by Sean Stone
“Thank fuck,” he said under his breath. He had to find a way to get rid of Henry permanently. He had to figure out a way to finally have peace again. He couldn’t live with his murderous tormentor for the rest of his life. If a life was what it was. It didn’t feel like a life. Not without Nicole and Tommy.
Montford Manor. The words came like a whisper through his mind. Not from Henry. From some other part of his subconscious. A nice part. Montford Manor was where it all began, maybe it was where Adam could find a way to end it. The spirits might be able to help them. They’d always hated Henry because he murdered them all. They might take pity on Adam and choose to help him. Alternatively, they might put him out of his misery and rip him apart as they had to several other intruders in the house. Either way, he’d find relief. He grabbed his coat and left the house.
Montford Manor was exactly how he remembered it, only without the aura of darkness around it. He knew that the darkness had been removed. By him. It only now occurred to him that the spirits might blame him for taking Henry from his prison. It wasn’t Adam’s fault. He had gone looking for power, not malicious ghosts. And, he had killed Henry in the end, so really he’d done them a favour.
“Do you think they’ll see it that way?” asked Henry. He was leaning nonchalantly on the fence.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t they?” Adam said noncommittally.
“I lived with those spirits for decades and—”
“No you didn’t!” Adam snapped. “You’re not real!”
Henry’s lips stretched in a disgusting grin. “You’re right. I am you and you are me. That’s why you won’t really give up that magic, isn’t it? You’re scared that if the magic goes I’ll go too and then you’ll be so terribly terribly lonely.”
“The image of your death is the only comfort I need in life,” said Adam savagely. He threw open the gate and marched up the cracked garden path.
“If only that was true,” said Henry. “The image of your wife’s death is all I need. It really gets me going at night.” He giggled impishly and Adam stopped dead.
“I really hate you,” he said in a whisper.
“Is it me you hate?” Henry whispered back. “Or is it yourself? After all, I may have put the knife in, but you’re the one who let me.”
Adam chose not to respond, nor even to look at Henry. He raised his chin and forced his way into the house.
“Hello!” he called out as he entered the entrance hall. Nothing. Not even a whisper from the spirits.
“It’s okay, I’m still here,” said Henry. “Hey, why don’t you ditch this fiasco and we can go on a coven killing spree together!”
“Spirits! I need to talk to you!” Adam yelled as he walked through to the next room. It was in this room that Henry had taken control of his body. There was no evidence of that. Not even footprints in dust. “Spirits!” he yelled again.
“They can’t answer you. I’ve silenced them,” said a female voice. A very familiar female voice. Adam turned slower than a snail, to face the other doorway. There was Nicole, staring back at him, her face as hard as it had always been.
“You’re not Nicole,” Adam growled. He was not going to be abused like this, not even by his own psyche.
“How very astute. Astute,” she looked up as she pondered the word and her brown eyes turned blue. That never happened with Henry, he always remained exactly the same. “That word was not around back in my time. I have found that I predate a lot of words. Not a problem I am a fast learner.”
“What?” Adam said in exhaustion. If this was some new kind of torment then he had no idea how to react to it. “This is weird. Even for my subconscious.”
“I am not your subconscious,” said Nicole softly.
“Yes you are. You’re just another form of Henry.”
“I’m right here, dick-face,” said Henry. Adam’s head whipped round and clocked Henry standing just behind him. Of course, it was possible that his mind had produced two hallucinations.
“I need to speak to the spirits,” he said to Nicole.
“That would be pointless. A waste of everyone’s time. They cannot heal your fractured soul, Adam.” The person was making no effort to try to replicate Nicole other than in appearance. This Nicole spoke slowly and deliberately. There was none of the common tones that were ever present in Nicole’s voice.
“You’re not Nicole,” Adam said again.
“We have already established that,” she said and her eyes once again changed colour, this time to green. “I chose a face I thought you would be comfortable with. Clearly I was wrong. All the time I have spent shut away has deprived me of an understanding of humanity and the way their minds function.” Her body shimmered and glowed and then in the blink of an eye she was gone and a man stood in her place. Tall, well-built and dark-haired. He had a square jaw, clean-shaved and glowing purple eyes. He wore black trousers with a black t-shirt that was tight over his muscles.
“That was a neat trick. Teach me it. I could do with a six-pack,” said Henry.
The man’s eyes shone and then Henry vanished. Adam knew that this time he would not be back. Whoever this man was he had managed to get inside Adam’s head and that made Adam incredibly uneasy. “Can you read my mind?” he asked.
“No,” said the man. “I can peruse certain thoughts and feelings. But only because you allow me to. Your mind is so broken that you cannot hide much from me.”
“So you can read my mind?” Adam repeated.
“Yes, I can read your mind. I suppose. Others might not be so easy.”
“And clearly you can manipulate it.”
“Clearly. That is how I made you see your wife rather than me.”
“Who are you?” Adam asked. This was not what he’d been expecting, but Henry was gone so he’d accomplished his goal.
“My name is Apophis and I am the most powerful being in existence.”
“And the most humble,” Adam added. Apophis did not smile.
