The Parchment (The Memory of Blood)

by Sylvie Brisset

  It was time to make contact with the French police, discreetly. And he knew whom to contact, in fact the only French cop he knew. But he had the opportunity to appreciate his qualities on a case of organ traffic, when he was still a policeman. The history was perhaps repeated. He found without any trouble the contact information of agent Silvo, and sent him an email with the mysterious documents.

  CHAPTER - 12 -

  It was only about ten hours later that the message reached its destination. Since the time of his collaboration with Lieutenant Porkelevitch, Silvo had changed assignment and email address.

  He was now director of a division dependent on the Directorate of Interior Intelligence Central. It was not officially listed as it was too new, too "exotic". It managed the cases soberly called strange, that did not meet rational criteria. Silvo’s reports, like the interventions of his team, were kept secret. What government would take the political risk of admitting that it was allocating funds in the census of vampires, or to the fight against demons?

  A few years earlier, Silvo himself, despite having an open mind to everything that was not explained, doubted the existence of these fictional characters. His best friend and her granddaughter Mystie had rare talent as a genetic memory, but believing in the existence of bloodsuckers...But he had to admit it when he had met vampires, ghosts and had even fought a demon by their side. So yes, now he believed in it. And sometimes he regretted not having a more obtuse mind that would allow him to ignore certain threats against which he felt too often powerless.

  When he got the credits to organize his brigade "of the strange", he was close to retirement. Three years later he was still in position. He did not find to whom to transfer his team, given the nature of their enemies, without being regarded as loony. And how could he have retired, to go fishing, knowing what existed on Earth without anyone knowing it?

  He read the message from Lieutenant Porkelevitch, and was about to forward it to concerned law enforcement when a name mentioned caught his attention. And this time he took time to read and study the documents. He knew Philippe Delatour, and understood the meaning of the attachments.

  Contrary to what Porkelevitch thought, the pictures did not represent the dynasty Delatour, but a single man Philippe Delatour. He was a vampire. This idiot had kept his original body, and had been unmasked.

  Delatour was what Mystie called a black soul. At his death, before being sucked to what Silvo considered as the hells, Delatour had been capable to return to his own body and pursue an almost normal existence.

  If black souls were powerful enough, and the body not too much damaged, they could govern physiological reactions, give the necessary orders to regenerate damaged cells, or specialize the others like those of a foetus or a cancer which would produce in this case the cells in a targeted way.

  Nourishment by the blood was not mandatory, but easier. It allowed vampires not to have to use certain organs, which therefore tended to atrophy over time. This also preserved vampires from disease. Their dormant metabolism slowed down or stopped their development.

  Some vampires fed normally, but they were more fragile. Those, like human beings, needed all their organs in working order. Delatour was part of that last category.

  The sun and daylight were not a real handicap, but the vampires preferred the night and cold regions, which required less energy to maintain their body condition.

  Their hope of non-life was very long but Silvo still ignored the limits. If the soul lost, for any reason, its power, to the point of not being able to stabilize the body, the charnel envelope was destroyed and the soul followed the path it should have taken at first death. If the vampire had no longer enough energy to keep the mortal coil, it could even less appropriate another envelope.

  To Silvo’s knowledge, they did not have hyper-developed canine teeth, which did not prevent them from being predators.

  The vampires could, as Mystie, leave their mortal coil for astral travels. But during these trips they risked, when returning, to find back their body occupied by a new soul. So they took this risk only in ultimate circumstances.

  They had their own laws, their own hierarchy, a parallel State, but had chosen to blend into the crowd. Silvo knew little about their structures, but his directory of vampires began to lengthen. To the point that he wondered how they could keep such a secret for so long.

  Almost everything Silvo knew about vampires, he owed it to Delatour. The vampire participated in a random way in the investigations led by Mystie - private detective - helped by a wacky ghost nicknamed Casper.

  He knew that Delatour made scientific research. And this was understandable when you knew his condition. Vampires exercised phenomenal control over their bodies and medical discoveries would only increase this power. Besides, this control was painful. They could care through this power, but they made it without anesthesia. They had to be fully aware of the pain to diagnose it and act accordingly. A small night-sleep did not make the work for them. Their mortal coil being their greatest weakness, it was natural that they study it. At least this time, they shared their knowledge with humans. Finally, a little.

  Silvo was unaware that Delatour and his team were at the origin of important discoveries. One thing was sure. His fame had put him in trouble.

  Silvo answered Porkelevitch, assuring him that he would conduct a discreet investigation and would keep him informed. But he already knew that the American would not be very patient. And the deaths that he described in his message worried Silvo.

  He already had enough to do with his vampires. He had no wish to see landing on his territory, killers from across the Atlantic. If the existence of vampires and other dark entities mixed in the population came to be revealed, it would be chaos. Everyone would suspect everyone not to be what he seemed. If they had no reason to hide their true nature, who knew what vampires could do. Under the social polish were hiding former humans, with heavy pasts and who had learned to use bulletproof psychic powers. Their weaknesses were carefully kept secret. And among the supernatural beings that anyone could unknowingly meet, they were not the worst creatures.

