by Jan McDonald
As the delayed flames began licking their way across the roof timbers of the chapel Maria had made a last dash inside to drag the silver crucifix from the altar. The crucifix she had lovingly polished to its brilliant shine since just after she had entered the convent years previously.
It was so heavy that she was bent over almost double in the effort, when a falling timber, well alight, crashed onto the altar setting fire to the altar cloth. But saving the crucifix was her only focus. She didn’t notice her veil catch fire; her only thought was to save the blessed cross.
Locals had taken it from her as she struggled outside and only then did she feel the searing pain of her burns. In seconds a young man had pulled her to the ground to douse the flames that were licking their way over her habit.
The other nuns had nursed her but the events of that night had left physical as well as mental scars.
Distressed and disorientated they had gone to Agios Petros that night realising that Sister Angelique was missing. Her charred remains had been found the following day clutching an engraving of her only love, Gregori the ancient one.
There had been no formal agreement just an understanding that Agios Petros was to be the new home of Maria and the other nuns.
Maria sighed as she crossed herself and rose from her knees. It would soon be time to ring the bell for Compline. A sound behind her made her shiver. She knew before she turned around who stood behind her.
“Is everything ready for our visitors?” he said in a hoarse voice.
She turned to face him knowing the consequences of alienating this cold and calculating vampire.
“All is ready.” For your visitors, she thought.
Santorini, once the brilliant young haematologist Dr. Greg Randall, had a derisive expression in his face and she knew he was savouring her painful scars. Pain was ambrosia to him. Other people’s pain, that was.
“I want you to arrange an opening service to your Saint. I need to feed and my friends will be hungry.”
She lowered her head to hide the shame and the tears that came unchecked.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, no.”
He ignored her plea. “Of course you must tell them that the body of Georgios will no longer be displayed. Blame the fragility of the remains after the fire. I am finding the silver shrine a fitting place for me.”
Sister Maria clutched the end of her wooden rosary. Fitting indeed, since its previous occupant was also a cold, ruthless and savage vampire.
“Your blood is adequate, no more than that. It must be the piety,” he said icily. “No matter, it sustains me, but a feast is called for and a feast there will be. Understand?”
She understood too well. There would be those of the surrounding villages and farms that would either return home to waste away and die, or worse, they would not be seen again. Usually young females, it was believed that they had entered the closed order at the monastery. She loathed what she had become but in her distressed state she had begun to believe it a punishment for her previous sin of caring for Gregori. If it was a punishment she would bare it with fortitude.
His eyes were drinking her in and she felt her flesh crawl as he openly appraised her.
“Such a pity the fire marred your looks,” he said without emotion, “I may have satisfied other needs if it weren’t for the fact that your face disgusts me.”
Maria offered a silent prayer thanking God for the scars.
“However, some of our visitors may overlook them.”
Blood ran as ice in her veins and she closed her eyes to the thought. Never. That could not be borne.
He read her and laughed harshly. “Are you forgetting something? I know where she lives. Remember that. Mother Superior.” His voice was taught and mocking and it felt as though a steel gauntlet was crushing her heart. How many more tests would there be before she was free and forgiven?
“May I go, now?”
He nodded and laughed again, a sound that would always chill her soul. “I know where to find you.”
Her habit swished on the flagstones as she hurried from his presence. It was time to ring the bell to call the sisters to Compline and Santorini would return to his rest in the silver shrine as Gregori’s self-appointed heir. Only she knew the truth.
Most of the sisters were old, and it had been a unanimous decision that she should become Sister Angelique’s successor as Mother Superior, deciding that her relative youth would bring energy to the position, trading their wisdom and experience for her obvious dedication. They could never know.
She closed the door of her office behind her and leaned against it as if it could keep out all evil. Even though she knew that no door could keep out the evil that lived alongside them. She closed her eyes. Dear God, help me.
A gentle knock on the other side made her take a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure. She opened the door and tried to smile at Sister Anna, the new young novice who had been a mere child only weeks before it seemed.
“How can I help you, Sister?” she asked trying again to smile but failing as the still raw burns puckered her cheek painfully. There were no mirrors in their cells and she shunned reflective surfaces, all except the alter crucifix. Vanity was a sin but it wasn’t vanity that kept her away from her own reflection, it was shame and raw memory. God had marked her and her sins, now she must atone, but she had no idea how she would ever be able to achieve that. The sin was hers to bear.
“May I toll the bell, Mother? I noticed how it hurt your hands at Matins. I can do it, I have watched you often and I know the tone of the prayer bells by heart and I want to help you.”
Despite the pain Maria smiled at the young girl. “You are very kind, Anna. You have a big heart.” She was about to refuse gently, but something burned in the young novice’s eyes that momentarily shocked her. It was wisdom beyond her years and something else. There was a distant knowing that shone from her eyes and there was a hint of herself at that age. She had learned to speak excellent English under Maria’s tutelage and her Latin was following swiftly. She couldn’t deny her request. To do so would be a selfish act that she wasn’t capable of.
“Would you like me to go with you?”
