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

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  “We need to check Matilda’s progress,” Jacques said. “She told me this morning that she expected to be finished by this evening.”

  “I hope so,” I replied. “It’s been over a week since we saw Raginwulf. He’s killed no one.”

  “None publicly,” Jacques said.

  “Which means he could strike at any time,” Father said.

  Jacques nodded. “He’s been feeding somewhere. With the number of homeless people, some could disappear and never get reported to the constables. He doesn’t need to kill them. He only needs to feed from them.”

  When we reached our room, Father knocked softly at the inn room door.

  “Yes?” Matilda asked through the door.

  “It’s John.”

  She opened the door. Fatigued hung on her face. Her eyes looked tired and her hair was soaked with sweat. When she saw Jacques she gave a nod of great relief and smiled.

  “So we can explore the tunnels under Lowbey tomorrow?” Jacques asked.

  “Yes.”

  They embraced, and he kissed her forehead.

  I glanced at Jacques. “Do we search for Raginwulf tonight?”

  He shook his head. “We need our sleep tonight so we’ll be more alert tomorrow. Even with Matilda’s magic, it’s best to have clear faculties about us.”

  Seeing how worn out Matilda was, I agreed. She, more than the rest of us, needed sleep. After being scolded about how my zeal had endangered us when we found Raginwulf, I wasn’t about to argue about any actions we should or shouldn’t take. Tomorrow brought its own amount of risks and dangers without our being weary from scouring the streets, looking for Raginwulf.

  Father had combed the streets with Jacques and I during the past week, even though he ached and complained. He didn’t possess enough stamina to patrol tonight and then stand alongside us in the morning to confront Esmeralda, provided we found ourselves in such a position.

  In many ways I wished it hadn’t taken so long for Matilda to prepare the incantations and enchants for her charms because I was confident Esmeralda would have been more fearful of us a week ago than she probably was now. After the gruesomely displayed murder that shattered the resolve of Whitechapel and Scotland Yard, she should have been prey to her own fear and worry, and an easier adversary for us to conquer. We had no way to predict her mindset.

  Of course, we were certain that she knew about the deaths of the fiddler and the reporter. While she might be afraid, she’d be cautious and set up stronger measures to keep out intruders.

  When I finally lay down on the quilt pallet on the floor, I expected my engrossed mind to prevent me from falling to sleep. Instead, the moment my eyes closed, sleep sucked me into its deep embrace. Often I have wondered if our dreams betray reality or is our reality an actual nightmare we are doomed to endure, leaving our dreams to be the only luxuries for escape. Throughout my life, I’ve seen unusual things that must have traveled through a rift in the dream realm to invade my conscious life. Some of these things have refused to die, and took an excessively long time to kill until I found the adequate weapon.

  Before the following sunrise my mind drifted in that state between sleep and awakening. An uneasy feeling washed over me, but I didn’t bolt upright in spite of the dread quaking through me. No vision came, but I couldn’t shake Esmeralda and Raginwulf from my mind. I felt both of them struggling against one another for supremacy. One or both of them would die.

  Today.

  I didn’t foresee the details or whom else might die along with them or how the events would even transpire. In the edges of this near dreamlike state, another dark force loomed in the background, building its strength and steadily approaching as an additional threat. Something unexpected I had never sensed before but knew was coming. Our group was caught in the center of these three assemblages. Each of them sought to align with us to turn on the others, but I was confident none of them could be trusted. I wished for clarity, but it never came.

  Our plans to seek what Raginwulf had traveled to London to retrieve were dangerous, more so than our entering the abandoned workhouse to find Raginwulf. The level of risks involved was beyond reasonable. The outcome seemed bleak.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me. Blindly, out of instinct, my fist swung upward but was grasped with incredible force and pushed back before it struck its intended mark.

  “Forrest!”

  I shook my head and opened my eyes. Jacques stared at me for a few moments.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I relaxed and loosened my fist. Peering around the room, realizing I was safe, I nodded.

  “Bad dream?”

  “More an unclear premonition than anything else.”

  “Forewarning of today’s events?”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps. But whatever we face, it won’t be pleasant.”

  Jacques grinned. “Why do you think Matilda has worked so hard this week?”

  She had worked nonstop in hope to shield us from our imminent confrontation, but after the stressful feeling that had dominated my pre-waking moments, I worried that she might not have done enough. There were some things you couldn’t prepare for. I hoped the events of this day weren’t some of them.

  A knock came at the door.

  Jacques and I exchanged glances. Neither of us needed to say a word. We both knew who stood on the other side of the door. Constable Shields. His news most likely would not be pleasant. Of course, after he had shared evidence of the murders with us, no visits afterwards had ever been cheery news. Instead, his horrified mind sought our council, not only to find the murderer, but to also alleviate his mind from the building nightmares plaguing him.

  Father opened the door.

  Shields was paler and more distraught than ever before. His hand shook as he removed his hat.

  “Come in,” Father said.

  “Sorry for such an early intrusion.”

  Jacques offered his hand and helped me to my feet. We met Shields near the door. “Another murder?”

  Shields wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “Worst one yet. Did you search the streets last night?”

