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

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  Albert entered and motioned for the boys to stay at the doorway. I pulled a stake from my pocket and my father did as well. The morning light beamed through the cracked broken windows, spilling yellow pools and strange shadows across the floor. The modest light didn’t fully illuminate the floor or the small side rooms.

  The large center of the ground floor was rows of dusty old crude tables and benches where people had sat and ate. They almost resembled the pews in the cathedrals except these weren’t fancy polished benches. Some of these rough tables were missing boards where vagrants had pried and stolen them to burn as firewood in corners of the room. Others had been toppled. A few overhead beams had collapsed, crushing through lines of tables, forming a slight path of obstacles.

  “Where do you think he’d hide?” I whispered.

  Albert shrugged. “The beds are on the floor above and it’s darker there.”

  Jacques gave him an odd glance. “How do you know that?”

  “I lived here for a while after it shut down.”

  “Why don’t you stay here now?”

  He made an odd face and pointed at the fallen beams. “Even though it’s closed, you have the occasional homeless groups that stagger their way through the winter snow to hide for the night. Thus, the burnt boards. Besides, the dark underground tunnels are better places to hide and it’s less likely people will explore after dark. And when some do, they’re quite timid and easy to scare away.”

  At the center of the ground floor, boards creaked overhead. Part of the ceiling sagged in places that the support beams had secured. Dust leaked through cracks in the ceiling and filtered slowly down.

  “Shh!” Jacques said.

  “What is it?” Father asked. “Is someone else here?”

  “I don’t know, but I smell blood,” he replied.

  Matilda nodded. “So do I.”

  “Fresh?” I watched Matilda and Jacques sniff the air and walk in the direction of the scent.

  “Recent,” Jacques replied in a whisper. He took out a wooden stake.

  I walked along the opposite side of the room in between the table rows and the wall. Broken window glass crunched beneath my boots. Names were carved into the wooden tabletops. Fragments of old broken plates and bent forks lay on the floor. Empty tobacco pouches and other bits of garbage littered the room.

  Between the dust and the building stench of something decaying, breathing was becoming more difficult. It wasn’t as bad as the tunnels beneath Lowbey, but the pungent odor was far from pleasant.

  Matilda coughed and gagged, placing her hand over her nose. “Over here.”

  I eased my way over to her to join the others. Two men lay crumpled over one another with large bite marks on their necks. Their skin was ashen gray. Dried blood streaked down their throats onto the collars of their shirts.

  “Stake them?” I asked, moving closer.

  Jacques knelt, pried open their stiff jaws, and shook his head. “No. They were drained and no blood is in their mouths. He didn’t turn them. He feasted upon them.”

  “How can we be completely certain?” I asked.

  “Place your cross to their flesh. If it burns them or bolts them awake, then I’m wrong,” Jacques replied.

  I took my silver cross and pressed it against the one man’s forehead. Nothing occurred. I did the same to the other man. Still nothing. “You’re right, cousin. He didn’t turn them.”

  “Nor would he,” I said.

  “Why’s that?” Albert asked.

  “The one that is a Gypsy,” I replied, pointing at the one man. “That’s the fiddler from the night we entered their town.”

  “The other one is Warren, the reporter,” I said.

  Jacques recognized them and nodded. “I think Raginwulf purposely left them like this as a testament for Esmeralda.”

  Albert knelt and examined the men. “You think she’d even come here?”

  “She wouldn’t,” I said. “But once she realizes the fiddler is missing and that Raginwulf had been attacked by the hedges, she will probably send someone to search for them.”

  Matilda glanced at me. “How’d he get the fiddler?”

  “He’s found a way into Lowbey,” I said.

  “Or he lured him past the hedgerow,” Jacques said.

  “Seems most likely,” I said, reconsidering. “She has set many traps. The hedges are the closest, and he knows they’re there.”

  “The hedges cannot affect him if he turns to mist,” Albert said.

  “Mist?” I asked.

