Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book 2]: Blood Mists of London

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  I shook a cloth napkin open and placed it on my lap. “I have no doubts.”

  Jacques raised his hand, getting Shields’ attention, and motioned him to join us. Shields gave a broad smile and nodded. Seconds later, he stood at our table.

  Chapter Nine

  Constable Shields was hospitable and gracious. He nodded toward Matilda, “Milady.”

  She smiled.

  Then Shields acknowledge each of us with a slight nod. Regardless of Shields’ kind smile, his eyes always held a modest glint of suspicion toward Jacques. “Gentlemen.”

  We nodded in return before he pulled out his chair and seated himself. A waiter brought a small tea kettle and teacup for Shields. He graciously smiled and poured hot tea into his cup.

  “Did you find anything useful last night?” he asked, pressing his glasses against the bridge of his nose.

  Jacques shook his head. “All was quiet.”

  “We discovered the same. Of course we posted more officers, which might have kept him at bay. But we might simply be dealing with a one-time murderer, and if so, it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  He volunteered information somewhat eagerly. “We really don’t have anything conclusive about Polly’s death. There wasn’t any obvious motive.”

  Jacques and I exchanged glances. Although Shields was offering additional information, he didn’t understand why she was dead. For us, her death wasn’t a mystery since we understood the reason behind her death.

  Of course, explaining that a vampire was actually responsible for her murder was a quick way to be fitted for a straitjacket in an asylum, and in many ways, that outcome was far worse than a prison sentence.

  “Does there need to be a motive?” I asked.

  “No. But you, for whatever reason, seemed to believe this person would kill again. Without a clear motive, it does make your theory more plausible. If intentional, it narrows down the reasoning, but no one had any true purpose, so it’s a random murder. Based upon one reporter’s notion some of the other detectives want to link her death to two previous murders. Two detectives wish to purport the murders to a gang.”

  “Why a gang?” Jacques asked.

  Shields shrugged and blew steam off his tea. “All speculation right now.”

  “So what can you tell us about Polly?” I asked.

  Shields sighed, sipped his tea, and stared at the tablecloth while he spoke. “She didn’t have money, was barely scraping by, and had worked in various workhouses over the years. But she had a problem with overindulging in the spirits, losing a few jobs because of her drinking habits. Lately, she had been seen working as a prostitute. Her roommate even told us she had seen her about an hour before Polly’s body had been discovered. She said that Polly absolutely reeked of alcohol. Apparently she had made enough money on the streets to pay for her bed in their lodging house three times over, but instead of heading to the house, she chose to buy several drinks. I suppose she was trying to get more money for boarding after her roommate walked away. It’s difficult for most to pry themselves free of alcohol’s hold.”

  “It is,” Father said softly.

  “She was a prostitute?” Jacques said, looking at Shields. “Isn’t that against the law?”

  The constable nodded and held a glum expression on his face. “It is, but due to a humiliating court case last year dealing with a woman of prominence that was accused of soliciting, we were ordered to . . . look the other way unless a direct complaint had been filed. So, even though we know it’s going on, we have our orders to ignore it. Might as well, I suppose.”

  “Why’s that?” Jacques asked.

  “Lack of jobs. Women have children to feed. They need places to sleep at night. Of course, us ignoring it might have caused problems of its own.”

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “Such a profession is frowned upon by the Church. Some parishioners might actually view murder as a lesser evil,” Shields replied.

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  Some religious people actually thought killing an unwanted element in society was justifiable. Unbelievable. My anger got the best of me. “Aren’t they playing God?”

  “I didn’t say people have done that.”

  “Yet.”

  Shields’ brow rose, he cocked his head to the side, and then nodded. “Should it happen and the person is arrested, he will be put to death for the murder. But with so many women on the streets soliciting, it’s only a matter of time before someone takes it upon himself to make an example out of one of them. In no way is it justifiable.”

  I sipped my coffee and set the cup down. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  Shields shrugged.

  “Have you had any ship captains report murders of crew members after they reached port?”

  He frowned. “None have been reported to me. Why?”

  “I’ve been wondering if the man who killed Polly might have recently arrived by ship.”

  “And if he did, you seem to believe that he has killed others. Is there something you’re not telling me?” Shields asked.

  “It’s just a feeling that I have,” I replied.

  “Me, too,” Jacques said.

  Shields sat in silence for several moments. “The ports are outside of my jurisdiction, but I will send a messenger to that precinct and see what information I can retrieve.”

  “From what you said earlier. How might this be tied to gangs?”

  “The East End of London has numerous problems, Forrest. With the influx of emigrants there’s been local groups that have organized to fight against nationalities they loathe. In return, those new to the area have formed their own factions to defend themselves. So they’ve formed little gangs to protect territories, but after the population inflates too much, one has no choice but to infringe upon the other, which leads to hostile scuffles. Usually, a few get battered pretty badly, but sometimes these fights have led to murder of a rival person or group. And other times, an innocent bystander happens to be in the wrong place and gets killed.”

  “I see.”

