The Vampire Family

by Kristin Battestella

  William entered the castle and overzealous, charged up the stairs. Unfortunately, Antonio stood on the steps. He took the dagger from Victoria and threw it at the boy rebel. The tiny blade embedded into William's chest, and he tumbled down the stairs.

  "Let's go!” Antonio pushed Victoria to the upstairs hall.

  William lay on his side at the bottom of the stairs. Pieces of burning wood and bodies were all around him. The boy pulled the bloody dagger out of his chest and let it clang on the floor. Gaston stepped inside the broken and charred door with his sword in hand.

  "Gaston.” William stretched out his bloody hand to his hero, but he looked past William to the stairs. He raced past him and skipped up the steps.

  "Gaston!"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 16

  Errant torches sent the curtains up in flames, and Sarah ran out of the dining hall. She skidded to a stop before William's still body. The vampire warrior knelt below the stairs and touched her brother, but the fire bellowed and spread rapidly into the kitchen. Angered anew, Sarah raced up the stairs and away from the crackling fire. A woman's screams came from down the hall, and Sarah sprinted toward the shrieks with her sword raised.

  "Mother, stop it!” Samantha stepped back and forth between Ann and Elizabeth. Sarah charged in with more rebels joining behind her. Ann pushed Samantha down, casting her daughter's dagger aside. Ann thrust her sword into Elizabeth. She gasped and tumbled with Ann's sword.

  A rebel pounced on Samantha, stabbing her repeatedly before moving on. She struggled, helpless. “Mother!"

  Sarah headed for Ann, but picked up Samantha's fallen dagger. Ann let it fly, but sword work was not her strong suit, and the pass grazed Sarah in the shoulder. Sarah's sword came down and sliced Ann across the chest. Samantha watched her mother fall and pulled the sword out of her stomach.

  "Please, let this be the end."

  * * * *

  More rebels raced up the stairs, and Antonio thrust Victoria into his study and shut the door. The invaders followed and banged on the entrance.

  "Move out of my way!” Gaston echoed above them.

  The wooden door splintered and cracked as Gaston jabbed his sword into the door. Victoria backed up against the books as Antonio waited beside the falling door, his sword raised.

  Gaston thrust his body into the door. It swung open, and Victoria jumped. He stepped farther into the study, and she froze before him.

  "Tell me where the old bastard is. When I am done with you, he is next."

  Antonio swung his sword at his head, but Gaston heard the sharp blade cutting through the air and raised his sword in defense. He pushed on the locked swords, and Antonio stumbled backward. He was face to face with his own young and ruthless image. Gaston swooped his sword inches from Antonio's stomach. Mestiphles’ dark powers had given him aggression and desire, more than Antonio imagined.

  "How you cower before me!"

  Antonio backed away, but he was trapped against the wall of books. He glanced to the window next to him, but Gaston swung his sword again. Antonio ducked this time, and the sword ripped through the books.

  "Hardly, little boy."

  The overextended thrust knocked Gaston off balance, and Antonio kicked him. The youth hunched over, and Antonio grabbed his shabby shirt. He pushed Gaston toward the window and shoved him through the glass. Both men plummeted out the window, and Victoria screamed.

  * * * *

  The rebels invading the house had scattered elsewhere, leaving Victoria free to fumble through the broken door. She raced down the steps and ducked a burst of flame. Victoria ran through the dining hall.

  "James?” she called. “Stephen!"

  Hacked and smoking bodies of rebels were everywhere, but there was no sign of her brothers. Victoria covered her eyes at the burning blaze and ran to the courtyard.

  Antonio was still on the cobblestone, but Gaston was nowhere in sight. Victoria stepped out into the darkened courtyard, hearing only the trickling fountain. The more she peered into the darkness, the deeper it became. The fire crackled behind her.

  "Traitor!” Gaston leaped from the shadows and charged with his sword poised. Victoria ran back into the burning dining room. She stumbled over the body of a dead rebel and pulled the dagger out of his chest for defense. Silently, she slid under the table.

  Gaston stepped casually into the dining room.

