The Well of Many Worlds

by Luke Metcalf

  “Yes, I’ve got it!” Bethany’s eyes widened with excitement. “He probably bought some kind of evil artifact, or cursed item or something important in the Satanic Church and didn’t realize it, maybe that desk is some kind of satanic artifact!”

  “I guess that’s possible,” Emily said doubtfully.

  “Yeah.” Bethany lowered her voice as though confiding a dark secret. “Or maybe they wanted the desk because of what was carved in it. Maybe Vadas Asger is the name of some kind of satanic spell or ritual, or maybe it’s a code or password, or maybe it’s the name of someone who they’re going to sacrifice!”

  “Yeah, that’s kinda where I was going with that,” Emily said. “But not necessarily all the satanic sacrificing stuff. But maybe it’s a code or a place.”

  “I bet it is.” Bethany looked at each one of them in turn. “We should try and find out who these scumbags are.”

  After school Emily went by her father’s store. Her mom was selling all the existing stock, having no wish to continue running the store herself. Today was the big sale and Emily was surprised at how large the turnout was. Watching the customers picking through what was left of her father’s possessions, she became lost in memories when she spotted something that made her blood run cold. Three men had entered the store. As the first one strolled past her he turned to look in her direction, and she saw the scar on his face and his missing right ear. Her heart pounded in her ears and she struggled to control her breathing. It was the man from the police photo – Cady Sunner.

  The three men wandered through the store, apparently examining every piece, one by one. Emily forced herself to walk slowly to the office where her mother was sifting through paperwork, looking distracted.

  “Mom,” she said, “call the police. Now.”

  “What? Why on earth would I do that?” her mother asked, distractedly.

  “Because one of those men out there is that Cady Sunner guy. Detective Scannel showed me his picture at the police station… Can you please just call?”

  “Hand me the phone,” her mother said, shuffling through a stack of receipts.

  As Emily waited, keeping her eye on the floor outside, her mother called the police, but she was put on hold and by the time she got through, the three men had left.

  Without saying a word to her mother, Emily walked out after them but they had already disappeared. Not wanting to go back in she decided to go home. Arriving at the house she was surprised to find the front door was unlocked. She assumed her mother had just forgotten to lock it. She may have been doing a good job of pretending her husband’s death hadn’t affected her, but it must have done. She opened the door and poked her head in cautiously. Everything seemed quiet and undisturbed. Closing the door behind her, she was walking toward the stairs when something caught her eye and made her heart miss several beats. The living room had been ransacked. Furniture had been overturned, upholstery slashed and lamps and pictures lay smashed on the floor.

  Was the robber still in the house? As she turned back to the door a deep, threatening voice, just a few inches away, made her jump out of her skin. She let out an involuntary scream.

  “Well, look what we have here.”

  A tall, heavily built man wearing a black ski mask was standing in the doorway leading to the dining room. She ran to the front door, but with surprising agility he jumped in front of her, blocking her path.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled as another man, similarly dressed in black, appeared.

  “Check outside and see if the mother’s coming,” the first one ordered.

  Emily spun on her heels and ran upstairs, three steps at a time, a racehorse out of the starting gate, her heart thundering in her ears. One of the men sprang after her. As she turned onto the landing, she could sense him right behind her, so close she imagined she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. She felt a scream rising in her throat then heard a crash behind her. Glancing back she saw that her pursuer had hurtled sideways, head first into the wall, smashing a hole right through it.

  The man cursed and stumbled as he tried to right himself, momentarily stunned. His companion charged past him but Emily was already slamming and locking her bedroom door. At the first kick from the man’s boot Emily shrieked as the wood began to splinter and the metal lock buckled, a screw flying out and bouncing across the floor.

  It would only be a matter of seconds before he came crashing in.

  “Out the window, Emily,” whispered a voice from behind her right ear. She shrieked again and spun around, but there was nobody there. Another violent kick to the door sent her running to the window. Throwing it open, she climbed out onto the ledge and jumped into the branches of the oak tree outside as the door exploded open behind her. The smaller twigs whipped her face as she plummeted through them. She grabbed onto a long branch and held fast. It swung up and down beneath her weight, smacking her head on a large knot, but didn’t break.

  Looking back she saw the man climbing through the window after her. What was she supposed to do from here? Drop to the ground and run? For a few vital moments she froze, searching for the quickest way down. Then, as the man reached out to grab her it was as if an invisible force pushed him from behind. Losing his balance he plunged, yelling as he went, toward the ground, landing hard. The other man appeared at the window. Seeing his companion lying below on the ground, he disappeared back into the house.

  The man on the ground attempted to get to his feet, moaning in pain as the other man rushed out of the house to support him. The two of them hobbled through the back garden and out of sight. Emily leaned her forehead against the tree trunk and took in several deep breaths before dialing 911.

  Once she was sure they had gone she climbed shakily down, just as two police cars drew up, their red and white lights flashing silently.

