The Cardkeeper Chronicles: Books 1-5 (Complete Collection)

by A. C. Nicholls

  Edgar’s forehead creased up. “How bold of you.”

  “It would seem so.”

  “And what do I get in return for this outrageous request?”

  “Peace.”

  Edgar cocked his head, confused.

  I went on to elaborate. “Lena, the wolves’ alpha, has agreed to stand aside from this battle between the three of us. After much persuasion, I finally have her word that she will back down and no longer participate in this war. All she wants is for you to do the same. A truce, as it were.”

  “And that’s why you’re here? To ask me to surrender?”

  I shook my head. “Not surrender – just agree to stop slaughtering each other.”

  For a moment Edgar only stared at me, his mouth hanging open as he searched my expression for some sort of sign that I was joking. When he found nothing, his head fell back and he erupted into deep, haughty laughter, making me feel like some ignorant moron for even vocalizing the suggestion.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket to dab the tears from his eyes. “You – a Cardkeeper – have come into the head vampire’s home, asking him to sell his club and give up his crown. And all you have to offer is the promise of a werewolf?”

  “I’m offering you an out.”

  “An out of what?”

  “Of this lifestyle. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

  Edgar chuckled again, swiping the empty glass out from in front of me. “Well, that’s a relief.” He filled the glass again and placed it in my hands, then leaned forward onto his closed fists, staring at the empty dance floor until he sighed. “I do admire your forwardness, Mr…”

  “Hannigan. Jack Hannigan.”

  I took another sip of my drink, taking it slower this time. I figured that if he was trying to poison me then I would be dead already. If what he said about poisons not affecting me was true, then alcohol would do nothing for me either. With that realized, there was no point in me hurrying the beverage – I could simply enjoy the rich taste.

  “Mr. Hannigan…” Edgar repeated softly for his own benefit. “Problem is, the throne isn’t mine to renounce. If you truly wanted the vampires off the streets, you would have to go way, way higher than myself.”

  I frowned. “But you’re the head vampire?”

  “Only in this city, I’m afraid.”

  The truth was, I felt embarrassed. Everything I’d ever been told about the vampire hierarchy was turning out to be a lie. I was almost too scared to ask questions, through fear that I would learn too much. If the vampire myths were false, then what else could be? I felt like I’d stumbled into some alternate universe.

  “I apologize,” I said, feeling tense now, “but if you’re not the man in charge, who is?”

  Edgar craned his neck to study me. “You really don’t know?”

  I shook my head.

  “Christ on a cross.” Sighing again, Edgar stood up straight and walked down the length of the bar, pulling a stool out from underneath. He dragged it back and sat down right in front of me, invading my personal space as he looked deep into my eyes. “The Ancient is the beast you’re looking for, my friend. It is the very first of us, the one who began this curse.”

  “This is a curse? I thought it was in your blood?”

  “Incorrect.” Edgar’s eyes were lost in remembrance. “I’ve been alive a lot longer than you can imagine, but it didn’t happen because I was born this way. Movies, comic books, they all suggest that there are such things as half-breeds, and that only the pure ones can rule. The real truth is that there are only those who are turned.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, captivated by the truth.

  “There are no births. Vampires have no bodily functions; pissing, sneezing and spitting are out of the question. Hell, I can only please a woman – never myself. Do you see what I’m trying to tell you?”

  Of course I did. It was a subtle and slightly shy way of saying that he was unable to finish. Without that, there was no way to reproduce. Rather than embarrass the man who had so generously played host, I settled for a nod.

  “And so it all comes down to The Ancient,” Edgar continued. “How it all happened is still a mystery to this day, but the curse started there. It sunk its fangs into one man, that man went on to bite another, and another, and now here we are. Mr. Hannigan, did you ever wonder why there was a difference between head vampires and your normal, everyday bloodsucker?”

