The Vampyre Quartet

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘It’s stupid … I don’t like it,’ Bia argued as she buried her face in the American quilt that straddled the back of the chair. ‘It’s a fairytale to frighten children.’

  ‘Before I came to Whitby I would have said the same as you. But, now I know differently. They have to be stopped.’

  ‘Kill them?’ Bia asked

  ‘If we have to,’ Jago answered.

  ‘We can’t – they’re people,’ she whispered, as if just speaking her thoughts would bring condemnation upon her.

  ‘They’re Vampyres – who should have died long ago. They have no right to be alive and they are killing people every night.’

  ‘I can’t believe it, I can’t,’ Bia said, struggling to hold on to her mind. ‘Let’s just get away from here. When Rathbone takes us into Whitby, we could get our things from Mrs Macarty and run away. Please, Jago, please?’

  Jago looked at the glowing red embers and then at Bia. His face glowed bright red from the heat of the fire.

  ‘If we wait until morning we can leave here before anyone is awake. We have to be at Streonshalgh Manor before Ezra Morgan can telephone Mrs Macarty. If we leave at first light.’ Jago spoke as he thought, regretting the day he had listened to his mother and agreed to be evacuated. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.

  ‘Don’t leave me, Jago,’ Bia said as she slumped into her chair and pulled the quilt around her. ‘Don’t disappear.’ Bia curled her legs beneath her and pulled the quilt even tighter. She looked at Jago and cold see the worry on his face. ‘Cousin?’ she whispered to herself as she dozed and thought how they would escape.

  Jago put some elm wood on the fire and watched it start to blaze. There was something protective about the radiance that pushed away the darkness and made all things well. He stared at the flames and then at Biatra. Her head leant against the wing of the leather chair; her long red hair fell over her face. She was the only family he had. Jago only wished that his mother could have seen her.

  The fire crackled and embered as the hours passed. Jago watched the flames change and slowly die. He sighed, his breath as heavy as his eyelids. Sleep slipped in quietly and quite unnoticed.

  ‘Biatra … Biatra,’ came a voice from the window, followed by a tap-tap-tap on the glass. ‘Biatra … I am here,’ said the voice from outside.

  The tapping came again. Bia stirred in her sleep as the sound broke into her dream of her mother.

  ‘Mother?’ Bia asked as her thoughts raced.

  ‘Biatra, down here,’ the voice came again from the garden.

  Jago was asleep, wrapped in his leather coat as if he was waiting to leave. Bia went to the window and pulled back the shutter, still sure she had heard her mother calling. Looking down into the garden she could see the faint outline of a woman. The night sky grew brighter in the east. It was cloudless and filled with fading stars. The woman waved, her red hair curled about her shoulders.

  ‘Mother?’ Bia whispered, still thinking it was a dream as the woman below began to walk to the high-hedged entrance of the maze.

  ‘Come with me …. Leave Jago, let him sleep … I haven’t long.’ It was as if the woman sung the words and only she could hear them.

  Bia picked up her coat from the bed and without making a sound unlocked the door. She took a last look at Jago as he slept soundly and she pulled the door shut.

  The house was dark and whispered as she walked. A breeze blew through the gaps in the floorboards and tickled her feet.

  Soon she was at the maids’ stairway, which twisted down to the kitchen in complete darkness. Bia listened at the doorway and, when she was sure there was no one on the other side, slid it gently open. In ten steps she was out of the kitchen and into the garden. Hawks Moor cast its long black shadow as it loomed above her. She gave no thought for Jago or Vampyres; all she wanted was her mother.

  Beneath the soles of her feet she could feel the sharp gravel stones as she ran. Turning the corner of the house she caught a fleeting glimpse of her mother as she stepped into the labyrinth.

  ‘Mother!’ she shouted as she gave chase.

  ‘Biatra,’ said the voice as it led her on.

  ‘Wait … Mother!’ Bia said as she ran on.

  As she turned the corner of the entrance and jumped the threshold, Bia saw her mother. She was waiting at the end of the avenue by the statue.

  ‘Biatra … Biatra, it is really you,’ the woman said as she held out her hands towards her.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ Bia cried out as she ran faster.

  ‘They told me. I didn’t believe them.’ Her mother smiled. ‘I have something to show, it’s here.’