  Later, once the police had finished with their questioning and her mother was starting to clear up the mess the men had left, Emily slipped into the garage to see if the desk was still there. It was in the same place she had left it. She slumped down on the floor, leaning against it as she tried to put her thoughts into some sort of order. She thought about the strange, devilish little voice that had whispered to her to climb out the window. Was it her imagination? Some kind of audio hallucination? She could also have sworn that something had physically pushed the man out the window…

  After a few minutes she went back into the house to help her mother clean up, not mentioning anything about the desk. They worked together in silence for several hours. Afterwards they had a quiet dinner and then Emily went upstairs to bed, emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted. She felt sure that Cady Sunner, and possibly his boss, were linked to the men in balaclavas and that they had murdered her father. It was possible that she and her mother would be next so it was a race against time. She was going to have to do everything she could to help bring them to justice.

  Emily collapsed into bed and again plunged into the same vivid dream she’d had the other night. She found herself back in the large four-poster bed in the castle staring up at the handsome young man. She was entranced by how gorgeous he was, her eyes lingered for a moment on his chiseled abs and extraordinarily athletic physique, and then she looked into his eyes. Her heart pounded, as his glittering emerald eyes again mesmerized her.

  He was close enough that she would be able to reach out and run her finger tips around the perfect angles of his chin, cheekbones and nose, if only she could move. But she couldn’t move and it was because of those eyes, their stare had penetrated deep inside her, sending her into a trance, filling her with overpowering desires and a sense of excitement so intense she could not even lift a finger under her own volition.

  Back in her bedroom Emily was kicking off her sheets and moaning in her sleep. Her body was wet with sweat.

  When she looked into his eyes it was as though everything else in the universe disappeared and the only thing she wanted, or had ever wanted, was him.


  The young man opened his mouth and spoke to her but his voice sounded distant and she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  “What?” she shouted. Her own voice sounded as though she were yelling in a windstorm.

  The young man spoke again but she still couldn’t hear him. Emily wanted to scream with frustration she wanted so badly to hear what he was saying to her. He stopped speaking and stared at her. She could see that look of carnal hunger smoldering in his stare that sent a thrill of danger through her whole body. She saw the lightning flashing outside, as she knew it would, and heard the thunder crack and roll. The windows blew open again, hurling the vase to the floor. He moved closer and his eyes changed, blazing with a deadly, inhuman, crimson glow, flooding her body with a delicious wave of both fear and desire. She parted her lips. A moment later she found herself falling, falling, falling into darkness.

  Four

  Versailles, France, July 1789

  As the two of them strolled toward the entrance of the Royal Opera a more striking pair of gentlemen could not be found in all of France. Every lady whose wandering eyes fell upon them must have wondered who these two handsome, wealthy young men with the pale skin and glittering eyes might be. The Royal Opera was on the other side of the palace, far from the rooms where Mitchell had caused such a commotion on the horse and it seemed as though everything was proceeding as usual as they joined the crowd filing in through the grand doors. Sylvain stared about him, high on the richness of light, color, sound and movement that his newly acquired senses now revealed to him.

  “The night is beautiful, is it not?” he murmured in wonder.

  “Yes,” whispered Mitchell, “when you are first turned it is as though you are seeing everything for the first time; so vivid, the colors so rich, the clarity, seeing the undercurrent of life in all things.”

  “I have never seen colors… life itself, appear so rich and vivid. What opera is being performed?”

  “It is a new one by Mozart called Don Giovanni.”

  With the hypnotic power of his eyes alone, Mitchell procured them one of the finest boxes in the house. As they waited for the opera to begin Mitchell talked in a low voice, barely moving his lips for fear of being overheard by one of the many people admiring them from below. “I have been informed that a wealthy banker is involved with the Priests of Mezzor and is helping to finance the coming revolution. When I read the Comtesse LeDuijou’s thoughts I saw that he would be attending the opera tonight. I need to extract information from him.”

  “I know there is an uprising coming, but surely it is the people’s revolution.” Sylvain peered about nervously.

  Mitchell shook his head. “I am not defending the monarchy. I have no sympathies for them; they have ruthlessly taxed the people of this great nation into crushing poverty.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “You are still very naïve, my friend. When a violent revolution occurs and the power structure has been removed, a void is left that must be filled. Those who step in to fill it will have been involved from the very beginning and are well financed; always by the same financiers as the people they just removed from power. The new rulers and the old rulers are nothing more than puppets, controlled by the same puppet-masters who always lurk in the shadows.”

  As they waited for the opera to begin Sylvain told Mitchell about how he had been born into poverty in New Orleans. His parents had died when he was still young, forcing him to grow up as a servant. As soon as he was old enough he stowed away on a ship to the Old World. Hearing the story, Mitchell could understand why the experience of finding himself deep within the social circles of the wealthy and powerful of Paris was thrilling for Sylvain.

  “Use your new powers,” Mitchell said, “and try scanning the minds of some of these people.”

  Both men concentrated their powers onto mind reading and it wasn’t long before Mitchell found what he was looking for in a box opposite theirs. He pointed him out to Sylvain.

  “Ah yes,” he murmured, “he knows the plan.”

