The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3)

by K. P. Ambroziak

  Before I could plunge my hand in a second time, I heard his cry. I rushed to the men, as the scream died on the air. The bloodless had caught Tim by surprise, grabbing him as he relieved himself behind a tree. Beck moved toward the bloodless with a broken branch but I beat him to it and stuck my dagger in its neck, severing head from spine. The fiend still had the chunk of human flesh between his teeth, as more bloodless gathered through the trees, enticed by the bloody wound of the injured man.

  “We have to go,” I said.

  I put Tim on the cart with Paul, telling Beck to stay close. He kept pace with a jog, as I transported his friends, and his stamina surprised me. When we were near the village, the howls increased and a small swarm rose up behind us. “Keep moving,” I said. “It is just through that cluster of trees.” Another swarm gathered in front of us, blocking our path to the entrance, but the side wall lay straight ahead and I knew if I could get us close enough, we would be under the aegis of the powder.

  “Vincent!” Alessandra’s voice rose as a beacon amidst a treacherous shoal.

  The vampire bounded over the wall and rushed through the barricade of bloodless, forcing bodies to scatter, as she tossed a sack of powder at them. Two of them came at us, but I slashed them with my talons. Beck had dropped down under the cart to hide from the swarm and I told him to get up. “We have to move,” I said.

  Like a mother bear rescuing her cub, Alessandra grabbed the man and tucked him close to her body, bounding through the danger and up the wall to get him to safety. I followed with the cart and we were over the wall and in our haven almost instantly.

  It is too early to know if bringing them here was the right thing to do, but I have already indulged in a second nip from the older one while he slept. I may have some explaining to do in the morning.

  8 December. — The bloodless have arrived. The powder keeps them off the wall, but they linger nonetheless. Evelina has cotton in her ears to block out the sound of their feverish howls. I placed the men far away from the girl in the hovel I had been using as a retreat. A small mattress, a couple of stools, and a table—a remnant from the wood door that had once barred the entrance—make up its surroundings. I removed my personal effects, writing instruments and a small collection of books, and put them in the abandoned smithy. We fed the men, gave them candles and built them a fire pit. Helgado furnished them with a pile of wood and Alessandra attended to their medical needs. “The man’s arm is healing,” Alessandra said shortly before dawn. “It doesn’t look infected.”

  “Impossible,” I said. “I saw the wound.”

  She smiled with those bright white fangs of hers. “I’m no doctor,” she said, “but I wanted to try something on him.” I raised an eyebrow. “I made a balm,” she said, “with one of the seeds and a bit of salt water. I guess it’s working.”

  “Just the powder and salt water?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I added the smallest trace of venom.” She squinted as though fearing my disapproval.

  “Your venom?” I was not surprised she used her venom this way—its natural byproduct is potentially curative. Since the clone is unable to reproduce, her venom is not harmful to humans.

  When I went to see for myself, I confirmed her instincts had served her well. Tim’s bite is healing rather miraculously. His flesh wound has closed up and is now covered with a scab.

  “It’s better,” he said, as he pulled down his coat sleeve. “Whatever she put on it—it started to feel better right away.”

  “And you?” I turned to inspect Paul.

  “Leg’s a bit better,” he said. “The sleep helped … but I was wondering if you had anything for this?”

  He lifted his arm and showed me the puncture marks my fangs had made beneath his bicep. His small wounds were not healing and his skin was bruised. The barbiturates in his system, the lingering sores, the injured leg, all told me he was an ailing man. “I will see what I can do,” I said.

  Beck shrugged. “I’m fine,” he said. “But hungry.”

  I left them, promising to return with more food. I would have to keep them fed if I was to continue eating too. Helgado met me, as I made my way toward the smithy.

  “I need to speak to you,” he said. He was abrupt, agitated. “Why did you bring them here?”

  “Because they are human,” I said.

  “Blood,” he said. “That’s all you ever think about.”

  “Better theirs than yours, no?”

  “So you’ll stop feeding off Evelina then?”

  I smiled—I could not help it. His ignorance got the better of me.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Why would you? But the baby—you better not touch that child.”

  My mood darkened with his idle threats. I raised a hand to his cheek and tapped it lightly. He tried to pull his head away but found he could not move. I had wrapped my mind around his and locked him place. My eyes penetrated his and I sneered, baring my subtle fangs. Using my deepest register, I told him I did not like to be threatened. I released him from my hold when his mother called to him from her hovel. She was inside for the day, but always kept an eye on her boy. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground.

  “Fuck you, Vincent.”

  I left him sitting on the pathway and went to seek out food for our guests.

  Later. — These men have a secret. When I approached the hovel with their food, I caught the end of the following debate.

  “He can’t,” Paul said.

  “You must’ve lost it when that thing grabbed you,” Beck said.

  “But I have to go back for it,” Tim said. “What if she finds it?”

  “Shush!” One of them said.

  “Don’t mention her,” Beck said. “They can hear each other.”

  “Do you think,” Tim said, “he’s like her?”

  “Yes,” Paul said. “He’s one of them.”