Anna’s delight was obvious. “No, I know what to do. Please stay and rest before prayers.” She was gone in a flurry of habit and rosary, humming softly to herself. Anna would not flourish in a silent order.
Maria sat behind her desk and leaned back, allowing herself to relax before leading the nuns in the final devotions of the day. In an unconscious movement her hand strayed to her throat, where the two puncture wounds under her wimple were constantly raw. Santorini had an insatiable blood lust and she had no idea how much longer she could sustain him.
His earlier words tumbled around her mind like heat seeking missiles desperate to connect with their target. ‘Are you forgetting something? I know where she lives. Remember that. Mother Superior.’ Only she would understand the derision as he spat the word Mother.
On the night of the fire when the local men had offloaded the silver shrine into the chapel of Agios Petros and she had allowed her burns to be tended, she had returned to the chapel to seek guidance. He had come to her then, clearly weak and with death fast approaching. She had seen Lane plunge the hypodermic into his neck and she had seen him fall and assumed that he was dead. In the chaos that ensued he had obviously found enough strength to remove himself from the coming fire.
She had gasped aloud when she had seen him and the steel in his voice chilled her to her core.
“Come here,” he had said. His voice was weak but his will was iron and he had taken control of her mind. She had no choice but to obey. She felt his eyes probe hers and the insidious tentacles of his own mind writhing and reaching into hers, against which there was no defence.
After a moment or two he had slumped onto a chair. “I see I have found my salvation. No, not in the cold empty tomb of the carpenter. You are my salvation, my food source. You will nourish me
whilst I heal. And I know that you will do my bidding, dear Sister. You see I now know your secret. The child in your womb when you entered the convent. The long and painful birth which you took to be God’s punishment. The nun’s arranging the adoption. And I see her. Even though you haven’t laid eyes on her since her cord was cut, severing her from your belly. I have seen her. And remember this always, Sister Maria. I know where your daughter is.’
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: THE GATHERING
Compline was over and the nuns had all retired to their cells. All except Maria who had one last duty to perform before bed. Santorini would be waiting for her in the chapel.
Her footsteps were heavy as she approached the huge silver shrine in which he had taken up residence. She knew it was his intention to take over from Gregori in every matter and sleeping in his tomb brought that horrific possibility even closer.
The others like him, intent on a war between the Born and the Created, those who were born vampire and were, in their minds, of pure blood, would be arriving soon and she wanted to be done with Santorini and back in her cell where she would feel removed from the gathering about to take place. The Born agenda was to eradicate all those who had been turned by a vampire, the Created. They had no truck with the enforced Vampire Code and regardless of death and suffering, fed only in the traditional way. Directly from a human vein.
As she neared the shrine, heavily ornate and of ancient silver, the sanctuary light reflected its warm steady glow along the side of the tomb. Maria shivered; it was as if the resident of the tomb was seeking a blessing. Well she would deny him that if nothing else.
For the first time since she had entered the convent, she trod softly to the sanctuary and gently snuffed out the perpetual light. Since a child of fifteen, pregnant and homeless when the nun’s had taken her into their lives, she had taken comfort from the sanctuary light in the chapel. It was after all, its purpose.
When her child was born and adopted she had decided to stay with the nuns and soon afterwards she had put on the habit of a novice and it had been her daily task to ensure the sanctuary light never went out. She tended the flame as if its life had been that of her child. And now she had snuffed it out. Santorini would take no comfort from a light of such purity.
A mocking laugh brought her thoughts to the present.
“You are truly pathetic. I need no light. I am a creature of the darkness and glory in it. I have no need of you tonight. My thirst is quenched. You may go.”
Sister Maria frowned at his words, not comprehending at first, and then the terrible truth felled her like a kick in her gut. She looked around frantically in the half light of the chapel until her eyes settled on the tip of a shoe protruding from behind the great silver coffin. She sucked in air and held it there as she stepped towards it. And as she moved closer she saw what appeared to be a bundle of black rags. Her mind fought between obliterating the sight and allowing her understanding of what was in fact the body of one of the older nuns, Sister Theresa. She lay in a bloodless heap, no drop had been wasted. She crossed herself and fell to her knees at the side of the old woman.
“Why?”
“Why? Because I was hungry and you were late. And because she returned to the chapel after your futile babble to be alone with her saint. Ha! Well she was alone with me and I showed her the truth.”
“Your truth. It has no place here.”
She didn’t see him move but he was in front of her, his face an inch from hers. She didn’t back away.
“You need to be more respectful. Have you forgotten my promise? I will go to her and drain the life from her. But only after I have had my pleasure from her in ways that you could never comprehend. Be careful, Mother Superior”, he mocked. “Your usefulness is limited.”
Several sets of footsteps sounded in the corridor to the chapel. Santorini grabbed her and thrust her towards the side door.
“Disappear.”
An instruction she would gladly obey. At any other time. She exited through the small side door but as she closed it she left an inch gap. She had to see who had arrived. It was her responsibility now.
