by Aderyn Wood
“Damn,” he muttered, there goes our transport. Nothing he could do about it now. In any case, he had bigger problems to think on. Michael walked to the rose garden.
The scent of rose was everywhere, making him recall Emma’s blog and her translation of Nathaniel Chartley’s diary. He sat on a marble garden seat and took out his tablet, scrolling quickly through the blog and the translations, stopping now and then to read the parts with the gypsy woman.
Michael looked up. In front of him a red rose swayed in the breeze; its scent sweet and spicy. Georgette had been right; there was something about that vial she wore. He closed his eyes and focused his mind, but his fingers tingled so much he dropped the tablet.
His hands shook as he opened his eyes. That vial. They needed to find out what it meant. But Michael doubted he’d learn anything from Amynta. He snapped the tablet shut and crunched over the stones as he made his way back inside and to the library. Books, his father had always told him, held the answers to all questions, and that book in the glass cabinet had something to show him.
When Michael went to the dining room at six on the dot, Amynta was already present. She wore a blue velvet gown and rubies the colour of her hair, now coiffed and curled. She sat at the head of the vast table, scanning some documents while sipping a glass of white wine.
“Please, sit. Would you like a drink?”
Michael adjusted his glasses. “Water will be fine.”
Amynta frowned. “Come, enjoy some wine with me; it is local.” She stood and poured him a glass herself and held it out for him to take.
Michael exhaled a sharp breath and stepped closer to take the wine. It was good. Dinner was a one-course meal of roasted quail and vegetables. Amynta refused to respond to his questions, telling him that he must first eat, and while his annoyance grew, his stomach growled its own frustration. Soon his plate was as empty as the limited answers Amynta gave him.
After dinner, his host filled their glasses and led Michael to the drawing room. Michael sat in the leather couch and observed the paintings that spoke of various centuries. An old tapestry in the corner depicting a battle scene was the most ancient of all.
“This place is a real mix of eras.” He sipped his wine but kept his focus firmly on Amynta, watching her reactions.
“It is. I’ve collected quite a lot of treasures.”
“How long have you lived in this castle?”
“Long enough.” Amynta took a seat and rested her gaze on him. Michael held it; he needed to show he wasn’t afraid.
“We leave tomorrow. I have all the arrangements in place.”
“Tomorrow? And I suppose we are going to Egypt?”
“Of course. I have transport that will keep your vampire safe. And I’ve made arrangements for our accommodation in Egypt.”
“And what do we do once we are there?”
Amynta took a sip of wine. “We will find them.”
“Them?”
“Asha, and Chartley, and all the others.”
“There will be others? How do you know?”
“Mr D’Angelo, I cannot explain it to you. You simply have to trust that I can sniff out a vampire as easily as you sniff out a bad egg. There is not a single vampire in existence from Italy to Istanbul because I spend my days unearthing them, and when I find them I crush them like the vermin they are.”
Michael believed her, when his fingers tingled. Emma was in danger, if not now, then very soon.
“And where does Emma fit in to all of this?”
“I’ve told you, she will be useful as long as I can use her to draw them out.”
“But I thought you said you can feel when they’re around.”
She sniffed. “Yes, but there are some – complications.” A grimace broke her controlled expression. “In any case, it is not important for you to know. All you need know is that tomorrow night we leave for Egypt, and you must be ready.”
Emma filled his dreams. She was alone and frightened in the darkness. Her eyes were blue, not black nor red, and they brimmed with tears. “Michael, help me,” she whimpered.
Michael woke and the echo of Emma’s voice seemed to whisper through the room. His hands and feet tingled and his spine shivered with cold. He sat up. The fire burned low, casting a rosy light on the strange room. The stars in the blue-black sky filled the window.
“Emma,” he whispered and bolts of electricity shot through his body.
She needs me.
