I opened the door and let Matilda exit first.
“Thanks for allowing me to stay here last night,” she said.
I shrugged. “You’re welcome, but I have no idea where we’ll be tonight.”
She smiled and headed down the outer hallway. “I’ll find a place by then. Thanks for your hospitality. I hope you find your cousin.”
After she was out of sight, my father stepped outside the door. I locked the door and turned to follow my father to the innkeeper’s desk.
I placed the room key on the desk and glanced over to see the morning paper’s headline: Buck’s Row Murder. Suspect Being Held. The sketch of the perpetrator was clearly Jacques. I read enough to find where he was being held, grabbed my father’s elbow, and hurried toward the door.
Father gave me an odd side-glance. “What’s wrong?”
“Jacques is in jail.”
He frowned. “Whatever for?”
“He’s a suspect in last night’s murder.”
“Nonsense.”
“That’s what the post reports.”
Father shook his head. “He’d never do something like that.”
“I know, but we’re foreigners and suspects first. From what I’ve noticed the Londoners don’t take too kindly to outsiders. Either we’re outcasts or victims, but in Jacques case, he’s being blamed for something he probably didn’t even do.”
“No probably about it, son. I’ve known him far too long. The only time he kills is if he encounters a vampire or an undead. I’ve never known him to kill another human or his own kind.”
I gave an incredulous stare at my father.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I replied. But, it was the most he had spoken in weeks. Granted, it had taken our cousin getting arrested to pry his mouth open, but I’d take it. Whenever our family had been faced with injustice, Father had never been silent. He’d fight with words and physically should the need arise. “How’s your head?”
“Like a grape being stomped by an elephant. Multiple times.”
I clasped his shoulder. “It will pass.”
He nodded, winced. “It always does.”
“Until the next morning.”
He regarded me for a few moments. “Yes. And I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
“Yes. It’s necessary,” he said, gruffly. “I’ve allowed myself to be consumed by my loss and have abandoned you in the process. But no more. It’s time I accept that Olivia’s gone. But a part of her lives on in you. The last thing she’d have wanted is for me to wallow in self-pity for the remainder of my life. And since you’re a Hunter, I can offer some advice and training to you, but not if I’m incapacitated.”
“Although it’s been hard for me to watch, I understand why you’ve gotten drunk so often.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“In ways, it is. You simply weren’t ready to deal with the pain. The question now is, ‘Are you willing to face it?’”
Father nodded. “I am.”
“Well, there are some things that you can accept to make the process of healing a little easier.”
“Like what?”
“The baron didn’t turn Momma into a vampire and force us to have to kill her undead form. And the baron and all those responsible are now dust.”
Father thought about it for several minutes while we walked down the side of the cobblestone street. “It would have been better if the baron had outright killed me.”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “Don’t think like that.”
He pointed a stern finger at me. “Yes. Then she’d still be alive. The baron would have had no reason to pursue you or her.”
“All of the events were destined, like it or not. Had you died and never returned, I doubt Momma would’ve even told me that I was a Hunter. She didn’t like that you took me to get this Hunter box and supplies. So don’t allow your guilt of being alive blind you.”
Father’s jaw tightened. He hobbled, trying to keep pace with me. “Blind me? Guilt?”
I nodded. “That’s exactly what you’ve been doing. You keep thinking if you’d done something differently, she’d still be here. Believe me, I miss her sorely, but nothing we could have done would have had a different outcome.”
“Fate?”
“Her time, like ours, is destined. We’re allotted a certain amount of days on Earth.”
He eyed me shrewdly. “You’re becoming religious, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “Not necessarily, but it makes sense.”
“How?”
“Father, when you arrived at our doorstep in the condition you did, I didn’t see any possible way that you’d survive, but you did. Against incredible odds, you survived. You’re alive. I doubt anyone else could have recovered from the injuries you did.”
He winced as he walked. “Every day is filled with pain from those injuries. Some days I’d accept death as a blessing.”
I held my silence. I recognized that each step he took brought pain. He was never able to hide the agony from his facial expressions, but he persevered. He kept pressing forward. That had to wreak havoc on his mind. I believe that was another reason he drank so much. To ease his physical pain as well as his memories of heartache.
“Instead of wishing for death, think about killing more vampires.”
“Believe me, I think about that every day. But, when the night falls, all I’ve been able to do lately is find a tavern.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Again, son, my apologies. But I give you my word. Last night was the last time I allow myself to become enslaved to drink.”
“Good to hear.” I pointed. “There’s the jailhouse.”
Chapter Four
Father and I entered the small prison office. A PC, Constable Shields, sat at desk and eyed me for several moments, partially in fright, after I stepped through the door with my heavy box in my hand. He glanced from me to my feeble father before finally greeting us with a slight smile and standing. “Morning, chaps. How might I help you?”
