Vampires Don't Cry: A Mother's Curse
Page 22
Amos. I stood up and noticed a man escaping into one of the walls. I took after him, assuming that if he knew of the hidden passageways, he might be of higher value.
As I closed in on his retreating back, I smelled vampire.
Theresa Scholes, March 1959, Outside Tomas’s House
Following one of the attacking force across the lawn, I drew my knives in readiness and marched towards the unfocused house. As the man neared the broken window threshold, his feet buckled beneath him, and he crashed to the ground, bouncing for a second on the grass before coming to rest.
I jumped over him, then straight through the shattered window. It broke all around me, and I found myself butted against a woman in a black party dress, bent over screaming her head off. I pushed my pelvis at her and she fell over, crying and muttering madly as she pulled herself to the supposed safety of a wall.
Inside the large room, bedlam reigned, but apart from the odd single shot, the gunfire had almost ceased. Vampires moved into the house from both sides, and I saw many individual fights buffeting the innocent art-lovers. A man grazed my side and got a Bãtrane across the throat for his efforts.
Being invisible gave me an edge in certain circumstances, but in such a crowded room, it turned out that I got accidentally hit more than I’d anticipated. Jumping onto a low table that had held a small sculpture, I got my eyes above the melee. Roy Immitras. It seemed a good place to start, and leapt onto the floor to reach him.
But I never got there. A vampire without an armband ran straight at me, and I had to adapt my strike accordingly. Both blades hit struck through his jacket and shirt easily. I’d aimed both to meet inside his heart, but on first strike I’d missed. He raised his arms between us, and I felt both hands grip my neck.
I knew I had to act fast. Withdrawing my blades and with a thrust that started behind my head, I stabbed both of his eyes, my Bãtranes only stopping their flashing progress through his brain when they encountered the back of his skull.
His hands relaxed and he fell slowly to the floor.
“Get your head in the game, girl.” I chided myself, and looked around, panting. Immitras was gone, but in his place stood another Blanche vampire; I knew him by sight. He held a woman in front of him like a shield, her silver sequined dress rippling in fear as she squirmed against him. I dived at him, sweeping my Bãtranes low. I struck his ribcage from the side, my blades arcing behind his wriggling armor. As I stood close, I crouched slightly, then drove upwards, the knives propelled by the surge from my legs. My breasts pushed against hers as I plunged my thin blades deeper into the body behind.
Then I felt my knives touch, their tips sliding against each other. The man gasped, his hands grabbing the woman tighter in his futile fight for life.
Twisting my right blade between ribs, I seized the woman by the wrist and pulled her sideways away from the vampire’s last death throes. I pulled an Aşchie from my waist and slid it up the blade. As it entered his heart he gasped once more, then his head fell forward onto his chest. My left blade exited easily, but my right had been caught between his ribs. I shook my head at what would happen, and held onto the handle of the blade tightly. As chaos happened all around me, I waited for his body to break down.
Then his body inside his suit crumbled to a million pieces, his face desiccating in a fleeting moment. As he dissolved to the ground, I slipped my blade from his empty suit.
One less vampire for the Council to deal with.
Valérie Lidowitz, March 1959, Tomas’s House
I raced after the man, into the space between the walls. The area was dimly lit, and I found myself gaining on him easily, my knives outstretched before me.
He stopped to look out through one of the many peep-holes, and I struck, a two pronged attack from the back. But despite the deep thrust of my blades, he managed to strike back, a super donkey-kick that I hadn’t expected. I lost my grip on my knives and fell against a corner, stumbling to the floor, temporarily winded.
He turned, then frowned, looking for his assailant, but finding none. I used his confusion to my advantage. I took two Aşchies from my belt and stood quickly, jamming the wood splinters into his eyes. When he lifted his hands in anguish, I turned him against the wall, smashing his face against the wooden paneling, and in doing so also ramming the wood farther into his head. Then, to finish the encounter, I took his skull in my hands and pulled and twisted with all my strength. I got rewarded with the loudest neck-snap I’d ever heard. The man fell awkwardly in the enclosed space, and I fumbled for the handles of my Bãtranes.