  "Victoria?” Gaston spoke loudly over the crackling and spreading fire. “Where are you, wench?"

  She watched Gaston's boots as he walked around the table slab slowly. “I know you're here."

  His boots moved away, and the room was silent except for the fire. Victoria crawled out from under the table. A sword sliced, and she turned. Gaston brought his sword down from on top the table. Victoria brought up the small sword in her hand and dropped to one knee. The tiny sword clanged against his, and they struggled against the pressure. Victoria pushed on the swords. Her eyes turned red, and with new supernatural strength, she threw Gaston off the table. He crashed through the dining room doors and rolled into the courtyard. Victoria stood.

  "I am no wench!"

  * * * *

  Silently, Antonio observed behind Gaston as his son struggled to his feet and winced. Antonio stepped into the firelight with a charred piece of glass in his hand, but Gaston held a gash on his hand. The bleeding cut slowly closed until no scar remained. Marveling at himself, Gaston turned his hand over and back again to reexamine it. Antonio crept behind him, squeezing the rough glass eagerly. Blood dripped from his hand, but Antonio brought the sharp piece up and grabbed Gaston tightly around the neck. He gasped for air, but Antonio clenched and squeezed more. He took the jagged glass and sliced deep into Gaston's throat.

  Gaston slid through Antonio's lock, fell to the ground, and clung to his throat. Victoria climbed through the broken doors and ran to Antonio.

  "Are you all right, Father?"

  "I think so.” Antonio panted. They looked down at Gaston. His body was still and grew a ghastly gray. A light mist circled around the body and grew into an aura of color.

  "What is happening to him?” Victoria cringed.

  "My son...” Antonio sighed and Victoria's eyes widened. She looked back and forth between them.

  "Son?” She silently mouthed.

  The azure aura centered itself into a small ball of light and hovered above Gaston's chest. The ball rose and lingered in front of Antonio and Victoria. It came close to Victoria and seemed to inspect her, but then the ball of light and mist darted away and disappeared inside Antonio.

  "What was that?” Victoria exasperated.

  "It's Gaston,” Antonio said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "His soul, his essence.” Antonio looked into the distance. “Gaston's spirit is trapped inside me. Mestiphles, damn you."

  "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

  Antonio put his arm around her. “I don't know yet. But we cannot worry about it right now."

  A female scream came from upstairs, and Antonio was quick to leave Victoria.

  "That's Ann!"

  He skipped up the weakened stairs two steps at a time. The upstairs was totally inflamed, but Antonio ran into the thick flames and black smoke.

  "Ann?” He cried out. “Elizabeth?"

  "Father?"

  "Stephen!” Antonio followed his son's faint cry. He was on the floor, charred and burned.

  "Stephen.” He pulled the boy to his feet. “Hang on, lad."

  "Antonio!” Ann coughed and came through the fire.

  "Here, take Stephen out.” Antonio leaned the young man on his mother. “Fire! ‘Tis one of our few banes. Where is Elizabeth?"

  Ann walked toward the stairs, but Antonio grabbed her arm. He read her guilty countenance and rushed into the flames.

  Antonio rushed through one burning room after another. He dodged a falling timber. He stepped into the next burning room and waved the smoke from his face. Elizabeth la
y slumped on the weakening floor. He tried to pick her up, but Elizabeth stood on her own.

  "It's healing."

  Antonio stood with his wife. “And how did this wound come to you?"

  "Get Samantha.” Instead of implicating Ann, she pointed to the girl and her bloody stomach wounds. Antonio rushed to Samantha and whisked up his daughter.

  "Please, leave me,” Samantha gasped.

  Antonio clung to his daughter. So like him in looks.

  If she would only embrace her power!

  "I am not going to let you die, Samantha."

  "You already have."

  Antonio heard coughing and saw Sarah huddled by the door. He had never seen her before, yet Antonio knew Sarah—as if Gaston's memory held sway with him.

  "Hurry up,” he told her. “Let's hope the stairs are still there."

  * * * *

  Victoria fumbled through the fire. Hopefully she followed toward the stairs after her father. She saw the steps, and Ann came down the stairs.

