“No. Please, Princess,” he pleaded.
Amelie sunk sharpened fangs into the soft flesh of his neck and sucked as the train rolled away from the station.
“No, please, Princess Amelie…”
She writhed and groaned as she drained his body. No longer able to hold onto life, he fell limp. When he was drained, she dropped his lifeless corpse on the ground and stood beside the open door, letting the wind rush through her hair and ruffle her clothes.
Estimating the train was twenty miles from the last station, she dragged the dead man to the door and tossed his body. It rolled from the track toward the steep side of the cliff. His jacket stuck on a tree root, suspending him over the embankment.
Amelie wiped her mouth of excess blood, sniffed her fingers, and licked them clean before settling in for the rest of the trip.
*
Growing impatient, Amelie punched and kicked the crate.
When the train finally rolled to a screeching stop at Maxillian Center, the heart of Amborix, she stopped, standing still in the corner and waiting for the right time to leave the train.
Outside, the most populous city in Amborix bustled and teemed with visitors, countrymen, and employees. The west side of the station was packed with a steady stream of people disembarking and boarding the train. Several employees were pushing carts as they unloaded and loaded the train cars.
To the east, the tracks were nearly empty. Only two employees guided a cart down the narrow patch of dirt. Amelie swung her backpack across her back and jumped from the train.
So close!
Amelie jumped from the train, leapt over a second set of train tracks, and lunged into the dense forest to the east. Once inside the cool trees, she turned, took one final look at the train that brought her home, and headed away from the train station, from the people who worked there, from her subjects, from visitors to Amborix.
Chapter 12
“They gave us permission to leave.” Spencer glanced out the door before closing them inside. Annie was packing the last of her things; she waved her hands inside her bag to shrink items and create additional room before closing the bag. She worked the straps, making them lose and easy to carry.
“Albert will hold the room for us?” She turned toward Sturtagaard, who was still tied to the wooden chair. He no longer pulled against the restraints and had for most of the morning remained still, glaring at them.
He’s creeping me out.
“I promised we’d be back tomorrow night. Slipped him some cash.” Spencer positioned himself against the window wall and observed the street below. Of the people that walked past the hotel, very few glanced up at their room; the rumors were finally dying down. And to the rare person who glanced up at the window, Spencer offered an easy, friendly wave, leaving the onlooker embarrassed and rushing away.
“You’re leaving me here to hold down the fort?” Sturtagaard asked sardonically. He attempted to adjust his lanky body, but the restraints were so tight he couldn’t move.
“You’ll only slow us down. Think you could stay out of trouble?” Spencer closed the drapes and glared at the vampire.
“What? You don’t trust me?” the vampire jeered.
“We’ll feed you now and secure you. And then we’re off. Try and stay out of trouble.” Spencer held out a dead rat, released the vampire’s good arm, and handed him the creature.
Sturtagaard grimaced.
When he finished the last of the blood he already had, Annie and Spencer refused to obtain more. They wouldn’t waste human blood on the vampire and ignored his leers and cantankerous grumblings. Catching the rats in the basement was a compromise. They needed Sturtagaard healthy should they need his assistance. The fact that dead animals caused him discomfort was a bonus.
“You realize if you draw attention to yourself we’ll stake you,” Annie reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it before,” Sturtagaard sneered. His right fang, longer than his left, gave him a lopsided grin. Annie chewed her lip to keep from laughing at it.
Sturtagaard, grabbed the rat, bit into its matted fur, and slurped. He gagged at the taste of the wild rat, yet he kept sucking the creature.
Annie’s stomach lurched with every slurp. She turned away, played with the straps on her bag, and waited for the vampire to suck the creature dry.
Ugh, gross.
Once he finished with the rat, Sturtagaard tossed it to Spencer, who ran a palm across the fur until the creature shimmered away. With a rough grasp, he pulled the vampire’s hand behind him and secured it to the back of the chair.
“Is this necessary?” Sturtagaard grumbled, but Spencer ignored him, placing the heavy muffle bag over his head and securing it in place.
“Let’s get out of here. I’m afraid we’ve waited too long and she’s already there,” Spencer said. He threw his backpack over his shoulder.
“We should call the Amborix Witches Council and warn them,” Annie suggested as she fluttered her palm across the lock, leaving behind a basic hex in hopes that no one would enter their room.
Dinan was quiet as they headed out along the road, out of the sight of those who distrusted them, away from prying eyes.
*
Before leaving, they set Sturtagaard’s chair inside the armoire with the door slightly ajar and the window opened, just enough for him to hear, to smell, to draw conclusions. But today, there was little movement on the street below.
Not many vampires had walked the earth as long as Sturtagaard. Eventually blood lust made them stupid and they found a way to perish without ever having truly experienced all that being a vampire had to offer.
But Sturtagaard was smart. He understood there was a simple give and take with the magical community and he used it to his advantage. He forged relationships with the Wizard Council in which they would leave him alone as long as he gave them what they wanted when they wanted it.
Back then they wanted something big and soon it will be time to pay them back.
