by A. R. Cook
Another gypsy walked up on the stage, holding an oil lamp. The juggler touched each club to the lamp’s flame, and they ignited in wickedly dancing flames. David’s eyes opened to the size of tea saucers at the sight of the burning clubs.
“Sit as straight as you can,” the juggler advised. “Don’t lean back, and don’t lean forward. And don’t sneeze. Last fellow who did this sneezed in the middle of the act. I hope the poor bloke’s hair grew back.”
For the first time that day, David’s curiosity was nowhere to be found. In its place was a voice in his head screaming, Get out of there, you idiot!
But he couldn’t. The juggler launched into his act before David could demand to be put down, as the burning torches flew up only inches from David’s face. The flames rose and danced around David, trails of orange tongues licking at the air around his head. The boy’s skin, usually the color of cream-cooled coffee, blanched to milk white, while his brain willed for Time to pick up its pace.
Then there was a fourth club—more specifically, a butcher knife. Then a cleaver. Then a machete. The assisting gypsy stood off to the side, tossing blades to the juggler, who caught them in mid-pass and added them to his twirling tornado of torture. The audience held its breath as the juggler increased speed, catching and releasing his implements while David sat petrified, his hair standing on end. As David was about to scream for deliverance from this death trap, the blur of fire and flashing metal stopped.
“Thirty seconds! Well done, lad!”
The next thing he knew, David was back down on the stage, planted securely on his feet. He felt something pressed into his hand, and it took him several moments to regain his wits to realize it was the dagger—his prize. He looked up to see the gypsy girl, who gave him a quick congratulatory kiss on the cheek. The crowd was cheering and applauding, but David couldn’t hear it. His head was still spinning as the juggler guided him off the stage, patting him roughly on the back.
“Not bad, boyo. I was sure you would be screaming for your mum before time was up. You have thicker skin than I thought.” The juggler shook David’s hand, giving him a smile that seemed less genuine than before, even tinged with a bit of irritation.
That was when David noticed the tattoo on the juggler’s arm: a silver spear standing straight in the middle, with two golden arrows crossing behind it, and a white lily wrapped around the head of the spear. The Master Huntsmen’s crest.
The exclusive guild of the most exceptional hunters in the world had intrigued David ever since he had heard about them from his uncle, who, admittedly, claimed to always know more than he truly did. David himself would have liked to give hunting a try, but his mother had adamantly protested, calling it a barbaric sport not suitable for a refined young gentleman.
Was it possible that the juggler had once been a Master Huntsman? No, he couldn’t be. The tattoo must be a facsimile. After all, who would give up the excitement of being a Huntsman to be a second rate juggler?
David’s room at the inn was small, only a stiff bed, a bedside table and one window, but it was enough. Sleep eluded David that night, the adrenaline from his near-death encounter keeping him awake, so he lay in bed reading his books. He had become enthralled in one story by a writer named Johann Ludwig Tieck, about a woman named Brunhilda who was brought back to life by a sorcerer and then went about drinking the blood of children. Heaven only knew why David wanted to indulge in a horror story after the evening he had been through, but he could not put it down. The story tainted his paranoia enough, however, that he removed his new dagger from his pack and stuck it under his mattress. His logical mind knew that no demon named Brunhilda was going to pay him a visit, but he recalled hearing a superstition about how placing knives under one’s mattress or pillow was an effective ward against evil and bad dreams.
It was after midnight when David finally felt sleep seeping into his bones. He settled into bed and extinguished his bedside candle. He was just about to fall asleep when a sudden draft blew open his window’s shutters, causing them to flap and clap like wooden wings in the breeze. That was odd, he must have not locked his windows well enough, although he was certain he had latched them shut. He got up and closed the shutters again, confirming the lock was secure.
Once he returned to bed, his eyelids began to droop again, but then he caught the scent of something. It was pleasant, soothing, like the odor of herbal tea. He could tell this new smell was too strong to be wafting up from the inn’s kitchen. It was like the source of the smell was right there, in that room with him. Yet panic did not seize him; the delightful smell calmed him, drawing him into a state of contented relaxation.
Blurry visions of wonderful colors and shapes passed through his mind, and a soft tinkling of bells filled the air. He smiled a little, a tiny hum of peace escaping his throat. He enjoyed it for about another minute until his consciousness slapped him to attention. The tinkling sound was very close to him, as if someone were jingling coins next to his ear, and something was pressing down onto his body. A touch alighted on his cheek. He shot his eyes open, and although he could not see his intruder, he could feel a hot breath warming his face.
Something was right on top of him.
Horror grasped David’s entire body. The word “vampire” rang loudly in his ears. He had no wooden stake or cross on him—not that it would have done any good, given that he couldn’t move. David cringed on the inside and the intruder sniffed gently on his nightshirt collar. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, and he knew any moment his assailant was going to bury its teeth into his neck.
