Chronicles of Darkness: Shadows and Dust

by Andrea F. Thomas

  Helena left the room and went out to the street, taking a few deep breaths. Then she joined the police chief, who was busy supervising the loading of the bodies. Monsieur Dutroit shook his head and said in a bitter voice, "One of the windows was already open. It seems like the murderer couldn't bear the stench either. And one of these fools closed the window!" Monsieur Dutroit ran a hand through his dark hair. "I didn't know that such horror would await us here. Will you help us, Madame?" he asked.

  Helena nodded. "I will do everything possible," she responded firmly.

  *****

  Night had fallen. Sadden had retreated to read in silence. She relished the seclusion of this room. It had a bay window and was comfortably furnished. A big fireplace dominated it, spreading light and warmth.

  Andrej entered and the vampire looked up. She had been waiting for him.

  "You wanted to talk to me?" he asked, unsuspecting.

  "Yes. I have a request."

  "About what?"

  Sadden sighed, because it was hard for her to ask this of him. "Actually, it is more a wish of mine than a request."

  "Now you are making me curious, Sadden. What is it?"

  "I want you to become Lilith's mentor."

  Clearly surprised, he pointed a finger at himself. "Me?"

  "Yes, you. I want you to teach her all about humanity."

  In his confusion, the words tumbled from his mouth. "Humanity? I? To a vampire? Why? How?"

  "By simply being yourself."

  Andrej slumped into the nearest armchair, trying to process what he had just heard. "But Sadden," he began. "What am I supposed to do with her? I'm not sure if that is such a great idea."

  "I believe so."

  Doubtful, Andrej eyed her, trying to figure out Sadden's reasons. Eventually, he relented to her wish. "It will be a tough lection."

  Sadden smiled. "For all of us."

  *****

  At a late hour, a person was creeping silently through the narrow byways of Paris, always careful to avoid the sparse light of the street lamps and sticking to the shadows, unacknowledged. She pressed herself against cold house walls, peered around corners to make sure that nobody could see her. Some moments later, Helena reached her destination.

  The imposing size of the police department of Paris was right in front of her. To be very careful became her first priority. She could hear footsteps approaching her, and also the ringing of a little bell. At lightning speed, she hid in a house entry and waited with bated breath for the steps to disappear.

  It was an old night watchman, who was ringing the bell and announcing the time. He calmly trotted along, without seeing her.

  She sighed in relief. "Alright then," she whispered her warm breath visible in the cold night air. "It's now or never."

  Dexterously she sneaked to the back of the building, climbed over the high iron fence and landed safely in the backyard. The huntress ducked. Keeping low, she went to the back door. It was locked, of course, but she wouldn't let a fact like that keep her from the things she wanted to accomplish. She noticed an open, half round cellar window. 'That should be enough.'

  Lying down on her stomach, she slowly slipped through it, feet first. For a moment she was suspended motionless in midair, until she let go of the windowsill and dropped, nearly soundlessly, to the ground. A wet-cold, moldy scent drifted up to her, and she could hear the scratching of tiny claws on the bare, stony floor. 'Great,' a thought formed in her mind. 'Rats! How I despise those ugly, brown-furred rodents!'

  In the sparse light that fell through the tiny cellar window, she made her way to the well-worn stone stairway, which led out of the cellar. She crept up, step by step. When she arrived at the door, she carefully pressed down the rusty handle. She was relieved to notice that the door creaked open without a hitch, and she found herself on the first floor of the building. The main corridor was cast in darkness. Just as Helena was about to leave the cellar, the night porter came around the corner, making his hourly rounds.

  Shocked by the old man's sudden appearance, Helena ducked back, pressing against the wall.

  Slowly, with his head down, the man, holding a four-armed candlestick, shuffled along the hallway. Without suspicion, he passed by the burglar.

  After his steps had left in direction of the main stairs, the huntress peered carefully from her hideout and went back to her search. "Now I need to find out where the town registers are," Helena mumbled to herself, grabbed a candlestick from a nearby alcove and continued walking.

