Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1)

by Martyn Stanley

  Once she’d collected a glass and extracted some Immortal Paradox into it, she took it to Stoney’s room. He was sitting on his bed, playing a game on his phone. Ofelia sat next to him and handed him the glass. ‘Here. You know I can’t keep giving you this stuff - it’s not good for you. You staring at screen every night isn’t helping you sleep. Tomorrow, screens off at seven and you read. I catch you on screen after seven - I break your arms.’

  He grimaced, then noticed her sarcastic smile. ‘Alright Offers, I’ll give it a go.’

  She patted him on the thigh as she got up. ‘Good. Good boy Stoney.’

  Ofelia left Stoney and returned to her room. She finished the chapter she’d been on in her book and turned the lights out.

  ***

  That night Ofelia dreamed again. This time she was in the narrow alleys of 16th century Avignon. Amicia, now a withered old lady, was leading her by the hand, talking to her in French. [Come on Ofelia, the bridge is this way.]

  Ofelia allowed herself to be led. Eventually they emerged through a narrow archway to the waterfront. They could see the Pont d’Avignon ahead. Revellers were dancing around holding hands under the first arch. The bridge stretched out over the water, winding its way over the Rhône, its piers scattered over so many small islands. Holding Ofelia’s hand firmly, Amicia jogged towards the gatehouse where travellers entered the bridge. Ofelia looked up to Amicia. [Do you have the toll?]

  A black-toothed peasant walking the other way heard and growled at them. [You won’t need your toll! Another bloody arch has collapsed since the waters rose. You won’t be crossing today.]

  Ofelia groaned at this. She had to get out of the city. It was dusk, and she was hidden beneath a large, hooded cloak, but she had a distinctive look and wanted posters had been displayed around the city. As Amicia turned and pulled her out of the gatehouse, she mumbled. [What are we going to do now?]

  Amicia smiled at her. [Don’t worry - I have an idea. You remember that time you told me about when they threw you over the side of the ship? They thought you’d drown, but you found you don’t need to breathe?]

  [I don’t want to get wet!] complained Ofelia.

  Amicia leaned down and looked her in the eye sternly. [You have to! This is the only way out of the city without you killing guards. Trust me.]

  The dream faded and reassembled itself. Now she was underwater, clinging to the bottom of a rowing boat. She could hear the splashes and the clacking of wood in oarlocks, she was leaving Avignon. Amicia had stolen a fisherman’s rowing boat. The soldiers had insisted on looking inside the boat, but Ofelia had been beneath, clinging to the hull. How they’d explain the blackened, crumbling corpse of Francois Caron, with a wooden stake protruding from his heart - she couldn’t guess. The seven children and four adults they’d freed from his cellars had been weak and confused - they wouldn’t breathe a word. Even if they did though - who would believe them?

  Ofelia clung hard to the boat and listened to the splashing oars. The Kingdom of France had lost its last vampire as far as she was aware. It was time to leave for Madrid, to slay a vampire she knew of, who was hiding as a scribe serving the court of Phillip II of Spain.

  Chapter 15 - Return to Tempest House

  Ofelia awoke in the middle of the night. Again, she stole into Stoney’s room and fed on him. The craving had subsided somewhat though and she could exercise enough control to be careful. Tonight Stoney would get a double dose of sedative and might even sleep in until lunchtime. It was necessary - but she didn’t feel good about herself. Twice she’d fed on Stoney now without his consent. Was it time to let him in on the secret? No, she told herself. Once a secret was told to four people, it was no longer a secret. She’d have to find another way of managing her feeding and hope that the effects of the blood exchange would finally be over with.

