A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  She leaned forward toward Luka and beckoned to him with one delicate finger. As Luka leaned in, she looked at him, eyes aflame, and said:

  “Dead whores is only int’restin’ when they’re freshly butchered. An’ the livin’ ain’t worth a mention.”

  She sat back in her chair, holding her glass loosely in her hands, and smirked at him. Her eyes, far less mirthful, watched Luka carefully. She was acting cocky, but she was testing his reaction.

  “There speaks the voice of truth,” Luka said. “A voice that is sadly absent in much of this newspaper.” He looked at the paper and shook his head. “The Star. And with such a lofty name too.” He set the paper down and said, “Hmm. Well, let us be to business.”

  “Here?” Cat asked, looking around.

  “A different sort of business,” Luka said. He fished two gold sovereigns out of his pocket and placed them on the table in front of Cat. “For your assistance,” he said.

  Cat’s eyes fell upon the coins and very nearly bulged out of her head. She quickly snatched up the coins and clutched them tightly in her hand.

  “Jus’ wha’ are y’ expectin’ me te do?” she asked, watching him suspiciously.

  “Something unrelated to your current profession,” Luka replied. “And I am hiring you for…let us say the month, not the night.”

  “The month?” Cat asked.

  “Do you recall,” Luka said, “what I told that man Higgins in the alley regarding my purpose here?”

  “Wha’, ’bout how ye were the new boss an’ all?” Cat asked. “An’ how ye’ll kill any pimp or thief or mobsman who sets foot ’round here?” She drank a little more wine. “’Tis a tall order fer one man.”

  “Killing them all is not the problem,” Luka said.

  “Oh aye, as I saw,” Cat said. “But ye canne be everywhere a’ once, can ye?” She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward, one lock of curly hair falling across her face. As she pushed it away, she asked, “So ye want me te stand in the street an’ hollar if I see a gang come prancin’ up Perrott Street, is tha’ ’t?”

  “Easiest money you’ll ever make,” Luka said. “But that’s not all that I intend for you.”

  “Oh, an’ wha’ else?”

  “I need someone who can spread the word for me,” Luka replied. “I want you to speak to everyone you know. All the prostitutes, urchins, anyone you are in contact with. Make it known that I will pay for reliable information about any criminal activities in the area.”

  Cat shrugged and said, “I’ll tell ’em. Donne know if they’ll listen.”

  “They will,” Luka said, “when the money’s good and when the bodies begin to pile up. I also want you to tell the local prostitutes that they no longer owe any money or allegiance to their pimps or to the gangs that used to run them. From now on, I will be taking over their protection. Any man who strikes one of the local girls will be soundly beaten for the first offense. Killed for the second.” Luka grinned. “I am nothing if not merciful.”

  Cat shook her head at him.

  “Ye really are declarin’ war, ain’t ye?” she asked.

  “I am,” Luka answered. “And it is a war that I intend to win.”

  “Have ye any idea wha’ ye’re gettin’ y’self inte?” Cat asked. “A gang war ain’t pretty. ’Twill be bloody an’ people are gonne get hurt.”

  “I have fought in war before,” Luka said, “and in what the Spanish call guerrilla. I have no concerns. But I assure you, I will do all in my power to minimize the suffering of the locals. I intend to make this neighborhood a place where criminals fear to tread. Fear is a sure means of ensuring peace. The Romans understood that, and so do I.”

  “Are the rest o’ us te fear ye as well?” Cat asked. She studied his eyes carefully.

  “Only the wicked need fear me,” Luka said.

  “Only the wicked?” Cat asked. She fluttered her eyes and tossed her hair. “Oh, but ain’t I wicked as well? Corruptin’ honest men an’ leadin’ ’em inte sin?”

  “Men require no temptation to sin,” Luka said. “What they require is the strength of will to resist. Women as well, though it seems popular to forget it. Lust and violence are in our nature, and it is healthy to indulge them from time to time, provided one is not ruled by them.”

  “I’d never have guessed,” Cat said, laughing. “Ye seemed such a peaceful sort when ye were beatin’ a man te death fer me. Like a country parson.”

