“Darling, which dress should I wear for the party at the Upton’s this evening?” Astrid’s sister, Miranda, interrupted the silence and held out two dresses, one in each arm, a few feet away from her slender frame. She stared at Astrid intently, as if this decision would influence world events.
Astrid blinked away her thoughts, brushing them away like cobwebs. She scanned the baby blue dress, the closest to her, with its pretty pearl neckline and tiny white bows. Then she perused the second dress, a light shade of gold, its bust covered with a thin flaxen mesh with a large golden sash across the waist. Black vertical stripes decorated the skirting.
“That depends, dear sister,” Astrid said. “Do you want to look pretty and sweet or gorgeous and womanly?”
Miranda’s honey colored eyes turned to the opened window. “Pretty. I want to enhance my virginal assets,” she giggled. “Considering Jasper will be there, and you know what a penchant he possesses for innocent young ladies.”
Astrid nodded and smiled into her teacup. She realized, yet again, how different she was from her sister. Miranda’s world was filled with social events and parties, eligible and suitable young men, and expensive accessories. Astrid’s interests were also social in nature, but for social betterment and political changes in her beloved London.
“Things are quite simple in your world, Miranda,” she sighed.
“My world is your world, too,” she answered. “But you complicate it with your illusions of saving it.”
Astrid sat down her teacup and took off her slippers. She pulled on a pair of bronze boots and tied them tightly, accentuating her small ankles. Their father, a member of the House of Lords, provided them with a typical upper-class lifestyle. Yet, Astrid found her heart sang most freely amongst the colorful people in London’s less savory areas. She found herself enjoying their company more than when she was forced to attend daylong parties in one’s finery.
“Those boots are bloody awful,” said Miranda. “Worse than a man’s! Hideous, like old riding boots.”
Astrid smiled as she opened the small desk drawer. She pulled out a handful of brass cogs and levers, along with a small screwdriver. “Indeed,” she smiled. “Imagine! Functional attire made for comfort!” Her sarcasm was lost on her sister, so she arranged the small gears according to size upon her desk.
“Making more accessories for those funny goggles you have?” teased Miranda.
“My objective is to enhance the refraction and magnification,” she answered.
“Oh, excuse me, Miss Inventor. Soon you’ll be flying in one of those airships, by yourself no less.”
“My goal is complete independence, certainly. And why not? Should women not command an airship? Are my skills not equal to a man’s?”
“You won’t have your independence for quite a while,” said Miranda. “Not with the murders and desecrations happening in the East End.”
“Indeed,” remarked Astrid in a neutral tone.
Several women, all poor and mostly prostitutes, had been attacked and left for dead. The women all carried puncture marks on their necks. Most Londoners believed it to be the work of a vampire, yet it was inconceivable that the Society would allow it.
For decades, the Society laws decreed that peace would prevail between humans and the vampires. There had never been a breach by the vampires after the Society came into power, even with their unrepentant desire for human blood. In fact, the humans agreed to donate blood in exchange for the superior health care the Society provided as the guardians of science and genetics.
“Someone else must be trying to shatter the peace,” Astrid said aloud. “It’s too blatantly obvious. It must be a set-up.” Astrid loved London, a city of power, burgeoning with scientific and industrial growth. She imagined the vampires felt the same and thought no one, not even a member of the powerful Society, dared to breach the peace.
The sound of a zeppelin ripping through the air filled her ears. “It must be Father,” said Miranda. “Perhaps he has more information about The Vampire Murders.”
“Miranda. Nothing has been proven. There is no evidence that the murderers are vampires.”
“No evidence? The women were bitten and drained of their blood! And who knows what other atrocities they suffered that are simply unprintable and unfit for the papers! Don’t be naïve!”
“Those rags exaggerate. I don’t believe a thing they print. Our greatest minds created these vampires using human DNA. I can’t imagine they would want to destroy us. They are an extension of us.”
