by Chanel Smith
THE VAMPIRE WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
The Huntress Trilogy Book #3
by
CHANEL SMITH
OTHER BOOKS BY CHANEL SMITH
THE PACK TRILOGY
Werewolf Moon
Werewolf Nights
Werewolf Forever
THE HUNTRESS TRILOGY
The Vampire With the Golden Gun
The Vampire in the High Castle
The Vampire Who Knew Too Much
THE GHOST FILES
Ghost Crypt
Ghost Town
Ghost Writer
Ghost Castle
Ghost Ship
The Vampire Who Knew Too Much
Copyright © 2015 Chanel Smith
Published by J.R. Rain Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved by the authors. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for reading us.
The Vampire Who Knew Too Much
Spirits of the Dead
By Edgar Allan Poe
I
Thy soul shall find itself alone
Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone—
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
II
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
III
The night, tho’ clear, shall frown—
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given—
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
IV
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne’er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drop from the grass.
V
The breeze—the breath of God—is still—
And the mist upon the hill,
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token—
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
—Source: The Complete Poems and Stories of Edgar Allan Poe (1946)
Prologue
Both of us had dreamt about doing a long tour of the Sierra Nevada for a long time; ever since we’d gotten our driving licenses, in fact. For some reason the Sierra Nevada had always held a sort of attraction for us. Perhaps it was because our families had gone from coast to coast and back again, but maybe it was just the call of adventure.
My wife Chelsea and I have known each other since childhood. We were neighbors in Manhattan and by pure coincidence our families also had adjacent homes in the Hamptons. We went to the same school and spent our entire lives together. We were inseparable.
Our romance did not begin until our early twenties, after we had both built up some experience in the field of romance and love, but it had all been right from the start. After two years, we had our dream wedding and both having graduated from Harvard with honors, we took our dream trip. Chelsea worked as a lawyer then, having found a position straight away in a firm owned by an uncle, and I worked on Wall Street. The trip was a period for which we could step out of the fast lane and reconnect to each other. Our careers had taken over and we barely saw each other. It was a quick breakfast of cornflakes and coffee in our condo and then off to our respective offices. Some days, there was time to meet for lunch, but usually we only met again over takeout or in bed that night.
We bought a large Cherokee Jeep and packed it full, then set out onto the trail west. The back of the car was stuffed. We had decided to stay in hotels and motels on the road, but there had still seemed to be a need for sizeable luggage. There was a ball I had been asked to attend in the name of the bank I was working for and that meant carrying a tuxedo and a gown. On top of that we both had become so used to wearing sharp clothing that neither of us had been able to pack light, even if we had tried to stick to what some would consider casual clothing. Even on the rare Sundays we got to spend at home together, we tended to wear something that would allow us to head straight to the office or to some formal family event.
We plowed through the Appalachians without any incident and headed into the Great Plains. The ‘Breadbasket’ is where Chelsea’s family had made its fortune and the journey through the center of the continent was a sightseeing tour of family history. My family history involved the railways and that too became a particular interest.
After a week of driving, we entered the Rockies, passing close by the trail and then soon after we had driven through those, we entered the last bastion before California, the Sierra Nevada.
***
The Pinewood Hotel stood on the edge of the woods. It had always seen booming business for years, but since the credit crisis had hit business had slowed. People just did not seem to take long luxury weekends away anymore. The owner had even been forced to let some staff go, but there was nothing much to be benefitted for that. The summer season had not brought what it had supposed to, and it was a long wait until the winter season.
There were only two rooms booked for that week, but they were the big earners. The honeymoon suite was booked by a high-flying couple from New York and the presidential suite was booked by a Russian woman of considerable means.
The owner waited in the lobby to see the Russian woman arrive. He felt a bit like Basil Fawlty as he waited down there, but he was confident he would make no Fawlty-esque mistakes.
The woman’s long blonde hair trailed behind her as she sashayed in. She was a sight to behold, an aura of wealth and well-being radiating from the gorgeous creature.
“Good afternoon, madam. We have your suite ready for you and the minibar is free of charge in the presidential suite,” he began happily.
“Yes, yes. Can you just get someone to carry my cases up to the room?” Her English was perfect. She spoke with an Oxford accent and was clearly educated. She looked young, but the owner noticed her eyes. There was something strange about those eyes of hers. He caught himself staring at her and recovered himself quickly.
“Of course, of course. Just a moment.”
