by Gayla Twist
And there he was. Jessie, my love, was standing no more than thirty yards away. I could see him silhouetted in the moonlight. “Jessie,” I called, my heart hammering loudly in my chest. “We have to get out of here. There’s something…” I started hurrying toward him. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s some creature in the woods.”
Jessie came bounding toward me, eager to be by my side. I held my arms out to him. “We have to go,” I said, fighting back a sob of relief as his arms encircled me. “There’s someone else in the woods with us.”
“I know,” he said.
Looking up, I saw that it wasn’t Jessie who was embracing me. It was his brother, Daniel. “Oh,” I stammered, trying to pull away from him, my mind racing. “Did Jessie send you? There’s something in the woods. Something evil.”
“I know,” he said again, a wolfish smile twisting his lips. “I think it might be me.”
And then I saw his teeth glinting in the moonlight. They were long white daggers of ivory. I tried to scream, but my voice caught in my throat.
“Please, by all means scream,” he told me. “It makes things so much better.”
I felt limp in his arms, like a rabbit paralyzed by fear as it stares into the eyes of a snake. I caught a glimpse of his eyes and suddenly I understood what Lilly had meant. Jessie’s eyes had always appeared warm and kind to me. But his brother’s eyes where that of the detached predator. He was a shark ready to strike.
Daniel wrenched my head to one side. “I’m going to enjoy this so much,” he whispered into my hair. And then he lowered his head and I felt a stinging at my neck. I realized with horror that Daniel had sunk his jagged teeth into my neck. He was drinking from me. He was drinking my blood.
I tried to struggle. I willed my arms and legs to move, but they were awkward and lifeless. Tears sprang to my eyes with the sure conviction that I was going to die. Daniel was some kind of demon and he was sucking the life out of me. I thought of the note that I had forgotten to leave for Mama and Papa. It was still in my suitcase, lost somewhere in the woods. I was going to die and my family would never know what had happened to me.
And what about Jessie? Did he know that his brother was Satan incarnate? Or was this the evil he always wanted to tell me about, but I refused to listen. I could no longer feel my legs and my hands were ice cold.
Daniel was a vampire. He was a member of the undead and he needed human blood to live. That explained Arthur and the sticky, red goblets in his room. And then I realized something else; Jessie and his mother were probably vampires, too. That explained why they could never be out in the daytime. It explained a lot of things.
Jessie had wanted to tell me. He’d tried to tell me his family’s secret many times. But I wouldn’t listen. I was too stupid to ever think that there was a problem our love couldn’t surmount. I was too naive to realize that such evil existed in the world.
My darling Jessie was a vampire. And yet he loved me. There was no doubt in my mind that he loved me. My vision started to blur and I closed my eyes.
The world only came into focus again when my body was jarred, quite painfully. I opened my eyes to see that I had been dropped into some kind of ditch. There was loose soil all around me. I tried to think of where I was. My brain felt fuzzy and slow. Town hall, I finally decided. A work crew was digging the foundation for town hall. Papa would find me. He would find my body in the morning and then my family would know I was dead. There was some comfort in that. I didn’t want them to spend the rest of their lives wondering.
I could barely move, but I turned my head to see the man who had killed me standing at the lip of the deep hole where I lay. Just then the clouds drifted away from the moon and I was able to see Daniel more clearly. At a distance he looked so much like Jessie. Tears sprang to my eyes. I would never see my love again.
Daniel started kicking dirt into the hole to cover my body. Small rocks and debris rained down on me. “Why?” bubbled to my lips. “Why are you doing this?”
The vampire paused for a moment, cocking his head to one side as he considered his actions. “I thought I was doing it to protect the family,” he said. “I wasn’t going to let the Vanderlind name be besmirched by some cheap, little mortal. But now that you ask me, I realize that I’m doing it to teach my brother a lesson. Maybe next time he won’t be so eager to fall in love.”
The world was growing dark again and it was a struggle for me to keep my eyes open. I had lost too much blood to do anything but die. Daniel started kicking more dirt on me and I curled into a ball and closed my eyes. “Good bye, Jessie,” I whispered, hoping the night breeze would carry my words to his ears. “Good bye, my love. I will miss you forever.”
Epilogue
Jessie
I raced to the oak tree, but Colette wasn’t there. I searched the woods, then the streets of Tiburon, and then tried peeking in the windows of her family’s home. Colette was gone. It was as if she’d simply been plucked from the earth. For the next two years I searched for her, all night, every night, but she was nowhere to be found. I found her shoe, and an old tramp found some of her clothes in a small suitcase, but those were all the clues that were ever uncovered. My darling girl had vanished without a trace.
Mrs. Denkler hung herself from the rafters in her private quarters two days after Colette disappeared. I think she blamed herself for delaying me. It wasn’t her fault, but part of me held her responsible. If only she hadn’t slammed shut the vault door. If only I’d insisted that I meet Colette under our apple tree instead of letting her walk alone at night. If only I’d left town like I’d intended, instead of wooing Colette and falling in love.
