She set the box on her desk and found the key to it in the top drawer. She unlocked it and lifted the lid. The contents were innocuous enough, mostly old sketches of devices Alyosius had tried to build, and notes on some of the procedures he'd performed on his Machinist patients.
She finally found what she was looking for tucked into the back corner of the box. It was a thick bundle of old letters tied with a red string. She closed her eyes as she lifted the bundle out, afraid to look. Afraid to know.
But she couldn't put it off forever. She sat down at her desk with a sigh, untied the string, and unfolded a letter at random. The writing was very familiar. The date was impossible. 1862. The year she was born.
My Dear Dr. Finch, Forgive the full year it has taken to pen a response to your last letter. As you know, I am occasionally required to relocate, for obvious reasons, and it has taken us a good while to settle in our new lives. Fyodor communicated with me the desire to see the New World, so we are at present in New York City. It is a fascinating place, but I fear our tenure here may be short. This country is a land of Luddites and Puritans of the worst sort. Poor Fyodor is made to feel extremely uncomfortable, as there is no hiding his automata.
I must admit this whole venture was poorly conceived all around, as this country is currently engaged in a most dreadful Civil War. As we have just put one terrible war behind us, we have no desire to become embroiled in another.
Or at least, I do not. Fyodor, despite his rather lukewarm reception, has entertained the idea of joining the Union troops. He sympathizes with the African slaves in the Southern States, whose plight resembles that of the serfs back in our Motherland. I hope I can convince him to another course of action, even though his cause is righteous. I am too old, too weary for righteousness. The last time I tried to muster up some enthusiasm, it was in Paris in 1789. How wrong that went!
I believe I might be able to distract Fyodor with the temptation of a dirigible ride to this country's uncharted western regions. He is exhausting, my new companion! But I am grateful for the gift of his company. You saved his life, and I know to you that seems like a small reparation. But it does not seem small to him. That is something.
In your last letter, you spoke of your intention to devote yourself to the unfortunates of your country. You are a better man than I, and to demonstrate my faith in you, I have had my solicitors set up a fund for your endeavors. You'll starve playing the martyr, and that is something I cannot allow. I hope your work can give you some peace. It is something that continues to elude me, alas, but therein lies the fundamental difference between us. You are a good man who once made a terrible choice. I was never a good man, and I never had a choice. And please, call me as my mother did,
Sasha
Aline dropped the letter to her lap, and squeezed her eyes shut, as if to block out the damning evidence. Had she gone insane, or was the Professor some sort of ... well, she didn't know what he was. But this was his handwriting, and she was as certain of that as she was of her own name. She'd been his secretary for five years.
That meant the Professor had been a grown man in 1862. And apparently, he'd been a grown man in 1789. In which case, he was well over a hundred years old. Which wasn't possible. Not in the world that she knew.
Perhaps she was just having a nervous breakdown. She’d been under a lot of stress this past month, and the corpse she’d seen last night was enough to drive most people to Bedlam. God, she rather hoped that was all it was. A nervous breakdown seemed the more palatable option at the moment. None of this was real, but rather some sort of waking dream she'd conjured in her hysteria.
Suddenly, both the hellhounds, who had been dozing at her feet, jumped to their full height and began to growl in the direction of the door. More than growl. She'd never heard such a terrible sound emerge from them. They seemed fixated in a deadly way on whatever they sensed on the other side, their fur standing on end, their tails tucked under, and their mechanical eyes going red.
There was a heavy thud in the hallway, and the hellhounds started barking frantically. That was a bad sign. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and gooseflesh pricked her arms. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her heart thudding heavily against her ribcage. A dull roar began in her ears, and for a moment she felt frozen in place.
Hide.
It was an instinctual desire, because she knew, she just knew, someone – something – other than Fyodor lurked on the other side of the door. Heart in her throat, legs like calf's jelly, she hurried to the only place she could think of: her closet, pulling the door closed, burying herself as far as she could go in the mound of dresses and underclothes, trying not to breathe.
