you want to take him, you must get through myself first.”

  In an instant, Mabuz’s eyes turned red and black and he charged forward, knocking Benjamin down and holding Michael to the wall with one preternaturally strong hand. Faster than Ben could get to his feet, Mabuz sank his filthy fangs deep into Michael’s
throat.

  The doctor cried out, the amount of agony in his voice enough to make Ben ache with sympathy.

  “No,” Benjamin growled, grabbing his blade and charging towards the two of them. He shoved it through Mabuz’s spine, but of course that did not to do the vampire what it would have done to a werewolf or ghoul. As he pulled the blade out, Mabuz turned and swiped his claws at Benjamin’s face, creating four deep scratches across his sharp cheekbone.

  Mabuz darted forward and licked the cuts. His close proximity made Ben be able to take the blade and stab him in the chest. Mabuz fell away with a roar of pain from the holy-water saturated silver blade, bumping into a nearby wall. He regained his equilibrium and dashed at Benjamin, knocking the hunter headfirst into the desecrated altar, causing him to become dizzy and disoriented.

  By the time he regained his balance, he saw that Mabuz was on top of Michael again, not drinking, but laughing. Michael had lost consciousness, and it was the sight of his lifeless body in the vampire’s clutches that brought out a rage he had never felt before.

  “Release him!” Ben cried, running towards Mabuz. Mabuz tried to fight, but it was as if Benjamin had some preternatural strength of his own and he fought to keep Mabuz immobile as his blade cut Mabuz’s throat from ear to ear.

  The vampire’s head hung back, supported by nought but some tendons and skin, blood spouting before his Undead heart ceased to beat.

  Benjamin became dizzy again as he fell beside Michael, pleased to realise that his lover was still alive, merely unconscious.

  There was a clatter, and Benjamin saw Mahon and Inspector Linwood enter the church, looking from the two of them to the body of the vampire, so stuffed with fresh blood he had not yet begun to decay.

  Linwood went by the body and Mahon hissed, “Do not touch it!” He stood over Michael and Benjamin.

  “He is alive,” Mahon remarked. “May I ask what occurred? We came to call on you, and your landlady told us where you’d gone.”