by H. Y. Hanna
A sound behind them made Caitlyn whirl around. She saw James Fitzroy standing in the doorway of the Portrait Gallery. His grey eyes held an expression of mingled surprise and annoyance, although his tone was carefully neutral as he came in and said:
“Ah… there you are. We were wondering where you had disappeared to.”
“We came out for a stroll and I persuaded the lovely Miss Le Fey to give me a private tour of this wing of the Manor,” said Antoine, smiling at Caitlyn.
“I’m sorry,” said Caitlyn. “I hope we’re not trespassing or something. We should really have asked you first—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” said James shortly. “You know you’re welcome to explore anywhere you like in the Manor. It was just that you were gone so long and you hadn’t told anyone...”
Antoine made a remorseful face. “It is my fault. I had not intended for us to stay away, but when one is with company such as Miss Le Fey, it is easy to forget the time,” he said, placing a possessive hand against the small of her back.
Caitlyn stiffened and she saw James’s mouth tighten.
“Yes, well, perhaps we’d better join the others now,” he said curtly.
Antoine gave Caitlyn a teasing grin. “Ah, I think perhaps Lord Fitzroy is jealous of me commanding your attention.” He laughed and sauntered over to James. “Do not fret, mon ami. I return her to you now.”
James’s cheeks reddened slightly. “That’s not what I meant. Caitlyn is her own woman. If she wishes to come out for a stroll with you—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Anyway, how did you get into this room? The door is normally locked.”
“Perhaps one of the staff forgot to lock it?” said Antoine carelessly as he walked through the door.
James frowned and turned to follow him. “That’s unlikely. This side of the Manor is rarely used and the staff have very little reason to come here on a daily…”
Their voices faded as they stepped out into the hallway. Caitlyn started to follow, then something made her pause and look back at the painting. Just like the last time she saw it, she was riveted by the way the colours seemed to glow on the canvas—almost as if they were freshly applied. She narrowed her eyes, taking in details she hadn’t noticed the first time. The landscape behind the riders wasn’t as barren as she had first thought: in the distance, a thick forest spread out like a dark green blanket, covering the land… and there, in the corner of the canvas behind the Pale Horse… something peeked out amongst the trees…
Caitlyn moved closer and squinted… it was hard to make out the details but it looked like a tower, with a flock of something dark encircling it… birds?
Bats, Caitlyn realised. And at the same time, she realised something else. The tower looked familiar. In fact, she had seen one exactly like it that morning: the Folly of Huntingdon Manor.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Caitlyn’s first thought when she woke up the next morning was of Viktor. Despite Bertha’s and the Widow Mags’s assurances, she was worried about the old vampire. She decided to head over to Bewitched by Chocolate as soon as breakfast was over and see if he had turned up—if not, she was going to insist on a search party to comb the woods around Gertrude Smith’s cottage.
But when she and Pomona arrived at the chocolate shop an hour later, Caitlyn was delighted to find Viktor seated at the wooden table in the kitchen with her aunt and her grandmother.
“Viktor! You’re all right!” she cried, running up to him. She looked with concern at his arm, which was bandaged and in a sling. “Are you badly hurt? Did that terrier bite through your wing?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Viktor blustered, waving her off.
“He did have quite a bad tear in the wing membrane,” Bertha said. “But don’t worry—I’ve applied a herbal compress and it will heal quickly.”
“But dog bites can turn really nasty,” said Caitlyn. “It’s all the bacteria in their mouths. You can get blood poisoning or some other horrible infection. I think you should go to hospital and get a shot of antibiotics—”
“I am not going to hospital for something as trivial as a dog bite!” cried Viktor. “Young lady, I’ll have you know, as an Ancient Guardian Protector, I am well seasoned in battle and used to dealing with wounds of far more serious nature! Why, when I was a young vampire, I once fought a werewolf single-handed—”
“Yes, but this is different!” said Caitlyn. “You can’t expect to just rebound like you did then.”