She heard the door to her flat swing open, and Ilya and Ikaterina's barking turned into snarls. She heard the crashing of furniture, and then two yelps of pain, and then ... silence.
She clutched her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in dismay. Those yelps of pain had come from the hellhounds. She prayed they weren't injured, or dead, but the ominous silence made her fear the worst. She'd never forgive herself if something had happened to them, to Fyodor, because of her foolish mission.
"Come out, come out, my little bird," came a heavily accented voice she'd never heard before. It was filled with such menace, such evil intent, she felt her blood congeal in her veins.
She could hear the owner of the voice moving around the flat, as if he were in no great rush, which unsettled her all the more. He was toying with her. "I can smell you, little bird, no need to be coy. Such sweet blood." She heard the man sniff the air like some animal, and she shuddered, closing her eyes, praying this was all a bad dream. "I couldn't wait a moment longer to have you, little bird."
Oh, God. Why had she ever left the townhouse? And how had he gotten past Fyodor? No one was stronger than an Abominable Soldier.
Aline sucked in a breath and held it, afraid to blink. The intruder was just outside the closet door. She could hear his breathing, then a low chuckle.
"I know you're in there, little bird. Shall I come let you out?"
No, she wanted to scream. She clutched the knob and held it firm, but any ideas that she could hold it tight against the intruder were quickly dashed when the door suddenly flew off its hinges and landed on the other side of the room with a loud clap, splintering across her desk. She opened her mouth to scream, but when she saw the man who stood before her, her voice died in her throat.
She was too terrified to scream. Tall, built like a brick wall, he was dressed in filthy, bloodstained garments. His skin was pasty-pale, and he panted like a thirsty dog.
But Aline knew one thing for certain: it wasn't human. The whites of its eyes were filled with an amber-colored glow, and its canine teeth dipped past its lips to razor-sharp points. An evil smirk turned up the corners of its lips. It lowered its head nearer her and sniffed. Its eyes glowed even brighter, and a look of ecstasy suffused its expression.
"Hello, my little bird. I could resist meeting you no longer. You smell as good as promised. I shall truly enjoy this." He tilted his head, studying her closely. "But first, shall we have some fun?"
Aline didn't know where she found the nerve, but she shook her head.
It laughed as if she'd delighted it.
And with that, it tore her out of the closet, tossing her across the room as easily as it had the door. Aline finally found her voice as she sailed through thin air, and she screamed as loud as she could. Somehow the villain managed to cross the room fast enough to catch her at the other end. He clutched her against his unwashed body so tightly Aline gagged – from his hold and from the stench.
She struggled frantically, which only seemed to amuse him further. She heard the sound of her gown ripping as he clawed at her, and then his head was descending, his fangs growing even longer, as if he meant to bite her in the neck.
Aline screamed, and all she could think, before all hell broke loose, was that she was going to be murdered. By a vampire.
WH
EN Sasha heard Aline's first scream, he was at the bottom of the boarding house stairs, having rushed across town after receiving Fyodor’s tickertext. Employing all of the superhuman speed at his disposal, he was up the stairs and at her door in the blink of an eye.
He spared a glance for Fyodor, sprawled across the hallway, and his stomach bottomed out with dread. Nothing human could fell Fyodor. With no small measure of guilt, he turned away from his old companion without checking his condition. He had no time to lose, and could only hope that Drexler and Rowan were not too far behind him.
Aline screamed again, and Sasha didn't even bother opening the door. He kicked it inwards and scanned the flat. He saw the hellhounds in one corner of the room, blood everywhere. Only Ilya was attempting to regain his feet, dazed, one of his Welding eyes smashed, its innerworkings dangling out of the metal socket. Ikaterina was unmoving next to him, and Sasha's blood ran cold at the sight. But he forced the hellhounds from his mind.
He could mourn Ikaterina later, if he had to. But he would not mourn Aline. He would not lose her.
