by Sophia North
Seeing her crest-fallen expression, he quickly added. "But I reckon Dante might have a book or two. Ask Alfred. He'll have plenty of time to help you look for them."
"He will not," Simone responded forcefully. "You don't have the numbers or resources to have him sit here with me wasting his time. And before you get indignant, hear me out. Set Alfred the task of finding my father. It takes something off your plate so you can focus on freeing Dante as fast as possible, and gives me a distraction as well. Perhaps I can help Alfred by telling him everything I know about the man. It's not much, but more than you have at the moment."
Vlad went quiet. He was thinking it over. Alfred's skills would certainly come in handy right about now. "I want you to promise me neither you nor Penelope will leave this house," he said sternly. "I'm not joking. If I agree to your proposal I am trusting you not to fuck with me."
Simone gulped. The Viking looked ferocious. It was a totally different side to him and one she did not want to mess with.
"I give you my word, Penny and I will not do anything to jeopardise your mission. There is nothing I want more than to have Dante back."
Vlad relaxed. "Very well. I believe we are on the same page. But I will be instructing Alfred to check in here regularly. Call me paranoid, but I have a feeling the dragon upstairs has a rather unpredictable streak. Best not tempt fate."
Chapter Thirty-Two
A WARM NIGHT breeze caressed Dante's chiseled cheek, slowly stirring him awake. It didn't take him long to realise he was outside. Freed from the enchanted tower.
How the hell had that happened?
This magical here one minute, somewhere completely fucking different the next, really needed to stop. It was playing hell with his grip on reality, which had already become more and more tenuous of late.
Dreading whatever new adventure the Fates had thrown at him, Dante decided to remain where he was - lying on rocky ground, awaiting his end by the coming dawn. Perhaps burning to a crisp was not such a horrible way to go? It beat being torn apart on a werewolf hunt.
"So, here we are at last, Dante Polidori," proclaimed a voice he knew only too well. "It's been a long time coming. Too long."
"Wilhalf!" he exclaimed, bolting upright. "Thank the Creator, I've finally found you. I was beginning to believe I never would."
The old vamp shifted his short, slightly bulky body to lean more heavily on his cane. "You and me both, my dear boy. The three sisters certainly took their time in spinning your arrival here. But, no matter, they work to their own schedule."
Curious to discover where exactly 'here' might be, Dante scanned his surroundings, secretly hoping wherever it was, he was either in, or at least near to London. Miraculous teleportation should at least have the decency to occasionally work in his favour.
No such luck in that department. Wherever the fuck he was, it was nowhere near London. The cry of a seagull overhead and a strong smell of the sea made that crystal clear.
Nestled on top of a cliff, the ruins of an old abbey rose majestically against a starry sky. Its great stone walls nothing but a skeletal outline of its former glory. It was fucking eerie.
"Wilhalf, how am I here? No, scratch that - what the fuck is going on? Don't get me wrong, I am grateful to have finally found you but..."
The old vampyre waved a dismissive hand and scoffed. "You may not be so thankful once you hear what I have to say. Come, follow me, we have much to discuss."
Left to digest his ambiguous words, Dante watched Wilhalf shuffle towards an entrance to the old ruined Abbey. As he walked, hunched over his knobbled oak cane, Dante could almost feel the centuries emanating from him.
Quick to do as he was bid, Dante flashed inside the crumbling relic before Wilhalf made it through the half tumbled down door. "What do we need to discuss?" he asked impatiently, eager to hear what the old vamp had to say.
An intense light glowed in Wilhalf's eyes, reflecting a deep intelligence. "Dante, what do you know about current events in Lowerton?"
Pleased by Wilhalf's direct approach, Dante wasted no time in laying it out for him. "Anton has murdered Rolfe and Marcion - with the help of Simmons. And he’s laid claim to the Empire," he gravely announced. "They have also amassed thousands of vampyres to fight on their side, all of them brainwashed to believe anything and everything Anton spews. It would appear their intention is to reveal our existence to humans and try to take over the world."