  But before thinking of the worst, he made phone calls to try to learn more about the origin of the parchment and complete the file. Strangely, no museum, no private individual had reported the loss of the manuscript. Yet, like any ancient document, it had to have a market value. The facts dated more than a week. The theft should have been discovered. Unless he had to extend the period of investigations. He renewed his researches in the database and waited for the software to find a wanted notice on a comparable document. Once again, it was a fiasco.

  He printed the document, but was unable to read it. The alphabet was Latin and the text was probably in this language. But the only memories of Latin he had from school were limited to Rosa, Rosae, Rosam.

  For lack of knowing its origin, perhaps could he get it translated. It was late, but maybe he could still find someone in the deciphering department.

  Minutes after his request, a young woman of about thirty years, wearing a white blouse stained with ink came into his office. She greeted him with a nod, clumsily trying to hide her hands crowned with black markings. Her cheeks were a little too red. Her discomfort was obvious.

  "Sorry, I came right away sir."

  She followed the gaze of Silvo, which lingered on her stained blouse, probably in search of her badge.

  "I had some problems with the photocopier toner."

  Silvo did not comment on her outfit, but his glance was suspicious.

  "You are from deciphering department?" He wanted to make sure.

  "Yes sir. I have just been transferred in your division."

  "I see. What is the story with the photocopier? A new version of the hazing?"

  Clearly uncomfortable, the woman did not know what to say.

  "How can I help you sir?"

  He presented a copy of the manuscript to the young woman, while also explaining what he expected from her.

 
If she was surprised by such a request, she did not show it. In fact she was rather curious to see the document, and her eyes lit up with curiosity when she read the first few characters and discovered the illuminations.

  "The difficulty will be in the fact that I understand about ten languages, but Latin is not my strong point. Terrorists rarely use dead languages to base their ciphered communications. It will be the first time that I will work with Latin."

  Seeing the face of Silvo, she hastened to add.

  "I will transfer the text on the computer. It should not be very long sir."

  "Can you do it tonight?"

  "I can do it immediately".

  "Very well. "

  The young woman left the office and Silvo went back to work to distract himself from the wait. Less than half an hour later, a phone call interrupted him in his task. Seeing that the call came from the deciphering department, he picked up without waiting and immediately recognized the voice of the young woman.

  "Sir, it will be a little longer than expected."

  "What is the problem?" Silvo asked with a sigh.

  Had the young woman also had a problem with her computer after the photocopier?

  "I uploaded a few paragraphs. The text is encoded."

  "Coded? And it's going to take you how long?"

  "I do not know yet. For now it makes no sense. Maybe I should take it all in the computer to understand. The encryption is probably rudimentary."

  "This is the age of the document that makes you think that?"

  "No. Imagination is not the prerogative of our century. But if you've ever written with pen and ink, you know it takes time. Given the length of the text, it would take hours to transcribe it plain with the key. We can therefore assume that the encryption is simple enough not to require a rewrite. At that time, the simple act of writing was already a guarantee of security. Few people knew how to read."

  "Any idea of the technique used for the code?" Silvo asked.

  The analyst did not answer right away, and Silvo begun to doubt she heard his question.

  "Impossible to say before study. We can think of replacing characters with others, or a shift of the letters of the alphabet for example. It is a pity that you do not have the original document. Part of the text might have been written with invisible ink."

  "Invisible ink? It's a bit complicated for that time. Don't you think so? Even if we do not know the exact age of the parchment."

  "Of course not. My eight year old daughter likes to write invisible texts with fruit juice or milk. Take for example lemon juice. It will be absorbed by the parchment, completely invisible. You put the heat of a candle flame under the document. Citric acid ignites at a temperature well below that of the paper. Letters will appear with a brown color, before you have approached the candle enough to burn the paper."

  "Let us begin with what we have. How long will it take you to translate this text?"

  "Difficult to say. I can probably give it to you only tomorrow. The longest task will be to enter it into the computer. I tried to make an automatic recognition of a scanned sheet, but the letters are too flowery, and we do not have the necessary equipment."

  "Well. Keep me informed of your progress," Silvo said before the young woman gave him training in the deciphering equipment.

  Nibbling his pen, he displayed again on the screen the attachments of Lieutenant Porkelevitch’s message. It was time to ask Delatour some questions. He doubted that he knew a lot about the subject, but it was his only track. And anyway, the vampire had a right to know that someone seemed to have an unhealthy interest in his biography. He could not consider doing it any other way than face to face. The vampire was used to speaking saving his words and with full control on his emotions. By phone, Silvo would get nothing. In the presence of Mystie, perhaps would he be more talkative. Silvo took his phone and organized a meeting for that very evening.

  CHAPTER - 13 -

  The detectives' agency created by Mystie had its office in the back room of a shop that belonged to Clothilde, her grandmother. The store was a nice shambles in the center of Paris, filled with old books, and potions. Silvo preferred not knowing either their content or use. One day, out of curiosity, he had opened an old book of recipes he had believed of cooking and begun to read it. When he realized it was not about a tasty dish, but a potion to knock off the penis of an enemy, he had hurried to tidy it up and had never again taken the risk of going through a single work.

