by Casey Lane
Astrid’s face shrunk back in disgust. Though she was weak, she tried to spit out the foreign substance.
“No, Astrid,” whispered Luca. “Drink it. Just a few drops, it is the only antidote to the venom. You will be safe, I promise.”
Astrid gazed into Luca’s eyes, and willingly choked back a few drops of his sticky blue blood. As soon as she was able to sit on her own, Luca leapt up from her side.
“Take care of her,” he commanded.
Grabbing an apron from one of the women, he ripped it into a tourniquet for his arm, and in a flash, darted off in the direction he’d last seen his brother.
Though Luca had the powerful physical vision of prophetics, he reached for his goggles. Brass-plated over platinum, the lenses were coated with a blue film, which detected changes in molecular frequency. With them, Luca would find Draegan—even if he hid himself by changing his frequency.
Cautiously, he removed a small ray gun from the folds of his robes and configured it to act as a tracking device to find his brother’s DNA. The ray gun also emitted a tranquilizing jolt—a stunning and disabling ray of paralysis.
Luca bowed his head and made another strange humming sound, much like the drone of bees. At the same time, he flicked several droplets of blood from his slashed arm into the air. The blue blood hung for a moment, suspended immobile, floating and vibrating in rhythm with the hum.
He stood still, watching as the drops slowly made their way to a small street on his left. He followed cautiously and silently, leaving no trace of his own scent or sound. From the corner of his eye, he saw the quick figure of a robed vampire gliding through the gates of the train station. Behind the figure were the droplets of blood. Luca held his breath, relieved they had found their closest genetic match.
The train station was almost empty, and a large steam coach waited by the platform. As Luca maintained a safe distance between him and his brother, Draegan hopped onto the steam coach and climbed to the top.
The coach whistled twice and started its way along the bumpy roadside. As it gathered speed, Luca ran, accelerating until he was able to reach the brass and wooden ladder on the right side of the carriage.
“Draegan!” he yelled into the wind, alongside the steam vehicle.
Draegan lurched over from the top of the coach, locks of his dark hair whipping around his face like serpents. Luca grabbed the brass siderail to pull himself up.
“Go away, Luca,” Draegan yelled, his robes billowing behind him. “You are a worthless brother.” He pressed the heel of his black shoe against the fingers of Luca’s right hand, twisting back and forth across Luca’s knuckles.
Luca kept steady and pulled out the ray gun with his left hand.
“Fool!” yelled Draegan as he ducked to jump from the coach.
But Luca’s accuracy and speed could not be foiled. The gun emitted its tranquilizing ray, grazing Draegan’s neck and temple. As Luca fell from the coach, Draegan disappeared into the cloak of night.
“Astrid, how many times have I warned you—no, instructed you—to not get involved in the slums of the East End? How many times?” Lord West’s voice boomed through the hospital’s sanitarium, even as Lady West’s fragile voice tried to shush him into lowering his decibel.
Astrid’s sister, Miranda, sat by her side, eyes fixed upon the teeth marks dotting her neck.
Her father’s portly chest rose in anger as he pointed toward her mother. “I won’t tolerate behavior of this sort,” he continued on his verbal rampage. “If word leaks out that Astrid is somehow involved with the prostitute and vampire murders, she will be ruined. We all will.”
His choice of words bothered Astrid. “Father, they aren’t prostitutes.”
“Don’t be naïve. Every victim of this rogue vampire has been a prostitute. For God’s sake, Astrid. People might think you have taken up the trade!”
Astrid swayed, then fell back into her pillows. Her eyes filmed over and her vision tunneled into blackness—aware of those around her, but unable to speak or move.
“Astrid,” Miranda cried. “Wake up!”
“She needs her rest,” whispered her mother, as she smoothed Astrid’s fevered brow. “Stop upsetting her, dear husband, with your heinous outbursts. Today is not the time for your intemperance.”
