The stopover in Rome was blessedly short and, better still, deep within the realm of night. Yasmin was fast recognizing those twelve hours as her most powerful, dynamic time, and realized that she would now need to be strategic when travelling. Daylight seemed to drain her more and more. She hoped that it meant that her vampiric abilities were ripening, becoming stronger. With a small chuckle she wondered how powerful she would be in the deepest winter of Scandinavia, where it was dark twenty hours of the day. A vampire’s paradise indeed.
Bucharest, Romania
The flight from Rome to Bucharest was over within two hours. Yasmin made sure she engaged Tomas’s contacts in order to slip through customs without trace. By this stage it was around 5am and dawn was threatening. Tired and drained, Yasmin paid a visit to the Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Hospital and asked to speak to one of the doctors in the emergency ward. Luckily it was a quiet night and Yasmin was seen by one of the younger doctors.
A little distracted by Yasmin’s startling beauty, the young man agreed to arrange the bi-weekly delivery of fresh blood packs to a designated post office box in Piatra Neamt. Yasmin was a little shocked at easy it all was, figuring that doctors weren’t paid nearly as much as they were in the US. This one would be handsomely compensated out of Tomas’s account. Yasmin wasn’t entirely comfortable with the arrangement but securing a regular supply of blood without resorting to violence was the most important thing. Yasmin resolved to feast only on her enemies, almost laughing out loud at the thought. The train to Piatra Neamt was long and tedious. Again, Yasmin holed up in her own private cabin to avoid exposure to daylight. Tomas was waiting for her at the end of the line. As the sun sank beneath the horizon Yasmin gratefully nestled under a wonderfully cosy wolf pelt on a handsome sled Tomas had built in her absence.
“When we have money, the first thing we do is invest in a light plane,” Yasmin said drowsily. Tomas nodded, beaming at her. He was clearly overjoyed to see his queen return, particularly after the violence of New York. Yasmin had spoken in jest, but the problem of travel was a real one for Yasmin. It was fast becoming apparent that vampires didn’t travel well at all!
Mount Brasev, Romania
Still, the castle’s remoteness was also its great strength. Crossing the threshold of the main hall made Yasmin feel safe for the first time since Jack had saved her from the chaos of the Hadfield Pavilion.
Under Tomas’s guidance the Maramurians had added greatly to the castle. The main keep, north and south wings and entrance hall had all been faithfully restored stone by stone. The interiors were still primitive, but that required her approval. She’d always loved interior decoration and now she had a castle to makeover! The project had the potential to take her mind off the troubling events of New York.
It was also something that would need to wait. She was certain Jack had been taken hostage by the Berlin Club and would need to begin a thorough European investigation. With Tomas’s help, she was hopeful she could at least find out where he was being held. One thing she had was time. The ship that had put out from New York, the Saint Helena, was yet to berth in Livorno, Italy. Even the most favorable calculations had the ship arriving there in eight days. Plenty of time to prepare their rescue plan.
That the Berlin Club was involved was not in doubt as far as Yasmin was concerned. Like Jack, she believed that the aquilans had turned out in their full force at the masquerade ball. There had to have been a second force converging on the lycan chapter house. The Berlin Club were the most likely conspirators.
Hector Caliri was no fool - he had gone straight to the lycans’ worst enemy. Herr X would’ve jumped at the chance to get at the lycans after their humiliation in Berlin. Whether that had entailed a team of mercenaries of something more sinister, Yasmin didn’t know. Only Jack could answer that now.
“Tomorrow, we rest,” Yasmin said as Tomas led her down to a rustic kitchen under the main hall. It hadn’t taken much to restore the hearth - protected by the upper levels, the room had remained pretty much intact over the centuries.
“And after that,” Yasmin continued, “we need to talk about Jack Foley.”
“You need to tell me everything,” Tomas said as he began chopping fresh herbs on a splendidly old and sturdy wooden table. “In exchange, I can tell you what I’ve been up to.”
Yasmin smiled. “We can move on to the disaster of New York later. I wanna know about you.”