Sasha was still trying to accept the fact that vampires existed at all, so seeing one with fangs poised to sink into Aline's fragile neck was terrifying. Seeing the monster simultaneously tearing away Aline's gown, exposing her prim white undergarments, then the pale, untouched skin beneath, was something else altogether. Rage shot like molten lava through his veins.
He would kill this bastard, and he would relish it. He was beyond caring what that made him.
He didn't even remember moving across the room, so black was his fury. He didn't even remember tearing the hulking animal away from Aline's neck, microseconds before its fangs sank into her jugular. He threw the creature as far away as he could, through the plate glass and wrought iron of the balcony window, knocking over Aline's plant collection outside.
Shattered glass clung to the monster's clothes, and brackish blood oozed from a hundred tiny nicks on his face and forearms, but the wounds, Sasha saw, were quickly closing up, as if they never were.
The monster quickly regained its feet. It grinned at Sasha as it stepped over the remains of the window and back into the room, eyes aglow with their strange amber fire. "My Prince!" it sneered. "How lovely to see you again, in the flesh, after all these years."
Sasha tensed, his eyes flying wide. The creature spoke in a dialect of Russian he'd not heard in three hundred years. It seemed Rowan was right all along and the killer was from his Russian past. A past he'd tried so hard to forget.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The creature feigned a hurt expression. "For shame, brother. You don't recognize your own blood?"
He searched the vampire's features with dawning horror. Beneath the fangs and the glowing eyes, this man was too familiar. He was one of the monsters who still haunted Sasha's worst nightmares.
"Vasily!" he breathed. His father's oldest and most vicious bastard. He'd tormented Sasha in secret as a child, and it seemed he was tormenting him still. But how? How was it possible that Vasily had been alive all this time as this creature? And why?
"Why are you doing this?" he demanded.
"I was breakfasting, My Prince," Vasily said disingenuously, in English this time, smirking at Aline, who shuddered and backed away from the both of them, clutching the ruins of her bodice against her chest. "Pity we were interrupted, little bird."
Vasily leered at Aline with such a lascivious, thirsty look in his eyes Sasha snapped. He roared his fury and charged. The creature in Vasily was strong and easily blocked Sasha's fist. It was fast as well, stepping around Sasha and moving with inhuman speed towards Aline, as if it could not resist the temptation of her blood. Sasha was just quick enough to seize his brother by the arm and jerk him in the opposite direction so hard he heard a bone snap.
Vasily landed against Aline's spindle bed, and it collapsed underneath the impact. He quickly regained his feet and came at Sasha with blinding speed, growling like the feral creature he was. He barreled into Sasha so hard he knocked both of them through a wall and into the hallway.
Sasha could hear Aline screaming. So did Vasily – he seemed to respond with glee to Aline's terror. He raised his head and sniffed the air, as if scenting where she was, and shot back inside the room.
Sasha shook off the impact of his landing and leapt in front of Vasily before he could reach Aline. He shoved him into a corner.
Realizing he was trapped, Vasily hissed and swiped Sasha's face with a long claw-like nail, ripping Sasha's flesh from his forehead to his chin. Sasha’s light, acidic blood sizzled down his face and into his collar, momentarily blinding him in one eye. He groaned as he felt the wound quickly, painfully mend itself.
Aline screamed behind him again, and he feared he was the source of her terror this time.
The creature laughed wildly. "I think your dear one just discovered how inhuman you are, brother. I was never allowed to call you that, though, was I, My Prince? You were our father's precious heir, unworthy as you were."
"I have never denied my unworthiness, Vasily. I hadn't our father's taste for rape and murder, as you did," he said quietly.
"You were always a coward, brother, to the end. And a liar. You murdered our father, after he gave you everything!"
Sasha laughed wildly. "You think he gave me everything? He took everything from me, and then he gave me an eternity to remember what he'd taken!"