His mind grasped for logic long enough to remind him: the dagger … under your mattress …
David swung his leg around and kicked the thing in the side. It huffed and reeled back, startled. He kicked it again, this time digging his heel into its neck, sending the intruder tumbling off the bed onto the floor. He flipped out of bed and thrust his hand under the mattress, quickly pulling out his dagger. He ripped it from its sheath and held it up threateningly. But rather than attack him, the creature burst out the window, nearly breaking the shutters right off their hinges.
David rushed to the window, looking out into the empty expanse of sky. He lowered his dagger, wondering how the animal could have disappeared so fast. His foot bumped into something, and when he looked down, he saw his coin purse on the floor.
He was baffled. He was sure his purse had been in his trouser pocket, which was tucked away in his traveling case. Had his assailant been trying to rob him?
As he traced his fingers along the windowpane, noting the scratches that had been left behind in the wood, he found something small caught in one of the gouges. It was a thumbnail-sized gold coin, a decorative piece, much like the ones worn by the gypsy girl who had given him the dagger. His attacker must have been wearing a good number of these coins from the jingling sound he had heard. David knew where to go to find that creature, and learn what manner of demon it may be.
The next day, David wasted no time searching out the gypsy caravan. The gypsies had already packed up and left town before dawn, but he couldn’t imagine they had gone too far. He asked around the market if anyone had seen where the caravan had departed to, but no one knew. Eventually he stumbled upon the grocer’s shop. The caravan folk had purchased a good amount of eggs, bread, flour and milk before heading off towards a grove on the other side of the river. The grocer mentioned that whenever the caravan passed through the area, they tended to stay a few days in that particular grove before moving on. So it was the place to start. Before he left the grocer, he bought a string of garlic cloves, just for good measure.
It was late evening when David left the inn and made his way through the dusk-washed streets of Orléans. He did not want the gypsies to hear him approaching by horse or in a carriage, so he decided he would walk to the grove and sneak up on foot under the cloak of night. That way, he could peek in and gauge the situation in the caravan’s camp. He did not fear roadside thieves that could be lurk
ing nearby; he had his dagger with him, although he predicted his most effective weapons that night were going to be the garlic-clove necklace around his neck and the makeshift wooden cross in his pocket. He also had a few other small items that he had collected throughout the day, secured in a leather pouch on his belt. He thought they would be helpful against demons and undead adversaries: a hand mirror, a silver spoon, some corks, a needle, and a shaker of salt. The walk was a good distance, but eventually David arrived at the river and crossed the bridge, and night’s shadow settled with sudden swiftness around him.
He soon caught a glimpse of ghostly light emitting from an opening in the trees not far away. Standing up and advancing cautiously, David approached the clearing. The light flickered from a bonfire, flashes of orange, scarlet and yellow dancing on the trees. There was a collection of caravan wagons, placed here and there around the grove like a small town, their painted sides taking on demonic images in the coating of red from the fire.
All around the grove were the snoozing gypsies. Scattered among them were sleeping dogs, cats, some goats and a handful of small sheep. The forest floor they lay upon was covered in soft cushions and rugs, giving the appearance of a room in a palace. One wagon in the middle of a large nestled group had one of its sides pulled down into a theatrical stage, standing about a foot above the ground. The walls of the wagon’s interior room were adorned in dozens of long colorful drapes, and in the center was a smooth bronze bowl, ten feet in diameter and about four feet deep.
David tiptoed around the sleeping people. He looked up towards the massive bronze bowl, with the edges of satin pillows spilling over it. David pulled his dagger from his belt and cautiously ascended into the wagon.
Thoughts of concern entered his mind. Why was he doing this? He wasn’t really sure what he was up against, and he might do himself more harm than good. Besides, if these gypsies were already set on leaving the area, why not just let them go, along with whatever strange creature they were hiding? David told himself, because that creature could have killed me—possibly. Wherever this caravan goes, the beast might continue searching for victims, and may be more successful in killing one next time. He felt in his gut that this needed to be done.
Plus, it all was rather exciting. David the Monster Slayer—it had a nice ring to it.
He raised his dagger over his head as he peered over the edge of the bowl. He halted, every muscle in his body tensing into stillness, except for his eyes that widened and his jaw that went slack. It was no vampire or hell beast, but the soft shape of a youthful woman. Except for her head and shoulders, she was mostly buried beneath her nest of pillows and fur blankets. Her dark cascading hair and her throat were adorned with gypsy-woven strands of gold, silver, and jewels, and a light scarf of white wrapped around her chest, looping up around her neck. Her skin was golden tan, close to the color of sun-drenched sand, and it was smooth like glass. What caught David the most was her face; it was unlike any he’d ever seen. It was a face that was feral, yet at the same time so delicate, that David was filled with both trepidation and fascination.
