Morvicti Blood (A Morvicti Novel Book 1)

by Lee Swift

“My pleasure, young lady.”

  She left with Amy.

  When they were out of earshot, Amy turned to her. “Why were you talking to him? He was the worst of the lot, and that’s saying something.”

  “I thought he was interesting. He seems to be a very nice man.”

  “Nice or not, he’s a crackpot. Did you hear the others on the panel? Brutal. Can’t blame them. He believes Neanderthals are living among us and that they are smarter, heal faster, and live longer. And that stuff about hyper-hibernation sounded like science fiction to me.”

  “It didn’t to me, Amy. I think he’s onto something.”

  “Good thing you’re on the history track instead of science, Ang. If Wilson is right, why aren’t the knuckle draggers running the world now?”

  “Who’s to say they’re not?” she snapped back.

  Angelique went to hear Dr. Wilson two more times that year but never approached him again. The following year her studies consumed all her attention, and she forgot about the kind, middle-aged professor with the fascinating hypothesis.

  Life had moved on, and in 2003 she’d landed her current position with King’s College as professor and program leader of Eighteenth Century Studies, working jointly with the British Museum.

  She stood, knowing there was absolutely no possibility that the sweet man she’d met so long ago had anything to do with the recent brutal murders in London.

  Her mobile phone rang. It was Michael. “Hi, honey. Forget something?”

  “Hey, sweetheart. I don’t think so. I’ve decided that even though you won’t take a play day with me, I’m coming home anyway. Since you have no classes to teach today and only papers to grade I’m going to finish my day working remotely next to you, sweetheart. Sound good?”

  “Are you going to get any work done?”

  “Cross my heart,” he said. “I’ll even cook you lunch.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” She knew not to ask too many questions of him. Whatever he did for the embassy was strictly confidential. “Hurry home, honey.”

  CHAPTER 10

  9:07 AM

  Continuing her jog around the oval path at Archbishop’s Park, Molly felt the tip of her ponytail swishing against her shoulders. She loved to run this time of day. The park was typically empty, or nearly so. It gave her time to clear her mind and focus on whatever task or test was in front of her.

  Right now, she needed to decide on three songs for her upcoming wedding. The tune playing through her earbuds was one of thirty-five her fiancé had suggested. Trevor, being an amateur guitarist, was obsessed with music. Just one of the many obsessions they shared.

  She’d weighed several selections, but so far none of them sounded right. Something seemed off. Was it the music or the lyrics? She didn’t have much time left to decide.

  In just a few weeks she would be finished with university. A few weeks after that she would be marrying the love of her life.

  I’m going to be Mrs. Trevor Morgan.

  Her sister, who hadn’t taken her husband’s name, had told her she was being old fashioned.

  “You’re going to be twenty-three, Molly, not eighty-three. Changing your name to your husband’s makes you seem like his property.”

  She didn’t care what her sister thought.

  Molly Morgan. I like the way the two names fit together.

  Another lap and another song started. This one had a driving beat that she liked very much. Not for her wedding but perfect for her jog. She was just two pounds away from where she wanted to be for the big day. She couldn’t wait to show Trevor her lean figure.

  Being apart from him for the past year had been hell, but the important humanitarian work he was doing in sub-Saharan Africa meant the world to both of them. Once married, they would be working side by side on providing proper sanitation and clean water for poor villages.

  She grinned, recalling another remark by her sister.

  “You can’t be serious, Molly. You and Trevor plan on returning to Africa the very next day after your wedding. What kind of honeymoon is that going to be?”

  “The best kind,” she answered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a man, and was instantly pulled back to the present. His stomach was bleeding. She came to a stop and turned his direction just as he fell to the ground.

  “Help.”

  She ran over. “Are you okay?”

  The dark-headed man, who looked to be a few years older than her, held his stomach, but it didn’t hide the immense amount of blood staining his shirt.

  “No. A man shot me.”

  She looked around, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “He ran off, miss. Could you lend me a hand?”

  “Let me call an ambulance.” She brought out her mobile phone.

  “Damn, it hurts.” He closed his eyes and groaned.

  She knelt down beside him. “You are not alone. Help will be here soon.”

  “That call won’t be necessary. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  He must be in shock. “You need medical attention. You are going to be fine.”

  “I said that won’t be necessary, sweetheart.” He grabbed her by the wrist, knocking her mobile out of her hand.

  She tried to pull back from him, but his grip tightened.

  With his other hand, he placed a large knife to her neck. “Don’t move and don’t scream.”

  She froze in place. “Please, don’t hurt me.” This can’t be happening. Her phone had landed just out of her reach.

  He twisted out from under her into a sitting position, though keeping hold of her wrist and pressing the blade to her skin. She tried to shift her feet closer to her mobile, but he released her wrist and grabbed her by the ponytail, jerking her head back.

  “A tricky little thing, aren’t you?” He smiled. “Such a pretty bird, you are.”

  She felt the tears of utter fear stream down her face. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  “But I must, love.” He ran his tongue over her face. “You’re a tasty little morsel.”

