The Count
of
Wolf Blood Castle
Laurelle Lewis
Copyright © Laurelle Lewis 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the email below, addressed ‘Permissions.’
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are purely fictitious. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
First published in 2019
For my Mum and Dad, who believed in my crazy stories and bought me endless supplies of notebooks, pencils and pens. xx
For Racheal, who always encouraged me xx
Contents
A Brief History of Talir Faye
Part One
Chapter One: The Castle in the Mountains
Chapter Two: The Unexpected Letter
Chapter Three: Graduation
Chapter Four: Anticipation
Chapter Five: The Count
Chapter Six: The Baertschi Family
Chapter Seven: Baertschi Family Secrets
Chapter Eight: Misery Becomes You
Chapter Nine: Secrets in the Dark
Chapter Ten: Through a Child’s Eyes
Chapter Eleven: Eduard’s Dairy
Chapter Twelve: Dashiell’s Hidden Heart
Chapter Thirteen: A History Lesson
Chapter Fourteen: Creature of the Night
Part Two
Chapter Fifteen: No Mercy for the Competition
Chapter Sixteen: Florina’s Revenge
Chapter Seventeen: The Man Who Taught Her How to Love
Chapter Eighteen: Revelations
Chapter Nineteen: The Witch in the Woods
Chapter Twenty: Plans
Chapter Twenty-One: Suspicion
Chapter Twenty-Two: A Visit to Epp
Chapter Twenty-Three: Escape
Chapter Twenty-Four: Dark Hearts Beat with Dark Thoughts
A Brief History of Talir Faye
Talir Faye was once a strange and ancient land. A world where witches haunted the forest, and kings and queens were many. In the old days, many wars were fought over the land, but that is another story…
Sorcery and royalty still exist in its realms, but not to the same extent as when the world was new. The old language is almost all but forgotten, but still, there are strange things left to uncover…
A great wizard named Spyro came to the land many years ago, back in the days when the dark magic crept across the earth, and the world was still a savage, archaic place. He taught the world about science, and so the world became a mixture of the old ways and the new.
Spyro had come to the land through a portal, a parallel world, one so different from this strange and brutal land. He had lived in the heart of London, when the industrial revolution was just beginning. The experiments he and his colleague Ebenezer had performed (deemed crazy and evil at the time) had cost them both very dearly.
But Spyro had fallen in love with Talir Faye, and once he had had the chance to return to his home and his love, but he chose to stay where he was needed.
Several hundred years had passed since Spyro had last fought a great war. He was old and tired now, and he waited out his days in the land of Epp. Training the new generation of great thinkers and dreamers to continue his traditions once he was gone.
Part One
Chapter One: The Castle in the Mountains
The clouds had been swirling in the sky throughout the day, restless and lost for a place to settle. Their bellies laden with fresh tears to cry down upon the earth, they knew it wouldn't be long until the lightning danced its way through the hazy sky and a tempest began.
The mountains reached up higher than all of the land of Talir Faye to greet the rogue elements. The jutting peaks were algid from the many years of snow that had enveloped Mount Abraisias, and the castle that sat snuggly in its embrace.
The castle had stood there for centuries, and had been the home of many noble, tortured souls. The castle had been shaded in intrigue and gossip for nearly as long as it had stood. Inside its walls, it had seen much pain, and the local villagers of Callibria knew too well the rumours that surrounded its inhabitants.
A young man, no older than twenty-two hurried down a dimly lit corridor, candelabra in hand. Along the walls hung paintings of his many ancestors, delicate artefacts adorned the tables lining the hallways, and as he hurried along in the dim light he ran into one of these tables, almost sending something that had belonged to his father flying to the ground.
'Pick that up!' he grunted at one of the maids, who scurried to the floor as Count Dashiell pushed past.
Entering his uncle's room, his knees became weak as he realised that this indeed was the end. The room was also dim, save for the penetrating glare of some medical equipment that was keeping a very old man alive.
The man was Eduard Henri Baertschi, the uncle of the young man. He lay on his deathbed, waiting for Dashiell to come to his side as he had something of grave importance to tell him. As Eduard had slowly succumbed to very old age, he had worked more fervently, more desperately, until he had collapsed one day on his early morning stroll. It had been a chilly day, and he had not been found for several hours. This was not unusual as Eduard was always disappearing and reappearing—he always had somewhere to go and had kept up reasonable health until recently.
Flashes of the life he had lived ran through his head, like little fireworks sparking in his brain. Each memory filled him with joy, but his head was hurting now, a fog was coming over him, and he knew his time was coming to an end. He had no regret, though, save for one. His life had been rich and full; a life rich in conquests both of the romantic and adventurous nature. He had travelled the world over and seen many wonders that most had not and followed every dream he had ever had.
But still there remained one burden that he could not lift, one desire he could never satiate. Now in his final hour, he prayed that finally, a long-standing injustice could be corrected. Dashiell knelt down by his uncle's side. There before him, lay the man who had been a second father to him; as his own father had been killed by their enemies when he was young. A man who had kept his hopes alive of one day living a normal life free from the internal prison his soul was locked away in.
