by Lucas Thorn
The vampire hunter managed to turn his head a little and look at Vasilja. Curled his split lip into a hateful grin. Blood and gore hanging in clumps off his cheeks. “You win this day, bitch. But the others will come.”
“No. We’re coming for them.” Vasilja spat at him. “For Liberty! Long live the Revolution!”
And the Frenchman clubbed the vampire hunter with a heavy chunk of wood, crushing skull and brain.
“Doctor!” Jean shouted, looking away from the gore. Away from the little body the young woman placed gently in the rubble. “Fetch a doctor for the ladies.”
“Hotel,” Vasilja gasped, making a show of unsteady legs. “Please. This has been terrible. Terrible. We can’t take any more. They took us hostage. Tortured us.”
“Of course, Lady,” Jean said. Pushed a few of the onlookers aside. “Move out of the way. Get the authorities! Royalists in Paris again. They’ve committed another atrocity.”
“Thank you,” Vasilja gushed. Fingers pressing harder to her temple. Pushing. “You rescued us. All of you. Thank you!”
A babble of voices as the vampires were led away.
Dimiti took Vasilja’s arm and limped toward the street. A woman rushed up, her face pale. “It must have been terrible!”
“It was,” Vasilja moaned. “Who could expect to be attacked in the street? Abducted and made to witness foul murder?”
“In Paris! Unbelievable. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“In a church,” Vasilja said. Waved an arm. “They desecrated it. Desecrated it! Look what they did! Look at it!”
Shocked Frenchmen shoved to get a look inside.
“A cab, please, Dimiti. Quickly. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold them.”
Her power trembled around her, threading its fog through onlookers. Keeping them interested in the English. Keeping them turning the same words over and over.
“Royalists!”
“Look what they’ve done!”
“To a church! Who’d do such a thing in a church?”
“Monsters. Foul monsters.”
“Beasts. No, less than beasts…”
“Fucking English…”
“Were they English? I thought they were Royalists.”
“Liberty!”
A roaring shout. “Liberty!”
And, as they began to sing La Marseillaise, Vasilja fell gratefully into the seat of a cab. Pressed hands to her brow. Showed a wan smile as Senka slid beside her.
The younger vampire rested her head on Vasilja’s shoulder. Sighed, almost content.
Frederic scrambled, pushed inside by Dimiti. Who patted the cab door to get it moving.
The crowd still seethed, the cabman forced to crack his whip to get through.
“Royalists! In Paris!”
“Dreadful!”
“I heard it was anarchists,” someone said.
“I can’t believe they let us out,” Frederic whispered. Eyes lit with the satisfaction of a man whose crimes have just been washed away. “They didn’t even ask our names. And all that guff about the Revolution. Royalists? Lady, that was inspired. Genius, I say.”
“Was it?” She looked out the window at the singing crowd. Exhaustion leaving her slumped against the corner. A wicked gleam slowly worked into her eye. “I thought it was a bit cheap, really. Do you know, Freddy, I do like Paris. People here are so easily outraged.”
“Well, not all of us.”
She smiled at him. A tolerant smile. “Of course not of all of you. Dimiti, did you ask the gentleman to take us to the docks?”
“Yes, Lady.”
“Vasilja?” Senka’s voice sounded weak.
“It’s okay, Senka. You can rest. We can talk later if you like.”
“I need to tell you. I want to tell you.” She shivered against the other vampire. Hands clutching Vasilja’s dress. “I feel them. Both of them.”
“Who? Who can you feel?”
“Our army. It’s being born.”
“An army?” Vasilja looked out of the cab, half-expecting to see troops jogging down the street. “Are you sure Freddy didn’t hit you on the head? You didn’t, did you, Freddy? I’ll be very cross if you’ve addled her brains further than they were.”
“No, Lady! I wouldn’t dare!”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“You don’t understand,” Senka moaned. “He’s here. I let him go so he can grow. He needs to grow. Needs to feed. And she’s there. In London. She’s in London, Vasilja. We have to go to her. We have to save her.”
“Now you’re speaking in riddles, Senka. I hate it when people do that.”
“Hurry. We have to go. Must bite them.” The younger vampire slumped as unconsciousness reached for her. “Must bite them all…”
“Of course we do, Senka. Of course we do.” Her hand reached up to brush Senka’s hair and she kissed the top of the younger vampire’s head. “Ah, Dimiti. I hope you’ve plenty more bullets for that gun of yours, because I think England will be much more exciting than we expected.”
The old man nodded.
