A Vampire's Dominion

by Vanessa Fewings

  “What does this symbol mean?” Ingrid pointed to it.

  “Blood,” Lucas said. “And if this scroll really did come from his tomb, never separated from the body, then this suggests the mummy stolen was Hornub, Toth’s son.”

  “Hornub was meant to be magical,” I said. “Apparently he overcame death.”

  Ingrid gave me a sideways glance. “How much would something like that fetch?”

  “I doubt it was for the money,” Lucas said.

  In agreement I said, “Two exhibition cases down from Hornub’s was a solid gold statue of Osiris.”

  “Perhaps a corrupt collector?” Ingrid asked.

  Lucas shrugged. “There’s always illicit activity associated with these kind of artifacts. When ancient Egyptians found out that foreign buyers would pay a king’s ransom for their dead, they created fakes. Imagine the little bastards working away on the kitchen table, scooping out their late relative’s organs and then wrapping the body in linen. All to turn a profit.”

  “Taking advantage of people’s ignorance,” Ingrid said.

  “Despite its repulsive nature,” I said, “they look at it as just another way to make a living.”

  Lucas slid his finger downward. “This is the symbol for the underworld.”

  “Which means?” Ingrid asked.

  “It’s expected,” Lucas said, “after all it was their obsession.”

  Ingrid chewed her lip thoughtfully.

  “The heart was traditionally the only organ not removed from the body,” he said. “That’s not a common known fact. When we find the heart intact we’re usually looking at an authentic mummy.”

  “Why do you think thieves might want this one?” Ingrid asked.

  “Hopefully we’ll find out when we get him back,” Lucas said. “I’d very much like to see Hornub restored to his homeland.”

  “You don’t approve of him being on display?” she asked.

  “Conflicted,” he replied. “Honor the dead. Respect the dead. Learn from the dead.”

  Ingrid was riveted. “Where does that come from?”

  “A people who know that the line between this world and the next is as fine as the veil that separates them.”

  “Your people?” she asked softly.

  “The world is full of mystery, Ingrid,” he said. “Once your heart is as open as your mind, then the book of truth will open before you and all your questions will be answered.”

  She seemed to be holding her breath, wooed by his words.

  I turned to Lucas. “I appreciate your time.”

  “I’m looking forward to checking out your collection,” he said. “I hear it rivals the Getty.”

  “Hardly,” I smirked. “Sebastian will give you a tour.”

  “It was good to see you,” Lucas said to me. “I hope to have answers for you soon on that other matter.” He took my hand and squeezed it with affection. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow night?”

  I gave his back a pat of reassurance. Lucas strolled toward the top of the stairwell and disappeared down it.

  “How do you know him again?” Ingrid asked.

  “An old friend,” I said. “That’s how I know we can trust him.”

  She frowned. “Ever since finding Vanderbilt’s file I’ve not trusted anyone.”

  “So you’re the only one allowed to sneak around?”

  “I was conducting an investigation.”

  “On your boss?”

  She folded her arms. “He was acting suspiciously.”

  “And you’re never guilty of that?”

  “You better not be trying to read my mind.”

  “I try to avoid chaos,” I said. “Did you find anything in that book you pinched?”

  “It was blank.” Her hand slid to her necklace and she fiddled with her chain. “James has invited me to go away on holiday with him.”

  A dove landed a few feet away, flapping its wings before settling and then pecking at nothing.

  She looked up at me. “He wants us to go to Scotland. I’d rather go to Paris.”

  Two more birds flew down to join the first, displaying their entitlement to the roof.

  “I’ve always dreamed of going barefoot in Paris,” she sighed.

  I turned away. She took my hand and we braved to hold each other’s gaze, sharing a moment that should never have happened.

  “My driver will take you,” I offered.

  “I’ll catch a taxi.” She placed her glass on the tray.

