The Curse of the Vampire (Cursed Book 6)

by Dean Drinkel

“You don’t need to worry about that, not anymore,” he tried to keep his words calm and steady.

  “But I do worry Lucien, you could have died.”

  “Yet I didn’t...I’m still here aren’t I? And so are you, that’s all that matters.”

  “That mark on your neck,” Romain’s voice was trembling, he was about to burst into tears.

  “Please Roro, not tonight; let’s not talk about all that.”

  “It hurt you didn’t it?”

  “At the time.”

  “Has the wound healed now?

  Lucien stayed silent for a moment, naturally he wanted to tell his little brother that the wound was only skin deep, but that wouldn’t be the truth, couldn’t be the truth, that it was because of that wound, because of that bite, that he was Transformed, that he had become what he was today...

  ...which was what exactly?

  Suddenly, under the covers, Romain grabbed Lucien’s arm, clasped it tightly. Lucien rested a hand on his brother’s chest, could feel his heartbeat, it was beating bloody fast, too fast. Lucien frowned. “What’s got into you?

  “I...I...” The words wouldn’t come.

  “You know you can tell me anything, after all that’s what big brothers are for aren’t they?”

  Romain didn’t speak until he asked: “Do you love me Lucien...no, don’t answer that, I’m being silly, I know that you do.”

  “Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

  “I think I saw the monster again, it was at my window, staring in. That can’t be true can it? It must have been my imagination...”

  “No,” Lucien stated coldly. “We both know that can’t be true.”

  Romain brushed off his brother’s arm, sat up. “But I know what I saw...I think I smelt it as well, that’s why I was sure it had returned. But it can’t return can it Lucien, you killed it didn’t you?” The boy was shaking now in pure fear, sobbing, tears were flowing.

  Lucien held him. “Roro please, you’re scaring me, stop this at once. Please, there are no such things as monsters...or at least that particular monster...he...it...it is dead, okay, gone, it won’t be coming back - it can’t be resurrected.”

  “You promise...”

  “Of course I promise, I will never lie to you.”

  Romain wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Thank you Lucien.”

  “Now go to sleep!”

  The younger boy grabbed his brother. “Never let me go, not now, not ever?”

  “I won’t let you go Romain.”

  “Okay Lucien, I will...I love you...”

  It took ten minutes or so but Romain was true to his word and he fell into what appeared a deep, blissful sleep. Lucien gave it a further give minutes or so before he disentangled himself from his brother’s vice-like grip and climbed out of the bed.

  Quietly he tip-toed across his bedroom floor, opened the door, across the hallway and then into Romain’s room. He closed the door behind him, leant up against it and breathed in.

  Nothing...

  ...he flicked the light-switch, had a quick look around, nothing out of the ordinary, and everything seemed in place (well as much as it could be in a twelve year old’s bedroom)...he went to the window...

  ...and immediately his heart sunk.

  The aroma was unmistakable.

  Cigar smoke. Earthy. Musty. Corrupt.

  Lucien yanked back the curtain and stared out. Didn’t seem to be anyone lurking about, though of course they would have been well gone by now. Lucien tried the window casement, it was locked, didn’t appear that it had been tampered with either.

  Yet, he needed to be sure. He undid the clasp, pulled up the sash...took a deep breath.

  “Fuck,” he hissed. Definitely cigar smoke.

  He fell to his knees. He started to rock backwards and forwards. What was he going to do, what was he going to do, what was he going to fucking do?!

  There was no way this could happen again. Lucien stifled a scream. He bared his teeth, his nostrils flared. His talons unleashed. He jumped to his feet, climbed out of the window, sat on the ledge and looked both ways (making sure that no-one was watching him)...once the coast was clear he jumped into the air, landing seconds later on the grass, perfectly.

