The Huntress Trilogy 02 The Vampire in the High Castle

by Chanel Smith

  The man next to her looked at her. He frowned a little and then smiled at her. He was big and blonde; a handsome man. Veronica smiled back, looking deep into his eyes. She just hoped he would be interested in her, so she could bend him to her will. She needed it.

  The man produced a big, toothy grin.

  “Won't work on me darling.”

  She was taken aback. Disappointed and a little bit ashamed, she tossed back the shot in her hand and winked at the bartender.

  “Don't bother trying with him either,” the blonde man told her.

  “Okay, what's the deal with you?” Veronica snapped at him. “You trying to make sure I don't flirt with anyone or something? Are you the morality police on this party boat?”

  The man laughed. He had a great, booming laugh that resonated through the room.

  “No, just looking out for you.”

  “Well, thanks.” Veronica turned and leaned against the bar, her legs and arms crossed. She scanned the room.

  “Preying on about half the people on this boat might get hairy,” the man said casually.

  What the fuck is he going on about? A hairy situation. There is nothing even remotely dangerous here. She shivered; there was that feeling again. She looked around, but saw no one. Was it him the other day as well? Can't be. But what's been following us? And why? Maybe this guy knows something more if he's warning me.

  “What do you mean hairy?” Veronica turned back toward the man. She did not attempt to mesmerize the man this time as she looked into his eyes.

  “I mean about half the people on this boat have a more hairy, hidden side.” The man was being subtle. Obviously he did not want to say exactly what he meant in public. “Just like you are much more cold blooded than you appear, Miss Veronica Melbourne.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “A friend from a long time ago told me.”

  Veronica pushed herself off from the bar.

  “Who?” she demanded.

  “Your Norse friend. The Watcher.”

  Veronica was puzzled for a moment.

  “The werewolf?”

  The big man turned to face her, leaning casually on the bar. “Björn Ironside, son of Ragnar Lodbrok is a good man. Good warrior, one of the greatest that the world has ever known or cared to forget about. He figured you might have trouble here before you reached your ultimate goal, so he asked me to find you.”

  “Who are you?”

  For some reason the man looked around the room. His ears twitched, perking up.

  “I am Kalervon Kullervo.”

  “That's not really an answer,” Veronica said, slapping the bar for another vodka. “Is it Kalervon?”

  “Kullervo.” He corrected her. “Really, it's Kullervo Kalervonpoika, but nobody says that. And I told you who I am. I am your designated helper.”

  Veronica straightened up and crossed her arms.

  “That's not an answer.”

  There was that smile again. Damn werewolves and their eternal fucking teeth.

  “It is all the answer you will get for now.” He took up his pint and drained it in one gulp. “Meet me outside, top deck in an hour. I will give you all the answers you want then. Don't cause trouble meanwhile.” Without waiting for an answer, he left the bar.

  What the hell is this now? Veronica thought. Who is this? And what is going on here?

  She stayed at the bar. The bartender gave her another vodka.

  “On the house, so to speak.”

  “So you turn into a wolf as well then?” It was a snide remark, born of hunger and frustration.

  The bartender frowned and shook his head. “No, I do not actually.”

  It was Veronica's turn to frown. “Your friend just told me you do.”

  “Wolves are not the only animals in the north, pet.”

  “What, you turn into a squirrel?”

  The bartender laughed. “Think bigger, stronger and more claws. There's a reason for most stories the mortals tell.”

  An hour later, Veronica was outside on the deck, the sleet and the wind whipped her raw and the waves of the Gulf of Bothnia smashed every side of the ship. Even for her it was hard to see, but she could just make out the shock of blonde hair of the big man standing by the railing.

  She approached him cautiously, fearing a trap. She did not trust him, but then she did not trust anyone. “So who are you, Kullervo Kalervonpoika?” she shouted over the wind and the surf.

  “I am Kullervo, son of Kalervo. I am one of the Elder Weres left in this area.”

  “Elder Were, eh?” Veronica sounded skeptical. She looked the man in the eyes. “You lied about the bartender. He's not a werewolf.”

  “He doesn't turn into a wolf, no.” Kullervo laughed. “How do you think the stories of human bears came about? They are a bit more limited in their spread around the world, but they exist. And there are plenty of them here.”

  There was no arguing with that.

  “Why did Björn tell you to seek me out? Only Julia even knew we would be going this way.”

  “He knew you would head for St. Petersburg. Those kids spent the few happy years of their childhood around there. There was no way they would agree to return to Europe, live in a castle with some other vampires and not go to see the place they were happy at.”

  It was exactly what Julia had argued over with Anastasia. Both Anastasia and Alexei had wanted to see the home of their childhood. Julia had initially disagreed, but the teenager had won the argument. Veronica was angry about it initially, knowing it would complicate everything, but when she thought about how the kids must feel, she had reluctantly agreed to go to St. Petersburg first.

  “So what do I need help with then?”

  Kullervo's booming laugh sounded over the wind. He seemed good natured, but his laugh was deep and dark. “You obviously need help to find food without running into trouble. But you won't make it in Ingria without someone who knows the lay of the land.”

