by Logan Keys
By the time we reach our rooms, my head is hanging and I’m yawning. Mother kisses me on the forehead. “Night, night, Barnaby. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
After stashing the book in my suitcase, I fall into bed and drift off to sleep. My dreams are filled with Father Ernesto and the apostles, and beasts and monsters. One roars in the darkness: liberty.
—3—
They come without warning, a procession of Rolls-Royce Phantom VI Limousine with tinted glass windows in the middle of the night. Mother says nothing good ever comes at night, but the sight before me is a marvel.
The nightlights of the castle flicker on in puffs. They turn the stone into a golden yellow. It’s a soft shade for a monument built for defense.
Black cars contrast against the white of the snow. I count the limousines from my bedroom window. One, two, three, and when it gets to ten I stop because they keep on coming.
Curiously, the cars park in a perfect line, except for the last one. That one drives slower than the rest, as if the occupants are taking in all of their surrounds. The car stops in the middle of the courtyard, tail lights flashing.
I can’t see beyond the tint on the windows, but as I stare, I feel the return of a heavy gaze. Ducking down, I sit on the floor trying to coordinate my bent spine and legs stiff from sleep.
Father and Mother are on the landing. Their voices are urgent hushed hisses and whispers. “Why are they here, August? I thought we had more time. We should never have brought, Barnaby.”
“Hush, Melinda. We had to bring Barnaby. There was no other choice. I’ll go and talk to them. You get ready to leave.”
Mother cracks open my bedroom door. “Barnaby, I know you’re awake. You sound like a heard of elephants in there. Be a dear and get dressed. We need to leave, so hurry.”
Father’s voice wafts up from the courtyard below. Pompous, even in greeting to these strangers, there’s a shake in it, a crack in his deep timbre. My sire doesn’t quake in his boots for anybody, even when he should.
If a golden man like my father is afraid of these people, who can they be? Clambering back up to the window for a peek, a woman stands before him. She has an army behind her.
Her followers stand in a shape of the prow of a boat. They’re colorful in skin, hair, and clothing. Rough sorts with surly faces and contemptuous looks.
They eye my father as if they want to kill him and they’ve only just met him. I think that’s unjust. They should at least interact with him before reaching that conclusion.
They’re not dressed for this type of weather, either. Bare armed with their skin showing and the snow is steadily falling. As the flakes hit them, they don’t even flinch.
I shiver on their behalf. This is all entirely odd. What are they?
A rock band? A circus? It would explain the hair and attitudes.
I could believe that, except for her. She’s the opposite of a rough sort. Dressed in white, her garment is long and flowing accentuated by her ebony skin. Black hair pulled up on her head, her cheekbones dip almost into her lips.
She’s the type of lady Mother warns me not to approach. Not because Mother fears for my safety. She’s just afraid I’ll embarrass her in public.
“My Lady.” My father nods his head. He holds a lit torch in his hand his arm extended right out toward her face. “We had a deal. Safe passage for my family.”
The woman’s eyes lift to mine. They’re dark and compelling with a hint of red in the light. My heart races at a full gallop and I stagger dropping down out of sight.
I’ve been marked. I’m sure of it. I cross myself, even though I’m not Catholic. It just seems like the right thing to do and to be honest, I feel like I need some power from above.
“So long as you’ve kept your end of the bargain, we’ll keep ours.” The Lady’s voice is hypnotic and accented with something foreign. Her words are a song crawling around my senses and luring me in.
I want to go to her, beg her to allow me to be close. I’m on my feet before I know it. As my soles touch the icy tiles, I come to.
What am I doing? I don’t even know this woman. I certainly don’t like the company she keeps.
“Where is Lucinda?” Father’s voice grates in comparison to the Lady’s. “That is part of the deal.”
The Lady’s laugh is melodious. There’s a stir in the air as if wings beat a tribal rhythm that makes everyone want to dance. “Lucinda is safe and she’ll remain that way if you’ve kept your word.”