  Albert nodded. “It’s one of the most effective ways for a vampire to pass through barriers or to escape. But there is also a great downside.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A vampire who undergoes such a transformation becomes quite exhausted. He must feed quickly. But in his mist form, you cannot kill him. As a mist, should he intend to flee, you cannot stop him. However, depending upon what type of power he has, touching the mist can actually poison you, though such is rare.”

  I had never realized all the abilities vampires were capable of performing. “I wonder if Raginwulf is actually the one who has been killing the women in Whitechapel.”

  “Why?” Jacques asked.

  “Some of the women were butchered with absolute pure hatred. But these two men only have bite marks? It isn’t consistent.”

  A loud crash echoed on the floor above.

  Jacques stared sternly at Albert. “I think he’s still here.”

  Albert smiled. “If he is, he cannot flee outdoors since the sun has risen.”

  I headed toward the stairs. “Then we have him trapped.”

  “Forrest,” Jacques said sternly. “I realize you believe this is a good situation, but don’t be hasty. A trapped vampire often becomes far more dangerous than one who has a clear route of escape. Remember what he’s done to me twice.”

  “I understand. But he’s up there. We must stop him. Not for Esmeralda’s sake but to prevent him from killing more people.”

  “Noted, but proceed with extreme attentiveness, Forrest,” Jacques said.

  I nodded and stared toward my father. His brow furrowed and determination set in his eyes. It was a wordless expression I understood where he pressed me to stand my ground and obey my instincts. Although Jacques had spent far more time teaching me how to kill vampires, Father had taught me to listen to my faint inner voice, even before I knew I was a Hunter. Often, he had told me those whispers came from a higher source and when properly heeded, they allowed one to survive unexpected dangers.

  Dominus expanded upon those quiet spoken warnings as instinctive premonitions given by the spirits of former Hunters. Many times while fighting vampires I can attest that such forewarnings have saved my life. While this is indeed a gift, unfortunately, they were only warnings and never outright steps detailing how to kill a specific vampire. I suppose that would be too easy.

  With my massive size I was unable to step silently up the steps. The boards creaked and moaned beneath each heavy step I took. Several of the steps had become partially rotted and decayed from a leak in the roof. I stepped over them and the awkward movement caused even more protest from the weakened boards. With only a few more steps to climb, I grabbed a handrail and gripped it, using it for leverage to help lighten my steps.

  Jacques followed with more nimble graceful steps, barely making a sound. Matilda did as well. Albert, in what I’d say was an incredible scurrying display, was at the top of the stairs in front of me without having made a sound. I knew Jacques could move fast when it became necessary, but the only times I had ever seen such speed from him was outdoors. He gave Albert a slight envious frown.

  Turning at the top of the stairs, I was overtaken by my bewilderment. Sunlight filtered through a narrow line of windows, lighting up the far end of the room. Rows upon rows of what appeared to be caskets without lids occupied the floor. Narrow aisles separated the rows. In the poor lighting, it was difficult distinguishing what the objects wer
e.

  “What are these?” I asked.

  “Beds,” Albert replied softly.

  There must have been over a hundred of them, possibly more, and they lined from one wall to the other and were covered with heavy layers of dust and cobwebs.

  “They look like caskets,” I said.

  Albert nodded. “They are called ‘coffin beds.’”

  Old dusty blankets were in a few of these beds nearest me. Some reeked of mildew where water had leaked through the ceiling, soaking the bedding. I held the lantern over a few of the drier beds. “He could be hiding in one of these.”

  “Only where the sunlight doesn’t reach,” Albert whispered.

  That eliminated the far side of the room. The light grew dimmer where we stood and toward the wall opposite the windows, several coffin beds were in complete darkness. “There?”

  “It looks like the best place,” Jacques said.

  I placed the lantern into my left hand and took a stake from my pocket. The others took out their stakes and crosses. Father had finally reached the top of the stairs. He took out his weapons, too. Albert stepped across one of the beds and down onto the next aisle. Matilda moved to a different aisle with Jacques. Father stayed behind me.

  The three aisles between the beds met at the darkest part of the second floor. I wondered where this vampire was hiding. While we were downstairs something had fallen inside this enormous room, but none of the beds seemed to have been disturbed or overturned.

