The Beckett Vampire Trilogy: Midnight Wine, Lycan and Sanctuary

by Jan McDonald

  “It will be good to see you. Come whenever you want. I should tell you that I picked up on her thoughts and visions. Whatever is disturbing her, it involves Vasile Tepes.”

  He heard a sharp intake of breath before Mihai replied. “I’ll come straight away; when Lane wakes she will be weak and vulnerable. It is good that you are there. I am also in Greece on Council business. You should know that Helena’s work is not progressing as we had hoped.”

  Beckett disconnected the call and turned back to Lane, as he contemplated Helena Bancroft’s work in trying to find a ‘cure’ for the vampirism in the Created. An hour passed without further movement or mumbling and she appeared serene again. He thought about her life; her very long life. Taken to live in the home of her uncle, Cosimo de Medici, in fifteenth century Florence and, practically forced into an abusive marriage, Lane had fallen foul of a predatory vampire. For over six hundred years she had walked the earth trying make it a better place for those similarly afflicted, and fighting those vampires that revelled in their power to prey on the innocent; those like Vasile Tepes.

  Dark thoughts about what he would do to Vasile when their paths crossed again were interrupted as Lane let out a long, drawn-out sigh, and then she lifted a hand to her brow as if she had a headache. He moved closer to the bed, hardly daring to think that the moment he had waited for, for five years, was finally here. He swallowed the grapefruit-sized lump in his throat again and wiped a lone tear from the corner of his eye.

  She opened her eyes and smiled. “Hello, Handsome,” she whispered, using her affectionate name for him.

  The heart of a vampire beats exceedingly slow, and Beckett was no exception, yet he could feel the organ lurch beneath his ribs.

  “Hello, Legs. It’s good to see you.” His voice was casual but his emotions were in freefall.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: IMPORTANT INFORMATION

  Lucy Eastman’s Journal

  10th October 2016

  I have had to pinch myself several times to realise that I am in Transylvania, the trip of my dreams, following in the footsteps of the historical Vlad Dracula – or ‘Vlad the Impaler’ and the fictional Dracula. At Dan’s suggestion, I have begun a journal of our Transylvanian experience.

  We arrived in Bucharest and were met by Christian, our guide for the trip, who took us to see the Chindia Tower, adjacent to the Princely Court of Vlad Dracula and around which Vlad impaled many of his enemies as he stood at the top to appreciate his work. I had to stop half-way up, overcome with nausea, which is odd because I have never suffered vertigo or a problem with heights before, though I eventually made it to the top.

  Then, on to Poenari, Vlad Dracula’s fortress home, now in ruins. Again, I was prevented from climbing up to the fortress after a stupid fall. Christian’s fiancée, Davina, came to my rescue and we enjoyed a chat and some local wine whilst waiting for the others to return to the coach. It is probably nothing, but I had the disturbing sense of someone watching me.

  Dan, who agreed to the trip mainly to please me, was unexpectedly excited on his return from the mountain fortress and immediately shared the many photographs he had taken of the breath-taking countryside.

  My worry is that after so many years of longing to visit this country, reputedly the home of the vampire, that it will be an anti-climax. The rest of the group seem very nice and, like me, believe in the creature of the night and are very forthcoming about their love of the genre, in both literature and film, of which they are knowledgeable and enthusiastic. Dan has always simply tolerated what he calls my obsession, so it is good to have others that share my passion to talk to.

  We left Poenari for our first overnight stop at the town of Sibiu, a beautiful medieval city of cobbled streets and squares and full of Vlad’s history, having lived there from 1451 to 1456 after abandoning his birthplace of Sighisoara. I was feeling very tired suddenly and was impatient to check into our hotel. I hope I’m not coming down with something.

  The Hotel Apollo Hermanstadt is lovely, and a short walk from the centre of Sibiu, so we were soon being shown into our rooms before dinner. I can’t shake the tiredness, but look forward to the traditional meal of Paprika Hendl as enjoyed by the intrepid Jonathan Harker of Dracula fame.

