by Rob Shepherd
“What does Trey have to do with this?”
“His last visit was in summer, and no one has seen him since he left here to journey home.”
“So? What does that have to do with my mother?”
Here Montague paused in his tale. Not sure how much to tell the young master, he hesitated before continuing in a softer tone.
“Your mother claims he has been coming to her at night. At her window. Asking to come in. He is always smiling, she says, and promises her riches and eternal life.”
“Trey is a vampire?” Grant asked, stunned. Reckless as his friend was, he did not imagine him as a Vampire. He just did not have the stomach for it, blood always made him faint.
“Not possible,” Grant said looking at Montague with conviction; “has to be someone else.”
“We are not even sure your mother is seeing a vampire at all,” Montague continued, careful to keep his voice neutral, “no one else has seen him. By the time she would call for us to come he would be gone…if he were ever there at all.”
Grant stared at Montague in surprise, “If it is not a vampire she is seeing, is she seeing anything? Do you think my mother is going mad?” Grant shouted.
Montague just stared at Grant, waiting for him to calm down before continuing.
“Your mother has called you here to help her either kill the vampire that is your friend, Trey, or to discover if she is mad.”
Grant sat on the bed, his anger gone. His mother, going mad? Or a Vampire’s chosen consort? Which was worse? And how could he save her?
“The girl,” Montague continued, “is Trey’s sister. She contacted your mother a few weeks ago for help in finding her brother. I believe she has some kind of Talent, and she has promised to help rid your mother of this curse if it is not really her brother who is visiting at night.”
“What kind of Talent does she have?” Grant remembered how he had become weakened when gazing at her pendant on the airship. Could her Talent have had something to do with that?
“So why exactly is she here? Can she send her brother away if he is visiting here?”
Or is something else going on, Grant thought privately.
“I am not sure,” he confessed, “I think there is more going on here than your mother is letting on.”
Just then a bell sounded from downstairs signaling dinner was ready.
Grant and Montague returned to the sitting room where his mother and the girl were deep in conversation that stopped when they entered the room.
The girl, who had been leaning toward his mother with the pendant outstretched in her hand, had glanced guiltily his way, replaced the pendant in its hiding place, and then returned to her usual surly expression.
“Montague?” Grant’s mother looked at him with arched eyebrows. At his gentle nod, she collapsed slightly into the soft cushion of the couch before rising. Tucking her arm into the crook of Grant’s arm she walked to the dining room with the others following. Grant was shocked to feel how thin her arm was. He could feel bone instead of flesh or muscle. How much weight had she lost since he had last been here, he wondered? And why was she losing weight?
He checked her neck, but could see nothing through the high cut fabric of her dress. Was she a victim of a vampire? He resolved to find his friend Trey and if he was responsible for his mother’s current condition he would be sure to punish him in the only way he knew how…he would damn him to hell!
Grant watched through the dinner as his mother moved her food about her plate, but ate very little. Trying to keep the conversation light Grant asked about the doings of the manor. The crops were due to be harvested soon, and should be plentiful this year. The cows had birthed numerous calves, and the wool would sell well in market this year as well. All in all, the manor was doing quite well, and would support another year. Aside from the mysterious deaths of some local livestock there was not much happening in either the village or the manor that was out of the ordinary, except for the visits by Trey, that is.
Once dinner was over, his mother encouraged Grant to retire to the study to smoke and read before bed, his usual pursuits when he was home.
Grant resisted, but his mother insisted, and so he found himself in his father’s study with an unlit cigar in hand. Pouring himself a glass of his mother’s finest Port he stared at the bookshelves without seeing anything.
The door opened behind him and he turned, expecting to see Montague.
Instead, it was Elizabeyta who stood in the doorway. She hesitated, and he took that moment to look for signs of Trey in her face. She had his eyes he decided, blue with a circle of deeper blue, almost black, ringing them. Right now, though, her eyes looked more worried than sensual, and he regretted his earlier attempts to bait her.
“I’m sorry…” he started to say, but was interrupted by her own attempts at apology.
“I thought,” she continued as she joined him at the library shelves, “that you were responsible for Trey’s disappearance. I thought,” she bit her lip and he resisted the temptation to wipe the frown from her tender mouth with a gentle kiss as she continued, “I thought you were here to finish the job.”
“Finish the job?” Grant looked at her in surprise. Did she know what he did? How could she know that? No one knew his profession as a Vampire Stalker except his mother and Montague. Had they revealed this? No, they would not put his life in danger by revealing his secret.
In his profession only those who kept the secret of their skill in seeking and staking the vampire could survive. Family and friends were sworn to secrecy. If they had revealed him then his life would be forfeit, for a vampire would give great rewards to those who helped them find others like him.
Grant, part of the secret society that his father had belonged to before his death at the hands of Lord Volgan, had been trained to be silent about his talents. He had revealed them only to his mother when upon his father’s death he had sworn to, and succeeded in, bringing about the death of the great Lord Volgan. Montague had been called in to assist Grant as he had Grant’s father before him.
How had she found this out?
Elizabeyta touched his arm. An unexpected warmth spread throughout his body emanating from the point where she rested her hand. He decided he liked it and relaxed under her touch.
