by Luke Metcalf
“You are a bloated little truffle hunter,” said his wife, slapping him across the cheek before sitting back down indignantly, looking to Sylvain for her next instruction. Sylvain roared with laughter and slapped his knee.
The banker stood motionless for a moment, his eyes wide, his face growing redder and redder.
“Candice!” he shouted. “What… What in the… What are you doing?” He looked at Mitchell helplessly, at a loss for words, while Sylvain continued whispering into the woman’s ear.
“Sit down,” Mitchell ordered, pointing at a chair.
The dumbstruck man immediately obeyed. “Lord Gilmour,” he stammered, “I must apologize for my wife’s behavior. She isn’t well and…”
“I have a concern about our business arrangement,” Mitchell continued. “You see, I only do business with honorable, trustworthy people, and – how can I put this? – I have doubts about your integrity. More specifically, I have heard stories about how you lure destitute young orphan girls into your basement and butcher them so that your wife can bathe in their blood to keep her youthful appearance.”
“What?” The banker spluttered, shadows of guilt creeping over his face.
The sound of barking made them both turn to see Candice crawling on her hands and knees, yelping and whimpering like a dog. Sylvain was roaring with laughter once more, delighted at his newfound powers to humiliate. Mitchell frowned, annoyed at such childish pranks.
Sangsue leaped to his feet. “Candice! Have you lost your mind?”
Mitchell pushed him back down into his chair. “You and your wife are monsters! Did you think for a moment about your victims’ lives? Their futures? Their hopes and dreams?”
The banker shook uncontrollably in the chair, bringing his knees up around his chest, as if wanting to crawl back into his mother’s womb overwhelmed by fear and confusion.
“It was her idea!” he shouted, pointing to his wife on the floor. “Besides, they were only children, they don’t matter. They’re small and useless, barely able to think for themselves. Who cares? Children are annoying, the less of them the better. That’s what I say!”
“You devil!” spat Mitchell, grabbing the armrests of the chair and lowering his face close to the banker’s. “I should slash your throat so your words don’t infect my brain with your vileness. You donkey-witted vulture. Shall we speak of the coming revolution? I see that your position is secured with France’s future leaders. And I see you have a plan to create a reign of terror.”
As they spoke, Candice leaped to her feet, flung open the windows of the drawing room, climbed up on the ledge, and shouted into the night air for anyone to hear, “I will eat your children! I will eat your children!”
“Candice!” the banker shouted, trying to stand up, but unable to fight free of Mitchell’s restraining grip. Candice fell back into the drawing room, and Sylvain caught her in his arms. She gazed up at him adoringly.
“And what did you want with the blood of all those girls?” asked Mitchell quietly. “Were you preparing to become… vampires?”
The man’s face went from flushed to deathly pale. Mitchell drew back his lips, exposing his fangs as his eyes glowed a terrifying crimson.
“God help me,” muttered the banker, shaking with terror.
“You and your partners are going to be financing the future rulers of France, controlling their every move. But Baelaar and the Priests of Mezzor, in turn, will control you, from the shadows. Ah, I see in your thoughts that you are bringing in a sizable shipment of gold tomorrow, so tomorrow is the day. And what is the price? What did Baelaar offer you? Of course, immortality! The promise that you will be turned into vampires! And what is the source of your vileness? Why it’s envy, of course. How utterly pathetic, you weakling,” he scoffed. “And I see that ever since you were a young man you have committed any number of despicable crimes for it. You use a dagger to butter your bread. Well, hear me now” – he pushed his face into the banker’s, eyes burning – “envy is born from weakness and comes creeping from its womb like the stench of rotting flesh from a newly pregnant tomb, and I smell the stench of death upon you.”
“My friend has come to make a withdrawal.” Sylvain joined them with Candice still in his arms, his eyes now also glowing crimson as he leered at the banker and winked at Mitchell. “He is taking out every last drop.”