Astrid recalled her father’s story about the emergence of the Vampires and the beginning of the Society. He told of scientists conducting experiments with their own genetic material and the resulting irreversible mutation. Vampires. Vampires were born, some possessing both super-human speed and strength, while others possessed mental telepathy and psychic power.
“You live in a bubble, Astrid,” said Miranda as she brushed her golden curls. The ivory handle of the brush was etched with a dozen octopi. “I am not ignorant of the world. You are.”
***
Gravesend, 1805
A shroud of terror enveloped the city, as a new race was born. From a small factory, a new creature emerged. Scientists had begun to splice and replicate their genetic DNA in order to create a perfect human—both in mind and body—yet an unexpected creature spilled forth. However, the new creatures wouldn’t nurse. Born with small sharp teeth, they bit into their mothers, draining them of life.
Queen Victoria’s government feared and respected the new creatures that roamed the evening streets, searching for new blood. The police constables turned a blind eye as the vampires eradicated most of the street crime by feasting on the criminal element. Yet, soon a change came.
Of their own conscience, the vampires merged together to form the Society for the Betterment of London, a body that governed and protected the citizens, both human and vampire. A Vow of Peace was taken, forbidding any vampire from drinking the blood of a non-willing human and with this vow, the peaceful coexistence began.
In exchange for voluntarily giving blood to the Society, the Society encouraged piety and service amongst its vampires. Their mission was to protect, guide and serve the humans. The Society’s rules were stringent and without mercy. Any vampire who strayed out of its domain would be labeled a rogue, and worse, would suffer the penalty of death.
Chapter Two
Under A Blood Red Sky
London 1860
“This is the seventh woman killed. And we still haven’t found any clues linking the killer to the crime scene.” Mordecai’s icy voice filled the room. “The humans believe it is one of us. I believe, too, that it is one of us.” A strange mixture of anxiety, anger and disbelief lined the edges of his tone.
Castille, Mordecai’s assistant, wrinkled his face as his brow furrowed with tense anger. “That is an outrage. I can’t believe we have a rogue vampire on our hands. In fifty years, nothing of this sort has happened. It must be contrived! A game!” The younger vampire boiled with anger. He had not yet been born when the Society had emerged. He only had the memory of a benevolent vampire. “Our Society is perfect. A rogue vampire is an impossibility.”
“Peace, Castille! It does not serve us well to get riled against one another at this juncture of our governance and investigation.” Mordecai’s robes danced behind him as he rushed to close all of the windows in the room. “Rest assured, we will find the killer, be he human or vampire, and he will pay for his atrocities.” Mordecai’s voice crept around the room, echoing in the corners.
He was the largest and most skilled of the prophetic vampires. His flowing silk robes swept the floor as he walked, making him appear to glide across the floor in fluid motion instead of ambulating the floor. His face remained calm, his skin glowing in a bluish-gray tone, but he knew the killings could be the turning point of both his governance and the Society itself.
The stillness in the room weighed heavy against Mordecai as the Socie
ty members quietly contemplated the possibilities. Using the silence, Mordecai telepathically tuned in to the site of the last murder. His skills included the ability to enter thoughts and manipulate memory, and he could absorb the energy and aura of a location to review past events.
He closed his eyes and emitted a low hum. His mind’s eye wandered through space, floating through time to the slums of the East End. He caught a glimpse of a young well-dressed woman with the carriage of an upper-class young lady, her chestnut hair swept neatly from her pale face. Clad in an emerald green dress, she spoke to a young street boy.
“Don’t be afraid.” The woman’s voice was soft and lilting. Her expression had a sensitivity that was rarely found in London’s gentry, as her dress indicated her membership.
Mordecai entered her mind, he felt a warmth and yearning from her. He felt dissatisfaction and desire. However, he quickly abandoned her thoughts when he saw nothing he could use yet.
“Come with me.” Her soft hands clasped the calloused and darkened with grime hands of the boy. She was firm but loving, and with a maternal grace, she led him down the cobbled street, gently guiding him away from loose stones and horse excrement. The boy acquiesced to her. His face twisted in confused pain, but he was eager to please the regal creature beside him.