Tomas smiled, rinsing the herbs and lifting a side of lamb from a meat locker. The doktor was actually becoming a very good cook. The Maramurians were always offering foodstuffs and kegs of ale to their new landlords.
“I worked hard with the Maramurians most nights,” Tomas said. “They are the hardest laborers in Europe but prone to straying beyond the brief we set down.”
Yasmin smiled. She could imagine the odd Maramurian fancying himself as a master builder.
“The rest of the time I researched vampire lore,” Tomas went on. “I toured the University Library of Salzburg and found an entire series of texts on the vampyra.”
“I can’t wait to visit,” Yasmin said.
“No need,” Tomas said. “I stole all of them.”
Yasmin laughed heartily, the first time she’d done so for a long time. “Well, it’s about the best we can do right now,” she said. “What have you learned?”
Tomas’s eyes glinted with mischief. “A few tricks that will knock your socks off, my queen.”
Yasmin raised her eyebrow, marveling at how skillfully Tomas filleted the lamb. He was like a surgeon with his butcher’s knife. Precise and deadly.
“There’s so much I don’t even know where to start,” Tomas said excitedly. “First of all - a weakness. Vampires don’t travel well at all.”
“I’m kinda realizing that,” Yasmin said.
“Precisely,” Tomas said. “When we’re more powerful, we’ll have underground places we can rest in while we travel around.”
“What kind of places?” Yasmin asked suspiciously.
“Well, we can convert old tombs and the like,” Tomas said in a sheepish tone.
Yasmin could’ve laughed again if the idea hadn’t already crossed her mind. The thought of cool, underground places to rest in during the day sounded like heaven.
“Point taken,” she said. “What else?”
“Travel might be difficult, but we’ll develop options for that,” Tomas said. “Did you know we can shift into bats?”
“No,” Yasmin said with interest. “But the strangest thing happened to me in New York. I think I became a strange mist for a few minutes.”
“Then it’s true,” Tomas said excitedly. “I wasn’t ready to call that one just yet.”
“Come on, don’t hold out on me,” Yasmin said, watching the doktor’s face. “I know you’re saving the best till last.”
“A vampire’s home is her tomb,” Tomas said solemnly. “In time, this castle will become an extra weapon. Anyone who crosses this threshold will be in your thrall. To be commanded at will.”
“Very useful,” Yasmin said thoughtfully. “Particularly in the early stages of the Flux Age. We need to make this place a fortress.”
“Already working on it,” Tomas said proudly. “The Maramurians are relentless.”
“Yes, well, I may need a few of them,” Yasmin said. “I have a special assignment for you.”
Livorno, Italy
Tomas found a suitable villa on the outskirts of Livorno. It was large enough to contain the succubi without arousing suspicion. The rental was exorbitant but no expense would be spared if it meant Jack Foley could be located.
Yasmin kept a low profile for a few days, acclimatising to her new location. The west coast of Italy was far too mild for her liking but she endured the balmy conditions. Tomas had picked up several blood packs from their post box in Piatra Neamt, so they didn’t lack for sustenance.
Yasmin was hesitant about bringing the succubi with them. They were extremely weak away from the castle and were neith
er happy nor comfortable here in Italy. But what they provided was backup in the event it was needed. They were genuine vampire minions and that was priceless.
Four hand-picked Maramurians rounded out their party. Yasmin had them installed in a cheap hotel down at the docks. They reported on the incoming ships every morning.
On the third morning Yasmin received the phone call she was waiting for. The Saint Helena had just berthed and was awaiting customs clearance.
Yasmin looked at Tomas - this was it.
Together they took a taxi down to the waterfront where they were confronted by a large red and white cargo vessel. Cargo cranes were already lifting crates from the hold as Yasmin took a seat in the window of a dockside cafe. From there she was afforded a view of the central gangway. She sipped on a black coffee with Tomas as they watched rough-looking sailors come and go.
Yasmin gripped Tomas’s hand when a group of taciturn men emerged from the mid deck.