Grant suddenly knew this was one girl who was definitely more than she appeared to be. Was she a Seeker too? He did not realize he had spoken that thought aloud until she responded.
“No,” she whispered, “I am not a Seeker. I only wish I was something so simple.”
Grant stepped away, anger at the way the girl dismissed his profession, and at the risks he took to save the world from vampires who went outside the boundaries of their laws.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to offend,” Elizabeyta said softly. Her eyes pleaded for understanding.
“I am not a Seeker,” she repeated looking toward the tall window across the room, “I am a Seer. I can look into the eyes of man and see the vampire within. I am the other side of the Seeker coin. I am a weapon that a vampire would kill to possess for I can see all he wishes to keep hidden. I know how many times he has killed, I know what he felt, what he knew when he killed. A vampire does not have a soul, because they are not of God anymore, I make them wish they had one. I make them see themselves as others see them. Most cannot handle that.”
Grant pointed to the pendant, sudden understanding in his eyes as he stared at the tiny girl who bore the weight of the world on her petite shoulders. She was Trey’s sister, and she was here to identify her brother as a vampire, and to make it possible for Grant to kill him to save the rest of the village.
“I am the one who is sorry,” Grant said touching her arm gently. She looked at him, blue eyes wide with hope.
“If he is one of THEM,” she whispered, “I know he must die, but please do not hurt him.”
Both of them realized the impossibility of her request, if he was a vampire and they did identify him and find his hiding place
they would have to kill him, and that death would not be pleasant. But, they both knew that the alternative if they let their feelings for him take over, and rule their judgement, would be disastrous for every living creature in this valley.
Trey, if he were vampire, would consume every blooded creature in his immediate vicinity with no feelings of remorse.
“What happened to Trey?” Grant asked as they sat on the couch in the study. “How did this happen?” he corrected himself.
“We don’t know, exactly,” Elizabeyta started to say. She bit her lip again, a habit Grant was starting to find singularly appealing.
“We?” he asked, not understanding who would have sent her here to find Trey. Wasn’t she here because of her love for her brother and fear for his eternal soul?
“I am part of a Society of Seers,” she said, carefully choosing her words, “we are few, many of us killed in the last Vampire Wars, so every one precious. I was sent because of my connection to Trey,” her lower lip trembled and Grant reached out to hold her shoulder.
She felt so fragile in her fear and concern for her brother. He felt a surge of anger for his boyhood friend, that he should terrify his mother and Elizabeyta did not match what he remembered of his boyhood pal. Trey, he recalled, was a bit of a headstrong, and at times, careless person, but certainly not the monster he was appearing to be now. Was this because of his becoming Vampire, or was this how he had always been, his dark side hidden from view, only to be revealed when his soul was shorn from his body?
“I have to find him, Grant, I have to save him.” She turned her face to Grant, tears running down her face.
Later, Grant could not say exactly when he realized he was going to help, but he knew he made the decision consciously. He joined Elizabeyta and his mother in the front parlor and waited for his mother to speak.
“He comes every night,” his mother began, twisting her hands in her anguish, her voice hushed and low, “He floats in the air at that window,” she pointed to the tall window that lead to a small unused porch. “He holds out his hands to me, pleading, I don’t know what he wants, and I cannot ask him, because if I do he will take it as an invitation and my soul will be lost.”
“I want to help him,” Lady Agatha concludes sadly, “but I don’t know how. I need the two of you to find out what he wants, and to help him. Bring him peace, if you can. It is what he wants.”
“Mom,” said Grant softly, “how do you know what he wants? And why does he come to you for help? Why does he not seek out Elizabeyta, his sister?”
His mother would not meet his eyes, she’s hiding a secret she knows, Grant thought. Something terrible. Something she did not want him to know.
Elizabeyta, staring at them both with eyes widened in fear, clutched at the pendant around her neck that glowed an unearthly deep red.
“He’s here,” she said, turning quickly toward the window.
Grant’s first thought was, well, at least now we know Mother is not mad. And then he realized the implications of what he was seeing. Trey was a vampire. His friend, Elizabeyta’s brother, and his Mother’s nemesis, was of the undead.
Hovering just over the floor of the porch was the form of Trey, a tortured fearful expression on his unlined face. He looked eerily beautiful, the moon, reflecting on his pale skin, made it appear almost translucent. For a moment no one moved.
Then, with a deep moan, Elizabeyta rushed to the window. Her pendant, swinging free from her person on a tiny black ribbon, seemed to pull her forward as if it had legs of its own.
Trey, seeing her rushing toward him opened his mouth in a silent scream. He pushed himself away from the window to hover over the railing of the porch, suddenly indecisive whether he should stay or flee. He met Lady Agatha’s eyes and held out his arms, hands reaching for her.
“Trey,” shouted Elizabeyta through the glass, “let me help you. Let me save you.”
Trey floated away, shaking his head sadly. He stayed just out of reach of the light from the pendant that was glowing brighter as he moved closer, and duller as he moved away.
Grant watched, transfixed by the scene before him. He had not even raced for his tools, so caught up in the family reunion was he. Trey kept avoiding his sister, trying to see around her to catch Lady Agatha’s eye.