Michael sprang out of bed and set to work. He dressed without switching on a light. Grabbing his phone, he checked the time, midnight, and dropped it in his coat pocket. He tapped his tablet and swiped to the photos he’d taken of the illustrations in the book that afternoon – plans of the castle. He studied them carefully, trying to fix them to memory. Access to the dungeon was in the gunroom, and access to the bolthole was in the dungeon. According to the illustrations, the tunnel went for a couple of miles and came out on the coast to the south west of the castle.
Michael closed the tablet and put it in his pocket with shaking hands. Then, with a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
Silence greeted him. Faint blue starlight filtered through a window and revealed the stairwell that would take him up to the gunroom. He took a step and the creak of the floor boards broke the silence. His heart skipped as he paused and glanced around, listening hard for any response. Nothing. He stepped gingerly, tiptoeing and grimacing with each squeaky protest. Soon enough he found the stairs and breathed in relief when they remained silent underfoot.
At the gunroom, the solid wood door was shut. Michael reached out a tingling hand and turned the handle. Locked. He gritted his teeth and tried again but the door remained steadfast; only a key would gain him admittance. He ran a hand through his hair, frowning. What to do? The key would be well hidden. It was a wonder he could walk into the room earlier, considering it led to the dungeon where Emma was held. But, that was part of Amynta’s plan. Give him access to the castle; give him a false sense of ease. She had tried to build his trust, but trust her he didn’t.
He closed his eyes and drew deep breaths through his nose. There was a solution; he just had to let it come to him. And it did, with a jolt of adrenalin Michael opened his eyes. Yes, it was worth a try at least.
Steadily he reached out and clutched the handle, fully enclosing his hand over it and feeling the cold grooves of the old metal. He closed his eyes, and focussed allowing his consciousness to open fully revealing that secret part of his mind where he accessed his gift.
A thousand images flashed and he tightened his hand, refusing to let go with the shock of emotions that spiralled with each image. His hand warmed, just as he knew it would, and he clutched tighter still. More images quickened as the door took him on a journey through the past, none of them lingering long enough for a thorough reading. Michael’s hand was hot now, but still he didn’t let go.
Just a little longer.
His breathing quickened and Michael forced it to slow as the metal beneath his hand began to hiss and steam, and then a loud pop sounded and a thud vibrated on the floor. Michael released his hand, panting. He glanced around the corridor and peered down the stairs. Nothing moved.
He wiped his hand on his coat and with the other, he pushed the door. It opened with a groan revealing the inner door handle lying on the floor. Michael’s arm shook with fatigue, and he wiped the sweat from his brow. His gift had taken its toll of energy now as it always did, as though he’d just run a marathon, and he yearned for a bed, or at the least, a glass of water. But food and rest would have to wait. He needed to focus on Emma.
He stepped inside the gunroom, keeping the conscious connection with his gift wide open. It would continue to drain his energy, but he needed it to help him find her. Inside, each cabinet was lit with a downlight. The guns and other weapons were clearly on display. Michael went to the northwest corner where access to the dungeon was supposed to be – according to the book.
> A cabinet with two crossbows and a long sword seemed to block the way. Another puzzle. Michael took a step closer, but his gifts indicated nothing special about the cabinet.
“Come on, show me the opening.”
He stepped back and a floorboard squeaked. He spun, suddenly panicked, but the room remained empty. He looked to the floor. A rug covered it, one he’d not paid any attention to when he visited the room earlier that day. The pattern of a cross embedded it. A cross with arms equal in length. Michael went to the centre, his toes now tingling with a ferocity that was almost unbearable. He stood in the very centre of the rug. Nothing. He jumped with all his force landing in the middle of the cross. He heard a muted click and then another, followed by a groan as the cabinet with the crossbows rumbled and turned to reveal the secret opening.
Michael stepped forward, a stone corridor led to darkness and cold air numbed his skin. He buttoned his coat and walked through the opening but a bolt of electricity shot through his spine and hands making him pause.
