by Chanel Smith
Heard that Kullervo had died,
That he was no more, he said:
"Do not you, O future people,
Bring up children crookedly
In the care of stupid cradlers
With a stranger as a rocker. 330
Children brought up crookedly,
Any infant cradled wrongly,
Never learns the way of things,
Never acquires a mind mature
However old he grows to be
Or however strong in body."
Kalevala, Rune 36
Elizabeth Bathory was a beauty to behold. She was also a fury. She was a storm of rage when she saw the group come up to her castle. She was even more angry when she saw Vlad Draculea was one of the party that had arrived just ahead of the dawn. She slapped him and raged at him, but Vlad took a firm hold of her, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Blood trickled from their mouths as they kissed violently. And soon Elizabeth Bathory calmed down.
The castle itself was majestic. Castle Dracul had nothing on it. It overlooked the entire country, and where it might have been easier to attack than the other castle, it would be near impossible to take it due to the great walls and the high bastions. And it had the vampire inside to keep it safe.
There were more people inside. Elizabeth Bathory told them this was the main base for the Watchers. She glanced at Vlad and grumbled that he did not like people around his castle all the time. The Council met there, but the Watchers could not be based there. Those few who lived at Castle Dracul were there to help in the maintenance of the castle and to help with Vlad's schemes to find feeding resources.
She showed them the rooms they would be staying in and Alexei immediately went to see his room and laid himself down on the big feather bed. Anastasia looked at Veronica shyly as they came to the door of her room and then pulled Quincey along with her.
“Well, about time for her too,” Veronica mumbled.
She was shown a room she could use and asked whether she did not want to have a daycap. They sat in Elizabeth Bathory's parlor to drink some vodka in the soft glow of the dawn’s beginning.
“So, what now?” Veronica asked.
Vlad looked at the woman who sat next to him on the sofa, holding his hand. “I think you are right. Anastasia has good judgment, she is very clever and she is capable. With some training, she could become a good Watcher here. Alexei has a good head on his shoulders. There is plenty to study here and plenty for him to learn with our Council.”
Veronica nodded. It was the best thing for the two of them, and probably for the vampire kind and all preternaturals.
“I hate to have to point it out, but you guys live like scavengers here. You’re really struggling to exist. I don’t think that anyone in the West Watch, particularly Julia, has ever paused in their busy lives to give it a thought really. Hell, I didn’t until I actually saw how things really were. I mean, we watch the news, we know that things have been tough over the years. The tearing down of the Berlin Wall, the fall of the USSR, the EU, wars in Ukraine, corruption… all of it. But I just don’t think that we really stopped to get a grip on how all of that must have been affecting you.”
The two Elders nodded appreciatively, but they also let her continue.
“In California, we’ve got suppliers, an underground railroad that connects every city, every preternatural being of every persuasion. Most of the time, we’re even working together to eradicate the things or creatures that threaten our collective existence. Our anonymity, our secrets… they’re really well guarded. By all of us. We’ve let you down Vlad… Elizabeth. We forgot you and it’s not fair.”
“It may be true, veronica, but that is the way it is. We are existing and that is adequate.” Elizabeth consoled her.
“But you see, that’s just it. It’s not good enough. I’m going to talk to Julia about it… right away. And as much as it pains me to say this, I’m not leaving till it’s all put right.”
Ten days later, after a lot of telephone calls that were peppered with accusations, arguments and temper tantrums from both sides, Veronica left the castle with a heavy heart and headed down the treacherous hillside toward Bistritz. She’d had a long, painful conversation with Julia initially. The disillusioned Roman vampire had refused to believe that the members of the illustrious Watch was actually living in the manner that Veronica had been describing.
“Lies!” Julia had shouted accusingly over the bad connection Veronica had managed to secure a room a hilltop. “You are full of malicious lies.”
“Now just hold up for a minute, lady. I want you to remember exactly how this goes before you pull any more of that Old World elitist crap on me. I’m here helping you out, not the other way around. I’ve finished the task I agreed to do for you and I’m no longer obligated, okay? I can just as easily snap my fucking fingers and be back in the warm, dry air on Santa Catalina, or better yet, be in bed with Rand getting the hell fucked out of me. So shut it!”
Needless to say, Julia had seemed to be all ears after that outburst. They had waited rather impatiently for word to come from California about the decision that had been taken and when it finally did, it came from the witch of Boston, Bridget Bishop. She and Bjorn would lead a team to Europe with everything that would be needed to help the Eastern Watch. The contact in the village would be Johnny Harker and Sarah Van Helsing. Veronica’s eyebrows raised dramatically at the strange piece of news.
Those fuckers knew where to find the damn place all along. How’s that for a blindsiding?