A woman walked outside the hotel. Sturtagaard knew as she passed the opened window because the perfume she wore was strong and smelled like lavender. He could almost picture her sashay as she walked. He licked his lips and leaned against the back of the chair, listening to her footsteps until she turned a corner.
Surrounded by quiet again, he searched for something else to fill his mind. It was in those moments of complete solitude when he could reflect on the thirteen hundred years of his life. Most were lost in his long-term memory, hidden by too many years. But there were some memories he couldn’t forget even if he tried.
Annie so reminded him of a girl named Anaise.—both were smart, infuriating, and cocky, and both he wanted to kill, to suck dry. Thinking of her bought back images of that time in North Umbria, working for the king, fighting the unkillable demons of the coven he had to work with to survive.
It made Sturtagaard uncomfortable thinking of whom he had lost and what he had needed to do to leave that life. He squirmed on the chair and pulled against the restraints that dug into his chilled skin. The armoire surrounded him, trapped him, swallowed him whole. He twisted and he kicked out, his boots crashing against solid wood wall of the only closet in the room.
Thud… thud… thud…
He kicked harder. The armoire shook. In that moment he hated Annie more than he ever had. She had him trapped and was no longer frightened by him. He could no longer push her buttons. She had put him here, long ago, by a secret deal he couldn’t undo, and she had yet to know existed.
As quickly as he had grown agitated, he calmed and returned to his thoughtful state, alone with his memories. As much as he loathed Annie, he found that she intoxicated him as he tried to figure her out.
He sat upright and closed his eyes, renewing his focus on his surroundings. Scents humans rarely recognized wafted to him from the street: oil, butter, sugar, salt, vinegar and… iron. The thought of the richness of warm blood made Sturtagaard shudder in delight. His fangs sprung from hi
s mouth, which watered in anticipation. Spit dribbled down his chin.
He ignored the discomfort as he heard footsteps creak across the floor.
That was quick!
The room door handle rattled. If Sturtagaard breathed, he would have held his breath when he heard knuckles rapping against the old wooden door.
Receiving no answer, the person scraped keys inside the lock. The door’s hinges squeaked as the door was pushed open. Cautious footsteps entered the room, soft and careful as they crossed the creaky floors. Sturtagaard sniffed a familiar scent and was desperate to place a face or a name to the smells.
The intruder was definitely a man by his smell. He patted down the bed coverings with delicate hands. The otherwise soft sounds boomed in the vampire’s ears, forming a picture as clear as though he could see through the muffle bag over his head. He recognized the mental image of a man of slight build and strong cologne. The man, Sturtagaard now realized, was the day manager of this hotel.
Albert moved to the dresser beside the bedroom door, pulling out the first drawer, then the second—none of which had been used by Annie and Spencer, who carried their belongings in their field packs, shrunk for ease and carried in their back pockets.
Finding the drawers empty, the manager dropped to the floor, his knees creaking as he searched under the bed.
Finally, Albert stood. In that moment, Sturtagaard knew the man was glancing around the room, assessing the situation, and realizing there was only one more place in this small room to look. The day manager crossed to the armoire.
Sturtagaard very rarely felt scared, but explaining his presence in the armoire, tied to a chair with a bag over his head, would be most difficult. He tugged on the ropes binding his wrists together. Unable to remove the magically enhanced ropes, Sturtagaard twisted his body in the chair, which jumped and scraped against the floor of the closet.
He could sense Albert’s blood pumping with adrenaline—the scent of iron mixed with the cologne in an unappetizing combination. Albert’s hand shook as it held the door handle that rattled at his touch.
Sturtagaard took one last pull on the rope; it slipped to the floor.
A voice called out from the hallway.
“Yes, madam,” Albert said as he let go of the door handle. His loose-fitting clothes rustled as he bowed in the direction of the door. Finally, he walked away, his footsteps growing softer until door was shut and the key turned in the heavy metal lock.
Sturtagaard threw off the muffle bag, and lunged from the closet, setting the chair against the door handle. He sat on the middle of the bed and decided to wait until the two humans returned, though he wondered if Annie was worth the trouble.
*
Amelie remembered every inch of the castle grounds. For years, she had traversed these paths through the forest to reach the once-charming town, where she would hide from her over-scheduled life, blending in with the townsfolk and dancing with the boys. She could feel the narrow path beneath her feet, leading from the castle to her private hiding spot where she’d whittle away the hours with Henri, lying in his arms on the dirty cot, proclaiming their love for each other. They had made divine plans for their lives together—and yet even with his well-bred life, he was, to her mother’s chagrin, just not good enough for the princess.
She seethed at the memory of her mother telling her no, of the memory of her last few moments with Henri, when she had said goodbye for the last time. The memories burned in her mind from the train station all the way to the small town at the edge of the royal property. By the time she made it there, she was consumed with fury at the loss of the life she had wanted to claim only to be denied by the life she was forced to live.
Amelie leapt across the undergrowth, sidestepping muddy paths, and ran through overgrown trails. She was assaulted by the scent of wet grass from the clearing where she should have been lying in perpetual peace for all of eternity. Hit hard by the recognition, she stopped short and took precarious steps toward the five-acre plot of land housing her gravesite.