Astrid swam in and out of her mind’s darkness. Vivid images of a colorful and oversized butterfly, jetting over a garden, danced through her subconscious. The butterfly flew around her in circles as she walked down the streets of London. The day was bright and warm, illuminated by the sun and an unusual lack of fog and soot.
The butterfly settled on an infant girl, wrapped in a blanket and laying on a step. The infant’s hair was a rich chocolate brown, curling around her ears. Her prismatic, gray eyes sparkled like two jewels. Astrid’s heart beat faster, as she was filled with a warm feeling.
“Astrid!” Her father jogged her shoulders. His guttural shout filled the spaces in the room with discomfort. “Pay attention!”
Her eyes opened slowly, eyelids fluttering and blinking furiously. Astrid saw her mother and sister on either side of her, while her father paced the room like a rabid madman.
Her memory returned and her senses sharpened. “The vampire,” she gasped, her hand impulsively reaching for her neck.
“Yes! The bloody vampire.” Her father’s resentment dripped from his eyes as he spat the words at her. “This is what happens to humans who are careless and overconfident.” The snarl in his voice shocked her.
“Thank God she’s alive,” sobbed Miranda. “And not disemboweled on the streets.”
“It’s a miracle.” Her mother’s hand still tightly clutched Astrid’s. She pulsed her grip painfully, not letting go.
“You’re hurting me.” Astrid gently tried to pull her hand from her mother’s grasp, and that is when she saw the glare in her mother’s eye; she was as enraged as her father. She had no ally.
“Lady Astrid, how are you healing?”
Astrid’s eyes darted to the door as the familiar voice filled her ears. Luca stood in the doorway, his expression soft and worried.
Lord West’s voice burst like a canon. “Vampire! Are you the reason for all this? Is this how you live your Vow of Peace?” He sputtered and spat as he spoke. “Do I even need to ask? You are all mutants, who should be destroyed. I pray for your extinction.”
“Father, please. He’s the reason I am still alive.” Astrid’s words carried the weight of happiness, relief, and fear.
“No. His mutant clan is the reason for your close encounter with a very gruesome death, or worse, a transformation into one of them.” Lord West’s eyes glowed with a perverse anger. “Leave this very instant, vampire. Leave my family alone forever.”
Luca turned toward Astrid; the look on his face confirmed he felt the same warmth in his chest as she.
Astrid smiled. He remained her ally.
“Stay away from my daughter. You and the Society better remain far from her sight,” Lord West bellowed into the sanitarium’s corridor, shocking the doctors and patients.
Luca nodded at Astrid, then departed without further response.
“There was no need to speak to him in such a manner, Father. He saved my life, and we are working together. I am helping him to stop the vampire killer.”
“You are helping him feed his brethren!”
“I am helping reestablish the peace,” Astrid argued. “And as I’ve said, he saved my life. I would not be here, if not for him.”
Miranda’s eyes widened with shock at her tone.
“Saved your life? Indeed! He’s a blood-sucking vampire, a liar like the rest of them. He has more than likely manipulated your mind somehow. Perhaps lobotomized you into submission.” He paced the length of the room, muttering to himself. “It was only a matter of time before one would break the Vow of Peace.”
Astrid turned away from her father, and remained silent.
“I forbid you to associate with any of them, from this da
y forward. They are not our kind, Astrid. They think they are gods, but they are beasts!” Lord West’s salt and pepper whiskers trembled with rage.
Astrid knew better than to argue with him any longer. Demurely, in an attitude more suited to her mother, she bowed her head in temporary submission.
Draegan felt the tranquilizing ray graze his temple. Jumping from the steam coach, he landed on the limb of an oak tree, mind buzzing from a low frequency of electric power. Luca will not enter my mind. Draegan had the power to seal his mind from telepathic vampires. But as the tranquilizer took effect, his defenses broke down, one by one.
A piercing pain between his eyebrows flashed through his skull. Vulnerable, he looked for a place to hide. He ran through the underbrush, as white hot flashes of light blinded his eyes. Draegan began to hyperventilate and panic, forcing more blood into his brain, making it easier for Luca to gain access to his mind.
