by Aderyn Wood
A warm hand touched his shoulder and he heard Georgette’s voice close by. “I’m sorry, Michael.”
Michael’s heart filled with the stabbing ache of loss and he clenched his hands into fists as he drew Emma’s lifeless body to him in a desperate embrace.
“She was the last of them,” Amynta said with her harsh accent. “Mission accomplished.”
Michael turned to her with a scowl, but the words of anger that filled his mouth dissipated like clouds following a storm.
Humour seemed to flare in Amynta’s ruby eyes. “You will feel better soon, brother. The bond breaks instantly.”
Michael frowned. He should feel anger at Amynta’s smugness, but he could sense the truth in her words. The crippling grief he’d felt just a moment ago for Emma’s death was already unravelling, easing.
Amynta raised her eyebrows at Georgette. “How much does he actually know, Dux?”
Georgette shook her head. “There’s been no time for explanations—”
“Dux?” Michael asked, all too aware of the aghast expression on his face. “You’re The Dux? You’re the head of that secret organization?”
“Ha!” Amynta slapped Georgette on the back, but the big woman remained as still as a boulder and gave Michael a sorrowful look.
“Is Georgette even your name?” Michael asked, and he couldn’t disguise the pleading tone in his voice.
“That’s a good point,” Amynta said glancing between them. “But I’m sure she wouldn’t tell us. You see, priest—”
“I’m not a priest.”
“Whatever,” Amynta continued. “You see, Georgette here has been the leader of our secret organization for the better part of the last two decades. She masterminded this whole scenario!” Amynta waved both arms around them to indicate the cavern. “And voila, it worked. The vampire race, as we know them, are finito.”
Michael frowned as he stared at Georgette. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Georgette slowly crouched to kneel by Emma and placed a hand on his own. There was a spark at the touch of their flesh. Michael saw it. It was blue – a sluggish streak of light that flickered over their hands before fading. “There is much I will tell you, mon ami. And soon you will be ready to hear it.”
Chapter 28
Extract from ‘The London Observer’ – Sunday 12th March
UK Cultist At Rest
The remains of Lady Emma Farleigh will be finally laid to rest today in a private ceremony at her family estate in Wolston.
Farleigh achieved notoriety after the bizarre contents of her blog went viral following the police investigation into her disappearance over a year ago.
Farleigh, who was living and working in Paris as a book conservator, had been missing for fourteen months before she was found among the cultists in what is now known as the Mentuhotep Cavern, in Thebes, Egypt, and following the mass suicide of the Doomsday Cult now referred to as the Followers of Mentuhotep, who believed the antichrist would be reborn on Earth on Christmas Day.
Forty-three bodies have now been identified in the wake of the mass suicide; among them the Detective in charge of the Police investigation into Farleigh’s disappearance, Jeannette Schleck.
The event has fostered much attention from observers here in the UK. Farleigh’s family – father, Lord Edward and sister, Lady Susan – have released a statement requesting the public respect the family’s privacy and allow them to mourn in peace.
He’d been dreading this day. Of course Michael had explained to Susan and her father over the phone what had happened – not the true events, but the event as it had been portrayed by the press. At first Michael had detested the media intrusion, but in the end, as Georgette had pointed out, it was a blessing. The perfect story to cover the secret evil that had played out in reality.
The little stone chapel on the Farleigh’s estate was filled with Emma’s family and friends here to witness her interment in the small burial ground adjacent. Michael had experienced the tingling in his fingers the first time he’d seen this chapel, and now his fingers did so again. This time he knew why.
His gift had grown in power since Egypt. His sight regularly slipped into the spirit world without any effort, and the secrets of that realm opened up to him more than ever before. Spirits, lost and meandering, were an almost daily sight for him. At first, he’d guided them, sending them on their way to the cosmos where they belonged. But there were too many of them. Now he only intercepted if necessary. The spirits would find their own way with time.
A lost spirit lingered here in this chapel. The ghost of Emma’s mother hovered over her daughter’s coffin during the service, conducted by a local minister. The sense of hope that streamed from her thickened, and then the extraordinary happened – something Michael had never seen before. Emma’s own spirit appeared. A strong burst of happiness streamed from the two of them as they reunited, and then together they disappeared into shimmering light.
Michael’s heart tightened in his chest. The bond that had connected them was nothing more than the bond of a Sanguis Sicarri and his victim, and it had broken the instant Emma died. He learned that he had never loved her, but he felt a fondness for Emma, and the appearance of her spirit was the last time he would ever see her. He wished he could have said goodbye.
Outside the sunshine was bright, the coming spring evident in the warming air and the rosebuds’ promise with their slivers of colour.
“Such a loss, Padre,” John said, shaking his head. “Emma was a good girl, bloody smart too. I don’t understand how she got caught up with that cult bullshit.”
Michael hadn’t seen John since Paris. He’d come back to England for Emma’s funeral. He’d stood next to Michael during the burial. “She will be remembered,” Michael said.
He said goodbye to John, and to the Earl and Lady Susan, whose normally perfect makeup was smudged around her eyes. “Thank you for bringing her home to us,” she said.