He stared bewildered at the sleeping woman, and then cast his gaze around the caravan. He wondered, for a moment, if he had been completely mistaken about his theory. Granted, this woman could be of the netherworld, and he had not ruled out the possibility of vampirism. Vampires, according to his readings, were noticeably of the undead—pale, ghostly, and reeked to high heaven of decay. They were also supposed to sleep in coffins, not out in the open like this. Still, she could be some kind of demon. He removed the cross from his pocket and held it up to the woman, preparing for any volatile reaction she might make to its presence. She did not awaken. He leaned over the bowl’s rim and held the cross a little closer, almost an inch from her serene face, but nothing happened. He pulled away and shoved the cross into his trouser pocket, admitting to himself that he was a little disappointed. Maybe the creature he was looking for was not even here. David began to think perhaps more research was in order, and was ready to turn around and sneak away, when he glanced back at the sleeping woman and saw that she was wide awake, staring at him.
With very large, very golden eyes.
David felt something fuzzy and warm enter his head. Everything around him was melting into the fluffiness of a watercolor painting. He quickly shut his eyes and covered them with his arm, staggering back in a flash of panic. He tripped and plummeted off the platform of the wagon, landing with a thud on the ground. David shook his aching head and looked up.
The woman had risen from her bed and was walking towards him, on all fours. She did not walk on human hands and feet, but great lioness paws, and a long fur-tipped tail swished out behind her. Two violet-black wings opened from her back, as if made from pure midnight. The great mane of hair draped around her, like a shroud, and those glowing golden eyes bore into him like hot branding irons. Her lips pulled back unnaturally towards her ears, baring a predator’s teeth, sharp for tearing flesh.
He had read about such a thing as this before, from ancient tales about vicious monsters with the bodies of lions and heads of women. But to see a sphinx in person was nothing like the old philosophers’ sketches or artisans’ statues that he had seen. Sphinxes were described as man-eaters, who would either strangle their victims with their jaws or simply rip them to pieces and devour them. They were also cunning and deceiving, although sometimes benevolent and noble if they were in the mood. David was hoping this one could be coerced into being the latter. He had never read about sphinxes having a hypnotic power, but it was its teeth and claws that he was focusing on at the moment.
David’s shock was trumped by his sense of self-preservation, and his fingers fumbled for his pouch. Fortunately, supernatural hypnosis was not something beyond his knowledge, and his books had warned him on how to guard against it. He drew out the mirror, turning his gaze away from the sphinx and instead looking at her through the mirror’s reflection. Even though the shine of her eyes was still apparent in the reflection, it had no effect on him. David was glad that the Greek myth of Perseus, who had used the same tactic against the gorgon Medusa with his shield so her gaze would not turn him into stone, held true in that respect.
“Your little hypnosis won’t work on me,” David bragged, getting onto his feet and keeping his dagger pointed towards the sphinx, not daring to glance away from her reflection in the mirror.
The sphinx did not seem threatened by this. Instead she shook her mane and inhaled deeply, her chest expanding, and then whispered forth a sweet-smelling scent, a mist of lavender, vanilla and rose that clouded David’s face. The scent invaded David’s nose and throat, commanding his body and brain to relax, making him feel woozy and happy at the same time. David snapped himself out of it, reaching back into his pouch and pulling out the two small corks. He shoved the corks up his nostrils and breathed through his mouth. He had thought to buy the corks from an apothecary’s shop after the night the creature had broken into his room at the inn, remembering the enchanting aroma that had lulled him into false serenity.
The sphinx blinked perplexedly, tilting her head to the side. Then a grin spread across her face. David wrinkled his brow, wondering what the sphinx was smiling about, until he heard a chorus of growls behind him. Turning, David lowered his mirror to see the gypsy men and the dogs, all staring at him. The men frowned at him menacingly, a few of them cracking their knuckles. The dogs bared their teeth and snarled.
He hadn’t planned what to do in this situation.
The men pounced at him, taking hold of his arms and pinning him to the ground. When David tried to break free, the dogs bit at his trousers. He couldn’t fight back. The weight of the men made him immobile, and his dagger was wrenched from his hands. He could only wriggle madly as his hands and ankles were tied tightly with a coarse rope, and his belt and pouch were stripped of him. They smashed his mirror, and tore the corks from his nose. Then they raised their fists in preparation to knock him senseless.
The s
phinx made a soft coo, and the men and dogs immediately stepped away from David. The creature approached the bound boy, her expression gentle but keen. David thrashed about, pulling with all his might to free his hands from the rope, but the men had tied him down superbly. The sphinx looked up at the others, her eyes glowing. The men became drowsy, and they lay down one by one and returned to snoring contentedly.
David held his breath and shut his eyes, refusing to be taken in by the sphinx’s spells. He felt one of her strong arms wrap around his waist, her claws digging into his side, and he was dragged along the ground. He was lifted up and set down on something soft. He opened an eye, and found himself inside the sphinx’s bowl, with the hypnotic monstrosity settled next to him. The sphinx gazed at him fixedly, but made no sign of her intentions. David continued to struggle against his bindings, even though she spread one feathered wing over him to hold him still.
“You’re making a big mistake,” David barked. “Nothing you do will make me your slave. The instant I’m out of these ropes, I’ll destroy you and free all these people from your spell. Do you understand me?”
The sphinx merely blew a soothing aroma into his nose. David gagged on the scent, but could not prevent it from taking effect and caressing him into the most blissful sleep he had had in a long time.
Chapter Two
