by G. P. Taylor
‘So, I exist?’ he pressed her again, no longer feeling like her prisoner.
Lana Karlstein walked two paces and sat next to him. She snuggled close as she leant back against the window ledge.
‘There is a prophecy about the Lyrid of Saturn, written over two thousand years ago. It talks of a boy called Iago who would try to destroy the world of Vampyres. He would wreak havoc upon us just for the sake of it. There would be no reason why he should do this, just that he hates us.’
‘Iago?’ he asked.
‘Iago, Jago – it is the same name. The prophecy says he will raise up a standard against us and that even the Oracle will not be able to stand against him. He will be a monster of motiveless malignity.’
‘So she thought it was me?’ Jago asked as he slipped his arm around Lana and pulled her closer to him.
She did not resist. Lana slipped her hand into his and entwined her fingers.
‘I hoped it wasn’t you, Jago. But after all that has happened it has to be. The Maleficarum told me about you surviving Strackan on the night of the Lyrid. Then you became one of us through the bite of Medea. It had to be her. She is mentioned in the prophecy.’
He thought before he spoke, remembering that night in the old temple.
‘They could have called me Jago just to fit in with what had been said. Medea could have just been used to fulfil it.’
‘And surviving the Lyrid, killing the Quartet, beating Strackan? All these things are mentioned in the prophecy,’ Lana said as she held his hand tightly. ‘That is why you have to go to the Luna Negri. We have to be sure.’
‘Kept there out of the way so I can do no harm?’ he asked.
‘To protect you from the Cult of the Oracle. They would have you killed to stop it all coming to pass. That is why they want you dead. Ezra Morgan was a follower of the cult. Morgan had agreed to come back to the Maleficarum in return for his life. He had the Oracle diamond and now it is missing. I have to take you to the Cave of the Moon.’
‘And when I am there, you will stay with me?’ he asked, not wanting to let her go.
‘I never thought I would be able to say yes, but now I would want it no other way,’ Lana said. She turned her head and kissed him on the lips.
Jago held her close. It felt so strange. Guilt, fear, rage – all came to him at once. His heart pounded as they lay together. The breeze pushed the drapes back and forth and chimed the crystals of the large chandelier above the bed. He gasped for his breath as they broke away. She reached out for him and pulled Jago back to her as if she would take all of his blood.
‘There is someone else,’ he said as they lay together, each reluctant to let go. ‘Biatra … a girl from Whitby. I feel the same for her.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she answered as she smoothed back the long strands of hair from his face. ‘That was another life and this is now. One thing I have learnt in all my years is the sacrament of the present moment. I care nothing for tomorrow and the past is a place we cannot belong to. It’s here, Jago – here and now …’
‘Mina – your sister – said you were born in 1698. I never thought I would ever kiss someone so old.’ He laughed as he kissed her again, forgetting Biatra and the world he had left behind.
‘And I never thought I would ever kiss someone as dangerous,’ she said as they parted to look at each other before they kissed again.
It was three hours later that they walked together down the majestic staircase to the dining room of the chateau. Jago held the carved iron banister and slipped his finger along the smooth rail. It was as if the chateau had become another place. Where there had once been silence, now the rooms were filled with conversation.
To the left of the hall was an elegant room with panelled walls. The alcoves of the salon were filled with books and lit with electric lights shielded from view by onyx covers shaped like small swans. Three sofas were arranged around the fireplace with a low table in between. A fat American and his peacock wife sat together in conversation with an Italian businessman in a floral shirt. The American talked about the Grand Tour and how he had found Rome lacking in character.
‘Only thing about the place I liked was when there was an earthquake. I was using the bathroom,’ he had said as they passed by. ‘Rattled the building and threw me to the floor. Thought the world was going to end and Mamie said it was me all along …’
The man laughed at his own joke and nudged his wife in the ribs to encourage her to laugh too. By the look of her prune-like face, Jago thought this would be impossible. The Italian smiled a bemused smile while trying to see if he could escape without being discourteous.
