Lucy shook her head. ‘I don’t like it. It’s weird. Look, we should have some sort of secret code, so if you text us, we know it’s you. If you end up disappearing or something, and we want to-’
‘That’s not a bad idea.’ Ollie interrupted.
Ofelia thought for a moment, then looked up. ‘Okay, so if I start a text message with “Hi and end it with “Ciao” it means I wrote it, and everything is good. If I start message with “Hey” and end it with “bye” it means I need help.’
Ollie was shaking his head. ‘Nah, that won’t do. Any idiot could take your phone see you always start and end it with the same words. How about you also always include either a day of the week or a month of the year, or a year in every message? Then if you ever reply without including one of them, we’ll know someone has nicked your phone and is pretending to be you?’
Ofelia groaned. ‘Fine. It sounds stupid, but I suppose I can do that.’
Ofelia, Ollie and the others retreated from grounds to Tempest House. Once they were back in the quiet of the woods, they sat on a fallen tree, well away from the beaten path. Ofelia told them her story in more detail, she mentioned Albrecht, Amicia, the Arbores and the circumstances of how she became a vampire. She also elaborated more on what Victor had told her exactly and her theories about what his motives might be. She also told them about her encounters with modern medicine and how Dr. Julia Sterling also knew her secret. Afterwards, Ollie invited them back to his house for lunch and Ollie’s mum made sandwiches for all. They didn’t talk about Ofelia or her vampirism in the house for fear that Ollie’s mum might be listening.
After lunch they hung out with Ollie for a while then made the long walk back to Harper House. When they got back, Gavin had left, to be replaced by Nina. Initially she interrogated them all with great suspicion on where they’d been and what they’d been up to. Finally she announced to Ofelia that Rita had pulled some strings and that she should pack. Tomorrow she’d be taken to school by Nina, but she’d be picked up after school by Victor. She was moving to Tempest House. Rita would drop her things off during the day.
Ofelia finished packing early and decided to spend some time with the others for this last night. They watched a film together in the living room, but she couldn’t concentrate on it. Her mind was racing. A new chapter was beginning tomorrow, but she still wasn’t sure it would be a good one.
***
The next day Nina took Ofelia to school with the others. Ofelia told Ollie that she was moving into Victor’s that afternoon and promised to text him to let him know everything was alright.
Sure enough, at the end of the day, she watched Stoney climb into Nina’s BMW without her. A moment later, Victor’s opulent classic Mercedes rolled up. She climbed into the back, but Victor turned over his shoulder. ‘You can sit in the front you know?’
She smiled. ‘I prefer to ride in the back thanks.’
The drive to Tempest House seemed longer than Harper House and passed by the dangerous hairpin bend with the sheer drop down to the reservoir. It occurred to Ofelia at this moment that she’d moved from two homes entitled ‘House’, but that only Tempest House truly befitted the implied grandeur. It was possible that Harper House had been a grand home in its day, but certainly never on the scale of Tempest House. Victor parked the car in a large barn behind the house. She spotted at least half a dozen other cars, all lined up in the barn, under tarpaulins. She couldn’t tell much about them, except that they looked like vintage cars from their shape. He led her up to the house, and they entered through a back door into a dark oak panel-lined hallway. A new servant greeted them - a short girl with dark hair and olive skin. Victor introduced her as Amy.
‘Would you like me to bring some refreshments up to your room miss?’
Ofelia nodded. ‘Something like a beef or ham sandwich and a glass of coke.’
‘Right away miss. If there’s anything you need, just ask. There are bells in most of the rooms of the house. The master said to help you with anything you ask for.’
‘Thank you.’
