OCCULT Detectives Volume 1

by Joel Jenkins

  “It is,” she sighed, dropping her arms and folding them under her bosom. “Ours is not a simple story.”

  He came over, handed her a glass and sat down at the other end of the settee. They both took a sip of the fiery elixir. Once more her radiant beauty was almost overpowering. Her alluring green eyes bore into him like those of a stalking tiger. “I assumed as much, madam….ah….perhaps we should start with your name.”

  “Dracula, sir. I am the Countess Marya Dracula, daughter of Count Vlad Dracula the Second of Wallachia. The one history has come to know as Vlad the Impaler.”

  6

  In his years as an occult detective, Ravenwood had heard many strange tales but none was as fantastic as that related to him by the mysterious dark haired beauty who now faced him.

  “In the year 1412, hordes of Turks swept across the mid-eastern Romania’s bent on the total conquest of the Christian Empire. My father, a knight in the Order of St. George, watched his armies slaughtered in battle after battle. The invading barbarians butchered the women folk of our homeland lamented in agony as fathers, sons, husbands and lovers and it appeared all was lost.

  “Facing total defeat, seeing his people suffering, my father came to believe that God had abandoned him. In anger he lashed out at the church itself, publicly cursing the very cross he had once sworn to defend.

  “During a particularly violent storm, my father walked across the last battlefield covered with the bodies of his men. In a passionate rage, he raised his gloved fists to the dark skies and there offered his allegiance to Satan and all his dark principalities if it would bring him victory and save his beloved Transylvania.”

  Marya took another sip of her brandy before continuing. “This part I’m afraid is hearsay, told to me by my father years later.”

  Ravenwood nodded. “Understood. Please continue.”

  “Apparently Lucifer heard my father’s dire request for upon uttering it he was struck by lightning and hurled many yards into a lone standing tree. That he was not instantly killed was a sign that his petition had been granted. Rising to his feet, his armor smoking, Vlad Dracula was no longer human; he had become a vampire; one of the undead.

  “What followed next is well documented in the history of our lands. Leading his remaining forces with his new, unholy powers, he became a true monster of death and destruction. When the Mongols discovered he could not be killed, they fled before him and Transylvania was saved.

  “Racing to rejoin his family, my poor father was to learn there was yet another price to be paid for his pact with the devil. Before fleeing, a company of Mongols had attacked our castle and savagely butchered everyone within its walls.

  “My mother and brothers were tortured and slain…all before my eyes…”

  Tears began to slip down Marya’s cheeks as she tried shaking loose the awful memories now resurfacing inside her. Ravenwood moved closer and put his hand over hers.

  “How foolish of me,” she apologized. “Tears are not something I easily shed, Mr. Ravenwood.”

  “Just Ravenwood, please. I take it you were not spared your own tribulations.”

  “That is putting it mildly. By the time my father and his men reached the castle, it was in ruins. And as you surmised, I too had been a victim of the Mongol’s animal lust for vengeance and lay twisted and broken at the age of twelve before my father’s tortured gaze. Heartbroken, he knelt and cradled me in his arms unwilling to lose me, the last of his children and so he did the only thing he could to save me; he gave me the kiss of the vampire.

  “Yes, Ravenwood, I too would rise again and thus began our journey together through time as the last of the Draculas. The invasion quelled, the people of the surrounding villages pledged themselves to us in gratitude for what my father had done. They vowed to serve us faithfully as long as we continued to walk the earth.

  “For the next four hundred years, we existed in the seclusion of our ancestral home, feeding off the blood of the living. I am sorry if this repulses you.”

  Both of them drained their glasses and Ravenwood took her empty glass. “I’ll wait until I’ve heard the entire tale before judging you, countess.”

  “Marya, please. The old ways are ghosts in this new modern age.”

  “You say you were turned at the age of twelve,” Ravenwood pointed out as he stood and brought the glasses back to his desk. “It is obvious that even as a vampire, you continued to mature.”

  “Yes, I did. Somewhere in my twenty-fifth year I ceased aging completely. And as long as I continued to feed, maintained my youth and supernatural vigor.”

  Ravenwood returned to the sofa and sitting, smiled awkwardly. “And still it is obvious you have aged still further.”

  Marya Dracula brought her left hand up to her black hair with its few strands of gray and returned his smile. “You are gallant, sir. Yes, at present I am ….well, let us say, I am now aging as any other woman does.”

  This brought a puzzled expression to his face and Marya went on with her story.

  “Eventually my father could no longer withstand our confinement and dared to begin traveling abroad until he found himself in Great Britain where he met a young lady who bore a striking resemblance to my mother. Blinded by her appearance, he became reckless and his true nature was revealed. Thus he was trapped and finally put to death forever.

  “You can well imagine my sorrow when I learned of his fate. For the first time since all these horrific events had begun; I was truly alone in the world. Back then, I had no inkling there were others such as I; something I would only discover much later to my misfortune. In the meanwhile, I resigned myself to my solitary existence. My only social interaction was with those villagers who continued to fill the ranks of the castle’s staff from one generation to the next. They, and the wretched victims they would procure for me in their devotion to their ages old pledge.