The man pressed a button behind the desk and within moments, a man in a bell boy uniform showed up. He instructed him to carry the cases up to the presidential suite. As the woman turned and handed over her suitcases, the owner looked her over again. She had an amazing figure and perfect complexion. Her bottom was the perfect shape for a Baywatch actress. And all of it seemed to be natural. Her clothes were expensive, all designer brands and such a perfect fit they had to be custom made.
“Will that be cash or card, Miss Averbach?”
She nodded her acknowledgement of his question and drew her wallet from her Gucci handbag. She handed him a Platinum MasterCard and the bill was paid in moments.
“As we only have two rooms filled this evening, we will serve our meals in the bar, not the restaurant. I’m afraid the menu has been condensed as well, but we can cater to your needs, including room service.”
“That’s fine.” The woman grabbed the keycard the owner of the hotel pushed toward her over the desk. “I will just go freshen u
p now, but could you have some tea brought up to my room in an hour?”
“Of course, Miss Averbach.”
An hour later, the black Cherokee Jeep carrying Chelsea and Walker Van Buren pulled into the parking lot. They were cheerful, but very lofty when they came in. The owner blinked when he noticed they were both wearing shirts and ties. The woman wore a full face of perfectly applied makeup and the man was wearing loafers which probably were not the most comfortable driving shoes. He knew the couple came from New York and were driving to and then through the Sierra Nevada, so he had expected them to look disheveled and travel worn. He expected sneakers and jeans, but that was not what he saw before him. They trailed two massive suitcases each and the owner blinked, realizing there was probably more left in the car.
They checked into their suite, looked attentive to each other and in love, but the owner was not fooled. Their relationship was strained; probably by the drive for money, career and status. Keeping up with the Joneses was making them miserable, and it was probably because of that why they were on a long road trip.
That evening he was behind the bar when all three of his guests came down. Miss Averbach sat down at a small table close to the center of the room. Chelsea Van Buren sat down at a booth on the side of the room, but her husband came to the bar first, demanding a scotch. He slammed the drink down and then demanded a second to go with a bottle of Shiraz to share with his wife at the table. He smiled flirtatiously as he passed Miss Averbach, who returned the smile and flicked her blonde hair back.
The owner half expected Chelsea Van Buren to slap her husband, but she did not seem to have noticed.
He convinced Miss Averbach and the Van Burens to have the special three course meal, for which the chef had done the entire mis en place. It was something he could do on his own as well, which meant he could send half the kitchen staff home. All but the chef and the sous chef could leave. It would save several hours of paid time on the clock.
Even if any unexpected guests showed up, he could run the bar on his own as well. He would keep his maître d’ present though, just in case some emergency required him to leave the bar unattended, but the bartender and the waiting staff could leave as well. It suited him well under the present circumstances.
He served the meal himself, taking all three plates from the kitchen when each course was to be put onto the small tables. It took an hour and a half to serve everything, and then he made coffee for his guests.
By then, the three had begun talking to one another. Chelsea Van Buren had come over to Miss Averbach’s table at first and surprisingly, the aloof beauty had not objected when somehow both Van Burens were finally seated with her. He saw Chelsea wiggling her leg under the table, pointing her toes towards the other woman, and twirling her hair around her finger. He saw her smile and suddenly it dawned on him why she had not admonished her husband for flirting earlier. They must be swingers. Elitist swingers.
Brilliant, he thought.
He served them brandy as well and soon after that, the three of them retired together. Alone in the bar, he wiped down the counter and began closing everything down. He could not close the bar for another hour, but he did it in the hope that he could make it to his bed as soon as he could. He did not expect them to return to the bar anyway. Maybe they would ask for a bottle of wine later, but he did not expect any more activity than that.
Around midnight, he closed down and instructed the night crew on what to do before beginning the short trek to his home further back on the hotel grounds. He locked the back door behind him and started down the path to the trees and beyond to his house.
A piercing scream made him stop. It was clearly a woman’s voice that had cut through the dark. Immediately, he turned around and ran back to the door. He struggled to find the keyhole, but managed to unlock it eventually. He saw a flash a light brighten the night sky and then he was back in the Pinewood Hotel. He ran to the kitchen, expecting to see one of the staff hurt, but there was nobody there. Then to the lobby, where the only other female staff member would be present, but the young girl who manned the desk in the night was waiting already for the elevator to come down. It had to be one of the guests.
The elevator came down and he joined the girl. They traveled to the third floor and as they got out of the elevator, there was another flash. The lights in the aisle were not on. The bright light had come through the few cracks around the large double doors that led to the Honeymoon Suite. There was an audible sigh and then a man screamed. A woman cackled in mad laughter. There was another flash. Bigger, brighter, stronger. And suddenly the world shook and everything went dark.
