A Vampire's Dominion

by Vanessa Fewings

  Peering down the endless blackness, I felt a wave of relief.

  “This runs under the sea.” Sunaria moved pass me and stepped into the never-ending passageway.

  I hesitated. “What should I forgive you for?”

  “I didn’t know the ashes were joined,” she admitted.

  Her words stormed into my mind, sending my thoughts into a frenzy as though some part of me had understood her meaning, and that same taunting sensation that had gripped me back on the beach overwhelmed me again.

  A black violin case, resting on an oak table.

  I doubled over, the twisting, wrenching agony in my gut snatching away my breath. Reaching out for her hand, my vision blurred.

  “Orpheus?” Sunaria’s voice seemingly distant.

  Snow blanketing London’s rooftops with a perfect powdery white. I was back in Belshazzar’s, my old London mansion, sitting quietly and watching a bloodhound sluggishly pad across the length of a room before settling beside the roaring fireplace.

  Crawling along the floor, I tried to make it to Sunaria.

  With two clicks, the black violin case sprang open and I revered the walnut violin within.

  Gasping for air.

  Lifting out the violin and positioning the black chin-rest naturally into place, my fingertips settled on the lower end of the finger board. I brought up the bow upon the strings, caressing the fine cords and bursting forth a chorus of harmonic colors of sound. This violin was an extension of me, conveying more than just the secrets of the soul, its memories too . . .

  Spellbound, I tried to grasp ahold of each memory.

  That same violin . . . caught up in its maelstrom, swallowed whole and entranced completely by the instrument’s curse, an impossible spell to break free from.

  I was unraveling.

  Sword fighting, the wooden blade slicing through the air, this ten-year-old boy swearing to save this castle with my brother . . .

  “Alex!”

  Memories were lying, implying I’d lived through two different childhoods, the images gushing in like a torrent, threatening to drown me.

  On my knees now, trying to grab the violin hovering just out of reach.

  . . . Orpheus plays the violin.

  Fighting off the vertigo I rose, resisting the drag of nothingness snapping at my heels, threatening to lose my grip on time and place, clutching my abdomen and clenching my teeth as the twisting agony threatened to ravage my insides.

  Sunaria had my right hand in hers and she was dragging me along the tunnel but I broke free and staggered back, leaving her standing there.

  With both hands on the stone doorway I gave it a shove, securing it closed.

  If Sunaria was screaming at me from the other side, I didn’t hear her.

  Chapter 2

  THE SHOWER CASCADED OVER me; it was invigorating.

  Within the marble tiled bathroom, I tried to subdue my frantic internal dialogue that threatened to send me over the edge, resisting the urge to smash my forehead against the glass door . . . through which I saw Alex, leaning forward in a corner chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

  Realizing I was studying him, he said, “You once told me taking a shower helped you think.“

  “Ironic that I have to be in the shower to think about that,” I said.

  Trying to read him I assumed he was far from forgiving me for what had occurred within the hour and pulled a guilty expression, gesturing to his throat.

  He rubbed his neck.

  “What day is it?” I asked.

  “June 24th. What do you remember?”

  “Doesn’t make any sense.”

  He seemed to find interest in the hardwood floor.

  “Quid pro quo?” I asked.

  Alex looked away telling me this game would not be played.

  This illusion of normality was impossible to sustain. Even so I did my best to go with it, lathering my body with the rich soap and taking some comfort from the way the pressure from the oversized showerhead pounded my scalp, relieved to be washing off the seawater.

  “Who’s Orpheus?” I asked, watching him carefully.

  Alex’s attention focused on the door.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. “Sunaria called me Orpheus.”

  “She can’t be trusted.”

  I twisted off the faucet and stepped out, reaching for the large plush towel and wrapping it around my waist. “And you can?”

  “Yes.” He rose and pointed to several folded garments balanced on the hamper. “Jeans, shirt, jacket.” Then he pointed lower to the shoes.

