by Jan McDonald
“Ah, shit,” spat Beckett, as Santorini lunged at him, again deflecting his contact with Gregori.
Lane reached inside her jacket but Beckett couldn’t see what it was that was in her hand. In less than a second she was flying towards Santorini, her arm raised. She brought it crashing down into the side of his neck then Beckett saw that it was a syringe. She rammed the plunger home and jumped back to watch as beneath the mask his face suffused red as his blood vessels dilated and reacted to his own Anti-HVV. Santorini was dying.
But he hadn’t died and here they were again. This time it had to be finished.
He shifted in his seat as Lane lit another cigarette. He smiled at her and she was prepared for the usual reprimand to which she would give her usual reply, amounting to two fingers, but it didn’t come.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got one to spare?” he asked.
She laughed aloud, “Okay, but we haven’t got time for you to choke and cough up your lungs.”
She passed a cigarette to him and proffered the flame on her gold lighter. He inhaled cautiously much to the amusement of the others. Only Helena opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. She was on a journey to she didn’t know where, and second hand smoke featured low on the list of her concerns. And if what she had been told was even a half truth, she didn’t know who would be returning, so if a cigarette made him feel better, so be it.
“I could get used to this,” he said. “As you always say, it’s not going to kill me.”
Helena refrained again from commenting on her vulnerability.
The small village of Parthavos with its one taverna come hotel nestled in a hollow in the distance and each one of them fell silent.
Dimitri stopped the car outside the tiny hotel. Darkness had fallen but even so there were very few lights to be seen. It was always that way in Parthavos. They had learned a long time ago not to attract unwanted attention. Lane got out of the vehicle first and headed for the front door. There was movement inside and Mihai was in front of them instantly.
He was dressed as always in a black silk suit and black polo neck jumper. His long hair shone in the moonlight like a silver dollar and it was pinned at his neck with a diamond hair ornament that was probably as old as he was. He put his arms around Lane and pulled her to him then kissed her on the top of her head. Beckett felt something fire inside him that was as unfamiliar as it was unpleasant.
Mihai let her go and moved forward, hand outstretched to Beckett.
“Good to see you, Beckett. I’m just sorry we meet in the same circumstances.”
Beckett grinned at him. “Not quite Mihai, last time we didn’t know which colour coat you were wearing until the last minute. Dodgy ground, one of us might have done for you.”
Mihai threw back his head and laughed. “Or perhaps not,” he said. His eyes scanned the remainder of their party. “Lane? Perhaps you will explain?”
Lane was quick to respond. “Mihai, this is Dr. Helena Bancroft who we funded to take over research into the anti HVV. She has made the beginnings of a break through. She has come with us because to complete her research she needs a sample of Santorini’s blood.”
His eyes were dark and penetrating as he reached out into her mind. After a second or two the light returned to his eyes and he was grinning broadly. “It is my pleasure Doctor. I hope that we will be able to gain what you need. I would however be most grateful if you would remain in the relative safety of this hotel. You must tell me if there is anything you need and it will be obtained for you. He picked up her hand and planted a kiss on the back of it.
Smooth bastard’s free with his kisses, thought Beckett irritably.
Mihai’s eyes came to rest on Jude.
“Jude Mason,” said Lane. “I told you we were in the middle of dealing with something, when we first spoke. It seems that Jude is afflicted in a similar way to us.”
Mihai interrupted her before she could continue. His nostrils had been continually sniffing and his eyes had darkened again, probing and reading.
“I know what you are, friend. And I see why you are here. Your help is most welcome, but I’m afraid I cannot guarantee your safety.”
Jude shook hands with him, “I don’t look for guarantees. I hope I can help.”
“Special Forces, I see. Well, even in human terms, that has to be of assistance. Your help is most welcome.”
He turned to Sabine and spoke to her in a Romany dialect. “You are Rom I see, and from an ancient family. I knew your ancestor Abraham Wood before he took his tribe into Wales. I see your role in this clearly enough. Love is a powerful motivation, is it not?”
Sabine flushed and answered him back in Romany, glad that Jude could not understand. “It may be love, Sir, but I’m afraid it may not be returned.”
“Love is always returned if it’s pure. Did you not know that? Rest easy, child. There is love aplenty in that soldier’s heart. It will surface.”
Jo had been watching and listening quietly, his face serene but a tell tale crease on his brow told that he was a long way from home.
Mihai bowed to him. “Shaman, I bid you welcome. Though I fear your Holy People will not want to see you shed blood. I would be grateful if I didn’t have that on my conscience. Perhaps you too would oblige me by staying here with Dr Bancroft and this beautiful gypsy.”
Sabine sparked defensively. “I go where he goes.” There was defiance and stubborn determination in her voice and Mihai merely smiled in response.
“I thank you, Sir. I will not shed blood, even tainted blood. I cannot have that stain on my soul. But I can help in other ways perhaps.”
Mihai nodded at him and turned back to the hotel. “Come, I will tell you what I know and Dr Bancroft …”
“Helena,” she interrupted.
“Helena and Shaman Jo can make themselves as comfortable as possible. I’m afraid there will be no comfort for the rest of us until this is over.”
