Blood Child

by Rose, Lucinda

  ***

  The next two months passed by in a flash. The manuscript was 90 percent done, at least according to the outline.

  The final chapters were just waiting to be released from my mind. All the interview notes and research needed for the final push had been aptly organized, thanks to Belinda. She had even tracked down handwriting experts who verified that even though the journal entries appeared to be written by two people, they were all written by Atalik. The change in handwriting was attributed to extreme changes in his emotional state while he was writing. The two writing styles were often featured in the same paragraph and once or twice in the same sentence. The mood swings that tormented so many of his employees were also present in his journal.

  Yet no matter how disingenuous or temperamental he was to his family and employees, many in the business world swore they never saw that side of him. Many more thought he was a good and generous soul, just misunderstood by the world. Bee helped me by conducting interview after interview while I was in the writing trenches. It was also a lot easier for a sassy and intelligent redhead with a sparkling reputation to get access to high-powered executives.

  One week, and then it was off to the editors. Instead of being holed up in my loft working like a maniac, I was on the road early, headed to the Bathory estate. Adam Sands, a mutual friend and photographer, was sleeping in the back seat.

  Bee and Anthony, who had become surrogate parents, insisted I take a break from the work. I refused to listen until Bee forced me to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I knew I had lost weight, but the lack of sleep and sunlight had caused me to take on an unhealthy gray pallor. Sleep only brought me pain. Avoiding it and focusing on the project just felt right. Well, it did until Bee shoved in my face her notes on the last fifty pages I had composed, declaring them utter garbage.

  She was right. I conceded and wisely volunteered to take a trip to the country. The idea of finishing the book at the estate was mine. Bee wasn’t happy about it, but Anthony had convinced her that the trip would accomplish it, as well as give her some angles for marketing the finished product. I had been a huge pain in her ass for the last couple of months, taking her time away from her day job and Skyping time with Anthony. She finally relented, saying it would be excellent for publicity and would add to the authenticity of the project. Then she told me to pack.

  I was biting my nails with terror and excitement. The gates had been closed on my prior visits to Wanaka. Rumors of guard dogs and armed security kept me from even trying to sneak a serious peek. Em confirmed that she had both wandering the estate grounds to keep out the morbidly curious. There had been a break-in at the family mausoleum eight months back, before the dogs had been added. Nothing except the door was damaged. Em believed it had just been some curious kids who wanted to scare themselves by drinking among the dead. The guards stayed at the house so they could be ready at a moment’s notice.

  A newly built guardhouse stood at attention outside massive iron gates; a small brick doghouse was right next to it. The sentinel, a young redhead named Simon, greeted me, along with a very eager German shepherd, Loki. Simon didn’t look much older than eighteen. Loki looked like he had more experience protecting things.

  I asked Simon if living and working at the estate ever creeped him out.

  “No, not at all. The only creepy things around are the homicide groupies. Those chicks are flat-out freaky. But you better be moving on. We can talk more at dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Miss Em insists we all dine together whenever possible.” Seeing the confusion on my face, he just waved me through with a grin. The tall iron gates creaked as they opened. Adam stirred in the back seat.

  “Wake up, sleeping beauty,” I called.

  His middle finger shot up in response. His head and the rest followed a moment later. Adam wasn’t the best in the business, but he was still pretty damn good. He actually volunteered. By volunteering I mean he was working for photo credits only, something most photographers were happy to leave behind as quickly as possible. Adam loved life behind the lens. He took the assignments that interested him whenever possible; as a result he lived in his mother’s basement.

  I felt for a moment like I was driving back in time. Huge black oaks lined both sides of the driveway, which curved to the right, revealing the baroque mansion with its three wings and ornate stone decoration. Driving a Toyota Corolla seemed anachronistic. Adam shrieked at me to stop and immediately began taking pictures as soon as his feet hit the ground. He had no romantic notions about time or propriety.

  A young man in a uniform similar to Simon’s immediately came up to the car door, opening it as soon as my seat belt slid off.

  “Sir,” the man in the uniform chimed, “Miss Bath is waiting for you. Michael and I will get your bags. Where is your companion?” Another uniform appeared beside him, standing just a step back. Stepford valets, anyone?

  “Ben, I believe that Mr. Clark needs some air.”

  “Please except my apologies,” Ben said with a slight nod, moving back to stand with Michael. Like Simon, they both looked too young for their jobs.

  Adam came up the driveway, shooting as he walked. The man was in heaven. “Get a load of this house, man. It’s wicked. I think I have a few ideas for the cover.” He immediately shook the hands of the Stepford valets, and the boys relaxed. Adam had that effect on people, which was one of the reasons he was so good at his job. People couldn’t be nervous around him.

  The lady of the house descended the stone steps, drawing our attention. Em—Emily—was dressed in dark jeans and a deep-red, fitted T-shirt. Her clothes were understated, but her presence was intoxicating. Even cool man Adam stopped breathing for a moment. Em, little Em, wasn’t plain anymore. The air of authority she lacked at home in Florida swirled around her now.