  Shields wiped his mouth with his napkin, folded the cloth, and placed it on the table. “So I need to warn you. In your scouting the streets in the night, if you happen upon groups of people that appear to be guarding an alley or building, don’t approach them. They will take your advancement as a threat and will react in kind.”

  He stood.

  “We’ll be careful,” I said.

  “If I discover anything from the ships, I will inform you. I hope you’ll share any information you discover with me.”

  Jacques stood. “We will. Thanks for sharing the table. Your tab is on us today.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He placed his hat on his head and walked to the door.

  “By all means, gentlemen, be vigilant.”

  After Shields left, the waiter brought me a plate of scrambled eggs saturated with garlic, as I had requested. The strong smell of garlic lofted above my plate.

  Jacques waved his hand back and forth, wincing. “How can you stand to eat those?”

  “A lot easier than the vampire who approaches me tonight.”

  He coughed. “I suppose a whiff of garlic that strong would be a deterrent to any vampire.”

  “Or any woman who sought to kiss him,” Matilda said, covering her nose.

  I grinned. “So I’m safe on all accounts?”

  “Maybe,” Jacques said. “But I don’t plan to walk downwind of you. Or beside you, for that matter.”

  Shrugging, I grabbed the pepper and sprinkled a heavy layer atop the eggs. “I know nothing was reported in the paper, but I can’t help but wonder where the vampire fed last night.”

  “You think he did?” Jacques asked.

  “Don’t you? That’s why I asked the constable about the ships. You’re the only one of us who ever got close to him. What’s your perception? How strong do you think he is? How active?”


  Jacques thought for several long seconds. His eyes shifted as memories jostled inside his mind. “As fast as he moved, he wasn’t a vampire that had been dormant for a long period of time.”

  “That’s my feeling, too,” I said.

  Father sipped his coffee and read the post. If he were listening to us, it wasn’t obvious by his facial expressions.

  “Of course, he had just fed,” Jacques said.

  “Did you ever touch his flesh?”

  Jacques shook his head. “Only his clothes.”

  “He fed somewhere. Albert never really indicated the vitality of this vampire except that he seemed to fear the were-rats. Do you really think Albert and his sons could defeat a vampire and destroy him?”

  Jacques shrugged. “It’s possible. Depends on what weapons he has.”

  “Like a cross or stake?”

  “Those are the most beneficial weapons, but not necessary. You saw the rat masses. They could tear a vampire to shreds. Vampires heal quickly, but it’s unlikely he could mend faster than they could rip away his flesh. And if Albert has a cross or holy water or anything that can weaken a vampire, he could prevent the vampire from fleeing. Those rats could overpower him long enough for one of the were-rats to stake or decapitate him.”

  “That’s interesting,” I replied. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why is it that when you were controlled by Dracula’s grandson that you and the rest of the pack didn’t overpower and kill him?”

  The question made Jacques visibly uncomfortable. His eyes moistened. A flood of various emotions rushed through him.

  I placed my hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset—”

  I caught my father’s intense glare. His hand tightened into a fist.

  Jacques waved a hand toward my father. “It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s a fair question. Who knows what Forrest might face in the years to come?”

  “While that may be true,” Father said, “he needs to be more sensitive in regard to how he phrases things.”

  “My apologies, Jacques,” I said.

  Jacques sighed. “Forrest, even if the entire pack had wanted to attack our … Master, he is a direct descendent of Count Dracula with the purest of bloodlines. His power is unmatched. These masters you’ve killed, like the baron, they pale in comparison. I can never return to his castle. Ever.”

  My eyes met his. Fear hollowed them. “He’ll kill you?”

  Jacques shook his head slowly. “He’ll enslave me. I will never know my human form again. He’d see to it.”

  Chill bumps rose on my arms and rushed down my back. I had never realized the depth of his captor’s power. I supposed there was a reason why some of Dracula’s grandchildren were still alive. Well, walking undead.

  “Forrest,” Jacques said softly. “You’ve fought some tough battles, but nothing like him. His lineage is vast. One day you will, whether intentionally or not, encounter Dracula’s children or grandchildren. When you do, my advice is to flee, especially at this early stage in your life. In fifty years, provided you’ve survived that long, you might actually have the knowledge and strength capable to combat them. But for now, the four of us at this table have no hope to defeat one of Dracula’s direct descendants.”

  Matilda placed her hand upon his. “He still holds power over you?”

  Jacques nodded.

  “My dear,” she whispered. Her gaze held pity and grave concern.

  “I’m fine, provided I never return to his domain or he happens upon me. But unlike his grandfather, he’s not one for traveling.”

  “Again, cousin—”

  “No, Forrest, it’s vital information that I should already have told you. It’s difficult for me to discuss because it proves my own vulnerability. It’s the male ego. No man wishes to proclaim his weakest point. Now, let’s finish our meals, scout the streets again, and get better prepared for tonight. I think we might have a good chance of encountering this vampire after the sun sets. Perhaps, if we’re fortunate, Albert has news that he will share through one of his sons.”

