The Huntress Trilogy 01 The Vampire With the Golden Gun

by Chanel Smith

“Agrippina, did you say Romanov? Anastasia Romanov? And Alexei is her brother? As in the children of Nicholas the Second, last Tsar of Russia?”

  “Indeed. You know your history better than many Americans your age. I’m impressed.”

  “I may be a rebel, but I tried to pay attention in school just the same.”

  Agrippina laughed.

  “Call me Julia, by the way. Agrippina is so old fashioned. Using the name only calls attention to one’s self. As you must have already worked out, attention is like the kryptonite of our kind.”

  It was Veronica’s turn to laugh. She couldn’t keep a straight face at a two thousand year old Roman vampire referencing Superman.

  “Okay. So Julia, do tell.”

  “Well, simply, the Romanovs wish to retire from our little group. They wish to go home to Mother Russia.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “This is not a prison. As you can see, this is my home.”

  Julia waved her hand around the room, emphasizing the relaxed atmosphere of camaraderie that existed in abundance among its occupants.

  “I see.”

  “They may go if they wish, and I have decided that it may be for the best. Anastasia has adjusted to being an everlasting child well over the years. I would venture to say that she revels in it, even. But she was older at her turning than Alexei. And as a grand duchess, there was always less expected of her than of him. He was groomed from birth to rule after his father.”

  “Quite true,” Veronica agreed. “So where do I come in?”

  “I want you to escort them.”

  “To Russia? We Americans aren’t exactly in their good books at the moment, you know?”

  “I need you to deliver them to the elders of the Eastern Council of Watchers at Csejte Castle in the Carpathian Mountains.”

  Veronica laughed out loud at the request.

  “Csejte is ruined and scattered. There isn’t even a spot where two of its stones lie side by side. Everybody knows that!”

  “That is where you are wrong, Veronica Melbourne.”

  “Listen, Julia. I’ve had a hell of a couple of weeks. Right now, I’d rather you just lay it out straight for me and stop forcing me to kill any more brain cells. I realize that there must be a lot to this that I don’t know the truth about, so just be plain.”

  “I will, child. You see, the castle’s most famous visitor in history was a woman known to the world as Erzsabet Bathory, the Blood Countess. She was also its last. When she was imprisoned there for the mutilation and murder of over six hundred girls, it was said that she died after four years from isolation and grief. The truth is, she was turned by another famous vampire of the region. None other than Vlad Țepeș. The Impaler himself, Dracula.

  “Vlad faked Erzsabet’s death and when every living soul had abandoned the castle as a tomb for her body, refusing to bury her, he had a legion of vampires move the entire castle to a hidden location deep in the mountains. It is where it stands to this day and it is the home of those we call the Eastern Watch. Take the children there, Veronica. That is all I ask of you. When you return, should you wish to join us, you may. If not, you are always welcome among us and we will still see much of each other.”

  “It’s a huge opportunity, Julia. How can I say no? The only thing is, I really suck with kids.”

  They laughed together at the joke and then Veronica became serious again.

  “Julia, would you tell me about Erzsabet Bathory? The real story, I mean?”

  “Why, certainly. But it is a long one.”

  “What else do we have… if not the time?”

  Julia Augusta Agrippina smiled brightly at her and stood. She held her hand out to Veronica and helped her up from her seat.

  “In my library, I have a book which will tell you everything that you should know if I am to prepare you for the trip.” They walked in silence into the gargantuan room. Books of every size, shape, age, material, binding and color assaulted her vampiric eyes and senses from rows and rows of shelves which started at a four foot wainscoting and went up to the ceiling. There were even ladders attached to each wall that rolled the length of it so as to be able to access the highest shelves. Clearly they were either for the less gifted of her Watchers or perhaps for their mortal guests, since Julia ignored them completely and floated gently up to retrieve the large volume she needed.

  “B, B, B, B… hmmm, looking for the ‘B’ binder. Aha! Here we go!”