  A square of light washed over the coffin beds as I carried the lantern toward the darkest corner of the room. I gripped my stake tightly, preparing for the moment the light revealed Raginwulf lying in one of the beds. Matilda and Jacques kept their attention focused on where I walked. They held their medallions in their left hands along with their golden crosses. By the way their ears slightly moved and their noses flared, they were using their keen senses to locate the vampire.

  We walked to the dark corner, looking into each bed, but he wasn’t inside any of them. A pale face peered from the rafter above the darkened beds. He was at least ten feet above us like he was clinging to the rafters but he wasn’t touching them. He was levitating.

  His eyes narrowed with scorn. A second later he revealed his fangs. There wasn’t any path for us to take to get near him. He looked rather pleased by that and a sense of triumph gleamed in his eyes. The enchanted branch that had killed Trenton was on the table in our room where Matilda had been trying to figure out the spell bound to it. I had forgotten to take it with me.

  “Fools,” he said with a harsh whisper. “You dare hunt me within my den where I have the most power?”

  I set the lantern onto the side of a bed and eased my hand into my left coat pocket. I grinned at him, staring directly into his eyes. I laughed. “Your power doesn’t reside here. You left your stronghold to come to London where you are far weaker.”

  “Forrest,” Jacques whispered. “Don’t taunt him.”

  “Advice you should heed, young Hunter,” Raginwulf replied. “My battle does not involve you, but yet, the lot of you continue to pursue and interfere.”

  “That’s because you’re killing women on the streets of Whitechapel,” I replied.

  “I have my reasons for ridding the world of these bawdy women.”

  “Esmeralda would be one of them?” I glared at him.

  His eyes regarded me with sudden interest. His thick Romania accent was identical to mine. “What do you know of the Gypsy witch?”

  “Only that she’s perturbed you by something she’s done and she’s withholding whatever that information is from us,” I said.

  “Bring her to me,” Raginwulf said. “And the murders will cease. You have my word.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, but I don’t align myself with the undead.”

  “Such a fool.”

  I shrugged. “For mankind to survive, the undead blight must be removed from amongst us.”

  “Is that so?” Raginwulf asked. “Were it not for us, mankind would cease to exist. Isn’t that right, were-rat?”

  I glanced toward Albert. He didn’t take his attention off the vampire. Instead, Albert’s eyes reddened, and he gnashed his teeth.

  “So, Hunter, don’t be so presumptuous to believe the living are worth more than the undead. We all have purpose on this earth. Yet, you regard us as the lowest life forms when in actuality we’re the supreme beings.”

  “Life form? You’re unliving, undead. Cursed above all else.” My hand tightened around the stake. “Soulless creatures destined to abide in Hell.”

  Father and Jacques each regarded me with an odd stare.

  I shrugged.

  Raginwulf’s intense gaze bore into mine. He lashed toward me with a coaxing wave, attempting to sway me with his glamour, hoping to compel me to do his bidding, but his urging was abated and dashed away in seconds. He frowned with curiosity. “Hunter, I ask that you dismiss your obsessed need to kill me at least for a while. Until justice is wrought.”

  “I cannot.”

  Raginwulf glanced toward Jacques. “Can you not persuade him to abstain from his driven urge to slay me? After all, you know my strength and that I’ve spared your life twice, wolf. I have no quarrel with your group. Even though this Hunter has made my situation a bit better by killing Trenton, he needs to realize I’m far more powerful than that whelp. If he refuses to concede this morn, I will show no mercy. Instead, I will have no choice but to kill all of you, including the female wolf at your side. Is that what you want?”

  Emotions struggled on Jacques’ face for several long seconds. He had been determined to kill Raginwulf until he threatened Matilda. Now he didn’t seem as certain.

  I looked at Jacques. “Take the others with you. I’ll fight him alone.”

  Jacques frowned and shook his head, placing his fingers on his medallion. “No. We came as a team, and we will fight as one.”

