by Jan McDonald
“Nice,” Mike said, under his breath.
“He is still seen as the Blood God of the Vampires by many – especially Vasile and his followers. In answer to your second question – can we expect any help? – I think not. I have been searching the ether, trying to contact other vampires, but the name of Tepes still creates ‘obedience’ in these parts, so, no, no-one is going to fuck with the House of Tepes. It’s us and that’s it. Any more questions?”
“Good to know,” Mike muttered. “Oh, yes … I do have another question. Do we have any weapons?” The irritation in his voice was blatant.
Lane joined the conversation. “Mostly hand-to-hand, some of it modern versions of the traditional stake in the heart. Decapitation is the only sure way.”
“Again, good to know,” he said dryly.
Mike settled back down to brood over why the hell he had become entangled in a vampire war, until the realisation dawned that the rogue vampires were no different to demons – a threat to humanity. Question answered, he tried to switch off in preparation.
Beckett was acutely aware of Darius’s anxiety level rising. Suddenly, Darius leaned forwards, “What the hell are you watching me for? Like what you see? You want some of me? That it?”
Mihai spun around. “What the hell, Darius?”
Darius prodded Radu in the back hard. “He keeps watching me in the goddamn mirror, instead of keeping an eye of the fucking road, which is getting deeper and deeper in snow in case no-one noticed! What the fuck is wrong with you?” This last was directed at Radu.
Radu cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, sir. I have been keeping an eye on the road behind us, not you. I’m sorry if you thought otherwise.”
Beckett put a restraining hand on Darius’ arm. “Sit back and try and relax. It’s not far now.”
Darius shrugged the hand away, but sat back, his eyes dark and watchful, staring into the driver’s rear-view mirror, waiting for the image of Radu’s eyes to appear there, watching him.
Radu was shaken. Clearly, Darius was aggressive and carried the Marinescu stamp about him – he needed to be more discreet. He had insisted on accompanying them because, contrary to his loyalty to Mihai and the Council, Darius had awakened in him a burning desire for revenge that he had believed was quenched years previously. He didn’t like it, but he knew that, if he got the chance, he would take that revenge and the consequences. He wasn’t able to kill Andrei, but the brother would do.
He kept his eyes on the road and was relieved to see that the snow had eased off a little, although there was a whole night of it to come.
Whatever the outcome at Poenari, they would be lucky to leave there, unless they could make it to the little town of Curtea Des Arges beside the icy river.
Darius was silent and brooding for the remainder of the journey, on edge and hungry beyond words. Beckett was silently communicating his worry to Lane which was being picked up by Mihai and Lafayette, creating tension that was palpable.
As predicted, the road through the Carpathians was closed and massive concrete barriers had been erected to prevent drivers from ignoring the closure. Radu brought the car to a crawling halt in front of the huge and heavy barrier bearing the ‘Road Closed’ sign.
Mihai was out of the car in a blur and, using his supreme vampire strength, he hurled the huge concrete barrier over the edge of the road and onto the valley floor as if it had been a troublesome pebble. He returned to the car with snow already settled on his coat and long dark hair like a frozen shawl.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Radu took a deep breath, knowing that they risked the car going into the ravine at the side of the road if he lost his concentration for one minute. He would have to put Darius out of his head until later – later, when he would have the opportunity to take his revenge.
Barely half an hour later they arrived at the foot of the crags above which the ruin of Vlad’s castle perched like a watchful eagle.
Mike sighed; he had wasted his time. The climb up the fourteen hundred steps was hard enough, but slick with snow, he would be a liability.
Becket read him.
“You’ll be fine, follow us slowly or wait with Radu in the car.”
Radu heard the conversation. “If you please, sir, I will accompany you to the top.”
Mihai frowned; they couldn’t waste time on stragglers and it was obvious that they were not going to be able to take the steps in huge leaps as they, the vampires, would. He didn’t give Mike the opportunity to argue; he simply grabbed hold of him and leaped up the first bunch of steps, taking Mike with him. Lafayette did the same with Radu, Beckett, and Lane following close behind. Jean-Baptiste was ahead of them all.
