The Satanic Brides of Dracula

by Lucas Thorn

They shuffled around each other, bumping against the small twin cots.

  On top, the vampires lay. Wrapped in canvas bags. He thought of pulling the leather away, but decided he didn’t want to make too much more noise in case the big old man had returned to his room. They hadn’t seen him all morning.

  But, with Paris so close, they had to take their chance today or not at all.

  And neither men wanted to let these two slip through their fingers.

  Vernon pulled a knife and slit the canvas carefully, revealing the first vampire’s pale face. In the mute light, he couldn’t help but marvel at her features. She was almost angelic, he thought.

  No sign of the corruption which infected her.

  None at all.

  Behind him, Aubrey had slit the canvas open and let out a grunt as he pulled it further down to expose the vampire to her navel.

  The fat man reached and grabbed hold of the dress.

  Tore it open with a jerk.

  “Aubrey,” Vernon hissed. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

  “Got to see her heart,” Aubrey said. Words fired rapidly. He put the mallet down and placed a hand on the young vampire’s breast. Thumb against her nipple. “She’s so cold.”

  “Don’t be disgusting, man.”

  “What? It’s not like she’s a lady or anything. She’s just a monster. And look at her. In a few minutes, I’ll have this stake right through her and nobody would know she was even here. They turn to ash, remember? Nothing left of them. Just ash. All traces gone.”

  “Just get on with it, then.” He turned away, unable to stomach the sight of the fat man’s pudgy fingers across that perfect porcelain skin. It was abhorrent.

  “They’re in torpor, Vernon. They don’t know we’re here. We could yell in their ears and they’ll never wake up. That’s what he said, right? Van Helsing? He said that.”

  “Aubrey,” Vernon kept his voice calm. “If you think of doing more than simply striking that vampire with the stake in your hand, I swear to God Almighty that I will kill you right here and damn the consequences.”

  “How dare you speak to me like that!”

  “And how dare you contemplate acting out what’s in your sick mind. I won’t have it. You try it, and I’ll kill you. Now, that’s the absolute last we’ll speak of it.”

  “Fuck you, Vernon.” The fat man snatched his mallet. “When we get back, I’ll-”

  “Say nothing. Because, if you do, I’ll tell my side. I know who the others will believe.”

  “No one would believe you! You’re just… Just a…”

  “Yes, I know very well what you think I am. I know you tried to have me thrown out of the Order more than once. But it seems Van Helsing values my skills over what’s left of your tarnished family name.” He lifted his own stake and pressed the tip against the middle of the vampire’s chest. Right above the heart. “Now. Hurry up.”

  Lifted the mallet.

  Brought it down.

  There was an explosive blast.

  Before his mallet hit the flat of the stake.

  A crunch which sounded louder in his ears than he’d thought.

  Figured it was Aubrey.

  But it came from his left.

  And the blood. The blood which sprayed everywhere. It wasn’t the vampire’s.

  It was his own.

  How was his blood pumping from his chest like that? And why couldn’t he breathe?

  Nerveless fingers dropped the mallet. Stake rolled free of his fingers. Clattered to the floor between his legs.

  “Aubrey…?”

  The fat man was struggling, though. Wrestling with the old man who’d kicked into the room. Aubrey’s mallet smashed into the old man’s cheek. But it didn’t stop him.

  He kept coming.

  Vernon dropped onto the floor beside Aubrey’s legs. Leaning against the table under the window. Hand against the hole in his chest, he watched his blood flow steadily between his fingers.

  Saw the mallet crack across the old man’s forehead. Sent him wheeling back.

  Arm came up.

  Vernon tried to shout a warning, but could only spit blood.

  Aubrey drove into the old man, slamming him into the door. A hinge popped loose.

  The old man brought the revolver down on Aubrey’s bald head.

  Should have dropped him, but Vernon could have told the old man Aubrey had a thick skull.

  The fat man snatched a vase.

