The Vampyre Quartet

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘You’ve been tricked. In thirty days you will be dead,’ Jago answered as he got up from the ground and ran.

  ‘Ezra Morgan wants you – that is all – but we want you even more,’ Griffin shouted as Jago disappeared through the covered archway under a house.

  ‘The other side,’ Staxley shouted as he leapt the steps and landed just a few feet behind Jago. ‘I have him …’

  Staxley sprinted, half running, half flying. Jago could feel him close on his heels. Ahead he could hear people in the street. It was fifteen yards to the marketplace. There on the steps of the town hall was the wise man who made wicker fences. As Jago ran towards him, he looked up.

  Staxley reached out a hand. It touched the leather collar of Jago’s coat. He snarled, his fanged teeth ready to bite.

  ‘No!’ said the man as he jumped to his feet and pushed the woven fence away from him.

  Jago thought he was going to strike as the weaver came towards him, willow wisp in hand. He ducked as the blow swung over his head. It struck Staxley across the face. He fell, stunned.

  The man looked at Jago as a woman screamed. ‘Get away, get away!’ he said to him as if he too could see inside Jago’s mind. ‘I will keep him here as long as I can.’

  Staxley turned on the man and growled like a wild dog. The crowd around them fell silent.

  ‘The boy, the boy,’ shouted a woman as she saw his dog-like teeth and then gripped her child close to her. ‘He’s a Vampyre!’

  Jago ran on. He could hear the steam bus as it stoked and boiled by the swing bridge. The street was crowded with screaming people. Looking back, he saw Staxley was surrounded, cornered against the doorway of a shop selling herbs and spices that hung in bags from a row of hooks. Market stalls littered the square under the clock tower. The noise of the harbour rose through the yards of the houses perched by the water.

  The crowd surged forward. Jago pushed his way through, vanishing into their midst. He could hear Staxley growling as he snarled at his tormentors.

  ‘Bind him,’ shouted the weaver as people snatched the amulets from a stall. ‘It’s the only way.’

  Jago hid in the entrance to an alley and looked at the crowd that packed in, close and tight. No one approached Staxley. They kept him at arm’s length and stopped him from running. He stared wildly, looking for a way to escape.

  ‘I told you it was true,’ shouted the man with the amulets. ‘You never believed me – now look, a Vampyre here in the market!’

  Staxley panted heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead. He looked each man eye to eye, face to face, as he searched for their weakness. Jago waited, hearing the steam bus gather pace up the short hill from the bridge to the corner of the street.

  More people pressed towards the marketplace. Screams and shouts dragged them closer to the commotion. Jago looked up. Griffin stared down from the rooftop above him. Across the street, on the corner by the chip shop with the shuttered windows, stood Lorken. Jago was trapped.

  ‘Vampyre!’ Jago shouted as he leapt from the alley and pointed up to the roof. Griffin stood like a black crow on the pantiles.

  The crowd of men surged back. It was as if every fist was raised towards Griffin. They screamed, shouted, threw cobbles at the rooftop. Lorken slipped into the shadows of a broken, bombed doorway as Griffin ran across the roof towards the cliff.

  ‘Stop him!’ shouted a man in a fawn suit and thick-rimmed glasses. ‘To the church …’

  Staxley seized the moment of discontent amongst the crowd. He leapt towards a lad of his own age and with one hand slashed him across the face. The boy screamed in agony as the crowd parted, no one willing to stop him. Staxley ran back the way he had come and quickly he vanished into the shadows. Five men gave chase. A man in sea-boots was just yards behind. The crowd split in two. Some pursued Staxley through the alleyway, the others skirted the rooftops towards the church steps in the hope of finding Griffin before he too escaped.

  The steam bus slowed as it took the corner of the road and headed towards the factory. Jago could see the bright red eyes of Lorken glowing in the darkness of the deserted chip shop. By now the street had emptied, the crowds giving chase. Jago stepped closer to the broken doorway and looked inside. The floor was strewn with shattered plaster and broken glass. Lorken hid in the dark shadow out of sight.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Jago asked the shadows. ‘You working for Ezra Morgan?’