At the top of the mountain they could see lights flickering in the ruins; Vasile Tepes was obviously already there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: THE WAKING RITUAL
One Hour Earlier:
Vasile had charged Nicolae with carrying a large case containing Vlad’s Order of the Dragon investiture robes, along with the gold medal bearing the symbols of the Order and the family crest. Nicolae carried them uncomplainingly, despite the weight of the burden that had nothing to do with how heavy the actual items were. With each step, the weight seemed to increase but he didn’t slow his pace and climbed the steps as if they were nothing; determination to create as much havoc as possible kept him going. He knew if he was going to stand any chance against Vasile, it would have to be when he was consumed by the ritual, distracted enough to pay no heed to his ageing servant.
Vasile was not dressed in his usual sharp suit, the value of which would have fed a family of four from the Romanian countryside for a week, but he wore his own centuries old clothes, befitting the awakening of Prince Vlad. Around his neck hung a replica of Vlad’s medal, but his was in silver – he had no wish to piss off Vlad Dracula right from the start. He had carried his ancestor in his arms from the foot of the crags, taking the thousand and then some steps in great bounds, all the time watching Nicolae to ensure his obedience in following him.
In what remained of Vlad’s great hall, a fire burned in the hearth, strange blue flames danced above the burning logs and the smoke layered the air in the absence of a chimney as Vasile began the ceremony.
Nicolae remained at the edge of the proceedings, awaiting instructions or a time when he could act. Torches had been attached to the remaining stones that had once been the wall of this great castle and Nicolae had lit each and every one of them, knowing that they would never be a beacon to the curious in this weather when no-one would be venturing from their own hearth – and knowing, also, that any local seeing lights at the castle ruins would know better than to interfere. He was on his own. He said a prayer in readiness for his end.
Vasile took great care in putting the ancient robes around his ancestor ‘s skeletal form as he lay on the stone floor before the fire. He signalled to Nicolae to bring the case to him once again. Nicolae bowed his head and obeyed, wary of what might still be inside that had created such an immense burden to carry. Surely not just the robes?
Vasile opened the case with great care and removed a large object that was wrapped in old silk. Nicolae held his breath; a sudden and stark terror engulfed him as he looked at the shape beneath the draping fabric. The thought that his prayer would have gone unheard because God had no place there, passed swiftly and silently through his mind. Vasile removed the old silk and allowed it to fall to the floor.
In his hands he held the Bloody Chalice and a golden ankh – the Ancient Egyptian symbol for life.
Nicolae crossed himself and realised that a foolish old man such as he could do nothing against this force of evil. He was undone and had merely to await his end. Vasile seemed to grow threefold in stature, a trick of the light perhaps; nevertheless he struck an imposing figure standing over Vlad.
He reached down to his belt beneath the outer robe and took a curved dagger from its sheath and lay it beside the chalice. Nicolae held his breath as Vasile appeared
to be waiting for something.
Suddenly, the torch flames behaved as if a gust of wind had caught them, but the night air was still and the snow was falling silently around them.
Lights danced in the periphery of the castle walls and, one by one, members of the House of Tepes filed into what remained of the great hall. Constantin Tepes led them, all of the most prominent members of the Tepes clan, and all wearing replicas of the Vlad’s medal around their necks – theirs in bronze. Nicolae dropped his head as his last hope of causing chaos died.
He was alone and he would die alone. And bloody.
Vasile acknowledge the gathering of the House and began the ceremony.
He picked up the golden ankh and kissed it, held it against his heart and began to intone the ritual.
