Mrs. Dracula: Vampire Anthology

by Logan Keys

  James shook his head and sat back down, deflated. His eyes returned to his half-eaten bowl of gruel. “I hate the countess.”

  Jack had heard the rumors about the Count Dracula of the Romania province. How he’d become a brutal dictator who bathed in the blood of his enemies and left impaled heads on the ends of spears all around his borders. It was enough for him and Raven to choose to skirt around Romania to enter this province instead. But had the count been married? Why would the countess have strayed so far from her domain?

  “Who is this countess? I’ve never heard of her,” Darius asked, his eyes still on Raven. She frowned and glared at him, giving her head half a shake. Darius’s jaw clamped shut, and he returned to his bowl.

  She was right. If he were a farm boy, of course he wouldn’t have heard about the countess of a different province. But the young duke had let his guard down. He might have slipped into talking about his own nobility if he’d been allowed to talk further.

  Will, however, didn’t catch the silent dialogue between woman and child. “She’s a moroaică—”

  “Shhh,” their mother hissed as she entered the room with a small loaf of day-old bread. “None a dat talk. We can’t have ye spreadin’ rumors ’bout our town ta visitors, can we now?”

  “But how else are you going to make sure they don’t go out between the trumpet blasts? If they don’t know how dangerous it is, they might…” James grumbled and shook his head, letting his words trail off.

  The old woman didn’t answer but began clearing the table. Jack’s unease grew from what he’d heard. But surely it was only rumors and not true?

  Raven was on her feet, helping the old woman, and he rose to help, too.

  —4—

  Raven had heard more than enough. She lay awake on her pallet next to the boys’ mother. Darius and Jack were in the next room, bunking with the boys. The woman snored, but that wasn’t the sound that woke her from her superficial sleep. It was the shuffling noise coming from the direction of the kitchen.

  In the modicum of light from the moon outside the window, she glanced at her father’s silver pocket watch. Just past three in the morning—the witching hour. Raven tightened her jaw and pulled herself slowly from the coverlet.

  The slight chill in the air made her long once more for the warmth of the bed, but she had work to do. The mother’s soft snores continued unabated as Raven dressed quickly.

  With her knife in her thigh holster and her crossbow snapped to the magnets on the back of her corset, she tiptoed down the steps. The light from the iron-stove’s continuous flame shined upon the older boy, James, just as he slid out the back door. Slipping through the shadows, Raven followed.

  The streets of Sedgwick were sparsely lit with the occasional gas lamp. In the light of one about fifty meters away, she found James hurrying down the street, huddled and carrying a bundle. Raven pursued him but kept her distance.

  Outside the echo of the boy’s boots against the cobblestone walkways, the night remained eerily quiet. Not even a cricket or mouse stirred in the street. Overhead, the moon stood bright in the zenith of the sky, a pale facsimile of noonday sun. The boy headed toward the docks at the end of town nearest the river. There the streets grew wider and darker, easier for her to stay hidden among shadows.

  And worse, other things hid as well.

  Across from her on the other side of the street, Raven spotted another shadow in pursuit of the boy. It moved in an awkward, incomprehensible manner. Its joints bent in broken angles and its limbs stretched over-long. But it kept its distance from the boy. Raven watched with her hand on the hilt of her blade, but it never acknowledged her presence.

  Raven kept her eye on it and her senses sharp. She watched James duck into a warehouse by the pier from her peripheral vision. The shadow slithered up a wall toward the roof. Once it reached the top of the warehouse, the moonlight lit its form, and it took shape. The curves of the body and the long red hair became fully visible. Raven blinked. It was a woman.

  The countess. A normal woman would not have been able to move the way the woman did, and certainly not climb the wall in that manner. There was only one explanation. Moroaică. Raven blinked and shook herself from her stupor. She remained in the shadows along the wall as she proceeded toward the warehouse, keeping an eye on the countess until the woman disappeared.