Vasily just sneered at this. "You always had a woman's heart. It was an embarrassment to watch you snivel and weep after your whore of a wife died. Father should have let you die then. That heart was meant to be mine, and he made that old man give it to you instead. And then you killed him with poison, coward that you are."
Sasha had no response to this. How could he deny what Vasily said, when so much of what he'd said was the truth? He had been a coward for too long as Ivan Ivanovich, and it had cost him everything. He wouldn't make that same mistake again, even if he lost the rest of his soul in the process.
But he'd never regretted what he'd done to his father. "He did not deserve honor. He deserved a coward's death. And it was a pleasure to watch him pay," Sasha said at length, enraging Vasily further. "Just as you'll pay for all that you've done. I may have been a coward, but I was never a monster like you."
Vasily smirked. "But it has been so much fun, watching you suffer. Especially this time. I always knew one day your weak nature would betray you, and you'd fall in love again. Imagine my delight to learn that your secretary is the sweetest prize of all to one of my kind. Such lovely blood. That was not planned, I assure you." He paused and sniffed the air as if savoring something. "So lovely. Shall I tell you what I plan to do to your little bird there? Before I drink her dry?"
Sasha growled at the creature and blocked its line of sight to Aline. "You touch her over my dead body."
The creature laughed. "But I would rather you were alive to watch, My Prince. You've always been so good at watching. Sometimes I've watched you as you study the bodies, but you never seem to suffer enough. But you'll suffer when I take her. And I will take her, My Prince. In all ways. You do remember how good I always was with the women back in Russia."
Sasha shuddered with revulsion. He was through with this conversation. Vasily was his half-brother, but even when they'd grown up together, Sasha had despised him and all of the atrocities he'd committed as their father's henchman.
When he looked at Vasily, he didn't see family. He saw the blood of dozens of butchered victims, and all the women he'd raped, from Moscow to London. He saw Novgorod, and the blood Vasily had shed with such glee in that city in the name of the Tsar. He saw centuries of hidden anguish as he hunted for a phantom.
Moreover, he saw Aline, and what would have happened to her had he been one minute later in arriving.
And it was unbearable.
Vasily's eyes widened at the murderous rage in Sasha's expression, as if realizing he had said too much, and backed away. But there was nowhere for him to go.
But Sasha just smiled an awful smile. "I've always been my father's son. And watching him die was one of the rare pleasures of my life. I wonder how it will feel to kill my brother."
Vasily saw his intent and flashed to the right. But Sasha had the strength of centuries of fury to give him the advantage. He moved quickly, unhesitatingly. Drexler had recommended beheading as the only sure way to kill a vampire, but Sasha had nothing to use but his bare hands. It would not stop him. He'd studied human anatomy for years and knew exactly what he was about.
He gripped the creature he'd once called a brother by the neck and bore one hand through its flesh to the bone of the spine beneath. There was no point in having inhuman strength if he wasn't going to use it.
And so he used it. He ripped the creature's head from its body in one clean swoop, its brackish blood coating his arms and splattering his clothes and face. He tossed aside the head and kicked the feet from underneath its body, then turned away in disgust before it had even hit the ground at his feet.
It took some time before he was able to come back to himself, and it was like awakening from a nightmare, his vision clearing, his abominable heart slowing. He glanced around the wrecked flat, taking it all in as he tried to measure his breathing.
Gradually he realized he was not alone. Aline stood near the ruined door, next to Drexler, Matthews and Rowan, who must have arrived just in time to witness the end, if their slack-jawed expressions were any indication. All of them were staring at him as if they'd never seen him before. But Aline...
Aline looked at him as she had looked at the vampire. As if he were a monster.
And would she be so wrong?
He looked down at the strange, congealed blood covering his forearms, and it dawned on him what he'd just done in his rage. He'd torn off a man's head – his brother's head – and he wasn't the least bit conflicted about it. The only thing he regretted was that Aline had witnessed his monstrousness, because he had the awful suspicion Vasily had spoken true about one thing.
Prince of Hearts (Elders and Welders Chronicles) Page 16