  ‘But where have you been?’ Bia demanded as she gripped her mother tightly and felt the warmth of her skin against her own.

  ‘It was the war. A secret. No one could know. I’m back now.’ She stopped and brushed the hair form Bia’s face. ‘I have something that will take the mark from you. It will give you skin just like mine.’

  ‘How?’ Bia asked as her heart leapt from her mouth. ‘And Jago, how do you know Jago?’

  ‘I’ve always known. That’s why Martha left Whitby. She was having a baby. We couldn’t tell anyone,’ she said as she walked deeper into the maze, ‘It was a secret.’

  ‘Mother,’ Bia said with a sigh as she held her hand tightly in her own.

  ‘We’re together now – that’s all that matters. We have to be quick. The light is coming and I need the shadows of the night.’ Bia looked confused and was about to speak. ‘It’s a spell. A healing spell, I bought it from Maisie’s cousin.’

  Her mother held out a small glass jar. The vial was filled with green liquid.

  ‘It looks disgusting,’ Bia said.

  ‘You don’t drink it,’ her mother laughed.

  Bia had no idea how far into the maze she had walked. The hedges were high above them, almost to the height of small trees. The privet and larch were intertwined to form a thick hedge. The darkness grew thicker, more viscous and heavy. A shallow mist filled each avenue of the myriad of ways that went here and there.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Bia asked as a shudder of cold ran the length of her spine.

  ‘To the centre of the universe and the Lyrid of Saturn …’

  In the house, Jago woke from his sleep. The scent of smoke filled his head. It was acrid and black, a mixture of brimstone and treacle. He coughed and looked to the chair. The dream of Bia lost in the labyrinth still in his minds eye.

  ‘Bia … Bia?’ he asked as he looked around the room. Seeing the shutter open, he ran to the window. There below he could see the fresh footprints on the dew-stained grass by the entrance to the maze.

  ‘Bia, no!’ he said as he ran to the door of the room. Soon he was down the stairs and through the kitchen. Inside his head he knew which way to run. It was an instinct that he didn’t know he had. The dream in his head went on – he could see Bia with a hag of a woman. ‘Biatra!’ Jago shouted as he turned into the maze.

  ‘Jago … Jago,’ Bia said.

  ‘Run. He can’t find us. The spell won’t work if he finds us. We have to be alone.’

  ‘But?’

  The woman dragged Bia along another avenue and then another until they neared the centre of the labyrinth.

  ‘Soon be there. Then you’ll be cured. How good will that be?’ her mother said as they ran. ‘Got to do it before the boy finds us. Can’t be found, can’t be found …’

  The voice changed to a low dog-like growl. Bia could hear Jago running back and forth along the avenues near to her. The hedges were too thick for her to see, and the hand on her wrist grew painfully tight.

  ‘Mother, it’s hurting,’ she tried to say as she was dragged around the final corner of the avenue.

  ‘It will soon be over,’ her mother replied. ‘Soon … so soon.’

  The maze opened into a square formal garden. Small box hedges surrounded neat lawns. Each was trimmed precisely. In the centre of the garden on a small triangle
of shingle was a long black stone resting on two similar lintels of jet.

  ‘What is this place?’ Bia asked as her mother dragged her to the stone.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ her mother said as she brushed away the hair from Bia’s smooth white neck and pulled her closer as if to embrace.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Bia asked as she pushed her away. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Biatra!’ shouted Jago. ‘Get away from her!’

  The girl turned as the woman pulled her viciously towards her and grabbed her by the hair.

  ‘On the tomb,’ the woman growled, and she opened her mouth that was filled with dog-like teeth.

  ‘JAGO!’ Bia screamed as the women bit at her throat.

  ‘Leave her!’ Jago said as he pushed his way through the final hedge of the maze and into the garden. ‘She belongs to me.’

  The woman laughed, her mouth covered in blood.

  ‘Too late, Jago Harker, son of Martha,’ she howled as she dropped Bia to the ground. ‘She is dead. One of us for thirty days and thirty nights and you cannot stop me.’

  Jago leapt towards the woman, jumping to where she stood. The Vampyre stepped back as Jago landed on her and fell back against the holly hedge, a long splinter of living wood piercing her shoulder. She screamed as she tried to pull herself from the spike.

