“Don’t be,” she said.
“What?” he asked, stopping his idle search through the police record.
She stopped her searching as well, finally turning to look at him. “You said ‘Impressive’, so I said ‘Don’t be’ … impressed.” The ‘duh’ was implied, but left unsaid. She turned back to the laptop as she added, “I probably could’ve walked through the front door and not been noticed.”
Braughton simply nodded his head, while making a note to keep his thoughts a bit more guarded in the future. She had done more than just get a feeling from him, she had pulled the actual word straight from his thoughts. It was more than he had seen any of them do before.
“The men in the diner,” she said, looking now at the photo he held. “Were they vampires?”
“No.”
“Familiars then?” She had spent the better part of the afternoon researching vampire slaves. Familiar was a term that had sounded the least distasteful considering it could be her own fate now.
Braughton’s brow furrowed a moment before answering, “Not likely.”
She looked him in the eye. “Then I don’t understand what you were doing there. Did you know they were criminals? What they were planning?” She snatched the photos from his hand. “Or was it just luck you didn’t do this to three completely innocent humans?”
She surprised him … again. He had never seen such defiance in any of the others. She wasn’t wrong to ask, he just didn’t have any answers for her. He shrugged and answered, “Honestly, I’ve learned more about what happened from what you’ve gathered here than I would have ever remembered on my own.”
“I know more than just blood passed between us,” she said, remembering that first feeling of a connection between them. “But you’re making it very hard for me to trust you, Braughton.”
He simply stared at her for a moment, unsure he had heard her correctly, and uncertain what it meant. The bonding was complete, so how could she still, “You called me Braughton.”
She cocked her head slightly to the side. “Monk was surprised by that too, isn’t that your name?”
“Well, yes, but don’t you feel you must call me Master?” He regretted saying it even before it fully left his mouth.
She eyed him up and down a moment before she answered. “Yeah, but somehow I’m resisting the urge.” She didn’t pause long enough for him to reply. “What year do you think this is anyway?”
It was the last time he would ever compare her to any of the others.
“I apologize,” was all she allowed him to say before interrupting.
“I knew it was going to be like this,” she could feel her face flush in anger. “You’ve been trying to force me to do things since I first laid eyes on you. Monk said I should think of us as partners, but if one of us is ‘master’ then the other has to be ‘slave’.”
It was the same thought he had every time one of them called him Master. The same reason he cringed whenever he heard them use it. Now, though, it was a smile he could feel trying to creep across his face. “What else did Monk tell you?” he asked.
It wasn’t what she had expected, and she had to search her memory for a moment. What had he told her? “Mostly about the Order,” she began. “Their mission to rid the world of vampires, and then their inexplicable defeat and persecution by the vampire, resulting in the small band of scholars they are today. He told me about the missing centuries of history you’re searching for, hoping you’ll find answers to your own questions.” She paused, looking again at Braughton. His eyes were still on the papers spread across the table, and she found herself skimming them again.
Hero. The word kept popping into focus everywhere she looked. Maybe they were right. “He told me you saved him when he was a boy,” she continued, her tone softer, gentler. “You gave him, and others, a new start… spanning I have no idea how many years.”
Looking at the files reminded her of how she had acquired them. “He also told me that as your partner,” she leaned close as she stressed the word, “I would likely have some enhanced abilities.” She moved next to Braughton, forcing him to look at her, giving him the hard stare she had used on so many suspects before. “Now, what can you tell me?”
He looked again at the collection of books she had piled on the table. She’d been busy. He met her eyes, nodded, and said, “Follow me.” He walked only a few steps before he stopped, turned, and added a sincere, “Please.” He turned and continued towards the back of the library without waiting on a response. Liz quickly followed.
“It doesn’t sound like Monk told you about the reclaimed collection,” he said, stopping in front of a small shelf against the wall. Liz shook her head as she scanned the lackluster collection of faded titles and curling parchments. She was about to ask what was special about it when he reached to the side of the shelf and pulled a small, hidden lever. There was a sound of scraping metal, and the shelf pivoted out into the room, revealing a passageway behind it. “It’s right through here,” Braughton said as he slipped into the gloom. She hesitated only a moment before following.
Behind the shelf was a small landing, beyond which dimly lit stairs descended into darkness. She could hear Braughton’s fading footsteps below, and started slowly down the stone steps. Behind her a small creak followed by a metallic click told her the way back was closed even before she turned to confirm it. She shook her head, then continued down the stairs.
By the time she reached the last step, her eyes had adjusted to the low light, and she found Braughton waiting for her. He gave her a silent nod, then turned and continued down the stone passage. They passed several plain doors before finally stopping in front of one. The door was unlocked, the hidden entrance above presumably enough security, and the handle turned easily in Braughton’s hand. He stepped inside and Liz followed.
The room was easily half, if not less than, the size of the library above. The shelves were also not nearly as full. Beyond that, she couldn’t see much difference between the contents of the two rooms.
“What makes this collection so special?” she asked.