A bullet whistled through the paneling, sending splinters of wood flying against me.
I looked out into the room beyond, but only saw the struggles of the minions, the common soldier. Then a bald head passed by.
Amos.
I retraced my steps, stumbling over the clothes of the man I’d killed, re-entering the room.
Damned if Amos was nowhere to be seen.
Then from my peripheral vision, I saw Tomas. He wore a long black coat, almost reaching the floor. His clothes looked out of the middle ages, a shirt ruffled at the neck, long gleaming black boots clipping on the shiny wooden floor. Holding two curved swords, he strode into the large room like a scythe through wheat. Men fell near him, struck from lightning fast sweeps of his blades. Vampire, Helsing, innocent guest, it seemed to matter not.
Then he stopped, looking back at the far wall. “That would be unwise.” Oh how those words cut through the room. “Put your silly Căluşari needles back where they belong.”
I hoped that his attentions were on the other team, not Finch.
Nevertheless, I readied myself for an invisible double strike. If Finch was going in, so was I.
“Lucescu!” A roar from the other side of the room rose above the brawl. I looked over to see Ivan standing in a broken doorway, his body silhouetted against the late red sunset. As the fighting continued, it seemed to move away from him, making a space for him to advance into the room.
For some reason, I edged backwards, until my back was placed firmly against the wall.
I stood, my dripping Bãtranes ready to strike, awaiting my moment.
Duel to the Death
Theresa Scholes, March 1959, Tomas’s House
I raced to Immitras’s last position and looked around, finding myself near the front door. In the foyer and outside the main door, bodies by the score lay sprawled, killed as they tried to escape. Men in suits lay amongst women in cocktail dresses, their bodies in a twisted sculpture that no artist could have imitated.
A vampire ran past me, and seeing no glimpse of an armband, I raised my knife in his path.
Roy Immitras could have had a more graceful death, but his sweep past me had propelled him onto my extended blade. Clinging tightly to the handle as his momentum twisted me sideways, I forced the blade upwards as I fell, pulled by his tumbling form. As Immitras stopped, his body immobile, I crawled over his chest and looked at his last surprised expression. My blade had caught him under the chin, and in my attempt to keep my grip on the blade, I’d forced it up into his head.
But any kill shot is a good one, and I pulled the blade free, and jabbed it into his heart. An Aşchie soon followed, and in seconds Roy Immitras consisted of a heap of dust and bones.
Standing up, I slipped my Bãtranes into my belt when suddenly I felt hands grab my arms and lift me. I had no time to act, I felt myself thrown across the room, a roar of “Enough!” following my trajectory. I bounced near the wall, then collided with it, my limbs aching, my chest racked with pain.
I don’t think I actually lost consciousness, but the room had become more unfocused.
Then a man materialized before me, long dark coat, bald head, and two cruelly curved swords. He swept into the fray seemingly regardless of it. To the left and right he swung the long swords, fast strokes that felled dark figures at every strike. Soon, few remained alive in the room. Those who still stood, had retreated to the walls, their eye
s glancing from left to right, looking for escape.
A Helsing landed at my side, smashing into the wall. I reeled from the stench of his bloodied face; it stank of stale vinegar. He still clenched his two dart guns.
Tomas Lucescu, the man we’d intended to trap, seemed heedless of our plans. In fact he seemed to want to stride headlong into the very noose we had placed over the house.
Regardless of my injuries, I readied myself to strike. I slowly brought my feet below me and into a crouch position. Feeling for my knives, I drew them clear of the Căluşari roll at my waist. Tomas stopped in his tracks, and turned back to me. Although I sat absolutely invisible, his eyes burned into mine. “That would be unwise.” His accent held Russian tones and his tenor voice boomed in the now silent room. “Put your silly Căluşari needles back where they belong.”