  Chapter Ten

  Seeing the terror in Jacques’ eyes when he had mentioned the power Dracula’s grandson still held over him unnerved me. I had witnessed my cousin’s power when we had fought a few strong vampires. His lack of fear and the incredible strength he possessed whenever he allowed his inner beast to take full control had almost led me to believe he was invincible. And yet, at the mention of Dracula’s name, his composure imploded. He dreaded becoming enslaved by that vampire again. He still called him his Master out of fear and respect, which also troubled me.

  In Romania, the whisper of Dracula’s name struck terror into the hearts of most people, ordinary people, and that was easy to understand. Mere humans weren’t a match against the mind control a vampire like Dracula and his offspring possessed.

  Fierce compulsion like Jacques described I had never seen or experienced. I hoped that I never encountered it. Dominus had warned me that the worst thing for the Hunter population was for one of us to become undead or controlled by a master vampire. Baron Randolph had attempted to charm me, to lure me, but he had failed. The baron had been powerful, which made it nearly impossible for me to comprehend the level of Dracula’s strength.

  I knew the history of Dracula the Impaler, his armies, and his thirst to torture and drain people’s blood. He had been a ruthless ruler. He had killed thousands and controlled thousands more. The rumors were that he was a spawn released from the pits of Hell. His charisma was beyond hypnotic, but these powers had passed down through the generations. I had yet to encounter his kind. Destiny ensured that eventually I would.

  Once darkness shrouded the lightless streets, PCs blew their whistles and cleared the walkways insisting that everyone find a safe place to retreat for the night. They, like us, expected horrible things to occur during the night. Even though Constable Shields had granted us permission to aid in the investigation, his approval had not been made official to the other constables and detectives.

  We were subjected to arrest should we disregard the curfew orders to head indoors. So while the PCs enacted this night’s curfew, Jacques, my father, Matilda, and myself, hid in the corners of the dark alleyways until most of the constables made their early rounds.

  My father and I were at a great disadvantage in the pitch-black streets. Neither of us was blessed with night vision like Matilda and Jacques. She stayed close to my father to be his eyes of warning. Jacques stood beside me, even though I insisted they both protect my father.

  Jacques still treated me like a child in need of safeguard, and I understood why. But I detested it as any youth might because I had proven myself in the heat of battle. I had killed vampires and a dozen or more ghouls by myself.

  After the whistles faded farther down the streets as the constables did their final sweep to send everyone home or to housing lodges, red eyes peered from the alleyways. My hand wrapped tightly around a stake and I stood in a defensive pose.

  “It’s the were-rat youths,” Jacques whispered.

  I released my breath, not realizing I was holding it in. Complete darkness had a strange way of making bravery quake since it was where the monsters played. The number of hiding places increased whenever light vacated.

  It was good to know we had more allies, even though they were children. We had not encountered any of the rat boys during the daylight, like we had hoped. Albert had promised to send them with information if they discovered anything useful. Seeing them appear possibly indicated they sensed a sinister force.

  No fog shrouded us, but it wouldn’t have made the night any darker.

  Farther down the cobblestone street footsteps echoed. Dark energy pricked the back of my head. The hairs on my neck stiffened. He was there, headed in our direction. His power undulated like tiny expanding ripples on a lake reached for the shore. The way his power unfolded was similar to the baron’s and other vampires I had faced. This wasn�
�t a mortal. I held no doubt that he was a vampire.

  “He’s here,” I whispered.

  “I know,” Jacques replied.

  I withdrew a stake in each hand from my side coat pockets.

  “Don’t be hasty,” Jacques said. “That’s how he got an advantage over me the other night.”

  I nodded.

  The were-rats eyes lowered. I supposed they had crouched down, preparing themselves. Father and Matilda were across the street but not visible to me.

  With the approaching footsteps reverberated a slight tapping sound. A cane?

  Perhaps. Or he might carry some other type of weapon.

  “Can you see him?” I asked.

  “Yes. He’s still about a block away. He might be out to feed, but he’s determined to confront us. He wants a challenge.”

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “He’s not slowing his pace, and the pompous bastard is staring right at us. The eagerness in his eyes suggests he craves violence and bloodshed. Tonight, I wipe that smirk off his face.” The boldness in Jacques’ voice resounded with heavy bitterness. He wasn’t proud of how their first meeting had ended. He intended to inflict damage and drain blood before we killed this vampire.

  “Can you describe him?”

  “He’s over six foot tall. Like I said to the constable, he’s dressed eloquently.”

  Most master vampires did. They held the power to impress and influence those they encountered. The first thing most people recognized when approached by a stranger was how the person was dressed. Folks judged others by what’s on the exterior. Wealth and prominence has often granted unwarranted notoriety in many circles. Add to that a vampire’s glamour and the victims were nothing less than puppets controlled by mental strings—tiny threads relaying impulse and desire and obedience.

  Jacques continued, “He carries a cane, wears a top hat and cape, and though he might not be from London, he is venerated elsewhere.”

  “You can tell that from his clothes?”

  “No. He exhibits such in the way he walks and how he carries himself.”

  “This is the one you fought the other night.”