The Parchment (The Memory of Blood)

by Sylvie Brisset

  "No. We had a discussion, but in another room."

  "According to Casper, the other vampire is your mother's torturer," Clothilde said. "I'm sorry for you. The confrontation had to be painful."

  Delatour looked at Clothilde with blank stare. Empathy, which she showed to him, besides the fact that he was not used to it, made him uncomfortable. In some ways it reminded him of his mother and it awakened in him too much guilt.

  "He follows the orders of another vampire whose name is Charles," Delatour specified, turning to Silvo.

  The mistrust and near antipathy that Silvo demonstrated was much more comfortable. "A vampire you know?"

  "No."

  At least he hoped he was a vampire. But he preferred to silence his doubts. Charles knew, or rather pretended to know him, but he also kept this for himself. Anyway, for now it did not change the situation.

  "What are his intentions?"

  "I do not know. And I'm not sure he knows himself."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't think he has a specific plan, it's more like improvisation."

  "According to Casper, he must be powerful to control a vampire like Childeric."

  "One does not exclude the other."

  "What is the relationship with the manuscript?"

  "He held it before having it stolen and came to get it back. He had heard about the prowess of Mystie and wanted to take the opportunity to learn about her nature. But I do not think he wants to hurt her, just to know more about her. He said he would release her the day he leaves the country."

  "You believe he is sincere?"

  "Hard to say."

  Especially because, thought Delatour, he had not even claimed the manuscript. Clearly something else went to the foreground. But what?

  It itched Casper and Silvo to ask him explanations for his lack of cooperation, but they decided by mutual agreement to speak about it only when everything would be finished. It was useless to launch the debate now.

  "Do you really tell us everything this time?" Casper could not restrain himself from asking.

  "All that I know. Yes."

  "Yeah. Like last night."

  "I had to deliver the scroll to the clinic. I do not see what the problem is."

  "Stop your squabbling!" Clothilde intervened. "I remind you that my granddaughter is a prisoner of vampires!" She finished her sentence as a hiccup, holding back tears.

  "Why did they release you?" Silvo asked. "I do not understand. Having organized all this, they let you go. Think about it! What you have said has forced them to change their plans?"

  "I do not have a clue. I assure you."

  "Do you really think they will release Mystie?" Clothilde asked.

  "I do not know. Honestly!"

  Silvo took out a map of the basement of the clinic that he unfolded on the hood of the car.

  "In any case, they chose their place well. We cannot intervene with force without risking a massacre."

  "Not to mention all the blood bags stored here," Casper added. "Cafeteria for a vampire."

  "The protected room is here," Silvo said, pointing a finger at a square on the map.

  "What does this sign mean?" Casper asked.

  "High Voltage. A priori it is an electric cupboard."

  "And Mystie would be in there?" Clothilde doubted. "It's just a big closet."

  "Enough anyway for a person to slip in, if the cabinet is recessed. We must neglect nothing. Otherwise why protect it with a magical field? They could not anticipate our coming."

  Delatour did not listen anymore and Silvo followed his gaze. The vampire turned toward the entrance to the clinic and stared at two men walking towards the car park.

  "They are leaving again!" Casper commented.

  Delatour ran to his car before anyone could intervene.

  "Wait!" Silvo shouted.

  But the vampire did not even slow his pace.

  "So much for discretion!" Silvo grumbled. "Casper goes with him. I called the helicopter to follow them and get us back. Meanwhile, Clothilde and I'll check this electrical room. They may have decided to abandon Mystie here."

  While he was giving his instructions by phone, Silvo, followed by Clothilde, ran towards the clinic. Forcing their way between visitors, they went down as fast as possible to the basement. Clothilde ran like the wind and Silvo had some difficulties following her. While running, she called Mystie but received no response.

  She put her bag on the floor and approached the door cautiously. She felt no protection. She ran her hand on the door, first from a distance, then placing her palm on the cold metal. Nothing. She took the knob and tuned it. Nothing.

  "There is no more protection. The door is just locked."

  She hammered on the door, called her granddaughter, but there no answer.

  Silvo took out the key ring given to him by the clinic director at his request. After several unsuccessful attempts, he unlocked the door and found himself facing a cabinet filled with cables, connectors and switches, which left no room for a person.

  "We have been deceived. I’ll call the helicopter."

  ***

  "Why do you to stick to them like a limpet?" Casper asked to Delatour. "They cannot miss you."

  "They know perfectly well that I would have followed them. I therefore see no reason to play hide and seek."

  "You do not think that Mystie is in the clinic?"

  Delatour said nothing. He did not know the answer anyway. He had to discover who Charles was. And in no way would his mother’s torturer leave unhurt. That was all he knew. He had no intention of ceasing pursuit even if Silvo called to announce the release of Mystie. Which indeed he doubted.

  The speed was slow in Paris traffic jams, getting on his nerves. They left the suburb, and joined the highway out of town. Casper saw the police helicopter that followed them at short distance.

  "You think Mystie is in the car? Are you able to talk to her?"

  "No."

  "You want me to try to go into their heads to see what I can find."

  Casper was not thrilled with his own idea, but he was willing to do anything to save Mystie.