  "James?” she called, but Stephen raised his head. “Where is James? James!"

  Victoria felt a new connection to her twin, and instinctively knew his location, almost as if he were calling her toward his direction. Victoria climbed past the burning furniture and opened the kitchen door. A large beam crashed to the ground, and James sat slumped among the spilled barrels of flour.

  "James!” Victoria hiked up her skirt and climbed over the fallen beam. “I knew it."

  She pulled her brother to his feet, but Victoria heard the wood crackling—it buckled and splintered above them.

  "Sister.” James coughed and pushed her away. “Go."

  "Come on, James!” she kicked open the outside door. It dropped off its metal hinges, and the frame buckled. Victoria pulled James out the door, and the timbers collapsed.

  * * * *

  Safe beyond the crackling castle, Victoria rocked James gently in her lap beside the dead bonfire. Elizabeth ripped the hem of her skirt and used the rag to wipe the ashes and flour from James’ face. Ann and Stephen stood above them. Already, his burned appearance was healing.

  "I think I see something,” Ann said hopefully.

  Sarah came out the burning door frame first and collapsed on the ground. Antonio exited behind her, Samantha in his arms.

  "Move,” he ordered Sarah away from the sweltering building. The small group stood and watched Henry's old castle burn.

  Antonio put his arm around Sarah, and Ann sneered at them. Elizabeth cleared Victoria's hair from her face, but Victoria jerked away. Stephen picked up a hoof from the ground and ran the hard bone along his fangs. James eyed his brother queerly, but Samantha slumped from her mother's arms and cried.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 17

  900 years later

  The dark, high rising, termite ridden, London flat rose almost crooked into the sky. A room lit on the sixth floor, and a young blonde haired woman packed a suitcase inside. She wore a sleek and tight red dress—short and fashionable for 1971.

  Quietly, a dark mist rolled down the nighttime sidewalk and crept down the alley. Slinky, sneaky it was—much like its true nature. Making its way to the fire escape, the mist circled and spun around each cold rung. The supernatural fog reached the young woman's window.

  The woman switched on the television dial. The old antenna received the patterns, and the blurry screen lined into a picture. Two iridescent green eyes flashed in the misty fog. The vaguely shaped head of the mist turned toward the television.

  "...Local police say the badly mutilated body was a local twenty-two year old male,” the stuffy nasal anchor said. “We warn you that these photos are indeed highly graphic."

  The pictures were fuzzy. Live footage showed a torn body, lying in a heap of flesh and blood, roughly filmed through the peacekeepers, muckrakers, and onlookers with handkerchiefs over their mouths.

  "Police have no suspects or leads in this gruesome murder.” The on location reporter kept his hanky with his microphone. “It looks like the work of an animal. No human could do this."

  The misty being turned to the woman as she came out of the bathroom with an armful of accessories and cosmetics. The blonde dumped them on the bed, and slowly the mist darkened and thickened into the hearty gray outline of a wolf. Its white teeth and green eyes glistened with fury while its muscles flexed and solidified. The wolf leaped through the window, spreading the shattered glass and ripped shade onto the floor.

  The woman screamed, but the wolf pounced and muffled her cries. Human and animal wrestled on the floor. A chair slid. The table shook, knocking a lamp to the floor. The wolf bit and clawed, shredding the imitation designer dress. The light bulb popped on the floor, and the room was dark. The woman screamed and resisted, then fell silent.

  The screen on the television was static now. The wolf nudged the dial and switched it off. The wild dog stood on its hind legs and grew to over five feet in height. The gray hair receded into the fresh white skin. The hair on its head lengthened and lightened into soft blonde locks. The supernatural replacement took hold of her twin victim by an unshod foot and shoved what was left of the body under the bed.

  * * * *

  A yellow taxicab pulled up by the entrance of a high, worn brick wall. The wrought iron gates were old and weathered, a mysterious dirt road behind disappearing over a hill. The sun's first rays cast a light yellow shine and reflected off the faded cab. The animal in disguise vacated the taxi and opened the unlocked gate with little care. She started up the long, orange colored dirt road.