Her voice dripping with condescension breaks the spell. It’s as if all this is amusing and beneath her. I don’t like this – any of it.
Hauling on clothes, questions hammer my brain. What bargain are they talking about? Why would my father have to secure a promise of safety from this woman?
The only Lucinda I know is my honorary aunt who is Mother’s old high school friend. She’s an odd, pinch-faced woman with an intense stare and a penchant for cats. I can’t imagine a scenario where Lucinda and these people would share the same company.
At the knock on my door, I grab my suitcase. Mother’s dressed for winter with a coat on and a scarf tied around her head. She jams a stick inside her coat and attempts a smile.
“Now, whatever happens, Barnaby, don’t make eye contact with these people. Keep your head down. Stay behind me and as soon as we’re in the courtyard head to our car.”
Curiosity burns my tongue. “What’s going on? Who are these people?”
Mother presses her lips together. “We’ll explain everything later. Right now we just need to get out of here. They won’t wait long.”
We meet Father outside. The cold night air freezes my cheeks. A ripple goes through the air - a hint of discontent and anger.
I poke my tongue out and taste it. It’s not unpleasant. Better than the escargot I was once forced to eat in France as ‘experience’.
The Lady’s eyes meet mine and it feels like she can see straight through me. I drop eye contact and stuff my face in my coat following Mother to the car. I pray I won’t fall flat on my face in the ice with my hop-shuffle-sprint.
Mother opens the door of our Austin 1100 and shoves me in. Our car looks rather shabby in comparison to the fleet of Rolls-Royce, but at least it’s safe. Starting the car up, she drives toward Father and leaves the engine running.
Father hasn’t dropped his torch. If anything, the flames lick higher and are pointed at the Lady and her army. I’m not sure what good one torch will do against those people because they could swarm him.
They’re leaning forward toward Father. He and the Lady are in some sort of staring contest. I don’t want my father out there alone in the dark with them.
Winding down my window, I plead. “Come on, Father. Let’s go, please.”
The Lady lifts a hand to her army and they move inside past my father nearly knocking him over. How rude. They must have learned their manners in the colonies or places where good graces don’t mean as much as they do in England.
Father drops the torch and scrambles into the passenger’s side of the car. As we drive off, I turn around for a last glimpse of the castle. The Lady is waiting, feet planted on the icy ground, smiling at me.
—4—
The road down the mountain is blanketed in fog and a swirling snowdrift. Our windscreen wipers and headlights are on full trying to contend with the big flakes landing on our car. Outside is white as far as the eye can see and the only colors are patches of blacks and browns on the outline of houses.
Inside the car is as silent as a tomb. I wait for my parents to explain themselves, but the only sound is the screech of rubber across glass. Clearing my throat, I start a conversation that has the potential to end in a thrashing.
“What’s going on?” I demand in a gush of words. “Who were those people? What bargain did you make, Father? Why did we have to leave in the middle of the night? And what has Aunt Lucinda got to do with all this.”
“Not now, Barnaby,” Father sighs. He turns his
head to face me in the backseat. “We need to get to safety.”
Anger bursts in my chest. “If not now, when? I’m in this, too. If you’re speaking about safety that means we’re in danger. I think I have the right to know what I’m in danger from.”
“He’s got a point, August.” Mother changes gear and drives faster. “We were supposed to bring him into the family business and we’ve done a dashed bad job. There’s no time like the present.”
Father grunts in the passenger’s seat. “Fair enough. Barnaby, I don’t have time for a long explanation, so I’m just going to give you the short version. Your mother and I work for an organization that guards against dark forces. Six months ago, Aunt Lucinda went missing. She is,” he pauses, “a powerful witch with a particular talent for scrying and locating spells.”
I scratch my temples. Aunt Lucinda a powerful witch? That makes no sense. She’s a cardigan wearing, tea-drinking woman who hates rock music, and knits ponchos for fun.