Mordecai followed them telepathically, half-curious and half-enamored by the woman’s beauty.
She led him to her horse drawn carriage, and she sat across from him. As soon as the horses began to trot, Mordecai heard the boy speak. His voice was gruff and scratchy as he began his story.
“It was one of them, Lady Astrid,” he rasped. His voice was particularly rough for such a young boy.
Astrid said nothing but laid her hand over the boy’s, smiling encouragement.
“Are you quite certain?” she asked, the softness in her voice a sharp contrast to her strong gaze.
“Yes. Quite.” The boy nodded his head vigorously and began to cough. He looked behind him with fear. “He wore the robes. He had the ring.”
Mordecai felt how the boy’s voice erased the doubt in Lady Astrid’s mind. Damn. It is one of us. He felt himself being pulled back to the moment. He breathed in deeply and continued to hum. I need to see it. I need more than this street boy’s word.
The boy held his head down in pain. His face contorted as Mordecai entered the recesses of his memory.
His head still bowed, his eyes tightly shut, Mordecai raced through the child’s recent memories. I will be quick, child, something so terrifying cannot be hard for me to find.
Mordecai knew he must be fast to make his way through the boy’s mind, for the woman had noticed the boy’s discomfort. Astrid was familiar with the telepathic powers of the Society and the effects upon a young and undeveloped mind. She also knew no human could stop a telepathic vampire.
“Timothy?” she spoke as she gently cupped his chin in her palm. “Timothy, it will be fine. Do you see anything now?”
Timothy tried to speak, but only managed to shake his head.
Mordecai quickly released the boy as he found what he was looking for. He saw a long-robed, tall creature jumping from a five-story roof, upon a helpless woman below. A basket rolled into the street and bread bounce to the curb. He saw the man lay on top of the woman, fully covering her with his robe. Within moments, the creature effortlessly jumped back on the roof, in reverse flight. On the ground, lay the woman. Her once round body all skin and bones, her youthful face shrunken to merely a flesh-covered skull. She had been drained of all fluids.
Try as he might, Mordecai could not see the face of the assailant. One thing was for certain, the attacker was clever. Knowing the risk of telepathic tracking, the vampire had made himself invisible and faceless in memories. Mordecai and the boy could only see a hazy shape of a creature dressed in black robes with no decipherable face or body. But the ring, there is no erasing the ring. He is one of us.
“Timothy! Timothy!” Astrid shook the boy. “Tell me about the ring. What does it look like?”
Timothy felt nausea sweep over him as he gagged. “You don’t believe me?” he asked.
“I do. I just need to be sure.”
“It was oval. A shield carved from jet-black agate and sprinkled with silver, and a red ruby in the center.” His voice was stronger and more confident as he was back in control of his senses.
Mordecai had heard enough and disconnected mentally from their location. His humming silenced as he slowly opened his eyes, the room still and silent. The Society committee members stood before him, staring intently, waiting for what he would say.
“I regret to inform all, that the killer is surely one of us. Of that, there can be no doubt.” Mordecai’s voice was as heavy as the fog outside, blanketing the other members with its abrasive truth. No one questioned him. The committee stood with their gaze to the black and white checkered tile floor.
Mordecai walked to the wall of books and sat at the table. An ornate brass telephone rested on the grey marble. A tense anticipation hung in the room as Mordecai picked up the receiver.
Finally, his voice broke the silence. “Hello. This is Mordecai of the Executive Branch of the Society. Give me the Chief of London Police.”
Chapter Three
Factory of Faith
London 1860
Astrid rode home in her carriage, her heart still racing under her corset. Her dress was crumpled and slightly splattered with mud, but her mind was with Timothy and the disturbing information he had provided. She sat frozen in disbelief, still absorbing that he had witnessed such a brutal murder by a rogue vampire.
