by Jan McDonald
How could he think like that? How could he be tempted to break every commandment of his own making? It was unthinkable – abhorrent.
The rage that had welled inside him ebbed away as she got up and came towards him. His instincts now were to push her away, throw her out, get rid of her in any way he took a fancy to; after all he had the pendant.
Instead, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
The feelings that surged through Vasile were as unfamiliar as they were unwelcome; all his life, which had been considerably lengthy, his thoughts and actions had been governed by violence and an unassailable belief that his will was always to be obeyed. Now, in one day, this had twice been put into question.
First, Alexis Vasilakis had dared to challenge him and now this woman, who he could easily snap like a twig and cast aside, had put an idea into his head that would bring death to any other who dared think it. And yet, he could not deny the fascination that she held for him.
The situation was intolerable, and he let her fall to the floor where she lay laughing quietly. He stood over her, part of him wanting to kill her instantly, to snuff out the life that was tormenting him; another part wanting to own her, possess her, make her into what she so obviously desired – a beautiful and powerful vampire.
Self-loathing and arrogance fought for supremacy. Arrogance was victorious. He was Vasile Tepes, head of the House of Tepes; he could do as he wanted, and he wanted her by his side, consort to his ruler. There had never been another that would compare. No-one would dare to challenge him on it and no-one would need to know that she wasn’t of The Born. He was powerful enough to make others believe him. She had been the bearer of the pendant, therefore she was deserving of it.
These thoughts flashed through his brain at lightning speed and she appeared to sense his inner battle. She crawled towards him and stood in front of him, baring her throat to him.
“Do it!” she commanded. “Do it now. Make me live forever.”
Something happened to Vasile Tepes then that he had previously foresworn. He fell in love – a savage parody of love that was governed by obsession, possession and violence.
CHAPTER TWENTY: THE BIG EASY
Mihai settled back into his seat on the long flight to New Orleans, grateful for the time to think. Vlad’s chalice was missing, taken away by his own maker at the time of Vlad’s death in 1476. He grimaced at the lie; deep inside he knew that Vlad was not dead and he suspected that Vasile Tepes, the present claimant to the throne of the House of Tepes and would-be ruler of the vampire race, had his ancestor’s body hidden and ready for resurrection. The bloody chalice held the key to that and it was imperative that Vasile should not get his hands on it.
He dwelt on his part in the problem; on making the seal that could lead to its location, at the instruction of his maker. His thoughts went back to the time of his own making – his ‘becoming’.
The year was 1107 BCE. Pharaoah Ramesses XI was weak and Egypt was ruled by the priests of Amun from Thebes. He had been taken to the temple of Amun as a scribe and had lived relatively well among the priests, until one day he was asked to deliver a papyrus to the High Priest, Ramose. Ramose was handsome, tall, and well-built, and some said he had been born of Seth – the evil God-brother of Osiris, one of the most powerful Gods of the Egyptians. Today, they would have said he was born of the Devil.
Mihai had been known as Hunefer back then, and had lived under the philosophy that to obtain a quiet and lengthy life it was advisable to do his job well, ask no questions, and obey orders to the letter. He had been aware of Ramose’s reputation, but the High Priest had always treated him well, and he wondered how he had obtained such notoriety. It was on that fateful day that he discovered the truth.
He took the papyrus to Ramose’s chamber immediately and, in his eagerness to please, he entered without waiting for permission. Ramose was kneeling over an inert body, drinking blood from the gushing vein in his victim’s throat. He was startled by Hunefer’s sudden presence and leaped to his feet. Hunefer was terrified and fixed to the spot, expecting at any moment to become Ramose’s next meal.
Instead Ramose went softly to his side and bade him sit with him.
“Hunefer, you have seen what no other has seen. You have seen the reason they believe I am son of Seth – evil. It is because my years already number into the hundreds; I have served countless pharaohs of this land. But see … do I not look as a young man? I was born a prince of this kingdom to a past pharaoh who was wed to his sister and was also born of his older sister. This lineage has caused my body to be something other than man. I am a man but I must feed as a hungry animal. Only you, Hunefer, know my secret, and because of this I have to be assured of your silence. I will give you a choice:- you may die at my hand at this hour, or you may become as I am. I have that power to pass on this living hell and have done so before now; sometimes by feeding and feeding my blood back to my victim, sometimes by birth. Several of my children have been afflicted as I am.”
Mihai had made the choice willingly; to live many lifetimes in his beloved Egypt was a gift, not a curse, to him then, although he had often regretted his choice since, and he had soon become aware of the need to move from country to country. But Ramose had been kind to him, nurturing his infant vampire abilities, teaching him how to take the blood and remove the memory of it from his victim’s mind. He taught him to read people, to place suggestion in their minds, to feed from them without killing them. He was his mentor and his friend.
But there were others – others that Ramose had made but been unable to control – others who fed and killed for the pleasure of it. And there were those that had been born vampire. And so it had continued down the millennia.
Mihai was one of the ancients, living for thousands of years, sleeping the Long Sleep, the deep vampire sleep, for centuries at a time, emerging with a new life, a new identity, moving from country to country to keep suspicion at bay. He had many wives and fathered many children, none of whom had been born vampire. But the Born continued to descend from the original line of Ramose.