“I can fix you, Adam. What I have done is temporary. When you leave here, your demon will return. In order to be mended you must face your anger and hold those responsible to account for their crimes.”
“What do you mean? Henry’s dead.”
“Henry is not the only one to blame. Who got you involved in all of this? Who left you to take the reins of their coven? Who left you to fight their war? Arthur Winters.”
“No. Arthur isn’t to blame.” Even as he defended Arthur Adam could feel resentment seeping into his mind.
“Yes,” Apophis nodded. “He is. You sacrificed everything in the name of his coven. You did everything that he wanted you to do. And then he just sauntered back from the dead, took back his coven and tried to take your magic away. And what did he do when you refused? He exiled you. Banished you from the very coven you sacrificed your family for. How is he not to blame?”
“I…” Adam could think of no words. Anger was clouding every thought. Apophis was right. Arthur hadn’t once even thanked him for all that he’d done in his absence. He just demanded that he destroy the athame and give up his magic.
“And why does he want your magic gone? So that he can always have the upper hand. So that he can always keep you under control. But that magic belonged to your coven. You are dynast. That surely gives you the right to have that magic.”
“Arthur is dynast,” Adam said feebly.
“You did not die. You remain dynast.”
“I am dynast,” Adam said slowly. A dynast could only be replaced on death.
“Yes. Now go and solidify what’s yours. Kill Arthur Winters and your mind and soul will be fractured no more.”
“Yes,” Adam confirmed and turned furiously to leave the house.
Chapter 9
Clara had never seen Morgan’s Nightclub so empty. Being under quarantine had really hindered people’s party spirit. There were a few vampires sitting around in the booths, but no band was on stage and the music coming through the speakers was turned down low. She
garnered a few curious looks as she made her way to the bar. She ignored them and asked the barmaid for Richie. She wondered if the barmaid was worried about staying in town, or if she thought that working for Richie was protection enough. Maybe it was, they’d all find out soon enough.
“Richie?” the barmaid repeated, looking at Clara as if she’d gone mad.
“Yeah, the guy who owns this place,” Clara explained, returning the barmaid’s expression.
“Wait here,” she said and then hurried through the door behind her. Clara heard her whispering to someone. Obviously her arrival here had been more of a shock than she’d expected. Frankly, she’d’ve thought Richie would be expecting her, an alliance was the obvious solution to their predicament. Then again, Richie might not know about Eloise and her army, after all, the vampires had all been sleeping when the soldiers had arrived. She might be the one who had to break the news to Richie.
The door by the stage opened and a light-haired vampire who was not Richie emerged. Clara thought she might have met him before but couldn’t quite remember. She’d met so many people over the last few months that it was impossible to remember them all.
“Miss Winters, how lovely to see you,” he said softly, a small smile touching his lips.
“No offence, but I need to speak to Richie,” she said.
“I’m Jacob, a Clan Elder, can I not assist you?” he asked.
“No. I need Richie,” she insisted.
The small smile slipped away and he looked sombre. “News really doesn’t travel as fast as they say.”
“News of what?” she asked. Surely something else wasn’t going on that was going to make her day worse.
“You’ll see. Follow me,” he said and headed back to the door.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, even as she followed.
“To see Richie.”
She had never been down into the underground manor before, she’d always had meetings with Richie in the club. The manor was like an underground castle. Stone walls were decorated with old portraits and tapestries. They passed several dark wooden doors and Clara wondered how many rooms were in the manor. How far did the vampire residence stretch beneath the town?
Jacob stopped before a door that looked exactly the same as all the rest, dark brown wood. He opened it and led her inside. The room was vast and decorated with expensive antique furniture, all of it complied with the red and black colour scheme. The stone floor had a lavish blood-red rug with an embodied black border. The walls were adorned with weapons that belonged in a museum, several of them were alien to Clara. At the edge of the room, was an ornate chess set, placed between two high-backed, red and black chairs. Richie occupied one chair, the other was empty.
“Richie, have you heard what’s going on in town?’ said Clara. She walked over to Richie without invitation, but he when he failed to acknowledge her, she faltered. “Richie?” she asked in a whisper. Once again he did not reply. He didn’t even move. As she drew closer she saw that something was seriously wrong. Richie’s skin was clammy and had a seriously unhealthy tinge to it. There were cracks around his lips and eyes. The positioning of his body was wrong too. His legs were flopping to the sides, his arms were hanging over the sides of the chair, his fingers curled and he was slumped, his head tilted to one side. His mouth was open just a crack. He looked like a paralytic who’d been shoved haphazardly in the chair. “Richie?” she asked one more time. His eyes moved to her face and she saw how faded the colour was in them, like an old dog going blind. She gasped and covered her mouth, taking a step back from him.
“His eyes are the only things he can move,” Jacob said gently as he approached. “He can hear everything, see everything, but do nothing in response. He can’t move, he can’t speak. He is a prisoner in his own body.” Jacob looked down at his master with a sadness Clara couldn’t help but sympathise with.
“How?” was all she could say.
A cold laughter answered her and she turned to see a hideous man entering from another door. He was tall, dark-haired with bright red eyes and a long serpent-like nose. “Richie’s condition is my work entirely. I’m quite proud of my little experiment.”