Helena had moved alongside Beckett and whispered, “Won’t we all cause comment arriving mob handed like this. This is nothing more than a village.”
Mihai heard her whispers from across the other side of the room. He smiled at her reassuringly.
“The people of this village have learned long ago not to ask questions or pass comment. I have paid the owner handsomely to make himself scarce until I say he can return. There is no-one else here. Just us. It does mean that you will have to fend for yourselves however. But I’m sure that is no challenge to someone on the verge of a breakthrough to save our kind. The hotel is empty so please choose your rooms. I suggest you take the large one at the front on the first floor, Helena. There is a large table in there for your equipment. Now, if you will excuse us, time is passing and I need to speak with Lane and Beckett.”
Dimitri hadn’t hung around after he had unloaded the bags and Helena’s boxes. He was human and whilst he was part of the Council’s network, he knew when to disappear.
Mihai looked solemn. “I fear the situation is grave,” he said. “The elders of several Houses are at the monastery and more are close by. Vasile Tepes is there and he above all of them is to be feared.”
Beckett frowned, “Tepes? Is that …?”
“Yes,” replied Mihai, “He is the great grandson of Vlad, and every bit as savage. Don’t let his urbane manner deceive you.”
Lane was agitated and Mihai knew that she was anxious to be on their way.
“What about Darius?” Beckett asked. “Have you seen him?”
Mihai shook his head, “No. But I sense his presence. He is not alone I fear.”
Lane knew instantly, “Angel.”
Beckett rolled his eyes. How many more were to be a party to what was unfolding? It was rapidly getting out of control. “We’d better go. Nothing is going to happen to him. Not while I breathe.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: DARIUS AND ANGEL
Angel had done as she was bid and they approached the monastery in silence. Darius was pissed with her, now h
e had to look out for her and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He felt in his jacket for the knife he had bought on the way. It felt wanting. He regretted not listening to his instinct to raid Lane’s weaponry but knew also that he would have been detained at Customs in no uncertain manner.
The layout of Agios Petros was very similar to that of the old monastery with a perimeter wall and huge wooden gate. It was in dire need of paint and some of the outer wall was crumbling but it stood as high as the one at Agios Georgios had and that meant climbing over it. He needed to find the least visible part and hope that he could scale it.
He trod slowly around the perimeter searching for a blind spot and as he turned the angle of the rear wall he found it. The Gods on Olympus were smiling down on him as there were no windows in the rear elevation, though he was not naïve enough to think that sight was their only means of early detection. Twenty feet along the wall, an old gnarled olive tree offered him a climbing aid.
He turned to Angel, “Stay here. And I bloody well mean it. Stay here and don’t move. If you hear all Hell raised, then you get out of here and quick. I need to know that you’ll do that. I can’t go in there wondering where the hell you are.”
“I’m sorry, Darius. I just … I’m sorry.”
Darius expression softened. “Just promise you’ll stay here. Then when it’s all over you can buy the first round in the first taverna we find. And if you get bored out here, pray.”
His words brought Beckett into the forefront of his mind. He’d been stupid to come alone, but Beckett had been through enough and this was his fight. Nevertheless he wished he could see his lined face and storm grey eyes. He wished he could see Beckett run his hands through his hair in exasperation but he was glad that he couldn’t. Andrei was his responsibility and he would accept it.
He thought back to the time before when they were about to enter the monastery of Agios Georgios. He had grown up that night, a man before his time.
Beckett had been in tremendous physical pain that night, in the middle of the turning, despite the administration of the anti HVV. And he, Darius, had been childish and naïve thinking he could offer himself up as some sort of sacrificial lamb. There had been carnage that night and a river of blood had been spilled. He was prepared for what lay over the wall, but realised that if he was caught before he could find Andrei, he was alone. Memories of the protection Lane offered came flooding back.
Lane had been confronted by Sister Angelique, whose only agenda was to protect her love, Gregori. She had leaped forwards and knocked the nun out cold. Then stepped over her inert body and moved forwards. She had pulled a small revolver from her hip. It had a pearl handle and was unmistakably ancient.
“You can shoot them?” he’d asked in amazement.
“They’re flesh and blood, or most of them are. They won’t die with ordinary bullets; that’s why mine aren’t ordinary.”
He’d laughed then, “Don’t tell me, they’re silver bullets, I thought that was Hollywood.”
“Close, although pure silver bullets are most effective on werewolves I understand. These bullets carry a small charge and they explode on impact, carrying the Anti-HVV and silver nitrate inside the body. Same principal as a tranquilizer gun, it will bring them down long enough for this. From her other boot she had drawn the hilt of what appeared to be another dagger, but when she pressed the ornate hilt, a blade shot out, the length of her lower leg, effectively turning it into a sword. That sword would not be there to protect him this time.
Angel was looking distressed and he took time to put his arm around her. “I forgive you for following me, and I’m sorry I yelled at you. I just don’t want to see you hurt. You’ll be fine if you stay here. The circus is going to be in there. I’ll be back for that drink.” He kissed her on the cheek, a friend’s kiss without passion.