“And why not?”
“Well, because you’re—” Caitlyn broke off, not wanting to say: “Because you’re old now.”
Bertha said gently, “The herbal compress contains strong anti-bacterial compounds, which should stop any infection. In any case, Viktor’s vampire regenerative abilities mean that the wound will heal before infection has time to take hold.” She reached over and carefully unwound a section of bandage. “There, see? It’s already healing over.”
Caitlyn leaned over to look and was impressed. The deep gash had sealed and the skin already looked pink and healthy. “Wow… what’s in the compress?”
“Oh, a few special herbs, mixed to a specific recipe… and a little bit of magic to bind it all together,” said Bertha with a smile.
The Widow Mags gave Viktor a severe look. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. Always thinking about your stomach… Stealing from a fruit bowl—really, Viktor!”
The old vampire looked sulky. “I only wanted to inspect the interior of the cottage—Caitlyn wouldn’t let me go in with her, so I had to creep in the back myself. Then I saw the bananas and they smelled so delicious…” He flexed his arm. “Anyway, I shall be back in the air in no time.”
“Can you really change into a bat?” Pomona spoke up for the first time.
The old vampire looked at her in surprise. “But of course. I can shift into other creatures too, but a bat is my preferred form. A fruit bat, to be precise.”
“But… you don’t look like a shape-shifter,” said Pomona, eyeing him suspiciously. “Or even a vampire, actually.”
“And how am I supposed to look?”
“Well… like… handsome and hot…” Pomona muttered. Then she brightened. “Oh, you must have been old already when you were turned.”
“Turned?” Viktor looked at her in puzzlement. “Turned where?”
“Turned into a vampire,” explained Pomona.
“I wasn’t turned into a vampire!” cried Viktor, scandalised. “I was born one.”
“Born? You can be born a vampire?”
“Of course. It is something that runs in certain families.”
Pomona furrowed her brow. “You mean, like a genetic mutation?”
“I am not a mutation! Vampirism is… a rare ‘gift’ or a talent, that appears in some babies born within certain families. Like red hair,” he said, glancing at Caitlyn’s head. “Or the ability to have perfect pitch or to draw beautifully—”
Pomona frowned. “So you were born with fangs?”
“No, the vampiric trait is not immediately apparent—it develops as we grow older and enter puberty. But even before then, those of us who are vampires know instinctively that we are different from others. The trait is also inconsistent—like red hair.” He glanced at Caitlyn’s head again. “It can sometimes skip several generations and there is no predicting when it will appear again, if at all. In fact, in recent centuries, there have been fewer and fewer vampires born. In centuries past, vampires were numerous and powerful, but our numbers have been dwindling. We are a dying race.” Viktor sighed heavily, suddenly looking his six hundred and thirty-four years.
“You mean, vampires are going extinct?” asked Caitlyn in dismay.
“Yes,” Bertha answered. “If nothing is done and the rates of vampire births continue to decline, soon there may not be any vampires at all.”
“But I don’t get it—instead of just waiting for it to randomly pop up in a family somewhere, why
can’t you just, like, marry each other and make vampire babies?” asked Pomona.
Viktor drew back in horror. “Vampires do not marry! For those of us who have been blessed with this gift, we honour it by taking a life of celibacy. Vampires were once the Ancient Guardians of the Underworld, tasked with protecting the vulnerable and keeping order in the magical realms. We devote our lives to that duty,” he said proudly. “In any case, vampires are always males—the trait is passed down through the male line. So there would be no female vampires to marry, even had we wanted to.”
“So there’s really no other way to become a vampire?” asked Pomona disbelievingly. “All that stuff in the movies and books about being turned into a vampire after being bitten isn’t true?”