  Back on the ground, she placed the binder on a velvet-covered reading stand and waved her hand over it. The cover fell open as did several plastic protective pages until it was opened to the spot Julia wanted to show Veronica.

  “A binder, Julia? Really? Did you pluck this off the Internet? There’s a shit load of crap and bullshit on the Internet, you know.”

  “I am aware of such, Veronica. That is why I had Erzsabet herself authenticate and correct… in her own handwriting… any discrepancies.”

  “Okay, that’s fair, but then why the Internet?”

  “Veronica… oh, naïve one. Let me ask you… in your twenty-odd years as a mortal, how many times had you seen the inside of a real library? School hovels don’t count.”

  “Ummm, never. I’ve seen more libraries in the last month, to be quite honest.”

  “I know. The library has gone the way of the dinosaur and the fact that books are rather perishable themselves have not helped the cause. The Internet, my darling, is the new Library of Congress, especially for those of us who may not visit those public structures within their normal hours of business. But the Internet is also public domain, and therefore, the mantra of the Watchers’ research team is: ‘copy, paste and corroborate.’”

  Veronica laughed.

  “One day, I will show you our research library downstairs. I know you like computers and such. There’s a T5 Internet connection down there. We browse at vampire speed. Read, Miss Melbourne. You seem to be a good student. This is a collection of many references that you will find important to know. It is what we have corroborated as fact and sifted away from the ridiculous heap of fan fiction that has been written about the woman in question over the years. We have found truth about her on Wikipedia, Infamouslady.com and crimestories.com; all of them fantastically written and historically correct. Read, while I will go to make the travel arrangements. When you are finished, please be assured that I have the most wonderful tale to tell you.”

  With that, Julia sashayed from the room, leaving Veronica to her task.

  Epilogue

  There was a notation on the first page of the chapter that was open in front of Veronica. It read:

  Bathory, Erzsabet (Elizabeth)

  A collective history by the Western Council of Elder Watchers 1995 Anno Domini

  This is an anthology of the most historically correct renditions of Bathory’s childhood, life, accusation, prosecution, imprisonment and death.

  Handwritten revisions by: Erzsabet Bathory

  All sources are noted. 1995.

  Well, lah-dee-dah! Ain’t this gonna be some bullshit! Veronica thought sarcastically.

  But as she flipped through the pages of Internet articles, she became more and more mesmerized and that was when she came upon the jackpot. The page was headed with a handwritten scribble from the countess herself:

  Most accurate recollection. I couldn’t have written it better myself. This is not fan fiction!

  Her name was Countess Erzsabet Bathory, born in 1560 to George and Anna Bathory, members of a powerful family from the foot of the Carpathian Mountains. It was a time when Hungary had been caught in the middle of numerous battles between the Ottoman Empire and Austria’s Hapsburg armies.

  Raised on Ecsed, an estate in Transylvania, Erzsabet saw her cousin, Stephen, become prince of Transylvania when she was only 11 and heard all his plans to unite Europe against the Turks. He was known for his savagery. Scholars often cited his behavior as evidence of derangement in the family lineage.

  Erzsabet
was not an easy child, despite being a member of the privileged class. She suffered from fits, and exhibited uncontrolled rages that may have indicated a brain disorder associated with increased aggression. She was also promiscuous. At age 15, she married Count Ferencz Nadasdy, a renowned warrior who was often away from home. Thus, they joined two powerful political families with strains of madness running through them, both renowned for cruel behavior. She was rumored to practice witchcraft and carry a parchment inscribed with an incantation for protection. While her behavior toward servants is legendary today, it was not uncommon among aristocrats to exercise brutal beatings and even death on those they considered lesser beings. Erzsabet had a vicious impulsiveness that only strengthened in an environment with no accountability for aristocrats. She was also said to be a petty and vain narcissist. Changing her clothes five or six times a day and admiring her image in mirrors for hours. She used oils and unguents to preserve and whiten her skin.

