“A child?” Shields’ eyebrows rose, causing him to adjust his glasses. “Vampires turn children into vampires?”
Father shook his head. Sadness claimed his gaze. “I’ve only seen it one time, and I pray I never endure such again.”
“Usually children aren’t turned,” Jacques said. “Their blood is poisonous to a vampire. I suppose there are rare exceptions if the vampire is strong enough to survive the poison.”
“Poisonous? How?” the constable asked.
“The way it was explained to me is that children are the most pure and innocent in God’s creation and since vampires are vile, unholy creatures, they are unable to partake of such purity. It’s like the children are blessed and protected from being cursed like the undead, at least for a while, until the age of accountability when they should know right from wrong.”
Shields looked stunned. “I’ve been a Catholic all my life. We’ve been taught about the devil, his demons, and other types of fallen angels, but nothing is ever mentioned about these undead creatures. Why has it been hidden from us?”
Jacques shrugged. “I can’t tell you why. Maybe we’re blind to a lot of our surroundings. Otherwise we’d all go insane.”
“I’m teetering on the edge now,” Shields said, staring at the wall. “I hope you find this vampire soon. Tonight is preferable.”
Jacques placed a hand on the constable’s shoulder. “We promise we’ll do our best. Tracking the undead isn’t easy. Killing them once you find them is even harder.”
Shields nodded and gave a gentle smile. He reached inside his suit jacket and slid out a bright gold cross. “Even though I was skeptical in the beginning, I’m taking your advice. I suppose a gold cross will work?”
Jacques nodded.
“I didn’t want to use a silver one since you and Matilda have difficulty with silver.”
“We appreciate that,” Jacques replied, smiling.
“I sincerely apologize for excusing myself, but I do need to get back to the investigation,” Shields said, walking to the door. “Believe me, I’d rather be here talking to you. And more so, I wish I was in a world where such cruel, evil violence didn’t occur.”
“We all do,” I said.
Shields tipped his hat graciously before exiting.
After Jacques closed the door he returned to the newspaper. “As a werewolf I’ve come across a lot of grim kills where victims have lost appendages, but the last murder Shields showed us is worse than any of them.”
“If we don’t stop Raginwulf, I’ll wager the next murder will be even worse,” I said.
“Why?” Matilda asked.
“He’s deliberately displaying his threat to Esmeralda. As his agitation increases, his aggression escalates. He’s letting her know that when he finds her, what he does to her will be far worse. The earlier news of his victims had frightened her, but if she’s aware of how bad this last one was, she’s probably terrified now. Her magic can’t protect her from him much longer.”
Father looked at me. “She might seek us out now.”
“If she waits too long, she may not have enough time to find us,” I said. “Depending upon why he has come for her, she might beyond anyone’s help. He’s proven to her she has no safe place to hide because he can find her.”
“That’s determination,” Jacques said.
“It must be something of extreme value.”
“But what?”
I shook my head. “That’s the mystery we need to unravel.”
Chapter Thirty-One
All the newspapers now characterized this vampire as Jack the Ripper. His hunting grounds were on the streets of Whitechapel. Our hunting grounds were the same as his, only he was our target. But we knew the actual truth about him, what he actually was, and his true name. We understood a part of his purpose for his slayings, and Esmeralda knew exactly why he was here, choosing to keep the reasons to herself.
After sunset, the four of us walked through the worst of the slum housing districts where Trenton had once been the owner and overseer. The destitute residents were absent from the streets and alleys. While the vast majority of them couldn’t read or even afford to buy a newspaper, the news of the double murder the night before was known by almost everyone, traveling faster than the wind. These poor people had little to live for, but even poverty-stricken, they hid indoors because they still valued their meager lives. Such rugged hearts held the hope for another day, seeking any sustenance to survive.
Candles and lanterns glowed faintly through the thin curtains in the upper windows. No footsteps other than ours struck the cobblestone. The night air was still but chilly with few clouds in the sky.
We stopped at a bench near a streetlamp and sat down. I hunched forward, resting my elbows atop my knees and clasping my hands together. I stared ahead, watching the street before us.
“It’s incredibly quiet tonight,” Matilda said. “For the streets to be so vacant, the tension is still obvious.”
Father nodded. “I agree. It adds to the eeriness.”
The absence of people was chilling. The shadows appeared darker than normal. With the increased silence I almost expected a sudden rushing creature to erupt with high-pitched shrieks and attack.
I glanced toward my cousin. “Jacques, you mentioned werewolves have hierarchies, too. Where do you fall within yours?”
Jacques faced me. “I’m an outlier. I’m certainly not an Alpha, but thanks to your father, I was able to escape the pack of mammoth wolves. But the pack to which I had belonged isn’t typical of what might have been in London.”
“Why? What’s the difference?”
“Our pack didn’t hold true hierarchy levels since Dracula’s grandson held our allegiance and controlled us. We were his property and an extension of his power.”
“An extension?”