  “Tell me about Sunaria?” I pulled on the underpants.

  “She’s an old girlfriend.” He raised an eyebrow. “Kind of.”

  Great, confusion infused with cryptics.

  Alex looked thoughtful. “You’re remembering bits and pieces.”

  “I just need to know why I feel like a stranger in my own home.”

  His expression tensed.

  “So Sunaria?” I pushed.

  “You knew to be wary of her. That’s a good thing.” He shook his head. “Sunaria took advantage of your situation.”

  I gave Alex a nudge, pressing him to continue.

  He shrugged. “She has her own agenda.”

  “Which is?”

  “I dare to think.”

  With each question there came the distinct realization there were endless answers. Trying to stay focused, I stepped toward him. “So far I’ve been addressed as Jadeon, Orpheus and William.” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead. “Is it any wonder I’m confused?”

  “I’ll let you get dressed.”

  “Where’s my bedroom?”

  Alex hesitated and then said, “Turn left out of here and it’s six rooms down. The one with the thick oak door.”

  “How did I lose my memory?”

  “Jacob’s in the library,” he said, turning to go. “Meet us down there.”

  “Alex, I’m sorry about . . .”

  He lowered his chin, still clutching the doorknob. “You didn’t know.”

  I was still staring at where he’d been standing, wondering if I’d convinced him how terrible I felt.

  The clothes fit reasonably well.

  My hand squeaked along the mirror, smearing the moisture away and I turned slightly to see the chair in the corner and then back to see it reversed in the mirror, contemplating the room’s image, minus the one who stood before it.

  Sensing nightfall eased the tension of my circadian rhythm and reassured me it was safe to explore. I paused at the top of the huge sweeping staircase, admiring the low hung chandelier illuminating the vast foyer, hoping to see something familiar. A mortal was here; her perfume lingering like the subtlest reminder of a midsummer’s day.

  Intrigued, I headed in her direction down the east corridor, taking in my surroundings as though clarity might just find me.

  There, asleep on the age-old four poster bed, lay a strikingly beautiful brunette. Gently so as not to awaken her, I sat beside her, considering it remarkable that a mortal was in a vampire’s lair.

  The long green drapes were drawn closed. The only painting on the wall was of a fierce looking middle-aged gentleman wearing seventieth century clothes.

  My attention returned to the woman and I focused in on the small notebook she was clutching. I eased it out of her grasp. On the last page was written yesterday’s date and beneath that were lines of scribbled notes.

  A hand came from behind me and snatched the book away. I spun round to see Jacob tucking it into his pocket. He gripped my arm and guided me out of the room and along the corridor.

  “Who is she?” I glanced at the tip of the notebook.

  He nudged it further in. “Ingrid.”

  Considering returning to her, I wondered why I felt so drawn to the young woman.

  “We agreed to meet downstairs,” he said firmly.

  “Memory’s been a little shaky lately.”

  “You must b
e thirsty.”

  “Who’s Sunaria?”

  “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

  “I nearly left with her.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Sunaria told me it’s too dangerous to stay here.” I folded my arms.

  “She’s misinformed.” He glanced back toward the bedroom. “We have to get you fed, before . . .”

  “Are you suggesting I might bite her?” I broke away from him and headed off. “I’ve got a feeling this place will tell me everything I need to know.” I ambled away down the sprawling corridor, sensing Jacob was willing to give me the space I needed.

  Within a minute I’d found the room Alex had told me was mine; the oak door swung heaving on its hinges.

  The décor was simple, understated, with a four poster bed in the center, a writing desk pushed up along the left wall, a large window to the right, black drapes pulled across its arched frame.

  My fingers slid along the well-tailored suits hanging neatly in the wardrobe; none of them were my size.