  My hand rested in the arch of her back and I guided her toward the stairway. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”

  She hesitated by the top of the stairwell. “That ruse you pulled on me with Lucas.” She gripped the narrow rail ready to descend. “Wasn’t funny. See, not laughing.” She raised an eyebrow.

  Stunned with the mind message she sent me, I quickly headed back her way.

  “Something wrong?” she asked casually.

  “Sebastian merely runs the gallery,” I said. “Arrest him?”

  “I was thinking that, yes.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “I was hoping he’d tell me more about you.”

  “What do you want to know?” I tried to suppress my disquiet. “Sebastian’s been through enough.”

  “You’re referring to his car accident?”

  “You’ve been investigating him?”

  “He was on his bicycle when a car hit him?” She tried to read my expression.

  Which I was trying desperately trying to control.

  Standing right behind Ingrid was Anaïs, her long black locks trailing over her face, her chin low, and her still demeanor eerie.

  “It does sound awful,” Ingrid broke the silence. “His accident.” She clarified to get my attention back on her.

  “Sebastian made a full recovery,” I said, hoping Anaïs would respond to my telepathic command to meet me somewhere else, some other time.

  Yet the fledgling just stood there, staring like a haunting phantom, her lips slightly parted as though readying to speak, defying me.

  “Does Sebastian know what you are?” Ingrid asked.

  What you are? Ingrid’s words sliced into my mind and I wasn’t sure if it was the way she’d said it, or her tone.

  “Master,” Anaïs finally whispered.

  Ingrid spun round to look at her.

  Anaïs knelt and bowed her head. “Status Regal, I am your obedient servant.”

  I resisted the urged to roll my eyes. “Rise.”

  Anaïs did so with a supernatural ease.

  “Status Regal?” Ingrid made it a question.

  I nudged passed Ingrid and grabbed Anaïs’s arm, guiding her to the roof edge where I hoped she’d take the hint.

  “I have a message,” Anaïs blurted.

  “Not a good time.” I avoided the urge to shove her over. She could fly after all. Or if she hadn’t yet, she soon would.

  Anaïs’s long black locks caught in the breeze. “He wants her.”

  I leaned into her ear. “What are you talking about?”

  Ingrid followed us over, seemingly rattled by the way I held Anaïs precariously close to the ledge. “William, what’s going on?” she asked.

  “These feelings are natural,” I told Anaïs. “My commitment to you is unwavering, but you must obey.”

  Anaïs frowned up at me.

  I scanned the other rooftops hoping to glimpse Marcus, or even Zachary, who might just be tracking this newbie and making sure she didn’t mess up too much in her early days. After all they’d promised just that. Anaïs tried to ease out of my grip.

  I tightened it.

  “You’ve been summoned by Fabian Snowstrom,” Anaïs said, her free hand reaching inside her coat pocket. She withdrew a cream envelope with F.S. initialed into the wax stamped seal. She offered it to me. “You both have.”

  Chapter 23

  NAVIGATING THE RED FERRARI along Edward Street, I glanced over at Ingrid. “How did James take it?”

>   She flicked her mobile shut. “Right now I’m seriously questioning my judgment for getting back in a car with you.” She buzzed her window down and strands of hair blew over her face. “How loud does my internal screaming sound?”

  I steered the car westward.

  “I’m hoping you’ve grown bored of driving into rivers.” She rested her stiletto heels upon the dashboard.

  “Where’s the trust?” I asked.

  “Yet to be earned.”

  Reaching inside her mind, I realized she’d twisted the truth a little about meeting James for dinner. Ingrid had dressed up for me.

  I feigned interest in my side view mirror, hoping she’d not catch my boyish grin.

  She twisted in her seat to face me. “Who was that girl?”

  I pulled back on the smile. “Anaïs.”

  “How is she connected to you?”

  “The question you should be asking is, who’s Fabian Snowstrom.”

  She removed the note from the envelope. “Well?”

  “Someone you don’t keep waiting.”

