by Amy Cross
Copyright 2019 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
This edition first published: November 2019
The Vampire Falls first published: July 2019
The Vampire Burns first published: September 2019
The Vampire Rises first published: October 2019
One woman. Two vampire brothers. Three nights of terror.
As she waits by the window for a long-promised visit, Chloe Carter begins to tell her granddaughter the story of her life. It's a story that begins with a younger Chloe moving to Paris to make a fresh start. Everything seems to be going well, but then comes the battle between two ancient, dying vampires, followd by a journey back in time to World War Two Paris.
Matthias Bane is a hellraiser, with no interest in anything other than the pleasures of the world. His brother Hugo is intense and driven, and dedicated to scientific discovery. When they arrive in Paris, Matthias is badly wounded and Hugo is desperate to find a way to save his brother. But when the brothers make a deal with a Nazi leader, they set themselves on course for a destiny that neither of them can accept.
Three Nights of the Vampire is an epic love story about three people trapped in time, and about the dangers of refusing to accept death. Originally published in three volumes titled The Vampire Falls, The Vampire Burns and The Vampire Rises, the trilogy is now available together for the first time in this omnibus edition.
Table of Contents
Book One
The Vampire Falls
Book Two
The Vampire Burns
Book Three
The Vampire Rises
Book One
The Vampire Falls
Prologue
Chloe
Many years from now...
Turning my head suddenly, I looked toward the door. I thought I heard...
I sat completely still for a few seconds, but the only sound was the slow crackling of a dying fire in the hearth. I could have sworn I heard the door creak a moment earlier, even though I knew that was impossible.
“Are you okay, Gran?” Harriet asked as she finished propping the window open.
Turning, I saw her smiling at me.
“You look startled,” she continued, making her way over to the side of my bed. “Do you want anything else from downstairs? I'm probably gonna turn in myself pretty soon.”
“I'm fine,” I replied, “I just -”
Stopping suddenly, I couldn't help but feel shocked by the sound of my own voice. I sounded so utterly, unbelievably old. Then again, looking down at my gaunt, veiny hands, I forced myself to remember that I was old. Just a week earlier, I'd had the whole family over to the house to celebrate my ninety-fifth birthday.
Ninety-five.
How in the name of all that was holy had I come to be ninety-five years old? Flexing my hands, I felt ripples of pain in the joints. Arthritis had begun to swell and inflame my knuckles long ago, and I'd lived with the discomfort for long enough to barely even notice it now. Apart from the days when it really flared up, anyway. Still, those old, bony hands didn't really seem like mine. It was as if someone had stolen my real hands, my young hands. I wanted to slip the leathery skin off like a pair of gloves, and emerge pristine and young again.
Glancing over at the dressing table, I saw my little hand-held mirror. It was tilted in such a way as to show me a reflection of the curtain rail, but I knew that if I were to crane my neck a little and look into it properly I'd see my face. Or rather, the face of an old, old woman. A wrinkled old mask that time had placed over my real, young face.
Suddenly I felt the bed shift slightly, and I turned to see Harriet sitting next to me. Reaching out, she gently took my left hand in hers.
“Are you waiting for him?” she asked.
I opened my mouth to reply, before glancing at the window.
“I left it open,” she continued, “just like you said. But won't you be cold?”
“I'll be fine,” I replied. Damn it, I flinched as I heard that old voice again. “I have my cardigan,” I added, turning to her and seeing a hint of tears in her eyes. “Don't you have something better to be doing?” I continued with a faint smile. “I can get myself to bed without being nannied around, you know. You should be off making bad life choices.”
“I know,” she replied with a smile, “but...” She paused, before looking at the window as the curtains rippled slightly in a fresh breeze. “Is this just a ritual, Gran? Or do you actually think he might show up eventually? You've been leaving the window open for... Well, for as long as I can remember. And Mum says she remembers you doing it, too.”
“He'll come if he can,” I told her, although those words immediately felt hollow.
If he can.
So uncertain. So doubtful. And yet so true. I knew then, as I had always known, that only one thing would ever keep him away. Only death. And by death, I meant not the frail, delicate kind of death that affects most of us and turns us into tissue-thin ghosts; I meant the real, aching death that swallows the soul of a great beast and draws it into the screaming dark void. I meant the kind of death that erupts from the nucleus of life and burns starry souls to dust.
“I should go to bed and let you rest,” Harriet said suddenly, letting go of my hand. “If you need -”
“Do you want me to tell you about him?” I asked, surprising myself. Somehow that night felt different, and I didn't want to be alone.
“Tell me?” She hesitated, and I could immediately tell that she was interested. She'd begun to rise from the bed, but now she settled again. “Why would you tell me about him? You never even told Mum. Not the details, anyway.”
“I have to tell someone,” I replied, feeling a trace of tears behind my eyes, “before...” I paused, not wanting to say the words but not able to hold them back, either. “If I don't tell someone,” I continued, “then when I die, maybe no-one will ever know the truth. At least, not my version of it.”