  We shook our heads.

  “Why in the heavens not?”

  “We have another pressing matter to attend this morning,” Jacques said.

  “What could be more important?” Shields asked.

  “We have a lead.”

  Shields’ eyes glistened with tears that could be hopeful or sorrowful. He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Readjusting his glasses, he nodded. “I hope your lead is the one that will stop all this.”

  “We do, too,” I replied.

  “The previous murder . . . I truly never believed I’d ever see anything worse than Catherine’s butchered body. But this one? Even the devil has more compassion. It was the most violent murder scene I’ve ever investigated. She was savagely hacked to death and dismembered.”

  Matilda cringed and placed a hand over her mouth, excusing herself from the room. She retched in a pail repeatedly.

  “Oh, my apologies,” Shields said, cringing. “I brought you today’s post.”

  I nodded my appreciation.

  “And I have photographs of the crime scene to show you,” he said. “But I warn you, it’s a bloody mess.”

  While Jacques, Father, and I looked through the photographs, Shields turned away. It was more than he could stomach. He took his handkerchief and wiped his brow. The color of his face made me wonder if he was seconds away from joining Matilda in the other room.

  These photographs were indeed graphic images that never escaped one’s mind after viewing them. Since Shields wasn’t looking, I slid one photograph from the others and tucked it inside the folded newspaper. I neatly stacked the rest of the photographs and offered them facedown to Shields.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Horrible. Simply appalling.”

  Without sorting through the photographs, he tucked them under his arm. “I don’t mean to keep you from wha
tever you have scheduled for today. I’ll be on my way. If your lead proves beneficial, please let me know.”

  “We will,” Jacques said.

  Father opened the door.

  “I think today we shall find what is necessary to stop this,” I said.

  “I truly hope so. I cannot survive seeing another butchered human. I’ll be intoxicated before lunch,” Shields said, walking out the door. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  After he left and Father closed the door, Matilda returned from the adjacent room. Father gave me a curious stare. “Why did you take that horrible photograph?”

  “To show Esmeralda,” I replied. “If that doesn’t convince her what Raginwulf intends to do to her, nothing else will. Between it and the news story, she should believe she needs our assistance.”

  Jacques held a grim expression on his face. “You cannot trust turning your back on her anymore than you could Duke Raginwulf.”

  “I don’t trust either of them, but we need her to draw Raginwulf out of hiding,” I replied.

  “She may force us to kill her, rather than offer any help at all,” Matilda said.

  “If we do kill her, we’ll never find this vampire. We will have done him a great courtesy. He might leave London without our knowledge.”

  Jacques grabbed his coat. “We cannot worry about what hasn’t even happened yet. We need to get started while the day is still early.”

  I opened my Hunter box and sorted through the contents. While they were packing their equipment, I picked up the gun Dominus had given me as a departing gift, and slid it into my coat pocket. I grabbed a handful of silver bullets and tucked them into my trouser pocket. The gun was a last resort since silver bullets didn’t kill vampires. But Dominus had told me the bullets slowed them down. We needed any extra leverage we could obtain.

  I placed my Hunter hat on my head. Silver bullets were tucked beneath the leather perimeter band for easy access should I need them.

  Father tucked three stakes into his pocket. His aged hands trembled slightly. When he gazed toward me, he placed his hands inside his pockets. He turned so I wouldn’t acknowledge the worry in his eyes, which was something I had seldom ever seen him suffer.

  As most children, I viewed my father as the strongest man alive, not knowing fear and always fighting to protect me in the grimmest times. He had faced death and triumphed. But the sudden reality of seeing his fear and worry proved that he was only a human like me and subjected to all the shortcomings we all face. We all lived on borrowed time.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  About midway across Whitechapel, George stood at an alleyway. I nodded, and he hurried underground to inform Albert that we were on our way to Lowbey.

  We were about a block from where the Lowbey borough began when an unexpected person stepped into our path and confronted us.

  Rusk.

  “Brother,” Rusk said to Jacques with a broad smile. “It has been a while. You’ve not been an easy wolf to find.”

  “Rusk?” Jacques smiled, but he was hesitant to approach.

  “Hunter,” Rusk said, nodding toward me.

  “Rusk,” I replied.

  Rusk studied our group with intense curiosity. “Off to slay a vampire?”

  “As a matter of fact,” I said with a slight grin, “we are.”

  “A master vampire?”

  Father and I nodded.

  “Good to know.” Rusk smiled and turned his attention to Jacques.

  Jacques cautiously extended his hand, and Rusk heartily shook it. “I never expected to see you in London.”

  Rusk offered a tired smile that parted his grayish black beard. “We lost you when you docked across the English Channel. With London’s vast population it took us a while to pick up your scent.”

  “We?” Jacques asked.

  Two men stepped out from behind a vendor table. One was blonde, tall, and rugged. His golden-brown eyes reflected the wolfish beast inside. The leather overcoat he wore was shredded down one side with what looked like jagged claw marks. His short beard was orange-brown. His hardened glare hinted of no smile to follow.