Rubbed cheek with the back of his hand. And, as the cab hurried to the docks, began to quietly reload the revolver.
EPILOGUE
Jonathan Harker almost fell into the room on unsteady legs, face pale.
Hands trembling, he poured whiskey into a small glass. Turned and hobbled to a small couch by the fire.
Sat.
Sipped in silence, eyes hardly blinking as they stared into the embers.
“She’s not Mina.”
“No,” Van Helsing said. Seated in an identical couch opposite. A small book across his lap. Handwritten notes scrawled across the pages. “No, she’s not. Not anymore. I did try to warn you, Jonathan.”
“And what of Lucy?”
“Try not to think about Lucy. Put all thoughts of the woman you thought of as Lucy out of your mind. Concentrate instead on what needs to be done.”
“Oh, God, Abraham. What are we going to do?”
“The vampire plague needs to be stopped, Jonathan. Already, it spreads in one vile form or another through London. We simply cannot allow it to continue to advance through the population. Only by killing Dracula and his Brides can this plague be stopped and Mina can be restored.”
“Can she? You didn’t hear the things she said.”
“I’ve heard them. Many times before you arrived.”
“She demanded to see him.”
“She can demand all she likes.” Resentment in Van Helsing’s clipped German accent made Jonathan look up. “But the desires of a vampire will not be entertained. We must work to restore her.”
“But she’s not Mina, Abraham. You said so yourself.”
“She can still be saved. Inside that corrupted body, your beloved Mina is still there, Jonathan. Her soul is still pure. You have to believe that.”
“I’m not sure I can.” He looked like he wanted to throw the glass. Thought better of it and rolled it between his hands. “He’s touched her, now. How can I look at her like before?”
“You met him, Jonathan. Were you able to resist him?
Shame flooded the young man and he lifted a hand to his throat. Then pulled it away with a snarl; “That’s different!”
“His powers were too strong for her, Jonathan. You shouldn’t be so quick to judge.”
“I don’t care.” Knew he was being childish. “I won’t see her again. I just won’t, Abraham. A pox on women. A pox on them all. They’re a weakness. That’s all.”
“Jonathan…”
“No. You won’t change my mind on this. You just won’t.” Rage was a sliver of spite down the centre of his spine. A sliver connected to a ball of ice in his belly. He could feel it rolling. Tumbling. It demanded release. He thought about the last time he’d released that anger. Bit the inside of his lip so hard he tasted blood. “I’m done, I think. Done with everything. Vampires. Demons. The whole fucking thing. I’m done. I just can’t take it anymore.”
“Are you sure, Jonathan? Everything we’ve worked for. Are you going to throw it all away? All because a vampire bit your fiancée? There are men in the Order who’ve lost wives. Lost children. Lost entire families. Aren’t you being a little selfish? At least Mina is still alive. At least there’s still some hope.”
“You don’t understand,” Harker scowled. “I saw him, Abraham. Right in front of me. And them, too. His Brides. They laughed at me. Laughed! Then they locked me in a cage. They’d have fed on me, too, if I hadn’t escaped. Their evil still leaves me cold.”
“I understand.”
“You don’t! You think you do, with your books and your cursed recordings. What do they even tell you, anyway? They’re not real, Abraham. They can’t prepare you for the horrible fear. The feeling of complete powerlessness. I knew where they slept, and I couldn’t bring myself to do what had to be done! I ran, Abraham. Like a fucking coward, I ran!” He put his head in his hands, body shaking. Not with sorrow. But self-loathing. Rage. Hatred. “I see them in my dreams. See them over and over. Sleeping in their coffins. And all I want to do is reach in and stab them through their unholy hearts!”
“There’s still time, Jonathan.” Van Helsing’s voice soothed. The heavy accent serving to provide more authority. A father’s wisdom lay in the old man’s tone. “They’re on their way here, you know. They’ll be here soon. Wouldn’t you want to assist me in hunting them down? I thought you would, Jonathan. I thought you’d like your chance. To confront your fears. Revenge, too, if you like.”
Van Helsing sat back. His own glass of brandy was untouched.
Content to let Jonathan turn his troubled thoughts, the old vampire hunter chose to keep reading from the journal in his lap.
Occasionally scrubbing out words or sentences.
Rewriting them in the margins.
“Very well, Abraham,” Jonathan said at last. “What is it you want me to do?”
Van Helsing closed the book.
Smiled.
“Tell me, Jonathan,” he said. “How familiar are you with the streets of Whitechapel?”
COMING SOON
Rise of the Fel Queen #2:
A Bride for the Ripper
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