“This is the symbol of life, the symbol of the ancient heritage of the House of Tepes. Blood sustains us and makes us strong. Every breath and every sweet drop of blood is a celebration of what we are. Let this ankh be our constant reminder of the life-blood that is so very precious and the darkness that encircles our souls. We are the many-born. We are the Immortal. Eternal we wander the aeons, feeding on the gift of blood that keeps us incarnate, unchanging through the years. We move from lifetime to lifetime, feeding on the blood of the weak to become even stronger. We rejoice in the blood and call upon you, Shemsu, Lord of Blood to restore our ancestor Vlad Dracula, to vital life once more.”
He picked up the chalice and the curved dagger and drew the blade across his own wrist, allowing the blood to spill into the chalice. He allowed it to flow until it had half-filled the chalice and the wound on his wrist began to close. He nodded to Constantin who stepped forwards baring his wrist.
Vasile drew the blade across it, allowing more Tepes blood to pour into the chalice, signalling Constantin to stop the blood-flow after only a moment or so. Then, one by one, the remaining Tepes members came forward to add their blood to the chalice.
Vasile returned to face Vlad, raised the chalice and plunged the ankh deep inside. The air became still and even the snow appeared to slow its descent. And then, the apparently impossible happened. The blood began to bubble like the early flow of lava and then to increase in viscosity and volume, filling the chalice and overflowing over Vasile’s hand.
A look of triumph covered his face and his voice became higher and more insistent, calling repeatedly and frenzied for their Blood God to appear.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: TO THE DEATH
Jean-Baptiste had been ahead of them and he turned back at the sight of the flaming torches of the Tepes clan.
“As I suspected,” he told them, Vasile is not alone. The main members of the House of Tepes are with him. We are outnumbered. Considerably.” He turned to Mike and Radu. “This is not your fight; if you leave now no-one will think any the worse of you.”
Mike’s answer was to grab a large, lethal-looking machete from Lane.
Radu’s eyes and mind were fixed on Darius. “No. I’ll stay,” he said.
“Stay close,” Beckett said to Darius, whose response was lost in the falling snow.
They tossed aside their bulky coats which would only hamper their movements, Darius kept his black leather jacket against the biting cold. They approached the ruins with caution, trying to keep the crunching of the snow underfoot to a minimum and hoping that Vasile and his crew were too engrossed in the ritual to focus their vampire hearing elsewhere.
Their first sight of Vasile brought everything to an abrupt head.
The over-flowing chalice was down to Vlad’s chest which now lay open, the bloody ankh protruding from the gaping wound and Vasile was pouring the Tepes blood directly over the old vampire’s heart.
“Blood of life, restore you! Blood of Tepes, restore you! Your Bloody Chalice, restore you!”
Moments frozen in time when it seemed as if no-one moved a muscle, no hearts beat, as they all watched the blood coating the desiccated heart, which appeared to absorb the blood and restore itself. Mike shook his head to clear the image, and that seemed to galvanise the others.
Beckett rushed towards Vasile, blade raised, but the House of Tepes was not so easily vanquished and, as Vlad’s heart began to fill with Tepes blood once again, other blood was flowing.
Vasile was enraged at the interruption of the ceremony and flew to meet Beckett head on, curved blade still in hand. As Beckett’s rage seethed, he could only see Lane, lying broken in Greece, on the brink of death in his arms, and the Long Sleep of five years as she healed in the old monastery. It was fuelled by the knowledge that this heap of vileness was about to bring back the instrument of death to all the Created. His vision became part of the red spectrum of hatred for Vasile that had been brewing for too long. He lunged at him, catching him across the top of the arm.
It did nothing. Lane appeared behind Vasile, but was pulled away by one of the Tepes clan. Beckett was attacked from behind and the inevitable confrontation had to wait.
Suddenly they were all fighting for their lives and the white snow underfoot was turning red. Each one of them focussed on their own survival and the death of their opponents – each with their own adrenaline pounding through their veins to their own tune.
Mike had rushed towards a large Tepes who was lunging towards him with a dagger pulled from his belt. So, this was to be a knife-fight after all. He could do that.