  “We’ve got to leave then,” Tim said, sounding slightly panicked.

  “Where?” Beck said. “There’s no where to hide.”

  “Why don’t we just tell him?” Paul said. “He’ll protect us.”

  “What makes you think that?” Beck said.

  “He’s been good to us so far,” Paul said. “He saved us. And what about this? And yours too?”

  “What about your meds?” Tim asked.

  “I’m feeling good,” Paul said. “Really.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Beck said. “You look like hell.”

  “Nice,” Paul said. “Real nice.”

  The men fell silent and I entered with several cans of sardines and a bottle of wine.

  “Perfect,” Tim said. “Thanks a lot.”

  I bowed slightly and Beck leaned forward to mirror my show of respect, which is how I noticed the pendant around his neck. It was an emerald dragon set upon a flat gold backdrop. “May I?” I asked, reaching for it.

  “Uh,” he said. “Sure, it’s nothing—just some cheap Chinese knockoff.”

  I examined the small dragon. It was Chinese, but I did not believe it was cheap. I recognized the Qing dynasty’s emblem engraved on the back. The necklace was a relic belonging to Empress Cixi.

  Beck cleared his throat, as I held the jewel in my hand. “Really,” he said. “It’s nothing—from an old girlfriend.” He laughed nervously.

  “A memento?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “just a stupid memento.”

  I let the pendant go and it swung back and forth before Beck caught it up in his hand and tucked it back under his shirt. I could not begin to figure out how this man had acquired a necklace from the Qing dynasty, let alone a piece that belonged to its Empress.

  9 December. — Although I had not been gone long, I felt a strong sense of peace when I looked at the girl’s face again. When I went in to see her, she was standing, as Alessandra helped her walk off the mild contractions she had been having. Her hair was gently pulled up off her neck, exposing her nape, and I noticed the flush in her cheeks from the
activity of her body. I could practically hear the pulse of her blood, as her heart beat in rhythm with mine. Despite the nip from our new arrivals, I could not wait to sink my fangs into her again.

  “Stop staring,” she said. She giggled before the pain made her pretty face contort. “Owww …” She stretched out her expression through pursed lips.

  “That’s a girl,” Alessandra said. “Deep breaths. In and out.”

  “Is the baby coming?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Alessandra said.

  “No,” Evelina said. “You can stay.”

  When the bout of pain finally passed, Alessandra helped Evelina back onto the cot and then left us alone. Evelina tapped the mattress beside her and beckoned to me—a quick flash of my daydream made me hesitate before I sat next to her. The girl reached up and touched my cheek.

  “You look better,” she said. Her voice rang with the slightest bit of jealousy. She knew I had fed off the men. “I suppose you’re no longer hungry?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at the moment.” It was a lie. I could drink her blood until there was no more—famished or full.

  She pouted, frowning a little. “Who are they?” She asked.

  It was not a conversation I wanted to have with the girl.

  “Just survivors,” I said. “Like us.”

  “But where do they come from?”

  They were not Italian—their English had no accent. They could be American, but I was not sure. “I have not asked,” I said.

  “Do they have bloodless where they’re from?” Her naiveté astounded me.

  “I am most certain they do,” I said.

  She tried to adjust her swollen belly, as she lay on her side, but needed me for leverage. I held her up and she shifted her body into a better position. She sighed heavily. “Alessandra says I’m due tomorrow.”

  “How does she know?” I asked.

  “She says she can smell it.”

  I did not doubt the clone’s prediction since her nose would certainly know. I smelled the baby too with the same intensity as she did, but not quite in the same way. I will have to occupy myself tomorrow if it is true, if in fact the baby is coming. I cannot be around when that child is thrust bloodily into our world.

  “Vincent?” Her small voice pulled me from my thoughts and I left her then, wondering no doubt what I was thinking, as I made my way out of her hovel. I could no longer take the smell.

  Later. — The men are much more interesting to spy on than converse with. Their private debates prove entertaining.

  “We have to get out of here,” Tim said.

  “And go where?” Beck said.

  “Anywhere safe,” Tim said.

  “This is safe,” Beck said.

  “How can we be safe with him?”

  “He hasn’t done anything but help us and feed us,” Paul said.

  “And feed off us!”

  “It’s better than being on that ship,” Beck said.

  “Right,” Tim said. “I know, but he’ll keep us here too.”

  “So?” Paul said. “It’s not so bad—we have food and shelter, and other humans too.”

  “The guy’s a weirdo,” Tim said. “He seems pissed off about us.”

  “But there’s a girl,” Paul said.

  “The pale one?” Beck asked. “She’s not a … woman.”

  “She’s one of them too, you mean?”

  “You can’t tell? Didn’t you see her jump over the wall!” Beck said. “And her eyes? Look at her eyes next time she comes in.”

  “This is crazy,” Tim said. “We’re going to die here.”

  “No,” Paul said. “This is how we survive.”

  “How?”

  “If he thinks we’re useful,” he said, “he’ll keep us around.”

  “Right,” Beck said. “We have to show him we can help.”

