Blood Ties

by Jessica Marting

  Chapter Five

  Max felt all the blood drain from his face at the butler’s revelation. “Are you sure about that?”

  But even before Weston nodded, Max knew the man was telling the truth. A vampire murdering his uncle made sense, and he already knew that the Metropolitan Police would be of no help to him. What Max needed to find out was why.

  His gaze turned to Ada, whose roast beef sandwich was still clutched in her hand. A dhampir, he thought. She’s descended from vampires. For some reason, that bit of news didn’t conjure up a wave of revulsion. Instead, it was actually a bit of a relief. She could sense monsters before they made themselves visible. Such a useful talent to have.

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life, sir,” Weston said. “I have your uncle’s journal and research in his laboratory.” The old man looked away from them, his throat frantically working. “I didn’t show anything to the constables when they came round looking for clues. They would have thought Dr. Sterling mad and dismissed his journals, if not destroyed them. Or by some miracle, had they taken the vampire theory seriously, they might have gone off half-cocked into Wapping and burned everything down. Wapping is miserable enough as is without adding to it.”

  Something tugged at Max’s memory. “Hold on,” he said. “Ada, why didn’t the London branch of your vampire hunting group investigate James’s murder?”

  “They may have,” Ada said. “But all the branches have enough to investigate on their own without getting involved in other countries’ problems. A single vampire attack in London wouldn’t be worth sending a cable to New York. There were eight vampire attacks at home that I took care of last year. I doubt any London Searchers would know of them.”

  “Eight is a lot!”

  “Actually, it’s a lot less than usual,” Ada said. “There was a huge blizzard in New York City last year, and no one left their homes if they couldn’t help it. As a result, they had less chance of being sucked dry. The snow crippled the city for weeks. But like I said, eight deaths or even twenty vampire deaths isn’t worth sending cables to other branches in a city that size. There’s over a million people.”

  It sounded terribly inefficient to him, but he supposed there wasn’t much in the way of improving communications between countries. Cables were the fastest way and their costs could add up quickly.

  London’s population was so large; how many people had died like Uncle James and their deaths gone unnoticed? James was a well-respected physician. His death certainly garnered far more attention than if he was one of the drunks who haunted the East End.

  Max stood up. “I’m going to James’s laboratory. Weston, will it still be locked per usual?”

  Weston shook his head. “I stopped locking it when I thought you were returning home.”

  Once again, guilt flared through Max for not responding to the butler’s letters when he received them. “I apologize for not coming home when I was expected,” he said quietly. “It was callous and selfish of me, and I will be forever grateful to your handling Uncle James’s final affairs.”

  Weston rose as well. “Mr. Sterling, it was an honor to serve your uncle as long as I did. We were friends the last few years, or at least as close to friends as employer and employee can be. I miss him greatly.”

  Ada stood up to follow, although Max noticed she wrapped up the remains of her sandwich in a crisp white linen napkin and hid it in a pocket of her dress. He didn’t say a word about it, though. She really did need a good meal or two, he decided. She was one of the most attractive women he ever met, but in the light of day he saw that she was a little too thin in the way that spoke of never having quite enough to eat.

  James Sterling’s laboratory was located in the attic, at the end of the corridor in the east wing and up two steep flights of stairs. The doors leading to it were now unlocked, something that never happened when James was still alive. Max had only been in there a handful of times since he was a boy, and his uncle was always careful to keep everything as tidy as he could in the unfinished room, his files locked away.

  The laboratory this morning was organized as usual, but a stack of journals and papers rested in the center of the big wooden desk in the middle of the room. Bookcases crammed with medical journals and loose papers lined the walls, and a large collection of scientific equipment that Max couldn’t begin to name was clustered on top of a table in the corner. Despite the lab being located in the attic, the place was spotlessly clean, without a speck of dust to mar any surface. It was undoubtedly the result of Weston’s fastidious care rather than the housekeeper.