Michael took long strides down the path, looking once again at the rosebuds as they reached for the sun. His heart letting go of the past and all thoughts of Emma, for now. It was time to let her rest.
He had a train to catch.
The Red Rose Tearooms in Appleton stood exactly as Michael remembered with old oak beams, rendered walls, diamond-pane windows, and a cosy fireplace in the corner. He and Judith used to frequent this place on a Sunday morning for brunch, back when they thought they could live in the village as newlyweds. It didn’t work out, along with their marriage. Judith needed more excitement than he and the tearooms could offer. Michael took a shaky breath. Perhaps it was his guilt that had caused all their problems. It had stopped him from allowing himself to be happy with Judith. No doubt, she’d felt it too. The realisation had an immediate effect on him. As though he finally found the answer to a long-lost puzzle. Perhaps it was his gift providing him with insightful wisdom to his personal problems. Whatever it was he suddenly felt better and, as painful as the past could be, it felt good to be back here in Appleton, in these tearooms. Almost like coming home.
Georgette evidently liked the fireplace too for she now occupied the table closest and was already partaking in a cup of tea.
She stood as Michael approached, crumbs falling everywhere. “Bonjour, mon ami,” she said as she kissed Michael on both cheeks.
“Have you already eaten, Georgette?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked at him as though she’d been caught cheating at cards. “How did you know?”
Michael smiled.
“Just a little snack,” Georgette shrugged. “I will share a serve of scones with you of course, mon ami. One of the finest delicacies Britannia has offered the world.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Rose, the owner of the cafe, served them tea and a basket of scones and gaped when she spotted Michael.
“I didn’t think you’d remember me, it’s been a while,” Michael said, smiling.
Rose touched his arm. “I wouldn’t forget your blue eyes. Father—�
� Rose’s hand went to her mouth. “I’m sorry… Michael.”
He shook his head. “It’s all right, Rose.”
Rose narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, this is quite the coincidence, just the other day—”
“Rose?” The other waitress interrupted from across the room where she held a phone up. “It’s for you.”
“’S’cuse me, Michael,” Rose said before hurrying off.
Michael took a breath and returned his attention to Georgette. “Why did you want to meet here, in my old village?”
Georgette raised her eyebrows at the scones. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Michael laughed.
“But seriously,” she said as she poured their tea. “You still have questions.”
Michael lost his smile. “Yes.”
“Well, as the Americans say… shoot.”
Michael blinked as he adjusted his glasses. Where to start? It had been a long time. Nearly three months. The red tape in Egypt and aiding the authorities in their investigations, among them secret government agencies, had taken time. The Catholic Church had also sent a delegation from Rome, and Michael met with his old friend, Patrick, to hand over the promised Foliss. The aftermath was arduous work, and Michael longed for it to be over. But now that it had finished, and Emma’s body lay resting where it belonged, an emptiness had begun to settle in, and the urgency to gain answers to his questions had alleviated somewhat. Still, the endless questions had circled his mind every day. He would start with the simplest and work his way up. “I think about it all the time.”
Georgette chewed as she listened. A thick dollop of cream fell on her collar.
“It… it has consumed me. I dream it and relive it constantly – even when awake. The other day I was crossing the road and next minute I came to with cars honking all around but in that moment, I had relived the whole thing.”
Georgette nodded. “It’s your consciousness trying to come to terms with what happened. To frame it in a way that you can understand and accept.”
“So you knew the whole thing would happen?”
Georgette was layering a spoonful of jam onto another scone. “I had put a series of clues together from a number of sources I had gathered over the years.”
“And you are the leader of the Order of Sanguis Sicarri.”
“Was the leader. I am about to go into retirement. I think I’ve earned it.”
“So you never were a policewoman in Paris?”
“I most certainly was, mon ami!” Georgette declared. “It was a necessary cover to investigate the movements of Schleck, who had, as I suspected, become impassioned by the empty promises of Azazel.”
“You mean Brother Gerold.”
Georgette nodded as she chewed a mouthful of scone. More crumbs fell on her chest. “I had my suspicions about his identity for a long time.”
Michael recalled the de-possession of Azazel in the cavern and frowned. “I saw his true identity. He was that monk after all, the one who sold his soul to the devil and wrote the Devil’s Bible, the Codex Gigas, all those centuries ago. I can’t believe a demon had been able to possess a human for so long, unnoticed.”
“Not unnoticed but expunging such a powerful force would need someone special.” Georgette gave him a smile.
“Why didn’t Amynta deal with him?”
Georgette shook her head. “She has a gift, certainly, but nothing like the power of the Guardians, and her taste for the Dark blood compromised her skill.”
“Dark blood. Vampire blood?”
“Oui.”
“And these Guardians… Am I—”
“Your power comes from them, Michael.”
Michael frowned. “Michaelspawn.”
“Exactement. It does not please you?”
Michael adjusted his glasses. “I can’t help thinking my role in that cavern was… was…”
“Predetermined?”
“Yes. Like I was nothing but a puppet on a string. I’ve never been a believer in fatalism. It made me question my faith when I was a priest, even before Judith. Georgette—”
“Gabrielle.”