He turned. There was something else in the room he needed. Something his gift was trying to show him. He stepped back into the gunroom and the cabinet door swung shut with another groan. He eyed each cabinet and the weapons within them. Smaller weapons rested on the bottom shelf – daggers, darts and a sling. He stepped in front of each glass pane, and as he crept forward the tingling in his hands sharpened until the last pane, and when he looked down his heart lurched. There sat his stake and cross, right next to a short rapier.
He was supposed to take them; his gift was strong. But the cabinet was locked. Michael stepped back and took another deep breath. No more gentle tactics, he needed to hurry things along. He raised his leg and kicked. Glass smashed and he grabbed the two items, his hand tingled as it passed over the rapier. Michael picked it up and closed his fist over it. The blade warmed immediately. He returned to the centre of the rug. There was a pause long enough for Michael to hear a distant noise – somewhere out there in the castle. Was it a door opening? Or footsteps? Voices? He didn’t linger long enough to consider an answer. He stomped on the rug’s centre, the cabinet groaned open and in another heartbeat, he stepped through and strode down the dark tunnel.
Chapter 28
“Feed. It’s easy and it’s not like you haven’t done it before. I can smell the human blood in you though it’s been a while.”
I shut my eyes and wish for my two tormenters to disappear.
“Emma,” his gravelly voice is in my ear and I jump, gasping as silver wires burn my skin. “All you have to do is follow your instinct. It’s perfectly natural, come now, feed. I know you want to.”
I open my eyes and an arm as big as a tree limb is thrust at me. The blood pulses so magically under his tanned skin, and I smell it, the salty coppery scent of it makes my stomach lurch with hunger. My teeth are already long and sharp; my nails have grown into talons. I open my mouth and lean forward as much as the wires at my wrists and ankles allow.
“That’s it now, drink your fill.”
A noise echoes. My hearing is so acute I could detect the scurrying of rats – if there were any.
“Wait,” the other one says.
“What?”
“I hear something.”
The giant before me lowers his arm with a grimace and turns to face his brother, also a giant. Both of them like Hercules incarnate – waves of shoulder length hair, muscles the size of ripe melons. But one is a man with hot blood running through his veins, the other a vampire, and cold.
“Still hear it?” the man asks.
The vampire tilts his head. “No, but I should check.”
“You do that, I’ll continue playing with our new kitten.” He turns back to me while his vampire brother stalks out of the chamber. The noises, whatever they were, are gone.
Hercules, the human, raises his hand, he holds a short blade and runs it along his finger pricking the skin and watching as a fat drop of crimson rolls slowly down. He puts the finger in his mouth and sucks. “Mmmm, delicious.” He waves the finger in front of me. “I know you want it.”
I close my eyes again and summon an image of Jeanne, the horrified look on her face when Nathaniel forced her to the ground and sunk his teeth into her neck. A scorching fire in my forearm drives the image from my mind. Hercules cuts me with the knife. It is laced with silver, and burns even more than the silver bonds around my wrists and ankles as it pierces my skin, cutting deep. I open my mouth and scream, a warbling screech that echoes and bounces through the chamber, and out into the tunnels, around and around.
Hercules is grinning and bends to look at the wound he’s made. A trail of murky blood lines my translucent arm and he pulls a face. “Your blood is too dark; you need to feed. No more fooling around. Let’s do this. You’re a vampire for fuck’s sake.” He slashes his own forearm and pushes it into my face. I shake my head, but his blood drips onto my lips and my tongue, and the madness of it grips me, pulling me into an intoxicating frenzy.
My lips draw back, my teeth sharpen, and I give in.
“Emma!”
The arm is ripped away from me and I scream again in frustration. Hercules has moved and at the chamber’s entrance stands a man, tall, light hair, familiar. He enters the cell, a look of panic on his face. The scent of sunshine wafts to me and my senses return a little. “Michael,” I growl.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hercules yells. “Vincent!”
Michael throws his hands up as though in surrender. “Amynta sent me.”
Hercules looks at me, then back at Michael, his eyes squinting. “Why?”
