by G. P. Taylor
‘And what about Biatra? Why does she have to suffer?’ Jago asked as Morgan appeared to grow restless.
‘An accident, there are always accidents – especially where Sibilia is. Biatra – the brothers Gladling – Jack Henson and even Hugh. Sacrifices to eternal life. Nothing is ever free and wrongdoing always has a consequence,’ Morgan answered impatiently. He waved to Rathbone, who stubbed out the cigarette and opened the car door. ‘It’s time to go inside. I take it my wife is already here?’
‘There is also another guest,’ Rathbone said as he pointed to a car parked at the side of the house.
By the entrance to the labyrinth was an old car. Jago knew it immediately. The broken headlamp of the blue sedan meant only one thing – Julius Cresco.
‘He’s here?’ Morgan asked.
‘Must have come whilst we were out,’ Rathbone said as he led Jago to the house, followed swiftly by Morgan.
‘But he was not expected,’ Morgan said irksomely, as if he did not want Cresco to be there.
‘Since Draigorian is dead, he has to be here,’ Sibilia replied. She walked behind him, having appeared from nowhere. The woman looked at Jago and rubbed her hand around her wrist. ‘I see they found you,’ she said with a smile as she felt where the dagger had cut her. ‘Not going to escape again?’
Jago had no time to answer. The door was opened and he was pushed inside. He looked for Hugh Morgan but the house seemed empty. The fire in the hallway burnt brightly and lit the room. Shadows reached out like dragons’ tongues across the wooden floor.
Morgan walked ahead of them all. He pressed his hand against the wooden panel, then slid his fingers behind the secret door and pulled it open.
‘I think we should go this way. Julius will be waiting.’
They stepped inside the room. Jago saw the painting of the Vampyre Quartet. Draigorian could clearly be seen. His face smiled down and his sad eyes glistened as if freshly painted.
‘Let that be the first and the last,’ Sibilia said as she pushed Jago inside. ‘I think we should ask Cresco to paint another picture – this time of Jago and the others. That would bind the lad to what we are to do.’ She shuddered visibly with joy; her thin face and red lips were radiant.
‘There will be plenty of time for that,’ Morgan replied as he crossed the small room and pressed another panel.
The wall opened. A small section of wood slid to one side. Behind the panel was an oil lamp that hung from the rock wall.
‘Midnight shall soon be here,’ Sibilia Trevellas said solemnly. ‘I took the liberty of placing the girl in the charnel house.’ Jago didn’t know what she meant. Her manner was as brusque as her jet-stone eyes. She looked at him as if she read his mind. ‘The charnel house is where we keep all those people we have bitten and not killed. It is a larder of blood.’
‘You can be so vile, Sibilia,’ Morgan said as he led down the steps and into a passageway below the house. ‘Take no notice, Jago.’
They were soon far below the house. The staircase spiralled down and down and echoed with the sound of the sea. Waves crashed on rocks far away and sucked the air back and forth.
‘There is much to be done,’ said Sibilia Trevellas as she opened a wooden door with three metal bars that covered a small opening. ‘I think he will be fine waiting in here.’
She spoke to Morgan as if he would have to do what she said. Morgan didn’t argue. He nodded as Jago stepped through the door and then picked a lamp from the wall and handed it to him.
‘You will need this – don’t let it go out,’ Morgan said, and Jago realised these were important words. ‘I will be back for you later.’
‘What about my father? Does he know I am here?’ Jago asked as the door was slammed in his face.
‘Hugh Morgan is … indisposed. I doubt if he ever will be seen again,’ Trevellas said happily, gloated upon the words. ‘Enjoy the darkness. Things will change for you once Strackan has exchanged blood.’
Jago held the light in his hand until he could feel the hot glass begin to burn the back of his hand. Placing the lamp on the floor, he sat down and leant against the wall and stared into the black void of the cave.
Almost immediately, he could hear footsteps coming near to him.
‘Jago? Is that you?’ the voice said as three small shadows approached.
Jago looked up. There in the light of the lamp were the Gladlings. They held each other close and walked as one as they came closer.