  “What?” asked Sylvain.

  “They are plotting a reign of terror, using a new execution device, the guillotine. They intend to chop off the heads of everyone who opposes them and create a mass slaughter.”

  He pointed to the middle-aged couple seated in the opposite box. “Try to read their minds. See the full horror of their crimes.”

  “From here?”

  “Yes. You can do it.”

  After a few minutes of intense concentration, Sylvain shook his head in shock. “That is vile. Absolutely disgraceful!” A grin cracked through his expression of outrage. “This is entirely too much fun!”

  “Wait until after the show,” Mitchell said. “They will be ideal prey for your first hunt.”

  Sylvain was so enthralled by the splendor and emotional power of the opera that he had almost forgotten their planned hunting expedition by the time the curtain came down.

  “Let’s go and find them,” Mitchell said as they left the box and strolled through the main lobby. They both spotted their prey simultaneously. The man was in his fifties, dressed in so much tight-fitting finery that he could hardly walk, but still managing to carry himself as if convinced of his own superiority as he pushed his way rudely through the crowd. He was short and portly, with an enormous handlebar mustache. He wore a pair of round spectacles and blinked continuously as he looked at everyone with an air of condescension. His wife was a wiry woman about ten years younger, dressed with equal finery and with a glazed, cold expression in her eyes. She might have been considered attractive once, but the cruel set of her mouth made it unlikely that anyone would approach her now.

  The two vampires quickened their pace to catch up with the couple just as they stepped out of the opera house into the night.

  “Excuse me, Monsieur Sangsue, might I have a word?” Mitchell called out.

  The man turned, frowning at the impudence of the young stranger addressing him.

  “Hmm? What is it? Do I know you, sir?”

  Sylvain made eye contact with his wife and smiled without showing his teeth. At first she looked away haughtily, but she was unable to resist looking back after a few moments. Sylvain did not avert his stare and soon the lady’s eyes were locked onto his and she was in a partial trance. She looked as though she had been bewitched, as if some delicious, forbidden poison had entered her system, promising both ecstasy and death.

  “No, sir,” said Mitchell. “We have never had the pleasure of meeting. I am Lord Gilmour. My partner and I have some business with your bank that I would very much like to discuss in private.”

  At the mention of business the banker’s face brightened. Mitchell had found the information about Lord Gilmour, a wealthy man who was due to arrive in Paris, in Sangsue’s mind. Lord Gilmour had arranged some sizeable deposits with Sangsue’s bank. Mitchell also knew that Sangsue had not yet laid eyes on the young lord and had no idea what he looked like.

  “Ah! Lord Gilmour!” The banker beamed, glowing pink with greed. “Yes, of course. I have made all the arrangements. Come around to the bank first thing tomorrow, if you like. I will bring the papers, and we will settle everything.”

  “It is really a stroke of good fortune that I found you here,” Mitchell continued as if the other man had not spoken. “I have just been informed of a family emergency and will have to depart very early. I wonder if we could settle everything this evening.”

  “Oh.” The banker was obviously, taken aback. “I am sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, all the paperwork is at my home.”

  “Would it be too great an imposition to go there now?” Mitchell asked.

  “Well…” Sangsue hesitated. “Certainly,” he said after a moment, his greed overruling his good judgment. “You are welcome to ride there with us in our carriage.”

  “That is very kind of you, sir. We would be delighted. Allow me to introduce my partner, Lord Sylvain DeLune.”

  The banker bowed as low as hi
s large waistline and tight waistcoat would allow. “A pleasure, sir.”

  “Sir,” replied Sylvain, raising his handkerchief to his mouth to hide the sharp points of his canines.

  They followed the couple to their carriage. The footman opened the door, and the four of them climbed into the cushioned velvet interior. During the ride into Paris Mitchell and Sangsue fell into an impassioned discussion about economics, while Sylvain continued staring into the wife’s eyes, pulling her deeper and deeper into a hypnotic state. Mitchell watched his new friend’s progress out of the corner of his eye.

  The banker’s estate was a grand affair, the house surrounded by carefully manicured lawns and formal gardens lit by flaming torches; Sylvain was momentarily taken aback by its splendor. The couple led them inside to a large, formal drawing room. Mitchell requested privacy and the banker sent his servants away.

  “Excuse me for a moment while I fetch the paperwork,” Sangsue said, as he scurried off to retrieve the documents. Sylvain focused all his attention on the lady, sitting close to her as she glanced around self-consciously, unsure of what it was Sylvain was trying to do.

  “Look deep into my eyes,” he whispered and her face went blank as their eyes remained locked, their mouths just inches apart. “You will do as I command.”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Unbelievable. This is such fun!” Sylvain clapped his hands with excitement before leaning forward to murmur something in her ear.

  The banker returned with an armful of documents and three crystal glasses full of brandy. “Well, then, here we are.” He placed the papers on a table, and his wife stood up and approached him, taking a glass from his hand, and hurling the drink into his face.

  “What in the hell?” he shouted, rubbing the liquid from his eyes.