  "No."

  "Why?" Casper could not help asking even if he was relieved by the answer.

  "I do not think Mystie is in danger, for now. But if you start it..."

  "Got it! For now we follow their rules and we see where it goes."

  "That's about right."

  "Any idea why they protected the gate of a magic field if Mystie was not there?"

  Delatour said nothing.

  This could have been a way to divert attention and spare time. But they only succeeded in leaving Silvo behind and only temporarily. Maybe it was exactly what Charles wanted. That only the vampires meet.

  But this would imply that Charles knew the policeman well, and at the same time Clothilde’s abilities. He did not see how he could know so much without meeting them, and doubted that Mystie had spoken about it.

  Or was that to test his reactions? See what he would be able to do to save her.

  He did not know what to think. He did not understand how Charles operated.

  The day before Silvo gathered them in the shop, the Council had informed him about Charles. The vampire had come to declare his presence in the territory, as required by the rule. He had claimed to follow unscrupulous humans, holding a manuscript mentioning the trial of Lady Tower and the whereabouts of his son. And as he knew this family, he had made a point to come and collect the documents in order to store them back in a safe place.

  Of course, the Council instructed Delatour to recover them. He would have done it anyway. Silvo’s information had only reinforced Charles’ statements. Reading the parchment gave him a shock. And he would not rest until he found this vile paper. He did not question the identity of Charles. He would find out when Charles would come to ask for the parchment. It was a mistake.

  The trip seemed like it would never end. Casper admired Delatour’s calm. Once he had
cursed, neither in traffic jams nor on the road that stretched out of sight. He had adapted his driving to that of other vampires. And it was a safe and smooth one. Or the vampires did not care that Delatour was following them, or it was what they expected.

  Delatour was keeping mum, lost in thought and Casper was bored stiff. He had tried to put on the radio, but the vampire had switched it off immediately, without a word.

  "What a nice traveling companion you are!" Casper growled. "I guess I cannot sing or count out loud the cars that come from the same state?"

  Delatour answered by giving him an icy look, and the ride continued in silence.

  At last the car left the highway. After ten miles, it branched off into a country road.

  "Did you see the panels, Dracul? There is a flying club there. They may want to fly away."

  Delatour accelerated to keep his car behind that of the vampires.

  Actually, they turned toward the flying club. They found him at a bend. Obviously it was no longer in use. The takeoff runway was overrun with grass and broken up. No plane on the ground, or in the sky.

  "The runway is too short for a big plane. Even a small jet could not take off from here in my opinion," Casper specified.

  Delatour was still silent. The vampires parked their car in front of a hangar. Without paying attention to their pursuer, Charles and his servant went down from the car and entered the building without hurrying.

  Delatour stopped and looked around.

  The shed was almost in ruins and was nothing but a sheet metal assembly, which threatened to collapse. Graffiti on the walls and broken bottles dragging on the ground in the middle of oil stains were the only tracks of human activity.

  He got out, walked to the hangar door and pushed it. It opened without resistance with a sinister grinding and closed with a snap. The inside in no better state than the outside. Part of the roof had collapsed, some tiles were broken. Everywhere oil stains appeared on concrete. Again the walls were tagged, and empty beer cans dragged in the dust.

  Charles was at the back of the shed, his faithful servant near him. Behind them, Mystie was sitting on the floor under the custody of a third vampire. Her mouth was taped and she seemed scared, but she was healthy as far as Delatour could judge it.

  Delatour approached while maintaining a safe distance. Mystie wanted to speak but the gag stopped her, and she only succeeded in producing a muffled sound. She chose telepathy, not caring if her words were intercepted by the other vampires.

  "It's a trap!"

  "Are you ok?" Delatour asked aloud.

  She nodded.

  Charles took a step forward and with a bombastic voice that echoed on the metal walls, launched into a speech like a master of ceremonies. "And here the protagonists of the story meet for a final confrontation. Tower, will you join me? Quit your miserable so called life, benefit from powers that you can not imagine?"

  "No," Delatour said without the slightest hesitation.

  He wanted, in no way, to become a puppet in the hands of Charles. Nothing was worth this captivity. Perhaps he lived at the crossroads of two worlds. But he had finally found a form of equilibrium.

  "So let us finish this. I'll give you a present that I kept for you. I leave you the opportunity to settle your accounts, once and for all."

  He motioned to Childeric and moved back towards Mystie.

  "Gentlemen, the battle begins. Only one will remain. Like knights of yore, defend your colors and your convictions. This will be the judgment of God or more precisely that of the Devil."

  "Casper, I entrust to you my mortal coil. I let you occupy it while I finish this."

  "Do not worry your highness. I will take care of it."

  CHAPTER - 28 -

  Delatour took a deep breath, and rose. Childeric did the same, and their mortal coils felt heavily on the concrete floor, like dislocated puppets.

  "I’ve waited a long time for this, Tower!"

  Such dark mists, their souls turned and gauged, crackled at the slightest touch. All eyes were fixed upon the fighters.