  “I took the liberty of reading some of his work,” Weston confessed. Guilt traced his voice at the invasion of privacy.

  “It’s fine,” Max said. “I mean that. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. For James, as well,” he added.

  “Thank you, sir.” Weston picked up a journal and held it out to Max. “Your uncle became infatuated with a young woman about six months ago,” he said. “Cerys Hughes.” The usually-dignified old man nearly spat out the name. “She was far too young for him, as I’ve said, but it wasn’t just that. She was…” He searched for the right word. “Strange, sir. I noticed it straight away, although I couldn’t put my finger on why I thought so.”

  “Vampire?” Ada immediately guessed. She sat down at James’s desk and removed her pilfered sandwich from her skirt pocket.

  “She was, yes.” Despite his obvious grief and anger at his employer’s murder, he still looked a little relieved to hear Ada say so. Max also noticed that he didn’t so much as narrow his eyes at her eating in James’s laboratory. “I cannot begin to tell you how it feels to know I’m not insane for thinking Dr. Sterling had fallen in love with a vampire.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  Ada’s voice brooked no argument, and Max saw how she straightened in her chair, how her eyes took in the laboratory’s details. She was looking for clues, he realized. She knew which questions to ask, where to look for answers. His respect for her ticked up another notch.

  “At first, she only came around in the evenings,” Weston said. “I didn’t think anything unusual about that at first, because…” He hesitated.

  “I’m from America, Mr. Weston. I also have two older brothers, one of whom chases anything in a skirt and doesn’t try to hide it from me anymore. You don’t have to sugar coat what the men of the upper classes here get up to at night.”

  “It isn’t unusual for the demimonde to travel in the evenings,” Weston clarified. “But she started sleeping here during the daytime, and Dr. Sterling gave all of the staff strict orders to not so much as touch her bedchamber door, under threat of being sacked without a reference. Even me.” He looked a little hurt.

  “Did Dr. Sterling’s health change at all? His personality?”

  Weston nodded. “He looked much paler after Miss Hughes’s first fortnight here. He was more irritable, snapped at all of us much more when before he didn’t. Two of the maids quit after a month of Miss Hughes’s stay. She slept all day, every day, and only woke after sunset. Dr. Sterling began sleeping through the day, too, and eating liver in the evenings, before he woke up Miss Hughes, but his pallor and mood never improved. He said his blood was sluggish, and liver would help revive it.” His mouth puckered in distaste. “He drank cow’s blood occasionally, as well, for the same reason.”

  “Liver’s supposed to be good to eat after being bitten by a vampire,” Ada said. “I’d rather just splash some holy water on the bite and be dizzy for the rest of the night. I hate liver. I don’t care how good it’s supposed to be for the constitution.”

  Weston leafed through one of the handwritten journals. “He was always interested in serology and hematology, you know, but his obsession increased after he met Cerys, to the neglect of all else. Shortly after she started spending her days here, Dr. Sterling stopped seeing patients. He bought that thing in the corner, the…” He thought for a few seconds, biting his lower lip. “Centrifuge.”
The machine in question was massive and looked heavy. Max didn’t have a clue what it could do.

  “He couldn’t read enough about blood, he couldn’t experiment on it often enough, and I don’t mean with leeches. He took blood samples from all the household staff, his colleagues at the Royal Hospital, and I believe some of his patients.” Weston opened a cabinet and pulled out a large wooden box and placed it on the desk. “These are all the samples he took. His microscope is over there.” He nodded in the direction of the medical equipment.

  Max lifted out a glass slide. Smeared on it were a few drops of blood, dried brown and starting to flake. He replaced it and picked up another to find the same thing. The slides were labelled with last names and dates.

  “He said Miss Hughes was ill and he wanted to find a cure for her,” Weston said. “His methods are detailed in here.” He tapped the journal.

  “Did he tell you the nature of her disease?” Max asked.