  ‘Holy wood,’ the woman muttered. Jago saw blood trickle across her shoulder. ‘Get it from me and I will give you anything you want,’ she demanded.

  ‘Tell me – are you Strackan?’ Jago asked.

  ‘No. Get me from this stake,’ she pleaded. She slumped to the ground, unable to move.

  ‘I will set you free if you tell me one thing,’ he said as he lifted Bia from the ground and realised with joy she was still breathing.

  ‘Anything,’ she wheezed.

  ‘Biatra is still alive. Is there a cure for your bite or is she cursed?’

  ‘Only one thing can save her. Get the dew of the grass from holy ground. Before the dawn breaks wash the wound, and then anoint her with myrrh balm. But Jago, you will not find that in this country.’ The woman laughed. ‘Let her die. I will take care of her for you.’

  Jago felt the silver pyx in his jacket pocket.

  ‘Myrrh balm?’ he asked as he unscrewed the lid and held out the ointment. ‘Just like this?’

  ‘No – it can’t be,’ the woman said as she sniffed the air. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘From my uncle Cresco – where else?’

  ‘Jago, I can see you,’ Bia said as she sat up against him. ‘My mother was here.’

  ‘Is that your mother?’ Jago asked as he pointed to the woman impaled on the holly stump.

  ‘Who is she?’ Bia asked, as she looked at the figure in a crimson dress with long black hair that trailed across her hag face.

  ‘I was your salvation,’ the Vampyre said. ‘I would have cured your scar, given you the looks of a lady, taken away your disfigurement of birth.’

  ‘That is a Vampyre as old as Crispin Draigorian and Ezra Morgan,’ Jago said.

  ‘You forget one other name – Julius Cresco, your avuncular uncle. More of a nanny, to make sure the blood was protected until this time. We have watched you all of your life. Paid for you and waited. This is your inheritance. Soon you will be one with us.’

  ‘Tell me one more thing before I set you free. If I were to become a Vampyre how could I be killed?’ Jago asked as the woman writhed in pain.

  ‘A silver knife will take your life, a branch of holy wood will hold you fast. Myrrh balm will stop our breath. Fire, drowning … Most of us die through starvation. We lose the will to take life. However, that has been something I have always enjoyed,’ the woman said as she licked the side of her bloodstained mouth. ‘We can survive most things. I even like eating garlic and don’t believe anything you are told about charms and medallions. They don’t work against us. You will be quite safe.’

  Jago lifted Bia to the stone, tomb-like table and walked towards the Vampyre. He held the silver pyx in his hand.

  ‘Set me free, Jago. What are you going to do?’

  ‘What someone should have done long ago,’ he said coldly as he smoothed his fingers into the balm and then broke off a long spike of holly hedge and smeared it with myrrh.

  ‘Jago, you promised – you said you would set me free if I told you how to cure the girl,’ the woman screamed, unable to move.

  ‘Don’t look,’ Jago said as he turned to Bia.

  Bia closed her eyes as she heard the woman grunt and then take several short, sharp, jagged breaths. Then she breathed no more.

  [ 18 ]

  Villains

  THE SMALL SPIRE OF THE CHURCH broke over the horizon a mile away from Hawks Moor. Jago could see it clearly as he walked Bia to the road through the fields that surrounded the house. The sun had not ye broken the edge of the sea. Its amber glow coloured the sky to the east and made the ocean look like a distant land. In the plateau above the bay, a low mist filled the pockets of the hedges and snaked along the riverbed that melted into the sea at Boggle Bay.

  Bia walked as fast as she could. Her heart raced as the venom seethed through her veins. It was as if she had been bitten by a snake. Her lips were numb and full of blood. The lining of her jaw ached as the skin was stretched tighter and tighter.

  ‘Just a mile,’ Jago said as he steadied her over the fence and onto the empty road. ‘I can see the church.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’ Bia asked, squinting in the growing light. ‘Do you think it will work?’

  ‘I saw what the myrrh did to the Vampyre. If it can stop the transformation, that is all that matters,’ Jago answered as he held her close.

  ‘And if I become a Vampyre, you must kill me like you did her. Drive a holly stake through my heart,’ Bia said as the hill grew steeper.

