Madison roared out of the garage and took the Defender onto the driveway, as close as possible to the huge front door. She jumped out, released the winch and pulled the cable through the house and down into the cellar. She hooked the cable on to the front of the crate, then ran back up the stairs and outside to the purring Land Rover. She locked the winch, hopped back in and reversed slowly.
She was going to try and tow the crate outside. She had to get that vampire out of the house and out here, under the sun’s rays. Surely that would destroy it. Why else would it have been bricked up in a dark cellar, safe and sound? She drove backwards for a few yards, feeling the resistance, and then the vehicle stopped dead. She didn’t want to put too much pressure on the accelerator, in case the handle ripped off the crate.
Maddy ran back down to the cellar and saw the problem - the crate was stuck at the bottom of the steps. She looked down at the beautiful vampire. It still slept. She heaved the end of the crate up onto the first and second steps. There! That should do it.
The house sat in an elevated position, commanding a south westerly view over the valley and the sun was already bleeding down into the trees. She would have to hurry, before it sank out of sight and the daylight disappeared. The sun would put an end to him. It would put and end to all five of them. She locked the winch and reversed the vehicle again.
Down in the cellar, the crate was slowly and awkwardly dragged, jolted and bumped up the winding steps. It burst through the utility room door, into the kitchen and smashed against the kitchen table, knocking chairs flying. It slid quickly and smoothly along the flagstones in the entrance hall, rushing inexorably towards the front door. It flew over the three curved entrance steps, finally landing with a thump and a crunch onto the sweeping driveway. It now lay still, beneath the setting sun.
Madison leapt out of the Land Rover with the pick axe in her hand.
‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,’ she whispered over and over to herself. But she didn’t let herself think of the terror, she just charged at the crate. If that thing was awake, she had to be fully prepared to attack it, in case the sun had no effect.
Inside the crate, the vampire was indeed awake. Eyes wide open, jerking uncontrollably as if electrocuted. Its back arched, arms and legs flailing wildly. The sunlight was altering the creature’s appearance. Its sculpted white skin became darker, more human. As Maddy approached, the vampire threw itself out of its crate and crawled across the gravel driveway. It dragged itself up the front steps and into the house.
Shocked that her plan had actually worked, the sight of this live creature terrified her, made her eyes widen, her heart hammer and the blood almost freeze in her veins. But she kept the image of Ben in her mind; of him lying on the cellar floor after the vampire had attacked him and she knew she had to destroy it. Anger warmed her blood and made it flow again.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ Maddy yelled, as it clawed its way into the house. ‘Get back out here!’
She pursued it into the entrance hall and raised the pick axe above her head, ready to strike.
The vampire half-crouched, half-leant against the wall in the entrance hall, still shaking and convulsing, its features contorted in shock. As Madison approached with the axe, it moved down the hallway, using the heels of its feet and the palms of its hands to propel itself backwards, away from her. It went until it could go no further and was backed into a dark corner, next to the closed door of the dining room.
He was a large figure and Madison was just five foot two, but she felt powerful and vengeful as she stood above him.
‘Non!’ he cried. ‘No! Please ...’ He appeared terrified and cringed backwards against the wall. ‘Je vous en supplie! I beg of you!’ His voice was hoarse and he spoke with an accent. He stared beseechingly at Maddy.
She ignored his cries for mercy, closed her eyes and swung the axe downwards.
Chapter Twenty
1881
*
Alexandre opened his eyes. He lay in a blissfully darkened chamber - a cellar. And he could sense a human male sleeping in the house somewhere above him. He felt Leonora awakening nearby. The others still slept.
Standing up, he felt weightless. He flexed his limbs. They were powerful, supple and responsive, like he could climb a mountain in a single leap. His whole body tingled. He flicked open the lid to Leonora’s box to see her staring up at him. She hissed. She actually hissed! Alexandre opened his mouth to say something, but was shocked to hear a hissing sound come from his own lips. He put a hand to his mouth and tried again.
‘What is this?’ his voice sounded foreign to his ears, low and vicious, a harsh whisper. ‘You are different. We are different.’
‘I feel strong,’ she said. ‘But I am also frightened.’ Leonora stood in a single fluid motion. Her dark hair tumbled in waves down her back and her pale skin glowed with radiance and vitality.
‘You look wonderful,’ Alexandre said.
‘And you.’ Leonora stared at him.
‘Do you remember?’ he asked, knowing she did.
She replied with a tilt of her head.
‘Perhaps we are in hell. I thought I had died. Are we demons? Like the others?’
‘If we are demons, then we must be in hell,’ she replied. ‘But I do not feel evil. I feel the same, only stronger and ... better somehow. And if we are in hell, it looks remarkably similar to Marchwood House, where I grew up.’
‘Do you feel the thirst?’ he asked, knowing she did.
She nodded and looked up, beyond the ceiling. ‘First there is someone I must see. My father is upstairs.’