  “Ulrich?” Jacques offered his hand, but Ulrich replied with a glazed expression. His cold gaze sent a shiver down my spine. The unspoken threat was there. I slid my hand into my pocket, searching for a weapon. After politely waiting a few seconds, Jacques lowered his hand, giving a side-glance to Rusk.

  Rusk whispered. “This was not my doing.”

  The other man stepped forward and looked directly into Jacques’ eyes. He was the same height as Jacques but thicker in the chest and shoulders. His burly beard was more silver than black. His pupils were blacker than coal. From the anger stirring in his gaze, his soul was probably even darker. His upper lip rose into a slight intimidating snarl, exposing his yellowed teeth.

  Jacques held the man’s gaze for a few moments but didn’t step back. He held his ground, showing no fear or submission.

  “Luther, too?” Jacques said to Rusk.

  Rusk nodded. “Yes. Two more of our former pack are awaiting us at the dock. Yuri and Denis.”

  “Why?” Jacques asked.

  Luther stared at Matilda with hunger blazing in his eyes. He took deep breaths sniffing the air while looking at her. “Who’s the she-wolf?”

  She refused to keep his gaze, not from being submissive but because he obviously made her uncomfortable. Luther smiled as his eyes studied her. He couldn’t stop eyeing at her.

  Jacques gently took Matilda by the wrist and pulled her directly behind him. He didn’t answer the question. “Why are you here, Luther?”

  A low guttural growl rumbled in Luther’s throat. His voice was deeper than any human I’d heard before, almost thunderous when he spoke. “To bring the escaped members of our pack back together. We’re stronger as a group.”

  “We’ve never been a roaming pack,” Jacques said. “We went our separate directions. You know that.”

  “We were foolish and naïve and desperate to be free of our master. It’s essential we become a pack to increase our strength and ensure our survival.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  Luther cocked a brow. He snarled, revealing more teeth. “Looks like you’re already putting one together, Jacques. A young she-wolf to bear children. Perhaps we should fight for her.”

  “I have chosen who I wish to be with,” Matilda said in an icy tone. “Fighting doesn’t change my decision.”

  “That’s not how a pack works,” Luther replied.

  Jacques narrowed his eyes. “I’m not in your pack, nor do I ever intend to be. You cannot force someone to—”

  “You are already our brother. Leaving didn’t change that. You are still one of us.” Luther placed his hand on Jacques’ shoulder to push him aside to get closer to Matilda, but Jacques didn’t budge. His hand tightened on his silver cane, and he moved it closer to his medallion.

  Ulrich stepped forward. Jacques faced both men without flinching or any fear in his eyes. I imagined he could handle himself sufficiently in a fight against either one, but his chances for success diminished quickly should he be forced to fight both men at the same time. Unlike Jacques and Matilda, these werewolves didn’t have enchanted medallions to hold their beasts at bay.

  Some of the vendors and passersby saw the contention and formed a circle around us, hoping to watch the tension escalate into a street brawl.

  Rusk uneasily stepped away from Jacques and came near where I stood. He shook his head and mumbled obscenities.

  Jacques frowned and his hands clenched into tight fists. The eyes of the two opposing werewolves darkened. They looked to be only moments away from changing in spite of it being broad daylight with people watching.

  Jacques leaned forward and whispered, “I must warn you two, being discovered as a werewolf in London is a capital offense. The constables are armed with silver bullets and will shoot to kill werewolves without any hesitation. They won’t take you into custody. You’ll be dead. This is
not a place where you want to reveal what you truly are.”

  Two constables stood at a vendor table across the street. Their backs were turned toward us, but if the gathering crowd increased much more, the rising noise of the eager spectators would capture the officers’ attention, too.

  Ulrich apparently noticed the officers and took a step back, thinking about the situation. Luther peered into Jacques’ eyes. Sensing Jacques wasn’t lying, Luther calmed slightly but was too stubborn to step aside.

  Rusk approached Ulrich and Luther. “Jacques and his friends are preparing to slay a master vampire.”

  Luther’s expression reversed from anger to slight elation. “Is this true?”

  Jacques nodded.

  A coarse rumble of laughter rattled in Luther’s throat. “Brother, we’d be honored to fight alongside you to kill this vampire.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but another matter demands our attention first,” Jacques replied.

  “Like what?”

  “Finding a Gypsy witch.”

  Luther frowned. “Why?”

  “She’s the key to finding him,” I said.

  Luther stepped back from Jacques. Part of the crowd dispersed releasing slight groans of disappointment since an obvious unspoken truce had been met and the potential of seeing a fight was gone.

  Luther’s mood brightened. Perhaps it was because he hoped to kill something today. Jacques began walking again with all of us following except for Luther. Luther walked alongside Jacques and offered an enthusiastic side-glance. “The discussion of you joining our pack isn’t over.”

  “It is for me,” Jacques replied.

  Instead of offering an argument, Luther grinned. “Once you see the power of our numbers fighting together for a mutual objective, you’ll understand why we still need one another.”

  “I’ve done well on my own for some time now,” Jacques replied. “I believe you need me more than I need you.”

  Luther’s jaw tightened. His moods changed swifter than the wind.