The Satanic Brides of Dracula

by Lucas Thorn

  The thrill warmed his bowels as her voice melted inside his ears and he found himself smiling. Dreamy smile.

  “Lady,” he breathed. Scrambled to his knees and bowed, touching head to the ground. Knew he was grovelling, but couldn’t stop himself.

  How much of that was him, he wondered.

  “Where are we, Franz?”

  “A mile or two outside a place called Hallstatt.” He sighed. “It seems out of our way. And these stupid creatures keep getting stuck in ditches. The mountain trails are terrible this time of year. I’m telling you, it’s barely a trail. It’s too wet. I’ve worked as hard as I can, but it’s not easy, Lady. It’s not easy. I told him we should have taken the boat. It would have been easier.”

  “We don’t like to cross the water, Franz,” Hailwic said. She uncoiled from her coffin and rose into the air. “Where’s Dimiti?”

  Franz shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “He made Dimiti leave,” Senka said. “Can I bite him, Hailwic? Vasilja won’t let me.”

  “She probably has a good reason.” Pause. “Maybe you can find Dimiti?”

  “I think he went that way,” Vasilja offered. Pointed toward a line of trees. “He shouldn’t be far.”

  “Alright,” Senka said. Gave Franz a spiteful look which made him shuffle a step back. Then floated toward the trees, swinging her mace absently at the wind.

  “Salt mines,” Vasilja said when Senka was out of view. “Isn’t that all this place was good for? I’m sure that’s what Dimiti said.”

  “I believe so,” Hailwic said. She drifted upward so she could see above the trees. Grey mountains sloped like chilled razors on either side. Cutting clouds with sharp points. Moonlight bathed ice-capped peaks blue where it could.

  Shivering beams spearing between racing clouds dragged on alpine winds.

  Vasilja looked up. Crossed her arms across her chest. “Are you sure we can’t go to Munich? I would very much like to go to Munich.”

  Hailwic shook her head. “No. I’ve decided to go via Zurich instead. I think they’ll be on the roads to Munich.”

  “I don’t think Senka will like Zurich. I know I don’t, and I’ve never even been.”

  “This stopped being a holiday as soon as a vampire hunter tried to kill her in our hotel.”

  Franz looked up. “Vampire hunter?”

  “Hush, Franz. Please don’t interrupt when we’re talking. Unless you know something about vampire hunters?”

  “Crazy old folk, mostly,” he said. “Older than me. Older than Dimiti. One tried to join our society last year. I sent him packing. I won’t tolerate that kind of nonsense. Folklore makes my head hurt. Most of it’s just old wives’ tales, isn’t it?”

  “You’re a voice of reason in an insane world,” Vasilja said. Patted his cheek. “Now, do be useful and make sure the wagons are ready for Dimiti.”

  He nodded.

  Didn’t want to do it.

  But how could he refuse?

  Vasilja prodded the trail with her toe. “I think he’s right about the road, Hailwic. It’s terrible. Look at this. We should write a letter to the Prince. The state of it. Look. How is anyone supposed to travel here?”

  “No one travels this way,” Hailwic said. “That’s why we chose it.”

  “It’ll take forever to reach Paris, though. At this rate, Franz will die of old age before we get across the lake.”

  “He doesn’t have to.”

  Vasilja shot her an indignant look. “Well, I’m not letting him have any of my blood, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I like Dimiti. I don’t like Franz. Look at him. He looks like a stoat. You know what a stoat is, don’t you? The man is positively repugnant. I only kept him around because you want him to introduce you to Luciferians. And because Senka doesn’t like him, I suppose. That does amuse me.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being hard on her?”

  “No, Hailwic. No, I don’t. Both of you are being very unreasonable. It’s bad enough that she has you following something she saw in a dream. A dream! But now you’re seeing vampire hunters in every shadow and have us trudging through the mountains. We’re not goats, Hailwic. Our wagons are not pulled by goats.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you? I hope so. Because I’ve had quite enough of mud, thank you.”

  Hailwic’s laughter rang through the trees. “Vasilja, you were born in a place just like this. Can’t you remember?”