‘Aah,’ Alexandre nodded, realising this must be the human male he sensed earlier. ‘So we are in your house?’
‘In England, yes,’ she confirmed.
‘You go,’ he said. ‘I will wait for the others to wake.’
*
In his bed, Harold felt no fear, only anticipation that he might finally see what he had been hoping for, for so long. When he opened his eyes he was not disappointed.
She was almost ethereal. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, her pale face luminescent in the darkness. He realised her hand was stroking his brow. It felt cool.
‘Father,’ she whispered. A soft sighing sound, like the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.
‘Leonora.’ He sat up slowly. ‘How do you feel? Are you well?’
‘Father, I am well. Where is Mother?’
‘I am sorry, my angel, she is …’ Harold choked over the words, unable to tell his daughter her mother was indeed gone from them.
‘Do not cry, Father,’ Leonora sat on the bed next to him. ‘Mother is gone?’
He nodded.
‘And you have brought us home,’ she said.
He nodded again, half afraid of this composed creature who was his daughter.
‘Alexandre is awake but the others still sleep. They will wake soon,’ she said. ‘We just needed time to recover and adjust to our new lives.’
‘How do you feel?’ Harold whispered, as his heart hammered in his chest. It was madness to feel such fear from his own flesh and blood, but he could not help it. She was so … magnificent.
‘I feel as if the world has given me all of its gifts at once,’ she replied. ‘As though I have the power of the moon and the stars at my fingertips.’
‘Well, that is good,’ Harold said.
She laughed at his words; a melodic tinkling sound, like the pealing of silver bells. ‘Yes, Father. That is good.’
‘What will you do now?’ he asked.
‘Why, we can do whatever we wish. But we cannot bear the light of day, that is all. What would you have us do?’
‘I do not know. I am just happy you are well. I despaired you would stay unmoving for all eternity. There is just one thing I need to know. Do you ... Do you ...?’
‘You may ask it, Father. Or would you rather I just told you?’
Harold nodded.
‘I know your question and the
answer is yes. We do need blood.’ She confirmed his fears. ‘It is to us what bread and water is to you.’
‘Do you wish to drink from me again?’ Harold asked. ‘You know you do not even need to ask ...’
‘Father, no!’ She looked like a teacher scolding an insolent child. ‘I am sorry we took from you before, but we were not ourselves. No, we will find sustenance elsewhere.’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘You will not kill anybody will you?’
‘I hope we shall not, but in truth I cannot yet be certain. I do not feel quite in control.’
Harold felt a dread-tinged happiness. ‘Just, please do not hurt Refet. He is here in England with us. He lives in the Lodge House.’
‘Refet!’ she exclaimed. ‘He is here in England? How wonderful. Of course I would not dream of harming a hair on his head.’
‘Good, good,’ Harold said, relieved. He was on new ground here and he did not know how his daughter’s altered state had affected her mind or her moral compass.
‘I believe the others are waking. I will see you soon, Father.’ And, with that, she was gone, like a piece of gossamer snatched up by the wind and whisked away.
*
One by one, they awoke and discovered different ways to adjust to their new lives. Harold realised they would never willingly or consciously harm him and he relaxed in their company, enjoying looking at their beauty and listening to their sighing voices.
Refet learned to be around them, but he could never fully trust them. He could still see the aftermath of the underground massacre in his mind and, although these creatures may not currently wish him ill, they were certainly capable of it. He treated them with respect, the way you might treat a pet dog that has been bred to hunt and kill.
Freddie gently told his father what had befallen them in the cavern and Harold wept all over again at the way in which his wife and friends had been so brutally murdered. But it was now clear that all five of them were adjusting well to their new lives as vampires, for that was what they were.
Harold purchased numerous books on the subject of demons and mythical creatures and the word ‘vampire’ was the closest description to what his children had become. They craved human blood, they could not go out in daylight and nothing appeared to harm them. Their new bodies were strong and their senses razor sharp. Now they had awoken, they no longer resembled statues and could almost be mistaken for normal humans – beautiful, pale, luminescent humans.
Leonora and Freddie assured their father they felt the same love for him as they always had, despite the fact his blood sang out to them. But Harold still felt slightly distanced, especially from Leonora who grew colder and ever more aloof. Perhaps also, the loss of Victoria had damaged his family.
*
Alexandre did not fully understand how he had been made. And why the five of them and not their parents? They had a loose theory that their youthful bodies had saved them from death and that their parents’ bodies had been too old to survive the trauma of having the blood drained from their bodies.
Maybe Harold had not been killed or transformed, because his blood had not been completely drained. They had just taken a little; enough to render him unconscious for a few days but not to kill him. Or perhaps they, as new vampires, did not have the ability or power to turn anyone.
Alexandre became pensive and withdrawn. He was not upset or angry at what had happened, but felt surprised and somewhat melancholy at the turn his life had taken. There had been too much unfinished business in his human life. Avenues he had yet to explore and opportunities left unexploited. Journeys he would never now be able to take.
