The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1)

by Ambroziak, K. P.

I considered Evelina one thing, and one thing only—mine.

  She pulled a silver cigarette case from her sleeve, revealing her hands. She wore the same decorative finger claws I had seen in the portrait. Her pinky and ring fingers were covered on both—their tips as sharp as talons. She opened the cigarette case, keeping her ornamented fingers extended. “Cigarette?” She said.

  When I declined, she took one out for herself and placed it in the whalebone holder she pulled from her other sleeve. She tucked the case back into the folds of her ruqun and stuck the cigarette holder between her slim lips. She sucked on it until the tip of the cigarette combusted, erupting into a small flame. “I may be willing to make a trade,” she said.

  I smiled. “Anything.”

  “How about Edoardo Chiossone’s collection in the Museum of Oriental Art?” The Empress got up from the daybed and paced the compartment as she took long drags from her cigarette, sucking in the stale weed. “And the curator,” she said. “Bring me his head.”

  “Of course.” I did not stutter.

  “Get me the collection and his head,” she said, “and I will give up the girl.”

  Her cigarette had burned down to its ash and she had already placed a fresh one in its stead.

  “Let me see her,” I said. “In good faith.”

  She hesitated and took an extended drag on her second cigarette. “You may look,” she said, “but you will not speak with her.”

  “But how will she know I have come—”

  “Tut,” she said. “Not negotiable.”

  The Empress left me then and Youlan returned to take me to the girl. My venom heated with the thought of seeing her skin, her neck, her face, her soul. The vampire brought me back to where I had waited for my meeting with the Empress. She led me further down the passageway and into another compartment, nothing like the one before. This one was empty, except for a small bamboo stool placed in front of a glass window. Youlan told me to sit on the stool and then slipped out of the compartment, closing the hatch behind her. The window was covered with a velvet brocade curtain decorated with Asian elephants. I sat and faced the window, waiting for the elephants to move.

  I suppose I should have expected the vision I was given. She was a work of art, a living portrait of my girl. Posed like the painting in the deckhouse, Evelina was a mimic of the sitting Empress. The girl sat on a throne with her head poised and her hands placed in her lap, tucked into her loose sleeves. She wore the imperial costume of the Qing dynasty, a red and gold diyi embroidered with long-tail pheasants and round flowers. A crown graced her head, the exquisite headgear adorned with gold dragons and phoenixes made with kingfisher feathers, beaded pheasants, pearls and gemstones. My girl’s dark brown hair was pulled back off her shoulders and away from her face. I could not tell if it was the harsh light that made it so, but her visage was paler than I remembered.

  Evelina looked through me, unable to see me on the other side of the one-way mirror. The image of sorrow could not be more perfect when a single tear rolled down her cheek, the only sign she was not merely an effigy. I faltered, as I stood to approach the glass. I could feel her now, her blood flowing through my veins. The longing I felt for her taste was crushing. And then the curtain was drawn and she was gone. I still recall that image now—it is one I will never forget.

  Youlan returned. “The Empress would like you to have this,” she said.

  It was a steel forged in an Iranian crucible and honed to a sharpness only rivaled by our talons. “My claws will suffice,” I said.

  “At least feed before you go,” she said.

  She led me back to the blood den where the other vampires had made their selections. They had been taken back to shore promptly after feeding. She did not go to one of the boxes, but poured my blood from a decanter on a side table. The smell was unmistakable. When she handed me the silver chalice filled with Evelina’s blood, I brought it to my nose before letting it kiss my lips. I drained the cup, as my subtle fangs dropped. I relished the ecstasy despite its ephemerality.

  On my way back to the pier I was left alone to indulge in the perfection of my last blood high. I faced the dark city, as the ferry cut through the white caps of the waves. The sky was graying with night coming again. Gulls screeched above our heads, circling the sea for their supper. They hovered in the air as though dangling from a tether before spiraling into the sea below, their bodies striking the water like bullets from a gun.

  “Tíhú,” Zhi said.