Dashiell now sat by his uncle's side. As soon as the nurses had called for him, he had come in earnest. Dashiell had not been prepared for what he saw though. The grey pallor of Eduard's countenance, punctuated by the dried, flaking skin around his parched lips, sickened Dashiell with grief. A strange smell had permeated the air—the stench of death.
Not only would his uncle be leaving him soon, but with him any hopes he may have had of breaking the wretched curse would extinguish too! He had never seen his uncle like this: his cold, clammy face, and the urgency in his eyes!
Uncle Eduard whispered in his ear, 'The curse…I have found part of the answer…'
Dashiell's eyes went wide; could his uncle be speaking the truth? Could his uncle have found a way to break the curse that had tormented the Baertschi family for centauries? Dashiell leaned in closer because now his uncle's breaths began to come in rapid, short bursts,
'Take this key… find a keyhole in the wall…'
Suddenly, the elderly man's eyes rolled back in his head, his limbs flaying wildly. The nurses started to run around frantically, pus
hing Dashiell out of the way. Dashiell's heart began to beat faster as he felt his body freeze to the floor in panic; Eduard couldn't die now, not now!
'Uncle!' Dashiell cried. 'The answer?' Eduard's lips pursed, struggling to get out one last message. 'Claudius,' he heard his uncle whisper hoarsely. Then, there was silence.
***
Later that night, Dashiell sat in the silence of shadows cast by the flickering light of the fire. He had retired to his study to mourn his uncle's passing. This was his place, his refuge from the heavy burdens of the world and his mind. His room was lined with books from centauries gone by and a few precious paintings; some of Lords and Ladies and some of Royals, others of countryside scenes. They seemed like cold, bizarre friends who he had seen one too many times. Dashiell looked up into the dimness to realise he saw the faces of his imaginary friends more than he saw the faces of real people.
He felt saddened and confused by the day's events. But he was also drunk. Dashiell was no stranger to the joys of an alcoholic stupor to drown out unwanted emotions. As he sat by the firelight, consumed by external and internal darkness, he fingered the key he held in his palm. It was a small golden key—ornate more than practical. He turned it over and over again, and then finally, he decided to find out what his uncle had tried to tell him.
'Find a keyhole in the wall,' Dashiell mumbled to himself. He could still hear the last raspy words of his uncle echoing in his ear. Was the man delusional? Everybody knew that Eduard was a little different; somewhat eccentric and that he had his secrets, but had he really taken to sneaking around in secret rooms of the castle? Were there secret rooms in the castle? Dashiell laughed out loud to himself. 'You ol' dog!' Eduard was gone, yet he was already haunting Dashiell in the form of a wild goose chase! Alright, Dashiell thought to himself, when I sober up, I'll find this damned door!
The next morning, Dashiell had awoken from his alcoholic coma to a headache worthy of a brain haemorrhage. 'By the will of Epp,' he groaned, his eyes trying to focus on his surroundings. The memories of the night before came rushing back, and he knew why he felt so qualmish. Dashiell needed some Junip Bean Brew—it was a strong drink that would flush away his fogginess. It was his other weakness. He dragged himself off the red velvet couch he had fallen asleep on, like many times before, and made his way downstairs.
As he dragged himself about, every crack in the wall teased his sense of reality. Were they masking his uncle's secrets, testing him, calling him to uncover them from behind their wooden walls?
Dashiell recollected the times he had thought Eduard had been away from the castle, only to see him suddenly appear out of nowhere. Now, it all made sense! Remembering where he often saw Eduard appear, he realised he knew where the room was!
He ran back to the hallway to study the walls. Eduard had commissioned the painting that covered them. He had explicitly asked for these images. It was one of the old legends of Talir Faye, one that Dashiell had looked upon since he was a child. It was of the old religious wars fought between churches and the people of the land. The Sacred Brotherhood of the Unified Heart had fought against Thaddeus Irillion the Priest and started a secret society—a secret religion that had not been so restrictive.
He preached fervently and often against the Priest strict new laws and ideals and often came under the scrutiny and vengeful eye of the Church.
Dashiell thought for a moment, had Eduard been a religious man? Yes and No. Eduard had been a member of some group affiliated with such things…he knew that much…but who were they? They weren't a regular church.
Dashiell ran his fingers over the wall. The rich, golden embossment that ran through the painting served to truly highlight such a beautiful mural, and also to play tricks with the eye to help keep the keyhole secret. It was here that Eduard had appeared out of nowhere more than once. The secret room had to be in this hallway. The keyhole had to be hidden somewhere in this intricate design. It took Dashiell more than half an hour to find the keyhole, and by this time, his craving for his morning shot of caffeine was making his head pound.
About to give in, he kicked the wall with disgust, when he realised, he had not been looking low enough! Down on all fours now, he ran his fingers madly along the bottom of the wall, then his finger hit something hard, that stuck out slightly more than the embossments. It was a hard, ornate keyhole! The keyhole was along the bottom of the wall, it was level with the floor almost, hidden behind the plush, flocculent, carpet. No wonder no one had ever seen it!