  Uppercut with it. The base hit the old man’s chin. Rocked head back. Splinters of porcelain rained down around scuffling feet. Crunched under boots. Ground to shards and lost into the rug.

  A fist darted into Aubrey’s nose.

  Blood.

  Then the old man let out an angry roar and used his heel to kick the fat man back. Aubrey crashed into the bed. Bounced sideways. Dropped between Vernon’s knees. Looked up. Pig-faced, but feral. Saw the last lights in Vernon’s eyes begin to die.

  “No,” Aubrey whimpered, spinning to face the old man looming above. “Please don’t kill me. I’m a gentleman! A gentleman, I say.”

  “Aye? Well, go fuck yourself, your Lordship.”

  The old man pulled the trigger.

  Again and again until there were no bullets left.

  Tossed the revolver on the bed and snatched a towel, which he pressed to his bleeding face.

  Sound of someone rushing up the corridor. Hammering on the door.

  Dimiti sighed.

  Pulled it open and nodded to the steward. “It’s okay now,” he said.

  The steward looked over Dimiti’s shoulder.

  Saw the two bodies.

  The blood.

  His face went pale.

  Dimiti reached out and dropped a bloodied hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Aye,” he said. “It’s a bit messy to look at, son. But I’d be real grateful if you’d get me something to clean it up with. And maybe some ice, if you have it. For my head.”

  The steward bobbed his head. “Of course, Dimiti. I’ll get you some ice.”

  “Good lad.”

  “Are they… Are they alright?”

  “Hmm?” He looked at the two vampires, lost to the dark of torpor. Safe. For now. “Aye, they’re fine. Don’t you worry none.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” The steward leaned back against the window behind him. Slowly drew the blinds down so darkness once more filled the corridor. “I was worried when I saw those two get on this car. They didn’t look right. Real shifty, they were. I’m glad you got them, Dimiti.”

  “You did just fine, son.” The old man gently closed the door. Stared down at the two corpses. Finally allowed himself to relax. Breathe. “Just fine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Dimiti was snoring when Senka woke.

  Seated on the ground. Back against the door. Revolver in his lap.

  Knife on the ground by one hand.

  A mallet on the ground by his other.

  Bloodied cloth draped across his shoulder. A new wound, dry and crusted, across his chin. Another on his forehead. Line of blood from cut on his scalp. Cheek.

  Bruised old knuckles.

  The younger vampire flew across the room. “Dimiti!”

  He started awake, hand diving for the gun in his lap. “Eh?”

  Vasilja bolted upright. “What’s happened here?”

  Dimiti knuckled his eye and gently lay the revolver aside. Tried to untangle himself from Senka. “It’s alright, Lady. Just a couple of Englishmen. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Couple?” She looked down at the blood on her dress. Frowned. “And you killed them? Alone?”

  “Well,” he shrugged. Touched a hand to his chin. “They were only English, weren’t they?”

  “Are you alright?” Senka cupped his face, turning it this way and that to get a look at the cuts. “They don’t look too deep. Still, it must have hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. Flushed cheeks. Eyes trying to look away. “Really, Miss. There’s no
need for, ah, no need for fussing.”

  “Get off him, Senka. You’re making him uncomfortable.”

  “How?” She looked over her shoulder.

  “Well, look at yourself. Your dress is all open. Change into something else, will you? You’ll give the poor man a heart attack.”

  “Oh!” Now angry, she jumped back, puzzled by the rip which exposed her to her belly. “What did they do to my dress?”

  Vasilja looked to the old man. “Dimiti? Did we miss anything we’d want to get angry about?”

  “No, Lady,” he said firmly. “Kicked down the door just as they were getting started. Nothing happened before. If it had, I’d have trussed them up and left them for you.”

  “Good to hear.” She slid from the bed and began rummaging in her bag. “Are we nearly at Paris?”

  “Aye. If you look outside, you’ll see we aren’t far from the edge of the city now. Should only be an hour or two before we pull in to the station.”