  Just then, the night porter put down his candlestick. He pulled a small bottle from his pocket and took a large sip. The huntress used her chance as his back was facing her. Rushing by silently, she lit her own candlestick, unnoticed. She disappeared into the next corridor to search for the archives.

  Even though she knew it was the only way to get the information she needed, she didn't like the sneaking around and her conscience stirred. 'I feel like I'm betraying the trust of Monsieur Dutroit. But, if it isn't in his power to let me have insight, I have to gain it like that. Preventing the vampire from doing other horrible deeds is of great importance.'

  For awhile Helena wandered through the winding, big building, until she came upon a door with a brass sign, stating in bold and flourish letters ARCHIVE.

  "Maybe my luck will hold," the huntress whispered, reaching for the shiny door handle. To Helena's astonishment the door opened right away as well. Indignantly, she remarked, "Not locked! This really is a great negligence of the police. A break-in could happen any time..." Shaking her blonde locks, she closed the door behind her and found herself in a room, which was so wide and high that the light of her candle wasn't enough to illuminate it completely. She only saw part of the endless rows of shelves and drawers. The room seemed to consist only of that. "This is just great," escaped Helena's mouth.

  She put the candlestick on a big wooden table and waited a few heartbeats, until her eyes had adjusted to the sparse light. Then she started to search for the documents. "I suppose the files of the nobles are stored somewhere else." Because of all her years working at night time, her eyesight had intensified, and she had no trouble reading the name tags on the files. She couldn't find anything in the lower rows, so she climbed the ladder to reach the upper rows, where she found what she was looking for.

  Confidently, she pulled the big wooden drawer with the label Noble Birth Certificates open. "Direct hit!" she announced and grinned wildly. Her fingers flew through the papers, and she picked out a bundle of scrolls. "Somebody really nice just saved me a lot of work... the births of all noble girls from the last twenty-five years." Feverishly, she went through the entries, realizing much too late the sound of approaching footsteps. They stopped in front of the door. In the blink of an eye, Helena flattened herself against the floor. 'The keyhole... the candlelight....'

  Listening closely, she kept laying, carefully hidden, the bundle of certificates directly under her face. The door opened and the night porter entered the room. Dust from the dry paper whirled up, as Helena breathed in. She felt her nose itching and quickly covered her face with one hand to stifle the impending sneezing attack.

  Frowning, the old man discovered the burning candle on the table. "It looks like one of the fine policemen forgot something. Tsk... Could have burnt down the whole place."

  He extinguished the candle and was about to leave the room, but then suddenly hesitated. He stood directly under Helena's hiding place, thinking out loud, "Maybe I should have a closer look..."

  The huntress scrunched up her face. 'Oh, no. Please, go, please!' Helena's mind screamed.

  "Ah no," he decided. "My back is hurting so bad today. I wouldn't be able to climb the ladder. I will go and take a little nap. It's just a night like every other, anyway."

  The door closed behind him and Helena released a deep breath. Exhausted, her head sank down on the documents. "That was a close call. I have enough for today. I have to go back to the castle and get to bed."

  ****
*

  Meanwhile, Kyrian and Skylar had returned to the castle and sat in front of the big fireplace. While the girl was reading in a big, old book, her brother was staring, dreamy-eyed, into the dancing flames. His expression indicated that his thoughts were far away.

  Tired, Skylar rubbed her eyes and looked at him. "I'm off to bed," she announced, yawning, rose and placed the book on the floor, beside the armchair. When she got no answer, she used her index finger to poke him in the shoulder. "Kyrian?" she asked. "Is everything alright?"

  The young man jerked back from his fantasies and stammered, "Wh-What is it?"

  Skylar smirked. "Where have you been with your thoughts, dreamer?"

  Kyrian cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed, and said briskly, "That's none of your concern!"

  Skylar stared at him, making him even more nervous.

  "What is it?" he asked suspiciously and drew his brows together.

  The girl was grinning wildly now. "Something happened to your face."

  Stunned, Kyrian touched his cheeks. "What's wrong with my face?"