  ‘That old fool?’ Lorken asked. ‘Staxley has been in his service, keeping an eye on things and waiting for you.’ He whispered from the shadows. ‘His kind will soon be long gone. Strackan wants a new servant. We are not here today, gone tomorrow. We exchanged blood – immortal, invisible …’

  ‘You are still bonded to him,’ Jago said.

  ‘We will do what we want. There is a whole world out there. We’ll be rich – famous – have what we desire, live for ever,’ Lorken spewed the words excitedly. ‘Be with us, Jago. You’re special – that’s why Strackan wants you for himself. Staxley got mad with that, but he can live with it.’

  Jago could see Lorken shiver with anticipation. ‘You going out on your own?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what Staxley has planned. He’s not for following anybody and certainly not that old creep Ezra Morgan. Soon as we have you, we’ll be off. Staxley wants you dead. But I can talk him round. How about it?’ Lorken asked as he jibbered through chattering teeth.

  ‘What’s wrong? You sick?’ Jago said as Lorken began to shake.

  ‘Can’t control it,’ he answered. ‘Everything’s changed. What you see – how it feels – everything.’ Lorken shrugged. ‘Colours are different. The whole world stinks and … and I can smell blood.’

  Lorken stepped forward from the dark corner where he was hiding. His black gabardine was covered in plaster dust. The wet strands of his hair matted with the fine white powder. He looked different, older, other-worldly, grown up.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ Jago asked as Lorken shivered.

  ‘Staxley has been going on about knowing a Vampyre. Griff said he didn’t believe him and then when you went missing, this woman came to Streonshalgh Manor. Mrs Macarty took us to the gate and told us to do what she said. She sniffed our necks – all weird like, and then that was it. This old bloke came out of nowhere and smeared blood on our throats – told us we would live for ever and that we were Vampyres.’

  ‘And Mrs Macarty knew?’ he asked.

  ‘She was to be our guardian. The old man arranged it all. Staxley wants to clear off. Go to London. After you’re dead.’

  ‘How did you know where I was?’ Jago pressed him.

  ‘That’s where the old man said you would be. Told us to catch you and take you to Hawks Moor. Give you to Ezra Morgan. Then in the night, Staxley started to be different. Said he could see into our heads. I thought of what you did for me. How I lied when you beat me. Stax saw it – knew the truth. Said it was worth killing you for.’

  ‘So why should you see me live?’ Jago replied as he stayed in the light.

  ‘The Quartet, just what the old man said. There had to be four Vampyres – a Vampyre Quartet. He went on about Friday the thirteenth. It’s our time now …’

  ‘And he wants me to be one of them?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Sure … Thinks you are special, like. Said there was a curse on you and that he’d been waiting. I didn’t listen; too busy looking at that woman. She told me her name. Said I could take care of her. Sibilia Trevellas – that’s what she said.’

  Lorken laughed to himself and then sighed. Jago had seen the look before, when Bia was in need of blood.

  ‘You hungry?’ Jago asked in a hushed voice.

  ‘Starving,’ he replied in a sigh. ‘Never known a pain like it – bursts your guts.’

  ‘Half the town’s looking for Stax and the other half looking for Griffin and you’re still hungry?’’ Jago asked as he stepped across the threshold.

  ‘Never got the chance. Didn’t want to bite Mrs Mac
arty. Thought of doing one of the Gladlings. Mrs M said that we should leave the kids for later and she had plans for them. Spoken for – that’s what she said.’ Lorken laughed as he looked at Jago and wondered if he dare ask. ‘Any chance?’

  Jago looked at him for a moment and then smiled. ‘Blood?’ he asked.

  ‘Just enough – a drop – won’t take an armful … Got to have something. Town will be looking out for me – they’ll have recognized Griff and Staxley, they caused so much trouble. Too well known.’

  Lorken nodded as he rubbed his hands expectantly and then ran his finger along the line of white teeth that filled his broad mouth. His lips reddened as they filled with blood.

  Jago could see the fangs on either side. He stepped into the room. ‘I suppose it would be all right,’ he said as he undid his coat to the waist and then loosened his shirt.

  Lorken stepped closer. Jago could hear him breathing excitedly. Clumsily, the boy reached out and touched Jago on the neck. His hand was cold. He stood in the place between life and death.

