by S J Williams
“My parents went off on a holiday to Europe a year ago and never came back. They met up with friends in Austria but then just vanished. The embassy in Vienna tried to help but…” She trailed off, briefly lapsing into silence before gathering herself again. “It was just after Roberto first contacted me about the gallery project. I was going to back out, but Roberto, or Bartholomew as you call him, told me how much he would value my help in his project. After the police and the embassy told me my parents would probably never return, I thought I might as well have a distraction and the project seemed important as a career step. I threw myself into it and the results are…” She spread out her hands. “All of this. What?” She asked, suddenly wary.
The others were exchanging dark looks.
“I don’t want to scare you,” Catarina began, her tone much gentler than before. Effie immediately tensed.
“But?”
“I have a feeling your parents’ accident wasn’t quite so accidental, not with that timing.”
Effie frowned at her. “You think Bartholomew offed them or something?”
Catarina bit her lip and nodded. “Or something. He probably didn’t do it personally. He wouldn’t think twice about killing mortals if he thought they would get in his way.”
Effie rocked back on her heels and blew out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding in. If Roberto was this evil Bartholomew, then it might be possible. If he had made plans for her from the start, he wouldn’t want her to have any family ties that might draw her away.
She shook her head. Last night, everything had seemed so certain. Vampires were evil, immortals were good. But the clear light of day brought with it more questions. They talked about Roberto like this compulsive addict but they hadn’t known him like she had. He’d been her friend. The worst thing he’d done was abandon her. Sure, he had some strange habits that looked very suspicious if you knew that vampires existed, but she had never seen him kill anyone. If those shakes he always drank were preserved blood, who was she to assume that he didn’t always drink that way. Sebastian and Henry had told her that vampires were compulsive feeders, that they killed their victims. They had assured her that Roberto must have killed someone while he knew her. But, if that was the case, why hadn’t he bitten her? And hadn’t Roberto told her that they would tell her lies to turn her against him?
Roberto hadn’t told her about immortality and, if he was one, that was a pretty serious omission. But then why would he? If he was a vampire, exposing himself would be the last thing he’d want to do.
Maybe he was a reformed vampire, desperately trying to make a life for himself without killing people. Maybe vampires could be the good guys?
Catarina narrowed her eyes at her. “You don’t believe it. I can feel your doubt. You want to protect him.”
Effie blinked at her. Feel her doubt? What did that mean? Then she remembered what Henry and Sebastian had said about immortals being able to sense emotions. She shrank back.
“You’re asking me to betray a friend.” She said defensively.
Sebastian scowled at her. “He’s not your friend, Effie. Vampires are killers. Are you happy to be complicit in the murder of thousands?”
Effie paused. Well, when you put it like that…
She sighed and shook her head. “I need proof. I’m sorry. He’s been my friend for over a year and now you’re accusing him of being responsible for all the evil in my life. He was the one who supported me when my parents died, for goodness’ sake.”
“Did he support you or did he control you so it wouldn’t bother you as much?” Henry mused. Effie scowled at him. He didn’t know about all those times Roberto had sent her a little note, a bunch of flowers to brighten her day. Every time she’d nearly sunk into grief, he’d been there with an encouraging smile. Or, at least, a kick up the arse to get her moving again.
“I wonder,” Lucien said quietly behind her, making her jump, “would you consent to receiving a shared memory? It would not be of your Roberto, but it would show you the true nature of vampires.”
“A shared memory?” Effie asked.
“Yes, one of my more unusual talents. I promise you, the transfer would be quite painless, though you might find the images you receive distressing.”
Effie blinked at him. That was new. But… she’d asked for evidence and these people delivered. The idea of sharing memories raised another problem, though.
“How do I know what you are showing me is the truth? You might be offering me an illusion and I wouldn’t know the difference.”
Lucien smiled. “So suspicious.” His voice was warm despite his words, but it was his eyes that caught her attention. Behind the kindness, there was so much depth of experience, of knowledge, of understanding.
“You’re very old, aren’t you?” She said in wonder, not stopping to think about what her question must sound like.
Lucien chuckled. Catarina snorted softly.
“Yes.” He said simply. “I am very old. As to your concerns,” he added, “I think that, once you experience a shared memory, you will understand better. But, for now, please be assured that such deceit is impossible. For one thing, I am not an illusionist. You must look to Henry for that particular gift.”
Effie raised her eyebrows at Henry. She hadn’t thought to ask what mental skills he possessed. But, now that she knew, she thought illusions suited him. It went well with his easy charm that, she suspected, hid his deeper thoughts.
“Will you at least experience the memory? If you are not convinced, we can address your concerns afterwards.”
Effie looked around the kitchen. Everyone was silent, waiting for her answer. Catarina looked as though she was going to burst out of her skin with impatience. Sebastian, on the other hand, had completely shut down. Something about the hardness behind his eyes made her wince inside, though she couldn’t have said why.
“All right.” She said, shrugging off her strange misgivings. She had asked for evidence. She could hardly turn it down when it was offered.
Lucien stepped forward and placed his fingertips on her temples. As he closed his eyes, she felt warmth blossom in her skin where he touched her. Her gaze turned inward as her mind was flooded with images.