Victor watched Amy scuttle off to the kitchen, then gestured towards a narrow back-stairway. ‘I take it you can find your way? It’s easier to go up the grand staircase in the main hall, but I understand if you want to explore a bit on the way. My house is yours. Except, the-’
‘Master bedroom and the wine cellar, I remember!’ Ofelia interrupted. She left Victor and climbed the back staircase. What followed was a meandering tour of hallways. The house seemed endless. She passed narrow winding staircases to the servants’ floor, more bedrooms, a study, and a dumbwaiter. Finally, she found her way to the large corner bedroom she’d selected for herself. Her bags had not only been brought to the room, but her clothes had been folded and placed in drawers or put on hangers and placed in the large oak wardrobe. Her wash bag had been neatly emptied onto the washbasin in her en-suite bathroom. The selection of books she’d been reading were stacked neatly on the small table beside her grand, curtained, four-poster bed. Technically, they belonged to Harper House, but she’d agreed with Nina that she could borrow them so long as she returned them once she’d finished. She walked to the window and stared out at the open fields and the reservoir beyond, then smiled to herself. She drew the curtains back a little, then slumped onto the bed, removed her dark glasses and picked up her phone. She thought for a moment, trying to recall what they’d agree was the secret code she’d use in texts, then began.
She’d followed the rules. It’d reassure him that so far everything was okay. She dropped her phone on the bedside table and picked up one of the books. Maybe moving into Victor’s wasn’t such a crazy idea after all? She smiled to herself and began reading. Moments later she heard a knock on her door. ‘Come in!’
Amy appeared with a tray of freshly cut sandwiches and an ice-cold glass of Coke. She brought them to the bed, curtseyed and left. Ofelia mused to herself that this was a life she could get used to.
Chapter 17 - The Great Fire
For the rest of the week, Victor dropped Ofelia off at school and picked her up at the end of the day. For the most part he left her to her own devices, simply giving her the run of the house and full use of his servants. She didn’t get the chance to speak to Ollie in depth. One lunchtime she was roped into showing the other music teacher her piano playing. Two lunchtimes she had to play chess matches for the house chess team, both of which she won, though the matches took longer than her first match now her opponents knew how good she was. Stoney turned up one lunchtime to eat his sandwiches with Ofelia and Ollie, but it didn’t seem a safe place to talk about Victor and Tempest House. Ofelia felt better staying at Tempest House; it was a taste of a true life of luxury. She slept better too, though she still dreamed. She dreamed of climbing a dusty tower by moonlight, in the heart of 16th century Madrid, gripping a slender wooden stake between her teeth. Then she dreamed of sneaking into the cellar of a grand house in Buda, decades earlier, before it joined Pest and Óbuda to form Budapest; her prey - the sleeping vampire Magdelena Florescu. When she thought back, she realised just how perilous her long life had been at times. Even having vampire abilities herself; hunting vampires was a dangerous profession. At other times she’d had to beg, borrow and steal to survive. Bearing the appearance of an eleven-year-old meant she’d never succeeded at holding down work. Being restricted to work that could be done during the hours of darkness didn’t help. Only when she’d had mortals helping to hide her and support her, had her life been relatively easy. Right here, right now in Tempest House was probably the safest and easiest it had ever been. Maybe Victor wasn’t so bad after all? If he had an inkling of what she’d been through, perhaps he was sympathetic towards her and-
Ofelia stopped herself. She’d been lying on her bed mulling things over. It was Friday night; she decided to text Ollie.
The code would ensure Ollie knew it was her and everything was fine.
The meet up arranged, she headed downstairs to talk to Victor. She�
��d been avoiding him all week and was beginning to feel guilty about it. So far he’d shown her nothing but trust and kindness. It didn’t take long to find him. The servants appeared to have gone to bed. Victor was sitting in the library, with an ancient leather-bound book on his lap and a crystal glass with a shot of neat scotch whiskey on the occasional table next to him. He looked up when Ofelia strode in. ‘Ahh, Ofelia. Come in. Take a seat. Scotch?’
She’d had scotch whiskey before, but not since the 17th century. ‘Sure.’
Victor stood while Ofelia slumped into a tan leather wing chair. He approached an antique drinks cabinet and poured a double into a glass from a crystal decanter. He handed her the glass and retreated to his chair. Ofelia swirled the liquid and sniffed its aroma. A rich, peaty smell invaded her nostrils. ‘What are we drinking?’