  “Agreed,” Albert said with a shrewd stare.

  “Then I shall dismember all of you and feast upon your broken bodies.” He withdrew a long serrated blade, his fangs lengthened, but before he moved, I lobbed a glass globe of holy water toward him.

  The glass shattered against the rafter beside him, spraying holy water across his face. His angered growl was hellishly frightening and unlike anything I’d ever heard. Jacques lunged over the bed toward the vampire.

  Raginwulf’s skin peeled, and he dropped to the floor behind a line of the beds. I rushed over several beds with my cross and my stake. Before I climbed over the next row of beds, he was gone.

  “Behind you!” Albert shouted.

  I turned to see Raginwulf only feet away from where I stood. I lifted the silver cross in my left hand. His gaze flicked toward it, causing him to cringe and cower backwards. The holy water continued burning his face, but he seemed unbothered by it. He continued recoiling as I walked toward him with the cross. He hissed and gnashed his fangs in a threatening manner. Then he winced, touching the festering blisters on his face.

  Albert nimbly crossed several beds and brought up his stake. He looked twice his normal size, heavier, and rage loomed in his red eyes. His claws had lengthened, and he snarled.

  Raginwulf darted toward the stairs incredibly fast. I grinned. The downstairs was brighter with a lot more windows. When he realized what I smiling about, he ran past me with blinding speed toward the darkest corner where we’d first seen him. By the time I turned again, he became a floating crimson mist of blood, hovering momentarily before touching the wall and drifting down between the cracks in the floorboards.

  “Should we rip up the boards?” I asked.

  Jacques glanced at Albert.

  Albert shook his head. “No. It will do us no good. While he is mist we have no way to cause him any harm, whereas he might have the ability to poison us. We should go. I need to get the boys back underground where they’re safe.”

  “Fire won’t work?” I asked, taking the lantern toward the dark corner.

&nb
sp; “This building might be abandoned,” Albert said, “but do you really wish to suffer the repercussions for setting it ablaze? The prisons in London are not hospitable. Besides, the vampire can move faster than the fire can burn.”

  “But he’d be forced to go into the sunlight.”

  “No. The basement beneath this building connects to the cellar near the garden. As mist, he can make his way through the collapsed section.” Albert bowed and smiled. “I appreciate you allowing me to come here with you, but it is essential I get the boys back to the safety of my den. I cannot risk the Gypsies seeing them.”

  Jacques clasped a gentle hand on Albert’s shoulder. “Sure. I think we all need to get back. Should Esmeralda find the bodies downstairs while we’re here, there’s no way to convince her that we didn’t kill them.”

  We began walking single file down the creaky stairs.

  “I agree. At least we know where Raginwulf is now,” I said.

  “It’s doubtful he’ll remain in this building,” Jacques said. “Like you mentioned to Raginwulf, he’s not as strong in London as he is at his lair in Romania.”

  “What stopped him from attacking us?” I asked. “He had drawn his blade.”

  “The holy water weakened him,” Albert said. “With his strength subsiding, the increasing sunlight, and our crosses, I believe he realized he was cornered. A solitary vampire most often flees. He has no effective defense when cornered. While they are fearsome creatures, the older ones have brittle bones. Injuries are not escapable. He simply reevaluated his situation and fled.”

  At the foot of the stairs, Albert bolted through the tables toward the door where the boys were supposed to be waiting. Jacques and I hurried after him. Matilda remained behind with my father, so he didn’t have to walk alone.

  When we reached the door, Albert took a deep breath and released a long sigh. The five boys sat in the high grass aggravating a large nest of angry ants with dead twigs.

  “Okay, boys,” Albert said. “It’s time to go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  We had been so close to slaying Duke Raginwulf. He had stood only feet away from us. Albert modestly downplayed the vampire’s fear of the large were-rat, but as I thought about the situation, Raginwulf had fled from Albert, not me or our crosses. The were-rat was possibly our best ally in destroying the master vampire, and he had mentioned Raginwulf had fled from him during their first encounter. Albert had even mentioned that he could kill the vampire. But how?