With those words, he sank his own fangs deep into the stringy tendons of Candice’s exposed neck. She gasped in shock but didn’t struggle as the blood pumped out of her throat, staining the silk of her fine dress. The banker’s jaw fell open.
Mitchell tore him out of his chair. “Blow out the candle, and toll the bell,” he said. “Another soul is lost to Hell.”
He plunged his fangs deep into the murderer’s fat neck and drank his fill. The banker tried to put up a fight, flopping around like a fish out of water until he lost consciousness and exhaled his last gulping breath. Mitchell discarded his limp body onto a chair.
“Delicious!” exclaimed Sylvain, releasing the drained body of the banker’s wife onto the floor.
Mitchell glanced at him with a hint of irritation. “What foolish game were you playing?”
Sylvain smiled. “I like to play with my food. My goodness I enjoy blood! My friend, I can tell that you are very tense, even though I cannot read your mind. Which reminds me, why is it that I can read the minds of others and not yours? Can vampires not read the minds of other vampires?”
“They can, but I am older and therefore more powerful.”
“Anyhow, I sense that there is something troubling you. You need to relax and enjoy yourself. I have a spectacular idea.”
“Oh yes?” Mitchell peered at him skeptically. “What would that be?”
“A party to celebrate the beginning of my life as a vampire and of our friendship. Surely, we can have a little sport as we hunt.”
Mitchell raised an eyebrow. “Being vampires is not something that we shout about. Secrecy is the one thing that the Niveus Gladius and the Priests of Mezzor agree upon. So, be warned, public displays will very quickly lead to your destruction. What did you have in mind?”
“Ah.” Sylvain smiled mischievously. “That is my secret but I assure you it will not be in public. I will make all the arrangements and I promise not to break any rules. I will contact you in two days’ time.”
Noises outside the house made them both pause to listen. “Someone approaches,” Mitchell whispered. Sylvain opened his mouth to reply but Mitchell motioned for him to be silent. “I’ll deal with this.”
He glided across to the front door of the manor just as it opened to reveal a vampire with dark-brown, ancient eyes. He was handsome in a cruel way with thick, flowing brown hair and pale skin. A wide, well-trimmed mustache stretched across a face that was thin, with a long nose, and looked as though it had witnessed endless acts of evil in both its life and its afterlife. He was immaculately dressed and groomed and accompanied by a girl of about eighteen draped in fabulous furs and jewels.
“Lord Ruthen!” exclaimed Mitchell, startled.
Lord Ruthen looked equally surprised as he paused, taking in their presence and the bodies of the two dead hosts.
The girl’s scream jolted them all back to the present. “Mother! Father!” she shrieked.
In one swift movement Lord Ruthen grabbed the girl’s thick, soft hair, pulled her head back to expose her smooth young throat, and sank his fangs in where he could see the beat of her pulse. As he drank the dark, rich blood from her artery, the girl gradually stopped struggling, until she finally went limp and he dropped her carelessly on the ground.
“Exquisite,” he murmured, straightening up and wiping his thin lips with his handkerchief. “Mitchell, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here? And who is your interesting-looking young friend?”
Mitchell stared at him for a moment then looked at the dead girl. “Lord Ruthen, this is Sylvain DeLune,” Mitchell announced. “He was recently turned. What are you doing
here, may I ask, and why did you kill that poor, pretty girl?”
“An honor to meet you, sir,” Ruthen said with a gallant bow. Sylvain returned the courtesy.
“Ruthen is a knight of the Order of the Niveus Gladius.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Sylvain said, stepping forward to shake Lord Ruthen’s hand.
Lord Ruthen then turned to Mitchell. “I am here for the same reason you likely are, extracting information, and blood.”
“But in all seriousness,” Mitchell said, bending to look at the girl, “this creature does not look a day over eighteen. Surely she had nothing to do with her parents’ sins.”
“Yes.” Ruthen gazed down at her and sighed wistfully. “So young and so very fresh. And so like her mother. You know what they say about the apple not falling far from the tree.”