  Molly felt the blade dig into her flesh as the last song on her list finished playing.

  CHAPTER 11

  9:07 AM

  David Bathry looked at his watch, feeling his jaw tighten. The silence of the subterranean room mocked him. He cursed. The bastard should have returned by now. He had released the halfblood hours ago, more than enough time to finish the job. Could the beast have run into some kind of trouble? Perhaps, but he knew the man’s punctuality left much to be desired. With each outing, he seemed to return later and later, adding ten to twenty minutes to each trip. Why? Was he up to something?

  Getting the halfblood ready for the missions had been tedious, difficult and risky. The unsupervised outings had been critical to ensure he could avoid detection in modern-day London. Of course, the man was not ever completely unsupervised. Bathry’s servant, Albert, secretly followed him whenever he left this place except during actual missions.

  Albert reported the bastard’s favorite haunt was an Internet café in the middle of the city. Bathry could not imagine the creature, who could barely read and write when he found him, utilizing modern technology like a civilized person. The image it conjured up was almost too funny. At least it had been.

  The bloody bugger better return soon.

  Bathry swallowed the entire contents of his glass. The Macallan burned his throat nicely but did nothing to calm his frayed nerves.

  He stared at the other glass, whisky and poison blending together to create a lethal beverage. What a brilliant idea that had been. The halfblood would never suspect. But the amber liquid remained untouched.

  Damn.

  He paced around the room as a rumbling uneasiness and anger began to emerge from deep inside him. After several laps around the space, he checked his watch again. “Five past nine. Fuck.”

  Bathry poured himself another drink, praying the beast would return before he finished it. If the wretch did not, he had no
choice left. He drank down half the contents of his glass, considering every possibility.

  One, if the halfblood had failed, he was likely dead already, killed on the spot at the break-in, saving Bathry the trouble of having to do it himself. How easy it would have been to end the bastard’s life here, in this place, where he could dispose of the body without detection. Although he would enjoy killing the pig in the open where his enemies would witness the slaying, it would be better not to have the blood on his hands, because he knew how ruthless they could be. The irony was that they would be the ones to contact him to come for the halfblood’s body. The abomination’s death at his enemies’ hands would mean no harm would come to him or his bloodline.

  Two, the bastard he freed years ago had gone rogue. Bathry had been concerned about that prospect for some time, especially since the publication of that blasted Ripper letter—but even before. From the first day he had liberated the barbarian from The Sanctuary of the Forgotten, placing another in his cell, his misgivings had grown.

  There was also a third possibility. His enemies, the Drakes, had captured the halfblood. He took comfort in knowing that the safeguards would protect the Bathry Bloodline’s secret plan. The brute did not know Bathry’s true name, though he was aware of the location of this house. Luckily, the deed to the property was meticulously constructed to never point to any Bathry above ground or below. To ensure it remained that way, the plan demanded it be burned to the ground if ever compromised.

  He finished his drink, slammed the glass down, and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces.

  Calm yourself, David. You have thought of every eventuality. If the bastard was off plan, he would suffer the consequences, not Bathry.

  He smiled, feeling better about the situation.

  He pulled on the rope that hung by the door.

  Albert’s voice came through the hidden speakers. “My lord?”

  “It is time.”

  “Are you certain?”

  He felt his cheeks burn hot. “Are you questioning me?”

  “No, my lord. Never.”

  “Good. Then bring what I requested to the chamber now.”

  “Your will is my duty, Your Majesty. Always.”

  Hearing Albert say those sweet words meant only for kings calmed his anger. His servant was lowborn but loyal.

  Bathry took a deep, soothing breath. Everything was in place. Nothing had been left to question. The plan would continue on without fail.

  Looking at the expensive furnishings around him, including the painting of his father and other ancestors, ripped his heart apart. On the floors above were more of his precious treasures. There was no possible way to remove them without drawing attention to himself. If the beast wasn’t dead already, Bathry would slice the pig’s throat for forcing him to this horrible measure.

  Just a few small things to tidy up.

  Albert appeared in the doorway with two cans of petrol. “Ready, my lord?”

  “What a fucking idiotic question,” he spat. “I’ll never be ready.”

  “Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to offend you.” The man cringed in fear, making David feel a little better.

  Power. That was the most important treasure.

  Images of his precious belongings filled his mind. Some could be replaced, but most could not. Anger rolled through him. The halfblood had caused this. He would make sure the bastard paid for this crime.

  Waiting for his command, Albert’s head remained bowed. Not the brightest of men, but loyal.

  There is no other choice. It must be done. And in an instant, he willed whatever attachment he felt for his treasures away. In the scheme of things they were merely trinkets. He smiled, knowing he had a much bigger prize awaiting him.

  “Albert, burn it down.”

  CHAPTER 12

  9:14 AM (GMT)

  Octavian Drake stepped out of the throne room to take the call, leaving the other nobles. “Belisarius, are you on site? Have you spoken to Romulus?”