  “Then we’ve time to get ready. Senka? Quit playing with your dress and get a new one.”

  “I liked this one.”

  “Well, it’s time to like another one.”

  “Where’s my hat?”

  “That dreadful thing is hopefully lost for good.” Sighed at the younger vampire’s sudden look of sorrow. “Oh, stop that. It’s in the little cupboard there. With that awful coat. Must you wear it on our first night in Paris?”

  “Well, I can’t wear this, can I?”

  Vasilja shook her head in defeat. “Dimiti, when we arrive, I want you to arrange a cab to take us to the Le Grand. I’ve read it’s located on the Rue de la Paix. Near to the Palais Garnier, which I wish to see.”

  Senka tugged her dress off while Dimiti closed his eyes. Her voice muffled by her dress. “I don’t want to hear any more violins.”

  “You won’t,” Vasilja said. “It’s an Opera House. You shall be witnessing your first opera. You should be grateful. But, if it makes you feel any better, there is a coffeehouse in the hotel. I’m sure there will be plenty of wretched little layabouts talking about the beauty of little girls or something for you there.”

  “I thought Peter sounded very smart,” Senka said. “And very worldly.”

  “That’s the point, Senka. They only sound that way.” She noticed Dimiti. “Oh, Dimiti. You don’t have to stand there like that. You may leave, you know.”

  “Aye, Lady. Thank you.”

  “Dimiti?”

  “Aye?”

  “We’re very grateful to you, Dimiti. Aren’t we, Senka?”

  “Yes, Dimiti,” Senka said, turning to him. “More than anything.”

  “Senka?” Vasilja sighed. “Clothes. Now, Please.”

  Dimiti, left with a grateful bob of his head. Muttering the name of the hotel over and over so he could remember it.

  “Do you know, I think I’m looking forward to Paris,” Vasilja said. She began pulling off her own stained dress. “The last time I was here, it was a frightful mess. There’d been rioting and battles in the streets, and everyone was very angry. They’d just started putting the nobility to the guillotine. I remember watching some of the executions. It was the only excitement in the city at the time.”

  “I want a guillotine.”

  “Of course you do. Very sensible machines, they are. One big chop and off goes the head. If you’re lucky. One or two needed a second try.” She smiled fondly as she folded the stained dress and put it away. “It was dangerous for us. Dracula was always panicking someone would find out what we were. He wouldn’t let us wander very far at all. But he needn’t have worried. There was so much panic that no one noticed when people went missing. And when their bodies showed up, the royalists thought the revolutionaries had done it and the revolutionaries blamed the royalists. It was simply delightful and quite amusing, too. They take their political views very seriously here. I think that’s why I’ve always liked France.”

  “I’ve heard the men can be very exotic.”

  Vasilja spluttered. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Some of the girls in the village near the castle.”

  “Well, they’re wrong. They’re not exotic at all. They’re French.”

  “Isn’t that exotic?”

  “Not in the least.” She shook her head. “When you bite one, you’ll see what I mean. There’s a decidedly uncouth flavour to their blood. They eat far too much garlic on the whole. It makes my stomach queasy.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly.”

  The train slowed, the massive engine sounding like it was crashing along the rails. Screech as the train took a turn.

  The two vampires swayed with it.

  “Vasilja?” Senka sat on her bed, pulling on her shirt. Pants across her lap. “How are we going to find Luciferians without Franz?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. We’ll go see Dracula’s banker. He’s the Governor of the Banque de France. I can’t recall his name.”

  “A banker?”

  “Of course. Bankers are like priests these days. They know everyone. And their secrets. It’s often said that King Louis went to the scaffold without hesitation. That he held his head high and showed no nervousness at all. A truly brave man, they say.” She smiled broadly. “But every time he met his banker, he’d quake in his very boots! Bankers, Senka. They’re the closest a human will get to being one of us without actually drinking blood.”

  “Will this one really know some Luciferians?”

