Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One]

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  Father stared at me for a few moments. He grinned and nodded. “Come on, there will be no further excuses or delays on my part.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The road ascended from the slums into another section of the city where restoration had hidden most of the war’s former scars. At first, it didn’t dawn on me, but later I realized my father’s underhanded craftiness. He had deliberately led me through the poverty-stricken section of Bucharest. He knew the vampire lair was there, and we could have completely bypassed it, never setting a foot outside of the renovated sections of the city.

  I suppose he had been testing me to see exactly how I’d react and whether I’d retreat. My first inclination after seeing the appalling setup was sheer anger. I wanted to find a way to rescue the poor innocent people, but we lacked the numbers to attack and I lacked the experience. I’d never deny that, and it was all the more reason to start my training.

  By nature I’ve never been squeamish, so the dead bodies didn’t sicken me. What was occurring in the slums, however, shocked and repulsed me. I never imagined how cruel some city magistrates were, and that they were content doing nothing to rescue these unfortunate people.

  We moved not as quickly as before but at a decent pace. My father was limping. Every step he took made him wince and gasp. I didn’t know how much longer he could walk without sitting down to rest.

  He leaned against the side of a building and nodded toward the street ahead. “The shop is the third building down. A set of steps leads down.”

  Along this narrow street men and women walked. No horse-drawn carts, but a few men on horseback were spread out amongst the modest pedestrians. I waited until my father regained his strength before heading toward the stairs.

  Young men and women with painted clown faces stood close to the shop stairs entertaining children. Not certain why, but these individuals made me uncomfortable. Perhaps because I didn’t know what their faces actually looked like. None of them approached me, but it might have been due to the natural frowning glare on my face. It was probably in their best interests to keep their distance.

  The young ladies painted animal features on the children’s faces and two young men juggled. Several others addressed passersby, offering to read their palms and tell their fortunes. Most declined, while a select few were unable to overcome their curiosity and offered their hands.

  It took only a few moments for me to notice quick hands looting billfolds and jewelry from their unsuspecting victims. Slight of hand. The onlookers were losing small fortunes to the cunning performers who were masters of misdirection and not privy to any supernatural knowledge. I’m not certain how I had been given that insight because I had never watched any tricks like these, but I noticed each person that was robbed.

  “Keep a watch on any of your valuables,” I whispered to my father.

  We kept our backs toward the building’s edge until we reached the cracked stairs. Father walked down the steps and stopped at the door. I stood behind him, but kept my attention toward the entertainers.

  A purple silk curtain hung on the inside of the window, preventing anyone from peeking through the glass. No other windows were along the wall. My father turned the wrought iron doorknob and eased the door inward.

  A loud squawk pierced my ears and paused my advance across the threshold. Lit lanterns hung on various posts inside the rectangular room. Candles flickered on draped tables and countertops. In spite of the flames, the overall shop was dim.

  The air smelled of jasmine, rose, and other delicate perfumes, which made me think of my mother. She’d have enjoyed coming inside the shop with us. Seldom, though, did she ever venture into the city. Crowds made her uncomfortable. I thought, if I’d had money on me, that I’d have picked her up something fragrant to bring back as a gift. Of course, Fane had promised to sell the hides, but after he gave me the money, I’d have to walk all the way back. He’d never wait long enough for me to return to the shop and back to the tavern, even if I ran the entire way.

  Father gripped my forearm and pulled me inside the shop, promptly closing the door behind me. The bird squawked again from inside a large cage several feet away. It was the most magnificent creature I had ever seen. Feathers of deep green, bright red, blue, and yellow decorated this marvelous bird. Its curved black beak clamped down on a metal wire of the cage wall. The harsh sound it had made seemed much louder than possible for an animal of this size. I was enthralled.

  “Like the bird, do you?” a young lady asked, sitting in the shadows where I had not noticed her.

  She was dressed in a long frilly dress, purple, with a black corset that tied in front beneath modest breasts. She held an extended decorated fan in her right hand, hiding the lower part of her face. Even in the shadows, her eyes were the most beautiful blue, almost glowing and warm, unlike the icy shimmer they displayed. Her long red hair hung in neat spiraling curls. Her pale skin was nearly ivory in color but speckled with countless reddish-brown freckles. To me, her beauty was unlike anyone I had passed along the streets of Bucharest. I stood, stunned, staring at her, admiring everything about her and found myself quite speechless.

  “You like the bird?” she repeated.

  I blinked and shook my head. Swallowing hard, I glanced away from her, back to the bird, and back to her once more. Her rare beauty drew my continued gaze like a magnet. “Yes, beautiful. Quite beautiful.”

  Her eyes brightened at my compliment, which she believed was directed at her; and I had intended it for her, although I hadn’t meant to say it aloud. It was one of those moments when the mouth spoke before the brain bid it not to, not that a young beautiful lady didn’t deserve to be complimented. She did. But I was too young to understand the nature of flirting, and this was purely unintentional on my part.

  She fluttered her eyelashes, lowered the fan, and smiled broadly, revealing her delicate nose and cute dimpled chin. Her lips were narrow and painted light pink, revealing the full beauty she bestowed.