  “I was just about to enter the sanctuary when I saw McCord walking down Baylis Street.”

  He felt the blood drain from his face. “What are you talking about? Austin is still underground.”

  “Octavian, I am looking at him right now; standing, upright, on the corner of Baylis and Frazier.”

  This can’t be happening. “Follow him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “I will send someone else to check on him.” Where in the hell is Rom? He should not have let this happen.

  “We have another problem,” Belisarius said.

  “What now?” Octavian asked, clenching his fists.

  “He’s spotted me.”

  CHAPTER 13

  9:15 AM

  Austin sized up the man in the dark suit, committing his features to memory. He was well over six feet, taller than him, but leaner. He had high cheekbones and wavy brown hair, clipped close. If the man hadn’t been fixing him with that penetrating stare, Austin would have probably taken Dark Suit for a banker walking to work. But when the guy started heading his direction, Austin ran.

  “Wait, McCord.”

  Not a chance. A good soldier knew when to stand his ground and when to pull back to fight another day.

  Austin bolted into a narrow alley, which was empty.

  He reached into the overcoat, taking hold of the Glock, though not bringing it out—yet. A woman came through a doorway, and he rushed past her into a long passage.

  With his heart pounding and adrenaline flowing, he sped through the building and out onto another street. Glancing back, he saw Dark Suit enter the same hall running at full speed.

  Austin tore down the road, scanning for some place that could give him cover. A blue delivery van pulled away from the curb. Running, he reached it just in time and opened the rear door. In a single bound, he jumped inside.

  “What the bloody hell?” The driver jerked and looked over his shoulder.

  “Keep driving.” He pulled out the Glock to make his point.

  From Navy SEAL to criminal. Man, how did this shit happen?

  “Sure, mate. Put that away. I’ll take you anywhere you like.”

  “Just keep your eyes forward and your foot on the gas.” Austin peered out the back glass of the van.

  Dark Suit stood in the middle of the road, looking every direction.

  He’d evaded his pursuer.

  Who the hell was that guy? The man had called out his name. Was he Walt Turner’s killer? Or a friend? Did Dark Suit know Angelique?

  Austin needed more answers. Lots more.

  “This street ends up ahead intersecting with Morley Street, mister. Which direction?”

  “Left,” he ordered the driver. “Take me to the other side of the Thames.”

  Still no sign of Dark Suit.

  Glancing at the driver, he could see him trembling. “You got a name?”

  “Preston. Please, mister, don’t hurt me. I have a family.”

  “Relax, Preston. I don’t want to hurt you. Do what I say and everything will be just fine.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything you want.”

  “What’s the bridge up ahead?”

  “The Waterloo.”

  “Do you have a cell?”

  “A what?”

  “A phone.”

  “Yes. It’s a flip. Very old.”

  “Hand it over. I need to borrow it.”

  The man fumbled in his coat, producing the cell.

  Austin took it. He hated playing the criminal, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He needed enough time to get to his sister without the law trying to track him down.

  “Preston, don’t fuck up and go to the police. I have your phone now. With it I can find out where you live. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Consider yourself lucky. But you don’t want to piss me off.”

  “I won’t. I swear it.”

  The odds were that the man would g
o to the police anyway, though hopefully Preston would hesitate long enough to give him a head start.

  “Pull over at the next intersection.” The sidewalks were full of people.

  The man complied and he jumped out, disappearing into the crowd.

  Still moving forward, he spotted Preston flagging down a policeman.

  Shit. So much for my head start. On to plan B.

  He ducked into a small clothing store. Moving quickly, he picked up a black sweater, jeans and tennis shoes. He ran to the dressing room. Without pausing, he placed the Glock on the seat and stripped out of the dead man’s clothes and into the new ones. Once done, he tucked the Glock into the jeans and ran out with Turner’s clothes in his hands. Not wanting to leave any sign of him being here should the police come questioning, he walked up to the clerk standing behind the counter.

  The young man’s eyebrows rose. “In a rush?”

  “Very. Meeting a girl for coffee. First date.” The lie caused him to think about Mindy with the German shepherd. “Forgot all about it. Hopefully I won’t be late.”

  The clerk smiled, appearing more at ease. “We need to look our best for the ladies.”

  “Exactly.” He put on a pair of sunglasses that were on a small display by the register. “These, too. How much for the jeans, sweater, shoes and sunglasses?”

  The clerk told him and Austin gave him money from Turner’s billfold.

  “You have something I can put my other clothes in?”

  The guy handed him a bag. “Good luck with your coffee date.”

  “Do you know where I could get a map of London?”

  “Across the street. Rankin News. I’m sure they have some.”

  He rushed out of the building, just as Preston and a policeman walked by.

  They didn’t take notice of him. He headed to the store the clerk had directed him to, scanning everywhere for Dark Suit. No sign of him.

  After buying the map, he studied it quickly. He knew how to get to Angelique’s home.

  Once he’d gotten sufficient distance from Preston and the officer, he slowed down.