  “Not until now…”

  Edgar smiled thinly. “We head vampires are the only ones to be bitten by The Ancient himself. The others are simply products of a lesser being’s bite. The deeper the line goes on, the weaker the vampire.”

  I thought hard about that, and just how much sense it made. Only one thing was bugging me; if the vampires I’d just killed were weaker than Edgar George, then exactly how strong was The Ancient? I was willing to bet that it was far superior in every way, but that didn’t comfort me any – I still had to persuade the man.

  “If I find The Ancient,” I said, absent-mindedly checking my wristwatch, “and convince it to stand down, will the others have to obey? I mean no disrespect, but what I’m trying to ask is this: if it leads, will you follow?”

  Edgar finally grinned, standing up from his stool and reaching over to pour his own glass. “Oh dear, Mr. Hannigan. You really are new to all this Cardkeeper business, aren’t you?”

  I sat in silence while I watched him down his drink, finishing it in one swift swallow.

  “There is no talking to it. You cannot reason with The Ancient. Don’t you see? I’m trying to tell you that the curse started with it… and so it must also end with it.” Edgar leaned in close again. This time I could smell the liquor on his hot breath. “Slay it, Keeper, and the curse of the vampires will end. We will become mortal, and in time, die of natural causes. Then, and only then, will Lena have her peace.”

  The reality of the situation hit me harder than I ever knew it could. My mission had just changed so suddenly, and with it, so had my endgame. Having originally set out to simply persuade two parties to stop fighting, it now seemed that I had a beast to hunt. If I succeeded, vampires would cease to exist. What a difference that would make.

  I knocked back my drink and stood up straight, smoothing out the kinks in my shirt. “Where do I find this Ancient, then? Please tell me it’s sitting on a bench in broad daylight with an ID badge.”

  “Wouldn’t that be easy?” Edgar shrugged. “Nobody knows where it is. Even if we did, we wouldn’t make any attempts to kill it.”

  “Why not?”

  Edgar snorted. “Nobody would be that stupid.”

  I stared hard at the bar, considering the difficulty of this mission. Somehow, I got the feeling that this would be far more dangerous than I’d previously believed. A head vampire would have been hard to kill, but The Ancient? Pfft, this would take some research.

  “Give me a few days,” I said to Edgar, sliding my empty glass across the bar. “I’ll end this curse of yours, and then you, me and the werewolves can all stop this bullshit war. If I die in the process then so be it, but in the meantime, don’t stand in my way.”

  Edgar grinned, finally showing his fangs. “I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Hannigan.”

  “Right. Thanks for the drink,” I said.

  Edgar George nodded and raised a hand. “Good luck.”

  I stared him down, our gazes locked as I exuded false confidence. When I could no longer hold his stare, I shrugged my coat back up my shoulders and felt around in my pocket for the Sword of Lucada. This was going to be tough – real tough – but worth every bit of the sacrifice if I could only pull it off. Still, those words kept floating around my mind, ripping my nerves to shreds. I couldn’t seem to get them out of there.

  “Nobody would be that stupid,” Edgar had said.

  Nobody, I thought, except for me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Needless to say, I refrained from donning a robe w
hen I returned to the VHS store. I’d never quite seen the point in wearing one – I was Chicago’s new guardian no matter what I wore, but now that I knew just how much it frustrated Dalton, I kind of enjoyed grinding his gears. There wasn’t much fun to be had in this business, so a rare moment of mirth came via yanking an old man’s chain.

  I made my way up the dirt path between the mountains with my coat trailing out behind me like a kite. The wind howled at my face and the light speckles of rain merged with my hair, reducing me to a fuzzy mess that only a mother could love. As I passed through the front door of the Vault, however, my clothes aired out and my hair dried immediately. It was as though I’d stepped inside a vacuum chamber, all of the mountain’s elements being sucked from my body as if by magic. Then again, it was magic.

  “Huh. That’s new,” I said to myself as I strode up the stairs and into the Grand Hall. Dalton waited for me there, and as per usual, he stared into the flaming and hypnotic embers, his head bowed and his hood up. I sped toward him.