Draegan’s feet stalled, tripping over one another, and his reflexes slowed. An empty train station stood one mile ahead. Running, then jogging, he felt as if his feet were in quicksand, as if he was fighting through gelatinous air. He closed his eyes in concentration. Keep going!
As he made it to the station, he could barely breathe. His lungs felt like they were squeezed inside a vice. He dragged himself forward and passed a room with a padlock. A quick plan entered his mind, but it would exhaust all of his energy to try.
As a last resort, Draegan tumbled into the station house through its double wooden doors. He pulled himself along the floor to the corner of the room and nestled in the darkness. With his energy reserves exhausted, he felt his consciousness slipping from his hands like a fine, silken thread. He lowered his heart rate and forced his organs into a state of temporary hibernation, making him inaccessible to trackers.
Hours passed.
Exhausted, he sensed the presence of vampire trackers, and he forced himself to stay awake. He heard two of them outside the doors as they approached the room in which he hid.
“What do you think the High Table will do to Draegan if he’s caught?”
“You mean when he’s caught. We can’t fail in this task. Our coexistence with the humans depends on his capture.”
“Yes,” said the first vampire. “It’s only a matter of time until we find him sprawled somewhere, tranquilized by the vampire venom.”
So that’s what it is. A formula of plumeria mixed with human blood—a ration of two to one. The reactive mixture was lethal to vampires in high doses. In smaller quantities, as used in the ray gun, only temporary effects of paralysis and muteness were experienced.
Draegan’s eyes involuntarily shut, and the rest of his body lay like a brick. The voices faded out of his earshot as the vampires slowly moved past the room. He could almost see them in his thoughts. Young, energetic, full of hope for the Society’s prospects, and brainwashed into believing that any other future was grim.
The trackers passed his locked room as white, hot flashes continued to burn through Draegan’s brain. The tranquilizer had taken effect, and he could no longer fight it. He peacefully closed his eyes, slipping into a deep, serene slumber.
Chapter Six
Spirits in the Material World
Astrid lay between the silken sheets of her bed, dripping with feverish perspiration. Her visions continued, but their mood shifted. Unlike the first tranquil dreams, these images enveloped her in dark and somber lethargy. As she lay in restless sleep, heart racing, her arms yearned for the young infant girl, but the slippery claw of fear raged in her psyche as the child slipped from her reach.
The infant’s face looked blue. Her icy gray eyes appeared disconnected from her soul, with large, dilated black pupils. She floated in a vast ocean, her tiny body swallowed by one mighty wave after another. Her mouth opened, silently crying in an attempt for air, but Astrid saw the water pouring into the baby’s mouth and nose. Crushing pain and fear enveloped Astrid. She screamed, but no sound followed.
Astrid jumped in her sleep, grabbing the air, her stomach tight with anxiety. “Luca!” Her voice broke through the silence of the night.
Miranda ran to her side as she sat up, gasping for breath. Holding her knees to her chest, Astrid wept silently, and her sister crawled in the bed with her.
“Why are you having such dreams?” asked Miranda gently. “Is it the vampire venom?”
“You must never tell father,” whispered Astrid between sobs. “But Luca made me drink some of his blood. It was bitter . . . thick and blue. It’s the only antidote for the venom.”
“I will never speak of it, of course,” reassured Miranda. “But what does his blood have to do with the dreams?”
“Luca is a prophetic vampire. I think his blood has given me visions, a power that runs through the helix of his DNA.”
“Really?” asked Miranda with excitement. “What do you see? Will I be married soon? Will I be rich?”
“I see nothing but a baby girl,” answered Astrid in a clipped tone. “All alone and in danger.”
The Office of the Society sat under a fog of nervous anticipation. Three of the High Table members stood against the wall, their arms outstretched to the side, their faces raised to the ceiling, performing a ritual. Mordecai had seen to it that the doors to the room had been locked and latched from the inside; barred from the outside too, as an extra precaution. No one but the Society’s highest officers were allowed to witness the following event.