  “Thus my cursed existence until the eve of the Great War when it seemed the whole world had gone crazy. Then a chance meeting on the grounds of our estate began a chain of events that would alter my future and prove to be the salvation of my soul. I met a young German lad named Manfred von Richthofen.”

  6

  “The bloody Red Baron was your father!” Sterling almost dropped the pitcher of milk in his hands at Jazzy’s proclamation of her lineage. They were in the large, spotlessly clean kitchen. She was seated at the table spreading huge gobs of peanut butter on slices of French bread while Ravenwood’s butler was about to pour her a glass of milk before he cut up cheese and cold meats for her mother and his employer.

  “Hmm…hmmm,” she mumbled chewing on the delicious spread. “Mother said they met just before the war started and she fell in love with him the second she met him. Enough so that she traveled the Berlin years later to find him again.”

  Sterling poured the milk while his thoughts went back in time. “Amazing, truly amazing. You see, I was a pilot myself, Miss Jazzy, in the Royal Air Force. I flew in many aerial duels over the ravaged landscapes of France and Germany.”

  “You mean dogfights.” She swallowed a mouthful while reaching for the cold white milk. She took a long drink. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she asked, “Did you ever see my father? Mother says his Fokker was painted a very bright red.”

  “Indeed it was,” Sterling confirmed. “But I had the good fortune to never see it personally. Had I done so, I might not be here today. Your father was one of the greatest aces to ever take to the skies.

  “I remember when we received word that he had been shot down…” Sterling realized the words coming from his mouth and looked at the bright-eyed young girl with apprehension. “Oh…forgive me…”

  “It’s okay, really.” Jazzy dug into the jar of peanut butter with the butter knife he had given her. “I never really knew him. He died before I was even born.” She smeared the brown goop on another slice of bread. “To me he’s just a story.”

  Sterling went to the icebox to fetch the cheese and salami roll. “Stil
l, you should be proud of your heritage, Miss Jazzy. He was truly a remarkable, brave man.”

  “I suppose.” She started nibbling on her treat. “Still, the greatest thing he really did was stop mother from being a vampire.”

  Sterling dropped the block of cheese.

  6

  “You can imagine my insane rage upon learning of Manny’s death,” Marya continued her incredible tale. “Hell hath no fury as woman scorned, I believe is how the Bard put it.”

  “But by then you were pregnant with Jazzy?”

  “I was…but I didn’t know it yet. I was filled with an all-consuming hatred for the Allied fliers who had taken my love from me. Manfred had wiped out five hundred years of loneliness with his caresses and then, in a cruel twist of fate, he was taken from me.

  “The weeks following his death were a blur. I used all of my dark powers to lay waste to Allied squadrons and commanded thousands of rats to swarm over their airdromes. My need for revenge blinded me to all else.

  “And then, one morning, returning to the safety of Castle Dracula before the sun’s rise, I collapsed in excruciating pain before my servant, Irena; an old woman who had been with me for many years. I vomited blood, so much….it just spewed out of me as if my body could not longer accept it.”

  “Something that had never happened before.” Ravenwood could sense the weariness in Marya and that she was coming to climax of her story.

  “Of course not. I was a vampire. Human blood was what sustained me. Why should I now suddenly be unable to digest it? Of course it was wise Irena who guessed the answer.”

  “You were pregnant with Jazzy.”

  “Yes, as impossible as that was for me to believe. How could something alive take seed in something foul and undead such as I?

  “Irena argued that it was Manfred’s true love that had brought about this miracle and if in fact I could no longer drink the blood of others, then it meant the curse of my vampirism had been lifted; that I was once again mortal.

  “But how could I be certain? How could I be absolutely sure I was no longer one of the undead, that the Almighty in his infinite mercy had forgiven me? Of course the answer was simple enough. All I had to do was leave the darkness interior of the castle and venture forth into the sunlight of the new day exposing myself to a sun I had not beheld in over five hundred years.”

  At this point Marya took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

  “I take it you survived the test.”

  She looked at him and nodded. “It is a moment I shall never forget, Ravenwood, as long as I have left in this world. To walk out on that parapet overlooking our vast estate and feel the warm rays of the sun bathe my flesh in a euphoric baptism of redemption.

  “I fell to my knees, clasped my hands together in prayer and gave thanks to a truly loving God who does forgive beyond our imagination.

  “The rest all happened swiftly enough. I had the castle boarded up and left it to begin my…our new life. I traveled to Belgium and there gave birth to Jazemara and remained there for several years. Keep in mind, our family’s wealth was hidden away in banks across Europe and my daughter and I wanted for nothing.

  “Those were glorious, happy years. As Jazemara grew…so did I, like any normal woman should. But I was no longer afraid of the process or the fact that one day I too would pass from this reality into the next. Having been granted so powerful a miracle, I was truly humbled and daily appreciative of the truest treasure this world has to offer, love.”

  Marya paused then as if reliving every memory just as she had related them. In the quiet between them Ravenwood could not help but believe her sincerity. As outrageous as the tale appeared, he believed every word of it.