“Mother,” Grant shouted, “keep Trey occupied, I am going to get my tools. Montague, stay here! Don’t let him in.” Grant raced up the stairs to his room where he riffled through his duffel in a search for his stake and hammer. Just as he found them he heard a woman scream, his mother? Elizabeyta? Then a second scream, this time male, and then a thump as if a body had fallen. Grabbing his tools he raced back down to the room, but found the room empty except for Montague who was lying on the rug near the window not moving.
The window to the porch stood open, a gentle breeze lifting the curtains in a silent wave.
“Where is Elizabeyta? Where is my mother?” he shouted as he looked around for them.
“Trey took them,” Montague said from his position on the floor, as he struggled to rise. Grant ran to him, helping him up he led him to a nearby couch. Montague was bleeding from a head wound. Grant did a quick check, but found no other visible injuries. He had not been bitten. That was good, but how had this happened? Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket Grant pressed it to the head wound.
“What happened? I was only gone minutes,” Grant asked, confused about how everything could go so terribly wrong.
“The girl,” Montague stuttered, usually calm and unflappable, it was obvious he was in great distress. “She opened the window and begged Trey to let her help him. He ignored her, he flew like an arrow to Lady Agatha, and then he tried to carry her from the room. Elizabeyta screamed, distracting him so that I could try to get your mother away, but he was so strong, and so angry. He hit me on the head, and as I fell I saw Elizabeyta touch him with the pendant. He screamed, and then grabbed both women and flew out the window. I’m so sorry, I could not stop him…” Montague closed his eyes.
Grant patted Montague on the shoulder, trying to reassure him. He was only gone minutes, but in that time his former friend had taken his life from him. He stared out at the silent night. Where were they? He needed to find them.
Then his eyes fell on the pendant Elizabeyta had been wearing, it had come loose, caught on the latch of the window when they were dragged through. It’s color had turned a dull red that was fading rapidly to lighter shades as they got further and further away. It pointed the way like a divining rod in the direction they had gone.
“Montague, will you be okay? Have one of the maids call for the doctor, I must find them before it is too late.”
“Yes, sir, I will be fine,” Montague said, his ashen face told a different story though. “I am coming with you.”
“Not this time, old friend,” Grant said as he called for Maura and told her to call the doctor for Montague.
Returning to his room Grant dressed for the weather and gathered his tools for the mission, sliding his silver knife into its boot sheath. The last time he had been this driven he had been seeking revenge for his father’s death, he hoped this mission would not be for the same reason. He did not relish the idea of confronting Trey as his mother’s murderer.
Going to the garage he found his old steam powered air cycle and removed the tarp. He checked it over, running his hands on the controls and removing the skeleton key from his key ring he inserted it into the ignition. It purred to life under his hands as if he had not last driven it over a year ago. He was relieved it still worked.
Putting on his greatcoat and putting his tools into its various pockets he mounted the seat and drove it to the front door of the manor. He ran back inside to the front room and grabbed Elizabeyta’s pendant, which he hoped to use as a type of diving rod to find his family.
Montague, supported by the maid Maura, was standing beside the cycle when he returned to it.
“You cannot come, Montague,” said Grant, anxious to
be on his way he leaped onto the seat of the cycle and turned to leave.
“Sir, wait…there is something else you need to know…” Montague hesitated before continuing, “Trey knows you are coming, he wants you to come. I think he took them to get you into an ambush. Be careful.”
“I have no other choice, Montague,” Grant remarked, touched that Montague was worried for him.
“I know, I just want you to be aware, this is how your father was caught,” Montague whispered.
Grant stared at Montague; he had never known the true nature of his father’s death. Was someone manipulating this? Was this why his mother was taken? Not because they wanted her, but because they wanted him?
Well, if that is the case, thought Grant, they may have bitten off more than they could chew by dragging his mother into this. He would not only avenge his mother’s kidnapping, but his father’s death again.
And what, he wondered as he roared off into the darkness, was Elizabeyta’s role in all of this?
Several hours later Grant, with help from Elizabeyta’s glowing pendant, found the lair of the vampire clan, which Trey belonged to. Their lair, located high in the Camelback Mountains, was not that hard to find once you knew what to look for. He wondered why they had not been found before. Did the pendant have something to do with his being able to see the cave? He knew his goggles seemed to work better, with clearer vision when he wore the pendant. Very interesting, he concluded as he drove toward the lair under cover of darkness. He landed his cycle silently on a flat area just before the entrance and covered it with some loose scrub brush.
He flattened himself against the rock face of the outside of the cave entrance and listened.
He adjusted a few of the dials on his goggles to allow vision in the darkness so that when he entered the cave he would not be blinded by the change in light.
Reaching down he pulled the pendant out from beneath his clothing to find it glowing a brilliant red. In the center, a silver cross glowed brightly. He had never noticed it before. As the pendant pulsed in his palm it seemed to be alive, like a beating crystal heart. The warmth that reached him through the thick leather of his gloves was comforting. More comforting was the sound of his mother’s voice and Elizabeyta’s sobs.