“What?”
“Gabrielle,” Georgette said. “It is my real name. But you know that, don’t you, Michael?” She looked at him with a steadfast gaze and it seemed to Michael that Georgette was two people. The bumbling junior detective with crumbs and wayward hair on the one hand; and this other person, sharp and knowing.
Michael’s fingers tingled with the truth of her words. His link to the cosmos was never fully closed now. Not since Egypt and no matter how he tried to force it shut it remained stubbornly open. He gained insight in the least expected places. A rush of knowledge flowed to him unbidden and he sucked his breath with the force of it and a hundred images ran through his mind at once. Georgette tracking vampires in dark alleys alone. Georgette spying on Gerold and seeing the demon within. Georgette meeting with Amynta and planning their investigation of Schleck. Georgette poring over ancient scrolls and artefacts. Georgette slaying a demon. Finally the rush stopped, and he gazed at Georgette anew. “Gabrielspawn,” he whispered. “Gabrielle.”
“Oui, but I have to tell you,” she said with gravity as she leaned forward, her voice low. “I prefer Georgette.” She gave him a grin, back to her old self, and she thrust another scone in her mouth.
Michael shook his head. “I’ve always struggled with faith.”
“It’s good to be sceptical, mon ami. None of us knows what really lays beyond, from where our power truly descends. Or the demon’s. We can only work with what we have. Our intuitions, meditations and the knowledge shared by others with the gift. The recordings of which are everywhere and crop up as stories in the bible and other ancient texts and cave drawings, right through to today’s blogs on the Internet. I have learned much, just as you have. Though I hope to find out what exactly lays beyond it all sooner rather than later.”
A chill stabbed throughout Michael’s entire being and he narrowed his eyes on her. “What do you mean?”
“You have many more questions and they shall be answered sooner than what you may think. The time has come for me to hand over the mantle of guardianship.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t follow.”
“You will.” Georgette opened her bag in her usual flustered style, scrummaging around for something and Michael felt warmed by the gesture, as though she was thoroughly human rather than the celestial being he now knew her to be. “I want to give you this,” she plonked an old book on the table and Michael’s hands tingled sharply. He heard himself ask, “What is it?” but as his hand reached for it, he already knew, and he let it rest on the table as his teeth clenched tight. Nathaniel’s diary. The diary that started it all. “Burn it,” he said.
Georgette shook her head. “No. Keep it somewhere along with these.” She placed some items on the table – small vials of clear liquid, a cross inlaid with silver, and a line of brown paper packets by the scones.
Michael picked up one of the packets and the strong scent of spice filled his nostrils. “Cinnamon, very nice, but why—”
“It will hide the call of your blood.” Georgette was looking at him with her steadfast gaze again. The gaze that was more Gabrielle than Georgette. She gave a slight frown. “You have much yet to learn, and it is best that you do so quickly. Cinnamon and other remedies will be a necessary part of your armour, mon ami. Your gift burns strong now. But it will not always yield such power, and you must learn to conserve it.” She placed one final thing on the table – a parcel wrapped in silk. The lance.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Because, like I said. I am handing over the guardianship. To you.”
“But the demon and Asha are dead. Nathaniel is dead.” It was the one thing Michael was categorically happy about. That bastard met his just deserts and had been vanquished by the devil himself, exploding to nothing but dust.
Georgette gave him a level stare. “Order has been restored, and the
balance has swung in our favour, but it will swing back the other way, that is assured. As guardian, you must be prepared.”
“What if I don’t want this guardianship?”
“We don’t get a choice, mon ami. But,” she reached out and clasped his hand. “You can still know happiness, my friend.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I have adored this mortal life, and not only for the food.” She gave him a grin and Michael couldn’t help but smile in return. “This world offers so many little pleasures – they are precious, and you must learn to enjoy them without guilt. You must embrace your joy, Michael. It is our very purpose.”
Michael swallowed a heavy lump. “But where are you going?”
“I am called home.”
Michael was about to ask more, but his insight stopped him. He didn’t really want to know more about what she meant by ‘home’. Not yet at least.
Georgette seemed to read his mind. “All your questions will have answers.” She gripped his hand tight for another moment before standing and heaving her bag onto her shoulder. “It’s time for me to go.”
“But there’s still two scones left.”
Georgette laughed. “Even my prodigious appetite has its limits, mon ami.”
They ambled across the road to the village green where a Sunday market now bustled with life. Georgette declared it was time for her to leave. She kissed him and held his cheeks with both hands. “Remember what I said, Michael. Find joy and embrace it.”
“I will try.”
Georgette nodded to the market stalls. “Time to begin don’t you think?”
Michael turned and spied a gypsy stall selling jewellery and silverware. He adjusted his glasses and looked more closely. “That cannot be…”
A woman stood in the pavilion. Her long dark hair and silver looped earrings… she was the same woman from Paris. It was the very same stall where he’d acquired the stake and the silver embedded cross in Paris. He took a few steps closer. The gypsy woman smiled at him in a familiar way. “Our paths cross again, guardian. You will always have our support.” She nodded to the man, her husband, and they both gave him a warm nod.