All around, groups of men and women stood drinking cocktails, taking the drinks freely from the tray of the waitress as she walked by. Jago held Lana by the arm. She led him like a blind man through the night, nodding and smiling, never showing her teeth and looking to see if any of those gathered were of her kind.
Madame Camargue stood by the door to the dining room. She had changed into a long black dress with a fascinator tied to the side of her head. It looked like an elaborate trap for an exotic bird. Jago tried not to laugh. He guarded his thoughts.
‘I have a table by the doors to the patio,’ she said as if they were strangers. ‘It will be cooler there. The dress looks beautiful,’ she whispered to Lana. ‘I am so glad it fits after all these years.’
They followed her to the table. It was set for two. Jago took the chair by the door, guided by Lana so she could see the rest of the room. The food was served quickly and they ate very little. Madame Camargue brought drinks between each course. It was fresh blood and blackberry juice.
‘She thinks of everything,’ Lana said as she wiped the corners of her mouth with the starched napkin. Then she stopped and, with her lips still covered, whispered to Jago. ‘Don’t look, but there is a man over there who keeps glaring at us.’
Jago laughed as at a distraction and then looked. The man was middle-aged and well-built with a small moustache. His face was tanned, as if he worked in the fields.
‘Vampyre?’ Jago asked, turning his head so his words could not be heard.
As she was about to speak, the waitress came to the table.
‘From the man over there – he would like you to have some champagne. He thinks you are just married.’
Lana looked across, and the man lifted his glass and smiled. She nodded in appreciation as the waitress put the ice bucket on the stand and let the smoking bottle fizz by their side.
‘I thought it would be the right thing,’ the man said as he crossed the room, pulled a chair from an empty table and sat with them. ‘I am Olricus Gisler, from Switzerland …’
Lana answered for them. ‘We are travelling to Cannes. Côte d’Azur,’ she said after she had told him their names.
‘What a coincidence,’ he answered as he sat back in the chair and folded his arms. ‘I have just been there myself. It has not changed since before the war. I took coffee every morning at the Café Poet by the market and walked on the Croisette.’
‘Then we will remember you when we are there,’ Lana said hoping the man would go away.
‘I was intrigued when I saw you. I said to myself that you both looked so different, other-worldly, not of this time.’ He yawned as he spoke, his eyes fixed on Lana and the pearl necklace around her neck. ‘I would say that you could be mistaken for creatures of myths and legends – children of gods, from ancient Greece.’
‘That is what my father said on the day I was born,’ Lana answered.
The man sat comfortably in the chair, his arms folded across his silk waistcoat, a silver pin through a yellow tie that didn’t match his shirt, but Jago could sense he was dangerous. There was something about Gisler that made Jago feel anxious.
‘I am sure I have met you somewhere before,’ he said as he stared at Lana. ‘But that could not be possible as it was a long time ago and you look so young.’
‘She often gets mistaken for other people,’ Jago said as he felt
the foot of the man propped against his.
‘It is late, Mr Gisler, and we have far to go in the morning,’ Lana said.
Gisler could tell that he had outstayed his welcome. He thought that it was because they were in love. He looked at Jago and poured the champagne into two glasses.
‘Then let us drink a toast to your new life – prosperity, love and happiness,’ he said as he handed Lana her glass and clinked his against it. They sipped the champagne. ‘It is not a toast unless you drink it all up,’ he said as he swigged from his glass and slammed it down empty on the table. They both finished the drinks. Jago could feel it numb his lips. ‘You better get to bed, you have a long way to go in the morning,’ the man said as he got from the chair, bowed to them both and walked from the room.
‘I don’t trust him,’ Lana said when he had gone. ‘He wasn’t one of us.’
As they climbed the stairs back to the room, Jago trudged from step to step. His feet felt heavy, tired by all that he had done. Lana walked ahead, took the key from her bag and opened the door. She lay on the bed and snored. Jago locked the door and looked out of the window. Lana slept deeply, the strands of her white hair falling across her face.