"Good, I can see you are well-versed in the basic facts," Wilhalf responded bluntly. "However, we are both aware you've merely scratched the surface. Tell me, young Polidori - what do you know about what is happening in Lowerton?"
Dante wasn't particularly enamored by Wilhalf's subtle challenge. "You mean, concerning the Haan prophecy," he begrudgingly answered.
"Ah-ha! There it is, the doubt I sense in you finally revealed," the old vamp returned, playing with his beard. "I wonder what else you hide? Perhaps, you should listen to your spirit’s cries."
"No more of your riddles, Wilhalf, " Dante growled in frustration. "Our world is in peril - and you want to do, what? Chant incantations and pray for a miracle? You sound almost as deranged as Anton."
Wilhalf leaned more heavily on his stick and turned away from Dante.
Immediately regretting his outburst, Dante softened his tone. "Many feared you were killed during Anton's attack. How did you manage to escape?"
"I left Lowerton long before Anton breached its defenses," Wilhalf muttered sullenly.
"So you did know in advance. I had a feeling you had."
"I've known about Anton for many months. Simmons, as well."
Stunned by what he viewed as a casual confession of betrayal, Dante's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Months! Why didn't you do something?" he demanded, trying his best not to sound hostile, but utterly failing. "You could have informed other trusted members of Lowerton's elite - you know how deeply loyal my father was to you. His obsession with the prophecy was born from his desire to assist you."
The anger built inside, coiling like liquid fire through his veins and infusing every part of him. "Your silence has cost the lives of many. And my father's name is about to be added to your casualty list," he lashed out bitterly.
Wilhalf was unapologetic. "And here's the infamous Polidori temper rearing its ugly head," he replied, pointing an accusing finger in Dante's direction. "You must control your anger, Dante, lest it be your undoing."
The air hung thick with tension until Wilhalf broke the impasse.
"I'm sorry about your father. I wish I could have protected him. I warned him to be careful in his pursuit of proof about the prophecy. But he was always too headstrong and disregarded the danger."
"And for that heinous crime, and in service to you - no less - he will be left to die at Anton's hand? Wilhalf…"
"Anton knows not what he does," Wilhalf interrupted forcefully. "Haan has corrupted him by bestowing many of the dark arts upon his young fledgling mind."
Dante laughed. Dark arts, indeed. "Anton is simply power hungry - a condition sourced not from words of magic but rather, a vice many are drawn to seek," he angrily replied. "He's always been ambitious, and once an Elder, it all went to his head. And Simmons, the Iscariot of his following, has whispered in his ear the entire way. They will both pay for what they've done. I have no interest in anything beyond vengeance.”
"Well then Doubting Thomas, if there is nothing to my words, then who's voice, pray tell, doth speak in your ear?"
If Dante had warm blood, it would have just run cold. Images came rushing back to him, the ones he’d kept locked away because they didn't fit into his strict definition of what rated as relevant. The voice from the blue fire in his vision, Anton's strange allusions and his weird conversation with so-called ‘Gods’…these incidents couldn't be what Wilhalf alluded to, could they?
And yet, Dante knew something shadowy lurked within him, waiting for its opportunity to speak - but thus far he'd refused to listen.
W
ilhalf sensed an opening with the reluctant younger vamp. "I was there five hundred years ago, the one chosen to hold the truth for those who would follow. You have no idea what Haan is capable of - the powers he can command and bend to his will. And whether you want to accept it or not, he has returned, only in a different form."
"By what fucked-up magic is a centuries dead vampyre able to return?"
Wilhalf sighed. This one really was a hard case. "I'm sure you've heard stories about Haan conversing with the ancients? Well, they are true, I witnessed it myself."
"No more stories, Wilhalf," Dante argued, feeling their conversation was going nowhere other than in circles. "We must find shelter from the dawn and get a plan in place for when we awaken. I have been away from London for far too long, and need to return immediately after the sun sets tonight."