  He slapped a big hand on her shoulder and moved away, his big hand trailing over the railing. “You know Yakov Sverdlov is still alive and kicking, of course?”

  “Who?” The question came out more aggressively than she might have wanted. Kullervo was making her look and feel a fool. He had that in common with Julia Agrippina.

  “The man who had us all shot.” A softer voice answered behind Veronica. She turned around to see Anastasia. “He was a small, sallow, cold Jew who gave the orders to shoot us. Never moved from his desk in Moscow after the revolution, but he determined we were a danger to the Bolsheviks, even imprisoned or exiled. So he gave the order.”

  “Why are you up here?” Veronica looked angry. “I thought I told you to stay in the cabin and watch your brother.”

  “I was, but I'm not now.” Suddenly Anastasia went from a teenager to a haughty aristocrat. “How can he still be alive?”

  “He is a warlock. He is the one who pulled Stalin through his exile in Siberia. He would not have survived without Sverdlov's magic.” Kullervo looked out over the sea. “He is in charge of the St. Petersburg underground now. More than that, he has been keeping an eye on the tsarevich since he knew you were alive still… well, sort of alive anyway.”

  “How?” Anastasia asked.

  But even as the little vampire girl asked her question, Veronica suddenly knew the reason for the feeling she was being watched. Kullervo raised his hand to the sky and called out some words in a melodic language that neither of them understood. A light appeared in his hand and then disappeared as he closed his fist. He thrust his fist under Veronica's nose.

  “Like this.” He opened his hand and a tiny black form flew out. The bat fluttered around and then sped off toward the east. “Amongst other ways. That'll be the way he has been following you since you got here. But most likely, he also had his spies in the United States. He took control of St. Petersburg with the rise of the Soviets. He must have used their system all that time.”

  All three were silent.


  “You're saying Yakov Sverdlov is still out to kill us?”

  Kullervo nodded.

  “He will stop at nothing to do so, little one.”

  Veronica shook her head. “We should never have gone this way.”

  Kullervo shrugged. “St. Petersburg is his stronghold, but he has power in most places east of Berlin. He can track you down anywhere and do whatever he wants.”

  Anastasia involuntarily shivered.

  “You coldbloods should go back inside before you freeze.”

  Anastasia nodded and made for the door. Veronica followed her. “How did you do that?”

  “I've had magic from birth; I was turned as a child. In the days when nobody cared about that.”

  “I thought witches could be cured after they were bitten.”

  Suddenly a flash of rage rushed over the man and he growled, baring his teeth. “I was a slave when it happened. They did not bother to help me.” He let his lips relax again. “And that no longer matters at all for they are all long dead now.”

  ***

  The ferry pulled up to the dock in St. Petersburg. Veronica was outside on the ship’s deck. Both the Romanov children were standing next to her. They supported each other. They were tired and looked haggard. They had fed in Helsinki, thanks to Kullervo, but it was a day ago now. They were well wrapped up, but the cold still got to them. It was taking every ounce of energy in them to keep the cold blood moving through their veins in the below freezing temperatures. Veronica was shivering again.

  Kullervo showed up on the deck and looked out over the city. He was wearing a long leather coat, much like the one Veronica wore. He did not seem to be touched by the weather at all.

  Not long after they docked, the gangway went down and the large door at the back of the vessel opened. Kullervo led the way down and all three vampires followed him. Veronica brought up the rear. She watched as Alexei dropped to his knees by the side of the gangway. The tsarevich bowed and kissed the ground. “Je suis revenue,” he muttered softly. “I have returned.”

  And they had returned. The undead heir to the Russian throne had come back. And he was in grave danger.

  Chapter One

  Veronica sighed as she pulled the long fur coat tight around her. She stamped her feet on the ground, satisfied with the fit of her new wool lined boots. They looked a bit clunkier then the ones she always wore, and they were heavier, but they kept her warm. On her head, she wore a thick woolen hat and she finally felt like she could cope with the climate. She pulled on a pair of thick gloves, paid the shopkeeper with some of the rubles Kullervo had given her and stepped out of the shop, feeling the sea wind batter her again. But this time, she was prepared.

  She felt for her weapons. They were well hidden beneath her long coat. The coat was heavy, much heavier than her old leather one, which she carried along in a bag. But it had to be long to hide her katana and her guns. And it had to be long and thick to deal with the cold. She knew she would be slowed by it, but that was something that simply had to be dealt with.

  The vampire walked through the streets of St. Petersburg in the twilight of the evening; it was already very dark.

  You know, if we could get to a point where we could stand the damn cold, the north is actually a great place for vampires at wintertime. So much darkness and very little sun hours in the day, she thought.

  She hit the University Embankment of the Frunzeknsky District. There were few people on the promenade at that hour. The winter would be starting in a few days, the longest night approaching fast.

  Kullervo had commandeered an apartment on the top floor of one of the buildings along the Embankment. They were only a few blocks away from the place the ferry had docked and they had disembarked. But more importantly was the other places that they were also close to. The sight from the high window had caused Anastasia to squeal in delight and Alexei to laugh. Across the water from them was the Winter Palace.

