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

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  I nodded slightly. “I’m sorry for our intrusion. We were passing through and stopped to enjoy your street celebration.”

  She smiled and motioned toward the musicians. “My apologies for disrupting your music. Please continue and entertain our new guests.”

  The man with the violin grinned and returned to playing. The men with the torches and crude weapons disbanded and went separate directions. The older woman descended the steps to stand with us. Energy pulsed off her. She looked at us. A slight smile curled her lips. “You explained the blood, but you’ve yet to divulge the magic that flows around you. You came from the derelict workhouse. Without magic you could never have passed to this side of our streets.”

  I crossed my arms and looked into her dark eyes. “You know of the animated hedgerow?”

  Her brow rose. She became uneasy. “Animated?”

  I nodded.

  She took a step back and pulled a gold cross from her skirt pocket. We all stared at her cross for a moment. She expected more of a reaction from us apparently. I slid my cross out for her to see. Her apprehension lessened.

  “Since we are armed against the same foes, may we talk in private?” I asked.

  Her eyes flicked to each of ours. She lowered the cross and nodded. “This way.”

  She walked up the steps, slid a wooden door aside, and extended a hand to usher us inside. A small round table covered with a purple silk cloth stood in one corner. Like Rose, she had a crystal ball resting upon a black pillow. An oil lantern, set at low flame, offered the only light. Long chains of garlic hung all around the room. So much that it almost quashed the scent of her incense.

  She pointed to several empty chairs. “Please, sit down.”

  Jacques and Matilda found seats, but I remained standing. Her chairs didn’t look sturdy enough to support me.

  “My name is Esmeralda,” she said softly in her thick accent. “The spell on the hedges is one of mine. If they became animated, a vampire must have been nearby.”

  “He came after us,” I replied.

  “It is as I feared.” Her eyes widened.

  “What is?” Jacques asked.

  “The vampire. He came from our old country.” She sat at her table and placed nervous hands atop her Tarot cards.

  I stepped closer. “Romania?”

  Esmeralda nodded.

  I pointed at Jacques and back to myself. “We are from Bucharest.”

  She offered a kind smile. “I had hoped we had lost him when we had fled, but his pursuit has been . . . merciless.”

  “He’s after you?” Matilda asked.

  “All of us. My family. Our people.”

  “Why?”

  Esmeralda folded her veiny hands in a prayer-like manner and rested her forehead against them, staring at the table. “He was a charming man, pleasant and kind. You never wanted to look away from his beautiful blue eyes, which were a brilliant sky-blue. His voice, smooth as the finest silk, was a rich baritone. He made you want to be around him, just to hear him talk. His gentle whisper weakened a woman. Often the women, myself included, found ourselves desiring to be his. We fought for his attention and affections, but he didn’t desire any of us, except one. He had chosen my brother’s daughter, Fifika, to become his bride. Not knowing what he was, we gave our blessing without question. None of us could have denied him if we had wanted, in spite of our secret jealousies.”

  I frowned. “He gave you no reason to be suspicious of him?”

  “No. After all, he was a wealthy man and could offer her prosperous life. Something no Roma male could ever give her.”

  Matilda straightened in her chair. “Did Fifika seem excited about marrying him?”

  Esmeralda sat silently for a few moments. “Eager? Not really. Calm and obedient, more so than the jubilance most young girls have for marriage.”

  I glanced toward Jacques. “Compelled?”

  He shrugged. “Possibly.”

  “When did you discover he was not what you thought?” I asked.

  “Months later, when Fifika returned to visit us one night. She looked different. Very pale. Dark circles under her eyes. We worried that she wasn’t taking proper care of herself. We were eating supper, but she’d have nothing. She refused to eat, which became a bitter argument between her, her father, and her mother. Before she married, they had never argued. Always got along. But the fierceness of her words was more than her mother could take. In tears, her mother stormed from the table. Angered, my father stood and scolded Fifika. That’s when we discovered Fifika had become something else. She was a bloodthirsty demon of darkness. Forever cursed. She attacked my father, trying to bite his throat. Two of her teeth had lengthened like a wolf’s. Frightened, my brother and I pulled her off. She tried to bite me but her face pressed against my cross.”

  “It hurt her, didn’t it?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Burnt into her flesh. She screamed. My brother noticed and grabbed our crucifix off the wall. He walked her into a corner where she dropped. Balled up on the floor, covering her face with her arms, she begged and pleaded for him to let her leave. She sounded pathetic, like a crying child. Several times he lowered the crucifix with agony in his eyes. She was his daughter. He loved her. He wanted to hold and comfort her. But each time he lowered the crucifix, her face contorted like an enraged trapped animal, and she snarled at us.”

  “Did you ever release her?” I asked.

  Esmeralda shook her head. Her prayer-cupped hands trembled. “No. We held crosses toward her. Father kept his rifle aimed at her. Other family members joined us, holding their crosses and bibles. We had never seen anything like her. We didn’t know what she had become. Since she feared the crucifixes, we had hoped the crosses could excise the demon inside her, but we were wrong. Despite her pleading, we kept her pinned against the wall until morning, planning to take her to the priest. Using the crosses we forced her outside. When she stepped into the sunlight, she burst into flames and turned to dust.”