‘A rare single malt. This is The Macallan Valerio Adami - distilled in 1926 and bottled in 1986 - it has been described as the “Holy grail of whisky’. The bottle is worth around eight hundred thousand pounds.’
Ofelia gaped. ‘That’s obscene!’
‘I’ve poured you a double, that’s 70ml. I put it in a decanter and threw the bottle away but I think it was a one-litre bottle so that means your drink is worth... I think about fifty-six-thousand pounds.’
‘I can’t drink it.’ Ofelia gasped.
Victor shrugged. ‘Yes, you can. I want to see what you think. I want to know if you think it tastes like it’s worth that much.’
Ofelia eyed him with suspicion, then sipped the drink. It was nice, smooth and with a rich texture and flavour. But it didn’t taste like it was worth the price. Victor leaned forward. ‘Well?’
‘No, it doesn’t taste like it’s worth fifty grand. Why does anyone pay so much for drink?’
‘You’re naïve Ofelia, some people will buy expensive things just to show off that they can buy expensive things. You’re right by the way - that whisky probably tastes no better than a nice bottle of twenty-five-year-old single malt. The obscene price is for the privilege of tasting it and knowing for yourself that it’s a con. By then you’ve already been conned. I didn’t expect any different you understand. I just enjoy the prestige of being one of the few people on this earth who’ve tasted it, and I can afford it. Many things are like this, rarity is important to ensure the price of a product is kept high. The same would be true of vampirism. Once we know how to make a vampire, we need to keep it secret and ensure nobody else can make more vampires.’
Ofelia scoffed. ‘So I am just business transaction to you?’
‘No!’ Victor rebuked, ‘I want to help you. But I think you can help me.’
Ofelia sipped the amber liquid again, not taking her eyes off Victor. ‘There’s so much I don’t get about you. You seem to know too much. Why don’t you ask me about the past? What’s with all the old stuff like that barn full of vintage cars?’
Victor shrugged. ‘As you can see, I’m from an old family. I’ve always had an interest in history and esoteric knowledge. As for the cars, granddad Vincent started the tradition of putting his old cars into storage whenever he bought a new one. My father continued the tradition, and so did I. We all love our cars and hate parting with them. I haven’t bought a new car in a long time though.’
‘Don’t you have any questions about the past?’ Ofelia asked.
‘No,’ Victor began, ‘except questions about you. I’ve read a lot. I know history. I even know a lot of your history. Your real name is Ilona Neamțu. Your father was Dimitrie. Your mother was Letiția. During the fourteen hundreds, you spent your time sneaking around what we now know as Romania and Hungary killing vampires. For most of the fifteen hundreds you were wandering around the Kingdom of France with god knows who, slaying vampires. You went to Spain for the same reason, by the mid-sixteen hundreds you were in England.’
Ofelia’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know too much. What do you know about my time in England during the 17th century?’
Victor smiled a broad grin. ‘I know you used a dirty trick to round up the English vampires, who were for the most part resident in London. I know you accidentally started the Great Fire of London. None of that matters though. I’ve welcomed you into my home. I’ve shown you I can give you a better life. All I ask for in return is regular samples of your blood.’
Ofelia glared at him. ‘How do you know this? Why do you want my blood?’
‘I want to make more vampires.’
Something dawned on Ofelia then, something she hadn’t thought of before. ‘Hey, wait. You say you need my blood; what’s wrong with the blood from this other vampire you claim to know?’
Victor paused now and avoided eye contact, as if wrestling with something in his head. ‘Well?’ Ofelia pressed him.
Victor sighed. ‘I have instructions on how to make more vampires. I have never succeeded using the other vampire’s blood. I’d like to try yours.’
Ofelia knocked her whisky back and slammed the tumbler down on the table. ‘What is the method? How do you make a vampire?’
Victor paused again. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and looked up, as if wracking his memory. Then he spoke. ‘I can’t remember. I borrowed a copy of In Libro de Davoth and it had a whole section on vampire lore and rituals, including the method of creating more vampires. It was complex and involved the blood of a fully turned vampire. I can tell you that it’s far simpler to make a vampire if you have a living or dead, founder vampire. You just drink the blood. To make someone a vampire using human, vampire hybrids, is much harder.’
