by G. P. Taylor
‘Why are they there?’ he asked as she slumped in the sofa and dropped the empty chalice to the floor.
Mina Karlstein began to laugh. ‘They need you, Jago – the whole world needs Jago Harker and his precious blood. The Oracle proclaimed your name to the world before she was entombed in her alabaster coffin. They need you to bring her back to life. The boy and the diamond …’
‘But I have done nothing,’ he shouted.
‘Would you love me? Would you love me like you do Lana?’ Mina asked as she tried to stand. ‘Am I not just like her? An identical image? If you can love her then you can love me.’
Mina gripped Jago by the collar of his soaked jacket and tried to pull herself towards him.
‘It’s not like that,’ Jago protested as he stepped away from her.
Her hands slipped from his coat and she fell to the couch. ‘Just look at you,’ she barked as her eyes closed and she slumped against the leather. ‘You think you are so special. Everyone wants Jago Harker … All they want is to rip out your throat and drink your blood – even if it tastes of poison.’
He watched as she tried to speak. She lay on the couch, her head pressed against the thick cushions, unable to move.
Jago sniffed the decanter. ‘You have been poisoned,’ he said.
Mina Karlstein didn’t speak. She arched her back and rolled from side to side as the spasms shuddered her arms and legs – like the crushed cat that Jago had once watched on Brick Lane on the first night of the bombings.
‘Torafugu,’ she whispered feebly, like the prayer of a dying child.
[ 24 ]
Dead Lavender
THE DOOR OPENED, taking him by surprise.
‘She is dying,’ Jago said as the veiled, cowl-clad figure of the woman came into the room.
‘I know,’ the woman answered calmly. ‘It was I who poisoned her.’ As Jago looked at the woman, her breath beat against the veil excitedly. ‘Why didn’t you drink?’ she asked him. ‘It is just a powerful sedative, it wasn’t meant to kill her – perhaps she has drunk too much. Luna Negri … Luna Negri …’
He ran to the door. The woman took hold of his arm and pulled him back with incredible strength. Jago was smashed against the wall and the breath burst from his lungs.
‘What are you?’ he asked as he felt in his pocket for the knife he had hidden in the lining.
‘We are here to guard Magdalene. She is not to be disturbed by the likes of you,’ the woman hissed as she stepped back to stop him running towards the door. ‘Just drink the wine like a good boy,’ she whined.
Jago took hold of the decanter. ‘How much will kill me?’ he asked as he stared at the face that was pressed against the veil.
‘Just one mouthful and you will be fast asleep.’
‘I am not here to do any harm to Magdalene – whoever she is.’
‘Magdalene has been in the cave for two thousand years. She was the first of our kind and took the kiss of our Master,’ the woman said as she took a long brass key from within her garment.
‘I have no argument with you – please allow me to leave,’ Jago pleaded.
The woman laughed.
‘Drink the wine – take two gulps and pray you live,’ she demanded.
Jago raised the decanter to his lips. The woman leant towards him as if to see if he took a drink. He held the bottle by the silver neck and raised it further to his lips.
‘Drink it, drink it …’
Seeing his chance, Jago twisted the bottle quickly in his hand and as the woman lurched back he smashed the decanter across her face. The veil fell to the floor and revealed, staring at him, a gargoyle. Her eyes were slits in thick, bark-like skin. Her lips were swollen and criss-crossed with deep cuts. The woman fell back against the door.
‘See how it tastes for yourself,’ Jago shouted as he pushed her out of the way.
The woman grabbed him by the arm, her knotted and gnarled hands stronger than he could ever imagine.
‘Stay here,’ she snarled as she bit at his fingers.
Jago hit her with a clenched fist that cracked the thick wooden skin. The hag fell to her knees and grabbed his feet. Jago jumped out of the way, kicking her as he lunged for the door. On the sofa, Mina Karlstein stirred as she fought the poison.
Taking his chance, Jago ran from the room and back down the stairs towards the door. The woman screamed: ‘Magdala Cantata!’ The words echoed around the cold halls and corridors of the convent.