Dashiell placed the key into the socket. He felt it turn as he tried to open the door…but, of course, there was no handle. Instantly a handle dropped from inside the wall into place to Dashiell's delight.
'You clever old soul!' Dashiell laughed at his uncle's ingenuity. He pulled the handle down and entered the secret room. Slowly adjusting to the dimness of the room, Dashiell felt around for a light switch. When all was revealed he saw walls lined with books and ancient manuscripts that reached to the roof; volume upon volume of books on Werewolfism, the occult and curses. The ancient stories and legends of Talir Faye, then Eduard's diaries that were ancient in their own right. The room was well lit, but the hue of the blood-red wall, which was the only wall that did not contain a bookshelf, cast a hazy feeling over the room.
Upon this wall hung a rack of luck charms and ancient potions; It appeared Eduard had tried many solutions to his problem, but none had worked. In the middle of the wall was a painting: a giant portrait of a beautiful young woman. Her hair was raven black, her eyes kind and intelligent. Dashiell wondered who she was and what she had meant to Eduard.
Dashiell, at last, had been offered a glimpse into his uncle's mysterious world! Dashiell saw that on the table laid some more diaries. He picked up the one on top, which was entitled 'My First Friend', Dashiell blinked at the date—surely, it must be wrong? Flicking through the numerous volumes, he realised Eduard was claiming to have been born more than two hundred and twenty years ago! Dashiell had thrown the books into the corner of the room in disgust –was this one final trick by his uncle—or had he somehow gained life-extending power from his curse?
Chapter Two: The Unexpected Letter
Down in the village of Callibria on the following morning, the news had already spread that the great, but mysterious, Eduard Baertschi had passed away. A general feeling of relief washed over the village, but its residents did still not feel safe because they knew all too well that there were more like him where he had come from. It was printed in the local papers, and some of the more polite society had sniffled and coughed and said, 'How sad'; all the while not mentioning at all the other business that had plagued the Baertschi family.
The local lady’s school, The Sacred Society of Callibria had held a minute’s silence in honour of Eduard, and it was here that Annika Acklin had been called straight to the Headmistress's office after the assembly. Annika rolled her eyes, scooping her flaxen locks into a ponytail. 'Yes, Miss Thorpe.’ She smiled sweetly to hide her annoyance at the teacher who had called her. Annika had potions class next and didn't want to miss out on this! She was neck and neck with Florina Christensen for Sacred Sister of the Year…and that meant a job interview with a panel of officials in the land of Epp for an internship.
Annika had dreamed of working in Epp since she was a little girl. Epp lay in the centre of Talir Faye and truly was the centre of the land in all ways. Not backwards and ancient like some of the properties of other countries. Epp was the modern society and the ancient ways all rolled into one! It was the pixie's dust!
Annika's slender frame tiptoed lightly down the timber corridors of the old school. It was here that her mother had come when she was younger. She only remembered flashes of her parents, but they had been wealthy and left her a trust found with The National Institute of Nobleton and Son.
This was the place where all wealthy families hid away their many treasures. The bank had been carved into the mountainside above a sleeping volcano. A volcano that had been dorman
t for over five hundred years. It was guarded by Japathrae the Mountain Dragon so that no one could steal it. Annika had only ever heard the legends and seen paintings of the ferocious monster, but it was said that his fiery breath burned hotter and brighter than the two suns of Talir Faye. The pictures she had seen were of a bluish creature, its scales shimmering on its back, a tail that could swipe down invaders to the mountainside with one swipe. It was said that, in the old legends, that the dragon had once been a boy. He had lived in parts of Talir Faye, long ago. The boy had grown to be one of the world's finest sorcerers, but he had been cursed and turned into a dragon.
Annika arrived at the Headmistress' office, she knocked, announcing herself. 'Do come in!' chimed a voice that was filled with excitement, while suppressing worry. Mrs. Seifert had been the Headmistress here now for twenty-five years. In all of her time, she had never had to deliver news like this to a student. 'Dear Annika,' she smiled, 'Please, sit down.' As she composed herself for the news she was about to deliver, her huge bosom heaved with anxiety, while she fidgeted and scratched at her greying hair. It was thinning at the sides from constant worry for her students. The old lady had little life outside the school. The school was her home, and the students, her girls, were her family.
The fine smile lines around Mrs. Seifert's face wrinkled up as she peered upon Annika with a misty, faraway look. 'You have worked very hard this year,' she began.
'Thank you, Mrs. Seifert. I've had my eye on the internship in Epp...'
'Since you were a little girl, I know, I know.'
'I received a letter yesterday, Annika, for you. It was from Eduard Baertschi…written apparently on his deathbed.'
Annika was confused. Why on Earth would a senile, ageing aristocrat want to write her a letter? ‘He wrote to me,’ continued Mrs. Seifert. ‘Asking for my best student actually, who he said he had heard was you. He wanted to employ someone to sort out his manuscripts with his nephew, Dashiell Baertschi.
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