‘I thought you were dead?’ Jago asked as they stood near to him, cold and dishevelled.
‘We fell from the cliff. Mrs Macarty told the fishermen we were the Vampyres. She hid Griffin and Staxley and pushed us outside.’
‘How did you survive?’ he asked as Morris and Boris shivered near to the lamp in hope of warmth.
‘A man found us and brought us here. There is a cave that comes from beneath the cliff all the way to this place,’ Laurence said. He held out his shaking hands towards the flames. ‘Said we were lucky to be alive.’
‘Lucky?’ Jago echoed.
‘Will you get us out?’ Morris Gladling asked in a puling voice.
It was the first time Jago had heard him speak. The voice made him smile with its innocence.
‘Of course, Morris,’ Jago said. ‘In no time at all.’
He saw the boy’s face change.
‘Told you he would, told you,’ Morris shouted. ‘Laurence said –’
‘Shut it, Mo,’ Laurence said. ‘Jago needs to know.’
There was silence. Jago looked at them in turn as each one stared at the ground. ‘What is it?’ he asked, knowing something was wrong.
‘It’s … it’s …’ Morris tried to answer.
‘Biatra,’ Laurence said before his brother could finish. ‘She’s in the back of the cave. It’s not good, Jago.’
Shielding his hand with his coat sleeve, Jago picked up the lamp. He held it above his head and pointed its light to the blackness of the cave. There, in the vast expanse of shadow land at the back of the cave, was Bia. She was chained to the wall like a dog, Around her neck was a studded metal collar with a forged ring and chain. Curled like a small child, she slept, her eyes firmly closed, her red hair jaggedly cropped above her shoulders. Jago could clearly see the blood-red mark of the moon on the side of her face.
‘What have they done to her?’ he asked.
‘She was there when we came here,’ Laurence Gladling said. ‘Just like that – always the same – never moved. I even tried to talk to her but she opened her eyes and stared at me without speaking.’
Jago leant closer to her. Bia was bruised around the face as if she had been beaten. Her hair was in short strands as if it had been cut with a knife. In the nape of her neck were two more bite marks. They were dark and bruised. Each stood proud of her skin and was rimmed in blood like a small volcano.
‘Bia … Bia,’ Jago said as he gently rubbed her shoulder.
Bia opened her eyes slowly and looked at him as if he was nothing more than a vague reminiscence.
‘Jago?’ she asked, her words slurred. ‘Is it you?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll get you out of this place, all of you,’ Jago said.
‘Too late,’ Bia answered slowly, breathing heavily. ‘Too much venom.’
‘I have found a place where you can be healed. Believe me, Bia, it’s not too late,’ Jago said as the Gladlings clung to his leather coat.
‘Just leave me here. Please, Jago. It is dangerous for you if I go with you. I …’
Bia opened her eyes. They were dark and bloodshot, as if they had been sucked of all life. She stared at him vacantly, her mind elsewhere, in another land.
‘We’ll be with you,’ said Morris Gladling impatiently.
Jago caught a glimpse of the boy’s neck. Under his shirt were two faint, red marks.
‘Who did this?’ Jago asked.
Laurence Gladling held his brother close to him. Jago could see he didn’t know what to say. His hand trembled as
he tried to smoothe the blonde hair that curled in his fingers.
‘It was a woman,’ Laurence muttered, as if ashamed by what he had done. ‘She took us to a room and then did this to us,’ he said as he showed Jago more teeth marks.
‘She needs strength. I heard her telling another man I haven’t seen before,’ Bia said, stirring from her sleep. ‘The Lyrid of Saturn. Strackan is already here … somewhere.’
‘When they brought you here, did you see Hugh Morgan?’ Jago asked.
‘He came back this morning. They were waiting for him. Rathbone held him at gunpoint. Told him he couldn’t interfere,’ Bia said.
Boris Gladling began to cry. He stood barefoot on the cold stone. His thin blue legs were wasted, skinny and shivering. He held up his arms to Jago as if he wanted to be held close. Jago looked at Laurence, who sighed.
‘I’ll sort it out for you, Boris,’ Jago said as he lifted the lad in the air and held him. ‘I promise it will be all right.’