Eleven, no twelve men in dark clothing. A dark-skinned woman followed behind. Her appearance was frightening - large, bloodshot eyes, leeched, bloodless lips, chipped, yellowing teeth. Her hair, bundled into snake-like tubes, was all over the place.
Beside the scary woman walked a man more familiar to Yasmin than her own reflection - Jack Foley. He seemed calm enough, but Yasmin could tell he was being held against his will. She resisted the urge to rush out and liberate him. The morning sun was strong and vibrant, which meant she was weak. She and Tomas looked like meth addicts as they sipped on their coffees. No, it wasn’t time to make their move.
Yasmin watched in anguish as the Berlin Club herded her beloved Jack into a black Mercedes which wasted no time in exiting to the south.
Within seconds a decidedly ordinary Renault sedan puttered past carrying four Maramurians. The mountain men looked grimly determined. The driver nodded to Yasmin.
“Like I said, they’re relentless,” Tomas said reassuringly. “They won’t stop until Jack Foley does.”
9 - Jack
Prague, Czech Republic
All Jack knew was that he was hanging upside down. The room was pitch black and the only sound was an occasional metal squeak. How long had he been passed out for? Impossible to tell, although judging from his severe thirst, it might have been a day or so. The voyage from New York had been tolerable enough. Apart from the fact he was a prisoner to the Berlin Club. He still couldn’t believe Herr X had gotten himself a medusa to do his dirty work. He knew they had existed in various Flux Ages, but there was no record of them during the Dark Ages. They must be exceedingly rare.
Jack told himself that the only reason he was caught was that he was wasn’t prepared to face such a foe. She called herself Shasta and she hadn’t let him forget about losing his battle against her.
Jack cursed himself for allowing himself to stare directly at the hideous creature. He had been yards away from escaping the lycan cercarium. And now - well, the situation was hopeless whichever way you looked at it. Jack’s only sliver of hope was that the Harbor Master, a friend of his, had seen him board the Saint Helena. He had feigned cooperation with Shasta and made himself highly visible as he crossed the gangway.
And yet, even if he was seen, what could the Harbor Master do to save him? The city of New York would have its hands full with the fall of the Lycan Society. There were too many emergent threats to worry about a lone lycan who had found himself a prisoner on a ship bound for Europe.
There had been plenty of time to stew about his situation on board the Saint Helena. Jack had been given a tiny room to aft. He was given a plate of rice and a cup of water once a day and that was it. He didn’t mind the lack of contact - he loathed his captors. Apart from Shasta, these surly-looking men were probably all ghouls. Filthy cannibals. Jack imagined what it would feel like to be divined as a ghoul. Surely it would be a huge disappointment? Yes, ghouls were very quick. They were also extremely hardy and resistant to many toxins and poisons. But the whole human flesh eating thing had to be a turn off, right? But then, once a thing was part of your physiology, it was probably easier to do things you may have once found morally abhorrent.
In any case, Jack was happy to be left alone for the duration of the voyage. The Saint Helena berthed at Livorno and Jack suspected things were about to get a lot worse. As usual, his instincts were spot on. He was bundled into the trunk of a black Mercedes and driven hundreds of miles. Jack had no way of knowing which direction they were going but he got colder in the trunk, so it must have been vaguely north. At one point he heard a flurry of Czech words, and wondered if he was indeed traveling through the Czech Republic. His cell phone had of course been taken away.
One thing Jack found interesting was the fact that the Berlin Club had been forced to travel by sea for this operation. He suspected that they were being extra careful with their cargo, which no doubt included dark tissue stolen from the lycan chapter house. It still pained Jack to think about the precious dark tissue, the living matter that ensured lycans could live beyond each Flux Age. He could still picture the gutted cercarium, the horrific medusa slithering around inside. It made him unspeakably angry, but he knew anger was a wasted emotion right now. Not long after Jack had heard the Czech voices he had been taken to his final destination where the trunk was flung open and a bag was thrust over his head. He was led to a dark room and strung upside down from the ceiling.