  Raven kept her eyes on the place she’d last seen the countess and moved closer to the doorway the boy had entered. She stood outside the building with an ear close to the door. Voices.

  Although she couldn’t make out what was being said, she could tell from the timber and tones that the boy was speaking to a group of men. At least five different voices spoke.

  From the corner of her eye, Raven spied a shape come out of the shadows and dart in her direction. Her left hand had remained on the hilt of her knife. She drew it quickly, measuring the distance and calculating the movements as she spun the knife between her fingers and palm, then let it slide between her fingers to the tip, ready to throw the blade.

  She waited for the form to come closer. The shadow darted under the closest gas lamp. But then a shirtless man came into view, every muscle in his body taut. His eyes were red and shined in the light, reminding her of the man she’d seen in the woods. This wasn’t the same man, but he also had blood smeared over his body and the same intensity to his hatred. A snarl on his lips showed his predatory fangs, and his clawed fingers reached for her, even though he was still meters away. She assessed the danger—hesitation would mean certain death. In one smooth motion, she threw the knife. It entered the base of his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

  The man stopped, his eyes growing wide. His fingers, which had been reaching toward her, now clawed his throat. He wrenched the knife from his neck, ripping the wound open further. But no blood spurted from the wound as it should have. The man staggered, but he didn’t fall. His eyes lost focus, but he shook himself, trying to regain composure. The bloodless wound had already begun to close. The knife clattered against the cobblestones as he released it from his fingers and refocused on her.

  Raven drew the crossbow from her back. She pulled a bolt from her side quiver and loaded it in the weapon. Rumor had it that moroi could only be killed with a wooden stake through the heart. She aimed her bolt at the man’s heart from only a few yards away and pulled the trigger.

  The wooden bolt hit her mark with barely the whisper of a whistle. It wasn’t surprise or shock that affected the man’s eyes this time but relief. The anger in his eyes completely dissipated, and he took one last sighing breath. The harshness and rage completely gave way to a look of angelic serenity. He fell forward, but before he hit the ground, his body dissolved in a puff of black smoke laden with the odor of brimstone. The wooden bolt clanked to the ground, joining her knife.

  Raven blinked and replaced her crossbow to the magnets on her back. The resonance of her weapons on the ground barely registered. She marveled at the echo of the man’s reaction before he disappeared. A cry pierced the air, and Raven darted her gaze toward the cry where the countess had disappeared moments before.

  After retrieving her weapons quickly, Raven pulled back into the shadows. The woman’s form appeared in front of her instantly as though the countess had leapt from the top of the warehouse to the ground, not more than four yards away from Raven.

  Dagger in one hand, crossbow bolt in the other, Raven gripped them both so tight the tips of her fingers began to numb. If the monster turned in her direction, she would have to battle it without the help if the crossbow. Would she be able to stab the countess in the heart without its help?

  “My child…” a deep, piercing voice wailed to the man. The hairs on Raven’s arms stood on end at the sound of it.

  Raven loosened her grip slightly to allow the blood flow back into her fingertips and readied herself. The countess turned and faced her. Her red eyes virtually glowed in the dark. The wind picked up wisps of her curly red hair and pulled them away from
her temples. The woman snarled and bared her fangs. They were longer and more needle-like than the moroi Raven had the encounter with. Her heart raced. If this were the thing in the woods, which had moved faster than humanly possible, calculating an offensive attack would be futile. She’d be lucky if she could do enough to defend herself.

  The countess didn’t step—she glided. And she slipped toward Raven, her hands becoming claw-like and reaching out in a menacing manner. Without another thought, Raven flipped up her knife and threw it.

  With barely a twist to the side, the countess avoided the blade. Her red eyes narrowed and her nose crinkled in disgust. She hissed.

  Raven only had one chance. She took a single step back to gain a better fighting stance and drew her hand ready with the crossbow bolt. She would not be able to throw it. Her only chance was to stab at the countess.

  “Raven!” Jack shouted from across the street.