  ***

  The next morning Stoney slept in as expected. Ofelia didn’t wait to see what time he got up because Rita turned up at nine-thirty, to take her to see Victor as promised. Rita drove Ofelia to Tempest House - the rambling old pile Ollie had shown her. It wasn’t far from Ollie’s house, but the drive there seemed longer than she’d expected. The car meandered around winding roads, towards a sharp hairpin bend by a sheer drop to the reservoir, then into a forested area. After an endless sea of forest, Rita pulled in between a pair of grand stone gateposts; one topped with a griffin, the other a gargoyle. The gates opened automatically. The gravel drive was lined with ancient oaks and they were driving for another five minutes before the house even came into view. Any other kids would’ve been thrilled at the thought of being fostered by a wealthy man with a mansion like this. There were just so many questions about Victor though. Ofelia grew increasingly anxious the closer they got to the house. Rita drew the car up at the front between a large pond with a fountain in the centre and a stone porch with stairs leading up the sides to grand, double-doors. Rita’s Audi ground to a halt and she pulled the handbrake on. Ofelia reached for her rear door handle and pulled, to no effect. Clearly, Rita kept the child-locks on her car active at all times. The house was quiet; all Ofelia could hear was the splattering of the fountain into the pool and the crunching of Rita’s shoes on the loose gravel. It was a sunny day; luckily she’d plastered herself in factor fifty. Now, as Rita opened the door, she pulled her dark glasses over her eyes and swung her legs out.

  Ofelia’s trainers crunched on the gravel with every step. The house loomed over them like an ancient castle. Rita led the way up the steps and once they were both standing in front of the impressive double-doors, she knocked three times. The house sounded eerily empty, so Ofelia reached over and pressed an ancient, brass-surrounded ceramic button, emblazoned with the legend ‘Ring’. They both heard the antique bell clanging inside. The sound was soon followed by the clicking of heels on a hard wooden floor.

  A pale and gaunt girl opened the door. She looked drawn and tired, and was wearing a simple, traditional maid’s uniform. Rita spoke. ‘Morning, we’re here to see Mr. Drake. Is he in?’

  The girl sighed. ‘The master is expecting you. Please come in.’

  Rita and Ofelia stepped into an oak panel-lined entrance hall, complete with a grand, hand-carved, oak staircase decorated with a pair of medieval suits of armour at the bottom. Just as the maid was about to offer them a seat, Victor appeared from behind the staircase. He was wearing tennis whites, contrasting with his tanned skin. He grinned when he saw them. ‘Rita! Ofelia! I thought I heard a car on the drive. Welcome, welcome. Can I offer you a drink?’

  Rita shook her head. ‘Sorry Vic, but I’ve got to shoot off. I’ve got an appointment at twelve. I wanted to let you know though - your approval has come through. You’re ready to foster. I have to say, I was a little surprised. It seems unconventional a guy-’

  Victor interrupted her. ‘I have connections. People owe me favours. I know it’d typically be a family or a couple offering Ofelia a home, but surely you can see what I have to offer?’

  Rita glanced around at the expansive grounds and stately home. It still didn’t sit right. She’d filed Victor’s applications, fully expecting them to be rejected. She hadn’t expected him to be approved for fostering and adoption, let alone have his approval expedited. She nodded and smiled. ‘Well, that is true.’

  She turned to Ofelia and offered her a business card, ‘Can I leave you two to get to know each other a bit? Here’s my card in case you’ve lost my number. Call me if you need anything. Victor said he’d give you lunch, so if I don’t hear otherwise I’ll pick you up at 3pm.’

  ‘Fine,’ Ofelia said - not taking her eyes off Victor.

  As Rita left, Victor stepped closer. ‘Welcome to my humble home. I was just out on the court - practising my forehand. Do you play tennis?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not the sporty type.’

  ‘You should be! It’s good for you. Would you like a drink?’

  Ofelia nodded. ‘Coke please.’

  Victor turned to the maid. ‘Na
ncy, fetch Ofelia a glass of Coke, now.’

  The maid curtseyed. ‘Right away sir.’ then scuttled off down the corridor.

  Ofelia eyed Victor with suspicion and waited until she was out of earshot. ‘Servants? Really? That’s a little bit eighteenth century isn’t it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t like wasting my time doing things I don’t like, but I can pay other people to do. I can afford it. I have three live-in maids, they work four-day shifts and they cover each other for holidays. I also have a full-time gardener - he lives in the gamekeeper’s cottage down by the woods. The maids do all the cleaning, washing, ironing and cooking. But I like to cook myself sometimes. Would you like a tour of the house first?’

