The Beckett Vampire Trilogy: Midnight Wine, Lycan and Sanctuary

by Jan McDonald

  “ Michael, to what do I owe this pleasure? Or am in some kind of trouble?”

  “Now why would you say that? Can a fellow member of the Council not telephone his colleague for no particular reason?”

  ‘Fellow member of the Council’ was hardly how Lane would describe Michael Rabb and, to her knowledge, he would always have a reason for everything that he did. Her immediate superior and Proconsul of the Curia to the Vampire Council, Michael Rabb was as ruthless as he was successful, and it was not a secret that he had aspirations to the Secretariat. He was suspected of having radical, if not downright dangerous, ideas of revising the Vampire Code, and to get on his wrong side was not a good idea. She had always been wary of him, not the least right then.

  “I’m sorry Michael; I was expecting a call from someone else. How may I help you?”

  “Simply, that I realised that I have not spoken with you since the last Council meeting and that was some time ago and rather than you being of help to me, I wondered if there was anything that I may assist you with? You are after all, our leading Tribune. So, is all well with you?”

  She felt his mind searching hers across the ether, and wondered why he had chosen the clumsy medium of the telephone to contact her. She was now deeply suspicious of him and his motives. The call was unprecedented. She closed her mind to his probing.

  “Yes, thank you. Everything is fine. In fact, I was just about to go out.” Actually, everything is not fine and you are the very last one I would tell about it.

  She had placed him in an awkward position. Politeness would ensure that he terminated the call if his real reason had been purely social. If there was something else on his mind he would need to show his hand and he was skilled enough to sense her mind being shielded from him.

  He hesitated. “Then I will leave you to your evening plans. I trust you will be present at the next meeting of the Council, set for two weeks time I believe. I understand that there is to be an interesting addition to the agenda.”

  So you do want something. OK, let’s have it. “Oh, really? I hadn’t heard. Perhaps you would bring me up to speed. I may have overlooked the notification, although I don’t think so. It seems that I haven’t received the information.” Or more likely haven’t been included in what’s really going on.

  “Of course, my dear. It wouldn’t do for you to be unprepared. It seems that our Patriarch has ideas of . . . how shall I put it? Retiring. Yes, retiring is perhaps the best way. There is to be an election and our Patriarch arrived in the country today. The Council is to convene in London this time.”

  Holy Mother of God, not now. Not with the whiff of corruption at the very core of the Council. Two weeks! Not enough time. “I see. I am surprised, naturally. I expect he will give us his reasons. I take it that you will be applying to fill the vacancy that will be left on the Secretariat?” she asked quietly.

  “Actually, no. That is not my intention. But you might want to begin thinking about where your allegiances may lay, my dear. There will obviously be big changes and it wouldn’t do to stand behind the wrong banner, now would it? It would be regrettable if any of our leading Council members were to make a mistake at this time. There is unrest, which I am sure you know, but I fear that it may be escalating. I have heard murmurings of another war. In fact, I have been assured, quite off the record, that there are to be investigations into any behaviour by Council members that may be construed as ‘unusual’ or unauthorised. It may be prudent for you to ensure that I am kept informed of all of your activities from now on. It would be beneficial for you to have a friend in the Curia. So, you are now, as you say, ‘up to speed’ and I will leave you to enjoy your evening. Take care of yourself, Lane.”

  The line went dead abruptly, as he gave her no time to continue the conversation. Her mind was in turmoil. What was the Patriarch thinking? Surely he was aware of the undercurrents and suspicions within the Curia. She wasn’t sure who she could trust within her own kind any more and she was all too aware of the veiled threats from Michael Rabb. And another Vampire War? Dear God, no. There had always been tension between the Born or the Classics and the Made or Turned Vampires. Talk of unclean bloodlines and pure blood had always been a problem, but that was why the Council existed. Born out of the last Vampire War which had left hundreds of thousands dead, both human and vampire, the Vampire Council was there to ensure that vampire and human could co-exist in balance with harm to neither species. Another war would be unthinkable; the consequences unimaginable.