Jacques nodded. “As mammoth wolves we guarded his castle during the day while he and his vampire offspring slept. We also kept guard of the perimeter at night. We considered ourselves siblings and equals. We didn’t have ranks. As a true pack in the wild, we’d have fought for position.”
“Rusk was one of your pack?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“If you remember, son, he was the one who gave me the talisman to turn Jacques back to his human form.”
“A talisman?” Matilda said, looking at Father.
Father nodded.
I smiled at Father. “I remember, but why did Rusk return to Ploiesti instead of staying with us?”
Jacques smiled. “He and I would like to forget our past together when we were at the mercy of Dracula. Seeing one another we’d always be reminded.”
“But if you’re like brothers—”
“While under the master vampire, we were like siblings, almost like we had been mentally neutered so no rivalry ever occurred amongst us. In a sense it prevented us from having a wolf leader to plot for an escape.”
“And coexistence as equals has changed now?”
He nodded. “We’d be forced to fight.”
“Why?”
“It’s a part of our primal beasts. At some point it would happen even if we tried to avoid it. One has to be supreme and the other must become submissive,” he replied.
“So that’s part of the hierarchy?”
He chuckled. “No, it is the hierarchy. It’s nature’s pecking order.”
“That makes better sense,” I replied. “Why hasn’t Dracula’s grandson ever attempted to recapture you and Rusk?”
“I don’t know that it’s worth his time. He could send lesser vampires to track us, but they don’t have the strength over us that he does. Essentially, he’d find it easier to make new mammoth wolves for his pack than seek us.”
“So how does such an order work with the vampires? Since we’re fairly certain Raginwulf is a master, why didn’t he bring his vampire servants with him?”
“Because every master vampire between Romania and London would have viewed his approach as
an act of war. It’s doubtful he’d have even reached London. Essentially, his servants would be his army, and no master wants another master to encroach upon his or her territory. With such numbers, hiding a sleeping army during the daylight hours would have been too difficult for any vampire. That’s why he’s siring new vampires, but they are weaker and harder to rein in. Plus, the vampire hierarchy is much broader than a werewolf hierarchy.”
“How?” I asked.
“The tiers accumulate into hundreds of branches all around the world, but every tier can be traced back to one vampire.”
“Dracula?”
“Yes, but no one knows where he resides after he fled his castle, leaving his grandson to reside within. The two generations beneath Dracula, his actual children and grandchildren, are the most powerful masters. His sons and daughters rule as princes and princesses around the world. Their power almost equals his except that their bloodlust has given them more to dispensing cruelties to the crofters they rule over. You’ve yet to witness a master vampire with the authority and control these prominent vampires of the purest bloodline maintain. Let’s hope at your tender age you never do. Their supernatural physical and mental strength are why I fear Dracula’s grandson and his ability to leash me under his power again. Believe me, he’d punish me severely before returning me to the pack. He’d make an example of me to the others. Death would be more desirable.”
Matilda took his hand into hers and leaned her head against his shoulder.
I took his warning to heart. Trenton had nearly killed me, and his bloodline wasn’t pure. Probably far from it. I couldn’t imagine what those directly descended from Dracula and his children were capable of doing. The uneasiness Jacques had displayed convinced me not to pursue the highest vampire ranks for many years even though I was one of the Chosen.
Glancing toward my father, I noticed his eyes were distant in thought. It occurred to me that even though Father wasn’t a Chosen Hunter, he had risked his own life to confront Dracula’s grandson to rescue Jacques and free my mother from the vampire’s control. I marveled at his bravery. Had he not succeeded I would never have been born. Possibly his boldness was why his only son had become destined to be a Vampire Hunter.
His eyes peered into mine. While his stiff aging body continued degenerating, his inner strength and courage raged onward. I wanted to say something in regards to his valor but words seemed too inadequate. I understood his anger and frustration more than ever. His inability to get around and fight vampires like he once had was the biggest reason for his resentment, not of me, but like Jacques had hinted, Father was bitter at himself for his shortcomings. His criticalness toward me wasn’t necessarily to discourage me but to prevent me from being overconfident, which had nearly caused my death at the hands of Trenton.
We sat in silence for a quarter hour. No strangers ever emerged on the street.
Finally, I stood. “I don’t think he will make an appearance tonight.”
“We should make one quick round through the streets though,” Jacques said. “If other streets are dead like this one, there’s no reason to continue watch tonight.”
“Tomorrow we should investigate the abandoned workhouse,” I said.
“It’s risky.”
“Not as bad as these streets without any light at all.”
Jacques nodded. “I suppose that’s true. The darkness doesn’t affect my vision. We’ll do a quick tour and head back to the inn.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The following morning’s breakfast was light and fast. We wanted to get to the abandoned workhouse before midday when it was less likely the Gypsies would be more active on that side of their village where they might witness us entering. The Gypsies weren’t early risers. They seemed to congregate toward the center of Lowbey and the main street during the day to set up their vendor carts and tents.