Viktor hesitated. “There is some truth in that,” he said at last. “Yes, there is a second way that vampires can be created but it is a cruel, despicable act, forced upon the innocent without their consent.” He scowled. “I have seen it happen in my time, when an immoral vampire preys on young boys. They are bitten and infected with an unnatural thirst for blood. In this way, they become ‘vampires’ but they are nothing like real vampires. They are tortured monsters, condemned to a life of savagery as they hunt for their next victim. They are the ones who have inspired the stories of horror and fear in human history, and those books and movies you speak of. True vampires—those who came to it by birthright and who respect the ancient order—follow a strict code of honour. We would never hurt another human being. We are protectors, not killers.”
“But… what about when you feed?” asked Pomona. “Don’t you have to hurt humans when you suck their blood?”
“Vampires do not feed on blood! That is yet another myth perpetrated by those ridiculous books and films. We follow a diet determined by our bat form, and that is determined in turn by the families we are descended from. My family, for instance, came from the Order Megachiroptera: vampires born in my family shift into fruit bats, and therefore I am a fruitarian.”
“But I heard that most bats eat insects,” said Pomona, making a face. “Does that mean that most vampires munch on bugs?”
“There is nothing wrong with an insectivorous diet,” said Viktor huffily. “Insects are full of protein. It is very good for you. There are also those belonging to Orders which consume small mammals, birds, lizards, and frogs.”
“Lizards?” said Pomona. “Eeeuuggghh!”
“But you told me there are some vampires who feed on blood,” Caitlyn said.
“Yes, that is right,” Viktor conceded. “A small number of families belong to the Order Vampyrus—their members shift into vampire bats and enjoy the taste of blood. But not necessarily human blood,” he added sternly. “You can feed on blood and never choose a human as a victim.”
“But you could get some evil vampire dude who doesn’t wanna follow the old code of honour,” said Pomona. “And maybe that’s who killed Pierre Rochat! That would explain the puncture wounds in his neck and how his body was drained of blood—”
“I still think Inspector Walsh is right and Rochat was murdered because of his criminal connections,” interrupted Caitlyn.
“Maybe the two things aren’t separate,” said Pomona.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, maybe the criminal guy—the ringleader—is a vampire as well!”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “First you thought he was a butler and a criminal… now you think he could be a butler and a criminal and a vampire?”
“Why not?” said Pomona. “It’s, like, you’re a bookworm and a witch and a redhead. You can be multiple things at the same time.”
“I suppose… It just seems like too much of a coincidence,” said Caitlyn. “And anyway, it doesn’t make sense. Supposing the murderer was the ringleader—and happened to be a vampire—why would he murder Pierre Rochat? Rochat was his partner in crime, who was going to help him get rid of the stolen jewellery. There’s no reason to kill him.”
“Maybe he got hungry when they were exchanging the jewels and decided to chomp on Rochat instead.”
“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard!” said Caitlyn, exasperated.
“Oh yeah? You got a better one?” Pomona shot back.
The Widow Mags had been silently watching the girls argue back and forth, but now the old witch spoke up:
“I agree with Caitlyn. The answer lies in the reason Pierre Rochat came to Tillyhenge.”
“To meet the ringleader of the jewellery thieves—I’m sure of that,” Caitlyn said. “It’s just too much of a coincidence otherwise, for a robbery to have occurred in London recently, for the ringleader to be hiding in this area of the Cotswolds and for Rochat—a fence who disposes of stolen jewels—to come to this tiny village.”
“What was stolen in the robbery?” asked Bertha. “Perhaps that can give us a clue.”
Caitlyn frowned thoughtfully. “Well, the biggest thing was a pink diamond. It’s worth hundreds of thousands of pounds… Oh! And I just remembered. There was something else: Inspector Walsh mentioned an antique silver bloodstone brooch.”
“A bloodstone brooch?” The Widow Mags looked up.
Caitlyn nodded. “It caught my attention because of the Fitzroys’ bloodstone ring that was stolen recently. Although Inspector Walsh insists that they’re not related. This one is just a plain bloodstone—there is no engraving on it—and it’s set in a brooch in the shape of a key.”