  “I know you are there, hiding, in the shadows where you fucking belong!” he snarled. It was true, he could smell him, and he could smell the monster. The monster they were sure had been dead all these years. “Leave us alone...leave me alone...leave Romain alone...do you hear me, because I swear, if you don’t there will be hell to pay...heed my warning you cunt.”

  Lucien moved around the grounds, finding nothing. Once satisfied that they were alone and that the monster had departed, he put one foot on the trellis and was about to haul himself up when he stopped and looked down.

  Something in the dim light glinted; he bent down and picked it up.

  It was a brooch...no, a small coin...silver...he flipped it over in his palm.

  A butterfly...it scorched his skin, he couldn’t hold it any longer, he dropped it...he put his fingers to his neck to then to his lips...

  ...blood...

  ...Lucien let out one almighty and awful scream which was loud enough to wake the devil himself...

  Interlude

  He stood in the lobby. The woman was behind the counter. A large leather-bound book lay open before her. A quill ink-pot and silver key by its side. The only illumination came from the hundreds of candles which were littered about the place. Could they no longer afford electricity?

  Lucien dropped his bag (carefully obviously, he didn’t want to knock a candle over and set fire to the place).

  Behind the counter, on the wall, a crucifix hung.

  “Your room has been prepared,” she stated in that Hungarian brogue.

  “I don’t get a choice? Are there other people here?”

  She didn’t reply to either question, just continued to stare.

  “Where do you want me to sign?”

  The woman pointed to the next clear line in the ledger. He picked up the quill, dipped it into the ink and scratched his name on the vellum (the ink being red, naturally!). He smiled as he signed with a flamboyant flourish, drawing a line underneath.

  Lucien lay down the quill.

  “Top of the stairs,” she said, motioning to the key – he picked it up. The woman slammed the book - a layer of dust flew up into the air - the motes danced in the low light. “Through the door on your right.”

  A noise came from the back-room – the door to which was slightly ajar.

  “Who’s that?” Lucien asked.

  For a fleeting moment, panic appeared to fly across her pinched face but very quickly she regained her composure. “That is not your concern. That is my son. He will not disturb you.”

  “Your son?”

  She reached out, grabbed Lucien’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. Her flesh was cold, freezing in fact. “Pay the child no heed and there won’t be any trouble.”

  Lucien shrugged. “One more witness to all this won’t make a blind bit of difference, I’m sure.”

  The woman held onto him for another couple of seconds before eventually releasing his hand.

  He grabbed his bag, there were two doors. One on the right, one on the left.

  “Right?”

  She nodded. “Right.”

  He squeezed the handle of the bag tighter, pushed open the door and followed the trail of candles up the stairs towards his room.

  The woman watched him leave, listened for his footfalls above her head – then when she knew he was firmly out the way, she went into the back-room.

  “He is here,” she said.

  Lucien closed the door behind him. He took a quick look around. It was nothing special, it was quite bare actually. Only a bed, a wardrobe, a bureau, a chair and that was about that. Oh, a candle and a taper.

  “Definitely no Wi-Fi,” he said to himself as he checked out the room. There was a small window. He pulled the curtain away, tried to
get the damn thing open but it wouldn’t budge. He rubbed the glass but it was pitch black, there was no light breaking through, he couldn’t work out whether he had a view or not, he let the curtain fall back into place, wiped his hands on his trousers.

  He went to the chair, sat down, shifted several times. “Not meant for comfort.” He scratched his head. This wasn’t going to be easy; none of this was going to be easy actually.

  But then again, what did he expect?

  After he had been here bef...

  He got up, went to the bed, sat down, rested the bag on his thighs. He took a look inside. Luckily be brought with him some water, he opened the bottle, took a swig (it was lukewarm but that didn’t matter), there were some crisps and a pack of Madeleines but he wasn’t hungry though couldn’t quite remember when he last had had a proper meal.