“Organization?” I sneer. “I thought you were the Director of Antiquities at the British Museum. And dark forces, witches? This sounds like gobbledygook.”
Maybe my father took a blow to the head back at the castle that I’m unaware of. I wait for Mother to correct him, but her eyes are focused straight ahead on the road. If this is true, it’s everything I ever dreamed of when I was reading books, but not now at night on a mountain road with weird, sinister people in Castello de Ambrogio behind us.
“Barnaby.” Father sighs in a tone that brooks no opposition. “Please, don’t interrupt.”
Fair enough.
“We worked out that dark forces were searching for the location of a monster that had been entombed centuries ago. He was the original vampire creating a line of descendants who have been a scourge on humanity. So secret is this final resting place that all reference to it has been divided up into separate texts and distributed for safekeeping across Europe. Until this year, that secret had held.”
Chills settle on my shoulders. “Vampires? What’s the original’s name?”
I know I should keep my trap shut, but I can’t. I’ve always needed details to make sense of the world. Something that’s caused my father considerable consternation and me the recipient of his firm rebukes.
“He’s known by many names,” Father adds, “but we shall call him Nosferatu. Some say he’s Dracula, but Nosferatu is older than Dracula. Some say he’s the devil, but I disagree with that assumption. What we all can agree on is that his re-entry into the world of the living would be a disaster and we can’t let that happen.”
His words roll around my head. I’m still unconvinced, but he believes and so does my mother. If her silence is anything to go by and she’s the most sensible person I know.
“I’ve never heard of Nosferatu,” I splutter. “But I have heard of Dracula. Who’s the Lady back at the Castle? Mrs. Dracula?”
Father barks out a laugh. “That’s as good a name for her as any. She’s a powerful, ancient vampire, second generation, direct descendant of Nosferatu. We can track our reversal of fortune to the rise of her. She became leader of the European vampires a year ago and has been a thorn in our side ever since.”
“So why have you made a bargain with her if she’s an enemy?” I stretch my legs out and try to ease the tension in my back. “They look like supernatural ruffians, not the sort to be trusted and if you don’t want them to know where this original is, why did you do it?”
“Barnaby dearest,” Mother groans. “We didn’t have much choice in the matter. We’re trying to save Aunt Lucinda.”
Father sighs. “Your mother is right. Goodness knows what Lucinda’s endured.”
Silence presses in and my imagination fills in the blanks. The Lady and her Army reeked of danger and something else. Something… unnatural.
“What do you mean?” I’m not sure I want to know. “What exactly is the bargain?”
“As per usual, your father needs a translator.” Mother’s words are harsh, but her tone is teasing. “The texts regarding Nosferatu were hidden in other works and kept separate from one another. Together, they give a pretty good indication of where the tomb is. Unlike Mrs. Dracula, we knew where the first part of the text was in Switzerland, so we took a risk. We bargained Lucinda’s life and our own with it.”
“But isn’t it dangerous to give it to them?” I snap. “No offence to Aunt Lucinda, but surely keeping the location out of their clutches is more important?”
Mother’s head twitches to the side. “Barnaby, I’m going to ignore what you said about the importance or lack thereof for someone you’ve known your entire life and is my best friend. I’m going to put it down to stress and the fact you’ve had an awful fright. I want to assure you that the risk we took was calculated. We have no intention of handing over the book to them. You see, Lucinda isn’t the only powerful witch you know. I am too. I spelled the book so no supernatural entity can decipher it and the only beings who can are humans with good hearts. Any human who aligns with those devils are either compelled or evil.”
My. Mother. Is. A. Witch.
“What?” I splutter. “You spelled… you’re a—“
Father chuckles, even though none of this is funny. “I’m sorry, Barnaby. We should have told you earlier, but you showed no sign of any magical abilities like your mother, so we thought we’d spare you until you were older. I have none either, but my family, your family, has guarded good witches and supernaturals since the beginning of time. We’re the Watchers and one day, if that’s your calling you will be too.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “One day – if we get through any of this. What happens if they find out what you’ve done before we get out of here? They’ll be angry, won’t they?”