“The history of the Order isn’t exactly missing,” he explained. “It was stolen.”
“By who?” She was browsing the shelves now, realizing many of these volumes were older than any of the ones she had seen above.
“Vampires.” Her fingers stopped dancing across the book spines. “These are all I have been able to recover so far, and most of them are merely copies of the original works.”
She could almost accept them as monsters, things to fear in the dark, mindless beyond their desire to feed. But now they were stealing and storing the collected knowledge of the Order? “Why? What are they looking for?”
“Helsig.”
“Who?”
“Helsig,” he repeated, headed for a nearby shelf. “The Devourer.” He pulled a leather bound book from the shelf and carefully leafed through it. “And Helsig is more of a ‘what’ than a ‘who’.” He placed the journal down on a table and pointed to a drawing.
The author’s talent as an artist was lacking, but it only took a glance at the creature to see what Braughton meant. “So, it’s what … a demon?” It was the horns that made her think demon. Or maybe the ribbed wings, claws, and pointed teeth. If vampires existed, then why not demons?
Braughton shrugged, “I have no idea.” He closed the book, and placed it back on the shelf. “To the Order, Helsig was a weapon. Their greatest weapon against the superior strength and speed of the vampire.”
“The Order controlled that thing?” Liz’s eyes were wide. She had already categorized the beast as ‘bad’, but if she was right, then how could the Order be responsible for it? “How could they possibly?”
“They created it. Or summoned it. Or even prayed for it.” Braughton shrugged again. “The history is still missing, but I’m certain it’s what the vampires were really searching for: how to control the creature.”
�
��Were searching? As in, not anymore?” She shivered slightly, thinking of the hulking beast in servitude to another monster. “So, they were successful?”
Braughton shook his head. “They were able to defeat Helsig, and I hesitate to say killed, but certainly, removed from our world. Without their weapon, the fall of the Order was inevitable. Entire monasteries were pillaged and burned for the next century. Then, they stopped.”
“What happened?”
“Helsig.” She wasn’t following. Before she could ask what he meant, Braughton walked to a shelf against the back wall, pulled another ancient volume, and walked back towards her as he spoke. “I’ve recovered more than just the Order’s history.” He opened the book and placed it on the table. Elizabeth leaned in for a closer look.
“What does it say?” The markings were strange, like nothing she had ever seen before.
“It’s a dead language, used by the elder vampires,” he said, as though it answered either of her questions. Liz looked from him to the book, then back again, waiting. “The most consistent translation I’ve been able to … extract, is that the elders tried returning Helsig to this world, but were unsuccessful.”
Extract. He was probably very good at extracting information, though she wondered what was left of his informant once he was finished. “The ritual was interrupted,” he continued, “resulting in confusion and chaos amongst the gathered elders. Most of them were killed by the rising sun, and the rest were so badly injured they disappeared into dark recesses of their own domains to nurse their wounds. It’s only been within the last century that a new council of elders has risen to lead, but not everyone has embraced the new leadership.”
“I don’t understand,” Liz said. She had heard everything, but her mind stuck on one detail. She could hear it in his voice, the way he passed over it so quickly, moving on to other details. There was something more he wasn’t telling her. “Interrupted? How?” An image flashed in her mind. A woman, beautiful, but Liz had no idea who she was. She disappeared with a voice from the doorway.
“By his mother.” Liz turned and saw it was Monk who answered her question. Unfortunately, like so much she had learned over the past few days, it only raised more questions.
“I believe you’ve said enough for one day, Monk.” There was no malice, or even threat in Braughton’s voice, but it did give her pause.
“Technically, it’s been two days,” Monk said with only a hint of a smile. Then he added, “And she deserves to know everything.”
“And she will. Just not all of it tonight.” He turned and looked at her. “I’m sure she’s getting tired, and she has a long day ahead of her tomorrow.”
Sleepy. You are getting very sleepy. She imagined it in her best Dracula voice and almost laughed aloud. The truth was she did feel tired, and protesting seemed silly as she covered a yawn with the back of her hand. She decided she could wait for the rest of Braughton’s story, for now, but there was one more thing she wanted to know tonight.
“What am I doing tomorrow?” she asked.
“Training.”
Elizabeth nodded her head, gave them both a quiet, “Good night,” and stepped out into the hall. When she should have been well out of earshot, she heard them talking.
“They all deserved to know,” Monk said.
“I know,” Braughton answered, then countered with, “but she’s the only one who has ever asked.”
Chapter Fourteen
Training.
It was a very familiar word. Almost comforting.
Her father had been a third generation police officer, and she was six years old when he accepted the fact he would have no son. She had her first visit to ‘Daddy’s work’ that year, her first ride-along at seven, and fired her first gun at eight. He was training her to follow in his footsteps long before she ever realized it. What would he think of where she was now? What did she think?
It was an odd question, the second one, not the first. She’d spent nearly her entire life asking the first question, but the second one was completely foreign in her mind. Yet, that is the one she was stuck on now. What did she think about leaving her life behind, about following Braughton for little more reason than every fiber in her being told her she should?