  “Looks can deceive,” Luka answered. “I assure you that beneath this genteel exterior, I am a brutal monster.”

  Cat laughed again and said, “Oh, we’ve monsters aplenty ’round here. Tho’ ’tis unusual te find a monster tha’ hunts monsters. I donne know wha’ te think.”

  “Does it frighten you?” Luka asked.

  Cat thought for a little while before she answered:

  “No, I donne think so. ’Tis a nice change from the usual lot. ’Sides, if ye’ve a mind te kill any fella as tries te take wha’s mine, who am I te complain?”

  Luka smiled and reached for the bottle.

  “More wine?” he asked.

  Chapter Eight

  Blackmoor

  The following afternoon found Varanus taking tea in the grand parlor with the women of Blackmoor. It was not quite what she had had in mind for the day. She had hoped that Cousin Robert would be as eager to discuss the matter of the estate as she—if only to get the beastly business out of the way so that she might return to her work in London—but he had disappointed her by departing for the metropolis on the morning train. “On pressing business,” he had said. Pressing inconvenience more likely. Varanus suspected it was his purpose to drag out the negotiations as long as possible, to leave her isolated and alone in an unfamiliar country, and to so unnerve her that she would utterly succumb when it came time to decide whether she would relinquish her inheritance to them.

  Cousin Robert was in for a surprise.

  In fairness, the tea and sandwiches were delicious, though the conversation was painfully inane. Maud and Elizabeth did most of the talking, treating polite discourse as if it were a military exercise designed to outmaneuver and suppress all opposition in the most genteel manner possible. Thank God for Ekaterine, who held up their end of things, chatting endlessly with Maud and her eldest daughter as if she actually enjoyed the pointless gossip. She truly was a marvel of intrigue.

  Both Cousin Mary and Anne were all but silent, speaking only when addressed, though for markedly different reasons. Mary—fresh as a spring rose and dressed in colors to match—sat idly to one side, all but ignoring them and often looking toward the nearest clock. Anne, in contrast, was sullen and dejected, eyes downcast as she stared into her teacup. She looked up only when spoken to, and then with the nervous disposition of a dog expecting to be kicked.

  “Tell me, Cousin Babette,” Maud said, as she set her cup down, “why is it that you still go about veiled? You are no longer in mourning, surely.”

  Varanus paused just in the midst of drinking and slowly lowered her cup. Of course she wore a veil, to complement her gloves and high collar—anything to prevent the exposure of her skin to the sunlight that filled the house. She was yet young; the older Shashavani might walk with impunity in the sunlight, but its touch would still burn her for decades to come.

  But how to answer Maud’s question? What possible excuse could she give?

  “It is…” Varanus began. “It is the custom…in my husband’s country…that women.…” She paused, looking at Ekaterine, who of course was not veiled. “That women who are married are to veil themselves from the eyes of all but their husbands.” She paused again. She had not been concealed the night before. “During daytime.”

  She saw Ekaterine looking at her from across the table, shaking her head a little and mouthing the words “No it isn’t!”

  Varanus mouthed back, “They don’t know that!” before looking at Cousin Maud and smiling.

  “It’s something to do with God,” she added.<
br />
  “How…peculiar,” Cousin Elizabeth said, raising her eyebrows a little. “How peculiar indeed.”

  Cousin Maud smiled pleasantly, as if it were a delightful curiosity, and added, “How deliciously oriental. I had no idea they did such things in Russia.”

  “Georgia,” Varanus and Ekaterine corrected, in perfect unison. They glanced at one another and exchanged a brief smile.

  “Yes, of course,” Maud said. She took another sip of tea and traded looks with her daughter.

  Elizabeth turned to Varanus and said pleasantly, “Cousin Babette, I am so pleased that you and Cousin Ekaterine have been able to visit us. I find it wonderful that our two halves of the family are being brought together again. I had heard much of the notorious William Varanus and his departure to the Continent.” Elizabeth spoke like this was a matter of great excitement, but the sting was there behind her words and expression. “You have always been the ‘lost cousin’ since I was a child. How marvelous to meet you in person at last!”