  ‘It won’t come to that. I will get you to the church and bathe the wound in dew and myrrh. It will have no power over you,’ he answered as she slowed in her pace.

  Jago could see her face slowly changing. The skin across her lips grew tighter still and her eyes filled with blood.

  ‘I can taste the air,’ she said in low voice different from her own. ‘There is no time, Jago. Find the holly wood and kill me now.’

  Bia groaned and slumped to the ground. Jago could hear the cracking of the bones in her face as a transformation began to take place.

  ‘It won’t happen to you,’ he said as he picked her up and slumped her across his broad shoulders. ‘I can see the church. I will do just as she said and you will be healed.’

  ‘Jago … Jago, kill me now. Please. I don’t want to be like …’ Bia stopped speaking as her voice barked in her throat.

  As he tried to run, Jago could not see her jaw breaking open and long white teeth cutting through the flesh. Ahead, Jago fixed his eyes on the gate to the church. It was covered in ivy and there was a wooden lychgate with a leaded roof.

  ‘Don’t talk of it,’ he said, as he got closer. ‘The sun has not yet risen. I will have time.’

  ‘NO!’ Bia growled angrily, and she suddenly sunk her fingers in his back and ripped at his leather coat. ‘Don’t take me in there, never, not in that place.’

  With a sudden kick, Bia twisted from his grip and slumped to the ground in front of him.

  ‘Bia, don’t stop me,’ he said as he reached out to her.

  ‘Kill me, Jago. Before I kill you. Please,’ she begged as she shuddered on the ground.

  Jago could see she had changed. In the growing light the shadows of her face were darker than they had ever been. The moon scar burnt blood red, her eyes had turned steely blue like a young wolf’s. Cowering on the ground she looked at Jago not as a friend but as walking, breathing meat.

  ‘I can heal you. Take this all away. Just stand for me and walk through the gate,’ Jago said as he pointed to the entrance of the church. ‘The sun is rising – we need to go now.’

  ‘No,’ Bia panted as Jago saw her pointed, dog-lik
e fangs for the first time. ‘I can’t stop how I feel. Please, Jago.’

  The girl crawled backwards through the dense autumn grass at the side of the road. Jago followed, watching her every move. Bia backed against the high stone wall of the churchyard and could go no further.

  ‘It has to be this way,’ he said as he reached out for her.

  ‘You don’t understand, Jago … No!’ Bia screamed as she leapt towards him.

  Instantly Jago jumped out of the way. She landed cat-like and turned on her heels to face him. All that was Biatra had been morphed into another creature. She circled him slowly, looking for some weakness and a point to strike. In turn, Jago stepped closer and closer to the gate of the church. Bia didn’t realise how close she was to the lychgate – her eyes were fixed on his luscious white skin and the beads of sweat that trickled down his neck. She could feel bliss fill her throat as she sniffed the air made sweat with his fear.

  ‘I’m here, Bia. I won’t fight you. Take me if you want. We can be together,’ Jago said. He dropped his hands to his side and leant against the oak post.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ Bia said, her smile red against the bright white of the dog-teeth. ‘I thought that when I first saw you. It will be so right – so good – we can be together.’

  Jago watched as she came closer. Her eyes burnt blood red with a centre of steel that was cold, harsh and lifeless.

  ‘Whatever you want to do with me,’ Jago answered, his voice soft and fateful. ‘Perhaps this is the best way. The night is past – the day is before us.’

  Bia came closer and touched him tentatively with an outstretched hand. She smoothed his shirt from the skin of his neck and tilted her head to one side. Jago steadied himself and waited for the moment as his hand gripped the latch of the gate.

  ‘Just us,’ Bia said. ‘Finally, together …’

  ‘Quickly, Bia. Don’t wait,’ Jago said as he saw the sun rising and felt the cold acid breath against his throat.

  Bia tasted his skin with the tip of her tongue and felt the pulse throb. She pulled him closer until she could not breath. The moment lasted for ever as she savoured each second of being near to him and thought of what she would do. All around the long grass and hawthorn hedges rattled in the morning breeze. It was as if they were the only people alive and to her that was all that mattered. As they embraced the sun broke the horizon.