She was terrified. And not just of this world she would have never believed existed, but of herself. She’d pushed aside doubt and fear with no hesitation to stand boldly beside this … man she knew nothing about.
Some people might call that crazy. Hell, she would call it crazy, but she couldn’t deny it also felt right. That was probably the worst part, having her mind and body so conflicted with one another. It made sleep nearly impossible.
It wasn’t the only question that kept her awake. The image of the woman kept returning to her mind, and she had little doubt who it must be. Braughton’s mother. How did she interrupt the vampires? What happened to her? And why was she popping up in Liz’s head? And the thoughts just kept spinning in her head.
She had no memory of actually falling asleep, and with no window, she had no way of judging the time. It was only when she began to hear pairs of shuffling feet in the hall that she realized morning had arrived. She lay silently, waiting for the hall to clear, and the Brothers to begin their day.
She sat up, and noticed hanging from the back of the chair was her gunbelt, along with what looked like a sword. Those were definitely not there when she went to bed. She must have not only slept at some point, but slept deeply.
On top of the dresser she found a change of clothes, which she quickly put on, happy to have not simply awoken in new clothes, again. The gunbelt strapped easily into place, its familiar weight making her immediately feel more at ease. She absently rubbed the handle of her gun as she contemplated the sword.
She had no idea what to do with it. The blade slid smoothly out of its sheath and appeared to be sharp. The only melee weapon she had any experience with was her nightstick. She swung the sword around a few times, enjoying the whistle it made as it sliced through the air, but feeling utterly ridiculous wielding it like a club. She slid it back into its sheath and slung it across her back.
The hallway was empty and quiet when she stepped out of her room. The smell of food wafted past her from the direction of the kitchen, and a small gurgle from her stomach insisted she follow it. The kitchen was empty as well, except for Monk, who was again doing dishes. She cleared her throat, and he turned towards her at the sound.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile. “There’s plenty left from breakfast,” he added, nodding towards a plate of food on a small table. “If you’re feeling hungry.” Her stomach gurgled again, but there was something else first.
“Where’s Braughton?” She wondered if he had left her again.
“He’s outside, waiting for you.”
Waiting? The urge to run outside, to him, was strong. And unsettling. Where did that come from? And why was it such a struggle to resist? She had waited all day for him yesterday. Why shouldn’t she make him wait on her now?
Monk seemed to notice her indecision. “I know I heard your stomach growl. Have something to eat. Braughton can wait a little longer,” he assured her.
Without any more hesitation, Liz crossed the room, sat down at the table, and pulled the plate towards her. The need to go to him, to please him, completely dissipated, gone as quickly and inexplicably as it had appeared. Then, almost as if summoned, the woman flashed in her mind again.
“So,” she began, as she picked at a biscuit, “Braughton’s mother.”
“Oh, no,” Monk shook his head. “You heard him, I’ve already said too much.”
“What I heard was you saying I deserved to know,” she shot back. Monk took a deep breath, then shook his head before turning back to the dishes. “Just tell me,” Liz pressed, “she was raped, right? That was the ‘interruption’.”
Monk remained silent, focused on his task. That was fine, she had played this game before. No an
swer could be just as informative as an actual answer. As long as she was right, there would be silence. As soon as she was wrong though, that’s when she would get the real answers.
“So,” she continued, “his father is a vampire, right?” Silence. “Which makes him some kind of … hybrid? Surely he can’t be the only one? It’s happened to other women, right?”
Dishes clanked loudly in the sink, and Monk let out a small laugh. His hands were propped on the sink, head lowered, talking more to himself than to her. “If you’re the first one who’s bothered to ask, it makes me wonder if the others ever really knew anything.” He faced her. “Vampires are sterile. They can only propagate their species by biting and infecting a human.” Her eyes widened. “Braughton was conceived that night, but how, we haven’t a clue.”
He turned back to the sink, again leaving her with more questions than answers. As if reading her mind, he added, “If you want to know more, please ask Braughton.”
She could tell he was uncomfortable talking about Braughton, and she was beginning to feel like she was taking advantage of him. “Thank you, Monk,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He turned with a gentle smile and nodded ‘you’re welcome’. Before she could pull away he placed his hand over her own, stopping her.
“Make him tell you everything, child.” His eyes were serious, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before adding, “Everything.”
She nodded, squeezed his shoulder, then headed outside. He was right. She did deserve to know everything, and she had no intention of letting Braughton keep any more secrets from her. She thought again of the woman’s image that continued to surface in her mind. Somehow she knew it was plucked from Braughton’s mind. If she could just figure out how she’d managed it, he may not be able to keep anything from her.
Liz stepped out into the cool morning air, enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin. Braughton was nowhere to be seen, so she followed a stone path leading into the surrounding woods. She had no way of knowing he had gone this way, but there was no denying her surety this trail would lead her to him.
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