  “I remember very well.” Icy cold, the vampire turned away and drifted back toward her coffin. “And this intolerable mud was just one of the reasons I left.”

  “I can hear music.”

  “Can you? Really, Hailwic? Do you mean it? You’re not just teasing me now, are you? It’s not that horrible peasant rubbish, is it? I can’t stand that. It’s like listening to cats fight.”

  “No.” Frown. “It sounds like a flute.”

  “I must hear it.” She slammed her coffin shut and whirled as Dimiti and Senka returned to the wagons. Pointed at him. “Dimiti! There’s a flute in this grubby excuse for a town up ahead. I wish to hear it.”

  “Yes, Lady.” He touched his cap and moved quickly to the wagon. Called; “Move them up, Franz!”

  “I’m moving,” Franz growled back. “I’m moving. About all that is moving, of course.”

  With the oxen moving, and the chance for music, Vasilja brightened quickly. Joined Senka on the wagon with Dimiti and linked her arm with the younger vampire.

  Hailwic kept to the rear.

  She tucked a revolver into her belt and kept her gaze moving across the dark shadows which crawled through mountains and trees.

  “The flute is an amazing instrument, Senka,” Vasilja said. “It has a voice like no other. Depending on who is playing it, of course. I do hope this one is decent. If they’re not, I won’t care what Hailwic says. I’ll bite them.”

  “Will we be able to bite someone tonight, do you think?”

  “We’ll see when we get into town.” Giggle. “But I hope so. I think so.”

  Trees grew across the trail, scraping the top of the wagons as they went underneath.

  Senka let out a girlish squeal as leaves prickled her skin. Pine needles soon covered the wagons.

  Only Vasilja didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t try plucking needles from her dress.

  Had instead closed her eyes and was smiling.

  “Oh, Senka. Good news,” she said. “Best of news, in fact. Listen. Can you hear? The flute is more than decent. It’s beautiful.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The town was on a near-vertical slope. Little houses crushed together, battered and bruised by weather, and looking across the placid belly of a large lake. Mountains looming above. Mist clinging to the street.

  Snow had been and gone, leaving patches of white. Ice hung like fangs from gutters.

  A little orange hall squatted in the middle of the town. Candles in the windows called the vampires closer. Promising music and the warm rush of blood.

  As Franz led the wagons into town, he looked over his shoulder.

  Called; “It is good to see civilization again, isn’t it? Even if it is dreadfully primitive.”

  “Stop!” Hailwic’s voice rang clear in the frigid night.

  Dimiti pulled hard on the reins while Franz looked back in confusion before hurrying to obey.

  “What is it, Hailwic?” Vasilja asked, impatience edging her voice. “Listen to the music. I want to go inside.”

  “And I want to bite,” Senka said.

  “Hush.”

  The blonde vampire stood tall on her wagon. Had dropped the reins and her head was crooked to the wind.

  Slowly drew the revolver and sniffed the air.

  Inhaled deep.

  “Dimiti?” Her voice was colder than the lake. “Get your guns.”

  The first shot blasted a hole in the wood near Senka’s hand. She let out a yelp and snatched her hand away from the splintered wood.

&n
bsp; Second shot should have put a hole in her chest, but Dimiti flung himself at her and they rolled off the wagon and into the mud. He let out a grunt of pain. Hers was irritation and surprise as she pushed him off.

  Vasilja was already moving, flying toward one of the houses, arms outstretched. Mad cackle bubbling across her lips. Bullets smashed through the glass windows from within, tunnelling air in search of the vampire’s flesh, but she was a blur.

  She hit a window on the upper floor like a comet. Glass and shrapnel exploded inward.

  Hailwic dropped to the ground, eyes searching for Senka.

  Franz ducked behind his wagon and scrambled to get under it.

  His ox took three bullets and dropped, making the wagon creak and shake.

  “Oh, Lord God,” the little man moaned. “What have I done? I didn’t mean it, Lord. I didn’t. Please save me. I don’t want to die. I can repent. I swear to you. I can.”