  “Quite,” Varanus said. “I have long wondered about my relations in this northerly part of the world. I am delighted to find that they are just as genteel and refined as my neighbors in France.”

  “How good of you to say that,” Maud answered with a smile. She turned to Ekaterine. “And Cousin Ekaterine, how exciting it is for us to have you with us from foreign parts. You must tell us all about your country and its strange ways.”

  Ekaterine smiled pleasantly, but shot Varanus a look.

  “Oh, it is a beautiful land,” she said to Maud. “And very old. It was already home to great kingdoms in the time of the Ancient Greeks.”

  “Marvelous,” Elizabeth said. “And have your people accepted the Word of God? It is my understanding that it is quite scarce in that part of the world.”

  Varanus sighed softly, embarrassed at her cousin’s words. And yet, some part of her wondered if Elizabeth’s words were less ignorant and more calculating. Could she be trying to antagonize Ekaterine? Probing for weakness perhaps?

  She glanced toward Elizabeth, studying her. The woman’s face was smiling and inscrutable, but her eyes betrayed her: precise and calculating. Yes, she was trying to provoke Ekaterine, to test her limits. A glance at Maud confirmed the same. Older, Maud hid her sentiments better still, but her eyes could not conceal everything. And what of Mary? Was she a cunning political creature like her mother and sister? But no, she still sat there, idly sipping from her nearly empty teacup, gazing with bored expression at a standing clock by the doorway. It would seem she had some ways to go before she grew into her mother’s daughter.

  Whatever Maud and Elizabeth intended, Ekaterine rose to the challenge. She smiled brightly and replied:

  “Oh dear Cousin Elizabeth, don’t be absurd. The Georgians are among the oldest followers of Christ. We have followed the true religion since it was first brought to us by our beloved Saint Nino in the Fourth Century.” She sipped her tea, lowered her cup elegantly, and asked, with charming innocence, “Tell me, Cousin, when did the English accept the teachings of the Christ? The Fifth Century? The Sixth? Ah, but no matter. At least enlightenment came eventually, even if it was under the auspices of the Latins,” she added playfully.

  “But surely, Cousin Ekaterine,” Maud replied, “there was a time when the Catholics were wise, graced by the Light of God. Before the corruption of the Papacy, of course. But that was necessary for the Reformation, which brought about a return to the true religion in Christendom. And what a marvelous thing it has been, for now England has its own Church, as God intended. For did not Saint Paul write not only to the Romans, but also to the Corinthians, the Galatians, the Ephesians, and the Thessalonians? Surely, it is more fitting for each country to have its own branch of the faith guarded by the Crown, which has a better understanding of the spiritual needs of its people than some Pope or Patriarch in a far-off land.”

  Ekaterine sipped her tea and smiled at Maud.

  “I quite agree,” she said. “All peoples must receive the Word of God in their own way and in their own tongue. How can one be baptized through foreign words? And why should the clergy of one land submit to the masters of another?” She paused and took another sip of tea. “You see, Cousin Maud, it is simply that in the Orthodox Church every nation enjoys the ministrations of its own church and language, under the auspices of its own patriarch. I suppose you could say that every Orthodox nation enjoys its own Pope. What an exciting notion, don’t you think? Far better than having but one seated in far-off Rome…and far better than having none at all. Don’t you agree?”

  Varanus turned away from the exchange to hide her amusement. She saw Korbinian seated in one of the chairs adjacent, sipping tea from a small porcelain cup that had somehow materialized from thin air—for surely, it was not one from the tea service.

  Korbinian glanced at Ekaterine, then smiled at Varanus and said, “She is something of a wonder, isn’t she?”

  “I suppose so, yes,” Varanus replied softly, her lips barely moving. Korbinian would be able to hear her regardless.

  “A very good companion for you,” Korbinian said, reaching over and patting Varanus’s hand. “In my absence.”

  “Oh, hush,” Varanus murmured, smiling at him. “Not absent at all. You are my constant companion. The one that I keep in private.”

  “Oh, liebchen,” Korbinian said, lowering his head and gently kissing her hand. “Oh, liebchen, how I love you.”