  Flustered, I sought to find something else to turn my attention toward since fleeing out the door or turning invisible were options unavailable. So, I turned and reached toward the birdcage.

  “I wouldn’t put a finger any closer to him,” she said. “Beak’s like a barber’s razor.”

  I lowered my hand and slipped it into my pocket. I had no idea why I was so nervous. My hands were sweaty. I felt heat rising around my neck and was certain my face had flushed red. Looking around, I noticed my father had stepped into the adjoining room of the shop, occasionally watching me out of the corner of his eye and grinning while he looked at some long candles.

  “Where does a bird like this come from?” I asked, afraid to gaze back into her eyes. Looking into them had made me uneasy, not in a bad way, but I didn’t understand the reason behind my discomfort or why I felt strange being near her. It was almost as if she’d bewitched me with a spell.

  “My father traded for it from a man that had done an expedition in South America. It’s a parrot.”

  Her voice was soft and throaty. Her accent was much different than others I’d spoken with, even different from the two Britain hunters. I liked her accent though and the odd way that she pronounced some of her words. It was something I could listen to for days on end, in spite of my nervousness.

  Not certain what else to do, as I was mentally too young and naïve to understand infatuation and the power it holds when struck by immediate attraction to another person, I started to back away.

  She stood and walked closer to me.

  I quaked inside. I had stood my ground against a master vampire, and yet, I wanted to bolt from this beautiful young lady. I didn’t understand, and my father was getting farther away in the neighboring room.

  “Seems a bit odd, a husky man like yourself coming into a candle shop with all sorts of potpourri and perfumes. You sure you’re in the right place?”

  I nodded. For the first time I felt like being a child inside of a man’s body was a curse. I didn
’t know how to act and wasn’t certain what to say. I nodded but didn’t dare gaze into her eyes.

  “That old man? Is he your father?”

  “Yes,” I said softly, like the small child I was inside.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Forrest.”

  “My name’s Roisin, but I prefer Rose,” she said with a smile before covering her mouth with the edge of the fan.

  “It’s nice meeting you,” I stammered.

  “You’re awfully quiet and shy to be so big. But it’s not a bad thing. Most lugs your size act like brutes and are all about toughness and intimidation.”

  I shrugged.

  “We also do fortune telling here, but not like those peddlers out on the streets. We’re not into robbing people, and I’m actually quite good at reading fortunes. I’d be happy to tell yours while you wait on your father.”

  I looked down. “I don’t have any money with me.”

  “I’ll do it for free,” she said, taking my hand and leading me back to the little table where she had been sitting. “You sit in that chair.”

  I sat down. Plopped down, actually. She took a lit lantern from its hanging nail on a post and set it on the table. She took my hand again.

  “You have huge mitts, you have.”

  I gave her a confused expression, not understanding the translation.

  “Hands. You hands are huge.”

  I nodded. “Where are you from?”

  “Ireland.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “According to my father, opportunity,” she said, gently holding my hand inside both of hers. “Between you and I, I’ve never seen it. Nothing has captured my interest in this city, until today.”

  She ran her index finger down the center of my palm, which made a strange tickling sensation through my hand and partway up my arm. I liked her holding my hand but didn’t understand why I did. The more she talked, the more I began to believe that she was in her late teenage years. She rambled somewhat urgently, like she was trying to keep my attention.

  For a few moments, she traced the lines on my palm, lines I never really thought about until she placed emphasis upon them. She frowned and chewed her lower lip. I could see the confusion in her eyes.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  She frowned, tightening her brow even more.

  I tugged to pull my hand free of hers.

  She held tightly and shook her head. “No, I’m not finished looking at it.”

  “You looked confused.”

  “That’s because I am,” she replied, cocking a skeptical brow at me and quickly looking at the lines on my hand again.

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Not wrong, but quite . . . different. First set of lines I’ve ever seen like this, which is why I’d like to study them a bit longer. That is, unless you mind me holding your hand?”

  I shook my head and blushed. “No, not at all.”

  A broad smile spread across her cute lips. Her eyes peered into mine. “Your lifeline is incredibly long, but there are other things about you that don’t seem right.”

  I fed upon her every word. The flow of her accent and the way she said the words, held me spellbound, without any magic. “Like what?”

  “Well, I understand why you’re so quiet. You’re a deep thinker, using your logic. That’s what this line details. And . . . you’ll be a man who will serve your life doing great services for others. Are you a religious man?” she asked.

  “No.” I bit the word with a quick breath. My brow formed a brief tight frown.

  “Hmm. Not a priest.”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s not a bad thing,” she said, teasing. She adjusted herself in her seat while holding fast to my hand. “Priests don’t marry.”

  She seemed relieved for a moment.

  Rose shook her head a few seconds later. “You sure you’re not a priest?”

  “No, why?” If she only understood my thoughts and feelings about the cathedral . . . I could explain that, but I was certain she’d not like my assumptions.