  As Nadasdy’s wife, Erzsabet was introduced to his various modes of discipline. He showed Erzsabet how to freeze a girl to death during the winter by pouring water over her until her body hardened and she was unable to move. It was said that he sent black magic spells from the lands where he was at war for his wife as tokens of his love. Nadasdy was frequently gone on his military campaigns, so Erzsabet would practice rituals and write to him about them.

  She was reputed to receive an assortment of male lovers, as well as to indulge in lesbian sex. In one such instance, a local nobleman, who was reputed to drink blood, was brought to live at the castle to teach her about it. The stranger bore all the physical attributes of a supernatural vampire, with pale skin and long dark hair. We now know this to have been Vlad Tepes, who during his time at the castle, fell deeply in love with the Countess. For a time, Erzsabet ran off with him, but eventually she returned alone.

  After fathering four children with Erzsabet, three boys and a girl, Nadasdy fell ill in 1601 and died in 1604 leaving Erzsabet, a middle-aged widow at the age of 44. She continued to torture servants after her husband’s death, and even refined her methods. Erzsabet frequently tortured her victims herself; sometimes having to change their clothes, which dripped with blood, before she would continue her cruelties. The swollen bodies were then cut up with razors and burned.

  After the murder of one such servant in 1609, which Erzsabet tried to stage as a suicide, the authorities finally decided to act. This suspicious incident, coupled with the many other rumors over the years, demanded their immediate attention. The king agreed to an investigation, seeing it as an opportunity for himself. Erzsabet had been requesting that he repay loans her husband had made to the crown, and if the rumors proved true and she was arrested, he would be free of his debt.

  The rumors indeed proved true. What the investigators found was far worse than had been suspected and Erzsabet’s outrageous tyranny was brought to an end. As she awaited a hearing, her castle was searched for evidence. The bones and other remains, along with the clothing and personal effects of missing girls were found. One blackened body was in the fireplace, not fully burned, and quite a few were buried in shallow graves around the castle grounds.

  The truth of it was that Erzsabet and her entourage had killed six hundred and twelve women, whose deaths she had fully documented in her diary. In light of the mountainous evidence, all the people involved in the killings, except for Countess Bathory and two others, were beheaded and then cremated. Due to her nobility, it was prohibited by law to execute Erzsabet. In the end, the court never convicted Countess Erzsabet of any crime, but she was put under house arrest. Sentenced to life imprisonment, she was placed in her torture chamber and stonemasons were brought to wall up the windows and doors to keep her locked inside. A small hole was left open through which food could be passed.

  “So, Julia, how does this play into anything to do with the Watchers? Bathory wasn’t a vampire when she died at Csejte. She wasn’t even a real witch.”

  “Ah, very observant, Miss Melbourne. So now you get to hear the rest of the tale.”

  Julia handed her a champagne flute of warm blood and they walked out onto the balcony of the house. She took a deep – unnecessary – breath of the Californian air and sighed before she began her tale.

  “About four years after her imprisonment, Vlad began Erzsabet’s turning. He transformed into mists, entered her chamber at night and bled her slowly for three days. He would feed her his blood on the fourth, after which she would fall into the sleep of death, lay dead for two days and rise in the night a fledgling vampire. On the third day, weak and happy, she dictated her last will and testament to two cathedral priests from the Esztergom bishopric. She wished that what remained of her family holdings be divided up equally among her children; her son Paul and his descendants were the basic inheritors though. That evening, one of the countess's jailers wanted to get a good look at her, since she was still reputedly one of the most beautiful women in Hungary. Peeking through the small aperture in her walled-up cell, he saw her lying face down on the floor. Countess Erzsabet Bathory was dead. Her body was intended to be buried in the church in the town of Csejte, but the local inhabitants found the idea of having the ‘infamous Lady’ placed in their town abhorrent… in hallowed ground no less! Considering this, her jailors decided to wall her body up inside the castle and burn it to the ground.