The chapel door opened slowly and the dark figures strode towards Santorini, led by a tall slim man with the darkest brown eyes and ebony wavy hair that rested on his shoulders. He favoured the Gothic way of dress as had Gregori, and around his mouth the hint of cruelty and amusement that had become familiar over the years. Markos Vasilakis proffered his hand to Santorini and bowed his head in greeting. “So you are the protégée of Gregori. The House of Vasilakis is at your service. He nodded to the other two, “This is Angelos and this is Constantinos, they are my cousins and also of the House of Vasilakis.” The others nodded their greeting to him. They were also of obvious Greek origin and although they were dissimilar from Markos in many ways, the same cruel slant around the mouth confirmed them as family.
“It is an honour to receive you, however humble the surroundings.”
“Gregori would have been pleased to see you so highly regarded among our kind.”
Pleasantries appeared over very quickly and business was soon on the agenda. “I understand you have something for us.”
Santorini smiled at him and nodded. “I have. I have enough of the anti virus to take out several hundred, at my home in Wales. And more importantly I have the formula.”
“But I understood that you had been killed by this substance. How is it that you survive?”
“Because Gregori’s blood runs in my veins now; his blood is now my blood.”
“Gregori may have been your sponsor but …” He left the sentence unfinished.
Santorini fumed inside. How dare this man stand before him and try and ridicule him. Well, he would need to sing a different tune if he was to receive a share of the anti HVV. He smiled again, insults were insults but he had the upper hand.
More movement in the courtyard announced further arrivals. The Romanian House of Tepes were keen to possess the anti HVV. There were altogether too many Created in the Carpathians.
Markos Vasilakis strode out to meet them. He embraced the one at the front of the small group. “Vasile. My House does you honour.”
“Markos, a pleasure. My House as always is your House. Have you met with him?”
Markos nodded his affirmation. “He appears to have what we need to complete this cleansing. But he is not stupid. He was after all Gregori’s hope.”
Vasile Tepes, born in Sighisuara, in the heart of the Carpathians in Romania, in the house and birthplace of his great grandfather, Vlad Tepes, known to millions as Vlad Dracul, looked grave.
“He is fortunate that we have need of his work. I would not bear his insolence under other circumstances. But for now we humour him. The Vampire High Council has the number of their days, this pretender to Gregori’s throne will see to it. Their so called Vampire Code is an obscenity and will not be tolerated when the Born are in control. Does he know of the heir?”
Markos shook his head. “No, Drakos has instructed that the pleasure be his. Once we have what we need. Come my friend, I will take you to him. You should know that he doesn’t have all of the serum with him. He has some I have no doubt, but the bulk of it is in Wales. Once we have the formula however, we will have no need of his stock. “
Inside the chapel, Santorini waited to greet the House of Tepes. He could not read their thoughts; these were indeed ancient ones, able to cloak their minds against even their own kind. Had he been able to do so he may have reconsidered his position; as it was he greeted the newcomers with deference.
“Vasile, welcome. You do me honour to see that the House of Tepes has sent one of its highest nobles to this gathering of the Born.”
Vasile exchanged formal greetings with Santorini and introduced his companions as his brothers, Luca and Mircea. Over the following hours, representatives of the other Houses arrived, making twenty in total attending the gathering. Santorini felt slighted but consoled himself with the knowledge that he had what they all wante
d and they would have to allow him access to their enclave before he would part with anything.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: NOT A LEFT OVER
“I know the anti virus obviously doesn’t work,” Lane said, exasperated. “Because Santorini is still alive and kicking and stirring up the Born in Eastern Europe. But it incapacitated him enough so we thought he was dead. I tell you Beckett, we can use it against them. It will buy us time if we’re up against it.”
“I know what you’re saying, but it does involve getting up close and personal before we can use it. I still say the silver nitrate and anti HVV bullet is better.”
“The anti HVV only works as a weapon on the Created, it will have no effect on the Born. They are bent on a war and if they get whatever this is from Santorini, it will happen. And thousands of innocents will die.”
Beckett’s face was stormy and she read him, “I don’t know why you didn’t die, Beckett. Or Santorini.”
“I do,” Helena Bancroft stood in the open doorway.
Everyone spun around and eyes were fixed on her. She carried a bundle of papers and tossed them onto the table. “It didn’t kill you, Beckett because you have an immunity.”
Beckett frowned in question.
“Immunity to what?”
“I’m guessing you still have your appendix?”
Beckett nodded, even more puzzled.
Lane was quick to read her, “I see where you’re going with this.”
“Well perhaps someone would be good enough to enlighten me.”
“Sorry, Handsome. Helena?”
“For years we believed that the appendix was nothing more than a left over from the time we ate leaves and the appendix housed certain bacteria which would break down the large amounts of cellulose. We were wrong, at least in part, it’s now very apparent that the appendix plays an important role in our immune systems. I have found significant numbers of these bacteria or at least the antigens they produce, in your blood Beckett, but they were neutralised by the anti HVV. If I’m correct it is these antigens that produce antibodies designed to combat the mutagen from the vampire. Those treated with the serum that have parted company with their appendix will die. I don’t believe Greg Randall had the full handle on this, although he was half way there. It seems from what’s left of his research that his agenda was to kill the Created from the beginning. It was never about saving those just turned at all.”