  Lucien dropped the bag by the side of the bed and lay down, his hands under his head. He had so many questions but he doubted he was going to get any answers tonight, not from that woman downstairs anyway...he closed his eyes. He suddenly felt tired, exhausted – not surprisingly...he didn’t want to go to sleep if he could help it, he felt very vulnerable here...wasn’t sure....what....

  ...within minutes, Lucien had fallen into a deep deep slumber.

  It was then that he began to sob...

  Paris...

  ...June 2014

  One

  The man behind the desk stared up at the ceiling. His fingers were steepled, he leant back in his chair, the leather creaked as he shifted his weight.

  “If you’re waiting for me to say something, you could have a long wait,” Lucien stated. His palms were sweaty; he rubbed them on his trousers.

  They both knew that he was there under sufferance and they both had better things to do with their time, but these were the terms and conditions of the agreement he had signed and forget everything else for a moment, Lucien was a man of his word. Though saying that, it didn’t stop him staring over at the clock, glaring at the second hand as it made its long painful journey around the face.

  The man opposite him stopped looking at the various cracks above him, turned to Lucien and smiled. “After all these years my friend, I almost hoped we had made a breakthrough, that we had finally reached a stage where...”

  Lucien stared back at him intensely but then, mainly because of both a mixture of boredom and embarrassment, he looked away. He stood up, walked to the window, stared out. He wrung his hands repeatedly.

  “This is different. Someone is watching me, following me; I don’t like feeling fucking nervous all the time. Vulnerable. Why should I constantly live in fear? Someone is out there, in the shadows, the darkness, it makes me very nervous. I’m not sure what I might do next, we both know what I am capable of...there are things bouncing around my head, feelings, memories from the past.”

  The man tapped the manila file which lay in front of him. “Lucien you have mentioned this kind of thing before but...”

  Lucien dismissed the man’s statement with a wave of his hand. “You know, it’s all semantics with you people. I’ve been thinking a lot about Louvois, about my brother...I know what happened, and I know what happened to Romain. I know what they saw...I know whom they saw, so don’t sit there and lecture me on proof, okay?”

  “And yet, it was only you that paid the price...it was only you that was sent away...nobody else.” The man scribbled something down on a pad, tore off the strip, placed it in the file.

  Lucien rubbed his arm, his scars. They felt on fire. “And don’t I fucking know it,” he whispered.

  “It is not that I don’t believe you but unless you can give me some cold evidence, these meetings are a waste of my time and your money...”

  “Money is no object to me...we both know that.”

  “...I could find comments like that offensive, if I didn’t know you better.” He paused. “But listen to me when I say you have to be careful, there are people out there, they are starting to ask questions. There is only so much they will put up with. Please don’t go sniffing around, not again.”

  “People? What people?” he asked as he played with his jacket and shirt cuffs. “Fuck these people, do you hear me Khoury, FUCK THEM!”

  “But they are powerful people, you know that better than me, they don’t like when their cages are rattled. We both know I have to update them every time we meet, that was part of your agreement. Now what the hell are you doing?!”

  Lucien banged his head on the window, once, twice, three times.

  “For goodness sake, stop acting like a petulant child and grow up.”

  Eventually he did as he was asked. The glass smeared with the grime from his forehead, from his hair. He tried to clean it with his sleeve. “Fine,” he said.

  “Come and sit down,” Khoury suggested.

  “You do try your best for me don’t you?” Lucien remained by the window.

  “Well, that’s what I’m paid for – I do wonder at times though whether you actually listen to any of the advice I do give you.”

  Still with his back to Khoury, Lucien reached into his pocket, took out something.

  “What’s that?” Khoury asked, as Lucien waved it about.

  “A letter. Well it’s an envelope. Inside there is a letter.”

  “From whom?”

  “From my father.”

  Khoury didn’t say anything; he let Lucien’s words sink in.

  “Your father?”

  “We are both surprised.”

  “But...”

  “...I know what you are going to say, he’s been dead for years. Yes.”