But he was unprepared for the speed and strength that was launched at him and was momentarily taken off guard. The Tepes raised his blade and was bringing it down swiftly when he suddenly changed his expression of rage to one of surprise, halted, and dropped his blade as his head parted company with his neck and fell onto the blood-slicked snow. Darius stood behind the falling body, blood spattered across his face, a wild look in his eyes.
“Thanks, Kid,” Mike muttered before swinging back towards another enraged vampire.
The sound of blade against blade, the heaving bodies, the hissing of wounded vampires on both sides, the smell of blood; all became a sickening cocktail of sensations that threatened to overwhelm.
A sharp cry followed by a blood-freezing gurgle announced the demise of another Tepes as Lane despatched his head in the manner of Darius’s strike.
But still they kept coming. It was a matter of math, really. They were still fighting uneven odds.
In the periphery of his vision, Beckett saw two of the Tepes clan fall under the onslaught of glinting blades, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the fat, blood-engorged Tepes that was bearing down on him. He began to pray to the God of his abandonment as he began to accept the fact that they were going to be slaughtered.
If that was the case, he was going to take Vasile Tepes along with him. Once he could get to him, that was.
A dark shadow appeared behind him and Beckett feared that this was the end – one in front and one behind him did not bode well. His mind fleetingly dwelt on which one would kill him. Irrelevant. He was about to die.
The blade from behind swished through the air and made contact with the fat, blood-gorged Tepes in the abdomen, and then, thrust upwards hard behind the ribs, slicing through lung tissue and piercing the heart. It was withdrawn with a loud sucking sound and swung again as Alexis Vasilakis took off the head.
Beckett swung around, momentarily confused that he was still alive. Then he heard Mihai’s voice, “Alexis! Good timing!” was all he could process and say as another Tepes threw himself forwards.
Darius was deep in a torrent of blood-lust, partly fuelled by his hunger and partly by a rage that he had thought he had forgotten in his search for his brother, Andrei. Years had passed in the care of Beckett and Lane, and the lust for revenge had died along with his brother, but, at that moment, in that split-second in time, his eyes lighted on Constantin Tepes.
Images of the Sanctuary on fire, the knowledge of the dying client that he couldn’t reach, the exquisite pain of the turning, the evil in the blood that had turned him, all surged into a whirlpool of pure hatred that was never goin
g to be contained.
Constantin saw him at the same time and flew towards him, blade raised. Steel clashed and both blades clattered to the floor. It was one-on-one now. Darius’s hands were around Constantin’s throat, his canines down and dripping with blood from his last encounter, the blood vessels in his eyes turning the whites crimson. He was snarling and saliva foamed at the side of his mouth, as the rest of the blood-letting and chaos retreated and it was just the two of them.
Blood spurted, as arteries opened and then began to close again. Animal noises that originated from the hellish confines of dark souls took over, and suddenly, they were rolling on the floor each trying to get their teeth into the other’s throat.
A cry of triumph ripped through the air and, in that moment, they both became still as the snow beneath their entwined bodies turned into a spreading red stain. Neither of them moved.
Beckett saw it and let out a cry from the depths of his despair, “Noooooo!” He turned towards Darius but was pulled back in another onslaught from yet another Tepes.
Seconds expanded into minutes and then Darius rolled off the inert body of Constantin Tepes. His face was covered in gore as he had bitten through Constantin’s carotid artery and drained him of all that he could swallow. His face was a red mess. His eyes were black and bloody. His chest was heaving and he lowered his head to regain his composure.
It was enough. Radu saw his moment. His revenge on Andrei Tepes would have to be transferred to the brother. He would have his revenge by proxy.
As he walked slowly and deliberately towards Darius, everything seemed surreal. This was his moment.
He caught hold of Darius’s jacket and spun him around. “This is for my mother, who was slaughtered in her bed by your brother.”
He raised the stake and homed in on the place on Darius’s chest that would take the stake between his ribs and into his heart. Maybe he would sleep at night again. The stake had begun its arc of descent.