  “Sir Jack,” Dalton said without moving. “I see you’re still alive.”

  “And kicking. For now, anyway.”

  Dalton glanced over at me, reading me like a small book with few words and a lot of strange pictures. It was as if he had no idea what I was talking about, and when he finally returned to the fires, he had probably given up on trying to understand Earth’s sayings.

  “Still no robe,” he said.

  I did everything I could to hide my grin. “No, no robe.”

  Silence ensued, which I broke quickly by storming forward.

  “I’ve spoken with the head vampire,” I told him. Dalton didn’t say another word while I brought him up to speed on everything that had happened since we’d last spoke. All the while, I watched his expression, waiting for it to change. It didn’t.

  “What do you need, Sir Jack?”

  All I could do was shrug.

  “I see.” Dalton broke his stare and reached inside his robe. There was a gentle clanging of something metallic, a ringing of shrapnel like it was raining paperclips, until he produced a set of jingling keys. Focused, he fingered through them and found the one he wanted, and then held it out to me by its teeth. “Use this to gain access to the library.”

  I took the key, studying the thick gold and wondering if it was real. “Why do I need the library?”

  “If you wish to pursue this Ancient, you will need to study it well. Make yourself comfortable and work your way through all of the volumes on the matter. You’ll know when to leave by estimating your own level of confidence. Only when you’re certain on what to do will you be fully prepared.”

  I gave Dalton a cold stare as I tried to decipher that old-man, mumbo-jumbo crap. I soon gave up, patted him on the back and then embarked on my journey around the Vault to find the library. It was a long, winding trail through cold, dark corridors and past open windows where the mountain’s breeze blew in and knocked me forcefully to one side.

  An hour or so later, I used the key on a locked door and sighed with relief as it creaked open. I went inside and was immediately awed by the towers of books that lined the walls all the way around this massive room. It was barely even a room, in fact – the far end of the wall wasn’t even visible beyond the candlelight, and must have gone on for miles. I gulped, intimidated by the pressure of finding what seemed to be a needle in a haystack. The sudden appearance of a man in a robe, a red sash tied around him, startled me.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “I hope so. I’m looking for some books on The Ancient. It’s a vamp–”

  “Follow me.”

  The man turned his back on me and began to walk. I followed quickly, watching him as he perused the shelves. How he managed to find anything in this library eluded me, but I was grateful for his help all the same. I only wished he would make some small-talk as the short walk became a trek.

  “You must really like books,” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  The robed man didn’t respond, although he did finally stop, reaching out toward a nearby shelf and removing four epic volumes from their place. He struggled with the weight, turning, before he dumped them into my arms. I barely caught them.

  “Return them to their rightful place when your research is complete.” That was all he said before he rotated and, without another word, walked back the way we’d come. The man didn’t take so much as a single glance back at me, trusting me entirely with the books.

  “So much for the chit-chat,” I mumbled, dropping the heavy volumes onto a table. I removed my coat and drooped it over the back of a chair, then sat down and took the book from the top of the pile. I blew across the dust-covered surface and coughed my lungs up as a gray cloud exploded across the desk. I could read the cover now, written in gold-lined text: NOSFERATU: A STUDY IN VAMPIRISM. The author’s name was inscribed below, but I refused to believe it was legitimate; MERLIN AMBROSIUS.

  “Nah,” I said, opening the cover.

  I read solidly over the next few hours about the origins of vampires, their eating and sleeping habits, and how such things had evolved over the past few hundred years. By the time I reached anything lending any insight into The Ancient himself, my eyelids were feeling like they had ten-ton boulders strung to them. I just couldn’t stop yawning.