  He laughed and pointed to a family of pelicans fishing by the retaining wall of the harbor. The gregarious birds dunked their beaks into the sea then out again as though rocked off balance. He navigated the skiff as close to the waterbirds as he could without frightening them away, and with the swiftness of light and the quiet of silence, he dove into the sea and rose up among the fishing flock. He snatched one of their beaks, slicing the snout off the pelican’s visage before jumping back into the skiff. The carcass of the waterbird sank, as the others took off bellowing. He opened the bird’s bill and reached into its pouch for the fish it had caught. He consumed the sardines without offering me a single one. The Empress and her crew were well fed, for only a vampire consuming enough blood would desire human food.

  When the skiff pulled up to the pier, I hopped out and onto the dock. Zhi did not toss me the line to tie up the boat but instead offered me the Damascus steel I had refused to take from Youlan. The silver sword was tucked into an embossed sheath with the insignia of the slender dragon. “Jiè cǐ,” Zhi said.

  He ignored my refusals and held the sword out until I took it. I obliged him only because it seemed as if he would chase me down the dock if I did not, and I had wanted to be on my way. As I stole up the abandoned streets, the sword hung from my belt, its hilt sticking out from under my coat like a pirate.

  The vampires were all gone, and the bloodless too. The city was apocalyptic, its destruction greater than I had seen in the countryside. The whole of Genoa had been lit up and was still smoldering beneath its ash. I did not need to hear his frequency to know he was there, that he was the one I came for. Vlad had taken over the city—he was the curator they all feared.

  I approached the museum from the street of palaces where tapering mansions narrowed my perspective and the groves of orange trees and blushing oleander would only bloom again in memories. The landscape of the Villeta Di Negro was still green and the water cascading from the gazebo still gushed out, Vlad having preserved his plot of paradise among the rubble. The entrance gates were closed but easy to scale, though they gave fair warning to all who braved passing them. The vampire had impaled heads on the spikes of the fence, the bloodless still howling despite their missing bodies. I barely noticed the head of the vampire added to the mix, an extended warning to his kind.

  Vlad was alone—his sole frequency guided me, as I climbed the park to the museum. The building was barricaded, its front doors boarded up, but he came and went somehow, and when I recalled the vampire head on the spike, I knew its dampness was my clue.

  I ran toward the gazebo and launched myself down onto the rock that touched the edge of the waterfall. I found his entrance above the pool on the first level of the cascade. I stepped through the curtain of water and discovered the tunnel he had bulldozed through the rock. I smiled when I heard the howls from deep within the chamber—of course he had set a trap for his visitors.

  I went into the darkness, greeting the swarm of bloodless with nothing but my steel and a handful of seeds. Three came at me first and I tossed one of the seeds at them, but the bloodless were wet from the cascade’s spray and the water agitated them, making their retreat a temporary one. Five of them pushed forward, howling and gnashing their teeth. They clawed at me with their bony fingers and I reached for the Damascus steel, using it to tear into them with its edge. I sliced my way through the tunnel, severing heads from bodies, amputating hands and arms, as they clawed at me. I realized by the end the impaler had shackled them to each other like a cha
in gang, keeping them from making an escape.

  When I reached the metal portal to the museum, I smashed it open with my boot. The girl’s blood pumped me up, tripling my force. The promise of another taste drove me to finish my task, though I lingered at the doorway to bask in the pleasure of my rage. The darkness was peaceful and I could see the hulking figures and bodiless heads of the sculptures standing in the large gallery. Above me were several balconies that overlooked the main foyer and behind their black metal railings were glass cases that held the costumes of ancient Japanese warriors and samurai, suits of armor from Shang to Han. The bodiless panoply stood at attention for its vampiric overlord. The museum was still, his frequency steady.

  I headed up the stairs to the first mezzanine, keeping my back to the wall. I held the steel out in front of me, though I did not think I would need it. When I reached the top step, I looked back down at the gallery below and only then did I notice the heads on the pedestals were not made of bronze but marble. Vlad had mounted the defeated intruders, vampire heads for no one to admire but him.

  His voice boomed across the gallery from a public address system. “Bună seara, Ahile.” Elongated consonants crackled through the speakers. “Pierdut-t-t-t-t-t?” Lost? The static interrupted his fuzzy cackle.