Prior to her death, she had learned all she needed to survive in the years holed up here. She knew the schedules of the security teams, whom she could count on to say nothing, those she needed to bribe, and those who were better off left alone lest they squeal on her.
At the tree line, she closed her eyes, relying on her hearing and her smell to place the location of the security team. They were prompt and efficient and would do whatever necessary to keep the royal family safe. They wouldn’t be in this part of the property for another forty minutes.
Amelie glanced around the clearing, the manicured lawn, the large oak tree at the center. Its gnarled branches protectively stretched across her resting place.
Seeing the headstone gleaming in the sunlight, Amelie suddenly felt as though she were back in the coffin, overwhelmed by the rabid fear for her survival, panic at her inability to escape from her prison, fury over waiting to be freed, and the hunger that she couldn’t quench. The stillness in that coffin had nearly driven her mad.
Before trekking out, she observed the clearing and the meandering paths and listened for any new sounds. Sure she was safe from view, she lunged for the old oak tree and hugged the rough bark. Her eyes swept the landscape as she looked for security staff or onlookers sneaking through the royal grounds.
Convinced she was still alone, Amelie walked to her headstone and read the epitaph.
Amelie Victoria Maxillian
Rest in Peace
Amelie touched the engraved granite stone, which reflected the sunlight so brightly it burned her vampire eyes. Seeing her name scrawled across the stone surprised her so much she was able to ignore the sun that burned against her skin.
A sneer crossed her lips.
They will always believe I’m still here.
Only Amelie knew about those two men, about her first tastes of blood as a vampire. It had been overdue.
In these early hours, alone and bored, she could still taste the smoke and booze that saturated the first man’s blood. As distasteful as it was, she had been so hungry she had become lost in the moment. She shuddered at the thought of how low she had fallen, but it was his sacrifice that gave her the strength to take her first step as a novice vampire. And when she had finished with him, she had dropped his limp body into the grave.
His blood hadn’t been enough for her insatiable hunger. It had burned inside of her and she was crazed with the need for more.
Amelie looked at the clear outline of the hole in which her coffin lay. It had recently been trimmed and cleaned up; new growth was covering the blackened earth.
She thought of the second man she had thrown in the coffin. He was short, fat and bald, beautifully dressed in leather shoes, a smart suit and a lovely cape. It was obvious he came from money though she had no idea who he was.
He had claimed to be her savior, the one who gave her eternal life. He seemed to have big plans for her. But he was no different than her family. They all wanted something from her. She had to be a perfect princess, marry the right man, work for charity, give up clubs and drinks and fun. And that man had something planned for her, something else she would be responsible for.
NO MORE!
All these months, her rage had grown. She hated her mother for directing her life, ordering her where to go, who to hang with, who to love. She detested the life of the princess, the duty, the honor—she longed for freedom that only becoming a vampire had given her. Since her death eight months ago, it was all she could think of, all she desired. She wanted to come home, confront the queen and do what she had to do.
The memories were too much for the young vampire. Burning with fury, hate, and anger, she let it all out with a primal scream.
Her voice rang through the forest, pounced off the hard surface, and continued to roll outwards for anyone in the area to hear.
“Damn, damn!” The second she allowed herself to scream, she realized it was a novice vampire’s mistake, drawing attention to he
rself. Doing something stupid would be her downfall. She had exposed herself, made herself vulnerable in the middle of the day and in the middle of the clearing. But Amelie, unable to control her emotions, couldn’t hold them in any longer. Her rage finally exploded. Pushing the heavy granite headstone, she let out a loud growl until the granite stone yielded to her touch. The stone crashed to the ground, cracking into smaller pieces.
The security team, always in the forest, heard the crash and responded quickly. Amelie smelled their scent and heard their shouts and footsteps before she saw them coming.
As they ran to investigate the source of the sound, Amelie ran for the forest. Her vampire speed and large strides made her travel easy and quick. She reached the trees long before anyone on the security team could find her standing there. Quickly, she concealed herself behind a tree and settled in to observe.
They spread themselves through the clearing, entering the trees and searching for the vandal who destroyed dear Amelie’s gravestone. Though she recognized several faces, she couldn’t recall their names. It had never been important before.
The royal guards, with gold buttons down the front of their jackets and the royal crest across their chest, scattered. The first team examined the perimeter between the forest and the lawn, while the others worked their way to the center, where they found the tombstone lying in pieces.
The guards at the tombstone shouted into walkie talkies, and alarmed voices screeched back. With her extraordinary hearing, Amelie found the voices to be loud and painful. She placed her hands over her ears, but it did little to block the noises and ease the discomfort. Watching the chaos build, she stepped farther back into the trees.
The clearing was soon overrun with the extensive security team, concerned over the vandalism of Princess Amelie’s headstone.
Those who served the royal family were convinced that the vandalism meant the royal family was in danger—an unknown person had broken through the security positioned around the property. Quickly, they gave orders to search the woods. They were coming for her.
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 79