“You have your own version of the truth?” she asked with a smile.
I nodded.
“We all do, really,” I explained. “It's better to admit that, right from the start.”
She glanced at the window again.
“If he arrives tonight,” I continued, “then you'll have to excuse us. But until then, I can tell you about him. If you're interested, that is. And this isn't me giving up on him coming, you know. It's just a way of... reminding myself of what I'm truly waiting for.”
She watched the curtains for a moment, before turning to me. In that moment, I could tell that I had her full attention, that she was going nowhere until I'd told her everything.
“Is it true that he was a...” Her voice trailed off. “I mean, Mum said... Well, she...” She paused. “Well, Mum hints at a lot of things, but I think she feels silly saying them out loud. I think she doesn't know what to believe about certain... stories she might have heard. About Paris, and London, and that ring.”
“It started in Paris,” I told her, my mind already swimming back to those days, as a cold breeze gently blew through the room. “That's where I met him. I was your age then, or maybe a couple of years older, but I was a young woman. I'd left London because I was sick of being stuck in one place all the time, and because I wanted to see the world. I know that might sound naive now, but stuff it, it's true.”
Taking a deep b
reath, I realized I could remember every detail of that time.
“It started one morning, shortly after I arrived in the city,” I continued. “I remember the elevator in my building was always broken. I didn't speak more than a few words of French, and I didn't know what L'ascenseur ne sont pas en cours d'utilisation meant, but...” I glanced at the window, momentarily wondering if he might be out there, but then I turned to Harriet and realized it was time to finally tell my story, “but I could hazard a guess.”
Chapter One
Chloe
Paris, the present day...
I didn't know what L'ascenseur ne sont pas en cours d'utilisation meant, but I could hazard a guess.
“Great,” I muttered, tugging on the elevator door only to find that it was locked. Turning, I looked up the stairs and saw the skylight far, far above.
There were eight levels in the building, but fortunately I didn't live at the very top. My new place was only on the seventh floor.
***
“Damn it,” I muttered breathlessly, setting my bag of groceries down and taking a seat on the top step.
I'd never been a gym bunny, but I'd never considered myself to be out of shape either. Back in London, I'd always been able to manage a quick dash for the bus without ending up in a mess, but since moving to Paris at the start of the month I'd started to notice certain differences. I'd been making an effort to walk everywhere rather than taking the metro, mainly because I wanted to get to know the local area. I fancied myself as a bit of a flaneur. I could be a little pretentious at times.
Unfortunately, my twenty-three-year-old body was lagging far behind my ambitions.
Grabbing my groceries again, I got to my feet and resumed the trek. To be honest, I'd needed to rest a little longer and my legs were killing me, but I refused to let myself feel like some exhausted old lady. Instead, as I reached the sixth floor and immediately began to head up to the seventh, I knew I had to push through my (admittedly rather low) pain barrier, and I focused on positive thoughts.
“In sixth months,” I told myself, “you'll be skipping up these steps no problem.”
Reaching the top of the next flight, I finally spotted the door to my apartment. As I made my way over and rooted through my pockets for my key, however, I noticed that the opposite door was open. This sparked my interest, since I'd not seen a sign of life from that apartment ever since I'd moved in, and the landlord had been a little evasive when I'd casually asked about my neighbor.
“He keeps himself to himself,” he'd told me. “Don't bother him, and he won't bother you.”
Now, as I opened my door, I couldn't help looking over at the other door and wondering why it was suddenly open. I waited for a moment, before realizing that I was being as nosy as my mother. Shuddering at that thought, I pushed my door open and hurried inside. If my neighbor wanted to air his place out a little, that was really none of my business.
***
“No, honestly, I'm fine,” I replied, carrying my phone over to the window and looking out at the gray Parisian street far below. “Believe it or not, no-one's murdered me yet. I'm surviving just fine in the city.”
“Don't let anyone take advantage of you,” my mother snipped, her voice coming across loud and clear all the way from South London. “If they think you're a naive young woman, those French men will eat you for breakfast. Just because they've got a funny accent, that doesn't mean they're not dangerous.”
“I'm twenty-three, Mum,” I pointed out, watching as people walked past the building on the sidewalk. “I can handle myself.” Checking my watch, I saw that it was only 5pm, which meant Belinda wouldn't be knocking on the door for at least another hour. Still, Mum didn't know that. “Paris isn't all Amelie and Before Sunrise, but it's not exactly La Haine either.”
A little Last Tango wouldn't go amiss, though.
“I'm gonna have to go,” I continued, turning and heading back across the room, heading for my cramped little bedroom. “A friend from work is coming over and we're going to head out for drinks.”
“What kind of drinks?”
“Liquids, mother.”
“Coffee drinks? Or alcoholic drinks?”