Since we had purposely abstained from going near Lowbey, Esmeralda either figured she had scared us away, doubtful, or she was worried about what our next move would be. With her skeptical nature she probably viewed us as the type of folks who prodded until we got what we wanted. I was, but not Jacques, Matilda, or my father. The more time she spent fretting about Raginwulf and us, the less concentration she had to focus on spells and curses.
I had spent a vast amount of my time considering the benefits of allowing the situation between Esmeralda and Raginwulf to unfold between them. Since my suspicions remained that she had done far more to provoke his wrath than what she had told us, she had brought this burden upon herself. I wanted to see who would be victorious. For some reason I believed her magic wasn’t any match for Raginwulf’s aggressive dominance. He’d become the ultimate victor and take whatever she was keeping to herself.
However, after the most gruesome murder yet, we couldn’t allow the Ripper to continue terrorizing the blameless victims who had nothing to do with Esmeralda. This vampire needed slain before he killed more innocents.
We crossed the street where we had first met the were-rat boys and descended into the underground tunnel system. After climbing down the short ladder and lighting the lantern, we made our way toward Albert’s chambers since he wanted to accompany us to the workhouse. But he and his boys met us before we were even halfway to his room.
“Ah,” Albert said with a toothy smile. “I was just going to send a couple of the boys to the surface to find you. Are you ready to hunt for the duke in the workhouse?”
I pulled a stake from my pocket and nodded.
“Good,” he said with an eager smile. “I’m interested in seeing that enchanted hedgerow you had mentioned.”
“You might have to view it from afar,” Matilda said.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“We’re trying to keep our distance from Esmeralda.”
“Still?”
I nodded. “For now. To keep her on edge.”
Albert offered a solemn nod. “Come. The boys will lead the way.”
The were-rats paced eagerly ahead of us with their long tails swaying behind them. Two of the boys carried lanterns. After several turns through the tunnels we came to the room where we had slain the four vampires. No undead lurked within the shadows. The boys hurried up the narrow stairs almost racing one another. We walked brisk steps with Father following from the rear. Stairs were rough for him, but his determination got him to the top.
After we emerged in the overgrown garden, Albert called for the boys to wait for my father to emerge. Father reddened when he came through the door, partially from the exhaustion of climbing and partially due to embarrassment of his inability to keep up.
Albert crossed his arms, looking at Matilda. “Where are those hedges?”
She looked in the direction where we had discovered them, but some of the larger garden shrubs, dry brittle weeds bearing sticker seeds, and the wide trees blocked the hedges from view. “It’s not possible to see them from where we are.”
“Ah,” Albert said, nodding. “Perhaps after we have inspected the old workhouse?”
Father stepped beside me and wiped sweat from his brow, even though the outside temperatures were moderately cool. “Let’s move along. I’m ready.”
Clyde and George were the largest of the five rat boys, and they greatly resembled giant rats. The other three, also furry with their long tails dragging behind them, looked more human in their faces. They kept slightly behind their larger siblings, not necessarily ostracized by the two larger were-rats, but the differences in their appearances showed obvious separation between them.
“Boys,” Albert said.
They slowed and looked over their shoulders toward him.
“Don’t enter the building first. Allow us. If Duke Raginwulf is inside, it’s too dangerous.”
They nodded.
“Be watchful for large holes in the ground,” I said. “It’s a long way down.”
They chattered whispers amongst themselves but otherwise ignored me. I realized they could heal from sever
e injuries and possibly such a fall was inconsequential for them, but who wants to suffer through the grueling pain of healing when it’s avoidable?
“Albert,” Matilda said. He glanced back, and she pointed down the hill toward the green branches that stood like a natural fence line. “That’s the enchanted hedgerow.”
He grinned. “Splendid. Of course, I can’t go to them during the daylight. I can’t chance someone seeing me. I’ll come back during the night for a few cuttings.”
“Perhaps one of us can do that,” I replied.
“I’d be gracious, if you could.”
I nodded. “Let’s see what we discover inside the workhouse first.”
“Agreed.”
At the far edge of the old rundown building the rat boys stood and waited. The side door had already been splintered open. This was near the spot where we had seen the growing mist that first evening after we had discovered the overgrown garden.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been inside this old building,” Albert said. “Before it was shut down, it had been a good place for me to find tidbits of food. They dumped the scraps into old barrels on the other side of the building.”
Matilda scrunched her nose in disgust. “You ate the leftover garbage?”
He shrugged and offered a sly grin. “Another reason I don’t refer to myself as a king. I’ve never feasted at what I’d call a King’s Table.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He waved his hands. “When you look like I do, you make due. Now, follow along quietly, and I’ll show you what remains of the house where the destitute people fed and slept. It wasn’t much, but it was better than being hungry and sleeping on the street, especially in the winter or on cold rainy nights.”
“Why did they close it?” I asked.
“As you noticed below in the cellar, the foundation is poor, sinking, and falling through in places. It’s not a good situation when living on the streets is safer than being inside a building that might collapse.”
Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book 2]: Blood Mists of London Page 20