“You were aware of her parents’ crimes and their deal with Baelaar?”
“I read it all in her mind. Her mother was emulating vampire lore in preparation to be turned. Simply diabolical! They were training their daughter in all their appalling ways. The little viper took to it with great relish. She was the lure who brought the girls to them.”
“I see.”
“You should have looked deeper into their minds, you would have seen.”
“Outrageous!” Sylvain laughed. “What an awful family! You are so right about hunting the evil ones, Mitchell. This is truly where the fun lies.”
“Indeed.” Lord Ruthen smiled. “I must admit, part of me laments the fall of any innocent into evil ways, but another part rejoices. What a treat to find one so young and pretty and yet so utterly corrupt. A pleasure to drink such fresh and delicate blood. It is only natural for our kind to have a passion for the peach as well as the nectar it contains, and to desire that both should be just perfectly ripe.”
“Quite right,” Sylvain cried. “Well said!”
Mitchell stared, unsmiling, at Lord Ruthen. “I was referring to their dealings with Baelaar, their involvement in the coming revolution, and their plans for some sort of reign of terror with their new killing device.”
“Why yes, of course. Most interesting. There will be thousands of decapitations if we do not stop them. I will be informing Fionn of everything. Speaking of which, Fionn says that you are nearly finished with your training and that your progress has been remarkable; that you are now one of the greatest warriors among us. Congratulations. Have you reconsidered? Has Fionn convinced you to join the Niveus Gladius?”
“No.”
“Are you not prepared to put aside your thirst for vengeance for the greater good of humanity?”
“No.”
“Once Baelaar is destroyed then will you reconsider? Or are you still determined to find the Well and follow this path of almost certain destruction into the planes of Hell, if they even exist? Will you not abandon this reckless obsession with hunting for this demon or devil or whatever?”
“No.”
“What a waste.” Lord Ruthen shook his head and cleared his throat. “Perhaps we will still be able to change your mind.”
“Unlikely,” Mitchell sneered.
“Well.” Lord Ruthen sighed. “It was a delight to see you both, but I really must be on my way.” He bid them goodnight and opened the front door, pausing to look down at the dead girl and then at her parents. “I do love moving in the best circles. It gives me such pleasure to seek out the places where the cream of society has curdled to poison.”
He gave the two younger vampires a wink and swept out, leaving the door swinging behind him. Mitchell watched, frowning thoughtfully, as Ruthen climbed into a magnificent black coach and his driver thrashed the horses to a gallop.
“I like your friend,” Sylvain said as the sound of hooves had faded and they stepped over the body of the dead girl and out into the night. “He definitely has a sense of style.”
Later that night Mitchell was back in his apartment, one of the most luxurious in all of Paris, a penthouse fit for a king. No expense had been spared, from the finest fabrics to the hand-crafted furniture and art, he had created an atmosphere to rival the splendor of Versailles itself. There was a sharp knock at the door. Mitchell threw it open to find another tall and powerfully build vampire staring at him. His light-brown hair hung over his shoulders, framing his noble features and pale skin. He was dressed for battle as a Scottish warrior from the Highlands.
“Fionn,” Mitchell greeted him, “please come in.”
As they sat on two ornate thrones beneath a chandelier blazing with dozens of candles, he recounted to Fionn all that had happened since his arrival at Versailles earlier that evening.
“The guillotine, hmmmm… very interesting,” Fionn mused in his deep Scottish accent. “We must do all we can to stop this coming reign of terror.”
“That is your problem not mine, Fionn. It appeared strange to me though that Ruthen… well, it almost seemed as though he killed that girl as quickly as he could, so that I would not have time to read her thoughts.”
Fionn shook his head and smiled. “Our friend, the banker, had his fingers in many pies. Ruthen has been following many of the different, overlapping threads that we are attempting to untangle.”
“I see.” Mitchell was still not convinced but decided to hold his peace for the time being.
“Mitchell, this evening there is a visitor coming who I would like you to meet. Her name is Princess Katharina. She is one of the Knights of the Niveus Gladius.”