‘Why do you want to make more vampires though? I was hoping you’d help me lose this curse and become human again.’
‘Why? Don’t you realise what it would be worth? The wealthiest people in the world would be clamouring to become immortal. We could charge people a hundred million pounds per turning and they’d pay it. We could probably charge a billion pounds and still have customers!’
‘Yeah, but once you make more vampire, they can start selling the-’
‘No they can’t. I have a plan, which will prevent any other vampires learning the secret of turning. Not just make it unlikely, make it physically impossible.’
Ofelia’s head was spinning now. Something told her Victor knew more than he was saying. He was talking about this as if it was a plan he’d had for some time. ‘And you have customers for this service? Who are rich enough to pay so much?’
‘Yes, I have customers. I had more. Saddam Hussein was interested, as was Colonel Gadhafi. Kim Yong Un would certainly pay for the service if I provided him with proof it was real. There are Russian oligarchs, Chinese businessmen, British hedge fund managers, American politicians... And yes, dictators. I have a list of over a hundred people who I’m confident would pay at least six figures, if not seven to be turned.’
‘Hah!’ Ofelia scoffed. ‘Seems like you mean to make all the richest, wealthiest, most powerful men in the world richer, wealthier and more powerful.’
‘The plan is to make them less wealthy. Their wealth can be ours. What do you say?’
Ofelia got up and walked to the door. ‘It’s late Victor. Let me think about it. Let me sleep on it.’
***
Ofelia had hoped for a dreamless night, but it was not to be so. She’d gone straight to bed after leaving Victor. Was it their conversation or the whisky? She didn’t know, but even as she closed her eyes she began dreaming.
In the dream, she was back in 17th century London. She even knew the date, because it was enshrined in history. It was the evening of Friday 31st August 1666. Ofelia was hidden under a huge, hooded cloak, her hands hidden inside long leather gloves. She turned into Pudding Lane and looked up. Timber-framed houses, each floor larger than the one below it, loomed over the street, casting it into darkness. The weatherworn cobbles were covered in remnants of offal and dried bloodstains. She could hear rats scurrying about in the gutter. Striding forwards, she knocked on the door of the large house next door to Thomas Farriner’s B
akery. A middle-aged man with long, straggly hair and a slender, manicured beard and moustache opened the door. He was wearing a black coat and breeches with a large but plain white collar. He ushered her in. ‘Mistress, please.’
Ofelia entered the candle-lit abode and closed the door after herself. ‘Is it done? Has the white-wash dried?’
‘Yes, mistress. Come and see.’
Ofelia followed him into the main room of the house. From there, a staircase descended into a deep cellar. As the man led the way down the stone steps, he held his candle in front, lighting the way. When he reached the bottom step, twenty or thirty feet down he stumbled and the candle almost fell from his grip, but Ofelia’s hand snapped out and grabbed it. ‘Careful! We have one chance at this. Don’t drop the candle.’
They emerged into a deep, cosy cellar with a large table with thirteen chairs around it. Six on either side and one at the head. The man placed the candle on the table. ‘Sorry mistress. The room is prepared though. Behind the plaster are hidden large barrels of pitch and oil. Amongst them are stored small powder kegs, all connected with black powder. The first floor has been loaded with large rocks and powder kegs. When we light the fuse we have a few minutes to get clear before the cellar is buried and turned into an inferno. There is a problem though. I fear when we dug out for the cellar, we dug too far. Part of the cellar is under Farriner’s Bakery.’
Ofelia shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. If they come at the time they were invited in the letter I forged, the Bakery should be empty. If this works, we can kill the entire coven of English vampires in one fell swoop. They are arrogant, they think they are invincible because they are immortal.’
‘You should be careful mistress. They know about you. Your existence is no longer a secret.’
Ofelia grinned at this. ‘I know. I’m counting on that. The letter I forged in the hand of Lord Gregory called this meeting to deal with me. I told them I know where Ofelia is, I have a plan to capture and kill her, but it will require all of them to help.’
Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1) Page 17