  Ingrid read the note from him again. “Meet me where the past, present and future meet, beneath the once shadow of Nonesuch House. -F. A. Snowstrom.”

  “He wants us to meet him at London Bridge,” I said.

  “I’ve never even heard of Nonesuch House.”

  “In the late fifteenth century a four-story house was built on top of London Bridge.”

  “Nonesuch House, meaning no other house like it?”

  “Exactly. The building was an unprecedented workmanship of its time.” I steered the car around the traffic circle, taking the third exit toward St. Martin’s Le Grand. “It was originally built in the Netherlands. Later it was dismantled and shipped to London and reassembled piece by piece.”

  “What happened to it?” she asked.

  “It was torn down in the eighteenth century.”

  “What about the past, present and future bit?”

  I glanced at the note. “Still working on that.”

  “So this is Fabian’s way of using code?”

  “Just in case his message didn’t reach us. Or if it got into the wrong hands.”

  “Does he have enemies?”

  “Fabian’s one of the oldest of my kind. He’s sought after.”

  “Why does he want to see me?”

  “Not sure.” I shot her a look. “Consider this a privilege. This is where history gets interesting.”

  * * * *

  Screams echoed down the long, black corridor.

  The strobe lighting made us blink. When the axe swung dangerously close and the man wielding it let out a maniacal laugh, Ingrid nudged up closer to me.

  We were standing with a crowd of twenty other people and that made it fairly easy to dissolve into the background of the London Bridge tour group.

  Trevor, our young cockney guide, made a sweeping gesture and said, “Those who dare to enter London’s Tomb will find the secrets to its past.”

  Together the crowd meandered after him through the brass gates, seemingly enjoying the first part of the tour.

  Trevor jangled a large bunch of keys, continuing. “In the year 60 B.C. Queen Boudicca gave the order for the bridge to be burnt down.”

  I whispered to Ingrid. “She was Queen of the Brittonic Iceni tribe.”

  “Once her command was given,” Trevor’s voice boomed with rehearsed passion, “the slaughter ensued. Bodies were lain to waste across the city, and others could be seen floating down the river. The stench of death reached every part of London.”

  My gaze slid to Ingrid’s stilettos, the tips of her shoes resting upon a faded terrazzo tile, upon which a faint hourglass was etched. I took Ingrid’s left hand and held her back, waiting for the last tourist to disappear around the corner.

  Ingrid followed my gaze and knelt, tracing her fingers over the etching.

  I knelt beside her and pointed to the drawing’s lower compartment, symbolizing where the sand gathered. “Past.”

  Ingrid gestured to the upper compartment. “Future.” Her forefinger slid to the thinnest part. “Present.”

  Together our eyes moved up to the brick wall.

  “Excuse me!” the cockney voice reached us.

  We stood to greet the young woman with Staff printed on the front of her black shirt.

  She hit us with her flashlight. “You need to keep up with the others.”

  I approached her. “Niki. You didn’t see us.” I projected a wave of energy that struck her right between her eyes.

  Niki’s head jolted. “How do you know my . . . name?” Her eyelids fluttered.

  Ingrid moved closer, fascinated, though probably questioning her moral obligation to stop me.

  “Niki, go back to work,” I said. “You didn’t see us. You don’t remember seeing us.” I motioned for her to turn around.

  In a lazy hypnotic state she scratched her face, lost in a sea of thought and then headed back.

  Ingrid folded her arms. “Have you ever used that on me?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “Getting inside your noggin is far too dangerous.”

  High on the brickwork was an antique brass torch sconce. I reached for it and twisted it sideways. The wall scraped open.

  After checking it was safe we entered, trekking down a stone stairwell and onward. At the very end another door greeted us. Once inside the ten by eight foot room we both took a wall, eager to find the next clue to advance our mystery tour.

  The door slammed behind us.

  Ingrid tried to open it. “It’s locked!”