  Ofelia shook her head and glared at him. ‘No. We need to talk.’

  ‘The terrace then. Follow me.’

  Victor led her behind the massive staircase and down a long, portrait-adorned gallery towards a light and airy orangery. As she traversed the long hall of old paintings, she glanced at the historical figures staring down at her. One or two looked familiar, but she couldn’t place them. If she had seen them, it wasn’t for over a hundred years given the ages of the portraits. It would’ve been hard to recognize them anyway - the style of these old portraits was for artists to paint the nobles not as they looked, but as how the nobles wanted people to think they looked. The men were painted taller and more handsome than they were and the women, more beautiful. Beyond the orangery, Victor led her out onto a large stone-flagged terrace with a bistro table and chair in the corner, overlooking the fountain at the front of the house and the tennis court to the side. He pulled a chair out for her. ‘Please. Sit.’

  Ofelia adjusted her glasses to ensure her eyes were protected and plonked herself down on the seat. Victor sat opposite. ‘So... have you thought about my offer? I can register you as home-schooled; you can have the freedom of this place, I can even arrange for a servant to take you out somewhere. You can go wherever you want.’

  Ofelia grimaced. ‘I don’t know what you want. I don’t trust you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I can understand that. You don’t know me. All I want is to help you and to take a sample of your blood - to study.’

  ‘You know something. What do you want with my blood?’

  ‘To study it. That’s all.’ Victor insisted.

  Before Ofelia could respond, Nancy arrived with a tray carrying an ice-cold bottle of Cola and a glass with ice cubes and a slice of lemon in it. She placed the tray down then poured half of the bottle into the glass. ‘Is there anything else Master Drake?’

  ‘Not for now, you may carry on with your chores.’

  She curtseyed and vanished.

  Ofelia took a sip of drink, then sat up. ‘Okay. Say I decide to humour you. I consider your offer seriously. You seem to know a lot about vampire. I have questions for you.’

  Victor threw his arms up and smiled. ‘Fire away!’

  Taking her folded piece of paper out of her pocket, Ofelia held it up and read. ‘Firstly. Where do vampires come from?’

  Victor listened, paused for effect, then explained. ‘What you think of as vampires. What you ARE is a human vampire hybrid, created when you were infected with the Immortal Paradox - the intelligent symbiote I told you about. I’ve heard all the legends! There’s one that says it started with Vlad Tepes, there’s one saying the Wandering Jew was the first vampire, there’s a story about Judas Iscariot, another saying it was a curse started by Adam’s first wife Lillith... I even heard a version suggesting an ancient Hindu Guru did a deal with Kali - their goddess of death. None of these stories are true though. The truth is the first human vampire hybrids were created a long time ago by something we can refer to as a founder vampire. A handful of these found themselves in our world a long time ago, but they are from another dimension. So far as I know, all the founder vampires died thousands of years ago. They could create a human hybrid vampires just by biting them, or feeding them Founder blood.’

  Ofelia’s jaw dropped. ‘Thousands of years? How long have vampires been-’

  ‘Around? For a long time. There were human hybrid vampires in the court of Pharaoh Khufu as far back as 2500 BC. They were probably around before that, but written records only go back so far.’

  Ofelia sipped her drink again and leaned back in her chair. ‘So, how do you make a person into a vampire?’

  Victor stared at her and waited a long time before answering. ‘I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.’

  It was the answer Ofelia had expected, but was he being honest? At this point she realised an important question she hadn’t thought of. She leaned over the table and pointed a finger at him. ‘You know another vampire! Who are they?’

  Victor sighed. ‘You thought you were the last vampire, but you are not. So far as I am aware there are only two remaining vampires. You are one, the other I’m afraid, wishes to remain anonymous.’

  Ofelia studied Victor properly now. He was sitting in bright sunshine, looking tanned and healthy. He wasn’t even wearing dark glasses. For just a moment, she’d wondered if he was the vampire, but then she dismissed the idea. Then she considered Nancy - Victor’s servant, but quickly dismissed that idea as well. Could she ask Victor how old the other vampire was? She suspected it would compromise their anonymity and decided he wouldn’t tell her. ‘So are you still in contact with them?’