  Adam was the first to recover and began talking with Emily about the architecture—how it reminded him of a palace he saw while backpacking in Europe. Emily soaked up every word, responding quickly. The boys looked about as happy as I felt watching the exchange. I didn’t even notice them moving into the house until Ben asked me for the keys to the car.

  Adam and Emily were just inside the grand entrance when I caught up to them. Adam had stopped talking and was back shooting the entrance. Emily stood by the door, explaining the changes that had been made to the hall. Nearly everything had been torn out and replaced. Skylights had been added to lighten up the feel. Atalik would not have approved of this new, inviting space.

  Emily had sold nearly all the household furnishings, using a European auction house to avoid unwanted attention. The renovation was so complete that little of Atalik’s palace remained. Even some of the marble floors had been torn out and replaced. It was the only way Emily could conceive of staying on. I was disappointed I wouldn’t be able to walk through the halls as Atalik had, though I understood why she did it. Seeing my disappointment, she explained that despite appearances, some rooms were unchanged. Her father’s office, the nursery, and the crypt were all intact. A shiver of excitement replaced the disappointment. I knew exactly where I would be finishing the book.

  Em hadn’t been pleased with the idea, but had finally conceded. Her father’s office would be the perfect place for some photos, since it hasn’t been touched since her father’s death. Emily had left it untouched for the director who was no longer coming. The office doors were locked, but the housekeeper, a Ms. Maggie Bivins, located the key in record time. She had one of those ancient key rings that jingled as she sorted through the myriad of options. She didn’t try a single key, just repeated the same ritual over and over until she found the right one. She would hold a key up to the light, firmly clasping it in her wizened fingers. Then shaking her head, she would let it loose and sort through the keys until another candidate was located. Adam, of course, was snapping the entire time.

  The doors were carved mahogany, featuring a huge tree with a dragon at its base. The lock didn’t want to accept
its key at first. Ms. Maggie, as she preferred to be called, refused to give in to hardware. After a minute and a small spray of WD-40, it surrendered to her. The tree and its protector split in two with a dusty creak. The room beyond the threshold was covered in sheets and nearly a decade of dust. No one had used the study since its old master had passed away, not even once.

  “You have a week in this room,” Emily said from the threshold. She refused to step inside. “Then it is being gutted as well.”

  Ms. Maggie stiffened for a moment and then swiftly went about uncovering the room and calling for Ben and Michael to bring the cleaning supplies. Apparently the Stepford boys had duties beyond being valets and bellhops; calling them bellboys seemed wrong for the surroundings. They appeared moments later with cleaning accruements and respiratory masks around their necks. Adam and I were shooed out.

  Emily took us on a tour of the house and grounds, explaining the various and sundry renovations. The largest was a small cottage on the opposing side of the hedge maze her father had built. Two huge unicorn topiary hedges secured the entrance. Emily wove her way through the leafy walls, her hand trailing the sides until we finally came upon the construction site. Both Adam and I had lost all sense of direction. We had been too busy watching Emily glide to our destination.

  It was the solution to the problems posed by living in the house where her beloved brothers were massacred, even with the changes. The cottage and the maze provided a mental and physical barrier between her and the house. Until it was finished, she was bunking with Maggie, when she didn’t fall asleep on the sofa in the game room.

  She flatly refused to give up the estate. She kept reiterating that it was her responsibility. Adam raised an eyebrow in response. He was clueless as to why she felt responsible for the property. I was having a bit of trouble understanding it myself, but I let it go. Emily seemed more mature here on the estate than she had in sunny Florida. She had stopped running and had returned to face her demons. Part of me wondered how literal that last part would be for her. The person—or more likely, the persons—responsible for the massacre were still out there.

  The tour stopped short of going down into the basement to see the crypt before we were called back into the house for dinner. The sun had begun to set and with it our desire to head into the depths of Atalik’s palace. Despite all of Emily’s talk, we felt like the basement and its morbid treasures still belonged to him. Ms. Maggie had saved us before logic could talk us out of what our intuition was screaming at us. Tomorrow the crypt would be open and Atalik’s remains removed for cremation.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dinner was banquet-style. Simon and about twelve others boys were there, in addition to the construction crews. Most were in the same Stepford uniforms that Michael and Ben were wearing earlier. They were all at the estate as a part of a state program. If they completed the program, it would expunge their juvenile transgressions and give them job experience. Em beamed with pride as she explained that the boys had all completed their GED requirements and were set to complete the program by the end of the summer. Then they would go on to college, the military, or jobs in the city.

  Ben, one of the young men from earlier, was absent. He had pulled guardhouse duty. He would eat the remnants of the buffet later. Simon winked at me as he made his way to a table close to mine. There was little conversation in the dining hall. Everyone was too busy eating Ms. Maggie’s excellent fare. Even Alex was chowing down, ignoring the scenery. It had been a grand ballroom once upon a time, with gigantic murals depicting the battles between the Titans and the Olympians. Only one of the murals was intact: Zeus standing in triumph over his father, Cronus. The symbolism of the youngest child defeating the wicked, corrupt father was not lost on me.