The room was dark, hot and muggy. The humid air had stagnated, leaving an airless, mouldering miasma. Their stomach tried to churn but they forced back the instinctual reaction. Now wasn’t the time. They hunkered down next to the closest corpse. A woman. A girl, really. Once, she might have been pretty. Now, her face was a barely recognisable mass of bloated grey flesh. They unwrapped the fabric that was cutting into the girl’s swollen throat. Cruel, ragged tears marred her neck. The vampire had lost control towards the end. And she had only been the first. On the other bodies, they knew, the separate wounds would be indistinguishable.
They looked up, still squatting, breathing carefully and evenly to mitigate the rising gorge in their throat. There were so many bodies. They would need to be carried out, one by one, to get an accurate count. Some would be in pieces.
A noise in the room beyond this one. Their quarry was just waking up.
Carefully, they stepped through the carnage, treading on blood soaked earth. They found the vampire sprawled across an uncovered mattress, a pair of bodies dragged in to lie beside him. One body had been entirely eviscerated, the intestines spread across the bed in a macabre display. The expression on the victim’s face, a teenaged boy, made them flinch away. Such pain, such horror simply should not exist. The other victim was mercifully missing its head. Her head, they should say, judging by the body. Again, too young.
They had been too late for these children. But there would be no more victims. Not to this vampire’s greed.
The hiss of steel as the sword came free of its scabbard roused the vampire. Some primal instinct cutting through its blood-drunk daze. It tried to rise, still blind, still sluggish from its long sleep. They did not wait, did not pause to savour the moment. Steel flashed in the torch light a
nd the vampire’s head bounced to the floor to join that of its victim.
The images faded. Effie swayed, unsure if she would be able to hold onto the contents of her stomach. Sebastian was beside her in the next instant, one hand on her arm, the other on her back rubbing in soothing circles. Embarrassed, she waved him away, then immediately missed the comfort as he let his hands drop and stepped back.
Lucien was watching her, compassion and regret in his whiskey brown eyes.
“My apologies. I had forgotten how very graphic that particular memory was.”
Effie swallowed, struggling to hold onto her control. “Are all your memories that clear?” She asked, finally.
“Yes, another peculiarity of mine.”
“I see what you mean, about how convincing they are.” The details had all been perfect. The heat on her skin, the stench… If it had just been images, she might have been tempted to disbelieve it, but it had been a total submersion in another time. “I… I believe you. Are all vampires like that?”
“Yes, unfortunately. When they allow themselves to feed, even the oldest and strongest vampires will devolve into their true selves.”
Effie nodded, then shuddered as the memories, which she had been pushing away, suddenly came back in a fresh wave of horror. This time, she didn’t brush away Sebastian’s hand. Instead, she leaned into it, craving his strength and solidity, needing him to keep her in the present.
“So, do you have anything to tell us?” Catarina prodded her.
She thought she might have felt, rather than heard, the growl of warning that came from Sebastian.
Effie sighed. Should she tell them? Did she turn her back on Roberto? Could she justify protecting him? Roberto was clearly involved in their world. Why would he have run like that unless he was a vampire and had a real reason to fear these people? And, if he was a vampire, could she ever live with herself if her delay meant one more body was left mutilated and bloodless in his wake?
7
“He wants the medallion.” Effie started. They had gathered back in the combined dining and sitting room. The decor, which wouldn’t have been amiss as the backdrop to a Medici family portrait, felt like an appropriate setting for her tale of intrigue and betrayal. A tale whose telling burnt all the bridges back to her past life. If she had misplaced her trust, there was no going back now.
“When he realised you had found him,” she said to Sebastian and Henry, “he told me to let myself be taken by you and to get the medallion from you by any means necessary.”
“That sounds like Bartholomew. He was always a consummate coward.” Catarina muttered, her lip curling in disgust.
Henry coughed. Sebastian sent Catarina an impatient look. Realising she’d interrupted Effie, she waved for her to continue.
“Go on.”
Effie couldn’t help a smile at her imperious tone.
“He told me that the medallion was a code for something.”
“He didn’t say anything about what this code might be related to?” Henry asked hopefully.
“No. Just that it was his life’s work or something like that.”
“Sinister,” Lucien murmured, “considering what else might be called Bartholomew’s life work.”
“Did he say anything else?” Catarina asked, a tight frown etched into the skin between her eyebrows.
Effie shook her head. “Not really. Just that he wanted me to meet up with him back in the UK. I’m supposed to use my original tickets to get back.”
“He paid for those tickets?” Sebastian asked.
“Yes. He paid for the whole trip. I couldn’t have afforded to come without him footing the bill.”
Sebastian sat back in his chair, looking dissatisfied.
“Do you have the medallion on you?” Catarina asked him. “We might as well look at it to see if we can work out what he was talking about.”
Sebastian flicked his eyes at her then pulled out the medallion from where it had been hidden under his clothes. He slipped it over his head and held it out, dangling from a fine silver chain.