Looking out of the open window, Jago watched the wind blow through the avenue of trees. The leaves of the eucalyptus rattled as the branches swayed. The moon seemed bigger than he had seen before, creeping up from the far horizon like a crimson disc. Jago sat in the chair by the door and watched Lana as she slept. He could easily escape, run away and never see her again. He could take all the money from her bag and make it back to England and find Biatra.
Lana curled up and rubbed her face with her fingers. She looked like a sleeping child. Jago took the blanket from the wardrobe and covered her. He sat back in the chair, unable to keep his eyes open. He thought he could hear footsteps in the corridor, someone coming closer. He tried to wake, but sleep gripped him as if it were death. His legs grew numb and his arms sagged at his sides, unable to move. Jago watched helplessly as the door opened.
Gisler stood in the light of the hallway in razor-pressed trousers, waistcoat and shirt sleeves rolled neatly back to the elbows.
‘I thought you would be unconscious by now. The champagne had enough sedative to make an elephant sleep – perhaps Vampyres are a little different.’
Jago could no longer keep his eyes open. He slumped in the chair, unable to focus and dead to the world. All he could hear was Gisler dragging Lana from the room. Jago could do nothing.
[ 17 ]
Museum of an Extinct Race
THERE WAS A SUDDEN, shrill scream and Jago was thrown to the floor of the room. He landed by the bed, far away from the chair where he had been sleeping. He looked at his hands. The veins almost broke through the skin and burnt deep purple, and his fingers trembled as the sedative was consumed from him as if it were being burnt away. His throat was dry and he was convulsed in hot sweats.
As Jago got to his feet his legs buckled beneath him. His memory of Gisler was like a dream. Looking to the bed, Jago saw that Lana was gone. The impression of her sleeping body was imprinted on the eiderdown and the blanket, which had covered her, was discarded and cast by the window. Staggering to the door, Jago tried the handle. The door was locked from the outside. He pulled hard. It refused to move.
Running to the window as the life came back to him, he looked out. All the cars were still parked just as they were before. There was no sign of any movement and all was quiet. He looked up and saw that the room above had the shutters open. He was sure he could hear Madame Camargue speaking. Her words were carried out and into the night as she stood by the window.
Climbing through the window, Jago gripped the deep joints between the stones and moved across the ledge from window to window until he reached a small balcony. He was soon through the open window and into the hallway. Jago followed the stairs higher until he was in the eaves of the house, where a long corridor led to the room at the end. He walked along, keeping to the side and remaining as quiet as he could. Jago slipped his hand into the lining of his coat and pulled out the flick knife that he had hidden within. He held it firmly in the palm of his hand, ready to squeeze the blade open.
At the door, Jago listened. He could hear a grumbled conversation. Holding his breath, Jago looked through the large keyhole. Inside, he could see Madame Camargue. She was still wearing the same dress she had worn at dinner. Gisler was stood with his back to the door, next to the bed. Lana lay tied to the four-poster bed, he wrists tethered. Gisler was rummaging through a selection of medical equipment. Every now and then he would hold up a scalpel or a pair of surgical scissors to the chandelier as if to see how sharp was the blade.
‘You should have given me more time,’ Jago heard him say to the Madame as he looked at the blade of a long scalpel and glinted it before his face. ‘I need time to prepare.’
‘What about Jago Harker – what will you do with him?’ she asked.
‘When I have finished with this one, I shall go downstairs and poison him. Then we can tell the police that he murdered her savagely and then killed himself.’ Gisler spoke calmly, as if he had done this many times before. ‘This should not take long, but has to be done whilst she is still alive.’
Jago saw the look on the face of Madame Camargue. She held her old fingers across her mouth.
‘Is it really necessary?’ she asked.
‘You were the one who told me they were coming here. You knew what I wanted to do and agreed. Is it not enough that I have given you ten thousand dollars?’ he answered angrily, his whispered words cutting through his teeth.