“One of the ancient ones?”
“Yes. Now she has joined us. She will be here at any moment, but first, I will ask you again. Will you not join us?”
“Remember our agreement, when we find it the Well of Many Worlds is mine to use first, once I have gone into it, you may do with it what you will.”
“I still say this is madness.”
“Why is it madness?” shouted Mitchell, slamming his fist on the table. “We know the Well gives access to all the realms in existence. I will use it to hunt through every devil in the nine planes of Hell and every demon in the Abyss if I must” – his eyes smoldered – “and I will destroy anyone who stands in my way.”
“Will you listen to yourself? You propose to travel to the planes of Hell? To the Abyss? The realm of demons? And what if you are successful? You may very well end up trapped in Hell, or the Abyss forever. It is the height of folly.”
“Then so be it.” Mitchell waved his hand dismissively.
“You are obsessed.”
“Yes!” he roared. “Yes I am! And it is no business of yours, so if we have nothing else to discuss…”
“At least stay for a while. Princess Katharina is only following the vaguest of rumors. Now that we are finally close to Baelaar… surely you don’t want to miss this opportunity to destroy him.”
Mitchell stared at Fionn for several moments before replying. “Yes, I would love vengeance. I have dreamed of that moment more times than I can count. I will help you destroy him, but if in six months we have not found him I will go after the Well.”
“So be it.” Fionn nodded his agreement, holding out his hand for the other man to shake.
Five
Portland, Maine, 2020
It was close to dawn and Emily was battling the demon in her dream. Lost in a cold, endless darkness the same horrific being pounced upon her. She felt the weight of it as she fought back, screaming wildly and clawing at its face while it crushed the breath from her with its burning claws.
After what seemed like an eternity Emily broke free and flew toward a bright light. Then the whole world flashed a blinding white.
She awoke with a shriek, staring frantically around her bedroom, panting and sobbing with terror. “What is going on with these dreams?” she muttered, shaking her head.
When her heartbeat had finally subsided she pulled herself out of bed, feeling dizzy, her limbs still shaking even though the sweat had now dried. She made her way to the shower, leaning on the walls to steady herself as she went, and
stood beneath the warm reviving water.
Feeling better she went downstairs to find something to eat and opened her computer, continuing her search for the meaning of “Vadas Asger.” When she came up with nothing she changed tack and typed in the name “Cady Sunner,” scrolling through all the searches she had seen before, finding nothing new.
Out of habit, she checked her various social media sites, not that she had much interest in them anymore. A lot of students were posting photos from a hockey game the previous evening. Many of them were of the team captain, Tom Price. Every girl in the school had a crush on him, which wasn’t surprising. He was tall, handsome, fit, had sparkling blue eyes and sandy blond hair and was projected to be a superstar athlete making millions by the time he was twenty. Emily had only spoken to him a couple of times and could understand why he was so popular, but like most people she assumed that he and Bethany were destined to be the power couple of their town. She knew that he’d grown up in Canada, moving to Portland a year ago, when his father was transferred for work. She knew the family lived in a house that to her looked like a mansion and that Tom had two cars – a flashy sports model and a Jeep. She flipped idly through the photos. There was certainly something about him. Like most hockey players he was a tough guy and he regularly got into fights. She had the idea that if he hadn’t been a star athlete he might’ve been a bit of a delinquent, but the way it was, everyone let him do pretty much whatever he wanted. He was the undisputed king of Dawson High, and, until recently, had been dating the beautiful, ruthless Chanel Boxer.
Chanel Boxer was the daughter of a media mogul and her clique ran the school. They organized every major social event and party, and they were usually at the root of any vicious rumors that might start about other students. Emily had heard that Chanel had modeled for Teen Vogue. Cindy had nicknamed her “Cruella Macbeth”.
That day, to her total surprise, Tom approached her in the hallway between classes.
“Hey, Emily, how’s it going?” He flashed her a warm, easy smile.