Chapter One
“He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 146 (1886).
Chelsea. Chelsea, my poor Chelsea. What happened to you?
One moment we were enjoying ourselves with the gorgeous woman we met in the hotel and the next, I was cradling your lifeless body in the remnants of the honeymoon suite at the Pinewood Hotel.
I remember the flash and I remember you screamed, but I do not recall anything else. Ida was on top of me, and I know you were undressing when I heard you scream. And then there was the flash, the rumble and everything went dark.
That night my world collapsed.
What I remember is that when I woke up, Ida was gone. Chelsea was not two yards away from me crumpled in the rubble. I was covered in dust and ash, but she was completely untouched by any of the dirt. But she was dead. Even from a distance and with my foggy mind, I could see that. I also saw the expression of pure pain on her face.
I went over to her and touched her neck to find a pulse. Of course, there was none. My Chelsea looked pale, and I wondered about that. I checked her bare chest and her neck, but there was no injury.
Then I noticed her swollen belly. It was blue and discolored, but it looked nothing like what internal bleeding should look like. I could easily make that assessment due to the two years I’d spent working as an ambulance driver when I was in college. My father had insisted I work for some of my money, rather than relying on my allowance all that time. In that time I had seen internal bleedings and it looked different from what my poor Chelsea looked like.
I looked around for a phone, wanting to call for help, but I saw none. My own had been in my pants, and those had seemingly evaporated. I could see two other bodies, charred and broken, not far away. One had the remnants of the Pinewood Hotel uniform on. She still wore a single black pump. I just had to assume some help would come. I knew the nearest town was further than I could ever walk when healthy, let alone after this ordeal. And I could not bear to leave Chelsea either.
I must have held her body for hours. I managed to stop my sobbing when the clouds parted and the full moon seemed to rise over the pines. It shone brightly, moonbeams pouring through the windows and touching my face. Moments later, they touched Chelsea’s corpse too.
And the corpse began to shudder. It trembled and shook. Suddenly her belly began to move. It was like something was trying to move in there.
There was a spurt of blood from between her legs and to my horror Chelsea was ripped apart. A small creature came out of her. It looked almost like a human baby. But it could not have been.
It grew rapidly in the bright moonlight and steadily manifested into the form a full grown woman. It looked like my Chelsea. It was my Chelsea. It had her blonde hair, her perfectly shaped breasts. It had her face, and as it moved towards me, standing wide-legged, I saw it even had her folds. But it was not Chelsea. The eyes had a childlike innocence to them, but they were red. When she smiled at me it looked like her teeth had been filed down to razor sharp edges.
She sank down on me and pulled me into her. She groaned in ecstasy as she rode me and then, just as I began to fool myself it was my Chelsea and reached my climax, she laughed. I came a
nd her body absorbed me. I collapsed and closed my eyes as I moaned Chelsea’s name. When I opened my eyes, she had vanished.
***
What a fucking mess!
When Jim Murphy’s brigade got to the burning Pinewood Hotel, there were two people there. One was a man, covered in dust and dirt, a leather trench coat wrapped around his waist, the other a dark-haired woman with a pale complexion, wearing tight leather trousers, high-heeled, thigh-high boots of black leather, and a black corset like body armor over a sheer black silk blouse. On her thighs were holsters that held hand guns, which puzzled Jim Murphy. California did not permit open carry other than for law enforcement. And law enforcement would not carry weapons in gunslinger style. There was a bowie knife at the back of her hip and the woman seemed to carry a Japanese sword as well. And then there was a rifle slung onto her back, so that the rifle and the sword formed a saltire on her back.
The man sat by the side of the wreckage, looking bewildered and shaken. The woman was looking at something in the pile of rubble as Fire Chief Jim Murphy decided that she shouldn’t be doing that. For the moment he put it out of his head. There was still a burn to put out.
Whatever she’s looking for, she won’t be finding it in this darkness, decided Jim Murphy as he returned his attention to the building.
There was not much of it, but the forest could be in danger if they did not do something about it. And that was his number one priority. A forest fire, even at that wet time of year, would mean many men being drawn in from around California and having to put their lives at risk to manage the blaze. He ordered the driver to move up to the edge of the pines. The fire burned brightly in the area that had been the kitchen.
Whatever had happened here, it was a pity. The Pinewood Hotel had been a fine place, Jim Murphy reflected. He had dined there with his first and second wife on several occasions. He had spent his first night with his third wife in the lavish honeymoon suite of the hotel as well. It was a shame what had happened.