  The ambiguous creature heard the cab rumble past the stone wall and slid down a few inches in height. Her hair lengthened and darkened to a rich black; green eyes turned hazel, then light brown. Victoria Welshire continued up the dirt road and over the hill. Her powers had become the most gifted over time. She lurked in the mists as the sneak she was, and her shape shifting abilities exceeded her deceptive expectations. After all these years, she was still the apple of her father's eye.

  A large, run down mansion slowly came into view. Its peaks and towers were in need of repair, but the charming old place looked like someone—or something—lived there. Victoria eyed her home and smiled. A gust of wind cascaded with a swirl of dust from the road, and the power carried her to the doorstep. Victoria banged the knocker. One. Two. Three.

  The large stone door creaked open like a coffin to a young man inside. He was taller than his guest, but the huge slab dwarfed him. He smiled, baring a pair of quite long canine teeth.

  "Victoria? Hey everybody, Victoria's here!"

  Another door groaned inside, and Elizabeth came down the large staircase with open arms. Thin and pale, she resembled her daughter in dark hair alone. Her mellow demeanor had not changed, but Antonio's wife had endured much as the head of his household.

  "Victoria! Why are you still standing out there? Come in. You're just in time for the Masquerade!” Elizabeth seemed happy to see her daughter, but her enthusiasm about the Masquerade sounded less than authentic.

  "Mother.” Victoria hugged her briefly, also not wholehearted in her actions. She stepped back and looked at her initial greeter. “Angelo, you can't be over one hundred. Already?"

  "One hundred and three next month.” The eternally young Angelo shut the door and sent the sunshine away.

  "Is everyone else sleeping?” Victoria asked. There were so many fledglings to see. She had been a wayward human in her first twenty years, but a very productive vampire over the last nine centuries. Give or take a few years and mishaps. Elizabeth kept to her hostess duties.

  "I believe so.” She led Victoria into the dark belly of the house. “A few are still in the crisping stage."

  They walked down one of the many stone halls of the once grand house. Despite the way it looked on the outside, the mansion was very beautifully furnished and well kept on the inside. Many paintings, portraits, and a few photographs of the immediate and extended family hung on the walls. Whether
by birth or by vampire, they were all connected with Welshire blood.

  "Father still has that painting up?” Victoria strode by a portrait of Antonio. He wore an elaborate kilt and leaned on a broadsword, but his castle filled the background. “When was the last time the damn thing was cleaned?"

  "You've lived in the human world too long.” Elizabeth's oriental gown rustled. She kept a classy, flowing, satin style even though the fashions had changed—like her daughter. “You forget our flying servants."

  Victoria eyed the next portrait. This dark knight wore the crusader armor, but the red cross on his chest had been chipped away. He held his sword and shield close at hand, ready for whatever cause befell him.

  "Where is James?” she asked of her twin. Opposite as they were, he was still perhaps her closest relation. “I do not feel his presence. I was really looking forward to seeing him."

  "Fighting another war.” Elizabeth looked at the side-by-side photographs of her son, first in World War I, then World War II. “He has fought in so many wars, I wonder if James cares what he's fighting for. Do you think he ever did?"

  "War is free blood.” Victoria smirked.

  James’ philosophy on drinking to put a dying soldier out of his misery was hogwash.

  "You've spent more time with James than your Father these past years."

  "If you call spending time with James seeing him gunned down during that silly Russian Revolution. Father? It seems like a millennium since I last saw him."

  "One hundred and seven years yesterday.” Elizabeth kept track. What else was there for her to do?

  The towering marble doors opened slowly, and Victoria poked her head past the ancient etchings.

  "Father?” she echoed. Somewhere in the room, The Doors’ haunting Light My Fire played softly. “Father? Are you in here?"

  She shut the door, and its slam jumbled with the other fading echoes. She felt her father's presence and spotted the light of the fireplace. Her eyes were keen, and her telepathic feelings had grown into a powerful spying tool. Victoria approached the vague shapes of a chair and table.

  "Antonio Welshire, you don't look a day over five hundred!"