  Varanus smiled softly and murmured, “Oh my darling, you must not say such things when I cannot shout them back to you—”

  “At least, Cousin Babette,” Maud said, abruptly turning to her, “you are a good Anglican like your father and grandfather.”

  Varanus looked back, startled at being addressed. But she maintained her composure and put on a pleasant smile.

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Cousin Maud,” she said, “but I fear I must correct you on that point. I was born and raised in France, you know, and my father was brought up there. He and I both were Catholics, of course.”

  “Catholic?” Cousin Elizabeth demanded in such a shocked tone that poor Anne nearly jumped with fright, her teacup rattling against the saucer.

  Korbinian smiled and murmured, “Now then, they did not like that, did they? But how rude of them to speak of Mother Church in such a way.…”

  “Of course we are Catholics,” Varanus answered, keeping her tone light and pleasant. “Who ever heard of an Anglican in respectable French society? I mean, really.…”

  “But surely, your grandfather—” Maud ventured, her tone probing but disguised as hopeful.

  Varanus sipped her tea before answering, “It pains me to say, Cousin Maud, but my grandfather had little interest in matters of faith. Whatever his cursory relationship to God, he saw no purpose in placing it in the hands of this or that denomination. Catholic, Anglican, Calvinist.… I rather suspect he saw them all as more or less equal.”

  And beneath him, she thought but did not say. Grandfather had always regarded himself as being of more or less equal standing to God—and indeed, of the two, it was Grandfather, not God, who was primus inter pares. But there was no need to trouble the Blackmoors with such revelations.

  For a moment Maud frowned, and Elizabeth seemed to growl in her throat. Anne shuddered at the almost imperceptible noise, and her teacup and saucer began clattering again.

  Ekaterine raised an eyebrow and exchanged looks with Varanus.

  “Oh my,” Korbinian said, “it would seem that things have become upset in the House of the Blackmoors. And over such a silly thing too.”

  Perhaps it was best to change the subject before tempers flared too badly. After all, while Varanus wished to show that she would not relent to her cousins—to make them realize the futility of their games and stratagems—to antagonize them outright would only increase their belligerence, not abate it.

  “Tell me, Cousin Maud,” Varanus said, “is it safe to take a walk upon the moors? Ekaterine and I have spo
ken about it since we first arrived last evening. They are a most magnificent sight.”

  Maud smiled at the new topic and replied, “Oh yes, quite safe. I stroll upon them myself from time to time. I feel that there is a sort of augustness to such a place. A barren majesty, if you will. Why, young Mary often enjoys a walk upon the grounds, to the old church sometimes, or among the ruins of the priory. Don’t you, Mary?”

  “Hmm?” Mary looked away from the clock and back at them, confused for a moment. She quickly smiled. “Oh yes, of course. The walk is quite pleasant.…” She looked back toward the clock. “Though I fear I shall not have time for it today.”

  “Oh nonsense,” Maud said. “You may go when tea has finished. It will still be light. And perhaps Cousin Babette and Cousin Ekaterine would like to join you. You could show them about.”

  Mary’s face fell a little, but she forced a smile.

  “Of course, Mother,” she said. “That sounds delightful.”

  Ah, but the poor child was displeased. Varanus could tell Mary had no wish to go wandering about in the company of two distant relatives, and Varanus could scarcely blame her for it. Nor was Varanus overly enamored by the idea of playing chaperone to the girl.

  “That is quite all right,” Varanus said quickly. “I think Ekaterine and I can manage by ourselves quite well. You know, we often go walking together in the Caucuses on mild summer days. The views are magnificent. So we can certainly manage a brisk stroll across your Yorkshire moors on our own.”

  Maud considered this for a moment and said, “As you wish, Cousin Babette. I am certain that you and Cousin Ekaterine shall have a splendid time on your own. Of course, you shall return in time to dress for dinner.”

  “Of course,” Ekaterine said. “We could hardly think of missing dinner twice in two days. That would be…unthinkable.” She spoke as if the idea was beyond belief, but Varanus recognized the tone: she was poking fun at English custom again.