  "You... are... blushing!" Skylar exclaimed, laughing loudly.

  "Stop talking nonsense," he replied, glaring at her.

  "Oh, come on. Out with it. Who were you thinking about?" his sister gibed. "Come on, tell me. I swear, I will never tell another soul. Hunter's honor. And, if I do, then a lightning bolt shall strike me down!"

  Kyrian crossed his arms, shaking his head effusively. "You can wait until you are blue in the face. You won't get a word out of me."

  Skylar was totally unimpressed. "Have it your way then. I already know, anyway," she declared. With a roguish wink, she fled the room to head to her chambers.

  Kyrian jumped from his armchair and ran after his sister. He caught up with her on the stairs, stepped into her way and stretched his arms out to prevent her from leaving. "What do you know?" he asked.

  Skylar beamed at him, happily. "I know that you are in love with the blonde woman from the funfair," she said. Ducking under his arms, she hurried giggling to her room.

  Kyrian was hot on her heels. "That's not true!" he shouted, angrily.

  Breathless, the girl reached her chambers, which was illuminated by warm candlelight, and slipped into her bed, adjusting the warm, soft covers over her tired body.

  Her brother sat down on the bed's edge and scowled at her. "I am not in love with Christine!" he declared, confidently.

  Skylar laughed. "Oh, you even remembered her name. Now, I'm truly impressed."

  "You stop this foolish talk, right now," he ordered, threateningly pointing his index finger at her nose.

  "The more you deny it, the more I know I'm right," she replied calmly.

  Kyrian was furious, his face reddening. "What does a little smart-aleck like you know, anyway? You have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. And now, stop with this nonsense or..."

  Challenging him, his sister arched her eyebrows and asked, "Or whaaaaaat?"

  Kyrian wracked his brain for a suitable response to destroy Skylar's suspicions, but he couldn't come up with one. "I don't know yet, but when I do, you had better pray to God to have mercy on your tiny soul," he replied.

  Skylar couldn't help but laugh, heartily. "Oooh, now I'm scared to death. Can you see how badly my little knees are trembling?"

  Kyrian became aware of his own very silly behavior and gave up. He couldn't contain a chuckle. Soon after, he was laughing happily along with his sister."One day, you are going to drive me insane, you little devil," he said and tenderly brushed some hair off the girl's forehead.

  Silence fell in the bedroom. After they had recovered from laughing, the light mood turned serious. "It is so very late now, and Mama still isn't home yet. I'm starting to worry a bit, because usually she tells us when it takes longer," Skylar admitted quietly. "What if the vampire discovered her already?"

  A little pause followed, while Kyrian searched for the right words to reassure his sister. "No, don't think like that, little one. Mama can take very good care of herself, you know that," he responded, trying to cheer her up.

  There was a little tremor in Skylar's voice. "Yes, I know that. Still, I can't help but think that..." she began, her voice breaking and tears gathering in her eyes. "Papa died because of the vampires. I don't want to lose Mama, too." A helpless, little sob escaped her chest.

  Faced with his sister's tears, Kyrian felt his heart clench and pulled her into his arms. He consoled her as best as he could, trying to calm her down. "Never fear, Skylar," he whispered into her ear. "Nothing will happen to Mama. She is the born huntress and will be back soon. Just wait and see."

  Reluctantly, and only due to her brother's coaxing, Skylar lay back down.

  Kyrian adjusted the covers around her tenderly. "Sleep now. Mama will be home soon. Now, if you close your little eyes and go to sleep, I will show you how to use the crossbow, tomorrow. Would you like that?"

  Skylar visibly relaxed and had a hard time keeping her eyes open. "Is that a promise," she asked sleepily.

  "You can bet it is," he replied, smiling broadly. He rose and extinguished the candles, one after the other. "Good night and sweet dreams, little one," he whispered, left the room and gently closed the door behind him. Kyrian returned to the dining room, once again sitting down in front of the fireplace. Restlessly, he ran both his hands trough his long hair. "It really is late. Where are you, Mama?"