  “And what of her husband?” Jacques asked.

  She lowered her hands and gazed at us. “We fled. We did not wait around for him. A passerby had seen her burst into flames and told us what she had become. He said that these vampires come during the night and cannot set foot in the sunlight. He said that he hunted vampires and explained to us the different ways to kill them. But if the vampire learned we had killed her, even accidentally, we knew he’d kill us without prosecution. He held too much influence in the area to fear any punishment for killing us. We packed our caravan and left our temporary cottage behind, never looking back. We didn’t stop for three days and nights, trying to put as much distance between us and him as possible.”

  “What prompted you to seek a priest?” I asked. “Before she burst into flames? Are you a Christian? Most Gypsies don’t accept organized religions.”

  Esmeralda gazed into my eyes. Her tone became solemn. “Christian? No. You mentioned that you’re from Bucharest, then you know the dilemma. You must choose a side, Christian or Muslim, if you wish to survive.”

  I nodded. What she said was true. Swear allegiance to one side or the other; otherwise both sides labeled the person an infidel and sought to kill him or her.

  “The religious war continues,” she said. “But, understand, I’ve never abandoned my old traditions or my use of magic and charms. None of my family ever has. If the cross had not burned Fifika, I’d have never known to use one. I would have tried numerous spells to try to heal her.”

  “And died during the process,” I said.

  She nodded. “You’re right. I knew no magic that could have killed a vampire.”

  “You do now?” Matilda asked.

  A prideful smile brightened Esmeralda’s face. “Yes. You saw the hedge?”

  Matilda smiled.

  “If ever the branches gripped and pulled him into the hedges, they’d eventually stake him through his heart, but he’d suffer severe painful cuts first. He needs to bleed for the harm he’s caused
others. For the murders of our children.”

  “What is his name?” I asked.

  “Duke Raginwulf.”

  Jacques and I exchanged glances and shrugged.

  “His name is not known in these parts,” Esmeralda said. “Except for all of those celebrating outside. We know and fear him.”

  “Even with your magic?”

  She nodded. “Even with it.”

  “What he did to your niece,” I said, “he’s doing to others in Whitechapel. We killed four vampires near the old workhouse. He’s building an army and plans to shed a lot of blood in London. Tell me something.”

  “If I can. What is it you need to know?”

  “How’d you know to enchant that particular line of hedges?”

  “That’s not the only place I’ve enchanted. Where we sit is dead center of our community. I’ve placed protection spells at all four corners to repel him. We are safe as long as we stay within those barriers or no one destroys them.” She glanced at Matilda and smiled. “But you broke through the barrier. You’re a witch, aren’t you?”

  Matilda nervously looked toward Jacques and I before nodding.

  “There’s more to you than just magic. I sense it, but I do not understand what it is. Something dark, but not evil.”

  Jacques tensed.

  “And you, too,” Esmeralda said, pointing toward him. “The blood. It’s on both of you.”

  “The vampires we killed,” I said.

  Esmeralda glanced toward me. “You killed four vampires?”

  “The three of us did together,” I replied.

  “I see. But it’s something else.” Her eyes fastened upon their medallions.

  “Magical amulets?”

  Matilda reluctantly nodded.

  “Your magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Matilda was at a loss to speak, so I interrupted the conversation. “What do you know of this duke, other than what you’ve told us? Why would he pursue you across so many countries? You even expected that he would. There has to be a reason. A duke would not abandon his prominence under ordinary circumstances. It’d be a waste of his resources and his time. What have you not told us?”

  Esmeralda shook her head.

  “We’ve been hunting this vampire for over a week,” I said. “We plan to kill him when we find him. But he’s quite elusive. It might be weeks more before we’re able to track him down. He’s siring more vampires, and if he’s determined to kill all of you, he’ll have the numbers to do so. We can help you, but only if you tell us what more you know.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can say.”

  I nodded toward Jacques. “Then cousin, it’s time we move on.”

  “Agreed,” he said.

  I tipped my hat to Esmeralda. “Blessings to you and yours. Until we meet again.”

  Fear mixed with sadness claimed her facial features. She looked like she might request us to stay longer so she could reveal what she held secret, but she didn’t. So we left her alone and headed into the darkening night.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  We left the Gypsy community and returned to our room. Father was already in the room. I had expected him to be angry and withdrawn. Instead I found him drunk and disoriented.

  “Tish good, you found your ways back,” he said with a strange grin. He squinted, trying to see us. “Any luck?”

  I took a deep breath and sighed. My heart ached from the disappointment of seeing him drunk again. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Father, you should get some sleep.”

  “Hands off me, boy!” He turned toward me with his hand held high. “Don’t think you’re too big! I’m still your Father.”

  “John,” Jacques said.

  “Not you, too! You’re all grand now, having yourself a woman. Why I has lost me own.” He staggered and hiccupped. “If there be God-s-s-s, none bless me. I’ve been cursed.”

  “You know that’s not true,” I said.

  “Forrest, let him be,” Jacques whispered, shaking his head.