  On the writing desk lay a book titled Voltaire, a feeling of familiarity as I picked it up and peeked inside. Closing my eyes, trying to grasp the intricate details, I could remember from reading this that I’d derived pleasure from François-Marie Arouet’s work. He’d died in 1778, an outspoken writer and philosopher, having changed his name to Voltaire to distance himself from his family. He’d dared to criticize both France’s politicians and its religious leaders, which had resulted in his banishment from his homeland. I considered why I’d found his work appealing. Perhaps I was similar to him in nature, a risk taker, a bohemian.

  A man whose name didn’t fit.

  Clutching the book to my chest, grasping it tightly as though this small piece of my past might be a key to the rest of it, I strolled over to the window and pulled back the curtain, peering out at the night, admiring the sprawling well-tended gardens and then gazing out further at the wall I’d passed when I’d tried to escape.

  “Are you following me?” I turned.

  Alex was sitting on the edge of the bed. “No.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

  “You told me this is my room?”

  “It is.”

  I pointed to the cupboard and its row of shirts and suits.

  His expression changed.

  “Explain,” I said.

  “Clothes?”

  “Where are mine?”

  He cringed. Alex joined me by the window and said, “Those are mine. I ran out of space.”

  “You’re a bad liar.” I walked away, toward the walnut writing bureau and leaned against it. “What kind of person am I?”

  “A deep thinker.” He pointed to the book Voltaire I was holding. “Well-read.”

  “Go on.”

  “Cautious—usually that is. Kind. Thoughtful.”

  “Then why are you wary of me?”

  He shook his head, as though apologetic.

  “Nothing adds up.” Nearing Alex, I tried to extract more from him with the mere persuasion of my intensity. “Where are my clothes?”

  He blinked several times as though considering how best to answer.

  I shook my head and started for the door.

  “You were a good brother,” he burst out.

  “Still am, hopefully.”

  “Ingrid’s gone.”

  “And why would I care about that?”

  Alex looked away.

  Jacob cut me off in the doorway and I tried to nudge past him.

  He pressed his hand to my chest. “You had a breakthrough. Share it with us?”

  I eased his hand off. “If you’re going to access my thoughts at least give me the privilege of reading yours.”

  “Of course.” Jacob opened up to me, yet adroitly controlled each thought. “I’m here to help you,” was all he gave me.

  I barged past him and into the corridor, hoping this time Alex wouldn’t follow. With my mind closed to prevent them tracking me, I flew toward the upper rooms of the castle.

  Inside the small dark room I nudged between the numerous painted canvasses, nightscapes laying here and there, a disarray of half-finished artwork seemingly long given up on.

  Finding a space on the floor, I sat with my back against the wall, staring at Ingrid’s notebook that I’d just pick-pocketed from Jacob.

  The quiet closed in.

  Leafing through the pages I read Ingrid’s scribbled notes, her words unraveling as though in my head, exposing what she’d seen and heard while in the castle last night. I browsed her last entry.

  “The Mount’s dungeons. Alex is here. A priest. Two young women, one blonde the other has raven hair. I recognize the blonde woman from Stonehenge. They’re staring at something moving in the shadows, a naked man is doubled over. Now standing. Jadeon. No . . . Orpheus’s features, as though . . .”

  With my head resting against the cold brick, I braved the nightmarish memories teeming in, frantically crawling around my brain, insistent on devouring my last bit of sanity. Ghosts raging within, a constant flow of experiences I’d not earned or lived through. Jaw gaping, I tried to fathom what I’d done.

  Stonehenge’s monumental pillars looming large in their magnificence, this sacred circle where the Stone Masters’ rituals had taken place; the bloodiest of ceremonies. The fierce sunrise . . .

  A fight to the death.

  My death.

  Mingling our ashes, our destinies . . .

  I flew into a blinding rage.

  Canvasses ripped from their frames, others flung and lay smashed where they’d landed. The small chamber where I’d kept my paints now lay decimated and the vast collection of paintings I’d lovingly crafted over two hundred years destroyed.