  ‘Never done this before – are you sure?’ he asked as he ran his fingers deeper into Jago’s shirt, pushing back the cloth to reveal his skin.

  ‘You need to be closer, Lorken. I need you near to me,’ Jago said as he gripped Lorken by the arm to steady him in the embrace. Lorken pressed against him. Jago could feel the breath on his skin. He could smell the damp plaster of the bombed-out shop and looked at the debris scattered on the floor. ‘Just do it,’ he said softly as he felt the tip of Lorken’s tongue touch his skin.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Lorken whispered as he allowed his new-formed fanged teeth to touch the flesh. ‘Never thought it would be you. Better than Laurence Glad–’

  His words stopped as he fell against Jago. It took all Jago’s strength to hold Lorken on his feet as his body sagged. Jago wrapped his arms around the lad and cradled him slowly to the ground. He laid Lorken amongst the broken rafters that had fallen from the ceiling and the shattered pieces of looking glass smashed from the mirror. Lorken looked up, his eyes flickering around the bombed-out room, and tried to speak.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jago muttered as he pulled the knife from Lorken’s chest. ‘It’s the only way.’

  ‘Please … please,’ Lorken said as his eyes filled with tears. ‘Don’t leave me alone, it’s dark, I’m frightened.’

  Jago held his hand as an issue of blood trickled across the Vampyre’s mouth.

  ‘I’m here, Lorken. I will stay with you.’

  ‘Don’t want to die alone, not here,’ he answered slowly, each word spoken on the wave of a fading breath. ‘Thought it would be so easy. Did everything Stax ever said.’

  ‘Forgive me … I had to,’ Jago answered as he wiped the tears from his cheek.

  ‘You helped me before and you’ve helped me now,’ Lorken said softly. ‘I know why.’ Lorken stared at the smashed ceiling. He tried to smile. ‘You’re there,’ he said as his eyes brightened. ‘You never went away.’

  As Jago turned, Lorken reached out a trembling hand as if to take hold of someone near to him.

  ‘What can you see?’ Jago asked.

  Lorken said nothing. His eyes had closed as he sighed a final breath. Jago slowly let go of him. He slid his fingers across Lorken’s cheek and wiped away the blood. Looking down, he cleaned the blade before he slid the knife back into the pocket of his leather coat. ‘It had to be this way,’ Jago said as he took the silver jar from his pocket and anointed Lorken on the forehead with the balm. ‘Go peacefully,’ Jago said, not knowing why.

  Suddenly, without warning, a hand grabbed Jago by the wrist so he couldn’t move. It squeezed the flesh until the bones began to break. Lorken opened his eyes. Jago looked deep within. He could see Staxley staring back at him.

  ‘You killed him,’ Staxley said as Lorken’s mouth moved to the words.

  ‘He had to die – he was a Vampyre,’ Jago answered, wrestling to get the hand from him.

  ‘We were like brothers,’ Staxley said as Lorken grabbed Jago by the throat and squeezed until he started to choke.

  Jago gasped for breath. The hands were stuck fast and could not be moved. One gripped his wrist and the other clung to his neck like the jaws of a wild animal.

  ‘Let me go,’ Jago coughed. The room began to fade as the blood drained from his face. ‘Let me …’

  The hand crushed his throat until he could not speak. Jago struggled for breath as the room grew black. A shadow darkened the entrance to the building. As he closed his eyes, Jago was aware of someone stepping through the door. Then he saw nothing as he slumped to the ground beside the writhing body of Lorken.

  [ 27 ]

  The Bookshop

  AS HE AWOKE, Jago was aware of a man standing over him. The hem of a long wet coat brushed against his face.

  ‘Lucky I found you. Two more minutes and you would have been dead.’

  Jago looked up. It was Jack Henson. The body of Lorken was at his feet, the shaft of Henson’s broken staff plunged through the gabardine and into his chest.

  ‘What did he do?’ Jago asked.

  ‘That’s the thing with Vampyres. It’s as if they can see into each other’s minds – especially if they were taken at the same time or had a connection in life. I heard the commotion. Whole town is looking for Staxley. Knowing him, he will be long gone.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘By chance, intuition … and then I heard the shouting from in here. That holly staff will hold him.’ Henson looked at the twisted body that lay amongst the dirt. ‘You’re becoming quite an expert in all this,’ he laughed. ‘You were well chosen.’