Three other members sat alongside Mordecai at the thick, wooden table—the most senior and revered of the clans. The three vampires against the wall held their eyes tightly shut. An old crone vampire tied blindfolds around the eyes of the prophetics. Zeppelins hovered along the outside perimeter of the Society’s walls, patrolling for the rogue vampire, so the crone closed the thick glass of the windows to drown out the sound of the midnight drill.
Each of the three vampires hummed in a low monotone groan. Within each of their minds, they saw the same images—Draegan as he was born to Constance. Mordecai hummed his own tune, accessing their visions. They felt her hysteria build with each push as she delivered him to life. They saw Luca in the shadows of the room, unmoving as he looked upon his new brother.
Time fast-forwarded in a spiral, and the prophetics shifted to another level of time. They saw Draegan attending school and learning his first lessons. Next time shift, they observed his adolescence and his odd personality growing darker and more disturbed.
Draegan became cruel. The prophetics saw him overpower a weaker vampire in a classroom with mental force, squeezing his mind with powerful brainwaves. Next, he demanded sexual favors from a woman as she left the Society’s Blood Donation Center. Draegan manipulated her thoughts into acquiescence, then mounted her. His mouth gently nibbled her neck as she lay paralyzed underneath him.
The vampires gasped in unison as they saw Draegan performing skillful lobotomies on women he had seduced and overpowered. His long finger would reach behind the socket of their right eye. They watched in silence, as he inserted a curved, brass needle with bristles on the end, gently brushing away the frontal lobe’s short-term memory.
Mordecai was shaken. “We’ve seen enough debased behavior.”
“But we’ve not yet seen what we are searching for,” answered the oldest prophetic. “We must continue.”
The vampires hummed in deeper tones, harmonizing with each other. The sound echoed ominously in the room as another level of time shifted—present day.
Each vision played behind them. Each of the killings, in bold color, splashed against the wall as if from a film projector. As the vampires of the High Table witnessed each atrocity, a montage of blood lust flashed before them.
The women lay half-dressed. Draegan ripped away their corsets and overcoats, shredding the fabric from their bodies. The Society witnessed the puncture wounds. Two wounds, both clean and directed to the jugular, draining the women of life. The more the women struggled, the more frenzied he became.
The c
rimes stirred each of the vampire’s natural desires, and several Society officials began to hyperventilate, growl, and claw at the air.
Mordecai ran to the windows and pulled open the curtains. “Enough,” he said, breaking the spell of the visions. His vampires were stirred at the sight of female anatomy, human blood, and the hunt of the prey. “Remember your vow.”
The old crone brought red wine to subdue the vampires’ lust. As they drank, they focused on the goal—forcing their way into Draegan’s mind.
Draegan woke up in the dark room. His head throbbed from the after effects of his brother’s tranquilizing ray gun. He tried to move his hands and legs, but they were motionless. It didn’t matter. He remained free and untouched by the long arm of the Society.
“Draegan, you’d be wise to give yourself up.”
The voice in his head surprised him. He knew better than to listen, because it was not the words of his own conscience or of a higher sentient being, but actually Mordecai, urging him to submit.
“No. Absolutely not. Never!” Draegan shouted into the empty dark room.
“You have no way out. You cannot outwit the High Table’s Prophetics.”
“My powers are stronger than your weak little Table. You know that. You had me designed. Besides, you may find me,” laughed Draegan, “but I won’t surrender.”
“You’ll be killed,” warned Mordecai. “Killed on sight.”
“You’d never kill me. You need me.”
“Yes, you are needed. And for that reason, I ask you to return to us safely and without incident.”
The pain in Draegan’s head had sunk so deep, he felt his skull would shatter at any moment, and that his bones would shear back from his brain and rain in shards across the room. He refused to give into the paralysis. Closing his eyes, he emitted a low snarling hum, willing his legs to move. The muscles in his calves and thighs quivered as they obeyed. Unsteadily, Draegan rose from the floor of the tiny, dark room that had been his haven.