“We might have a couple of glasses of wine,” I told her, smiling as I imagined the inevitable scowl. “Belinda's been here for years, she knows all the best bars.”
“Two single young women, going to a bar?” I could hear the disdain in her voice. “I'm not sure I like the sound of that, Chloe.”
“I'm sorry, I can't really hear you too well,” I replied, gently blowing into the phone to simulate static. “I'm gonna have to go, Mum.”
“Now listen here,” she continued. “I was young once, believe it or not, and I know what men are like.”
“Sorry,” I added, blowing harder, “the line's really -”
Suddenly I puffed my cheeks up and tried to make a sound like a snowstorm. The effect wasn't quite as strong as I'd hoped, but it was good enough.
Finally, after cutting the call, I rolled my eyes as I tossed my phone onto the bed and headed over to the chair in the corner of my bedroom. I'd been to a department store earlier and bought some new tights, but as I looked through my bags, I realized there was no sign of them. Confused for a moment, I suddenly remembered setting that particular bag down next to the elevator on the ground floor, just before I tried the door.
“Oh no,” I said with a sigh, as I contemplated another trek down and then back up the stairs. “Please, I can't have left them all the way down there. The universe isn't that unfair.”
***
Stepping out the front door, I made my way over to the top of the stairs, before stopping and looking over again at my neighbor's apartment. His door was still wide open, and after a moment I realized I couldn't hear any sign of life from within.
I hesitated, telling myself that it was none of my business, before finally relenting and wandering over. There had to be some middle ground, I reasoned, between Mum-like snooping and harsh urban indifference. Call it neighborly concern.
Stopping in the doorway, I looked through into the apartment and saw that it was much more bare than mine, as if whoever lived there had barely bothered to add anything since moving in. I waited, listening in case I heard a bump, but the place seemed completely quiet. I knew there was a chance that my neighbor had simply forgotten to close his door when he left, but at the same time I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. I'd grown up in a quiet English village where people genuinely cared about one another, and although I knew life wasn't like that in the city, I still felt as if I should at least check that everything was okay.
Besides, I'd never met or even seen my neighbor before, and I figured this might be a good opportunity.
“Hello?” I called out tentatively. “Is anyone home?”
Silence.
I knocked gingerly on the door, and then I waited.
More silence.
Not just silence, either. As I look into the hallway, I realized that absolutely nothing was moving. It was almost like looking at a photograph.
“Hello?” I said again, still not quite daring to go inside. “I saw your door was open, and...” I paused, feeling as if this was really none of my business.
“What the hell are you doing?” I imagined Mum squawking. “Get away from that door, Chloe! You'll be murdered, or worse!”
“Hello?” I called out. “I don't mean to interrupt, I just... I wanted to make sure everything's okay. Sorry, I don't speak French very well.”
I waited, but it was becoming increasingly clear that no-one was home. I figured I should just pull the door shut and be on my way, but then I realized that maybe my neighbor had left it open on purpose. Perhaps he'd lost his keys, or perhaps he'd left it for a friend. Telling myself that I probably shouldn't interfere, I turned to go to the stairs and retrieve my bag from the lobby far below.
Suddenly I stopped as I realized I could hear a faint gasping sound.
Turning, I
looked back into the apartment. The sound was continuing, as if someone was struggling to breathe.
“Hello?” I said after a moment, starting to wonder if my neighbor was sick. “I... My name is Chloe Carter, I live in the apartment opposite. I don't mean to pry, but I noticed your door was open and I just wanted to make sure that everything's okay. I'm just.... being neighborly.”
I waited, but all I heard was the same gasping sound, coming from the room at the far end of the apartment's hallway.
“Should I come in?” I asked.
No reply.
“I'm coming in,” I continued, even though I was desperately worried that I might be intruding. “Just to check on you, okay? I really don't want to invade your privacy, but...” I paused, before stepping over the threshold and into the apartment. I immediately felt wrong and out of place, but I knew there was no turning back now.
I took a deep breath. The apartment smelled musty, as if it hadn't been disturbed in a while.
“Just me,” I called out. “Chloe from next door. Like I said, I just want to make sure you're okay.”
Stepping across the hallway, I approached the door to the front room. The apartment was laid out exactly like mind, except that everything was reversed. Still, despite having only arrived in Paris a short while earlier, I'd begun to make my place feel like home, whereas the guy in this apartment seemed not to have bothered at all. There were no decorations at all, and when I peered through at the kitchen I saw that it was completely bare. Even the fruit basket, just like the one the landlord had given me as a welcoming gift, was still on the counter, albeit rotten and disgusting.
“It's just me,” I continued, reaching the door to the front room and looking through. “I was -”
Stopping suddenly, I saw to my horror that an old man was slumped in the chair by the window, with the blinds drawn. From the way he was sitting, he looked barely conscious, and his head was tilted away so that I couldn't see his face. The room was pretty dark, with the only light coming through at the very edges of the blinds.