  The countess stopped, straightened, and turned toward the sound of Jack’s voice. Raven dove toward the moroaică while she was distracted. But the monster shimmered and disappeared, leaving Raven to falter. She barely managed to catch herself before falling face first on the cobblestones.

  “Raven?” Jack cried out his question just as the countess’s claw wrapped around his chin.

  Spots crowded Raven’s vision as anger and dread wrapped themselves around her ribcage like twin snakes. Her throat grew tight, but she pushed down those emotions immediately, just as she was taught by her father. She must stay calm. Darting forward, she grabbed the crossbow from her back and pulled the bolt into position. She took aim for the countess’s back, calculating the position of her heart, and prepared to depress the trigger. But a sudden blow to her side knocked her off balance.

  Raven couldn’t let herself land on her crossbow. She twisted her body in the air toward her attacker as she fell. Standing above her was the same moroi she’d met in the woods. She pointed the crossbow at his chest and pulled the trigger at the same moment her back struck the ground. Pain radiated through her torso. The same pain echoed in the moroi’s eyes for a split second before the relief. Then came the puff of smoke and brimstone.

  “No!” the countess shrieked. And suddenly she stood above Raven, her face contorting with pain.

  Grabbing another bolt quickly with her fingers, Raven never took her eyes off the countess as she readied her crossbow. Jack’s body dangled limp from the monster’s upraised hand. Raven pointed the crossbow at the countess’s chest and pulled the trigger.

  —5—

  The arrow zipped through the empty air above Raven. Jack’s body lay on the ground, but the monster had disappeared again. Raven scrambled to a kneeling position, checking Jack for any injury. He seemed in a daze, his unblinking eyes open to the sky, but he still breathed.

  Raven reached for another bolt from her quiver, pulled it into her crossbow, and scanned the area for the monster. How far could it have gotten in such a short time? And then she spotted her.

  The countess stood upon the warehouse roof, her white shift blowing in the breeze, her red hair a halo around her head in the moonlight. “Enough!” she cried out. “It seems I’ve worn out my bloody welcome here in Sedgwick. My children and I will take our leave. But fair warning. Do not let our paths cross again, Raven Steele.”

  The hairs on the back of Raven’s neck stood on end. How had the countess known her full name?

  In a thick fog of smoke, which moved slower than the wisps that accompanied the deaths of the moroi, the countess disappeared once more, the smoke rising higher and staying together like a storm cloud. Four other wisps of smoke gathered with it from all directions. Raven could only imagine it was the remainder of the countess’s “children.” The black mist blew toward the west, over the river.

  “You did it.” James suddenly stood before her, his eyes filled with unshed tears glistening in the moonlight. “We are free.”

  Raven had forgotten the boy in her exertions until he suddenly stood before her. The wrinkles around his eyes made him look so much older than his form suggested. Perhaps loss and struggle caused quick maturity. Would Darius also gain that mature look to his eyes? Would she and Jack somehow stop it from happening, the way Raven’s father had for her?

  Jack groaned and pulled himself to a sitting position. Raven stood, offering a hand to help him. The warmth of his hand soothed her somewhere deep in her soul. The same place had been disturbed the moment the monster had touched him. What made her feel so possessive over him? She’d only felt this protective urge about two other people, Darius and her father. She loved them both, and wished to protect them, even at the cost of her own life.

  But with Jack, it was something more. The love she felt for him differed from the love she felt for Darius or her father. His brown eyes met hers and the knot in her stomach finally dissolved. He was okay.

  Voices behind them finally drew Raven’s attention from Jack. A small crowd of people formed. Among them were seven men who were only half dressed, covered with dirt and at varying stages of weight loss. One of these men stepped up to her and offered his hand to shake. “My son tells me you saved us. And my heart confirms it. We’ve been imprisoned both in mind and body since we were captured by that moroaică witch.”