‘I feel as if I have betrayed her,’ the woman replied.
‘But you have, Madame Camargue. Your need for money took precedence over your friendship,’ Gisler said. ‘And then you contacted me …’
‘Do you have to kill her?’ she asked.
‘Of course, how else do you think I can remove the venom? Under the jaw of every one of these beasts is a gland of poison. If I distil the poison I can save the lives of anyone bitten by such a creature,’ Gisler said. Then he stepped away from the bed and looked at the door.
Jago froze, hoping he would not be heard. He held his breath.
‘You told me you wanted the venom for business?’ Madame Camargue asked, as if she suspected a lie.
‘The man I work for has a son who fell in love with someone like this. She took his life and turned him into a beast like her. My employer has kept his son locked away from the world and fed on pig’s blood until I can find a cure for him. When I do, I shall be a rich man, then I will build my museum to an extinct race. I have a collection of Vampyre heads that I bought from a man in England. That number of artifacts proves their existence. When the last of the beasts is dead I will open the doors of my museum and welcome the world.’ Gisler held the scalpel in his hand. ‘Now I need your assistance, Madame. Hold the woman down and I will make the first incision.’
‘It doesn’t feel right, Herr Gisler,’ she said as she stepped towards the bed and moved the table lamp closer to Lana. ‘Perhaps we could find another?’
‘This is the one that I want. Now come and help me before the sedative wears off and she screams hell upon us,’ Gisler answered as he wrapped a rubber apron around his waist and covered his expensive shoes in galoshes.
‘Very well,’ the Madame answered reluctantly. ‘But please do not make me watch.’
Gisler reached forward, leaning over Lana with the knife in his hand as if he were was looking for the place to make the incision. Jago stepped back silently from the door and squeezed his fingers tightly together. The knife blade jumped from the handle with a loud click.
‘What was that?’ he heard Gisler say from the other side of the door.
Before he could find out, Jago kicked the door with as much force as he could. It separated from the wall, the hinges and boards still intact as it fell in to the room. Gisler was knocked beneath it. Jago heard his muffled cries as he walked on th
e door and into the room.
‘You betrayed her,’ he said as he stared at the Madame.
‘I had to – he made me,’ she answered, pointing at the arm that lay outstretched from under the door still clasping the scalpel. ‘He was in the Gestapo, stationed here during the war when this was a house for the officers. He heard the stories of our guests and gave me his contact in Zurich. He said that he would tell the authorities I was a collaborator if I refused.’
Jago opened the door from its frame and Gisler stared at him. The small bifocal glasses were smashed across his face. Blood was smeared over his silk shirt. He looked up at Jago and saw the knife in his hand.
‘You are supposed to be asleep,’ he said softly, as if he spoke to an unruly child. ‘Then again, your kind have never met any of my expectations.’
‘You were going to kill her,’ Jago said as he waited for the man to stand up.
‘It would have been a necessary waste of her life,’ he said serenely, as if it were of no consequence. ‘In the war I saw many people just like her, but I could never find enough venom to make an antidote. They all had their uses and in the end they can be boiled down to make the most luscious glue.’
Jago ignored him and cut the bands around Lana’s wrists.
‘Do you have a car?’ he asked the woman.
‘Herr Gisler has a car, a Rolls-Royce. He keeps it in the barn,’ she said as Jago took the gag from Lana’s mouth. ‘It has a travel warrant. No one will stop you.’
‘But you can’t,’ Gisler said as he got to his feet and turned his back on the woman. ‘I need to get to Zurich.’
Gisler stopped speaking and held the front of his waistcoat. Jago saw the long steel instrument sticking from his back. Blood trickled through his fingers and across the palm of his hand. He turned back to Madame Camargue.
‘You are a monster,’ she said. ‘The children that vanished … the Jewish woman from the farm by the bridge – it was you,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘You experimented on them all.’