  “Reveal yourself,” I said.

  “Nu sunt speriat, vechi grec.” You don’t scare me, ancient Greek.

  His bellow blew out the speakers and the gallery fell silent. It occurred to me then that the only way the impaler could defeat me was by blowing up the very spot on which I stood. With him out of the room, that could have been my reality. The speakers crackled again. “Revenge,” he said, “is that what you’ve come for?”

  “I am here to make you an offer,” I said. “A truce.” Though his frequency was constant, his silence was unnerving. “We have a common enemy,” I said.

  “Împărăteasă,” he said with aspirated esses.

  “She has taken the girl,” I said.

  “Wallach’s girl?”

  “Mine—”

  “What about mine!” He was volatile and unforgiving and completely perplexing.

  “Yours?”

  “Maxin-n-n-ne,” he said. Maxine was Jean’s progeny, not Vlad’s. “My venomline,” he said.

  “Crocodile tears,” I said.

  “Du-te dracului!” Go to hell! His voice cracked and the speaker cut.

  I saw the flame from the corner of my eye. The fabric of one of the costumes in the glass case beside me caught fire and soon the whole thing was burning. It exploded within seconds and I barely avoided the flying shards. His cackle erupted in the gallery but not from the speakers this time. His frequency was so strong it blew out my ears, as he swooped down from a balcony above me and landed in the center of the pillared heads. He glared up at me with steely eyes. His upper lip curled, drawn up by some imaginary wisp—the sneer his default mien. “She sent you,” he said.

  He could not have known.

  “The steel,” he said. “It bears her insignia.” The blade was still readied in my hand, though the hilt was covered. “I have several in my collection,” he said. “Damascus steel—the strongest metal-l-l-l.” He smiled at me with his iron grill; he was the ugliest vampire I have seen.

  “She will give me the girl back if I give her the collection,” I said.

  “And how do you plan on seizing it,” he said. “By force?”

  “I would rather not,” I said. “I am looking for an ally.”

  Vlad grumbled something and placed his hand on the crown of one of the severed heads. “Ceea ce e în ea pentru mine?” What’s in it for me?

  “I will get you her blood.”

  “Sânge împărătesei,” he said. “A costly price even for you.”

  “You know we can take the ship together,” I said. “And all I want is the girl.”

  “One sip.” He smacked his lips and ran his tongue across his metal grill. “One bite directly from your sweet source. Sângele ei.”

  His demand made my venom sour but I agreed.

  “Veni,” he said.

  I still do not know how I convinced him to join me so easily. I had no idea he was such a fickle vampire. He catapulted his body upward from mezzanine to mezzanine using nothing but his talons. When he reached the top, he called to me again.

  I took the stairs and met him on the upper level where he ushered me into a vaulted chamber off the gallery. The room was concealed behind a floor to ceiling tapestry of the Far East and a large metal door that looked like part of the wall. He lit several candelabra and the room came to life. One of its walls was covered in weapons—throwing stars, knives, swords, crossbows, spearheads, chains and daggers littered the concrete divider. An elaborate glass armoire, containing antique libation goblets from the great dynasties of China, sat across from the weapons display. The sealed chamber was full of secret treasures. I smelled the greatest one as soon as I entered—a human girl hidden somewhere in the room.

  “To each our own, Ahile.”

  I did not know if his statement referred to his girl or mine. I made on I was studying his wares, the goblets first and then the jade and bronze cups. When I turned my attention to the weapons, he busied himself with the floorboards. I will admit I was not surprised his girl was kept in the crawlspace beneath them.

  “The ship is heavily guarded,” I said. “We will have to take a boat to it before sunrise.”

  “We’ll need a diversion,” he said. “An explosion makes a fine surprise attack.”

  “Yes, a surprise attack.”

  “I have just the thing,” he said.

  I did not doubt it, as he perused the accelerants he had piled up in one corner of the room and picked up a porcelain jug. “Frumos,” he said. “It was perfect for your plants.”

  My insides hardened but I stifled my rage. “At dusk,” I said, “we will take a skiff from the piers of Il Crocifisso.”