She felt the boy cling to her as she led him down the streets, stealthily towards her carriage, his trusting young hand in hers. Astrid worried that she should not have left the boy alone to protect himself. She suspected that a telepathic vampire had entered Timothy’s mind to probe into the night’s happenings.
Perhaps the prophetics pose a risk to Timothy’s life? Perhaps they want to protect their own kind…and perhaps Timothy is in danger. She knew she had no way to protect him. She could not take him home like a lost dog—her father had had enough of her philanthropy, her “bleeding heart” as he liked to say. Taking in a boy from the slums would have been the last straw. Yet, as she rode back home, she wondered if he’d be safe alone.
“Stop! Turn back, William.”
William, the driver, had known Astrid since she was a young girl. He knew better than to argue with her once she had come to a decision, and her tone indicated that her mind was set upon something. Quickly, he turned the horses around.
“Where to, Miss West?”
“Back to the street where we found the boy.” Astrid felt a peaceful contentment as she uttered the words. Her heart pounded with anticipation.
“I hope he hasn’t wandered far off,” she said, trying to ignore her inner fear for his safety.
William—a middle-aged man with graying hair, twinkling eyes, and a moustache that made him look like a shrunken walrus—had often witnessed Astrid’s concern for the poor and underclass. He knew her heart wanted to help the boy, yet he also knew Lord West would be furiously irked if she brought the ragamuffin child home with her.
They reached the area where Timothy was last seen, the streets had become quiet and empty, and all were strangely deserted. The boy had vanished as well. Constance alighted from her carriage and desperately looked for him along his usual streets, but to no avail.
“He’s gone home. Or he’s gone inside for supper, Lady Astrid.” William’s voice was falsely reassuring. He knew the boy had no real home to go to. “I’m sure he’s safe,” he tried again, but Astrid’s senses narrowed into the alleys around her, trying to spot the slightest trace of the young boy.
Down an alleyway on the east side of the road, the chirpy laugh of a woman resounded from behind the row of houses. Astrid ran down the narrow alley as the sharp smell of urine filled her nostrils. She squinted into the dark passage as William huffed behind her, jogg
ing to keep up.
Astrid made her way over the puddles; garbage lined the alley and wild cats hissed from the tiny window frames. The alley ended in a makeshift courtyard, dark but still semi-lit from the setting sun. Five women sat together on benches, all dressed in gaudily bright, but well-worn frocks, with bright lipstick and rouge painting their weathered faces. They laughed in unison at a joke, sitting with their knees apart and dresses hiked over their ankles.
Prostitutes she realized as she caught her breath.
In the midst of the colorful women sat Timothy, a large smile on his face, his dirty hands wrapped around a bowl of soup. A strong whiff of perfume assaulted Astrid as the wind changed direction. Her eyes watered from the sour stench.
“Timothy?” Astrid couldn’t hide the frantic concern in her voice. Her gaze softened as she found him.
Timothy’s eyes flew towards the alley, surprised to see Lady Astrid deep in the bowels of the slums. As Astrid ran towards him, all five women protectively rose up, their smiles erased with a grim look of distrust taking its place. However, as she moved closer to them, their faces relaxed, for Astrid’s acts of charity were not unknown to them.
“Lady Astrid, what brings you here tonight, to our part of the world?” asked the youngest girl.
“Good evening, ladies,” said Astrid, taken aback that they knew her name. “Timothy…I was…worried for him.”
Astrid moved closer and could see the women’s faces as clearly as they could see hers. She realized she had seen most of them before on the streets looking for work.
“Timothy is safe with us, Lady Astrid.” The largest lady spoke as she placed her arms protectively around Timmy’s shoulders. “You have nothing to worry about with him. We all take good care of him. He has us all. Every one of us claims him as our own.”
“I’m so sorry about Margaret.” Astrid knew the last woman that had been killed associated with the women. As the words escaped her mouth, a veil of gloom descended upon the women. An eerie silence filled the courtyard.
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