Jago looked at Bia. He had made the same promise to her and now she lay chained in the cold cave, already transformed to a Vampyre. Gladling held on tightly, his tiny fingers gripping the leather of the coat.
‘Promise?’ said the boy, ever hopeful.
‘I’ll get you out of here and find you somewhere to live. It will be good again,’ Jago answered, his words fooling no one.
Jago settled the Gladlings by the door and told them not to move. He looked at the neck ring that bound Bia to the chain. In the hinge of the metal was a small pin. Quickly he unscrewed the pin and the neck brace fell open. Bia rubbed the wound. She was still dazed, her mind far away. All she could see was the beautiful face of Sibilia Trevellas – it was as if the woman was watching her from within and knew her every move.
‘Don’t leave me, Jago,’ she whispered.
‘I’m here,’ he answered, suddenly aware of footsteps coming closer down the long passageway.
‘The Lyrid of Saturn,’ Bia said anxiously, suddenly aware of all that surrounded her. ‘It’s time.’
[ 30 ]
Julius Cresco
AKEY TURNED IN THE LOCK. As it did, the Glad-lings scurried like mice back into the shadows of the cave. Bia sat up and tried to focus on the shaft of light that came in through the crack of the opening door. She could see Jago standing defiantly, hands in the pockets of his leather coat. As she looked at him, an inner voice told her he had the silver dagger. Whilst Jago waited for the door to open, Bia watched him intently, wondering in which pocket the dagger was hidden.
‘Jago,’ said a warm voice as the door opened further. ‘It is so good to see you again.’
Jago didn’t answer. He stared straight ahead at the man and gripped his hands into tight fists hidden in his jacket.
‘It’s me – Uncle Cresco.’
Cresco looked into the cave. He was taller than Jago had remembered and looked different. The lines that cut so deeply in his face had smoothed and faded. He was broader, and his smart striped suit a change from the white vest and open shirt that was always crumpled. His skin was smooth; Cresco had shaved the stubble from his face and looked half the age that Jago remembered.
‘You lied,’ Jago said. ‘Lied for years.’
‘What was I supposed to say. That I am a Vampyre?’ he asked, his voice charmed. ‘You would not have believed me. What is important is how all of this will change your life.’
‘You have betrayed me and my mother,’ Jago snapped angrily.
‘She knew, Jago,’ he said before Jago could say anything else. ‘She knew the consequences of what she did. I looked after you. Kept you safe – made sure all was well. Who was it who warned you of all this? But you didn’t listen …’
‘You told me stories of a faraway place that I thought wasn’t real. When I came here it soon became clear that all you said was true,’ Jago shouted, his words shrill and cold as the air. ‘Look what they have done to my friends.’ He pointed in to the darkness. ‘Vampyres have stolen their lives – poisoned their blood – taken their future.’
Cresco boiled with anger. Without a word of warning he snapped his hand through the air and slapped Jago across the face.
‘How dare you?’ he said as Jago fell back. ‘You have no understanding of what I have been through. One day they will thank me for what has been done to them. They won’t die like the others. It will not be thirty days and then hell for them. This is the Lyrid of Saturn. The anniversary of what happened all those years ago in the hermit’s cave. You and your friends will inherit eternal life …’
His words hung in the air like knives about to fall. Jago stood back from the door and thought what he could do to escape. It was then he heard a voice in his head – it was like a whisper, dull and distant, on the edge of hearing.
‘He can hear you,’ Bia said in his mind as she looked at them both from the back of the cave.
‘Very good … And who are you?’ Cresco asked as he shut the door of the cell behind him and pushed the lamp to one side with the toe of his brogue boot.
‘That’s Biatra. She’s my cousin,’ Jago answered for her. ‘Sibilia Trevellas took her for her own.’
‘So, you are the one? I have heard so much about you,’ Cresco said as he leant forward to look at her.
There was something about the man that Jago knew was different. It was as if everything he had been before was just an act to fool him. He seemed sly, snake-like and untrusting. His eyes glowed mistily green as if they had been stoked like the embers of a fire.