  “Only that she suffered from poor blood and fatal sensitivities to sunlight, silver, and garlic,” Weston said. “After seeing what he looked like after he woke her up in the evenings, and his banishing garlic from the kitchen, I thought—well, I thought I was going mad when the idea that she was a vampire crossed my mind. Or he was, or possibly Miss Hughes was mad and he bought into her delusions.”

  “Did you ever find proof of her being a vampire?” Ada asked. She picked up one of the glass slides, examined the blood specks on it, and replaced it in its box.

  “I never saw her feasting on Dr. Sterling, but he did have puncture marks on his neck occasionally.”

  “Younger vampires can’t always seal wounds,” Ada said. “It takes them time and practice to learn how to do it efficiently. Others don’t do it just to be bastards.”

  Weston’s face registered a trace of disgust. “I found her in the sitting room once, drinking a glass of something that looked like blood. Dr. Sterling said it was cow’s blood, but I was not convinced it was.” He looked at the stack of journals sadly. “I do not believe he ever came close to finding the cure for Miss Hughes’s mysterious condition, but that didn’t halt his obsession.”

  “Where’s Miss Hughes now?” Ada asked.

  “She passed away,” Weston said.

  Max was unsurprised at this bit of news, and Ada didn’t seem rattled by it, either. “Do you know what happened?”

  Weston nodded. “The details are in his journal. He was involved.”

  A ball of dread lodged itself in Max’s stomach at this revelation. “Are you accusing my uncle of murder?”

  “No!” Weston’s protest was vehement. “Not at all. From what I read, they both knew there was a possibility that she would not survive his experiment. In fact, there’s this.” He opened the journal he held and removed a stiff sheet of paper, handing it to Max between two fingers, like he was afraid of the thing.

  The writing was cramped, with many misspelled words, in an unfamiliar script.

  To whoever it may concern,

  I, Cerys Hughes, originally of Aberystwyth, and now of London, do solemnly swear that I understand what Dr. James Sterling is attempting to do to save my life. I do not wish to be a vampire, nor have I ever. I was transformed against my will by another vampire and came to Dr. Sterling when I discovered he researched blood disorders. I understand that the transfusion Dr. Sterling is attempting may kill me and do not hold him responsible. I love him with all my heart.

  Cerys Hughes, dated this 8th of December, 1888.

  He passed the note to Ada. “Cerys Hughes did not want to be a vampire,” he said. “At least according to that letter. James was trying to help her. So he gave her a blood transfusion?”

  “I’m not a doctor,” Ada said, scanning the note, “But I can tell you right now that new blood won’t cure vampirism. There isn’t a way to reverse it.”

  “She was desperate,” Max said. “I can read that there. She was turned against her will.” A flood of compassion for the deceased vampire flowed through him, surprising him. In the brief time he knew they existed, he had never considered that there could be vampires who didn’t want to eat every human they came across.

  “I didn’t know what happened to her, exactly,” Weston said. “But one night he brought her here to begin his experiment, and in the morning he announced that she passed away.”

  “And there wouldn’t be a body,” Ada said. “Dead vampires crumble to ash when they die. Hell of a mess.”

  “But how would a blood transfusion kill a vampire?” Max asked.

  Weston looked at the journal. “It’s in here.”

  Max picked it up and leafed through it, finding the details of Cerys Hughes’s final hours in one of the last journal entries. He felt nauseated as he read the details. The transfusion started according to plan, then something happened.

  Insanity overcame her as the final drops of blood were injected into her veins. She became a changed creature, the true monster she so feared becoming. I had to stake her to save my life. Now I wish I hadn’t done it, that I let her turn me so we could have remained together.

  He pushed the journal to Ada, tapping the passage with his finger.

  Ada skimmed it, her eyes widening. “My God,” she breathed. “He killed his lover.”

  Weston cringed.

  “It was in self-defence,” Max said. “Weston, I don’t blame you for not turning over James’s books and effects to the constables.”

  “There’s nothing in here so far that tells us the name of the vampire who turned Cerys,” Ada said, flipping through the pages. “Mr. Weston, may I borrow this? I promise I’ll return it.”