  ‘I want to go home,’ Jago protested as he felt the swelling to his neck.

  ‘Home? No such place for the likes of you. A fox may have its lair and a bird its resting place – but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. That’s what I was told and you better get used to it.’

  Henson seemed cold, distant, uncaring. His face was ashen and lined, and his eyes flickered around the room.

  ‘I would rather die.’

  ‘And die you might,’ Henson answered. ‘Your life will be unlike any man has lived before. You are not like any other. There is something in your blood that combines two worlds. You have to decide which road you will follow. Think of it, Jago. Ezra Morgan used your mother as a brood mare. He didn’t want his own son to have your fate. That man interfered in the love of his son. He has to be stopped. One thing shared by every Vampyre is their obsession with themselves. That is their undoing – their weakest link.’

  ‘And you want me to stop them?’ Jago asked.

  ‘This town has always feared the Vampyres. They snatched our children and women for hundreds of years. Not just in the time of the comet, but secretly, victim after victim. You, Jago, can stop all that.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do it?’ he asked. ‘It’s you who really wants revenge.’

  ‘I could have gone after them. Perhaps killed them one by one. But I could never come against Strackan. Finding him is one thing. Killing him another. It has to be you and only you. It started with a Morgan and will end with one. Finish the crusade. Sagacious is dead. Now kill the lord of them all.’

  Jago got to his feet. The street outside was deserted.

  ‘Everyone has gone,’ he said as the sea fret rolled along the street like a grey carpet of mist.

  ‘Chasing Staxley and Griffin. Vampyre-mad and now they have them to chase. Trouble is, they wouldn’t know what to do if they caught them. Imagine, the world would think it was madness.’ Henson took hold of Lorken’s feet and began to drag the body across the bombed-out shop to a back room. ‘Poor lad, lamb to the slaughter. Never knew Lorken had it in him.’

  ‘What will we do with the body?’ Jago asked.

  ‘I will come back when it’s dark. Give him a proper burial. Wrap him in willow wands and bind him with holly.’ Henson coughed as he wheezed his breath.

  ‘You’re not well,’ Jago said.

 
‘Took a beating trying to stop them. Not as young as I used to be.’ Henson tried to laugh as he hid the body under a broken door. ‘I remember your mother well. She was a bright girl – always had a sparkle in her eye. She’d be proud of you.’

  ‘She’ll never know,’ Jago said sternly.

  ‘If it’s one thing all this should have taught you, death is not the end of life – but just the beginning. We see through a dim glass as we stand on the earth. Have hope, Jago.’

  Jago looked at Lorken. His frail body was covered in dirt, his hair smeared across his face. ‘Hope?’ he asked.

  Henson shrugged and avoided an answer. He looked out of the broken doorway as the sky darkened.

  ‘Don’t like the look of that,’ he said as thick black clouds rolled in from the sea. ‘Just like night.’

  Jago could sense the man was unsure what to do. ‘Shall I still go to Hawks Moor?’ he asked.

  ‘Hawks Moor?’ His mind had settled on a faraway thought. ‘I fear our journey may end in this place.’

  Then came a click of a pistol hammer as the chamber of a revolver turned, lifting the bullet into place.

  Rathbone stepped in through the door. He was holding the revolver in one hand as he pushed Jago further inside.

  ‘You are a hard man to find, Jack Henson,’ said the woman who followed Rathbone inside. ‘Thankfully you are so well known in this town that even the street sweeper knows where you are.’

  ‘Sibilia Trevellas,’ Henson answered. ‘In all these years I have never seen your face.’

  ‘That is the secret of a long life. Jago and I have already met.’ The woman turned to him and held out her hand. ‘It was a lucky blow, Jago. Your friend tasted so sweet and I hear from Rathbone that the venom did its job and she is now one of us.’

  Trevellas looked at the body of Lorken.

  ‘I killed him,’ Henson said before she could speak.

  ‘He was quite promising. I would have taken him as my own and trained him well. Death is death and there are plenty more boys – aren’t there, Jago?’ she said as she stroked the back of his hand. ‘I hear, Mr Henson, that you are still angry after all these years about my taking your wife and child?’