  A horn blared on the street outside, bringing her back to the present with a jolt. Kat had been listening intently to her conversation.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to stay here?” said Lane.

  “None,” replied Kat.

  Lane shook her head. “Thought not. Okay, then. We’ll talk on the way.”

  “So, tell me,” Kat persisted as Lane drove.

  “I first met Beckett ten years ago, almost to the day. He was a Catholic priest then; Father Paul Beckett. His first love was God and his church. His sister, Grace, was the victim of a particularly evil vampire, one of the Undead. I’ve been after him for some time but he always proves elusive. His name is Santorini and he wears a black silk mask, very seductive and very deadly. He has no conscience and kills or turns indiscriminately. He’s also spectacularly gifted in his ability to cloak himself and conceal his thoughts from other vampires. He could be in the same room and if he was concealing himself, even I wouldn’t see him. He is an adept of the Dark Arts and that is the reason he has eluded me for so long.

  “Anyway, Beckett’s mother had suffered badly from depression and she killed herself. His father became a chronic alcoholic and walked away from their children leaving Beckett to look after Grace and he did a damn good job of it too, considering. Grace got in with a bad crowd and gave him plenty of grief; experimenting with alcohol and drugs, a wild child. Anyway, Beckett pulled her out of all that and for a few years she seemed to have calmed down, enabling him to concentrate on his own life. After a while, Grace took to staying out all night again and lying to him about where she’d been and who with. Beckett’s a good man, Kat, and he tried everything he could to get her back on the rails. He thought he’d done it for a second time when Grace started seeing someone, she wouldn’t tell him who. She became secretive and sullen and he was at the end of his tether, frantic that Grace was rapidly going down the road to self-destruction. “

  “How old was Grace?”

  “Eighteen by then. A woman, no longer a child, and Beckett knew if he pushed her too hard, she’d be gone. Just after that, she told him that she felt unwell. She began to lose weight, had no appetite and couldn’t sleep. When she did sleep the blood dreams almost sent her mad. Sound familiar? Beckett thought she was depressed and begged her to get treatment. Things got worse until she went to him one night and told him that she’d been ‘feeding’ her boyfriend who was a vampire. Well, you can imagine Beckett’s reaction, not unlike your own initial reaction – any normal person who didn’t know or believe in vampirism. He thought she was delusional and dismissed what she was saying as part of her condition. Only thing was, Grace’s condition was vampirism and not depression. She persisted in telling him and gradually stopped when Beckett just couldn’t get his head around it.

  “Two weeks later she came home very late and collapsed from loss of blood. The boyfriend, Santorini had dumped her, lliterally, back on her own doorstep to die, but only after he’d made her drink his own blood. She died in Beckett’s arms, or at least the human in Grace died.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “That’s not the worst part. Santorini, as I told you, is one of the Undead. Dead already and reanimated by an evil spirit that is the basis of the vampire of popular fiction. Dracula lives, big time. His victims become the Undead as well, although not all are evil; some of us retain the humanity that enables us to fight them. I thought I had found him that night, but I arrived too late to put an end to the bast
ard. I found Beckett nursing Grace on the floor where she fell; he was in shock and out for blood. He lost his faith that night and took off his clerical collar right there in front of me and, he has never put it back on since that night. He walked away from the God that hadn’t saved his sister, despite the hours of praying. He made a vow that night that he would search and find the one who did this to Grace and kill him.”

  “Sounds like Beckett,” said Kat quietly.

  “He didn’t believe me at first but something about Grace in death made him listen. I stayed with him watching over her to see if she rose. And she did.”

  “So what are you saying? She got up out of her coffin and you did a Van Helsing on her?”