  Someone’s voice shouted; “Now! Do it now!”

  And the hall exploded.

  A massive fireball ripped it apart as the bomb inside was triggered. Splinters of wood speared in all directions, shredding anything in their path.

  Fire whooshed outward, chewing into houses immediately at hand. Then flared outward with frightening speed. Each flame flashing across the divide between structures and licking hungrily at wood. In a world chilled by the dead of Winter, heat had been starved and made up for it now with inferno.

  Vasilja flew down the stairs, white dress trailing behind. Curled around a corner and twirled her torso to avoid a bullet to her lung. Then dove onto the gunman with a shriek. One hand grabbed his shoulder.

  The other his throat.

  And, with manic joy, she tore him open.

  Adored the scream, its musical cry shrill in her ears.

  Relished the crack of spine and bursting ribs. A ladder of sharp sound drowned in wet flesh.

  Mouth lunging for the wound, she gulped her first taste of gushing blood before flinging him away as a younger man darted into the room, firing blindly. A bullet shot past her face and she was on him.

  Both hands wrapped around his head, she lifted him off his feet before crushing skull against the wall.

  The vampire dropped her kill and sped toward the front door, licking fingers clean as she went.

  It had been kicked open and two men were running for the trees.

  “Don’t go,” Vasilja called. Reached her hand to them, feeling demonic power rise inside. Brimstone and ozone. Acrid stink. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to come back.”

  They lurched to a halt as one, staggering as their minds were overcome.

  Turned, eyes bulging.

  Guns quivering in fists. The raging battle against her revealed in a flood of emotions which played across their faces.

  Clean faces, she thought. Finely shaved. Meticulous hair.

  Gentlemen.

  Vasilja liked gentlemen.

  She smiled at them. Beckoned with her finger. “Come back to me.”

  They began the slow shuffle back.

  One step after the other.

  Low groans which faded away as they drew closer. Expressions shifting from horror to adoration as they stared at her, minds distantly aware of the venom in her heart. Unable to resist her Call, they stumbled. Shoulders drooped.

  Mouths open.

  Lusts inflaming their souls.

  When they were almost to the door, she giggled.

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “I don’t want both of you. I only need one.”

  The two men gulped.

  Looked at each other.

  Hesitated for just a second.

  Then aimed revolvers and started firing. Screaming rage and violent hunger. Each pull of the trigger more desperate than the last.

  Bullets exploded into flesh, fired one after the other until a rhythm of clicks announced all ammunition spent.

  Both men, riddled with holes, dropped to their knees.

  Stared mute at each other.

  Blood flowing fast.

  Drooling from mouths as lungs tried to expel crimson flood.

  And Vasilja laughed. A long mocking roll which broke the spell.

  One lifted his arm, aimed the revolver.

  Cocked hammer.

  Pulled trigger.

  Click.

  Vasilja crouched down next to him.

  Purred into the crook of his neck as her fangs touched his skin. “Darling,” she whispered, breath hot against his skin. “I bet you taste delicious.”

  Hailwic kicked into a door, snarl of rage twisting her face. Fury boiled her blood and she used her sword on the first man she found. Split him from shoulder to hip. Ripped sword free and plunged deeper into the house. Three men fumbled to reload their rifles.

  One swivelled from the waist, pumping his weapon fast.

  Bullet smooth into chamber.

  Cocked.

  Aimed at her chest.

  Her revolver spat fire and death, obliterating his head and sending fragments of skull and brain splashing across the wall.

  The remaining two, unable to load in time, dropped guns and leapt away. The first took her sword in the back and fell across the couch, impaled and squealing. Blood hissed from his back in warm jets.

  The second changed his mind and whipped around. Thrust an arm out at her. Hand filled with a large silver crucifix. “Back! Back, you foul-”

  Hailwic shot him in the heart. “It’s too late for that,” she growled. “You should’ve tried that first.”

  A noise from the attic made her look up.

  Cruel grin on her lips.

  Slitted her eyes and began walking up the stairs.

  Senka rolled away from Dimiti. Narrowed her gaze. “Are you alright, Dimiti?”