The olive tree creaked and groaned as its gnarled old branches took his weight, even though Darius was slight. He pulled himself up to the level of the wall and easily straddled the top if it. He waited for a few seconds to see if there was any sound of alarm from inside. There was none and so in one of his heartbeats he dropped to the ground on the other side.
Unfamiliar with the place he relied on memory of the other monastery to possibly give him direction. He could hear voices inside; several people were speaking at the same time and in different languages and dialects. Although his family was from Budapest he had been born in London but had learned his mother tongue and other Eastern European languages at an early age, and now he recognized the language of one of the voices as Romanian. It was a smooth voice with a cultured accent hinting at nobility from the Carpathians. But not one of the voices was Andrei’s.
He realized he had been holding his breath since he climbed the olive tree and exhaled deeply. He swallowed hard and crept towards the rear wall of the building. Again he was holding his breath and his heartbeat had picked up apace.
The wall was warm against him as he pressed himself to it. Turning the corner he faced a row of small windows, no lights burned in them. The nun’s rooms. Next to them was a larger window with a small chimney adjacent. The kitchen. None of the windows were open, so no access that way. He knew he would have to go around to the front to get inside and that was the easiest way to be seen. He had no choice.
Hugging the wall he rounded the corner to the front. Again Greece’s Gods of Olympus were on his side. The front door stood ajar, he wouldn’t have to turn the huge iron ring that would open it and probably make noise. So far so good.
The voices seemed closer now he was at the front of the monastery and still he couldn’t identify Andrei. Where was he? He tried to get an idea of the location of the voices and decided they were coming from the right of the door, and judging from the window it was the chapel. The problem was that he didn’t know if the door to the chapel stood open, he believed it did as the voices were very clear.
He stood weighing up his options. He could pass the front entrance and risk being seen as he looked at the other side of the building for an open window, or her could slip inside and hope to find somewhere to hole up until he could look for Andrei. He felt the blade inside his jacket, he would not falter and he would not miss.
He made a sudden decision to go in through the open front door. There was a darkened window to the left of the front entrance, possible the office of the Mother Superior. He hoped it wouldn’t be locked.
As he centred himself ready for the move, he felt an icy chill from behind, the frozen tentacles of the cold atmosphere coiled and writhed around him, cramping his bowel and filling him with nausea. The hand that grabbed his shoulder felt like a huge claw and then there was an arm around his throat cutting off breath.
The voice was cold as the grave as it hissed, “So, who do we have here?”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: LOST REVENGE
Mircea Tepes had one of those faces, once seen never forgotten. Harsh features and cruel lines around the mouth and black holes of eyes under dark caterpillar eyebrows did not make for good looking.
Darius felt rather than heard his sharp canine teeth descend ready for action and tried to pull away but Mircea had him in a vice like grip. In a millisecond he had released him from around the throat and had yanked his arm behind his back and pulled it upwards to the shoulder before the boy could process the movement. Then his knee connected with Darius’s spine and he was pounded into the wall creating a long gash down the side of his left cheek. He felt the warm blood running down his face and neck and heard the intake of breath and a hiss from behind him as his assailant detected the scent of the crimson rivulet.
Darius was no match physically for Mircea but he was going to give it his best shot. Even as the thoughts were formulating he drowned in the icy chill and he felt the cold wetness of Mircea’s tongue on his neck and face, licking and savouring the still oozing blood, sending shivers shooting throughout his entire body that did not stop until they reached his soul. Darius was in deep shit.
Th
e voice was sibilant and reedy. “Ssuch a pity to wasste ssuch rich blood.”
He yanked harder on Darius’s arm sending unbearable pain into his shoulder and neck until he was near to fainting.
“I have a mind to ssatissfy my hunger right here, but you will make a very acceptable gift from the Housse of Tepes to the heir when he arrivess. Ssuch a beautiful face, ssuch exquissite bone sstructure,” he hissed. And in that moment Darius realised that whoever held him captive was not only of the Born and probably an ancient one at that, but he was also one of the Undead.
He tried desperately to turn and at least see who was about to make him their supper, but only achieved a tighter grip from behind and a knee in the back propelling him forwards through the open door into the dimly lit hallway.
Mircea called out in his own language and the adjacent voices fell silent. There was a sound almost like the soft rush of air when a door is opened too quickly as the other vampires settled like mist in front of them.
The one with the long hair and Gothic attire glided forwards and hooked a sharp fingernail under Darius’s chin.
“Who are you?”
Darius remained silent.
“Cat got your tongue? Or was it Mircea? Hm?”
Darius was scanning the faces of the others, searching for Andrei.
“Speak!” spat Vasile.
Darius shouted back, “Where is Andrei?”
Vasile Tepes frowned, “Andrei? Marinescu?”
Darius nodded painfully.
A voice of steel from inside the chapel answered him. “I killed him.”
He recognised the voice and an avalanche of icy understanding engulfed him. He’d been wrong. The young one that had survived was Santorini and not Andrei. He was still to be denied.
Tears of frustration and anger born of years of hatred spilled down his cheeks, their salt causing the wound on his face to sting. But it was buried by the other pain, the pain of his lost revenge.