  “Not quite. She wasn’t in a coffin, but the Van Helsing thing … let’s just say Mr Stoker got that bit right. I stopped Beckett from involving anyone else until I was sure. We laid her on her bed and watched and waited. She got up when it got dark the next night. You know the rest, or at least you know how the stories go. True, I’m afraid. The thing that had been Grace was staked and decapitated.”

  Kat’s face was a mask of horror. “And Beckett did that?” she whispered.

  “No. I did. There was no way that Beckett could do that, but he watched it all.”

  Kat was silent. Lane’s face was grim as she drove, sensing all the time the fear in Kat. Would this happen to her? And if so, would it be Beckett?

  “How can that have happened and there be no enquiries? What did you do with the body?”

  “We have a support system. There are those amongst us that are doctors who will sign death certificates and there are always undertakers that will ask no questions, except for how much are we prepared to pay?”

  “And all this goes on without anyone knowing anything? Surely somebody has become suspicious in the past?”

  “Of course. You will learn to be able to control people’s thoughts, implant suggestions and even alter their memories. It will become as easy as breathing after a while. The hard part is knowing when to use that ability and when not to. Believe it or not, there is a strict code amongst the vampire community. The trouble is that too many ignore it. Ah, there he is.”

  “Who?”

  “Beckett. Seeing in the normal sense isn’t the word, but I can see him, telepathically. As I thought, he’s at the club.”

  Kat leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “You know, if I hadn’t been through this, if I hadn’t … well, I wouldn’t believe any of it. It’s too fantastic.”

  “That’s what makes it possible for us to live among normal humans: they don’t believe, or they don’t want to believe.”

  “What will happen to me now? I mean, will I change into something like Andrei? I’d kill myself now if I thought that.”

  Lane was quiet for a moment. “Anything is possible but I believe that there has to be the seed of evil deep inside for anything like that to take a hold. The ancient ones say that evil can’t live where love abides. I think it’s true. And don’t go trying to kill yourself, it’s not that easy. Believe me.”

  Kat heard the bitterness that lay beneath those two simple words. Obviously somewhere in Lane’s long past there had been a time when she had been desperate enough to try to end her existence. Hard to believe now, looking at the beautifully elegant and confident woman who spoke calmly of staking and decapitating one of the Undead as though it was a normal everyday occurrence. The memory was apparently still very vivid. Lane reached into the pocket on the driver’s door and pulled out a packet of Marlborough.

  “Don’t lecture me. It’s hardly going to kill me now, is it?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Beckett hurled the door of the jeep shut so hard it bounced open again and he left it that way.

  The door to Danse Macabre was locked and bolted and there was no light showing at any of the windows. He slammed his fist against the heavy wood, again and again, until his knuckles bled.

  He looked up at the small windows high on the smooth elevation of the building. None had a sill and there were no footholds anywhere on the almost polished wall. He kicked the door, nursing his battered hand. He kicked it again, swearing forcefully.

  He was unaware of the police patrol car that had pulled up behind his jeep.

  “I think that’s enough, sir. There’s no damage done by the looks, best stop before you do some, eh?”

  The policeman was young and Beckett detected a hint of uncertainty in his voice; probably new to the job. He smiled - maybe he’d be the lad’s first nick.

  He turned round fully and was surprised to see the look on the young copper’s face change to one of concern. In the heat of his anger he’d forgotten how he must look after the earlier beating.

  “Would you mind telling me how your face got into that state?”

  Yes, I do mind. It’s like this: I came to save the woman I love from being turned into a vampire. The doorman of the club is nothing more than a henchman for a whole nest of vampires based here at the club. He kicked shit out of me and I didn’t get to save the damsel in distress. Instead I watched her change into a vampire and now she’s at my friend’s house drinking blood. He gave a short harsh laugh.

  “Not really, officer. I’m afraid I got into a bit of a barney here earlier. Came back to finish it.”

  The policeman looked at the darkened windows and locked door.