Before Jago could take another step, every door in the convent slammed shut. Bolts dug into their keepers and the sound of strange voices began to echo out. As he ran along the long passageway towards the stairs he could hear a faint moaning. Then, second by second it grew louder and louder until the building began to shake with the sound. It juddered in his head as the rumbling moans of every woman locked in their tiny cells cried out.
‘Magdala Morte … Magdala Morte’ came the words again and again until they reached a shrill crescendo.
As they sang, the walls shook. Jago could no longer stand. He dropped to his knees and crawled along the cold tiles towards the door. The words grew louder and louder until his ears were bleeding and he could think of nothing else. No longer could he see, as the words inhabited his mind.
‘Magdala Morte,’ he began to say as he lay on the floor and shivered. ‘Leave me, leave me alone …’
His hands were numb. His lips stiffened, his eyes blurred. The music was both within and without. There was nothing of the world but the rhythmical chanting of the hidden women.
It was then that he made out the shape of the woman from the room. She walked towards him, her veil in place, her hands clasped around the handle of a knife.
‘If Jago Harker refuses to take the wine, then he shall have to know death,’ she said, her words piercing through all other sounds.
He could not move. Propping himself on one elbow, he held out his hand as if it would stop her.
‘Please, stop the music,’ he pleaded.
The light from the moon streamed in through the coloured glass of the window on the stairs. Jago looked up as the sky darkened. A shadow crossed the window. The woman stood before him and raised the knife to strike.
There came a smashing of glass and the sound of the strips of lead falling to the floor. The woman looked up, giving Jago a chance to escape. He tried to move but his limbs were frozen solid like icy branches of winter trees.
Like a dark bird that had flown across the moon, Medea fell to a high landing and got to her feet. The voices subsided to a murmur.
‘You?’ the woman said, turning from Jago.
‘What have you done with Mina?’ asked Medea as she stalked the woman.
‘Sleeping,’ she answered. ‘Sleeping like a child in the womb.’
‘Poisoned!’ Jago managed to shout as the numbness went from his arms. ‘Wine and aconite.’
As he crawled from the woman he saw the look on the face of Medea. She stared at the woman through the bright rimless eyes of a starved hound.
‘Why did you do this?’ she demanded loudly as her hair fell about her neck like the ringlets of a medusa.
‘For her own good – we cannot have the tomb of Magdalene disturbed again. You should all go away – far away and leave us be …’
‘Then you should have let us alone, you meddling witch.’ Medea screamed as she leapt from the landing high above them and fell through the air.
The woman lashed out with the knife. Medea landed upon her, knocking the woman out of the way. Without warning the woman stabbed at her, striking a blow across her rain-soaked blouse. Jago saw a faint issue of blood.
‘Silver blade – bone handle – blessed by Borgia himself,’ the woman sneered. ‘Not one of your kind could escape that kind of blade.’
Medea cupped her breast, holding her wound as she realised what would happen.
‘Magdala Cantate!’ the woman screamed through her veil stained with wine and blood. ‘Magdala Cantate!’
/> The singing suddenly began again, louder than before and rattling the iron fetters of the long avenue of lamps that dimly lit the hallway and staircase.
‘You will die with me,’ Medea cried as she lunged forward, pulling the cowl from the woman with one hand.
Dropping the knife, the woman screamed. Small and frail, she stood before them. Her wrinkled flesh hung like that of a shelled turtle. Medea punched out, breaking through her ribs with an open hand. Grabbing the heart, she pulled it from within. The woman gasped and her eyes widened, bulging as they gorged with blood.
‘Hail, queen of heaven!’ the woman cried. It was her last breath as she dropped from the hand that grasped her pumping heart.
Medea held it in her palm as the beats grew faint and then stopped.
‘I no longer have the desire for all of this, Jago,’ Medea said. She slumped to a tread of the stair and held the wound beneath her breast. ‘Now I will know if all that I have believed all of these years is true.’