  Victor looked stern now. ‘Ofelia, drop the subject. I don’t want to talk about that. Any other questions?’

  She took a swig of pop now and leaned back in her chair. ‘Okay, when I went into hospital earlier this week they took my blood out and replaced it with healthy blood.’

  ‘Blood from the bank without the Immortal Paradox in it?’ Victor interrupted.

  ‘Right. But instead of making me human again, or making me feel like I don’t need to feed - it sent me into the craving straight away, it make me feel ill. I had to feed about four times when I shouldn’t have had to feed at all. Why?’

  ‘The Immortal Paradox isn’t just in your blood,’ Victor began, ‘it’s a living, breathing organism that lives inside you. It uses your blood vessels to communicate with itself and to send itself around your body, and I think to cool it. To sustain itself and to repair your body, it metabolizes red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets and plasma. Blood injected into your veins is not processed. In order for the Immortal Paradox to metabolize blood, it has to pass through your stomach.’

  Ofelia listened. It made sense. What didn’t make sense was how much Victor seemed to know about vampires. ‘Okay, different question. Why am I so good at things? Is it just because I have long time to learn or-’

  ‘No, I think there’s more to it than that,’ Victor interrupted. ‘During childhood and adolescence, your prefrontal cortex is still developing. As an adult you see things exactly as they are - you’re less creative. Children are flexible and designed to learn. Adults are more fixed and designed to perform. You’ve been a child for centuries, you’re unique in that respect. Children learn faster than adults and you’ve been a child for a long time.’

  Again this made sense. Learning had always come fairly naturally to Ofelia as it did to most children. If she’d been turned as an adult, maybe her abilities wouldn’t have been so impressive? ‘Okay Victor. Do you know of any other immortals?’

  Victor stroked his chin, ‘Other than vampires you mean? I don’t know. I know of two vampires living today... I did meet a boy in a small village near Newcastle-upon-Tyne about ten years ago. I was sure he was the same boy I’d seen thirty years earlier, but he hadn’t aged a day. I don’t think he was a vampire though. The Immortal Paradox repairs and maintains your teeth, he had an odd dress sense and his teeth looked like they’d seen centuries of wear.’

  Ofelia considered this. There had never been many immortals so far as she knew, but most people didn’t know about vampires. It was perfectly plausible that there were other, rare immortals that she didn’t know about. Victor perked
up suddenly. ‘Oh, and I forgot! There was a sixteenth century witch called Florence Wenham. She had one of the copies of “In Libro De Davoth” and it’s been speculated that she was actually a much older person, who’d survived through the centuries by stealing young people’s bodies and transferring their mind into her old and withered body. I believe she was executed for witchcraft in the mid sixteen-hundreds though. Haven’t we talked enough? Let me show you the house. Let me show you what I’m offering. Rita seems to have pulled some strings. It normally takes months to secure approval to foster, but I’m ready. I think she likes me. If you like what you see and you want to move in, you can. Tomorrow if you want.’

  This was sudden. Ofelia finished her coke and clicked the glass down. ‘What about feeding? I’ve had to feed on one of my housemates twice. I need to-’

  ‘Easily solved.’ smiled Victor, standing up. ‘I have servants remember? You won’t do them any real harm if you feed on them. You just have to sneak into their room in the dead of night. They never need to know.’

  ‘I don’t like feeding on people without their consent!’ Ofelia snapped, grumpily.

  ‘I wondered if you’d feel that way. If you won’t feed on the servants, then there are other ways. I have a contact who says he can get me stocks of human blood from the blood bank. Now come and see the house.’

  Ofelia rose and followed Victor from the terrace. She noticed a tennis ball launcher on the court, it must have been what Victor was using to practise. They explored the expansive mansion room by room. Each room was furnished with antiques, some of which looked nearly as old as Ofelia. The walls were adorned with portraits and tapestries. When they entered the main hall and began ascending the stairs, they were faced with a towering portrait of what looked like a seventeenth century aristocrat - dressed for the hunt with hounds at his feet. The painting bore a striking resemblance to Victor. Ofelia noticed. ‘An ancestor of yours?’