  “You, boy!” Father said, pointing a stern finger into my chest and pressing hard. “Think you’re a man, do you? Trying to outdo your old man at every turn. Out kill my number of vampires, eh, makes you superior over me? Oh, you be such big Hunter! One of the Chosen.”

  “And you’re a foolish old drunk,” I replied.

  His eyes widened. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me, Father. Drinking hasn’t made you deaf, but it sure has made your tongue bigger and spouting stupid things and hurling nonsense insults. That’s what good drunkenness is, Father. You know why? Because you’re a coward.”

  His face flushed red and snapped his anger. “What?”

  “A coward. You’re not man enough to face your fears and your heartache, so you drown yourself in liquor, like a sniffling little coward.”

  “Forrest,” Jacques said, walking toward me.

  “No,” Father said, stepping back and pointing at Jacques. “Let the boy talk, cause he’s going to see how hard this old man can strike him in the mouth.”

  “Do you realize how disappointed Momma would be to see you like this? Your weakness? How do you think she’d feel about it?”

  “Boy, I’m about to—”

  “What? Hit me? Do you think that would make Momma proud? If you think it would make you feel better, then go ahead. But on your soberest day, you’re no match for me. Not anymore. You need to remember that.”

  Father’s face flushed crimson. His jaw tightened, and he ground his teeth. His chest expanded and his hands formed tight fists. He eyed me up and down but wisely kept his distance. “You should respect your father more than this.”

  “You should respect yourself enough to keep your promise to me. You said you’d stop drinking. That was a promise. I had thought you meant it. How well are you honoring Momma by getting drunk?”

  He turned away and sat on the edge of the bed. His anger subsided into tears. He placed his hands over his face and sobbed.

  In a lot of ways I hated myself for saying those things but if the truth didn’t get his attention, nothing else would. I grabbed several stakes out of my box and headed to the door.

  “Forrest,” Jacques said. “Now is not a time to be on the streets alone.”

  I nodded with my eyes toward my father. “It’s better than being in here.”

  “Wait—”

  I yanked the door open, stepped out, and pulled it firmly shut. Jacques scolded my father, but Father never offered any rebuttal. I hurried to the door that led out to the street.

  The night air was crisp when I stepped outside the inn. It was difficult to drive Father’s angry face and voice out of my head, but I forced myself to think about the vampire. A duke. Vampires were able use their glamour to bewitch people under their influence and take prominent roles in society. It was quite frightening really. I questioned the number of rulers in the world that might be vampires, capable of controlling entire populations, and convincing their citizens to obey their every command.

  A vampire czar never needed to fear a blood shortage. A ruler of this nature controlled armies to protect him or her. He had no need to travel. He certainly didn’t have any reason to pursue an escaped enemy himself. He’d send mercenaries to carry out the assassination.

  That’s what puzzled me about this duke. Why had he journeyed so far? Doing so had exposed him. He probably had never expected a group of Hunters to seek him out. He had come for Esmeralda’s people or possibly only her. But why?

  She knew, but she had refused to tell us. She knew the secret to this mystery and apparently was willing to die to keep it hidden.

  I kept walking. I did my best thinking while walking or seated in a wagon or aboard a train. I supposed moving released nervous energy because I never maintained steady concentration whenever I was seated at a table or desk.

  Ahead, a man stood beneath a street light
about half a block away. He leaned nonchalantly against the metal pole, smoking a pipe. He wore a nice brown suit and hat and fancy shoes, but held no cane, nor did he wear a cape as the vampire had earlier in the night.

  His eyes regarded me in passing, but he offered no words. No greeting at all. I walked another few feet before casually glancing back over my shoulder.

  He was gone.

  Like that. In the time of a few heartbeats, he had vanished.

  I stopped and circled in place, searching for him within the faint circle of light. His hard-soled shoes had never made a sound. I could tiptoe in my boots and still make loud steps on the cobblestone.

  I gripped a stake and headed toward the light where he had stood.

  Had my eyes deceived me? Was he a ghost? I found no trace of him.

  My mind thought back to the hedgerow and its vicious attack on the vampire. Those narrow sharpened branch tips had inflicted some damage. Nothing fatal for a vampire, but enough that he needed to heal. And with the damage I had caused with the vial of holy water, he’d seek fresh blood to replenish him. Healing drained his energy.

  The more I thought about that, the less I believed I’d encounter him tonight, so who was this stranger? Perhaps I was wrong. The duke might not be acting alone or other vampires had emerged because the duke had infringed on their territory. That was another thing I had learned about vampires in my short time as a Hunter. Vampires were territorial.

  This, too, backed my theory concerning the duke’s pursuit of Esmeralda.

  Something was amiss.

  If I could discover what she was hiding, we could draw him into a trap and slay him.

  I stood beneath the streetlamp for a couple of minutes longer. Frustrated, I glanced toward the next lamp a block or so away. The man with the pipe leaned against that pole, watching me. No mortal moved so silently into the shadows and reappeared without making some sort of sound.

  He raised his head with a taunting grin. A puff of smoke drifted from the side of his mouth. He held no weapon, but his eyes made his threat. He offered a challenge, if nothing less than the meeting of our minds.