  “Your marriage line and heart line are almost invisible,” she said. “Sort of like a priest’s. At least that’s how I’d imagine a priest’s lines to be. A priest would never oblige me to do a reading. They consider mediums as hands of the devil.”

  “What does it mean for those lines to be short?”

  “You probably won’t seek any long-term relationships, or any that you do have will be abruptly cut short.” She sounded disappointed and released my hand. Her face saddened. “And the remaining things I sense and see, I . . . I don’t think I should share them.”

  “Why not?”

  Rose said, “Like I said, I’ve never encountered lines like yours on another person’s hand. And it’s best I don’t disclose anything more because there’s a good chance I might be wrong.”

  Perhaps since I was feeling more comfortable around her, and her holding my hand had definitely helped, some of my boldness was returning. I wanted to know what she believed she had seen. I needed to know. I had already determined I’d never have a significant other or ever experience what my parents had.

  “What else?” I asked, braving a look into her eyes, wishing she’d take my hand into hers again.

  “Forrest,” she said softly. “I fear what I’ve read may be wrong. When I look into your eyes, I see purity and innocence, like a child. Your mannerisms are humble, shy, and gentle in spite of your massive size. But I read a ruthless coldness etched into your palm. I perceive a violent life ahead for you with lots of loss and heartache. It conflicts with what I see sitting across the table from me. It troubles me greatly.”

  I gave a gentle smile. I wanted to tell her that she was correct and these things she had seen would soon become a constant reality in my life. I had already sensed some of these based upon my own logical reasoning. After all, how could you stake vampires through the heart and not become cold inside. That was a service for others, to protect the innocent, but it created vile enemies, too. Remaining vampires would seek vengeance, and that didn’t necessarily mean coming after the hunter. Instead, they’d want to cause mental anguish by slaughtering the ones dear to the hunter’s heart.

  Rose stood and walked to a shelf. She took an object off of the shelf that was covered with a black square silken cloth. She set it on the table. “Would you mind if I looked further?”

  I shrugged.

  She frowned. “You don’t seem upset about the things I’ve told you thus far.”

  “Should I be?”

  “I’ve always been quite accurate.”

  “Who’s to say that you’re not now?”

  A worried expression came to her face. “And the details don’t bother you?”

  “It does me no good to worry about the future, does it? There’s nothing I could change, but I can be prepared to face it.”

  “If you knew the certain future, yes, you could do things to avoid the pain. There are always choices and decisions to make. Choosing the correct path in life often takes planning.”

  I gazed into her eyes. “Sometimes destiny allows no other choices.”

  “You think such is true for you?”

  I sighed and held my hand onto the table palm up. “Did I have any say in how these lines on my hands were formed?”

  Rose took my hand, as I hoped she would. “I never looked at it like that.”

  “You believe in what you read?”

  She nodded and squeezed my hand.

  “Then I thank you for giving me some insight into what lies ahead of me.”

  “The things I’ve mentioned . . . you’d be content living such a life?” she asked with sadness returning in her eyes.

  “I cannot change what I’ve been chosen to do.”

  She studied my eyes keenly. “You already know something, don’t you? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  I shook my head, but I could tell she didn’t
believe me.

  “And what is that exactly? What have you been destined for?” Her eyes beamed with interest at the mystery of my statement.

  I looked away. “Probably it’s best I don’t reveal that.”

  “You’ve captured my curiosity, so don’t withhold this from me.”

  I smiled. “We’ve only met. My secret has no bearing on you.”

  “All the same, Forrest, I’d like to know. To remove my doubts that I’m right or wrong. Could you not oblige me that much?”

  “Perhaps another time?” I said, rising.

  “Oh no, sit down!” She squeezed my hand tighter, shaking her head. Her blue eyes were frigid.

  Surprised by her abrupt change in attitude, I sat. Besides, she was holding my hand, and I didn’t want to pull away. Her hands were tiny compared to mine and quite warm.

  “If you’re not going to tell me, let me read it for myself.” She lifted the black cloth. A clear ball of polished glass rested on a dark cushion.

  “Forrest?” my father said, sticking his head through the door from the adjoining room.

  I turned and pulled my hand free of Rose’s. “Yes, Father?”

  “He will see us now.”

  I smiled at Rose. “Sorry, but this is why I’m here.”

  “You’re here to see my father?” Her eyes grew fearful.

  “I suppose so.”

  She frowned. “For what, exactly?”

  I stood.

  “Wait,” she said, reaching for my hand but I was out of her reach. Looking into the glass ball, she said, “I see something.”

  “Forrest, come along,” Father said, sternly, in a voice I didn’t dare ignore.

  “Sorry. It’s nice meeting you. I do hope we can talk more later.”

  Her eyes were spellbound upon the ball, like she was seeing something inside the glass. Her interest bore into the shadows; mesmerizing her so intently it was as if I no longer existed.

  In a way I was thankful the glass ball had kept her attention when my father had called me away. Had she been looking at me during those few seconds, she’d have seen further evidence about my actual age. My childlike innocence, as she had referred to it, was probably due to my age. But that was fading, and perhaps, it would be gone entirely by the next time I visited this shop.