Effie was once again struck by the intricacy of the detailed metalwork. She could almost believe that the plants were alive and growing out of the silver disk. But, as before, her eyes were drawn to the little bird in the middle. Its eye seemed to twinkle at her with that look of equal curiosity and wariness of a wild bird. It was so beautiful. Too beautiful, she thought, to be at the heart of some ugly vampire plot.
Sebastian looked around at the others. “Does anyone know anything about herb lore?”
When everyone except Lucien shook their heads, Sebastian leaned forward to pass the medallion to the old immortal.
“Then perhaps you should study this and tell us what you think.”
Lucien perused the medallion, stroking his finger over the fine engravings. “I see borage, lavender, rosemary, cloves, mint, cowslips, roses… If I was a herbalist, I would say that these are all plants which ward off diseases, strengthen the body and accelerate the healing of wounds. But then,” he added with a wry smile, “so many plants were said to have similar properties that these are really just a selection…” He trailed off.
Henry frowned suddenly and looked at Sebastian. Sebastian quirked an eyebrow in response, his face taking on a thoughtful cast.
Telepathy. Effie thought. They must be talking to each other again. It felt strange, almost painful, to watch them talking to each other like that. Almost like she was being deliberately excluded. Which was stupid. They’d been friends for centuries. Of course they’d have a bond that went far deeper than what could be seen on the surface. She could hardly expect the same after only knowing them for a day or so. And yet…
“Do you remember we mentioned we’d found some strange looking plants in Bartholomew’s safe?” Henry asked Catarina and Lucien.
Lucien raised his eyebrows, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Ah, yes. A strange pastime for a vampire, preserving flowers. Do you have them still.”
Henry nodded and got up to retrieve them from the fridge.
“Preserved flowers?” Effie asked. But Henry was already back, having moved faster than her eyes could follow.
“These flowers.” He said, placing a plastic bag full of some sadly wilted flowers with peculiar red-veined leaves on the dining room table. They all gathered round to stare at them.
“What’s he done to them?” Catarina asked, pulling out what looked like a dandelion, its petals tinged a delicate pink.
“Good question.” Lucien murmured, leaning in to get a closer look. His nose wrinkled. “Odd smell they’ve got.”
“That’s not all.” Henry held out Bartholomew’s bag of blood. “He was drinking this.”
Catarina looked at it with a sneer of disgust. “As if vampires could get any worse.”
Lucien said nothing, just surveying the bag with a raised eyebrow.
“Do you think this could have something to do with the flowers on the medallion?” Henry prompted.
Lucien frowned heavily, standing back and folding his arms over his chest as if to physically block himself off from the flowers. “It’s possible, but I really couldn’t say how a trinket like that might be a code for anything. This doesn’t look like the work of a herbalist to me.” He looked down at the medallion in his hand. “Maybe the old bat’s gone and cracked. It wouldn’t be the first time a vampire’s gone off the rails.” He handed the medallion back to Sebastian.
“Whether the medallion is what Bartholomew thinks it is or not,” Catarina said, watching as Sebastian fisted his hand around it, “this is what Bartholomew wants and we can use it to lure him into a trap.”
“Just the medallion, or are you thinking to use Effie as bait as well?” Sebastian asked, a note of warning in his voice. Catarina paused and looked guiltily at Effie.
“It might not come to that.” She said, her tone a touch too airy.
Sebastian snorted. “We can’t just leave it hanging on a tree for him to collect.”
&n
bsp; “He was very definite about me bringing it to him.” Effie insisted. “And, if he’s not in the city anymore, why would he be tempted to come back for it, if he thinks I’m going to bring it to him?”
“That may or may not be a problem.” Catarina began. Sebastian interrupted her.
“It is definitely a problem. If he wants her and the medallion, that means whatever plan he has brewing needs Effie to succeed.”
“Let’s not forget,” Henry added, “that he’s gone off with a collection of portraits which could expose a good number of us.”
Effie frowned at him. “How? Who’s going to believe these portraits are really of people who are still alive today? You get lots of people who look very similar to historical portraits. Everyone will just call it a coincidence and move on.”
“You would be right, if it wasn’t for some very delicate timing.” Henry said wryly. “There is an aristocratic German family which has recently become suspicious about how so much of their ancestral lands have ended up in the possession of a man who, on paper, doesn’t have any connection to their family. They’ve traced back to when the property was last possessed by a family member, which was in the middle of the fifteenth century. From then on, the land has been passed down through bequeathals in wills from one man to another – never to a family member – until we get to today when it is owned by one Oscar Mansfeld.”
“Who is an immortal?” Effie guessed.
“Who is an immortal.” Henry nodded. “And not an insignificant immortal at that. He is a member of the immortal council. He controls a decent chunk of central Europe. Germany, Austria and Switzerland mainly, with some of Slovakia and Poland thrown in.”
“I suppose he was also the last member of this family to own these lands in the family name?” This story had a predictable ring about it.
“He was indeed. He inherited from his elder brother but, according to historical accounts, died childless. His younger brother should have inherited.”
“But he didn’t?” Effie said flatly, raising an eyebrow.
“The lands were apparently lost in a game of cards, though no one ever witnessed the game or met the mystery winner.”