Michael pales. “She wanted me to – offer my blood.”
Hercules thinks this through. His lumbering brain eventually grasps the concept and I feel his laughter before I hear it. It fills the chamber and bounces off the rock. “Very well. Come here. Give me your arm.”
Michael steps forward, his hands are shaking and another scent mingles with the sunshine and goodness that emanates from him as it always does – fear. I smell his fear, and my hunger stirs again.
Michael pushes the loose sleeve of his coat upwards, revealing his forearm and the thick veins that throb with his scent. Hercules grabs his wrist with one tanned paw and slices, deep with the knife. Michael’s blood drips in a steady stream and my eyes roll back with the lust of it. A growl escapes my throat. My body reacts, thrusting forward with a volition of its own. I want to drink him dry.
Michael steps closer, his lips parted, his eyes dancing left and right. I lean forward but cannot reach him with my tongue.
“What are you waiting for?” Hercules asks. “Put your arm up for her to drink.”
Michael nods and raises his arm, slowly. I lean in; the silver wire tightens its grip, but Michael’s arm is suddenly gone, in his hand is a steaming sword with heat in its thin metal and Michael has wielded it at the silver wire that binds my wrist.
“Get back!” Hercules snarls and reaches for Michael, but he ducks behind me and snaps the wire that ties my other wrist. My arms are free. I shake off the wire and reach for the giant, but he ducks out of my way and tries to circle round to get Michael from behind. Michael severs the bonds holding my right ankle and I take a step and lunge, but Hercules has moved again. He is quick for someone so big. Michael crawls and breaks the last wire. I am unbound and I leap to Hercules. With a growl I clutch to his chest, my talons pierce his flesh, like a feral cat. My mouth widens and I bite through the thick muscle of his neck and pierce the artery. Hot sweet blood pours into my mouth.
I gorge on the stuff until Hercules goes limp and I lower my feet to the floor, forced to hold him up. His blood trickles to nothing and I drop him with a thud and turn.
Michael stands in the corner, his eyes wide, his fear fills the cell overcoming even the smell of the blood and I snarl with craving for a hunt. I launch myself at him and he tries to run, but I grab him by his neck and smell the sweet scent of his goodness, and that familiar man-scent that drives me wild.
“Emma, it’s me!”
When I smile my lips stretch around sharp teeth. “I know who you are.” I put my nose to his neck and breathe him in. Once again, I want to suck the goodness from him.
“Please, don’t do this, Emma!” His fear subsides and another emotion replaces it.
My lips caress the soft skin of his neck and I can smell his blood, so close, so much sweeter than any other.
“Emma, think! Think of Jeanne, what you did to her. You cut her life short, her children have no mother.”
His scent changes again and a strange emotion flows from him. My hunger abates and with it the need to hunt. I step back. My sight reverts to normal, the talons on my fingers become nails once more and my skin returns to its usual pallor. I blink and look at Michael.
“Emma?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s all right, but we have to leave – now! Quickly, follow me.” The rapier clangs to the floor and Michael steps over the huge grey corpse that was Hercules and walks out of the chamber into the tunnel. I follow close behind, trying not to let the guilt overpower me and collapse me to a crushing ball of dry tears.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we run.
“We’re going to escape. There is a bolthole ahead, around the next corner.” Michael has his phone out in front of him like a torch.
We turn the corner and after another minute come to a thick wooden door, shut and padlocked. Michael tugs at it and swears. “Locked.”
I step forward and grasp the padlock with both hands, no silver. I tug and the lock shatters.
Michael looks at me. The blue light on his face reveals his wide eyes. I push the door and it opens with a creak. “After you.”
Michael steps inside and I shut the door behind us. We run. “How long?” I ask him.
“I’m not sure, a mile or two, maybe?” He is panting, his face drawn. He seems too fatigued, like something is sapping his energy.
“You’re sure there’s an exit?”
Michael’s heavy breaths echo loudly. “N—no.”