I pointed to the newspaper on his desk. “We’d like to speak to the man you are holding about last night’s murder.”
“You know him?” Shields adjusted his hat. His cheeks were plump like a chipmunk. He had a neat thin moustache and short sideburns. He wore tiny-framed glasses that made his brilliant blue eyes brighter.
“He’s our cousin.”
“Ah, I see. He’s hardly said a word since we took him in last night. By your accent . . . where are you from?”
“Romania,” I replied.
“Ah.”
Father’s jaw tightened. “Are you charging him with this murder?”
Constable Shields shook his head. “Not yet, we haven’t. No. We just wanted to ask him some questions. He’s in holding.”
“May we speak to him?” Father asked.
Shields nodded and took a ring of large metal keys. “Of course, since no charges have been made. Perhaps the two of you could persuade him to answer our questions?”
“We can try,” I replied. “He tends to get moody at certain times each month.”
“He seems like a marvelous chap. Nice and tidy, well reserved, but stubborner than an old ass.”
“That would be him,” my father said.
The constable led us down a hallway with locked gated cells on each side. The iron bars were thick. Steel plates reinforced the corners of the cell walls. They seemed impassable, even for a werewolf. When we reached the cell where Jacques was, the man placed the large key into the lock and turned it. “You have visitors.”
Jacques gazed toward the door as Shields pulled it open. He didn’t seem angry but probably perturbed. He forced a half grin. “I suppose you read the early post?”
I nodded.
The constable glanced at Jacques. “Look. We only brought you in for a few questions. If you could provide us with the answers, you’re free to go.”
Jacques stood
and sighed. “I told you last night why I was on that particular street.”
“Buck’s Row,” Shields said.
“Yes.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“Yes. I saw the man who killed that woman. I tried to stop him, which is why my cane was left behind in the street. After a brief struggle, he fled, and I went to pursue him.”
“And then you lost him?”
Jacques nodded. “Only because I was struck in the back of the head when I darted past him. I have the knot to prove it, if you’d like to examine it.”
“Then why didn’t you simply tell us this last night when we found you? We’d have let you go.”
Jacques rubbed the back of his head and winced. “I had quite a headache and was suffering from embarrassment, mostly. I’m usually a more resourceful fighter. I thought I had him, and then . . . I lost consciousness.”
“Ah, I see. Could you describe what he looks like?”
“His face?”
“Yes.”
“There isn’t any light on the street, so no.”
Constable Shields frowned. “You said that you saw him?”
“Encountered would be a better word. He wore nice clothes, not like the poorer people in the slums.”
“How could you tell if you couldn’t see him?” Shields asked.
“I grabbed for him. His shirt and tie were silk. Even in the darkness I can distinguish silk from any other cloth. Can’t you?”
Shields offered a slight shrug and pressed his glasses against the bridge of his nose.
I gave Jacques an inquisitive stare. With his abilities, he could’ve seen what the murderer looked like in the darkness. I flicked my gaze to the constable.
“How did she die?”
The constable’s cheeks puffed, and he released a long sigh. “She was butchered. Two slashes across the throat. Her abdomen was all cut up. She probably died quickly. The weird thing was how little blood was found where she lay. We think that maybe she had been killed elsewhere and then brought and left where we found her.”
I gave a side-glance toward Jacques when Shields mentioned how little blood was at the scene. Jacques nodded slowly.
“If you would, follow me back out front and sign a few papers?” Shields said, looking at Jacques. “Then you’re free to go.”
Jacques stood. “Sure.”
“So was Jacques ever a suspect?” Father asked. “The post indicated that he is.”
The constable shrugged and shook his head. “Headlines sell. But a real suspect? No. A person of interest as being a possible witness, yes. From how she was murdered, he’d have had a lot of blood on him. A slashed throat is a messy way to kill someone. We found no traces of blood on him.”
We followed the constable to the desk. Shields lifted the silver cane and studied it for a few moments. “Interesting. Splendid, actually. I’ve never seen such a cane.”
“It is an eye-catcher,” Jacques said, taking it.
“Indeed.”
Shields slid Jacques a few forms to fill out. Once he finished with them, we left. Outside, I stared at him. “What are we dealing with? A vampire?”
Jacques shrugged. “Right now, I honestly cannot tell you.”
“How could you not know?” I asked. “You can see in the greatest depths of darkness.”
“That’s true. But I don’t know that he’s a vampire or if he’s something else. He never flashed fangs, but he moves as swiftly as any vampire. He has supernatural abilities, and he was drinking her blood when I happened upon him. But not from biting her. He used a jagged long knife to gash her open and drank from her wounds.”
“A knife? Have you ever known a vampire to use a weapon instead of biting his victim?” I asked.
“Never. But I suppose I wouldn’t put it past one.”
“Why’s that?”