“A key? Oh my Goddess, maybe it’s the key!” said Bertha. “The key for the belfry!”
Viktor snorted. “That is a bedtime story told to vampire children!”
“It may not be just a bedtime story,” said the Widow Mags quietly.
Caitlyn looked from one to the other in confusion.
“What belfry?” asked Pomona. “What are you guys talking about?”
Bertha turned to her. “Have you heard the expression ‘bats in the belfry’?”
“Yeah, it means someone is crazy or nuts.”
“That’s not actually its original meaning. It’s been corrupted through use in human societies, who have no real understanding of its origin. The phrase comes from an ancient legend passed down in vampire lore and often told in vampire families. A bit like your stories of ‘Cinderella’ or ‘Little Red Riding Hood’,” said Bertha with a smile. “It’s said that there is an enchanted key which, when used to unlock a certain belfry tower, can transform it into a magical structure, one that’s linked to the Other Realms. Then, when you go inside the belfry, you’ll find a magical bell. If this is rung, it has the power to summon a swarm of bats to the belfry—the basis of a great army… a vampire army.”
“Bah! What load of garlic!” cried Viktor. “It is just like the silly legend about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I know a poor leprechaun who has spent his life searching for that gold—but has anyone ever seen it? It is a myth—just like the bats in the belfry!”
“There may be more truth to the legend than you think,” said the Widow Mags grimly. “And in any case, the lure of such a prize may be enough to be dangerous. There are many vampires worried about the vampire race dying out, who are frustrated by the ‘old ways’. They are not willing to wait for the Fates to decide when the next vampire is to be born—they want to take matters into their own hands—and the legend of the ‘bats in the belfry’ is a very seductive one. It suggests a way for the vampire race to regain its strength and to dominate the world once more.”
“But such an army… they would not be true vampires,” said Viktor, aghast. “They would be an army of the undead, such as I described earlier: savage and monstrous, with no compassion or decency. Surely no vampire would dream of unleashing such a plague on humanity!”
“You may cling to the old ways, Viktor, and be bound by a code of honour, but not all vampires are like you. Especially the younger ones, who have been born in the modern age… they care little for the old standards of nobility and decency. For them, the end is worth any cost. They would r
ather have bloodthirsty monster vampires than no vampires at all. And with such an army, vampires could dominate the world once more.”
There was a long silence as everyone pondered the Widow Mags’s grim words.
“But that hasn’t happened yet, right?” asked Pomona. “Which means the key is still safe. As long as no one finds this antique brooch with the key, they can’t call up some creepy vampire army.”
“You’re assuming this key is real!” said Caitlyn. “It might all be just a story. And even if it isn’t, that doesn’t mean that this antique brooch that was stolen is the magical key. I think you’re assuming way too much.”
“Okay, but I still think the murderer is a vampire,” said Pomona, shooting Caitlyn a defiant look. “Whatever Inspector Walsh says. There’s just, like, too many clues pointing in that direction, too many coincidences. I mean, we’ve got this vampire legend… we’ve got an antique brooch in the shape of a key… we’ve got a dead guy with fang marks in his neck… C’mon! There’s gotta be a vampire involved!”
“I think Pomona is right,” said Bertha. “I think there are too many coincidences to ignore.”
Caitlyn looked at the Widow Mags for support, but the old witch said nothing. She turned back to Pomona.
“Okay… assuming you’re right and the murderer is a vampire—how does that help us find out who it is?”
“Well, that’s easy!” Pomona exclaimed. “If the murderer is a vampire, then we just need to figure out who could be a vampire and that would give us a shortlist, right? I know!” She turned to Viktor excitedly. “Can’t you go around and look at people in the village and tell?”
“Tell what, young lady?” asked Viktor.
“Tell if they’re a vampire!”
“It is not always obvious.”