Despite my intention to carry out my attack, my hands sheathed the knives. I looked away, my fingers quivering with fear. I found myself looking down at the battered Helsing at my side. His gaze also looked fearfully towards the floor.
“Lucescu!” Ivan suddenly stood on the threshold of the opposite wall.
Tomas’s gaze moved from me, to the figure standing against the last rays of sunset. “The traitor Vyhovsky,” he sneered. “The evening’s entertainment just keeps getting better.”
Valérie Lidowitz, March 1959, Tomas’s House
Ivan just stared calmly at the preening man in the long coat. “No more a traitor than you,” his voice held little emotion. “I have lived my life as a Cossack, and now you will feel my blades.” Ivan lifted his hands past his ears and drew two swords from sheathes on his back. The shining blades caught the last red rays of the sun and sparked red flecks of light around the room.
“The Zaporozhian people would feel shame at your boast; you are no more Cossack than these mindless creatures,” Tomas spat across the room.
Then both disappeared, and a huge ringing of blades clashed in the air just feet from my face. Sparks glinted and I flinched against the wall. They re-appeared in opposite ends of the room. Ivan gave a slight smile as he flexed his arms, the curving Cossack swords swinging loosely. “You wallow in contempt Tomas Lucescu, yet you cling to the old ways.”
“My Grandfather sacked Constantinople!” Tomas roared, then flung himself sideways, smashing an onlooker against the wall with his shoulder. “Helsing rat!” he screamed, slicing the man on his chest and belly. Tomas turned back to the room before anyone thought to interfere. “You see? Even in the fair fight of the arena, there are those who would stab me with the old velvet plant, and give an advantage to the traitor!”
I saw the beginning of Ivan’s rush, and again, the two met at lightning speed in the center of the room. This time the blades rang out three times before the men returned to their ends of the room, both taking deep breaths, eyes locked as they circled each other.
“Your grandfather was a fool!” Ivan spat, crouching to spring again.
“My Grandfather was a Lucescu!” Tomas roared, and the two met once more. This time I could see some of the sword strikes. I watched enthralled by the contest, paralyzed by fear. The long arcs of the blades seemed to happen mere inches from my nose, the air electrified. The two men appeared in the center of the room, their swords locked in a fierce jagged shape. Then both gave a push, and they each staggered back to their corners. It seemed gladiatorial, with the room as their arena.
Tomas had a small cut on his cheek, which he rubbed with his wrist. “First blood to the traitor, huh?”
“Better a traitor than a failure to his own people.” Ivan charged again, his swords extended, and crossed together in front of him.
Tomas swept his blades aside, cuffing Ivan firmly with a sword-butt. Ivan cut up firmly, but his thrust at Tomas’s chest seemed to be easily blocked.
Then a knife appeared in Tomas’s back, a small hand firmly imbedding the blade.
Tomas roared, slashing at Ivan’s retreating figure, catching his shoulder. “Another traitor!”
I glimpsed a flash of white, then the figure disappeared swiftly from sight.
But not before I’d recognized her face. “Mother,” I hissed.
Theresa Scholes, March 1959, Tomas’s House
I tried to follow the moves in the battle, but my eyes were simply not quick enough. They struck to and fro.
Tomas stood again by the front door, his face contorted into a fierce toothy grimace, his vampire canines pronounced. “So the Frenchwoman joins the fray?” his eyes searched round the room for her, but never came to rest. He looked at the far wall. “How does it feel, Valérie Marneffe Berthier Lidowitz? How does it feel to know that your mother interferes with Cossack business?”
My God, he was looking at Valérie!
Ivan stood at the broken windows, his hand on his torn shoulder. “Leave her out of this, Tomas. She has no part to play here.”
Tomas grinned. “Oh I disagree, old boy,” and threw himself across the room to attack again. His swords rained down on Ivan’s now single handed defense. To my eyes, it could only go one way.
Then, suddenly Constance appeared on Tomas’s back, her hands clawing at the already imbedded knife, trying to force it deeper, screaming and roaring at him.