The old vamp shook his head in disagreement. "We have time enough yet, soon the light will come. Dante, you must listen to what I have to say. I will not be here when you rise - and if you do not understand what you truly battle, Haan will win."
If he harboured any hope of reaching a point, Dante decided it was in his best interest to let Wilhalf have his say. "Get on with it then."
"As you're aware, at his execution Haan vowed to return if, after five hundred years, vampyres did not rule the earth. But what you and the rest of the Vampyre world don’t understand is there's more to the prophecy than has been shared. And I know what Haan wants next."
"What?" Dante asked curtly, but deep down his instincts screamed he was not going to like Wilhalf’s answer.
"You."
"Me?" Dante said in surprise. "Wilhalf, this is crazy…"
From inside his cloak Wilhalf pulled out an ancient looking parchment, yellowed by time. "Read this," he said. "The writing is still legible."
Dante scanned the document, grimacing at certain passages. "Reads like the mad ramblings of a drunken poet," he commented after finishing it.
"I admit, it is not easy to understand at first glance," Wilhalf agreed. "But read out loud the final three lines."
Reluctantly, Dante did as he was asked.
"Two Underlings I'll possess,
Princes who will roam and rule,
wherever my will directs."
"Haan wrote this in his cell prior to his execution," Wilhalf explained. "His last request was for quill and paper. Only one other vampyre is aware of this document's existence. It is from Haan's papers, held in the depths of the Great Archives, hidden from all but those adept to find it."
"But what does this have to do with me?" Dante pressed.
"Anton is the first Underling he's seduced and you will be the second."
"The second Underling?"
"Yes, your addition to his side is now the centre of his attention. It is only a matter of time before he makes his last move and then you will become his to command."
"You make my involvement sound inevitable."
"Inevitable, fated - there are so many ways to describe it. All you need to know is how to fight him. He feeds on weakness. Haan preyed on Anton's weakness for power. It is how he seduced him. With you…"
"Yes, and with me," Dante prompted irritably.
"He targets your anger. This is your weakness, Dante."
Dante turned away but Wilhalf wouldn't be silenced. "Every setback you suffer, each loss your heart endures, the angrier he envisages you becoming," the old vampyre continued. "Zara's death, your father's disappearance, your ongoing frustration with the Elders…Haan's orchestrated it all."
"Then he's a fool, for my anger will only be directed at him. And his fucked-up little pet project, Anton," Dante said vehemently.
Wilhalf sighed. "Haan is no fool. He will do whatever it takes to ultimately turn your anger against everything you once believed. You must not allow this to happen."
"Then what can I do to stop him? If my submission is being led by fate's will and not my own, we're fucked."
"Well, as luck would have it, Fortuna is a fickle lass with a tendency to switch sides, dependent on what's being offered to balance the scales."
Dante's head was starting to pound. "Speak plainly, Wilhalf. Look, the sky brightens - dawn cannot be far off."
"One's Will cannot be taken, it must be given. This loophole is your only salvation."
Finally, something Dante could work with. "So it all boils down to me saying 'No'. Jesus, the way you were going on and on about it, I thought it'd be more complex than that," Dante boasted.
Wilhalf chuckled. "Youth! Oh, to be naive again. How I miss the simplicity."
Dante didn't appreciate his misplaced patriarchal tone. "Very well, wise one. Tell me where I am wrong?" he said through gritted teeth.
Wilhalf took his time answering in order to teach the younger vamp a lesson about respecting his elders. Dante Polidori's piss and vinegar attitude would play right into Haan's plans if he didn't learn to control his emotions.
"Haan's corruption of you will not be straightforward. He will twist whatever he needs in order to make you believe your resistance is strong, that you are in control. When in truth you will have been brought another step closer to becoming his Underling."
"Right. So, if he is able to manipulate me into believing I am resisting him, how exactly will this 'loophole' work regarding my Will? Sounds like I won't have a fucking clue what is true or not." Dante ran a hand through his hair, exasperated by the impossibility of it all.