  “Absolutely. If he isn’t one himself. And, if he doesn’t know them, then we’ll simply have to shake his tree and see what falls out. I don’t see we have any other choice. Hailwic was better at this than I am.”

  “Do you think there’ll be vampire hunters, too? Waiting for us?”

  “I’ve no doubt there will be.” Grim.

  “Then, why don’t we try to hide?”

  “Hide? From that rabble? No, thank you. Anyway, Senka. I have an idea about that. Well, I think I do. I won’t know for sure until we get to the hotel.”

  When the train entered the city, Senka pulled the window open and thrust her head outside again. Ignored Vasilja until the other vampire gave up entirely on trying to pull her back inside.

  Stared open-mouthed at the streets. The massive buildings.

  Bright lights culled the darkness, dazzling her gaze.

  Restaurants beckoned with promises of richest delight.

  Taverns brushed shoulders with merchant shops.

  It was beautiful.

  A cathedral to excess.

  And it stank, she thought, of horseshit.

  Pulling her head inside, she shook her head in wonder. “Why don’t they clean up after the horses, Vasilja?”

  “This is what cities are usually like, Senka. They’re mostly very dirty.”

  “But it seems worse here.”

  “Paris is a city of bankers now, Senka. A lot of rich people are here. Many of the richest men in the world are here right now. They build beautiful buildings. Magnificent architectural wonders for us to enjoy. They produce divine opera. Art is in every valued space.”

  “That doesn’t explain it.”

  “Of course it does. If you have that many rich people, then you’re bound to have a lot more poor people. And who wants to look after them?” She waited patiently in her small chair for the train to reach its destination.

  “But they had a revolution. You said so.”

  “I’ve seen revolutions,” Vasilja said softly. “Many times. Hailwic saw many more. It used to be that a man would lead his people because he was chosen by God. They called that man a King. It was proven he was fit to lead because God spat him out of some poor woman’s womb. This alone qualified him to tax you until you died of starvation. These days, a man is proven to lead when his family have paved his way with earthly riches. He’s still spat out in the same manner, but now it’s not God’s work. It’s his own. He did it all himself. And now you’ll pay your taxes as well as his. You’ll give hi
m all your money and believe starvation was your own fault for not working harder. Nothing has really changed, Senka. Nothing at all. I suppose, if I thought about it, revolutions simply removed God from the whole mess. A good thing, for us. But rather pointless, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That’s very bleak.”

  “I know.” Chuckle. “Try not to think about it. What would you like to do tomorrow? Tonight will be spent getting our hotel ready. But, tomorrow, we shall have Paris to ourselves. Before we hunt your Luciferians, we shall enjoy it one time.”

  “I want to bite a Frenchman.” The younger vampire tilted her hat as the train jostled her on the bed. “I know you said they don’t taste very nice, but how will I know if I don’t give one a try?”

  “That’s a good attitude, Senka. A very good attitude. I hope you remember it when I take you to the Opera.”

  “Did Hailwic like the Opera?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “She didn’t!”

  “Hailwic had all the taste of a village peasant.”

  “I’ll tell her that.”

  Vasilja’s eyes glanced at the ammunition case by the door.

  “I do hope you get the chance, Senka.”

  “I will.”

  “Then I can’t wait to tell her all about how you thought her having a collection of swords was very old-fashioned when everyone in the world has evolved to using a firearm.”

  “I never did!” She scrunched her face and peered dangerously at the other vampire. “You’re making that up. Lying, Vasilja.”

  “Senka,” Vasilja sounded shocked. “What a thing to suggest. I never lie. I simply put forward a different perspective.”

  “Of what? I never even mentioned her swords!”

  “You just did.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said I never mentioned them.”

  “Then, you mentioned them.”

  “You’re confusing me.” She growled. “I don’t like this.”

  “Well, Senka.” Smile. “You’re allowed your own perspective.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I don’t like it.” Senka let Vasilja lead the way. Her eyes gave up looking around the hotel lobby and instead drifted down to her hands. “It’s too white.”