  Everything about the new Bath manor was a departure. The grand bedrooms had been torn out and replaced with dorm rooms. Formal sitting rooms were now classrooms. Everything, including the communal meals, was all a part of Em’s plan to combat the memories of the past. Joyful memories would replace each of the negative ones that haunted her, or at least that was the hope present in every action taken and planned for the manor.

  Once we finished eating, everyone hung out, catching up and playing card games. A few moved into the game room, which had been renovated to include a movie theater. The men and women who worked and lived at the estate were open and friendly, freely talking to me and letting Alex snap picture after picture. None of them seemed spooked about living and working there. They all knew the history and the plans for the estate. The past is the past, they said, and everyone wanted to be a part of the future Em was planning here. The only time their smiles dimmed was when I mentioned the crypt. The basement was the one place everyone avoided. No one went down there alone, always in pairs and always during the day. It seems that on more than one occasion, a crew member had spooked himself when working down there. A few told me they had had nightmares, but wouldn’t go into details.

  Absolutely nothing supernatural or mysterious happened in the house during the renovations, beyond the way Mrs. Maggie’s cookies disappeared whenever she left the kitchen. Em was basking in the warmth of the gathering, and I could see there was little chance of working with her this evening. Ms. Maggie offered to guide me back to Atalik’s study. I was glad to have the help. The mansion may have been patterned after one in Europe, but the interior design of the corridors seemed more Minoan than European, especially in the wing of the house that contained his office.

  Ms. Maggie was a matronly woman who managed both the kitchens and the household staff. This was her second time at the estate. The first time was back when her curves were more defined. She had been fired by the old man himself after she refused his advances. Instead of leaving right away, she had taken her time and had said good-bye to each of the children. Em still remembers her coming into the nursery and hugging her. The child, Em, hugged her back so fiercely that tears flowed down Maggie’s cheeks when she finally had to tear herself away. She had returned to the house when Em asked her back.

  “Mr. Bath was a monster. He only ever saw people as things to be used.”

  “Why did you take the job the first time around?”

  “The money, of course. I was fresh out of school and needed some kind of an income. The kitchen was amazing, and Mr. Bath was incredibly indulgent when it came to ordering, but it didn’t take long for him to show his true colors.” Maggie sat back in one of the large leather wing-backed chairs. The years must have added lines to her face and gray to her coal-black hair... I could see why Atalik would have wanted to sample her wares. She stood and moved around the office with ease, tracing her hands along the lined bookshelves.

  “I loved this room. Didn’t feel right to have all these beautiful books locked away. Mr. Bath always insisted I bring him his meals personally. He loved to talk to me about the books—trying to impress me, since nothing else worked after the first week I was here. Women used to throw themselves at him, mistaking his charm and arrogance for affection.” She paused for a moment and looked at me. “I never saw him open a single one. Not a single book. He talked about them, enjoyed the idea of the knowledge they represented, but I don’t think he ever opened a one. It ruins the value, you see. If you open and read one of these old books, once read they are no longer pristine. No longer pure. Yet, if you don’t read them, what’s the point?”

  She opened one book and breathed the scent of its pages in deeply.

  “I don’t know,” I stammered. “Seems kind of pointless to me.”

  She dropped the book she was holding and picked up another one, repeating the process she had just taken, going from one book to the next, filing through them like the keys. It seemed odd since she had just spent the afternoon overseeing the top-to-bottom cleaning of the room.

  “It is all about perception and power. Bath wanted power, but all he ever managed to do was have its illusion. When little Em ran away, he was powerless to get her back. He actually sent his man, Gerald,
to my place to see if she was hiding out there.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “There is a good deal you don’t know. Pretty much everyone you have talked to about Bath feared or hated him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Fear him, no. I didn’t hate him either. I felt sorry for him. When he finally made a pass I couldn’t ignore, I told him to his face what I thought of him. He didn’t fire me himself. No, he had Gerald do it for him. Atalik Bath was a coward at heart.”

  “So do you think he was evil?”

  “I think he thought he was; he thought if he couldn’t be good, then he might as well be evil. His ancestral obsession was just a way to tie him back to their darkness. Imagine his surprise when he found out that she, the infamous Blood Countess, was innocent of vampirism. It was all a frame job to seize her lands. Politics.”

  “Then why track down any and nearly every artifact associated with her?”

  “Because he didn’t want it to be true. He wanted to be right. If he was wrong, then Gerald and his creepy posse had tricked him into thinking there was a way to cheat his own death. Being a fool would have been worse than death for him. I was here when they brought Em’s mother into the house. I saw him inspect her coffin and then place it in the corner of this room until nightfall. He talked to her as if she were still alive. I still have nightmares thinking that maybe she was.”

  The day that had etched itself behind the walls of Em’s memory would also forever be carved into Maggie’s as well. She had come to retrieve the lunch dishes. The room was usually vacant after lunch, but Atalik was at his desk furiously going through papers. The dishes had been thrown on the floor, along with everything else that had been on the desk. Gerald had knelt with her to clean up the mess. His eyes glanced up as if to say he was sorry for it.