That was when he received a blow to the head and passed out.
The headache was a belter. Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, Jack wondered what he could do to make himself more comfortable. The bonds securing his ankles to the ceiling were too strong to break. As a human. Jack was fairly certain he’d be able to escape as an enraged werewolf. Satisfied that he had no other option, Jack tried to engage the shifting process.
Nothing happened.
Jack struggled and squirmed, thinking that he might simply be in an awkward position to shift. Still nothing. Breathing hard, Jack forced himself to relax and slow his racing pulse. His body simply wasn’t able to germ.
It was time for logic, not panic.
Did Shasta have the ability to prevent lycan germing? No. Jack was a werewolf when he tried to escape her back in New York. It must be something else. Difficult to investigate while strung up in a dark room. All Jack could do was wait. He called upon every meditative technique he knew to keep himself sane. He knew it wasn’t good for his head to be upside down for so long.
Several hours later the small room was flooded with light and a voice barked at him. Jack grunted in response, his eyes sore from the adjustment. He extended his arms just in time as he was released from the ceiling. He was hauled to his feet and marched down a musty-smelling passage. He wondered if he was underground. The goons behind him were probably ghouls. Jack felt like killing them right there but knew he wouldn’t be able to shift.
The passage admitted to a larger room lined with books and furnished with an oak table and chairs. A fire crackled in a bulbous hearth in the corner.
A man very familiar to Jack sat at the table. He had seen countless pictures and sketches of the man since the Berlin mission. It was Herr X, no doubt about it.
The elderly, rather normal-looking German man regarded Jack with keen interest. He looked over the spectacles perched on the end of his nose and nodded with satisfaction.
“What’s wrong, where’s your friend gone?” he said jovially.
“What friend?” Jack said through gritted teeth. He already hated this guy. Behind the genial facade he sensed something incredibly dark.
Herr X feigned surprise. “Why, your furry friend! The wolf!”
Jack’s blood ran cold. Without his spirit beast, he was effectively naked.
“I have feeling you’re gonna tell me what happened to my ‘friend’, asshole.”
Herr X chuckled, looking at his henchmen as if to say ‘get a load of this guy’.
“I admit, I do know,” he said.
“Well?”
“Well what, dear boy?”
“Are you gonna tell me how it works?” Jack asked, a little exasperated.
Herr X paused for a moment. He came across as a doddery old man, but Jack knew it was all just an act. “I don’t see why not. Vlado.”
A particularly ugly henchman by the door nodded and disappeared. Jack forced himself to stay calm. Herr X’s manner suggested Jack didn’t have long to live. He would need to try and string things out as long as possible.
Herr X was now pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter. He filled two glasses and slid one under Jack’s nose.
“We aren’t entirely without class in the Berlin Club,” he said almost regretfully.
“A condemned man’s last drink, eh?” Jack asked bitterly.
“Something like that,” said the old man, rolling the warm liquid around his mouth. “Once you’re dead, I’ll be one step closer to finding redemption.”
Jack knew from his intelligence briefings that his motives for hunting lycans was personal, but there was something else in his voice that piqued his interest. Jack needed to know how many of his comrades were left standing.
“How many ‘steps’ left before you can finally rest?” Jack asked.
Herr X looked at the werewolf with mild surprise, fully understanding his meaning.
“Oh, I’d say one more,” the old man said. “I’m so devilishly close.”
Jack was overcome with grief all of a sudden, his agony leavened just a little by the knowledge that there was one remaining lycan out there somewhere. Still, it was difficult to face Herr X knowing that every chapter house around the world had been ransacked. That meant that over a thousand lycans had been murdered. If Jack’s situation wasn’t so hopeless he would’ve pledged a long and grisly death for this man sitting opposite him. He pushed his whiskey away, no longer thirsty.
“Florence Underwood,” he said simply, determined to focus on the single positive out of all this.
The Lycan Collapse (The Flux Age Book 2) Page 10