  Delatour felt a violent push, and was propelled several feet away. He returned to the assault. But his opponent created a whirlwind that pushed back again Delatour. In every approach, Delatour was sent back brutally. With difficulty he managed to repel the attacks of the monk. The power of Childeric was much greater than his appearance or age would have suggested. How could he have such mental strength? His attacks did not weaken. On the contrary. Or was it simply because Delatour was out of strength?

  The sound of a slamming door diverted the glances. Silvo had just entered the building followed by five of his men. Charles waved his hand and pinned them against the wall.

  "Stay out of this human! Or next time I will do worse than glue you to the wall," he spat.

  The men could not move a muscle, and remained paralyzed, stuck against the wall of the shed, unable to see the scene that was playing under the roof. All remained silent, aware that something important was happening. They could only follow the direction of Charles and Mystie’s gaze, without discerning anything.

  Childeric had altered his soul into the shape of a fork and put Delatour’s spirit in tatters.

  Delatour was weakening. Soon he would no longer be able to resist the attraction of the door of the hells and he would be swept away. He had to get over it, or go back in his mortal coil while there was still time. His soul was fading, cashing blows without returning them.

  Diego and Charles stood on either side of Mystie. They literally lived the struggle, and their excitement was at their paroxysm. From time to time, their souls seemed to leave their bodies as if attracted by the battle. They shouted, sometimes encouraging, sometimes booing the opponents.

  Mystie focused on her despair, felt a growing power in the depths of her being. Without taking her eyes off Delatour, she shaped it, aggregated it as soft dough. It crackled, coiled on itself into a more and more concentrated ball of energy. So much that Mystie had to discipline herself, not to let it grow too fast. She did not want to release it too early. Delatour had begun to train her to control her emotions, but she was far from being an expert. And it was even harder in a crisis situation.

  She still had not mastered this destructive strength she held because of the mark made on her distant ancestor by a demon. The shock wave could destroy more souls than the one she was targeting, so she slowly reduced its power. She breathed slowly, to better contain it, ready to intervene. She understood that this battle was important for Delatour, but she would not stay there, doing nothing, while Childeric was destroying him.

  Her hands were tied behind her back, and she needed them to lead her assault. This belated awareness of the limit of her intervention made tears of frustration run down her cheeks.

  She was condemned to be the spectator of Delatour’s end. She saw his forces dwindling. His assaults became slow, while his opponent showed a steady power.

  When Delatour was again thrown from a distance, she yelled to him.

  "Please! Fight! Do not leave us! I count on you. Unleash the power that you bottle up!"

  Delatour took a moment to look at Mystie. She was still sitting on the floor. Tears flowed silently down her cheeks. Another face appeared in overprint. His mother calling for help. His sister who also died because of this monster he was fighting.

  Childeric took advantage of this interruption in the struggle to form a ball of energy that struck Delatour hard, who felt more and more the attraction of limbo. He did not know whether he to fight or leave. He was so tired.

  "Son of Satan!" Childeric cried.

  Delatour looked at Mystie, a last time, as to make her understand what he had not said, had failed to tell her. But he was hence only a shred of mist. He could have used telepathy but no longer had the strength to do so.

  "I will kill all those you have converted to your perversion. I will destroy, as the archangel Gabriel, all the demons and devils girls still on this Earth," Childeric cried.

>   Delatour turned his eyes on his opponent. He would go to hell. But he would not go alone. This monster would disappear. He could not let him go after Mystie. The first two women in his life had disappeared due to the executioner. Mystie would not be another victim.

  He saw his mother's smile, so proud when she saw him for the first time in his officer uniform. He saw his dear little sister sulking when he refused to take her to London. Picnics they had made under the oak. The laughter exchanged. He saw his father, taken away too young by the disease, who before exhaling his last breath, had entrusted to him their family. And then he saw what he had read in this cursed parchment. He saw the hatred of the villagers, last vision of his mother. She howled in pain as in his nightmares. He felt the horror of his little sister.

  He felt the violence rising in him, the fury he had taken care to suppress for five hundred years. This rage of which he was so much afraid of losing control. But this time, he greeted it, embraced it with all his soul.

  He let out a scream and threw himself on his opponent. They were a dark furious mist that distorted, crackled. Incomprehensible gasps resounded.

  As the battle reached its climax, Charles approached Mystie. With a sharp movement he tore the tape that blocked her mouth and freed her hands. Then without a word returned to his place a few steps away, without giving her a look.

  Mystie, suddenly distracted, from the battle wondered what this act might mean. What trap did this unexpected intervention concealed?

  She looked around and saw that Diego seemed to have more and more difficulty suppressing the excitement aroused in him by the battle. Unable to contain himself, he suddenly left his body. His black soul was heading towards the fighters.

  Delatour could not fight against two enemies at once, despite his newfound strength. Without taking time to think, Mystie released her retained power and threw it on the tracks of Diego. He took the full brunt. There was a muffled explosion, a blinding light. What remained of Diego’s soul fell, such pieces of burned paper swirling towards the floor. His mortal coil disintegrated as a body in accelerated decomposition.

  But it was the consequences of not controlling this power that Mystie most feared. And she did not have to wait long. The destructive ring-like shock wave grew broader.