  Dinner was delicious. Essentially a chicken, tomato and paprika stew, it went some way to restoring my spirits. The others were for staying up late but I declined the invitation, needing sleep. I insisted that Dan at least stay and have a drink with them, not wanting to isolate us right at the beginning of the trip.

  11th October 2016

  I slept heavily and woke feeling un-refreshed but ready for the day, fuelled mainly by determination to love every moment of the trip. Breakfast was coffee and rolls, after which we pushed our luggage back into the hold of the coach – something we would do almost every day, living as we were out of our suitcases. This morning is freezing cold and I am glad of my warm fur-lined cloak. Today we are heading for Sighisoara, the birthplace of Vlad the Impaler. I wish I had a little more energy; I am so tired. The cold has been dispelled somewhat as the others passed around a flask of the local plum brandy.

  *

  Vasile Tepes was deep in thought when his old retainer entered his inner sanctum that sat vigil over the ruined fortress.

  “Sir, there is a telephone call for you. They didn’t give a name.”

  “Did they say what they want, Nicolae?”

  “Something about a chalice in which you may have an interest.”

  Vasile said nothing, simply holding out his hand to receive the telephone as Nicolae made a discreet withdrawal.

  “This is Vasile Tepes, to whom am I speaking?”

  The voice on the other end of the conversation grabbed his attention and he listened without speaking for several minutes.

  Eventually he said, “If this is true you will be rewarded. If it is not … well, let’s hope this information is correct.”

  He disconnected the call and returned to his seat looking out through the huge picture window which framed the ruins across the Arges valley. After ten minutes of contemplation he rose suddenly and strode out of the room and down several staircases to the basement of his mountain retreat.

  Vlad’s shrine was placed centrally in the basement with huge candlesticks at each corner. His coffin sat on a marble plinth bearing carvings of the insignia of the Order of the Dragon and his family crest; images that were reflected in the ancient tapestries hanging from the stone walls.

  Vasile lit the candles and stood to one side.

  “Great-Grandfather, I have received information which may lead me to your chalice. Once I have it, you will be restored and take your place as the oldest of our kind and lead us against the abomination of the Created. Much has happened since you left so many centuries ago but I will be at your side to assist you in any way that I can. The House of Tepes and the name of Dracula will once again be feared throughout this country and beyond.”

  He turned quickly and left the candles burning, sending dancing lights and grotesque shadows onto the stone walls. Inside the coffin lay the body of the one they had called Vlad Dracula. Desiccated skin stretched, parchment-like, across the skull and wisps of dark hair were still visible. The eyes were closed but appeared sunken and the mouth gaped open, revealing two elongated and pointed canine teeth that gave the impression of a predatory grin.

  The candles flickered and flared suddenly before being extinguished by an unseen hand.

  Upstairs, Vasile pulled on an expensive overcoat and called for his car. He must see for himself if the information was correct and, if so, he would have to act swiftly.

  CHAPTER NINE: VISIONS OR DREAMS

  Lane tried to sit up but didn’t have the strength to do so. Beckett put his arm around her back and lifted her as though she were a small child.

  “You need to feed,” he said.

  Lane was weak after her vampire sleep and, although Anna had kept her supplied with her blood, it had only sustained her in sleep and in
healing; now she needed more, much more.

  “Call Anna,” she whispered.

  Beckett shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not this time.”

  He pulled back his shirt sleeve of his free arm and bit into his wrist, his pointed canines puncturing the blood vessel with precision. The blood welled up and she smiled weakly as he allowed the crimson life-force to fall onto her lips and fill her mouth. She strengthened with each swallow and, in her hunger, she grabbed his wrist, sucking long and hard, stopping only when Beckett pulled his arm away.

  “That’s enough for now, honey – unless you want me to be in need of Anna’s ministrations.”