  Staring at my hands like a madman, guilty of having caused the mayhem, I tried to remember the years of my life and find something good in them. So cruel, how a place can be familiar and yet so foreign; this once sacred room had been my sanctuary, but now offered nothing but grief.

  Alex’s long sigh. “William?”

  My vision blurred with tears. “That’s not my name.”

  Jacob caught up with Alex and he scanned the mess.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I slid down the wall, pressing my face into my hands, burying my shame, sobbing uncontrollably.

  And they let me, both of them waiting for my cries to dissipate.

  Alex sat beside me, wiping away his own tears. Jacob kept his distance taking in the room, and though he didn’t glance at Ingrid’s notebook lying discarded on the floor I knew he’d seen it.

  “I suppose we’re doing it your way then?” said Jacob.

  I tried to read the truth in their eyes, yet at the same time hoping not too. “Joined as one?” The words tasted foul as I spoke to them.

  Jacob’s frown deepened. “Yes.”

  My throat tightened like a vice and I struggled to catch my breath. Alex reached out to comfort me again.

  I waved off his gesture and said, “This is worse than being dead.”

  Jacob motioned to Alex that he wanted to handle this, handle me.

  “He doesn’t remember everything,” Alex murmured.

  “But I know who you are.” I threw an angry look. “Brother.” My glare shot to Jacob. “And you’re my son.”

  “I am Orpheus’s son,” Jacob acknowledged.

  “Everything’s muddled up.” My sob choked me and I held out my hands turning them around and finding nothing familiar.

  “Has this ever happened before?” Alex asked Jacob.

  Jacob’s slender arms fell to his side. “Once that I know of.”

  “Is it reversible?” The confusion of what I was actually asking sinking in.

  Jacob glanced at Alex.

  “Tell me,” I whispered through gritted teeth.

  Jacob shifted closer. “There is a real possibility, yes.”

  My hands were still shaking.

  “William, we’ll talk about this later,” Jacob said, “when you’r
e calmer.”

  “We talk now.” My voice wavered with emotion.

  “There are ancient scrolls,” Jacob said, “Documented evidence of how one might attempt this. If we’re able to translate them, maybe . . .”

  “What language?” asked Alex.

  “Egyptian,” Jacob answered, distracted.

  “We’ll find an Egyptian scholar,” Alex said.

  Jacob’s brows furrowed. “We’re talking Coptic.”

  “Then we’ll find someone who understands Coptic,” I said. “Where are these scrolls?”

  “I’ll do everything I can,” Jacob offered.

  The trembling in my hands was getting worse.

  Alex climbed to his feet and walked over to the tipped-over chair in the corner, grasped the backrest and righted it. “Here.”

  I shook my head, feeling somewhat safer on the floor.

  “We’re going to find a way back for you.” Alex turned to face Jacob. “Aren’t we?”

  “We’ll certainly try,” Jacob said.

  Alex was staring at Jacob as though searching for truth in his words.

  I gestured my frustration. “I’m your Gordian’s Knot, as you so eloquently pointed out.”

  “I’m afraid you’re a little unstable still.” Jacob gestured to the mess.

  I hated the fact he was right. “You’re not going to tell me where I can find these scrolls, are you?”

  He gave what was probably meant as a sympathetic shrug. “As soon as I know, you will.”

  Alex was now staring at me, trying to figure out what I was thinking and what I might do if I didn’t get the answers I needed to hear.

  “Lucas Azir is one of the world’s foremost Egyptologists,” Jacob said. “I’ll find him.”

  Staring at the ceiling, I tried to control all thoughts that might sabotage my one chance of Jacob helping me, I did after all know who Lucas Azir was.

  “What are you thinking?” Jacob asked.

  I kept my voice low and suppressed the suspicion in my tone. “You met with Jadeon?”

  Jacob stepped forward. “I did, yes.”

  The bitterness of recollection ate away my trust. “Jacob, you betrayed me.”

  “You are Jadeon,” he said, puzzled.

  I raised a finger to protest and then realized he was right.