by Jan McDonald
Santorini was in front of him then, sneering contempt.
“Well, well, the younger Marinescu. Looking for big brother? Sorry. Too late.”
Mircea tightened his grip and following Santorini’s gestures, followed him, shoving Darius to the rear of the corridor into a room opposite the nuns’ accommodation. Darius was thrown unceremoniously onto the hard bed, winded. Before he could gain his breath Santorini dismissed Mircea and closed the door. The speed of his movements made it seem as though he had materialised right in front of him.
The first blow was to Darius’ face, opening up the earlier wound, the second was again to the face, splitting his lip. Blood from the two mingled on his chin but he did nothing to stem the flow because the third blow was to the side of his head sending him to oblivion.
Santorini spat onto the floor. “How beautiful are you now?”
Back in the chapel Vasile Tepes was concerned. “Why is he keeping the boy? Are we sure he doesn’t know of the heir? And what of The Ancient One? Is he aware of how precarious is his position?”
Markos Vasilakis shook his head. “His defences against us are weaker than he thinks. I have read him and he has no knowledge of either. He is neither of the Born nor of ancient lineage, he presumes too much.”
Vasile nodded. “Good. Then we must keep it that way until Drakos arrives. “
“Drakos, my father, is ready to take over from Gregori but needs The Ancient One to concur,” Markos replied.
Santorini returned to the group, his arrogance not diminished after cutting up rough with Darius and although he sensed some tension from the others he couldn’t read them.
“Why do you keep him, when he would provide nourishment for us now?” asked Vasile.
“Because even though he truly believes he is here alone, except for the puny human woman outside the wall, I anticipate a large thorn in my side will not be far behind.”
Vasile raised an arched eyebrow.
“Lane Dearing. She has been a source of annoyance to me for a very long time now and when she shows up with the priest I can finally put an end to the annoyance.”
Vasile looked thoughtful. “Leonora. I know of her. She is high on the Council, I believe. Perhaps we shall have some sport here. Who is the priest you speak of?”
Santorini sneered. “A pathetic man who once was a priest and now he is nothing. She has taken him as a friend. It will be her downfall.”
He put his hand on Santorini’s shoulder. “You have done well. The feast is arranged?”
Santorini nodded. “The Mother Superior has sent word to the villages, tomorrow there will be food enough for all.”
Vasile continued, “You see yourself as Gregori’s successor, I know you were his protégée and he was highly pleased with you. His death was unfortunate and if you are correct, the cause of that tragedy may soon be here for us to avenge him. What about their so called Patriarch? The term in itself is an offence.”
“Michael Rabb has other fish to fry. He won’t be a problem.”
“Then tonight we will relax and drink wine from the local vineyards and anticipate what we shall be drinking on the morrow. You have done well, Santorini. Mircea, would you please go and bring in the girl. We must show her our hospitality.”
Santorini bristled at Vasile’s presumption that the hospitality was his to give but said nothing. He had the formula in his head and without the respect that was his due, these nobles of the ancients and the Born would be disappointed.
Mircea’s expression relayed his enjoyment at being given the task of apprehending the young girl as he moved in the blink of an eye to the outer wall.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: SIGNIFICANT RISK
Helena Bancroft had a lot to understand. She replayed the conversation she’d had with Lane during the journey.
“Just how many vampires are out there?” she’d asked. Her voice had been level but Lane could read the apprehension within.
“There has never been a census, but there are many thousands. Some are the Undead, some are the Born and others are Created or Latents.”
“Undead? You mean like Dracula? You serious? I thought we were dealing with mutagens caused by infection but that sounds like something a whole lot different.” Her eyes had bored into Lane’s. Lane wasn’t fazed.
“Mr Stoker has a lot to answer for but essentially he is correct. Many centuries ago the original vampire passed on the mutant genes creating our kind. Some of them were killed and their bodies animated by something unspeakable.”
“So forgive my constant reference to Bram Stoker, but it really is my only point of reference, are they killed à la Van Helsing?”
Lane had smiled at her; the brilliant open mind was already processing information that would send most to the asylum or into permanent disbelief.
“If you mean do we cut off their heads and remove their hearts then yes. It is the only way to deal with the Undead.”
“And the others?”
Lane had hesitated before saying, “Sometimes we deem it wise to take precautions.”
Helena had understood the implied meaning. “Okay. Good to know.”
“There is something else that you should know.”
“There is?”
Lane had glanced significantly at Jude. “There is another condition that may be similar; certainly to do with altered DNA.”
“And I should know this because?”
Lane had lowered her voice, “Because we want you to try and find a cure.”
“A cure for what exactly?”
“For Lycanthropy, for a werewolf.”
Her life had become very complicated in a few short days but she was above all a scientist searching for answers. And answers she would find. However surprising the questions. And by the time the others were halfway to the monastery she had her eye glued to the microscope lens. She made a sudden decision and grabbed her bag, sending her chair tumbling backwards. Medical breakthroughs often came after significant risks and this was a risk she believed would take her a long way towards an answer.
Jo had remained downstairs deep in meditation and when she burst into the small room he didn’t react.