  “That night, Erzsabet Bathory rose from the dead and her lover, Vlad Dracula, and his subjects removed the entire structure and disappeared into the mountains forever. He understood her, he loved her. Where other humans had seen a terrible, wicked woman with an appetite for atrocity, pain and the suffering of others; he had seen a unique creature that was caught on the wrong plane of existence. His own life experiences had taught him how painful that could be. She was one who delighted in the feast, lacked that annoying human trait of compassion and had a taste for blood; she was vampire.

  “The people of Hungary had locked her in the castle tower to die, but Vlad had seen that they had locked her up to be transformed.

  “From a sad woman in punishment, to the glorious Vampire in the High Castle.”

  The end.

  To be continued in:

  The Vampire in the High Castle

  Available now:

  Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK * Amazon AU

  Also Available:

  Ghost Crypt

  The Ghost Files Book #5

  by

  Chanel Smith

  Created by

  J.R. Rain & Scott Nicholson

  (read on for a sample)

  Chapter One

  “How would you feel about putting off returning home?” Ellen asked when I came back from the restroom and settled into the uncomfortable sling that substituted for a chair in Heathrow Airport.

  Airports and airplanes were not my favorite places to be, but the prospect of those two entities being a part of getting me back to Southern California and our home had made them somewhat tolerable. Her question caught me by surprise, because I assumed that she was as eager to get home as I was; if not more so.

  Initially, we were supposed to be on a direct flight from Brussels to LA, but had been rerouted to London to make an emergency landing. Transatlantic flights wouldn’t press forward if the handle on the toilet reacted a little bit slow, or so I’d been told. Evidently, whatever had caused the emergency landing wasn’t serious enough to send us hurtling to the ground or into the English Channel, but who was going to bitch about being back on the ground to fix a faulty part on an airplane?

  “What do you mean by putting it off?”

  “I got a call while you were in the loo.” She was always so adept at adapting to her surroundings.

  “What sort of call?”

  “Another case.”

  “Where? In Europe, China, Africa?” It seemed now that we had become an international organization, any place in the world was wide open.

  “Actually, right here, in London.”

  I’d always had a sec
ret desire to explore London. I would have suggested just that before returning home, if I hadn’t felt that Ellen was in a rush to get back after what we had just endured. “I’m game, but are you sure that you’re up for it?”

  “The extra time just being tourists was enough to refresh me,” she replied. “How about you? Are you too eager to get home with your beers or do you want to take a crack at this one?”

  “Hmmm… London has some good beer too. Maybe I could add to my collection.”

  “If they aren’t all broken already.”

  Another thought suddenly came to me. Not only did England have some good beers, but I had heard plenty about the smoothness of some of the single malt Scotch from various parts of the United Kingdom. “I can add a bottle or two of Scotch to my collection as well. Besides, I’ve always wanted to check out jolly ol’ England.”

  “They promised to pick up our expenses and reimburse Marcus for the unused portion of our flight home. They also offered us a sizable sum. I’m not sure what it converts to in dollars, but it sounds pretty good in pounds.”

  “The last time I checked, the British Pound valued about 40% more than the US dollar. That means almost a buck and a half so let’s do it. Who is the client?”

  “TFL,” she replied.

  “Who is TFL?”

  “I’m not sure at this point. I told them I would call them back and let them know if we accepted their offer. We’ll get more details after that.”

  “Call them back. Call them back,” I replied. I had another sudden thought as she pressed the button on her cell. “See if you can negotiate a couple of bottles of single malt Scotch in the deal.”

  She frowned at me and I knew it was once again time to close my trap. “I’ll just go find out what we need to do to get our luggage.”

  She smiled and winked at me at the same moment that she greeted whoever answered the call. That was her special signal that told me that I was back on track. I strolled toward the small counter that blocked the gate to the plane that was supposed to be arriving to take us on to LA.