I spent the next several decades hating myself and longing for the life Colette and I would never share. She was gone and, although I had not harmed her, I knew I was responsible for her death. If I hadn’t loved her, she would still be among the living, the sun shining on her tempestuous hair, the birds singing their morning music just for her.
For many years I thought that maybe travel might help me forget the pain that was always present within me, but it did little to blunt the agony. And I found myself compelled to return home every fall. I knew I would never see my darling girl again, but I could not keep from searching for her. Year after year, I combed the woods in the fall, when the moon was full. I continued to do so decade after decade, even though it was obvious she was gone.
I also carried the misery of having caused Colette’s family pain. Not knowing what had happened to their daughter must have been the worst part. I know it was for me. Or maybe it was better that way. I couldn’t judge; I only knew that I was doomed to live for eternity without the woman I loved.
It was somewhere around the turn of the century that I began to feel a change. I hadn’t forgotten Colette, or stopped loving her, but the pain somehow shifted. It became a dull ache in the corners of my soul, rather than a tangible throb in my breast. I stopped going to Europe. Tiburon was my home. I even began to go out on occasion, strolling the town’s streets after sunset. Sometimes I would take in a film at the cinema, or drop by the library on Thursday nights, when it stayed open late. It felt good to traverse the streets where I knew Colette’s footsteps had fallen. Somehow it made me feel closer to her.
One evening in the early fall, I felt an urge to reread The Great Gatsby. The castle library had a signed, first-edition, of course, but I wanted to hold a book that had been caressed by many hands. I was seated in a quiet corner of the library, just starting to become engrossed in the plot, when I heard the sound of two young women hurrying into the room. Glancing up, I had the shock of my life. There, standing before me, was Colette Gibson, just as fresh and young as the first day I saw her. My darling girl had come back to me.
The End
Thank you so much for reading History of the Vampire, book four in The Vanderlind Castle series. If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. Five star reviews are an indie author’s best friend and I would
greatly appreciate it. If reading a Kindle version of this book, then all you have to do is turn to the last page and Amazon will automatically give you the option to rate the story from there.
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Want more passion from the Vanderlind Family? Find out about Jessie’s scoundrel cousin, Dorian Vanderlind, and what happens when he finally falls in love. Try Birth of the Vampire, the first book in the Vanderlind Realm series, here:
Birth of the Vampire
In the mood for another historical vampire romance? One that has witches, and other magical creatures, and a bit of humor? Then Broom with a View might be the book for you. Here are the first couple of chapters so that you can try before you buy.
xo ~ Gayla Twist
Broom with a View
Prologue: When an Assassination Forces a Holiday
“I don’t understand why someone who is two hundred years old should know all that much more than someone who is sixteen,” said Violet Popplewell to her mother. “There’s only a limited amount of things to know in this world.”
Mrs. Popplewell gave a resigned sigh while her busy hands shuffled papers at her desk in her small office. “There’s no point arguing, Violet. Your great-aunt Vera is going with you, and that is that. I know she can be a little trying at times, but a girl your age cannot simply travel to an unknown city by herself. You must admit that. Especially with things being so unsettled. ”
Violet considered brooding for a moment but fought the impulse. She was a practical girl, after all, and what can’t be mended must be borne. She returned to her room to make another attempt at packing.
“Unsettled.” That was her mother’s word for impending war. The Archmage of Canterbury was dead. His body, entirely drained of blood, had been found with those of his wife and child in their private chambers. There was little doubt the assassin was a Vampire. Within twenty-four hours, rumors of a looming war had spread across England like a winter storm. It didn’t matter that there was no proof that Vampires were behind the murders or even condoned the act. Nor did it matter to Mrs. Popplewell that the dastardly deed had happened in London, which might as well have been a million miles from Gallows Road in the little corner of Surrey that was the Popplewells’ home. The British Isle was no longer deemed a safe place for young Witches to dwell.
For Violet, who had rarely travelled even to London, visiting X, the mysterious city-state renowned for its magic, ought to have seemed a wondrous romantic journey. But most young ladies taking their first trip abroad had months to plan down to the smallest detail of the lace pattern on a handkerchief. New wardrobes were commissioned. Farewell parties were held. And Violet would enjoy none of those niceties. She was simply being shipped off, like a parcel, to be kept out of harm’s way.
Violet surveyed the state of her bedroom, sighed, and set about attempting to create order from the general disarray. Her steamer trunks were bare, while clothes, shoes, books, and toiletries were strewn across every surface of the room. Earlier that morning, she had, in her haste, attempted to enchant her clothes to arrange themselves. But instead of compliantly settling into her trunks, the gowns had chased each other about the room in a colorful display of hide-and-go-seek. The stack of books she intended as her additional travelling companions had toppled across the floor, their pages flapping as if caught in a strong breeze. Her brush and comb had attacked her, snatching and dragging at her hair; she’d had to leave the room for three-quarters of an hour to give the spell a chance to wear off.