  “I think you’re a bit late for that. Have you been drinking?” He cast a long look at the jeep, parked at a crazy angle from the curb.

  Beckett thought of the whisky and Valium cocktail Lane had dispensed. “Just one.” He grinned. “A big one, though.”

  “Is this your car, sir?”

  The lad was more confident now, on more familiar ground, he’d obviously practiced this one.

  Beckett nodded. “Guess I’ll call a cab, right constable?”

  “Just as well, Sir. Do I have to ask you for the keys?”

  “No. I think I’ve had enough trouble for one night.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Lane’s number. It rang unanswered so he tried her cell phone.

  Lane answered straight away. “Wait there Beckett, I’m about three minutes from you, and don’t antagonise the nice policeman.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Legs.”

  He turned off the phone. “A friend is coming to pick me up. I won’t drive, honest.”

  The young policeman looked dubious. His car radio crackled and a muffled voice talked to the empty patrol car. He hesitated then leaned inside and answered it. A couple of minutes later he re-emerged.

  “I have to answer a call. I don’t advise you to drive, sir. You’d do well to wait for your friend.” His face told Beckett that he didn’t trust him not to get back behind the wheel anyway, but something more serious was claiming his attention. “Goodnight, sir. Oh, and I’ve made a note of your registration number so if there’s any report of damage to this property I’ll know where to come.” He got back into the car, spoke into his radio again and drove away.

  Lane and Kat arrived minutes later.

  Beckett yanked open the driver’s door. “There’s no-one home. Help me get inside – I’m going to find the bastard, if it’s the last thing I do tonight.”

  He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of Kat’s presence.

  He was speechless at her transformation; her eyes were dazzling with amethyst lights, even in the gloom of the car, and the ever-darkening circles beneath them had vanished. The reason didn’t bear thinking about but she was alive and obviously no longer in pain.

  He didn’t know what to say to her that wouldn’t sound trite and pathetic.

  “It’s okay, Beckett. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down but this was inevitable you know. If I was going to live that is. Can you forgive me?” The lights in her eyes dimmed with sorrow at the pain she knew that she’d caused him.

  “Forgive you? It’s me that let you down. I should have sent you to Lane much earlier. I just didn’t want to believe what I could
see with my own eyes. I was a jerk.”

  Lane yawned. “So that’s the sticky sentiment over with and you’ve joined the mutual admiration society, let’s go home shall we?”

  Beckett shook his head. “No chance. I’m going in. With or without you. It would be easier with you but either way …”

  “What the hell for? Don’t be a bloody fool, Beckett. Isn’t a close call with law enough for one night? Not to mention the beauty treatment. Besides, it may look empty but we don’t know who’s at home and neither of us is flavour of the month in there.” She nodded at Kat, “And I don’t think it’s a good idea for Kat to go back in there.”

  Beckett glared at her. “I’ll tell you what for: I’m going to settle with this creep and I’m going to try and find something that will lead us to the bastard in the mask. This is just the sort of breeding and feeding ground that he’d haunt. Take Kat home if you like, but I am going in.”

  Lane sighed. She knew Beckett when he was in this mood. “You think I haven’t tried to find a link to him in there? I need to be careful if I don’t want to lose my entrée into the place.”

  Beckett’s face was intractable. “All right,” she said, “but you stay here with Kat. On no account is she to go back in there and I’m more likely to be able to hold my own if anyone is home. Is that clear?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Beckett?”

  He nodded.

  Lane got out of the car and indicated to Becket that he should get inside.

  “If I can get into the place, I’ll try and open the door for you from inside. Stay here. And I mean it – both of you.” Her eyes glinted dangerously and Beckett knew better than to argue with her, a friend she may be but a powerful vampire she was first of all.

  She tied her hair back into the nape of her neck with a band from inside her pocket and stood looking up at the smooth exterior to the club, hands on her slim but shapely hips. Whilst for Beckett there were no footholds, for her the wall presented no challenge.