  Clothilde, thanks to her genetic memory, had a large knowledge of plant science. And there were many patients who required her services as a complement to traditional medicines. Skeptics might doubt her ability to treat pains, but even those could not deny the good that her cheerfulness brought to her patients.

  For many years Silvo discreetly courted Clothilde, who was ten years older than him, but nonetheless sounded younger than him. She responded favourably to his advances. But both, according to a tacit agreement, kept it at the level of pleasant banter. Delayed retirement of Silvo had postponed their unsaid project of common life.

  As usual, Clothilde greeted him with a big smile and a cup of tea. He took the opportunity to steal a kiss and she rebuked him without conviction with a slap on the cheek. Seeing her moving, with her dancer's lightness, in her gypsy's clothes that draped over her curves, made him forget the darkness of what he experienced on a daily basis, whether the origin was natural or supernatural.

  From the back of the shop, behind a heavy curtain of red velvet, sounded roars of laughter and an exchange of words indicating that his guests had already arrived. Clothilde locked the door of the store and it was arm in arm that they joined the rest of the team.

  Mystie was a tiny woman who did not lack courage, she had in no doubt gotten it from her grandmother. On seeing her, red little woman, face dotted with freckles hidden behind metal-rimmed glasses, she woke every protective instinct of the male sex. But she knew perfectly well how to defend herself and was formidable with daggers in hand. She also had a great psychic force, which she learned to master with the help of Delatour. She had discovered it shortly before. At the same time she had found that she owed this power and her genetic memory to a demon that marked her lineage some eight hundred years earlier.

  Delatour was sitting, facing Mystie. Tall man, already for the present time, brown eyes, a nose a little too long and slightly deviated, dark hair that went far beyond the length of the neck, and a condescending glance that got on Silvo nerves. As usual, he had a very dignified posture, speaking in an affected language, which gave him an air of romance that seemed to please women. Silvo had learned to trust him, at least to some extent. The vampire was on their side. But Silvo was not sure if the borderline were not flexible according to the vampire interests. Silvo however had to recognize that he had never let them down and had once risked his non-life to save Mystie. Besides the interest he seemed to bring to the young woman was not always clear, but Mystie was a big girl and Silvo would not meddle with what did not concern him. Since the black soul of Delatour had got into Mystie’s body to repair fatal injuries, Delatour was able to communicate with her telepathically. Silvo still didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. To his knowledge, Mystie did not want to develop this link, too invasive to her liking, and Silvo did not know if the communication could work in both directions.

  Silvo could neither see nor hear the last representative of the agency. He had had this ability only on rare occasions, when they were in the presence of superior spirits, evil and neutral. Casper was a ghost who had taken up residence in a villa in the Paris suburb. Mystie had been in charge of chasing him out. And since this date he had never left her. Mad on music, with caustic humour, nothing brought him more joy than teasing Delatour whose attitude was too stiff for him. White soul, he should have risen to another dimension. Nobody knew why he had not done so. Nor indeed his real name, he had appropriated the nickname Casper that Mystie attributed to him. At his death he had to be under thirty. Young man with a
mass of black hair, a thin mustache and clear eyes, he loved the fringed and studded outfits worn by Elvis Presley on stage. During their last fight against a demon, he was about to be destroyed for good. Since then, he took the form of a ghost episodically in order not to lose his vital energy. His new state allowed him, however, to insinuate more easily in people's minds. He went sometimes into that of Silvo, with his consent. This was the only way they found that Silvo could follow all the debates, the other team members having no difficulty to see and hear the ghost.

  Upon Silvo’s arrival, all went silent in order to know the reason for this meeting. After settling into the chair left vacant for him, he opened the debates.

  "Thank you for having answered my call."

  "You do not have to thank us. But if you gathered us, it is because something bad is brewing," Clothilde answered.

  He nodded, reached into his briefcase to take out a folder he opened on the desk. All bent over the copies that Silvo spread out next to each other. Mystie took a magnifying glass out of a drawer and peered closely, frowning. Delatour seized the parchment that he flipped.

  "You can come, if you want to, Casper," Silvo declared

  He felt a very brief pain and heard in his mind the words of Casper.

  "But it is the family picture of our favorite Draculinou!"

  "I guess the exact title should be Delatour through centuries," Mystie objected while adjusting her glasses, which had slid onto the tip of her nose. "Whence come these documents?"

  Delatour was silent, staring at the parchment, he seemed lost in thought. But it was typical that he weighed his words twice before making the slightest comment.

  "Oh look Delatour! Already very young, you were this tall, dark and handsome stranger. And look, ain't he cute? You disguised as cavalry officer of Her Majesty. But wait I look better. You were English! Crap! I cannot believe it. You've burned our poor Joan of Arc."

  "I was not disguised, you idiot! And Joan of Arc died long before my birth. You're as useless in history as in the rest. Did you ever go to school? I wonder how you could recognize the holding of an English officer."