  After three volumes of these books, all I had to go on was the one passage that I had noted down using a quill and inkwell:

  “Of the many towns and cities that have reported sightings of The Ancient, there remains only one constant. Vival Creek, a small and mysterious town on the outskirts of Illinois in the United States, is the only location in which The Ancient is said to repeatedly appear. Where some believe that this town is the origin of the species, others weave tales that this is the home of The Ancient. There is very little to support this theory, however, as sightings have never been more than spoken rumors, and the vampires themselves claim to be unaware of their leader’s whereabouts at any time.

  There are, however, many capture-glasses of R’hen that have recorded images of The Ancient travelling in such a direction. Despite numerous appearances of the first ever vampire in other towns, most occur only once. The repetitive nature of Vival Creek’s sightings remain suspiciously convenient to this day.”

  The entry went on to talk about Van Helsing’s ongoing visits to Vival Creek, but that was where I drew the line. I could just about believe in Merlin being real – if I really put my mind to it – but Van Helsing? Not a chance.

  I skimmed through the last book, spotting more and more references to this town. The more I saw, the more I was convinced that making my way over there wouldn’t be a total waste of time. If nothing else, I could at least get to explore a little, and if it turned out the rumors were exactly that – rumors – then I could rule it out and return to the library. Nothing wasted, nothing gained. No problem.

  The last thing I read in the fourth and final volume was a warning about slaying The Ancient. The passage explained that in order to kill the creature, I would have to puncture its heart with a weapon of enchanted nature. As I read this, I pulled the Sword of Lucada from my pocket and pressed on the button. The blade shot out in one large, glowing length of steel, sparkling with red and blue like electricity fused with blood.

  “Yeah,” I said to myself, getting up out of my chair. “This should do the trick.”

  I replaced the books on the shelf and thanked the librarian as I left. All I had to do now was find Vival Creek, investigate the town and – if I just so happened to stumble upon the world’s first ever vampire – stick it with the pointy end.

  Piece of cake.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Not long after nightfall, a bus dropped me off at the edge of town in Vival Creek. The second I stepped foot on the sidewalk, I got a strong whiff of fir trees and fresh soil. Looking around, it wasn’t hard to spot the multitude of flowerbeds that grew along the side of the entire road. The people of this town obviously cared a lot fo
r their greenery, which struck me as suspicious for a community that lived their lives surrounded by rumors of vampires. It had me thinking that the botany obsession was probably a cover-up. The tourism business must have waned with all those stories going around. Add some one-star Yelp reviews about Vlad the Impaler and you’ve got the perfect recipe for a tourism nightmare. Planting a few flowers to make the place seem brighter could make all the difference. Anything to make the online photographs look legit.

  With nothing but the Sword of Lucada tucked away in my coat pocket, I wandered through town and explored. The streets were mostly dead, without a single person in sight. No stores or restaurants lined the barren streets, no pedestrians or kids playing outside. It was eerily quiet, and if I had to be honest, it sent a chill right through me.

  The place resembled a ghost town.

  I continued walking until I found a bar. Not only were the lights on, but country music blared from inside. Drunken customers were coming in and out, feeding cigarettes between their lips and cupping their hands to light them. A jolt of renewed hope shot through me – bars were always a great source of information. More often than not there was a blabbermouth who wanted to give up all of the local secrets. Invigorated that I would be so lucky, I went inside and took a seat at the bar, where the bartender – a short but stocky middle-aged man who somehow reminded me of a sasquatch – appeared in front of me.

  “Get you a drink?” he said without a smile.

  “Bourbon.”

  As the man set off to get my drink, I glanced around at my surroundings. As I always had, I looked for a secondary exit, then for the nearest backup weapon – although all I could find was an abandoned beer bottle – and assess who might be the biggest threat. I found none of the latter, save for the rowdy group of truckers in the corner, who were yelling as they arm-wrestled like young boys.

  Great, I thought. Nothing like a drunken arm-wrestle to keep the peace.

  The bartender returned with my order and I slipped him a twenty, telling him to keep the change. He thanked me and then stood in silence, his eyes rolling over me until he eventually spoke. “You’re not from around here, are you?”