  “This is Fabian’s modus operandi.” And then I saw it. There, resting on the floor in the far corner, lay a rolled up piece of cream paper.

  I unraveled it.

  Ingrid peered from behind my shoulder. “Tell me you read—”

  “Latin, yes.”

  “Well?” Ingrid reached for my shirtsleeve and tugged it.

  I dropped the piece of paper and went straight for the door handle, desperately trying to turn it. When that failed I shoved my right shoulder up against the frame.

  Ingrid had picked up the note and was reading it. “We have to tell each other our deepest fear?”

  I rested my forehead against the door.

  Ingrid read on, “Only then will Fabian let us out?” She looked confused.

  I knew why, and I hated him for it.

  With concentration I focused on the door, ready to send a jolt of force at it. Pain exploded in my skull and I fell against the wall, stunned.

  Fabian had just sent a warning right into my frontal lobe, commanding me not to try my trick in here; and evidenced by my pounding head, he was insisting. I turned round and slid down the wall.

  The paper slipped from Ingrid’s hand and spiraled to the floor. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s not letting us out,” I whispered.

  “But I need to pee.”

  “We have a bigger problem,” I said. “You’re trapped in here with a vampire.”

  Ingrid sat and wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them into her. “Tell me this isn’t you manipulating me?”

  “No.”

  She reached for her cell and stared at the screen. “No signal. Do you think they’ll hear us if we scream?”

  I shook my head, dazed.

  She gave a shrug. “I’m willing to share my deepest fear.” She gave me a look of reassurance. “James and I went out to dinner the other night. He ordered us dessert to share. Vanilla ice-cream.”

  I raised an eyebrow, fascinated with where she was taking this.

  “It’s not that I don’t like vanilla.” She shifted her position. “It just suddenly dawned on me that I don’t want my life to be vanilla.” She turned to face me. “Domestic drudgery terrifies me.”

  Silence ensued filling the small chamber, leaving us quiet with our thoughts.

  “I suppose it goes deeper.” Ingrid broke the silence again. “My dad was a Sergeant in the Army.” She p
ulled the end of her sleeves over her hands so that only the tips of her fingers were showing. “I got to travel quite a bit. Europe, mostly.” Distracted, she examined her fingernails. “My dad got posted to the Middle East. You know, I’m still not quite sure why they call it friendly fire?”

  I realized what she was saying. “Your father was shot?”

  “He recovered. But then they sent him back. Right into the center of combat. When he returned home from that second tour . . .”

  “Post Traumatic Stress?”

  She seemed far away.

  “Ingrid, how old were you?”

  “Thirteen,” she murmured.

  I followed both Ingrid’s thoughts and her words, daring to reach her in that darkest place within but not able to go there.

  “Your father took his own life,” I whispered, having read her mind, barely able to grasp the fading images.

  “I have this reoccurring nightmare that I’m standing at my parent’s bedroom door. But I don’t go in.”

  I tried to find the words that might lesson her pain, but there were none.

  Her face was flushed with grief. “My dad survived two wars and yet he couldn’t survive the one raging inside his head.”

  “I believe this is Fabian’s way of helping us,” I said, hoping this was true. “Having us open up to each other like this.” I chastised myself for not seeing this coming.

  Ingrid wriggled round to face me. “William, go on then, what’s your biggest fear?”

  Staring straight ahead, I silently begged Fabian not to do this.

  Quietness ensued, the small chamber stiflingly still, punishingly claustrophobic. Fabian’s answer was evident.

  “You can trust me,” Ingrid said. “We’re in this together, right.”

  I looked over at her. “Your memory was wiped by Fabian.”

  “What?”

  “You witnessed something unspeakable in the dungeons of St. Michael’s Mount. So Fabian removed those memories.”

  “How?” She looked horrified. “What did I see?”

  I rested my head back against the brick, doubting Fabian’s method of having me finally reveal to Ingrid who I really was.

  Chapter 24