  He grinned at her as she wiped away the blood from her chin, licking its residue from her fingertips, and then he looked away, unsure of her reaction to his emotions. They had only just begun to admit their feelings for each other moments before she had been brutally wounded five years ago and she had been asleep ever since then. She was obviously troubled but, as yet, he had no idea of the cause. Was it because she now felt differently? He cleared his throat.

  “Lane, I … are you OK?”

  She frowned. “I will be. But something is very wrong; the visions were so intense. Beckett, the Born are planning another war – I know it – and if they aren’t stopped, this world will become nothing more than their feeding ground and humans their food. It can’t be. We can’t let it!”

  She was even paler than usual and Beckett could hear her heart pounding behind her ribs; his concern over their relationship gave way to fear. Lane never over-reacted but she was clearly very frightened.

  He pulled her to him and hugged her as he planted a kiss on top of her head. The storm in his grey eyes upgraded to a hurricane. “We won’t let it be,” he said, into her hair; hair that, as he spoke, was regaining its familiar lustre. His blood was doing its job.

  She leaned against him, resting her head on his chest for a moment longer than he anticipated; he closed his eyes and dared to hope. But there were other things more urgent now and he allowed them to take precedence.

  When a vampire went into deep and healing sleep, they sometimes unwittingly connected to other vampire minds, especially the old ones. Beckett knew that any visions or prophetic dreams that Lane had experienced were to be taken very seriously. And Lane had begun to recall them all, slowly reliving everything she had seen.

  “Vasile Tepes is behind all this. I saw him clearly. He is searching for something; something that will give him the power to lead the Born. I think it’s a chalice … I can’t … no, wait … Christ, he’s looking for the golden chalice of Vlad Dracula! He can’t be allowed to get his hands on it because, if he does, it will make him almost invincible … unless …” She tilted her face up to his and her expression was enough to tell Beckett that the ‘unless’ was not going to be good news.

  “Unless?”

  “Unless he plans to use it to try and bring back its previous owner.” Her voice was tight and dry and her eyes reflected the panic she was feeling. “We need to speak to Mihai,” she said.

  “Mihai was already near here on Council business; he is on his way,” Beckett answered. “He felt your awakening when I called him. I think he may also have some idea of what is going on; he seemed very uptight and more than a little cagey. Legs, are you trying to tell me that Vasile Tepes can use this chalice to resurrect Vlad? I thought all that was pure myth. Can he really be brought back from the dead? That’s pure Hollywood and pulp fiction, no? Besides, they took his head and buried his body at Snagov.”

  She shook her head, “It’s true, decapitation is it – the end – but there are some of us that think that wasn’t the case and that it was never Vlad who was interred at Snagov. As for the chalice, Mihai’s predecessor found evidence that it was hidden when it was removed from the fountain in Tirgoviste. We need to pray that it stays that way.”

  “Do you know where it is? Does anyone?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “No. The one who took it did so because of its nature; the blood of thousands was drunk from it, until it was almost of the blood itself. After he hid it, they say he took his own life without telling another soul of its whereabouts.”

  “So, just say Vasile finds it, what good is it without Vlad’s body, and what is so important about Vlad anyway? I would have thought that Vasile would want nothing more than to remain as head of the House of Tepes.”

  “Because, if he succeeds, Vlad will once again be the most powerful living vampire, and as such will command the respect and obedience of most of the Born. With him as their leader, there will be no mercy … and no survivors.”

  A deep, Eastern European accent claimed their attention. “Then, we must find it first.” Mihai Rabinescu stepped into the room, leaving Anna, flapping and flustered, in his wake. “Lane, my dear, it’s good to have you back amongst us. Are you healed?”

  Lane nodded at him, allowing the swift embrace from the Patriarch of the Council and her oldest friend. “Yes, Mihai, I am whole again.”

  Apparently satisfied that his favourite was, in fact, healed, he turned to Beckett. “I believe we are all about to become very busy. You should attend to any worldly affairs and be ready.”

  Beckett nodded, his countenance solemn. “I’m ready, Mihai. But if the chalice is so well hidden, then why the urgency?”