Wilhalf looked to the skyline, as if searching for the answer there. And in a sense he was, for he stared at the horizon with great intensity. Then it happened. The flicker of light he had been waiting for came into view as the morning star, Venus rose.
Smiling in greeting, Wilhalf turned back towards Dante. It wouldn't be long now. Time to set the stage properly. "There is only one way to ensure truth over illusion. You must kill Haan."
Dante was in full agreement. "I like where you are going with this, but how?"
"Although Haan has returned, he is but spirit still and can only become a physical entity by feeding off the negative emotions of vampyres. Anton is his main source of energy and if he seduces you, then he will manage to come through to the physical realm. He will be vampyre again, but more powerful than ever. He must die before this happens."
"So, I am suppose to either kill him in spirit form, or become his Underling and hope someone else does the deed for me when he returns physically? Forgive me, but neither options seem particularly plausible," Dante declared emphatically.
"Ah, there it is again, youthful simplicity. You do amuse me, Young Polidori,
Wilhalf chortled. "There is a third option but it requires a show of strength on your part. Haan will gain energy from your seduction, thus making him vulnerable as his spirit resurrects into the physical plane. But! If you lose your temper and kill Anton then Haan will turn back into spirit and become invulnerable once again. You must kill Haan during his transformation, only then will his cursed prophecy be foiled."
"Okay - but how? Strikes me this is the type of fucker who won't be eradicated easily."
"Fire," Wilhalf replied. "When he was executed he was burnt at the stake but somehow his spirit fled the flames and escaped its final death. Trap him in the physical plane and the flames will finish him off for good this time."
"Or until he finds another way to return."
"No," Wilhalf murmured softly. "I don't believe he will ever be able to come back."
A strange noise caught Dante's attention. Something was outside. He could hear the heavy clomp, clomp sound of feet on grass. Picking up several new sounds, he realised there was more than one creature approaching.
He glanced at Wilhalf. "Werewolves?" he whispered.
Wilhalf waved at him to come along and the two moved quietly outside. In the distance, figures slowly advanced on the abbey.
"Ah, good. They're here," Wilhalf chuckled.
They were not werewolves at all - they were fae folk. Dante looked at Wilhalf in surprise.
"Go on inside everyone," directed Wilhalf at the arriving numbers. "Magnus, you know what needs to be done. Dante and I will be ready shortly. I'll signal when it is time to begin."
The old vampyre turned to Dante, and the light in his eyes seemed to flicker for an instant. "I am very old, Dante. Very tired. I should have left this world long ago, but I stayed to right my wrongs."
Alarmed by the old vamp's sudden melancholy, and strangely phrased declaration, Dante reached out. "We could not do without you, Wilhalf. Everyone values your experience and knowledge – you have steered our world for many centuries…"
"More lifetimes than I can count...but age is no guarantee of wisdom," Wilhalf replied. "Thankfully, there is wisdom older than mine at hand to help us. Magnus, we're ready!"
The ancient vamp proceeded to bang his staff onto the ground.
In reply, the ground rumbled beneath Dante's feet. "Wilhalf...what's happening?"
"Destiny, dear boy. May the Creator save you, and me, for what I am about to do..."
A great crack in the earth's surface gaped open and swallowed Dante whole.
Chapter Thirty-Three
SIMONE GNAWED ON her fingernail, a bad habit she'd developed during her years at Godolphin's when she was feeling particularly under pressure. She'd barely slept since Dante went missing and the cracks were beginning to show.
The sound of a man clearing his throat brought Simone abruptly back to the present.
"Hard habit to break when confronted by such troubling times," Horatio said from the library door. "When I start chewing on my pen, my colleagues know it's wise to leave me well enough alone."
Simone guiltily tucked her hand away. "Thank you for coming, Horatio," she greeted him warmly.
"Of course I've come. Did I not promise I would? And, see here," he said, holding up a folder. "These are the test results we spoke of the other night. I would have come sooner...but after everything that happened the night of the Meet, thought it best to await your summons."