“Clara, this Ramsay Aramaya. He has assumed control of the Clan,” explained Jacob. There was an edge of disgust to his tone.
“I much prefer Richie this way,” said Ramsay. He stood behind Richie’s chair and ruffled his hair as if he was a child. Clara caught Richie’s eye before he looked away in shame. “He isn’t much of a challenge on the chess board, but I do win every game.” Ramsay laughed again. It was a disgusting hissing sound.
“What have you done to him?” Clara asked in a strangled voice. She wasn’t close to Richie, but seeing anyone in this state was a deeply unsettling experience. Nobody deserved this.
“A little cobra venom in his veins. I top it up every day. I can’t give him too much, that would kill him, but too little and he’d be able to move again. I’ve learned to get the dose just right. Do you want to know the best part?”
“There is no best part,” said Clara hotly.
Ramsay smiled broadly. “He’s in constant agony!” he said and burst into a fit of raucous laughter. “For centuries I have wanted to punish him and now it’s like all my Christmases have come at once. Not that I celebrate Christmas.”
“You’re a monster,” Clara said. She had never felt such loathing for another person, not even Nick and he’d murdered her father.
“Yes, I have been told that before,” said Ramsay, not at all insulted. “Do you know, I have never been so happy in all my days.” He sat down in the chair opposite Richie, leaned across the chess board and grabbed Richie’s head. He forced Richie to face him and Clara saw the hatred in Richie’s glare. “I can feel his desire to hurt me,” said Ramsay, not breaking the eye contact. “But he never will because I’ll never give him the chance. This is your life now Richie. I will never release you. I will never give you even the smallest modicum of freedom. I will never even kill you. You are my pet, now and forever.” Ramsay let Richie’s head flop back into the chair. Clara was fighting every urge to attack him. She knew it would end badly. He was an Aramaya and she knew all about that family. He was possibly the oldest vampire on the planet and he was currently the leader of the Clan. She needed him. Richie would have to wait.
“So, Clara, why are you here?” asked Ramsay. He turned to face her, crossing one leg over the other and leaning on the arm of his chair casually.
“Are you aware of what’s happening in Cedarstone?” she asked him, keeping her tone as civil as she could.
“I am.”
“I’m here to offer an alliance. Together we can—” She stopped when he held up his hand and shook his head at her.
“No. I need no alliance. I’m not bothered by what those daft humans are doing above the ground. I’m afraid you’ll have to fend for yourself.”
“It isn’t just the sorcerers they’re after. It’s everyone, they’re here to kill us all.”
“I’m already dead. Let them come. See what happens.”
“But if you just—”
“I said no!” he snapped. She balled her hands into fists and felt her magic rising with her anger. He grinned. “I can see what’s going on in your head right now. You’re about to attack me. I’d advise against it.”
She ignored him and flung a spell full force right at him. He shot out of its way and it blasted a hole in the stone wall, burning a tapestry to ashes. Then his hand was on her throat, reaching from behind her, his lips against her ear. He pulled her up against him. His touch made her skin writhe. She felt a warmness radiating from her inside pocket. The compact mirror that communicated with her dad.
“Ramsay,” Jacob said, concerned, but not brave enough to intervene physically.
“Silence,” Ramsay hissed before returning his attention to Clara who was too frightened to move. He could snap her neck faster than she could blink. “That was unwise, little girl. Despite the fact t
hat you just destroyed a tapestry older than your entire family tree, I am willing to forget about it, but if you attack me again I will rip your fucking head off.” He released her throat and then shoved her hard in the back, forcing her to the floor where her palms scuffed the stone, cutting them open. She paused for a moment to gather herself and then pulled herself slowly to her feet, turning to face her attacker and being sure not take her eyes from him.
“In case you have any other fanciful ideas. Remember this, I rule not just the Clan, but also the Cult of Osiris. I have hundreds of followers who will obey my every command. How many are in your coven?”
“It’s not my coven,” she said. She was still not a member of it and was surprised her dad hadn’t tried to force her to join.
“Irrelevant. My point is, you can’t beat me. Don’t bother trying or I will paint this town with your blood thereby saving the soldiers a job. Jacob will show you out.”
Clara straightened her coat and without another word to Ramsay she followed Jacob from the room.
“I’m terribly sorry about that,” he said genuinely as they walked the halls. “I thought you ought to see the situation for yourself.”
“I understand,” she replied, a little clipped.
“Given your reputation I thought you might not give upon until you’d seen the truth of the matter.”
“You’re right,” she admitted. “This is not the way we came,” she added, noticing that they were going a different route.
“There’s one more thing I wanted to show you,” he said as he stopped before another dark wooden door. He pushed it open to reveal a small undecorated room. It held one thing, a simple brown coffin on a pedestal.
“What’s that?” she asked, not wanting to get any closer. She was starting to appreciate the fact that she had not been brought down here before. The place was like a house of horrors.
“Ramsay’s other prisoner. His brother Michael. Drained of blood and sleeping until fed. At least he is in no pain,” Jacob said. He let her look at the coffin a moment longer before closing the door again.