He had met with Ramose over the millennia, knowing him as many names and living in many different places. Together, they saw to the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, saw plagues and civil wars of many nations – their paths crossing sometimes at random, sometimes in times of need.
The last time Mihai had contact with his maker had been in 1590, when he, under the name of William Smith, and Ramose, taking the name John Barlow, had been part of the company of John White, leaving England bound for the New World – America. Their mission was to establish contact with 115 men and women who had been left three years earlier as settlers on the island of Roanoake. On reaching Roanoake, the settlement was deserted with no sign of any pillage from neighbouring native tribes. It was simply deserted, with no clue as to what had befallen them.
William and John both knew that among their crew on that voyage had been two of the Born. To them, the mystery of the Lost Colony of Roanoake was no mystery.
They decided to break contact with one another and so Ramose, as John Barlowe, had remained in the New World, whilst Mihai, as William Smith, had returned to England.
Over successive centuries Mihai had occasional insights as to his maker’s whereabouts until the last time that he had gone into the Long Sleep. At that time, Mihai believed he had lived in New Orleans as wealthy plantation owner, Vincent Baptiste. After that, no-one had seen or heard of him until the rumours of his demise began to spread. If the First One was still alive, this is where he had to begin his search.
He prayed it was so, for, without him, Mihai had no way of reclaiming and destroying the Blood Chalice, as it had now become known.
Hours later, he emerged from Louis Armstrong Airport into the bustling Louisiana city on the Mississippi River. Latterly labelled the ‘Big Easy’, it had become famous for its round-the-clock nightlife – ideal for anyone who was most wakeful at night and needing to feed. Over the centuries it had b
ecome a melting-pot of French, African and American cultures and religions, with Voodoo, Houdoo and Santeria at its heart. In short, New Orleans was the ideal city in which a vampire could live undetected for many years. He hoped that this was the case and optimism rode high – he had a name.
Several years previously Mihai had encountered another of the elder vampires – not quite an ancient as himself, but knocking on a bit in vampire terms. His name was Lafayette and he had been twenty-eight years old when he was made vampire, in 1806. Creole, born of a French mother and Haitian father in 1778 in Santo Domingo, Haiti, Lafayette was taken into slavery to a sugar plantation on the banks of the Mississippi outside New Orleans. It was there he was fed on and turned by one of his kind, long since disappeared from the pages of history, as insignificant a vampire as there ever was.
His and Lafayette’s paths had crossed several times, and Mihai had taken an instant liking to, and trust in, Lafayette, whom he now hoped would help him to find his maker. Mihai’s first call would be to Lafayette’s voodoo store, Damballah House, on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter with its iconic wrought-iron balconies, close to the junction with Orleans Street. Damballah House was a small shop catering for tourists with the usual tourist voodoo tat, whilst behind it was the real store providing the authentic requirements for any genuine practitioners. It was also where Lafayette lived.
The bell behind the door tinkled as Mihai entered the store. A couple of young tourists were showing interest in mass-produced ‘voodoo dolls’ and handing over their holiday dollars to a young girl in traditional Creole dress, complete with long checked skirt over a white petticoat, white blouse, and turban – all for the benefit of the tourists, since she was born in Brooklyn.
Mihai waited patiently as they completed their purchases and smiled politely at them as they left the shop giggling.
He nodded to the young sales assistant and made deep eye-contact with her, sensing Lafayette’s presence, “I’m looking for Lafayette, could you tell him I’m here, please.”
Bead curtains at the rear of the store jingled pleasantly, giving entry to the coffee-coloured, shaven-headed vampire, resplendent in a bright tie-dyed t-shirt, jeans, and several strings of beads around his neck. True to his usual appearance, he had a cigar between his teeth and a glass of rum in his hand – the smoking ban in public places had little or no effect on Lafayette, who claimed that the room at the back of the public store was his living accommodation and the smoking ban could not be enforced.
He grinned widely behind the cigar, showing bright white teeth and revealing sharp, elongated canines that customers believed were for effect.
The sparkle in his vampire eyes assured Mihai of the genuine nature of the grin.
“Bonjou Mihai, ki sa pote ou nan pot mwen an?” He said, in Creole.
Greetings, Mihai, what brings you to my door?
“Se pou seye a beni ou.” May the Loa bless you.
Mihai returned a warm smile and followed Lafayette into the back room. “English, Lafayette, if you please. You know my Creole is lousy.”
Lafayette laughed aloud, still gripping the cigar between his teeth. “So, what can I do for you, my friend? You haven’t come looking for me for no reason? Unless it’s bloodroot or cowrie shells? Or maybe a love potion from the recipes of Marie Laveau, huh? What are you searching for?” He laughed aloud again, apparently delighted at his own teasing.
“Not what, but who,” Mihai replied. “I think you know who.”
The smile faded from Lafayette’s face, and he removed the cigar to swallow a belt of rum.
“Don’t know who you’re talking about, sorry.”
“I think you do. Vincent Baptiste – if that’s the name he’s using still.”