  The Winter Palace was not the place the princess and the tsarevich had grown up, but they knew it well. It had been the official palace of the tsar and they had spent most of their living lives in its shadow. It had been nearly a century since they had seen it. Alexei had wanted to rush out into the twilight the moment he saw the familiar shapes, but Kullervo had blocked the door.

  “You can go and see tomorrow. We don't know where Sverdlov or his minions are, or what he will do.”

  Alexei had sulked, but he had sunk back into the room anyway. For some reason Kullervo had a power over the boy that Veronica would never have.

  When Veronica got back, she saw Alexei standing by the window, looking at the palace.

  “It's mine, you know,” the boy said, turning around to face her.

  Veronica said nothing, but just stared at the floor as she peeled her layers of new clothing off.

  “It's mine. They stole it.”

  Veronica sighed. “Well, you want to take it back?” She looked at him and was shocked by the ferocity of his expression.

  “Yes,” was his sure answer.

  She shook her head. “I don't doubt you're strong, but you won't succeed. Taking on the entire Russian state? And without making all of them acutely aware of the existence of preternaturals?”

  “You can help me.”

  “I won't.”

  “Why not?” Alexei looked angry.

  “Because it can't be done. What we need to do is make sure you don't get killed and get to Csejte.”

  Alexei turned back to the window, still angry.

  “It's mine,” he insisted.

  He might be over a hundred years old, but he remains a child. His mind is more experienced, but not more mature than when he was turned.

  Anastasia came out of the bedroom and sat down next to Alexei. She laid her hand on her brother's shoulder. She looked at the palace as well. She said nothing, but it was clear she was remembering the time they spent there a century before.

  Not long after, Kullervo came back in. He had brought a man with him.

  “This is Andrei,” the Elder Were said gruffly. “He will be taking care of your feeding needs.”

  Veronica blinked. She walked up to the man by the door. There was a bruise on his temple, but that was not what had drawn her attention. The man's eyes were completely blank.

  Anastasia came over to look at him as well.

  “What happened to him?”

  There was a vague smile on Kullervo's face. “He got knocked on the head and then I thought you needed feeding so I brought him here.”

  “Just knocked on the head?” Veronica frowned at him.

  “Well, there might be a bit of a spell on him too,” Kullervo said casually. “Now, I need to have a rest.” Whereas the were had been extremely good-natured before, he was gruff and on edge at that moment. He went to the bedroom and threw down his coat on the bed before closing the door. Moments later, he opened the door again. “If you want to, have a gander around town, Melbourne; the kids are alright here with me.”

  Veronica did not need another word. For a moment she thought about staying in, not wanting to seem like she would take his orders, but her curiosity eventually got the better of her. She pulled her new garments on and ran down the stairs and out the door onto the Embankment.

  The night had fallen in all its thick darkness and with the night had come the snow. Its continuity was chasing people indoors and the streets were almost empty. She stood looking out over the expanse and focused on the dock just by the Winter Palace. And in the usual manner, she was there in the blink of an eye. Zip! It felt good to move at a normal pace again, rather than the pace of mortals.

  The Hermitage was still open and for a moment, she thought of going in, but there were other things to do. She could see the place with Alexei and Anastasia the day after. They would be delighted to see it.

  She walked across the palace square, the fresh snow crunching under her new boots. The city was unlike any other she had been in. The buildings felt similar to those in Copenha
gen, Stockholm and Helsinki. They had a history and a life. They had an energy coursing through them. But this city was clearly a different place. The people were different. They smelled different and the feeling was different.

  She mused on it as she walked down the street, her collar turned up and her head low to stop the snow coming in. Most people seemed to walk like that. Upright and proud, but reluctant to let the snow touch them.

  She walked toward the Spilled Blood. An apt name, she thought. From the outside, it resembled the Saint Basil's Cathedral in Moscow. She had seen the pictures of that, of course, and it seemed very Russian to her.

  She walked around the building and rubbed her hands. She looked up and immediately saw the possibilities of the place. It was central and offered a great vantage point over the whole Admiralteysky District should she need it.

  She went down the street and looked across the Neva. The Russian State Museum was there, in and behind the ramparts of the Peter and Paul Fortress; another great strategic point.

  Suddenly she shivered again. She looked around and in the dark night, she saw a figure disappear in the street behind her. She was at the corner in a flash, but the running figure had disappeared in the small crowd. She could not make him out. Then a woman looked around, and seeing Veronica Melbourne on the corner, began to quicken her pace.

  Veronica felt for her weapons underneath her coat and set off at a run. She weaved in and out of the people. She shouldered a man aside and ran through the street. She opened the top buttons of her coat, making sure she could draw a weapon, then rounded a corner and saw the woman was to her left. She looked around again and began to run.

  This street was clear and Veronica moved at top speed. She was next to the woman before she had gone more than a few feet. She stepped in front of her and looked at her.

  The woman was pale and fair-haired and there was a ferocity on her round face. She pulled up her lips and showed a pair of sharp fangs.