“Teeth marks on the neck immediately identifies the killer as a vampire,” Jacques replied. “But the man responsible is a wealthy aristocrat, a man of prominence somewhere.”
“Like the baron?” I asked.
Jacques nodded. “He’s a man with a lot of influence or at least, he poses to be. The woman he attacked had been at ease with him just moments before he slashed her throat.”
“You witnessed the murder?”
“Unfortunately, I did. I don’t think he realized I was nearby.”
We walked along the street. Awnings hung over numerous tables of produce and goods. Last night, the streets had been empty, barren, but this morning, people milled along the sidewalks and along the cobblestone by the hundreds. Never had I seen such hopeless faces like these of the merchants and potential customers. In Bucharest, we had slums, too, but these ragged folks looked more depressed.
Dirty-faced children trotted in small groups, some causing mischief and others stealing whatever items they could in hopes of trading their loot for food elsewhere. Either the parents had abandoned these children or the children had forsaken their parents, having decided to fend for themselves. Parents didn’t seem to hold any concern for their children and perhaps this was due to how difficult it was for one human to feed him or herself. It didn’t matter what part of the world one resided, social classes all seemed to display identical traits, whether good or bad. Utopias only existed in the pleasantest of dreams. It was far unlikely the world we lived in would ever achieve such a plateau, and London certainly wasn’t at the top of the list to eat from the table of plenty.
“I met an interesting lady last night,” I said to Jacques.
“Oh?” he replied with a teasing smile. “Seeking romance so soon after our arrival?”
I blushed and shook my head. “No. Nothing like that. She . . . she knew a lot more about you than I expected.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“About what you are.”
Jacques cocked a brow and straightened his tie. “My inner beast?”
I nodded.
“How?”
“She’s a witch.”
“So?” Jacques replied. “You could have denied it.”
“Believe me, I did. But she persisted. She said that she smelled your scent upon me.”
Jacques stopped walking. Concern narrowed his eyes. “Did she now?”
I nodded.
“That’s not a trait a witch would have. She’s something else.”
“Like what?”
“What makes you think she’s a witch? Did she do anything to prove it to you other than tell you she was?”
Father frowned. “Are you referring to Matilda, son?”
I nodded toward him and then I faced Jacques. “She was under a partial invisibility spell.”
He grinned. “How would you know that?”
“I can sense magic. I have ever since Rose’s father handed me this box. Just like you were able to sense the magic on my dagger. She had a veil of invisibility cast because the majority of people in the pub didn’t notice her. When she noticed that I had, she motioned for me to sit with her.”
“That may be, but magic alone would not enable her to know that I was around you. There must be more that she’s not telling you.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“She might have seen us together and somehow come to that conclusion. But she couldn’t have known by scent. Not unless she is a demon or some type of shifter herself.”
“Regardless of how she knows, cousin, she knows. She told me that you’re in great danger by being in London. Werewolves are put to death without any real need for a trial. The constables are armed with silver bullets and daggers. I think we need to find another city to reside in.”
Jacques shook his head. “Not until we find the man who killed the woman last night.”
“Do you have proof he’s a vampire?”
“No. But if we don’t stop him, he’ll kill again.”
“How do you know that?”
“You felt the evil yesterday when the fog approached, didn’t you?”
I nodd
ed.
“He’s not finished. He thirsts for blood. His hunger hasn’t been satisfied. I’ve been around his kind before. He’s just getting started. And look around you. He has a bountiful supply of poor people who are better off dead and won’t be missed by the rest of the area.”
As a Hunter, I couldn’t simply abandon the situation, not if the murderer was, in fact, a vampire. At the moment we didn’t really know. My biggest worry was placing Jacques into danger. The longer he stayed in London, the more likely it became for someone to discover that he was a werewolf and if that person was one of the constables armed with silver bullets . . . it simply wasn’t a risk worth taking.
“I suggest you leave London and allow Father and I to go after this man.”
“No, Forrest. You’ve matured over the past few months, but you’re not ready to face this man.”
“Did he really knock you unconscious? He’d have had to hit you quite hard. I’m surprised if he did that he didn’t simply kill you afterwards.”
Jacques rubbed the back of his head. “He fled because the PCs were approaching, but no, he didn’t knock me unconscious; although he did rattle me badly though.”
“How? I’ve seen how fast you are.”
Jacques smiled. “There’s always someone faster or stronger. You’ll learn that the older you get.”
“He’s that fast?”
“Last night he was.”
The expression on his face indicated that he wanted another chance to fight this man or vampire. He wasn’t about to retreat. “Okay, so if you’re too stubborn to leave, what do you suggest we do to find this man?” I asked.
“We learn the streets, especially here, near where he killed her.”
“You really think he’d kill close to where he did last night?”
“I cannot rightly say. It won’t hurt to look for clues that might be overlooked by the constables.”
Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book 2]: Blood Mists of London Page 3