  “Because, while no other soul was told of the chalice’s whereabouts, there is a seal that does just that. And it’s missing.”

  Beckett’s frown deepened. “So why make the seal at all? If the whereabouts of the chalice is such a secret, why make something which gives its location?” He turned to Lane. “Did you know of this chalice?”

  She nodded. “Only by legend but, so much of Vlad’s legend is mired in fiction along with elements of truth. As it is in all legends, you know that. “

  “And the legend of the chalice?”

  Mihai answered him. “It is the chalice that Vlad drank the blood of his victims from. The hidden lore about it is that one of his victims was one of the ancient vampires and by drinking his blood from the chalice, along with the curse that the vampire laid on him, is how Vlad became vampire in the first place. So potent was the vampire blood, it corrupted the chalice itself by leaving an indelible stain on the inside that contained the actual essence of the vampire.”

  Beckett was still processing. “So, if by drinking from the chalice, Vlad can somehow be restored – and I haven’t even begun to go there yet – why didn’t it affect the townsfolk of Tirgoviste that drank from it?”

  Mihai’s expression didn’t change as he said in a lowered voice, “But it did; the latents that drank from it turned.”

  There was silence as Beckett and Lane digested the information, then they both asked the same question simultaneously.

  “How do you know the seal is missing?”

  Mihai hesitated. “… Because it isn’t where I left it.”

  CHAPTER TEN: HERO OR VILLAIN?

  From Lucy Eastman’s Journal

  11th October 2016

  Leaving Sibiu with a strange feeling that has nothing to do with the desolate image of the ruins of Vlad’s castle from earlier in the day. I can’t get rid of the feeling that I am being watched. I look at my fellow travellers and wonder which one.

  I can’t seem to concentrate on the stark beauty of the Carpathians, wanting only to sleep. Dan thinks that I am simply overtired and laughed at my feeling that someone was watching my every move. Perhaps it is nothing more than the atmospheric nature of the trip.

  Sighisoara was the birthplace of Vlad Tepes and our next destination. It is a medieval citadel that would make a perfect picture postcard, with its cobbled streets, medieval walls, huge watchtowers and wonderful architecture. But, we are here to see the house in the cobbled square that is allegedly the house of Vlad Dracul and the birthplace of his son, Vlad III: Vlad Dracula. Increasingly I am thinking of Vlad and the fictional Dracula as one and the same.

  It is clear that Vlad was, and still
is, a hero to the Transylvanian people – his picture is everywhere – some are happy to identify him as the inspiration for Bram Stoker and they are more than happy to market him as Dracula, as tourism plays a huge role in their economy.

  Dan seems a little distant. I feel guilty because I was the one who wanted this trip more than anything – he agreed to it just to make me happy – yet, it is Dan that seems enthused by everything and everyone on this trip. He is drinking more than he usually does and is very much a part of the group. I was a little jealous to begin with but now I don’t have the energy for that.

  This is the second night that I have gone to bed early, leaving Dan to join in the high-spirited ‘vampire-themed’ evening.

  My long, black, silk ‘coffin’ skirt, with its bustle and net lining, hung on the back of the door, almost accusingly. I thought of the hours of stitching and planning and made a decision. I wanted to do nothing but sleep but I showered and applied fresh make-up, squeezed into the tight-fitting skirt and black corset-top, pulled on the elbow-length black satin gloves and went to join the others.

  I had no trouble in locating them in the hotel, I simply followed the noise. Dark, heavy, Goth music was blaring from a room on the ground floor and I caught sight of Davina just inside the door.

  As I approached, a feeling of dread overwhelmed me, I felt cold despite the obvious central heating in the hotel. I shivered, I remember that – shivering. I heard Dan laughing and prepared to be amused too, but as I passed through the doorway, I froze. Dan stood with his back to the wall with his arm around one of the single women – Sally, I think – and he was kissing her on the neck. Both were blatantly drunk.

  I thought I had been discreet in my devastated withdrawal but I had only gone a few steps when Davina came after me. Had she been watching for me? Watching me?