“Jo!” she shouted.
A flicker of acknowledgement drifted over the old leathery face and very slowly he returned his consciousness to the here and now.
“Jo, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I believe I may have found an answer, well at least the beginnings of one. But if what Lane has told me is right, we shouldn’t just sit here and allow them to die. Not while there’s a chance. I wanted Santorini’s blood to be sure but in the meantime our friends may be in dire need of some help.”
He was silent for several minutes, half in this world and half in the world of his ancestors. Eventually he spoke slowly, “The Holy People have told me what you ask. It is well with them, they will guide your hand, and so it is well with me. Where do you want to do this?”
Helena shook her head as if to dislodge an annoying insect, totally thrown by his reply.
“How do you know? No. Don’t tell me, my belief boundaries have been stretched far enough, any more and they’ll come twanging back and hit me in the face. Okay, so you agree for me to do this? It is a dangerous thing to do in these surroundings, but I’ll do everything I can to prevent any infection. Are you sure?”
“Are you?”
“Ninety nine point nine percent.”
His face broke into a reassuringly creased smile. “Then I shall be one hundred percent sure for both of us.”
“I would do this to myself, but I had my appendix removed when I was ten.”
“Then we should do it now.”
Helena looked around her, “The kitchen,” she said.
In the kitchen she made a grab at the handle of a cupboard, then another and then another until finding the one that housed the meagre cleaning materials. The labels were in Greek but she made a qualified guess at a serious disinfectant and threw it liberally over the table. Her sleev
es were rolled up and she hunted around for a scrubbing brush, turning up her nose at the relic she found under the sink, she grabbed at a roll of paper towel and began scrubbing the disinfectant into the table as best she could. There was going to be no incision but she wasn’t taking any chances.
Jo got onto the table and laid flat, his usual serenity coming from him in waves as he pushed the top of his jeans over his pelvis. Sudden doubt flickered across her face.
“It’s a long time since my surgical rotation. And this is going to hurt.”
“No,” he said quietly, “it isn’t.”
His breathing became slow and deep and he began a low chanting in his Navajo tongue, removing him from his surroundings and removing him from any pain.
She took a syringe from her bag along with a sealed long hypodermic needle which she used in her lab work and some antiseptic swabs. It wasn’t ideal not even suitable, but it was all she had.
She took a deep breath and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. She was concentrating hard as she gently prodded his lower abdomen, looking for a point over the right side of the abdomen, one-third of the distance from his pelvic bone to his navel, which would give her the best guide to the location of his appendix.
She ripped open a swab and gently wiped over the area, rechecking the location. Then without hesitation she directed the needle into Jo’s flesh, through two layers of muscle, into the cavity at the centre of the appendix and withdrew fluid into the syringe. Deftly removing the needle, she swabbed his skin again and handed him a plaster to cover the tiny puncture that may still allow bacteria from the less than hygienic kitchen to enter him. The appendix was often hidden beneath a layer of bowel and she prayed that her needle had found its true objective and not punctured the wall of his intestine.
Jo waved her away as she started to fuss over him.
“Go and find your answer,” he said. “And then we will go and find them.” He hoped they would not be too late.
At her make-shift lab that she knew was disastrously inadequate she added some stain to the sample on her slide before putting it under her microscope. After maximum magnification she saw them. The specific antigens that had originated in Jo’s appendix. She added a drop of blood with Beckett’s vampire virus and watched in horror as the vampire cells killed off the antigens. Too late for him, his vampire cells were too many and too strong as she had feared, but in her heart she knew that someone newly infected or newly turned would present a different picture. The antigens would triumph over a few vampire cells before they could proliferate. And Beckett wasn’t alone. If anything happened to any of them because she wasn’t there it would be unthinkable.
She injected the contents of the syringe into a rubber capped vial and put it in her pocket, along with a handful of needles and a syringe.
Downstairs Jo was nowhere to be seen, already in search of transport, and a few moments later a loud rattle accompanied by the roar of a fractured exhaust told her he had been relatively successful.
Relatively successful wasn’t even close. Jo sat at the wheel of an old pick up truck that would be unwelcome at any scrapyard, but apparently was still used daily by one of the local farmers. Helena ignored the overpowering odour of goat and climbed into the cab beside Jo.
“Okay,” she said, “let’s go find the monastery.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: WOLF
Jude was uneasy, something was wrong. A powerful odour assailed his nostrils. He sniffed, turning his head, seeking the direction of the smell. Sabine was instantly alert.
She put her hand on his arm. “Jude?”
He didn’t answer, focussed on whatever was outside.
Lane spun around connecting with his eyes. Eyes that were normally a deep indigo were slowly changing colour to luminescent amber. Long course hair had appeared on his face and muscle groups in and around his mouth appeared to be in motion over too many savage teeth. And within seconds his nose and mouth took on the appearance of a muzzle, but with no change in bone structure.
“Stop!” she yelled.
Mihai slammed on the brakes and spun around as Beckett lunged towards Jude.
“Mother of God,” he whispered. Then to Sabine, “Get out of the car.”