  “So it’s an old letter that you’ve only just found...I bet that did shoc...”

  “No. It was delivered to my apartment this past weekend. Hand delivered.”

  Khoury scratched his forehead with his Mont Blanc pen. “But that’s not possible Lucien...someone must be playing pranks on you.”

  Lucien returned to his chair, sat down. “I don’t think so...the people, the men that knew him are mostly dust now...but there are one or two still breathing...‘powerful individuals’ you said that yourself.”

  “What does it say?” Khoury continued to speak but Lucien was distracted. His eyes closed. He breathed in deeply. He could hear music. His fingers began to drum the beat on the arm of his chair. The hair on his legs and arms, on the back of his hands and his neck began to stand up. His lips curled, his fangs exposed, his talons unfurled. He felt sick to the stomach, the blood pumped around his veins, the adrenalin…he could feel every molecule in his…

  “Lucien!” the man cried. “You’re drifting away, don’t do that. Come back to me, come back into the room; tell me more about the contents of the letter.”

  Lucien attempted to block out those sounds vibrating around his skull, right there in the marrow of his bones. Concentrate on something else, concentrate on anything: the ticking clock, Khoury’s heartbeat, the noise from the world outside as the traffic hurtled along the road.

  “The fucker said he loved me!” Lucien shouted, trying to silence the cacophony He opened his eyes, threw the letter down on the table. “Read it if you want but it might not make sense to you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It is full of his religious mumbo-jumbo.”

  “Ah,” Khoury smiled.

  “I know you can’t abide that kind of stuff.”

  Khoury chuckled. “I just wonder if it’s relevant anymore. Well, perhaps if he has managed to resurrect himself, then maybe it is...”

  Lucien stared hard at him. “Relevant? Are you serious? Read the newspapers, watch the television – I think you might find it a little more relevant than you fucking realise.”

  “My friend, I’d be very interested in knowing what God you believe in...after all the things you have told me you have done...” He banged the table. “Do you know how hypocritical you sound Lucien? You of all people, you do make me chuckle.”

  Lucien seemed oddly relaxed. “We all have our f
aith in something, mine might be different to yours, but I have my reasons...anyway, it is not what I believe in that we are discussing...”

  Khoury picked up the envelope, took out the letter, turned it over a couple of times. “It does seem real enough.” He put it to his nose. “An odd aroma…cigars?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned. “Yes but…

  Lucien shrugged. “I haven’t thought about anything else since it arrived. Those words keep going around and around my head…why now? After all these years? And…he is dead after all…”

  Khoury read the contents, there wasn’t much and Lucien had been right, most of it was religious quotes, some of it in French, some of it in Latin but it did end with the words: Lucien, I love you. It also mentioned a time, a place…

  “From what I remember, it does look like your father’s scrawl.”

  “It is. It also appears to be written in his usual ink. I smelt it just to make sure.”

  Khoury shook his head. “No, this can’t be right. I’m telling you, someone is fucking with you. There is no way this can be from your father, or if it is, it was written some time ago. You, I, everyone, knows your father is dead. Dead and buried.” He paused. “What are you thinking now?”

  “Oh, I’m thinking I’ll do what it tells me. I’ll go to that address, in one week’s time. Find out who sent it…”

  “What?!” Khoury flew out of his chair, almost colliding with the desk. “I do not recommend that, not one iota…forget this, ignore this...”

  “I hear you. What you’re saying makes sense. Your advice is sound. Of course it is but I think I have to follow this through...for my own sanity...now don’t worry, I don’t believe for one second it is my father...but perhaps there is someone out there...someone else who knows the truth. Perhaps it is this person who I feel is watching me, trying to frighten me.” He got up went to the door.

  “Wait a second Lucien.”

  Lucien turned around. Khoury held the envelope in his hand, Lucien shook his head. “Keep it; I’d never forget that place...” he tapped his head. “It’s always been in here, locked away.”