  *****

  The cast-iron oil lamp swung under the low vault, creaking in the draft, which blew through the coarse slits of the closed shutters.

  Chalice's gaze was glued to the flickering flames that danced in the half bowl. She was deep in thought. For hours she had gone through her Master's books and parchments, searching for the mysterious lion head, which the little blonde girl from the festival wore on the nape of her neck. Chalice was sure she had seen this sign somewhere in Azrael's documents. Still, she hadn't been able to find it.

  Sighing, she looked at the spread out documents in front of her. "Where is it? Where can it be?" she asked, frustration evident in her voice. Chalice unfolded another scroll and threw it furiously into a corner, as she couldn't detect anything of use in it. A book followed this example. "I can't believe it's not there!" she exclaimed angrily and tore at her hair.

  Her temper tantrum was interrupted as a scratching sound that came from behind her.

  "My Master," she whispered, nearly breathless with anticipation. An evil grin formed on her face. "He has awakened..."

  She jumped up from her chair and headed to the coffin, which was set up in one of the room's corners. Long and pale, bony fingers slipped through the small crack of the lid. Chalice hurried to assist her Master, using all of her strength to push the heavy granite lid to the side.

  The vampire opened his eyes and rose gracefully from the black silk pillows, on which he had been resting throughout the day. Taking his time, he adjusted his elegant clothes, and his eyes darted around the room. With great disdain, he noticed the mess his companion had caused among the records and documents he had collected over the years.

  Azrael's angry eyes, darker than usual, were fixed on Chalice's face. "What is the meaning of this," he asked in a cold voice. "Why is there such chaos among my belongings?" He walked to the table, gazing at the books and parchments that were spread out, carelessly and sloppy.

  Chalice was overcome with fear, because her master's fury was unpredictable. She wanted to beg for forgiveness. "Master, I... please forgive me..." she stuttered, trembling in fear. "Please, forgive the disorder... b-but, I was trying to get information."

  The vampire looked at her, questioningly. "Information? To serve what purpose?"

  "I... I want to know about our enemies... Who they are..." Since she didn't have exact proof of her suspicion, she didn't dare to tell him the truth. Reverently, she dropped to her knees, crawled to him and hugged his legs.

  Tenderly, Azrael placed a hand on her head and patted her soft hair. "I can understand t
hat. But why does the whole house look like a battle field? Why are my books and scrolls scattered around, or lying in the corners?" Azrael grabbed Chalice's upper arms hard and pulled her up to look directly into her eyes. "Why are you doing that, when you know how much I despise disorder? You have jumbled up all my investigation documents!" he screamed, outraged, increasing the strength of his grip.

  Chalice wanted to cry out from the pain, but she knew that would make him only more furious. "Please, my Master, I didn't mean to cause such a mess. I will put everything back where it belongs. It seems that I lost track of time, while I was engrossed in the books," she tried to explain subdued, as she lowered her gaze to the floor, shaking with fear.

  Azrael sighed. "Well, you are forgiven. Make sure that it doesn't happen again. My patience with you is beginning to wane."

  Chalice was happy to have deflected his fury and released a relieved breath. "Oh, thank you very much, my Master. You are always so nice to me..."

  "Enough!" he interrupted her rudely, pushed her roughly away and sat down in a comfortable, but chafed armchair. "So, you wanted to know about our enemies?"

  Chalice took her seat on a low stool opposite Azrael and looked up at him. "Yes, my Master. What can you tell me about the vampire hunters? Do they live in clans like the vampires do? Have you met, or even killed some of them?" Chalice asked, regarding him expectantly.

  Faced with the many questions, Azrael grinned diabolically. "Of course. I have killed some of those freaks. After all, they were out to kill my unique, immortal soul. But none of these unworthy creatures succeeded. I triumphed over them all."

  "I didn't expect it to be any other way, my Master," Chalice said flatteringly and smiled.

  "Definitely, there aren't many of them anymore," Azrael continued, his voice thick with complacency. "The last one, who claimed he was a vampire hunter and was chasing me, paid a bitter price. He died a gruesome death."