  As you should, my son. The Nameless One’s mental confirmation was tremendously assuring. Ravenwood had been well aware his old mentor had been listening to the woman’s account through his eyes. Something he was skilled at doing.

  Everything she has said is the truth. But as before, she and the girl are still in grave danger and it will be your decision as to whether to send them or their way or become involved with their plight.

  But father, I could only act as you’ve taught me. In his mind he saw the Nameless One’s tiny smile. He’d given him the right answer.

  “Alright, Marya,” he broke the mental contact. “Who are these vampires chasing you and Jazzy?”

  Before Dracula’s daughter could answer that question, Sterling reappeared pushing a cart on which was a silver platter filled with cheeses and meat and a carafe of coffee surrounded by porcelain cups. Jazzy waltzed in behind him holding a large mug of hot cocoa.

  Sterling brought the wheeled cart to the center of the room, put his arms behind his back and asked, “Will this do, sir?”

  6

  As the amiable Sterling set about feeding his employer and his guests, the Nameless One sat cross-legged on his padded floor mat in his small, square room. Situated in the exact center of the penthouse, it was the only room without any windows and the old man preferred it as such. The only furniture in the room was a wooden bed against one wall and a tiny wooden altar against the back wall opposite the single door. On this rested an ivory sculptured statue of the Buddha. On either side of the figure were two scented candles that filled the tiny room with a pleasant, woodsy smell. The room was equipped with electricity and an overhead light was affixed to the ceiling but the Nameless One never used it, the noise of the speeding electrons disturbed his meditation.

  His old mentor had been listening to the woman’s account through his eyes.

  Now, seated on the floor before the white Buddha, he began to slow his breathing and enter into a deep meditative state. He was a small figure, his aged body virtually devoid of any excess fat, his thin limbs tough, his weathered skin tanned almost bronze. He wore his pale white hair shoulder length and a thin gossamer-like beard fell to his chest. He was dressed in gray cotton pants and a matching button-less tunic.

  As he began humming the holy Tibetan mantras he had been taught as a child, he unconsciously ran his bony fingers through his beard, a habit he had developed to soothe his always-curious mind and allow him to draw deep within his own soul. His eyes closed welcoming the dark warmth of the universe around him and he continued to hum, his breathing lessening with each rhythmic beat of his powerful heart. Deeper he fell into his own being until a light appeared before him. He sent his true astral body after it.

  Just like that he was floating in the air before his physical body; an experience he had undergone more times than he could remember. He prepared to fly out and find those agents of evil that threatened his adoptive son.

  His invisible specter glided through the walls of his room, down the corridor and into Ravenwood’s office where the others were gathered. The woman with the black hair was conversing while pausing every few minutes to partake of the nourishment the butler had delivered. Though old beyond reckoning, the Nameless One could still appreciate true beauty when he beheld it and at seeing Marya Dracula he understood why his American son was smitten with her. At the same time the daughter’s aura was charged with a golden energy and the Nameless One saw in her a powerful spirit capable of much potential if she were protected and kept from the clutches of those who hunted them.

  Father? Ravenwood had sensed his astral presence but didn’t let on to the others, continuing to be an attentive host while aware of his nearness.

  I go to find the evil ones and their nest. Remain vigilant. When I return, I will call you and the countess to my room.

  As you wish, Old One.

  And with that the one time Tibetan monk floated up through the ceiling, through the buildings roof and out into the skies over Manhattan.

  6

  For any lesser spirit, the task before him would have been hopeless. Manhattan was the home to millions, each emanating a spiritual light. A lesser Yogi would have been unable to discern individual souls amidst this mighty assemblage, their chis merging together in a swirling whirlp
ool of humanity. But Tibetan monks who were masters of astral projection had taught the Nameless One and his ability to differentiate amongst the multitude below him was his true power.

  The sky over the city was a blue-black canvas. In the distance, beyond the harbor were small flashes of lightning and he could feel the moisture in the molecules around him. A storm was coming and with it rain. As he flew over the buildings and streets below, the Nameless One made no effort to guide his essence in any particular direction. All the while his soul continued to receive impressions from the ether, signals from the populace beneath him. Thoughts of decency, charity, love as well as those of cruelty, sadism and pure selfishness. All washed through him as he floated freely through the cloudless heavens.

  He was looking down at the Hudson River when the odorous wave of occult bestiality assaulted him. So strong was its essence he was nearly shaken from his self-induced trance and hurled back into his physical shell; still at rest back in his room. Girthing his mental shield, the Nameless One followed the evil essence downward to its source and he found himself hovering above a squat, broken down warehouse abutting the piers of an abandoned dock site. As he descended lower to the roof the stench of the undead permeated him completely.

  This was it; the secret enclave of the foreign vampires. No sooner had that thought arisen in his consciousness then he saw several scurrying figures appear from the alley beside the warehouse. Moving more like animals than people, the Nameless One watched the vampires hurry to the warehouse’s front entrance and slip inside. He could make out the street number over the sliding doors.

  It was enough. To go any further might alert the foul things as their own supernatural abilities were many. No, he had achieved his goal. Lifting his arms wide, the Nameless One rose into the air as thunder rolled in from the shores of New Jersey.