  “I’m fine, Miss.”

  “Wait here. Everything will be fine.”

  “But, Miss…”

  “I want to bite.”

  And she whirled, shooting into the air so fast and so high that he lost sight of her.

  She could feel Hailwic’s presence. Feel Vasilja. And saw four men making a run for their horses. Left dark tracks through raking stretches of snow.

  The young vampire bared her fangs and plummeted.

  Crisp air stinging her cheeks.

  Whipping her dress behind her.

  One of the men looked up. Opened his mouth. Died as she landed on him, smashing his body to the ground with such force it crushed his spine.

  “Davey!”

  Senka felt nothing from the impact other than satisfaction. She corkscrewed her body as she leapt from the corpse and into the next. Clawed hands tearing. Blood burst as she ripped through cloth and skin.

  Found something slippery and smooth.

  Yanked a few yards of entrails free and tossed them aside.

  Didn’t watch him fall.

  Violence was singing a song inside her mind. A thrumming song which played in tune to the Fel of her dreams. A song which made the dead heart in her chest seem to beat with frenetic energy.

  She smiled as she moved, feeling the languid grace of a predator.

  A bullet cracked into her shoulder and she let out a vengeful shriek. Drove herself through the air in a vicious blur. Snatched wrist and squeezed until bones snapped and he dropped the revolver.

  Screaming.

  She jumped, flying upward with tremendous force. Wind howling in her ears, echoing frantic screams as he wailed in her grip.

  Senka spun at the top of the trees, eyes searching.

  Found what she was looking for.

  Pulled him close. Raked fangs through throat, snapping greedy mouthfuls of blood as it spurted fresh. Wheeled his body around. Laughing as his squeal rose in pitch.

  Lifted.

  And rammed him down onto a splintered branch. The wooden limb speared through his back to erupt from his chest in a crimson flash of gore. His head lolled to one side, blood vomiting as he managed a single moan; “Mother…”

&
nbsp; No one heard him.

  The last hunter was on his horse. Pounding its flanks, sending it galloping down the muddy track. And Senka was behind him. Banshee wail assaulting his ears.

  “Lord help me,” he croaked. Turned his torso. Aimed with the revolver.

  Steady.

  Pulled the trigger.

  Bullet stung her cheek, and she was tossed sideways.

  Hit a tree.

  The crunch sounded final, and he grinned his triumph. “Got you, you bitch!”

  Turned to face front.

  And caught the limb across his face as the horse kept going.

  “Ack!”

  Thrown back, he landed in a dazed heap. Clutched his face.

  Blood.

  Lots of it. His head felt numb. Couldn’t feel his nose. He pressed against his forehead, but it didn’t feel cracked. Just hurt. Really hurt.

  And wet. Just blood, though.

  Just blood.

  He didn’t have time. Knew that much. His hand searched for his revolver in the snow and mud.

  Didn’t find it.

  “Shit.”

  Wobbled to his feet and took a step forward. Wave of nausea nearly drove him back to his knees, but he didn’t let it. Grit his teeth and kept moving. He had to get back.

  Had to warn the others.

  “You look tough,” a voice said from the tree above.

  He looked up, neck jabbing pain as he did.

  Saw her.

  Perched like an owl. Or a gargoyle. Demonic face too white in the slivered song of moonlight.

  “Foul creature,” he spat. Dug into his pocket and found the crucifix. In the other, a wooden stake. He still had that. Held both in front like a shield. “Keep away from me. I know what you are.”

  “Do you?” She dropped lightly to the ground. Drifting toward him. Eyes burning with lusts he could never fathom. His own had haunted him all this way. And when he’d seen her, he’d felt himself stirred. But now, he knew his were the desires of a child. Hers were the hungers of a demon. “Do you really know what I am?”

  “Vampire.” Hissed between his teeth. He kept the crucifix carefully between them. Knew she was feeling the effects of it. Her eyes couldn’t look at it.

  But it didn’t seem to stop her. She smiled. “What is your name?”

  “Richard,” he said. “I won’t give you my last name. You don’t deserve it.”