Suddenly Amos stood in the center of the room, his eyes wild with glee. I had never before seen him involved in fighting. “There will be no trickery here!” he roared. His hands gripped two Helsing dart guns. Both fired at Constance’s back, striking her ribcage. As she reared against the darts, Ivan shrugged her off like a playful puppy.
“He’s mine”, I heard from my side, and looked down at the rising Helsing, his pistols raised.
As Constance fell lifeless to the ground, the man fired. I looked to see both darts hitting Amos, just a split second before he vanished.
Then I heard Valérie’s roar, and I knew she’d be attacking, wreaking vengeance for her mother.
Instantly jumping to my feet, I grabbed my Bãtranes, and rushed to her aid.
But I underestimated Tomas’s strength. He kicked Constance’s body towards me with a sideways slide of his foot, even as he swatted Ivan’s sword-strokes away. I fell over her, and witnessed her eyes disappearing into her eyelids, obviously already well-drugged by the darts.
“No!” I heard Valérie cry, and she materialized halfway to Tomas, her knives slashing the air in front.
Then Tomas vanished, and she landed on an ailing Ivan, one sword discarded, one arm limp and bloody. She hit him hard, unable to stop herself, one knife slicing an ear as he deflected the other.
“Ha!” Tomas sneered, appearing to my side, a rich confidence spreading over him. “The pupil turns on the teacher!”
Ivan placed one hand on Valérie’s shoulder and calmly swept her behind him. “Lucescu is mine,” he said, as he propelled himself across the room once more.
But it seems Valérie could not restrain herself. Even as Ivan reached Tomas’s swinging swords, she darted across the room. “You die tonight!” she roared.
Ivan’s weapon did not even reach his opponent. As he neared, Tomas jumped upwards, arching his body forward, swinging his swords in strong arcs. As Ivan slowed, realizing Tomas’s strategy, he was caught with two horizontal arcing blades, each aimed at his neck. It only took one to connect, and it did, slicing through bone and tissue effortlessly.
Ivan’s body fell at Tomas’s feet, the head still spinning as it also fell to the ground.
But Valérie was already halfway across the room, knives held high.
As Tomas prepared for Valérie’s strike, I raced behind him, and as she hit him full-on, I flashed myself visible, then struck from the rear.
With the heels of my palms across the pommels of my knives, I thrust them upwards into his lower back.
“Argh!” he cried, twisting so suddenly, I lost grip of my deeply set Bãtranes. “A bitch bites my arse!” he screamed, and the handle of his sword smashed into my temple.
I lost consciousness so immediately I did
n’t even register landing.
Valérie Lidowitz, March 1959, Tomas’s House
“So the Frenchwoman joins the fray?” Tomas’s eyes immediately met mine. “How does it feel, Valérie Marneffe Berthier Lidowitz? How does it feel to know that your mother interferes with Cossack business?”
How did this man know so much?
“Leave her out of this, Tomas. She has no part to play here.” Ivan said. I looked over to see his condition, seeing his shoulder had been badly scored. The way it hung by his side, I doubted that he had any life left in it whatsoever.
“Oh I disagree, old boy,” And charged for what surely must have been the last time. I stood, drawing my knives, but I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“This one’s mine,” Moms voice spoke into my ear.
Then, suddenly she pushed herself from me, landing on Tomas’s back, pulling at the knife. She tried to distract him by gripping his chin, forcing it upwards, hoping for a quick neck-breaking.
From my position, I saw Amos enter the room, and immediately made to dive for him, but again, I proved far too slow. “There will be no trickery here!” He roared, fired two guns at my mother, and promptly vanished.
“No!” I started across the room as she fell from Tomas’s body, but as I made to hit my intended target, Tomas kicked her away, then vanished himself. As I arrived, I noticed that I’d lost my concentration, and in confusion fell headlong into Ivan. To my dismay one of my Bãtrane carved upwards, piercing his ear and head beyond.
“Ha!” Tomas sneered from across the room. “The pupil turns on the teacher!”