His feelings confused him and he could not have articulated them if he tried. He felt … loss. That was the simplest way to explain it, but it did not fully cover the range of emotions which flooded his new body. He thought about the possibility of returning to Paris with Jacques and Isobel; returning to the only home he had ever known. But he knew it would only exacerbate these feelings of loss and the three siblings agreed it would be better to stay in England, at least for now. They were orphans, and France would feel wrong without Maman and Papa.
The death of Alexandre’s parents could almost be counted as a blessing, given what had happened. Maman could not have borne it - to see what her children had become and Papa would have been saddened by the future they faced. A future of blood-filled nights in darkened corners; of cold skin and sharp teeth. Outsiders. Creatures of legend and myth, never belonging, never changing, just enduring.
No, his parents were better off dying with the image of their human flesh-and-blood children in their minds. This was the whirl of thoughts Alexandre’s mind contained. They spun around, forming and reforming but always resulting in the ever-familiar hollow feelings of loss.
Leonora became more detached as the nights went by. Alexandre sometimes felt her eyes on him, but when he turned to face her, she was always looking elsewhere; still as inscrutable as ever. She only spoke to him when necessary - polite but distant.
He remembered Cappadocia, where she had bandaged his bleeding palm with her petticoat and held his good hand in hers. She had spoken to him with tenderness and concern, comforting him in the wake of his father’s death. But all that gentle warmth had left her. She was as cold and hard as her new vampire body. Her pale eyes gave nothing away. She was obedient to her father, patient with her brother and solicitous to the rest of them, but her old personality appeared to have been leached away. Maybe in time she would soften a little? Maybe.
As summer turned to autumn and autumn to winter, something was going wrong. Alexandre felt alternately strong as a god and then weak as a kitten. He did not understand it. One minute he had enough strength to fell an oak tree, but then he would be overtaken by a great lethargy that left him incapacitated for hours, sometimes days. The others were the same. They tried drinking more, but their appetite for blood decreased along with their energy.
Harold was pinched with worry. He feared they were dying and was desperate to find out what was wrong.
‘I think it is better this way,’ Refet said. ‘How long you think before people in village start to realise there is something odd here? Already is talk of foreign strangers and rumours about this house. I think is better they sleep longer, awake shorter.’
‘Well I know your feelings on the subject, Refet, but do not forget these are my children we are talking about.’
‘I know, I know, you children! They not children anymore. You know this.’
‘When I want a lecture from you, I will ask for one!’
‘Yes, yes. You only want me speak when I say something you want hear.’
‘You are right, Refet. I do not wish to hear that it is better if my children fall into a coma and die. On this, you are right.’
‘You know I not mean this. I only say …’
‘Yes, you are only being sensible. I know. But I could not bear to lose them all over again.’
‘I know. I sorry.’
‘No, I am sorry. You are a good man to put up with all this mad nonsense.’
‘You not so special. My life full of mad nonsense before I met you.’
‘I am sure it was, Refet, my man. I believe this world is full of more mad nonsense than you or I will ever know.’
*
The vampires slept more and woke less. And then, one day, they just never woke up. Harold continued to talk to them and to read to them, ever hopeful they would rise and speak again.
After some years, he purchased a new machine called a gramophone and played music to them, sure this would provoke some reaction. Very occasionally, one or other of them would grab his wrist and drink from him. These episodes usually left him weakened and delirious, but he noticed no change in any of them. Their eyes remained closed and their bodies stayed still as stone.
He thought of them all as his children now and cared for them equally. He thought often about why they had transformed and not his beloved Victoria or Didier and Marie-Louise. Could i
t simply be because they were children, younger and stronger than the adults who had perished?
Harold read voraciously of vampires and ancient legends, to see if he could discover what his children had become and why they remained unconscious. But all the information he came across was fictitious and brought him no nearer to discovering the truth.
So many questions and no answers. It was frustrating and disheartening but he would not give up hope. He had no other family and worried constantly about what would happen to them when he died. He would have liked to travel back to Turkey, to speak with the old woman, Havva Sahin. Perhaps she would be able to cast some light over what had happened. But he daren’t leave his children for too long. He decided to write her a letter.
Refet married a local girl. They had children together and seemed happy working for Harold, sometimes keeping him company in the evenings. He made Refet promise that when Harold died, he would continue to look after the house to ensure no harm befell the children. Refet said he would be happy to take on this role, but that Harold would probably outlive them all.
After some months, on a wintry November morning, a letter arrived. It was the letter Harold had been waiting for and he took it into the library, sat at his desk and sliced open the envelope with shaking fingers.
My Dear Mr Swinton
I am so sorry for the loss of your wife and friends. I had the pleasure of meeting Agha Isik Kaya and he struck me as a good man, God rest his soul.
Your children have become blood demons. They are vampyr. There is nothing you can do but be thankful they sleep. Keep them in the dark, in the ground and speak of it to no one. I will keep your secret.
Peace be with you.
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