It was no use; try though she might, magic never obeyed Miss Popplewell’s wishes the way she intended. Most children born to the Craft assumed that the world was their dollhouse, to be rearranged at their whim. But harnessing the unseen forces of the world was a tricky business full of hidden complications and unseen traps. And though almost an adult, Violet still struggled to bend the magical world to her will. She frequently found that the harder she tried, the more difficult it became to cast even the simplest spell. Her mother was constantly reminding the frustrated girl that most of their kind only truly mastered the Craft in their later years, when the tempestuous fires of youth had largely sputtered out. Yet Violet’s powers always seemed just inches from her grasp. Every once in a while, she would unexpectedly conjure extraordinary wonders. Unfortunately, these anomalies came without warning, and afterward, she could never remember what she had done differently. Perhaps it was the way she held her mouth.
Standing in her disorderly room, Violet hesitantly reached into her pocket and felt the familiar handle of the old magic wand that had belonged to her grandmother. Many modern Crafters no longer relied on a wand to produce magic, but for the girl, wand work always seemed to yield the best results. She gripped it for a moment, deliberated, and then decided she couldn’t face another failure. Instead, she began the dull task of packing by hand.
An hour later, all the necessities of life were neatly encapsulated in two large trunks at the foot of Violet’s bed. But her satisfaction was interrupted by a sound emanating from the next room—like two pelicans simultaneously trying to swallow the same fish. Ostensibly called the guest room, the chamber next to Violet’s was almost permanently occupied by her great-aunt, Vera Tartlette. The sound was one of indescribable vexation, which Aunt Vera invariably made when faced with a world-shattering crisis. Violet heard it at least twice a week. With a small sigh, she went to check on the situation.
“Do not fret, my dear,” Aunt Vera began, her voice quavering. Violet entered the room with some trepidation. “I only need a few more moments to sort myself out, and then I’ll be in to help you directly.”
The guest room was in far worse shape than Violet’s had been an hour earlier. Clothes, books, toiletries, and shoes all swirled haphazardly through the air. With a sweeping gesture, Vera would transfer a pile of undergarments to the bottom of her empty steamer trunk. Then, finding dissatisfaction with their placement, she’d whisk her hands to one side to remove them again. After that, the gowns would go in, only to be removed a moment later in the same fashion. All the while, Aunt Vera chattered continuously, either to Violet or to herself, weighing the advantages of taking each item versus the hazards of leaving it behind.
Knowing as she spoke that she would only make things worse, Violet ventured, “Vera, the train does have a schedule to keep.” At this point, the elderly Witch was turning in circles in the center of the little room as though, by making eye contact with each item, she could fathom its every possible use into her head. But once she lost sight of the beaded gloves or motion sickness pastilles or whatever she was looking at, the item and its usefulness were crowded out by new ones.
“Don’t bedevil me with schedules,” her aunt wailed impatiently as an airborne shoe nearly collided with a lit candle. “I said I would help you and I shall, but you really must leave me to my own packing first.”
“For goodness sake.” Violet felt on the edge of exasperation with her great-aunt already, and they hadn’t even set out for the station. Drawing the old wand from her pocket, almost without thinking, she made three decisive strikes through the air. In a hailstorm of clothes, shoes, books, and papers, Vera’s possessions all found their proper place, and trunk lids slammed firmly shut.
The room went still. Vera gazed in silence at the neatly arranged steamer trunks for several moments, as if trying to remember where she had left her knitting. Then she blinked and, turning her eyes to her young ward, said, “There now. Shall we see about your trunks?”
Chapter 1: Witch Friendly Does Not Mean Witch Exclusive
The city-state of X lay somewhere on the European continent, just at the invisible line that separated the western half, land of Witches, Sorcerers, and other Crafters, from the dark eastern half, realm of the Vampires. It stood before, or rather almost encrusting, Mount Drood, a craggy bluff that rose sharply above the rolling hills s
urrounding it and marked the beginning of the Alps. Half the city climbed the steep slope of Mt. Drood and crowned its peak, while the other half stood almost perpetually in its shadow.
To say that Violet Popplewell had always dreamt of going to X was not to say that she had actually wanted to go. Quite the contrary; since she was a small child, tales of that magical city had filled her with unease. In anxiety-filled dreams, she would find herself wandering its labyrinthine streets while tall, windowless buildings frowned down upon her.
Violet’s first glimpse of X in waking life was little different from her nocturnal visions. As their train pulled into the station in the deepening gloom of early evening, she caught glimpses of the city’s towers, black against the purple sky. She’d seen pictures of the famous edifices, but nothing could have prepared her for the soaring spires of stone, iron, and glass of a city built by magic. London, but for a tiny handful of magically enhanced buildings shrouded in spells of concealment, had nothing to compare. No building crafted by Mortals could hold a candle to these impossible structures.
A mighty hall lined with pillars rested on the sculpted shoulders of a stone colossus. Staircases spiraled upwards, disappearing into the sky with no visible means of support or conclusion. Walkways, and even a road or two big enough to drive a carriage across, rested on impossibly slender, graceful arched pylons—when they weren’t resting on thin air. Here and there, immense trees grew, wrapping around buildings and then providing support for additional constructions. And buildings intertwined with the naked rock of the mountain so promiscuously that one couldn’t tell what was natural and what was Crafted.