Veronica had received word a few days later from the couple that there were thirteen truckloads of supplies parked outside the Harker and Van Helsing’s alleyway waiting for the dead of night to be escorted into the hills to Castle Dracul. Of course, there was no roadway to Csejte, but that was also part of their plan… their mission. All the drivers and workmen were vampires and all were highly skilled. There were road builders and tunnel engineers who would cut a new underground passage way from Castle Dracul to the grounds of Csejte, big enough for the trucks to pass through. Computer specialists and technicians were standing by to set up the communications center in the castle’s basement, as well as wire the whole structure for the high speed satellite Internet connection and full wireless service throughout the structure. A culinary team was present to upgrade the kitchens, and cold storage areas and the food supplies for both weres and vampires filled at least four of the forty-foot long containers that were waiting to be delivered in the village below. Julia had even sent food and clothing for the villagers to be distributed as needed by Sarah Van Helsing. It was a peace offering and Veronica knew that it would send the right message to the villagers.
After three weeks of nonstop work, the heavy equipment and specialized personnel finally drove away from Castle Dracul. But before they left, they demolished the stone pillars at the old gates of Csejte and then blasted out the hillside near the mouth of the path that led into the Tihuta Pass. Tourists and visitors to those hills were officially no longer welcome or needed. She did not want to leave the youngsters she had come to care about these past few months, but as she reflected on that, a gust of snow blew into her face.
Fucking snow. Fucking cold. I need to get back to the warmth.
The lyrics of an old Beach Boys song popped into her head and she smiled a crooked, wicked smile to herself.
Ca-li-for-nia, here we come!
Moments later she was gone.
Zip!
***
The club was dark and dingy. But it was where Veronica Melbourne felt at home. She had been sad to leave Anastasia and Alexei in Romania, but she knew they would be in the right place there. And she needed to be here.
She drank her glass of warm blood and looked out for her target.
She had been tracking him since she got back to California. He was a bastard. A true bastard. He had been killing indiscriminately as he fed. She had followed him from Los Angeles to San Francisco, solely by the trai
l of bodies he had left behind.
And now he was there in her sights.
She saw how he began chatting to a girl and how he mesmerized her. He could not be allowed to do it again. Feeding was one thing, but killing was another. She could not let him kill again. He kissed the girl and then he took her by the hand and led her away. They went for the emergency exit and stepped out into the alley.
Quick now. Enough.
She pushed people aside and rushed for the exit. She ran to the alley and pulled out her pistol. She stood and aimed. She saw the head come down, the mouth about to clamp onto the woman's neck. She held her breath, dropped to her left knee, leaned in, braced and shot. The silver bullet hit the vampire in the middle of his skull. He went down like a plum pudding. She walked up to him and aimed the gun at his heart. She pulled the trigger once and the man was dead, a murderer killed by murderous silver. The girl was standing frozen. Veronica rounded on her. She looked into the girl's eyes and slapped her cheek. “Go. You've seen nothing and nothing happened. You're fine. Go.”
The girl nodded absent-mindedly, got up and sauntered drunkenly down the alley toward the street.
But from the back of the alley someone started clapping.
“Well done. Well done Veronica Melbourne.” The voice was vaguely familiar. She had heard it before, but only ever for a moment. She could not place it.
“It took me a while to find you, but I knew you would come back here. So I laid down a trail for you to follow. A trail of breadcrumbs really, but made of bodies.”
“Who are you?” Veronica demanded sharply. She aimed her gun at the voice.
“You know who I am, Veronica Melbourne. Sure, we only met in passing, never formally introduced even. But I know you will be pleased to hear I am still interested in effecting my revenge on you.”
“Who are you?” Veronica asked again as she advanced toward the entrance of the alley.
And then the owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows. It was a woman. And Veronica knew her. “One day I will find you in a more advantageous situation and I will kill you. And then I will begin to rebuild the power we lost and I will take on all of those damned weres.”
And suddenly it clicked. She knew who this was. Because it could only be one person. The one witch that escaped. “Ida Averbach.”
“Correct!” Ida Averbach cackled, almost insanely. “Glad you remembered my name. And now we are formally acquainted, I will leave you with my promise. I will kill you, Veronica Melbourne. To me, you are nothing but an impetuous child who thinks she knows everything. You might just find that it does no one any good to be a know-it-all. You might just find that it is a rather dangerous business being a vampire who knows too much.”
There was a flash of light, and she was gone.
Veronica stood frozen to the ground. I went from hunter to babysitter, and now I have gone from babysitter back to hunter and from hunter to hunted. And all because I had to bring some vampires to a stupid castle.
The end.
To be continued in:
The Vampire Who Knew Too Much
Available now!
Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK * Amazon AU
Also Available:
Werewolf Moon
The Pack Trilogy Book #1
by
Chanel Smith
(read on for a sample)
rumuseţea este superbă, cu inteligenta divina.
Beauty is superb, Intelligence divine.
—A Romani saying
Part One
In 1189, Eleanor of Aquitaine was quite the beauty with her unusual, nearly-waist-length blaze red hair. Her younger sister Petronilla, known as Petra to those who loved her, rivaled her in beauty, but far overcame her mentally. It was Petra who insisted that Eleanor marry the far-too-young Duke Henry. Eleanor balked at the thought: at thirty, she wasn’t eager to take on a nineteen year old fool of a husband and her enthusiasm was markedly lacking as she walked down the long aisle in her superb wedding dress.