“Clever boy,” Mother says. “But this is the game of beasts and men. We’ve done this since the dawn of time. We make technical bargains and fight on the details. We’ve upheld our end within the letter of the law. They can’t fault us on that and they knew, excuse the pun, the devil would be in the detail.”
My heart beats a dull thud at the words Mother used. “This book,” I start. “What was its title?”
My parents glance at one another.
“Why?” My father demands, but Mother cuts him off.
“Aetas Hominis et Bestiae, which loosely translates to—“
“The Age of Beasts and Men,” I finish. My hands begin to shake. “What happens if that book isn’t at the Castle?”
“Barnaby.” My father turns to face me. “What are you trying to say?”
Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back. “I didn’t know.” I sniff. “It’s not at the castle. It’s in my suitcase.”
My words hang in the air and so do the implications. I’ve killed Aunt Lucinda and us, too. Mrs. Dracula and her fiends are going to rip us apart.
“You blasted fool of a boy,” Father bellows. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve just done?”
My stomach heaves. I clap a hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s done is done.” The North is strong in my mother’s vowels. They always slip out when she’s angry or terrified. “How could you know, Barnaby? We didn’t tell you and we should have.”
Father is silent, but his fury pervades the car. It’s just like me to mess things up without even trying. I have no magical abilities, but my idiot ones seem magnified.
“We could take the book back?” I whine. “Tell them it was a horrible mistake.”
“No, Barnaby,” Mother says. “It won’t make any difference. Our thanks will be for them to kill us all in unspeakable ways or worse. They might turn us into one of them.”
I shudder. Both options are repulsive. “I didn’t mean to make a hash of things.”
“You weren’t to know about the book, Barnaby.” Father sighs. “Even though I expressly told you to stay out of the Library. We need to make the best of it now.”
The best of it? It’s clear without Father saying it. We’re all goi
ng to die.
“Not to worry.” Mother nods. “We’re not without allies around here. We just don’t acknowledge each other in public.”
“Hurry, Melinda,” Father urges. “They’ll be coming.”
—5—
Mother holds a stick in her right hand pressed against the steering wheel. She drives with determination toward a village called Buona Fortuna. It means “good fortune” and we could do with some of that right about now.
The snow is heavier here and visibility is limited to what’s right in front of us. It’s as if the universe is putting everything in our way to make it easier for our enemies to find us. A shadow passes over us and then another and another.
It’s like a rift in the air. As if something is ripping it apart. I press my face to the car window, but whatever it was is gone.
Beasts lo in the darkness and then they screech in agony before being cut off mid scream. Their silence is worse than the screaming. I’ve never heard anything like it and I never want to again.
Tears blur my vision. Whatever is happening to them is what awaits us and Aunt Lucinda, or anyone who crosses their path. I once longed to be a hero, but really, I’m the fool who unleashed hell upon his family.
Mother turns up a steep incline into a cobblestone road, engine revving. The car slips and slides, but she continues until we’re in front of a large building with a wrought iron gate. Father hops out of the car and rings a bell.
“Where are we?” I speak to the back of Mother’s head. “Who are these people?”
“This is a Franciscan monastery.” Mother’s voice cracks. “They’ll help us.”
The gate swings wide and Mother drives through parking in a small courtyard. People with lanterns meet us. Silent, somber figures in robes.
Hopping out of the car, I turn back toward my father, but he’s no longer at the gate. He’s not in the courtyard either. Icy fear trickles down my back.
I walk toward the open gate, my clunky footsteps echoing in the dark. “Father,” I call out, but there’s no answer. Fear claws at my throat.
Voices outside the gate carry me forward. They’re angry and I recognize my father’s baritone. Someone else is crying.