‘I can’t stop it,’ Jago answered. ‘The blade is silver and has cut through to the bone.’
Medea laughed mockingly as she gasped for breath.
‘Such a small wound and yet quite fatal,’ she mused over the long open cut to her skin. ‘I was the daughter of Aetes, King of Colchis. Memeros and Pheres were my children. Once, I even poisoned a dragon. It was Theseus who brought me into the world of the Vampyre. Would you believe it, Jago? That was a long time ago. I killed the whole of the Ninth Legion. I took them one by one, night by night, as they stumbled through Northumbria. It was on the site of their temple that I met a young boy who would change my life. The moment I bit into his soft white skin, I knew I was dead. Do you remember that night, Jago Harker?’
‘How could I ever forget?’ he answered as he picked up the knife from the floor. ‘I thought it was a dream.’
‘I wished it could have all been different for us both. You are a curse to my kind, Jago. A curse from which none of us can escape. There is a power, a force that surrounds you and keeps you from harm. Look at us – Mina is poisoned, and I, I am dying …’
Medea began to sob, holding her face in her hands as the tears trickled through her fingers, her heart filled with remorse.
With her tear-stained hands she reached out and pulled him closer to her. ‘I am no one. It is you who have meddled with my life, you who have brought all this about.’
Jago closed his eyes and kissed her. Medea smiled, a cough spilling from her throat as her lungs filled with blood.
‘I am glad you didn’t understand,’ she whispered. ‘That is a far better way to die. Kiss me again, Jago.’
As their lips met, Medea sighed. Blood dripped from her lips. Jago tore her white shirt and wiped her face, then placed the soaked rag in his pocket.
Laying her against the stairs, he could see the wound. It was much deeper than he had thought. He held the blade in his hand then tore more of her bloodied shirt to wrap around it.
The Convent fell silent.
And then Jago heard the doors on the landing above begin to open one by one. Footsteps marched along the tiled floors, and flashing through the smashed window on the landing were the lights of a car. They lit the upper corridor. Jago heard brakes squeal and doors slam.
‘Open up! Ozymandias is here!’ a man shouted as he pounded his fist against the bolted portal.
Jago ran up the two flights of stairs to the broken window. In the courtyard below he could see Ozymandias. He was sitting in the back of a long sedan with Walpurgis at his side. Another car was parked just out of sight – Jago could see the pattern of its headlights shining across the wet gravel. The man at the door continued to shout. On the corridor above him, the footsteps drew closer … Jago was trapped.
As the first cowled woman appeared on the landing above him, Jago crawled through the broken window and onto a thick stone ledge. He saw at once how Medea had got into the Convent – the terracotta roof of a small adjacent building was just a step away. This fell gently to the side of the courtyard and a cluster of ancient olive trees near where the car was parked. Their leaves jangled in the high branches that towered above the roof.
Jago held his breath as he walked dangerously close to the edge. He hoped no one would look up. Stepping from the ledge, he stooped down and hid behind the stack of a tall chimney. The stones were red hot, heated by the sun and the fire below.
Echoing from the house, Jago heard a door slam. Another man shouted out. ‘Medea is dead … the boy has escaped!’
Ozymandias got out of the car and crossed the gravel towards the house. Walpurgis remained seated, his arms folded as if he was resigned to his fate. A guard in a long leather coat held a gun in his hand, pointed to the floor.
Screaming came from the house, followed by gunshots. Jago slipped quickly from his hiding place, across the roof and into the trees. He climbed through the branches until he was above the man. Ozymandias and all the others were in the house.
‘What are you going to do with me?’ Walpurgis said to the guard.
‘Keep you here, and if you try to run I will kill you,’ he answered.
Jago looked to the house. The door was shut. Several more gunshots sounded from within.
‘What are you doing to them?’ Walpurgis asked.
‘They are of no use. Ozymandias does not want any witnesses to what will happen,’ he answered.
‘But Jago Harker has escaped and Medea is dead,’ Walpurgis laughed. ‘What will Ozymandias do without them?’