  “He knows we’re good for blood.”

  10 December. — The clone was right, the baby is coming today. I am tucked in the smithy, as I write this, trying desperately to think of you, Byron, and not the girl. It is a challenge, my love. Her cries echo through the dusking streets. I am in pain too, trapped with the memory of your torture. An endless loop of suffering plays over and over in my mind, as I recall your writhing in the bowels of the dark cathedral. I can only ignore the image when I am fully engrossed in the occupation of our survival. But your end is always with me. I kept a vile of the blood substitute, a token of the poison that took you from me. The small trinket hangs about my neck, always next to my heart.

  The baby is coming—but I will continue to write to you my beloved so that I may distract myself from rushing to the girl’s side—another one of her screams rips into me, as she is torn apart by her labor. The temptation is great—I am longing to see it come into the world. The points of my fangs tickle my gums—they have a plan of their own. Perhaps I shall have just one peek at the blood dripping down the inside of her thigh …

  Do not resist—come, she begs me.

  Later. — The child is magnificent.

  Before I went to Evelina, I locked up the men. I had found rusted manacles in the corner of the smithy shortly after I moved in here. I knew they would come in handy. The men were sleeping when I snuck in their hovel and tied the chains about their wrists. I plan on removing them in the morning.

  I watched the girl from a distance, from the window unnoticed. It may seem odd I desired to witness such a human act, but the child’s birth was of less importance to me than the blood her mother would spill—my blood.

  “Push again,” Alessandra whispered into her ear, as she stood beside her and held her up.

  The girl bore down, using the vampire as leverage. The boy was there too, pacing uselessly in the corner.

  “Bring me the water,” Alessandra said.

  He obeyed his mother and brought over the cup he had refilled.

  “Evelina?” She asked. “How are you?”

  She tapped the girl’s cheeks and then lifted the cup of water to her lips. My girl did not speak. I could not see her face from the window frame, just her hair matted and clinging to the back of her robe. She was in a squatting position and I was reminded of the woman between the olive trees. I licked my lips. Her pain seemed to lessen with my presence, for she only moaned now.

  “Push,” the vampire said. “You’re close.” Alessandra bent down and looked at the girl’s opening. “I can see the crown.” The vampire called her son over and directed him to guide the baby out when he saw its head. “Just like I showed you,” she said.

  Helgado took his place between Evelina’s legs.

  “That’s it, Evelina,” Alessandra said. “Keep it up. You’re almost there.”

  The girl’s scream was foreign—it was low, guttural, demonic. Her head fell forward slightly and I heard the tearing of her flesh.

  “Good girl,” Alessandra said. “Push—that’s it.”

  The girl moaned again and unleashed another cry unlike her own. The wail made her pain palpable and I bit into my lip. I was desperate in that moment to relieve her of it, to take her away from the horror she was forced to endure.

  “One more!” Alessandra encouraged. “One more!”

  All the force seemed to dissipate from her body with that one last push and she fell forward into the vampire, as the baby slipped into the waiting arms of the boy. The air was silent for a moment before mother and child both cried.

  “She’s here,” Alessandra said. “You’ve done it, Evelina. Lucia’s here.”

  Lucia?

  Alessandra carried the girl over to her cot and laid her on it. The boy handed the newborn to his mother and she swaddled it before laying it on Evelina’s chest.

  “You can’t rest yet, child,” she said. “You need to feed the baby.” The vampire coached the girl and the newborn.

  I thought it would be difficult to resist the smell of the blood—I thought the new life would drive me insane with a vampire’s lust, but it did not. The sentimentality
of seeing the human life renew itself took hold of me, and I could not shake it. When I stepped away from the window, I came back to the smithy to record my cloying emotion—mawkish and shameful. I must climb the parapet and scan the darkness for the bloodless, for they should straighten out my—

  Later. — Wallach has paid us a visit. When I heard the men call for me, their panic was tangible. A second cry for help rang through the streets, as I met Alessandra in the lane. “It’s one of the men,” she said.

  “Stay with the girl.”

  I ignored the blood that stained her hands and made my way to the men. I had not sensed his presence—his frequency had gone unnoticed. I had been too taken with the birth, though I should have felt something.

  Gone before I arrived, the nomad had left a devastating scene. Two of the men were still in chains, but the third was yanked from his manacles, drained and lifeless on the hovel floor. Tim’s body lay in a pool of regurgitated blood.

  “Unlock us,” Paul said. “Before he returns.”

  “Tim … he … he,” Beck said. “I—I—I … can’t …”

  “What did you see?” I asked, not knowing it was Wallach until they described him.

  “A man—a strong man,” Paul said. “Whistling some—some tune—like—I don’t know—and he had these—pointed blades for fingers.”

  I unlocked the chains while Paul described the vampire.

  “What … what …” Beck’s words were few and disconnected.

  “The screams woke me,” Paul said.

  I had not heard Tim scream.

  “The girl’s screams,” Paul said. “I thought it was an animal.” He told me that when he saw the chains, he woke the other two. “I thought it was you,” he said. “The whistling—I thought it was you.”