  “You may take whatever you need for your investigation,” Weston said. “Please accept my gratitude for your help in this, Miss Burgess.”

  “Ada,” she said automatically. She stood up and collected a few journals. Max did likewise. He noticed that she didn’t seem interested in the rest of the laboratory or the equipment, but he could see why. Anything they could use to find out who murdered James would most likely be in his writings.

  “I need somewhere to read these,” Ada announced. “I need to get in touch with the London branch as soon as possible. I’m expecting a cable soon,” she said to Weston. “I contacted my employers in New York and asked them to deliver a reply here. Max said that would be all right.”

  “It is, and I shall deliver it to you as soon as it arrives. There is a telegraph office not two blocks from here if you need to send further correspondence. I can take care of anything you need.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Weston.”

  “Allow me to escort you to the study,” he said. He helped himself to the books in her arms, which she gave up with a minimal amount of protest.

  Max followed, closing the attic door behind them.

  ****

  Not for the first time, Ada wished she had some way of establishing immediate contact with the London office. This is what I get for staking those vampires in Germany, she thought. All I wanted was to finally see Dresden, see where my grandparents came from. So much for her attempt at a holiday. She should still be in Germany, or maybe taking a side trip to Italy for the hell of it, not traipsing over half of Europe staking vampires. She couldn’t just ignore them and go on her way when they crossed her path, though. Searchers had an obligation to seek out and destroy them, whenever they could.

  She, like the rest of her family—all of the Searchers, in fact—would never be able to rest on their laurels when bloodsuckers were stomping around. She just wouldn’t be so bitter about it had she had the opportunities to see a little more of the cities she found herself in, instead of constantly looking over her shoulder, far too short of money. It still rankled her that she had to sell the other two dresses she brought with her to buy an airship ticket to Bern.

  At least her accommodations tonight were nice, she thought appreciatively. She was still full from the sumptuous supper she and Max enjoyed in the dining room, insisting over Mr. Weston’s apologies that the meal
wasn’t simple. It had four courses, she recalled. More beef and potatoes than she could remember in a long time. It had been spectacular.

  She and Max had pored over Dr. Sterling’s journals for the rest of the day after they investigated the laboratory, but there was little in there that could help them for the time being. There were pages and pages of notes and observations that detailed Cerys Hughes’s condition while she slept, when she woke up hungry, what her disposition was like after eating. Pages written in a halting scrawl that matched Cerys’s letter told the vampire’s own sad story, of being attacked in her former employer’s home and waking up three nights later after being pulled out of the Thames by a dockworker. She’d figured out what she was when her teeth elongated and she tried to eat the dockworker without thinking twice about it, but he pushed her away, screaming and bleeding.

  Ada’s heart broke for the poor woman. She hadn’t asked for this; she was desperate when she came to Dr. Sterling, whose research in hematology and serology warranted a few inches of space in one of the London papers.

  “I’m surprised she could read and write as well as she could,” Max had remarked in the sitting room that afternoon.

  “You’re surprised women can read?”

  “This particular woman, yes. She was a housemaid.”

  Even though the comment wasn’t directed at her, Ada couldn’t help but smart at that. She came from a long line of working class folk, and everyone in her family was in possession of basic literacy skills at least. “I can read and write,” she said. Not especially well, as the clerk in the telegraph office reminded her, but she’d never had a problem reading one of her beloved periodicals.

  “I didn’t insinuate you couldn’t.” Max didn’t look up from the journal he was reading.

  “Not all lower class women are completely illiterate,” Ada said. “Maybe she learned in school, maybe her mother didn’t want her opportunities to be limited.”

  Once again, she was reminded of their differences. Max would never understand the importance of opportunities, how devastating the lack of them could be, and even from her short time in Europe and Britain so far, plenty of other people didn’t, either. She also knew the concept of improving one’s station in life was decidedly American.