Lafayette shrugged and put down his glass. He shook his head. “He’s dead – went into the Eternal Sleep at the turn of the millennia,” he said, referring to the term vampires had for their death. “Figure he’d earned his rest. Now, join me in a glass of rum – no rubbish, only the good stuff for you, my friend.”
Mihai shook his head. “No thanks. I heard the rumours but, you know, I’ve never been one to believe all I hear. I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere.”
Lafayette shrugged again, but this time his grin had returned and so had the cigar. “Please yourself, but you’ll be disappointed. You sure I can’t interest you in a love potion? Marie Laveau’s best!” He burst into loud laughter again.
Mihai could easily have entered the younger vampire’s mind, even though Lafayette’s real age would give him some protection, but he didn’t – not yet.
“I’ll be staying at The Westin on the riverfront if you suddenly remember that he may not be in the Eternal Sleep.”
Lafayette nodded, his grin absent – Mihai wasn’t going to give up on this and was obviously going to stick around. He would have to be careful.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: ROMAN’S SECRET
Darius settled into a quiet phase; the sedative that Lane had administered was doing its work, although no-one was under any illusion that it was temporary – very temporary.
Roman Woolfe lowered his voice, addressing Beckett and Lane. “You should come with me; I have something you should see. You should come too, Mike. I’m sure the young lady will be adequate company for him in his present state.”
Beckett cast a glance at Darius and frowned; he could wake at any moment and surrender to the darker urges that would be surging through him. “I don’t know … is it important?”
“I believe we have a problem in common – at least, perhaps a common solution to similar problems. Won’t you come with me?”
Raven looked up from her chair at the side of Darius. “I’ll be fine – just don’t be long.”
Lane took another syringe from her pocket. “If he … needs … this, just jab it wherever you can – for your own safety. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
They followed Roman out of the room. Beckett’s mood was black and Lane could feel the anger boiling inside him; she also knew that the rage was directed at what he saw as his own failings. She could sense the guilt building in him and sense his thoughts (which was something she tried endlessly not to do with Beckett): – he had failed Grace, he had failed Kat, and now he had failed Darius – failed those he loved. She knew also that there would be no talking to him yet – it would only make matters worse, if that was possible. Her own heart ached for Darius and for what was in front of him – what he had become and what he may yet become.
“This had better be good,” Beckett muttered.
Mike was only a step behind Roman, wondering what it was that he wanted to share – surely he had seen everything at Linwood House that could be relevant. He was intrigued and more than a little concerned.
They followed Roman to the main hall and down the sweeping staircase to the basement, at the foot of which the interior décor had been continued, leading to a pair of huge oak doors.
On the other side they found themselves in a panelled ante-room where state-of- the-art technology had taken over and found its place. Roman stepped up to a retina scanner and placed his right hand, palm down, onto another scanner that was reading his fingerprints and the lines on his palm.
A buzzer sounded as a green light and digital readout ‘Access Granted’ flashed on the security panel. The door in front of them slid open.
Beckett and Lane’s reaction had been similar to Mike’s when he had first followed Roman into the bowels of Linwood House – it seemed an eternity ago to him and he could hardly believe it was only two years ago.
Beckett gave a low whistle as he took in the unusual arsenal in front of him: rows of conventional weapons and ammunition alongside weapons that had obviously been modified. After all, the targets of most of these weapons were not human.
Together, Beckett and Lane sensed the provenance of other artefacts – Mother Theresa’s rosary; bullets that held the energy of the crucifixion because they had been fashioned from the very nails that had pun
ctured Christ’s body; and, an arrow head that had the same source,
Roman walked on, pointing out various pieces of equipment and explaining their provenance. Beckett was becoming impatient.
“Couldn’t this tour have waited? Darius needs us!”
Roman smiled at him. “I know, but please bear with me. You need to see this, I assure you.”
They had reached the end of the armoury and they were faced with another set of security doors and scanners. Roman stepped up to the scanners and repeated the procedure, scanning his retinas and, this time, both hand prints.
The green readout flashed in time with the buzzer and the door opened as before. This time however, the contents of the room appeared to be contained in iron vessels of varying shape and size. Each container was carefully labelled.
“This is where we keep dangerous artefacts; things that shouldn’t see the light of day. Anything that has the potential for pure evil is contained here. The outer room is our defence – this contains what Mike and his colleagues are fighting against. We contain them and study them in a safe environment. Now, here we are.”
At the end of the room stood a bookcase containing ancient grimoires and other treatises and tomes on black magick and other dark aspects of the occult, including necromancy. Mike frowned – why weren’t they in the library, with all the other ancient manuscripts?
Roman put his hand on a leather-bound copy of the Munich Manual of Demonic Magic; also known as The Necromancer’s Manual, it was a ‘recipe book’ of a 15th century German magician for the evocations of demonic spirits. Roman acknowledged Mike’s quizzical expression and laughed softly.
“Fake, Mike.” He tilted the book towards him and a loud whirring noise came from behind the book-case as it slid to one side, revealing yet another high-tech doorway, where Roman had to perform the same ritual to gain access.