Petra smiled at the sight, as did so many others at the ceremony, but for Petra the smile had nothing to do with the wedding and everything to do with the Duke’s future and by extension Eleanor’s security. Eleanor’s temperament was far too modern for the times but her sense of entitlement seemed to permit every indulgence without consequence. Any affable gentleman that caught Eleanor’s eye posed as a new distraction; she did everything in her power to bed him. Her conduct was that of a libertine, chasing every beauty without conscience. Many disapproved of this, but no one could truly condemn a Queen and Henry was slated to become the next King of France.
After the ceremony, Petra accompanied her beloved sister to the French court where there gathered all of the wealthiest houses of Paris. The French court had a wild reputation of indulgence: parties, beautiful people and decadent foods. The court proved to live up to its reputation, it dazzled Petra. The Ladies-in-waiting and the Noblemen of the Court were more than she could have imagined. Moreover, the very-married Count Raoul I of Vermandois requested her dance at the party in Eleanor’s honor. From that first night, that first dance, Petronilla was lost to him.
Raoul was charming, and gave all of his attentions to the Queen’s elegant younger sister. He was French and naturally, had allure down to a fine art. Petra fell fast for the smooth Frenchman with his dark curly hair which fell about his shoulders in ringlets. Even his beard consisted of those compelling dark ringlets. And his eyes—oh, those eyes. Petra shivered at the thought of his intense gaze that seemed to look past her beauty straight into her soul as no man had ever dared.
She had to be with Raoul, permanently and as soon as possible. As Petra had always appeared to be the ‘good’ sister, the quiet, obedient one; nobody expected what followed.
Raoul repudiated his wife and promptly requested the hand of an ecstatic Petra. She had no choice but to accept. They were hastily married and just as hastily excommunicated by the Pope.
Eleanor gathered every powerful ally she knew to get her beloved sister back into the good grace of the church. Pope Innocent II promised to lift the excommunication, but recanted at the last moment in 1143. The pope’s action infuriated those who had assisted in the Queen’s petition to the Pope, including Louis VII, famed for burning Vitry-le-François to the ground.
But fortunately Petra and Raoul did not have to wait long, Pope Innocent II died soon thereafter and his successor Pope Celestine lifted their excommunication. It was 1144 and finally Petra could live the life she so deserved with the man of her dreams.
She could hold her head high as they entered the ballroom, Petra proudly propped on Raoul’s outstretched arm. Life simply couldn’t be any better. Short of an act of God, nothing could distract her from this bliss: Petra relaxed; enough even to learn to really dance, something Raoul had begged her to do for so long.
It wasn’t an Act of God that disrupted Petra’s perfect life. Quite the opposite of godly in fact; her nemesis came in the form of a short, repulsive Countess with a face that one expected to bark, but she was an heiress with more coinage than the Vatican’s coffers.
Countess Arabella DeLanghi was a new addition to court. She had lived deep in the country with her much older husband, who had succumbed to pneumonia only a year prior. The longest year of her life, as Arabella had told her preferred lady’s maid. As soon as was appropriate she came out of mourning and deserted her vast country estate castle to experience the incomparable splendor of the royal castle.
She instantly gained the attention of the Noblemen and was the topic of much talk with the Queen’s ladies. It certainly wasn’t because of her looks. Her vicious wit and her seemingly bottomless purses made up for what she lacked in beauty. For Arabella the only good joke was at the expense of another, her wealth and recent freedom had given her opportunity to have the Court’s favor—and a part of her abused her recent position to make up for all the thinly-veiled jokes made at her own expense over the years. Petra enjoyed a good sense of humor, but n
ever mockingly.
Arabella didn’t factor into Petra’s world right way. There was something about her face which, if one added a droopy neck and ears could pass for that of a bulldog. But soon enough the two women had more in common than either would have believed possible. Both were hopelessly attracted to his black ringlets and soulful eyes.
Raoul was quite in love with his beautiful and dutiful wife, but Raoul was nothing if not pragmatic. Petra was but the sister of a Queen and as such, and as a woman, had little opportunity to increase their estate. The Bulldog, as Raoul privately named Arabella, was on the other hand extremely wealthy; she owned half of the lands in France. To Raoul who had been born with title that could only take him as far as Court, a castle in need of repair, and a father who continually gambled away his lacking inheritance; the Bulldog had an instant appeal that Petra could never hope to match.
They met, and the attraction was instant and mutual: her to his ringlets and charm, him to her estate. That he was already married never entered Arabella’s mind; another commonality between the ladies of Raoul. Some ten years later she’d have regrets on her conduct. But not now, now, Raoul clouded her better judgment.
The couple were scrupulously careful for more than a year, meeting in out-of-the-way dens that no-one would ever suspect. Certainly Petra had no idea that the eyes she fell in love with were the same eyes that now looked upon another.
After thirteen months the couple’s meetings grew far less clandestine. Raoul realized he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. And Petra began to hear whispers of her husband’s duplicity. She found them difficult to believe. The ladies of the Queen’s court were jealous of her happiness and she knew many Noblemen that would stop at nothing to lure her away from Raoul’s arms. How could it be otherwise, a woman of so little grace could curdle a bottle of milk?