‘You know what we are thinking?’ Jago asked.
‘It is more that I know how you are thinking and feeling. It is a primeval power like that of a wolf,’ Cresco said.
‘All the time, in London?’ Jago asked ‘When we were alone. All my fears and concerns, you knew them all?’
‘It saved a lot of wasted conversation,’ Cresco said as he crossed the room and examined Bia more closely. ‘Sibilia said that your blood was special,’ he said as he pulled back the collar from her throat and smiled.
‘If you touch her, I will kill you,’ Jago said.
‘What? After all I have done for you?’ Cresco asked. ‘I doubt you could muster the strength. You are not a Vampyre yet.’
‘I trusted you, Cresco, loved you as my father … You were the only man there for me,’ Jago answered as he felt the knife through the pocket of the lining of his leather coat.
‘It had to be done. In the morning you will come to understand. Becoming a Vampyre alters how you see the world. What happened before doesn’t matter. It is only the future that is of concern.’ Cresco appeared to ignore Jago as he leant further towards Bia and stroked her neck.
‘Touch her and I mean it …’ Jago scowled as he kicked the door shut.
The thud of wood against metal made Cresco turn to him. ‘Do I take it you want her for yourself?’ he asked. ‘She is beautiful, if somewhat scrawny.’
‘She’s my family,’ he answered.
‘I am your family – Morgan is your family – Strackan is your family. Life changes.’ Cresco showed his dog-like teeth as he snarled the reply. ‘What we once were is not what we always have to be. Eight hundred years ago I was a man who had nothing. I was a servant to Morgan and his wife – that’s all. When Strackan took my blood, I changed. I gained respect, admiration, everything the world could give. I had power – power over life and death, and that is all that matters.’ Cresco suddenly gripped Bia by the throat and lifted her from the ground until she hung in the air like a rag doll. ‘Is this what you would have me do? Kill her. She means nothing to me.’
‘What about love? My mother said that was important,’ Jago pleaded as Bia choked in his grip.
‘Love? Love? It is nothing more than a fool’s errand. Meaningless and lacklustre. A decay of the heart,’ he said as he squeezed harder. ‘This is what it is all about. In my hands I have the choice of life – or death. A Vampyre can take the life of a Vampyre with just the snapping of the neck.’
‘
Leave her, Cresco. I warned you before,’ Jago said.
Cresco spoke without turning his head. ‘I choose, Jago. I choose …’ He stared at Bia as she gasped for breath. Her legs shivered as she fought to breathe. To him, it was a great pleasure.
At the back of the cave in the bleak darkness, the Gladlings hid from sight. Jago could sense their fear. Morris Gladling was sobbing quietly.
Jago stepped the four paces across the room silently. It was as if his feet never touched the ground. Without a thought he took hold of Cresco’s hand and pulled it from her neck. Bia fell to the floor of the cave and gasped for breath as she held her throat.
‘No more!’ Jago shouted as he ran to Bia.
Cresco turned. He pushed Jago from her and laughed.
‘If we didn’t need you so much alive I would kill you now. Fifteen years of your whining and moaning is enough for anyone to take. I can’t believe it is you with whom I will serve an eternity.’
The Vampyre stepped closer and closer to Jago. But Cresco didn’t finish his words – he gasped and reached out his hand as his eyes flashed about the cave. His mouth filled with blood. It stained the bright white teeth that pushed so prominently against his lips. His arms dropped to his side as life flowed from him. Then Cresco fell to his knees. All the time, he looked at Jago. He could not take his eyes from him. With each second it was as if he wanted to consume every memory of the boy.
Jago looked at Bia. She held the silver dagger in her hand.
‘How?’ he asked.
‘I took it from your pocket I was going to … to kill,’ she said as she looked at the bloodstained blade. ‘I knew it was there – I saw your thoughts.’
Cresco tried to speak. He coughed blood and bent forward as if to pray.
‘I loved you, Jago … in my own way. You were my son …’ His voice was distant and soft, like the sound of water flowing through a brook.
‘If only I could believe you,’ Jago answered.
‘Is it true you killed Draigorian?’ Cresco panted out the words with aching breath.