  A ripe, rancid, yet metallic redolence came from him. Blood and sweat. Raven remained stoic, not allowing the pungent odor to affect her facial features as she accepted his hand. “I cannot take credit for doing more than I have.”

  He gripped her hand tighter, his face becoming stern. “You came into town, and the witch left. We give credit where it is due.”

  Raven nodded, and the man released her hand with a firm nod of his own.

  “My son saw the whole thing. He found us in the warehouse two days ago, but feared letting anyone know about us. The witch allowed him to come and bring us food, but the portions were meager.” The father hugged his son by the shoulders with one arm. “We were no better than caged beasts. We could not leave our captivity, and hardly a thought came to our heads. The woman and the other moroi fed up daily and offered their own blood to us. Those that drank of the blood became one of them. But we resisted. Those of us standing here.”

  Six men in filthy rags stood behind him. The strong ones supported those who were unable to remain on their feet.

  “Nearly every night she brought another. For a fortnight the witch haunted us. Praise God you came to our town.”

  “Yes,” an older man came forward, his voice stronger than his body. “We are a poor town, but we owe you so much. Please stay as long as you like, and allow us to have a feast for you. As mayor, I declare we will celebrate this day and our deliverance!”

  They cheered although it was weak. Shutters across the street opened and a murmur among the people in the homes started. Excited people began pounding on doors, spreading word of the countess’s departure.

  Raven felt suddenly dizzy. Her knees gave way, but Jack caught her by the waist.

  “You’re exhausted.”

  She shook her head and straightened herself, refusing to lean on him. “I’m fine.”

  His brow furrowed. “Raven. You have hardly slept in the past two days and it’s finally catching up to you. The danger is gone and I’m here. Please, rely upon me.”

  Relief poured down her body, each muscle relaxing and giving in. Spots crowded her vision again. She nodded and fell into Jack’s arms.

  Epilogue

  Jack allowed Raven to sleep for a full day before waking her. The innkeeper had insisted upon giving her the best room, apparently at the expense of the town of Sedgwick, and after Raven had passed out in his arms, he’d carried her directly there.

  The doorway between Jack’s room and Raven’s stood ajar, surprising him as he picked up his hand to knock. Slowly, Jack pushed the door further open and called out, “Raven, is everything as it should be?”

  Raven stood before the mirror, fully dressed in her travelling clothes, putting a pin in the tight bun upon he
r head. She made eye contact with him in the mirror and turned around, nodding.

  Her soft smile put Jack at ease. “Would you like something to eat? The tavern downstairs makes a decent meal.”

  She tilted her head a bit to the side, her eyes sparkling more than he ever remembered. “Yes, I’m famished.”

  “Eat lightly. We’re invited to the mayor’s house for dinner and festivities.”

  A frown stole the sparkle from her eyes. “No, we must get back on the road.”

  Jack blinked. “But I thought we were considering settling in this town, at least for a bit.”

  Darius rushed into the room behind Jack and tackled Raven in a bear hug. She embraced him, her smile once again returning. Darius had been enquiring about Raven at least four times each waking hour since she’d been asleep. He pulled back from her just enough to peer up at her face. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I’ve been worried sick. Will and James say that you saved the whole town from the moroi and that they are going to celebrate it tonight. It’s been so long since I’d seen fireworks.”

  The creases returned to Raven’s brow. “My young duke, we will have to watch the festivities from a distance. We’ve become too much of a spectacle to remain here. The authorities in New Haven will have heard of what transpired and dispatch hunters to track us down. We cannot stay.”

  Raven was right. Again. How was it the woman always seemed to think ahead where Jack failed to?

  “Let’s collect our things and get going. We can get outside of town before sundown.” Jack agreed.

  Raven patted Darius on the back as she pushed him toward the adjoining room where he and Jack and been staying.

  Jack realized why her mind had been set again on leaving Sedgwick before sundown. But this time, her reason was much less of a mystery. Perhaps he would grow to understand more about this puzzle of a woman the longer he remained with her. He only hoped that she would continue to remain with him.