She shook her head, clutching Jude’s hand, even as hair appeared on the back of his hands and his fingernails were growing visibly into what could only be described as claws.
Mihai and Lane both had guns in their hands before Sabine even saw them move. When her optic nerves had caught up with their movements, she lunged forwards.
“No!”
Becket held on to her with an iron grip. “Shut up and keep still.”
Jude had the door open and was clutching at his clothing. An intense heat was torching through him, searing his guts and causing him to rip away his shirt in a desperate attempt to cool his body. He threw back his dreadlocked head and howled into the night.
He dropped his shoulders and loped to the side of the road, head back, sniffing.
Sabine kicked out at Beckett, and the shock of her boot connecting with the softest part of his anatomy made him let go. She flew after Jude, distressed but unafraid. Mihai’s expression mirrored Lane’s alarm. They flew forwards silently with Beckett only just behind. What the hell had caused this transformation? A transformation that tradition had it was linked to the full moon. And the moon wouldn’t be full for nearly another three weeks.
Beckett’s eyes penetrated the dark as if it had been noon and soon saw the answer. The hillside adjacent to the side of the road was littered with sheep. Not all of them alive. Two amber lights low to the ground gave away the position of the marauding wolf that had wreaked the havoc. Blood was all over its muzzle and it stood with ears erect and teeth bared. Snarling.
Jude leaped towards the wolf, and they met in mid air. For a surreal moment it seemed as though they would remain airborne then the two suddenly fell to the ground and there was a frantic bundling of fur, hair and limbs.
Frightened bleating from the sheep left alive was instantly drowned by the sounds of deep growls and savage violence. Two alpha males were fighting it out.
Lane and Mihai stood side by side, guns aimed at the roiling mass of beast and man. The scent of blood drifted on the warm night air, filling them both with a raw hunger. They remained focussed on the tangle of destruction but neither could get a clean shot at the wolf. As the fight continued and then stepped up a notch a series of loud yelps gave notice of one in supremacy.
As suddenly as it had begun the two bodies rolled away from each other and lay suddenly still and silent.
“No! Wait!” Lane yelled at Sabine who had made a dive towards the unmoving Jude. She was ignored and Beckett’s grab at her just left him holding her jacket.
Sabine knelt beside him and stared in horror at the huge amount of blood that was slicked over his muscular chest. He was bleeding from several deep gouges high on his face and there was blood over his mouth and chin. Unconsciously her hand had flown over her mouth as memories of Abram in the same condition flooded her. She bent over him wiping the blood from his chest then turned to Lane, “He’s okay. It’s not his blood.”
As she uttered the last word, in a flurry of teeth and red stained fur, the wolf was on its feet and airborne. A loud crack from Mihai’s gun, one second ahead of the same from Lane, felled the wolf for the last time.
Jude was on his feet as the wolf hit the ground. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The amber light in his eyes was already darkening and in less than a minute the deep indigo had returned. The hair on his cheeks remained but all eyes were witnessing the dark claws retracting into now hairless fingers.
“He was in kill mode and he had the scent of human flesh. He would have killed again, probably a child.”
Beckett put his hand on Jude’s arm. “How did you know?”
“I just know. I know how they act and think; I know them now. And the wolf in me took over. Jo said we would walk together; it seems he was right, e
xcept in certain circumstances it appears as though the wolf is the stronger. I don’t know why it happened when the moon isn’t full.”
Lane answered him. “I think it could be adrenaline, released in anger or fear or as a defence mechanism. Interesting.”
Sabine butted in, “Interesting? None of you has asked him if he’s all right! Interesting? He isn’t a lab specimen!”
Jude grinned at her and the indigo eyes pierced hers. “It’s okay,” he said, “but thanks.”
Beckett looked at him with deep concern; he understood how it felt to become something other than who he had been. He understood the confusion, the denial and the anger. He was still working on the acceptance. His understanding was obvious in his expression and Jude nodded at him and in that moment there was a bond forged that would not be broken.
Lane absorbed the fleeting emotion, “Okay Handsome, time to get moving. He’s fine. And from what we just saw, I’m glad he’s on our side.” She held on to his arm and he felt the now familiar charge of electricity, felt it lodge in the centre of his heart. He stared into her eyes, trying to get past her barriers, but sensed that to do so would be his undoing. Instead he cleared his throat and nodded his agreement.
Mihai was back in the car with the engine started before Jude and Sabine even reached it. As Lane and Beckett climbed inside he said, “You should know that I sense some ancient bloodlines.”
The monastery was a mile ahead but Mihai and Lane’s senses, so finely developed over the centuries could reach out and scan a location for others of their kind, reading the energy signatures of vampire and human alike. Lane threw out her senses to Agios Petros and looked at Beckett.
“Santorini is there. And so are some of the old ones. I can almost taste the House of Tepes and the Vasilakis clan is there too. Powerful opponents, Handsome. You ready?”
Beckett nodded.
“What about Darius?”
“He’s there and so is Angel. I have to tell you, their energy is contained and they are both very still. We need to work on the assumption he’s been caught. That means I don’t know how much time we have.”