‘Harker won’t get far away, his life is over …’
Like a dull lead, Jago dropped to the ground. He kicked at the man as he fell. Walpurgis jumped from the car and before the man had hit the ground he had snatched the gun from his hand. With a sudden blow he struck the guard over the back of the head.
‘I thought it was you,’ Walpurgis said as he dragged the man to the cover of the shadows around the house. ‘Why aren’t you running from me?’
‘I heard what the man said. He would have shot you if you had tried to escape. You were the prisoner of Ozymandias.’
‘So that makes me a friend?’ Walpurgis asked sarcastically. ‘I haven’t forgotten what you did to me.’
‘People change,’ Jago said as he helped Walpurgis hide the body, dragging the man by his legs deeper into the darkness. ‘There is a cave near here. I have to go there. I am trying to find my friends.’
‘Taking on the Oracle by yourself?’ Walpurgis whispered as they hid by the wall.
‘What other way is there?’ Jago replied as he edged along the wall.
‘Ozymandias has poisoned me. I am a dead man walking. There is nothing for me to lose,’ he answered like a condemned man before the gallows. ‘What he gave me to heal the wound is in fact killing me. If I stop taking the linctus I will be ravaged by death.’
‘Then stay with him,’ Jago said.
‘I have enough for one more day. Perhaps there is another way of escaping death,’ Walpurgis replied. ‘I will come with you to the cave – both our futures may be found within the tomb of Magdalene.’ Walpurgis took Jago by the hand. ‘They all want you dead, Jago Harker. They want to kill you to bring the Oracle to life.’
Jago didn’t answer. He looked out across the plateau to the the hills beyond. He could make out a crest of rock that ran across the horizon like a row of dragon’s teeth. Far below, in the midst of the scarp, he could see the window lights of the monastery carved out of the solid rock. They had shone through wars and famine to beckon pilgrims from far away. As the sky cleared and the light from the moon transformed the world in a shroud of cerulean, more shots rang out from the Convent.
‘What is Ozymandias doing?’ Jago asked as they picked their way through the long dry grass that surrounded the house.
‘One by one he is getting rid of his enemies,’ Walpurgis answered. ‘He had set a trap for both of us. And like you I was fooled.’
‘I have to kill Ozymandias and Ezra Morgan – this is all I can t
hink about. It’s what I have to do.’
‘And that they know. It will come as no surprise to them.’ Walpurgis laughed. ‘Between us we have a gun and a knife.’
‘Then we have an advantage,’ Jago replied as they walked quickly towards the scarp, leaving the Convent far behind.
[ 25 ]
Notarius
THE LONG WALK to the scarp took three hours. Neither of them noticed the flickering of the light that reflected from the lens of the binoculars trained on them from the roof of the Convent. Along the way Jago told Walpurgis of London, Julius Cresco and the time at Hawks Moor. They followed the line of the ridge and walked through the outer edges of the deepening yew forest that covered the hillside. Within the cover of the trees Jago slowed his pace. He wished that Vampyres could fly. He had once seen a film about vampires at the Bethnal Green picture palace. Julius Cresco had taken him along and told him not to tell his mother.
‘Sometimes it is best to be frightened without your mother knowing,’ Cresco had said as they had walked the busy street to the crowded picture palace. ‘You will like the film Dracula. I once met the star, Béla Lugosi – a nice man, if slightly short for a vampire.’
Jago could now see the joke – going to watch a film about vampires and being taken along by a Vampyre. He wondered if Cresco had laughed on the inside, thinking to himself how funny it really was. Lugosi had turned into a bat and flown through the air. How far from the truth, Jago muttered under his breath. He was not affected by sunlight, nor did he have to sleep in a coffin. He laughed to himself.
‘Happy?’ Walpurgis asked as he stopped under an ancient tree and leant against the thick trunk to gather his breath.
‘Béla Lugosi,’ Jago said. ‘Julius Cresco took me to see him years ago.’
‘Dracula?’ he asked, a smile suddenly broadening on his face.
