by Beverley Lee
Aka Maga knew it did not have the capability to claim Gabriel in a weakened state. So it had done the only thing that it could: it stayed within Beth.
Whilst the vampire saliva ran through her veins, it infused her spinal column with its own life force and obliterated her memories one by one, chewing through every cell that made her human. It was a sweet and brutal surrender.
Now, Aka Maga lived for the first time in female form. Thwarted, but resilient. Inside her body, new cells formed, borne from the marriage of vampire and demon. It felt strangely renewing.
She licked her mental wounds and brooded. The boy might be dead, but she was far from cowed. The vampires had started a war with their meddling. She would rest and adjust to her new form and power, honing them like a knife blade. Then, she would seek them out and destroy them…one by one.
This wasn’t an end. It was a beginning.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Dawn arrived, draped in shades of pink and gold. She was dressed for the day that nobody in The Manor wanted an invite for.
They were beyond exhaustion. But nobody slept.
Fingers of light and grace replaced the darkness and mayhem. The grandfather clock continued to chime, as though just another ordinary dawn was breaking.
Their losses were too much to comprehend. Beth. Ollie. Gabe. In one night, they had been left bereft. They were too broken to gather all the pieces.
Olivia climbed onto a bar stool in the kitchen. She was wearing one of Ollie’s Uni sweatshirts, the sleeves pulled up to her elbows. Bruises dappled her skin.
‘I saw him, Noah. He was at the top of the stairs by the vault. He helped me to climb them. Don’t you think I would know my own brother?’ Olivia stirred a spoon around in her coffee mug, as though looking for an answer in the depths.
Carver sat opposite with Noah by his side. Sunlight poured in through the kitchen window and warmed their backs. Noah reached across the kitchen counter and clasped her hand. The skin on the insides of his wrists was scratched and raw. He wondered how he could offer comfort when he, too, was in need.
‘He was helping you, one last time.’
Carver nodded slowly. ‘You see ghosts, Olivia. Ollie wouldn’t have gone forward without knowing you were okay. He was desperately worried about you.’
Olivia’s skinned knuckles curled around her mug. Her throat ached with constricted tears. ‘Why did you let Clove take Gabe?’
‘I couldn’t stop him.’ Carver’s voice throbbed with the loss they all understood. ‘And I didn’t want Gabe’s last breath to be under this roof. I wanted him to be free. I only kept him here last night because I thought it was the safest place for him. It’s all my fault.’
‘For what it’s worth, I don’t thinking running would have saved him, either.’ Noah slid the brandy bottle across the counter but Carver shook his head.
No one mentioned what was on all of their minds: What did Clove do with Gabe’s body?
‘Did it kill Beth?’ Olivia wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the sweatshirt.
Noah hesitated. ‘I don’t know for certain. The light blinded me, blinded us all.’ He didn’t mention he’d had the horrible sensation that it had taken her soul. ‘By the time I’d regained my sight, Beth was gone and Gabe was on the floor...’ His voice trailed off.
The box lay between them, filled with the palm crosses. Olivia ran her finger down the jagged edge of a reed. ‘I still don’t understand how these worked.’
Noah could hardly bear to look at them. ‘They symbolise goodness and victory.’ He shrugged. God hadn’t saved Beth, or Ollie. Or Gabe. Noah’s faith lay in tatters.
Carver cleared his throat. The words were stuck. ‘If everyone agrees, we’ll keep this close. We’ll cover it up the best we can, because how would we explain it all otherwise?’
It seemed too soon to be talking about reality, but Noah knew the decision was wise. The rules of law did not apply in this half-world they’d inhabited.
‘My family has a corner plot in St. Jude’s. We can lay Ollie to rest there.’ Words. Just words.
For the first time, Noah understood what his parishioners felt when he offered them sympathy.
If my faith was stronger, could I have saved him? Guilt ravaged the dark corners of his mind.
Olivia crossed her arms on the counter and put her head down. Her shoulders shook.
Nothing would ever be the same.
***
As dusk fell that same day, Clove and his fledglings rose from their death sleep under the dusty rafters of the vicarage of St. Jude’s. They had taken refuge behind a stack of old tea chests in the eaves of the roof, amidst nearly a century of things that owners, all long dead, had once thought useful.
They had barely made it before the first slivers of dawn brightened the fields, Clove carrying Gabe’s still body and Moth hauling Teal, his arm around the weaker vampire’s waist.
Returning to the crypt wasn’t an option. It was too close to the house, and compromised. Clove knew that things were far from over. In fact, they had just begun. What he had seen as a small distraction and the need to vanquish an evil that even he found abhorrent, had turned into the beginnings of a much deadlier battle. He had made mistakes. He had been too long without the need to use wit and wile before strength.
Gabriel’s plea for death had stirred feelings within him he had once thought long gone. His noble words were uttered only a fraction of a second before Clove was about to deliver death. He had told Gabriel he would not let the demon claim him. And he always kept his promises.
Neither Moth nor Teal had spoken much—the effects of the coming dawn made anything but movement difficult. He had treated them too kindly in the past, always making sure they were in the dark before the first light crept over the horizon. That would have to change. Moth would be fine—he would sulk and rebel, but he would come through. Teal was another story. His blood was weak. And Moth without Teal might become something unstable.
Moth stared out of the window onto the dark mass of the graveyard below. A single lit window from the church cast a square of light onto an old tomb covered in lichen. It sat at a tilt, uprooted slightly by the large yew close by. It looked like the dead were indeed trying to rise.
‘We should have killed them.’ Moth turned, one side of his face ghostlike in the moonlight. ‘They know about us now. It’s not safe.’
Clove remembered a time when he would have said the same thing. ‘They are scientists of the occult. To destroy us would be to destroy everything they believe in. They have more on their minds right now than searching for us. Great loss will weigh them down.’
Moth shrugged. Teal stole up behind him and laid his head against Moth’s shoulder.
‘Are you hunting for us tonight? Teal needs it.’
Always on the lookout for his weaker sibling. That part of Moth’s humanity still clung to him.
‘I will soon,’ Clove answered, his hand resting on a curled bundle on the floor. ‘And tonight, you come with me. You need to be able to fend for yourselves.’
Teal’s bright blue-green eyes widened slightly.
‘It will be different now—I knew it would,’ said Moth.
The bundle stirred and slowly uncurled.
Clove waited as the moonlight streamed its silver threads onto the bare wooden floor. He held out his wrist.
Gabriel Davenport opened his vampire eyes and smiled.
About the Author
Beverley Lee is a freelance writer currently residing in the south east of England. In thrall to the written word from an early age, especially the darker side of fiction, she believes that the very best story is the one you have to tell. Supporting fellow authors is also her passion and she is actively involved in social media writers’ groups. The Making of Gabriel Davenport is her debut novel.
Acknowledgements
There are a number of people, without whom, this book wouldn’t have seen the light of day. My grateful thanks to my wonderful editor, Kate
Angelella, who went above and beyond the call of duty and curbed my enthusiasm for over explaining. To Mia Maxwell, my talented cover illustrator (love you, peapal) and to Lorraine Richer for my beautiful cover design. My beta readers who got an early draft of this and waded through with comments and support – Matt Rydeen, Holly Clark, Martin McConnell, Mia Maxwell, Chiquandra Cross. To Adam Lee, who answered my questions on things vehicle and technology related.
Thank you to my friends and supporters on Twitter and the #bookstagram community on Instagram, for showing me the human side of social media. You know who you are.
And to you, for choosing this book.