  “Tedious,” he said. “Let’s make plans after we drink.”

  Vlad’s tongue danced in his mouth like a serpent’s. He reached down into the open floorboards and pulled up the girl. She was wretched, wasted and barely alive. “I’ll take first bite,” he said. The girl was limp in his arms.

  “Why not bleed her and drink from the goblets?” I asked.

  He looked at me with suspicion and then smiled with his iron grill. “Pact de sânge,” he said. A blood pact.

  He seemed flattered by my offer of ceremony and told me to choose the goblets. I twisted the lock on the door of the armoire with one of my talons. The cups were pristine, sealed up in the display case for years. I pulled a pair of pale jade cups with a porcelain base from the top shelf. The girl barely moved when Vlad pierced her frail skin with his talon. I handed him the first cup when the artery began to gush. The dark ichor oozed down the rim of the pale jade goblet. He filled it to the quarter mark and then handed it back to me. I passed him the second cup. When the girl’s blood clotted, he pierced the inside of her thigh. He squeezed her leg but was unable to fill the second cup as much as the first. I insisted he take the more plentiful one. “She is yours,” I said. “I only need a sip to seal the pact.”

  It was easy to appeal to his vanity. He switched cups with me and held his goblet up to the candlelight. “La nemurire,” he said.

  “To immortality,” I repeated.

  When the rims of our antique jade goblets clinked, his fate was sealed. I watched Vlad, as he licked his lips and placed the cup to his metal mouth, scarfing down the blood that would be his last. The girl’s tainted ichor slid down his throat, dripping at the sides of his mouth and staining his lips. He licked the blood greedily, dragging his tongue along the inner rim of the goblet, and then sighed and tossed his empty cup across the chamber, knocking one of the spears off the wall. “Amar,” he said.

  “It is bitter,” I said.

  I had downed mine quickly, enjoying it far less than he did his.

  “Nothing like my Evelina,” I said. “Bu
t you will never know.”

  His pleasure faded and his mouth went taut. “What?”

  “Yes,” I said, “răzbunare este a mea.” Revenge is mine.

  He looked confused and then his face contorted with the pain. He reached for his throat and cradled his stomach, bending forward and dropping to his knees. He landed next to the wasted girl. “Ce-ai făcut-t-t-t-t-t …” The convulsions began as his insides turned to stone. I cringed, as I recalled the agony of the blood substitute, the burning, the hardening, the sheer blow of it. It was easy to slip the contents of my cherished vial into his cup. Though I had wanted to save the last of the blood substitute as a souvenir, I did not think Byron would mind my using it to destroy the impaler.

  I took the head of the Romanian boar and placed it in a glass case, a fitting end for a legend, living forever as a work of art. I left the museum with the head under one arm. The sun was already up when I arrived at the pier and the bloodthirsty vampires were waiting for the ferryman to come. A few of them admired my artifact but none named the vampire they all feared.

  High with the promise of seeing her, tasting her again, I thought about where I would take her, how we would begin anew, and whether I was consolation for the family I had promised her. As Zhi launched his skiff and sailed toward the pier, I felt something like a sting within my veins at the anticipation of her blood. When the little vessel finally pulled up, the ferryman did not toss the line to be tied to the dock but motioned for me to come to the front. Some of the starved vampires groaned until they saw the treasure I held in my hands. I caught their whispers: The curator was no more.

  Zhi examined the head and invited me alone onto the skiff, assuring the others he would return shortly. He did not tell me why I was given the private escort but I could guess. We skidded along the sea and I was up the gangway and on the weather deck with Vlad’s head in no time. Zhi told me she was in the deckhouse awaiting my return. When I threw open the hatch to the cabin, Youlan stood in the corner and the Empress sat on the same wooden daybed she had been sitting on for our first meeting. Her visage was as stoic as ever and a cigarette dangled between the blood red lips of her slim mouth. She did not greet me when I entered, though Youlan gave me a slight bow by dropping her chin. She looked at her mistress and awaited her order. When the Empress finally waved her hand at the vampire, she exited the deckhouse through the hatch that led to Evelina. I anticipated her smell, but it did not come.