The Red Circle: A Seven Sons Novel (Bad Moon Rising Book 2)

by DB Nielsen

  “Sorry, Minter, but that’s not quite accurate. Other than Prima Aislinn needing to hear you vouch for Dominic yourself,” Benjamin glanced across at Dominic, “the Mint’s surveillance system is internal. I will need to check the footage since its inception, just to be sure. It’ll take time to go through all of it.”

  “Or you could take my word for it,” the Minter suggested.

  Benjamin apologized but held firm. “In my business, it’s better to check these things myself.”

  The Minter nodded, recognizing a kindred spirit, a man who preferred to rule his domain with an iron fist, demanding accuracy and accountability. “I understand.”

  “Minter, about the blood?” Aislinn asked.

  He did not respond immediately. His ascetic features hardened. He looked at Aislinn coldly. “Perhaps you should follow me. There is something that I must show you.”

  The Minter straightened his reed-slim frame to its full six-foot-four, which made him seem self-conscious and gangly, and he bade them follow him into the dimly lit corridor. But this time, he took them by a long passage carved into the bedrock which was hidden behind another thick tapestry, depicting a parodic Medieval scene of a Lady holding a mirror which failed to reflect her features, stretching her hand to stroke the horn of a unicorn, surrounded by a pack of baying wolves in the forest. Down, down, down to the oldest vaults, deep underneath the Tower of London.

  Cold amusement flickered in his expression. “No one, not even I, has visited this part of the Mint for over a millennium. You may consider yourselves privileged to witness this.” He gave them a considering look. “Your description of this Black Magic drug has caused me to consider that the attempted break-in might have been less to do with stealing Primus Julius’s blood and, instead, targeting the blood of the most ancient vampires who once lived amongst us. Some of whom, regrettably, are no more.”

  Aislinn’s cornflower-blue eyes widened. “The most ancient vampires?”

  “Your brother, Marduk, is the firstborn of Kayne. But both Primus Julius and you, though chosen of the Father and amongst the strongest of our kind, have lived less than two thousand years.” He considered the matter closely and spoke more slowly. “Most of his other disciples, your brothers, have lived longer and created much older progeny than you, the youngest of Kayne. We Minters have been taxed with keeping a record of their lives in their blood.”

  Unlike the biodome vault which held Julius’s blood with its retinal and DNA security scanners and steel alloy leaf shutter doors, this ancient vault was deep, deep underground. As they descended, the passage became narrower still and more claustrophobic. Displaced earth trickled through the crumbling mortar, around the huge blocks of limestone which composed the narrow archway. And the strange odor that permeated the tunnel was nearly overpowering.

  Aislinn felt like a tomb raider approaching the cobwebbed, grimy, enormous bronze doors to the vampire burial chamber, which were dulled with age.

  “Please tell me there are no mummies down here,” Caleb said, holding back his shudder. He had an absolute fear of being buried alive and becoming mummified over time. As a warrior, such inertia would be stifling, enough to drive him mad.

  “There are no mummies down here,” murmured the Minter, pausing at the bronze doors to contemplate the runes marking the bronze relief. “This is the Mint for the London Coven which services our regions and territories, not a morgue. If there are any mummies, it would only be those foolish apprentices who get themselves lost within our maze of tunnels. And if they’re foolish enough to do that, then they don’t deserve reviving.” He paused to bend his reed-thin and gangly frame low and squinted. “Ah. Here we are.”

  The Minter pressed a series of engraved runes randomly and waited. Within a moment, the bronze doors gave a resounding chorus of clicks and whirrs. Then they creaked slowly open, initially only a crack and with a drag of stale, pressurized air.

  At the entrance, he lit several wall torches made of sulfur mixed with lime, which looked like they had been left there by the ancient vampires centuries before. The flames roared to life, casting small pools of light in front and around the group as they stepped beyond the door. It was evident that no one had been down here in an age. Their boots crunched loudly on shards of clay, limestone, and basalt. Alabaster was ground into dirt.

  “Ah, yes, indeed,” he said, assessing the damage and mess. “The Blitz, I’m afraid. Please watch your step. Dominic, send someone trustworthy down here to clean up the mess. See to it yourself. This is most regrettable.”

  They were standing within a columbarium, a large room with recessed niches from floor to ceiling. Each niche held a decorative urn.

  The Minter reached into the nearest niche to retrieve an elaborate limestone ossuary. The heavy casket was placed on a large, raised slab and the lid was removed. The flickering light of the flaming torches made the dried blood crystals inside the chest sparkle like hematite, catching the fiery colors of the red powder and black crystals. There rose a strange aroma of a rich, rusty metallic scent together with sea salt and red clover from the crystals, suggesting that this ancient vampire had come from a seafaring town, possibly from coastal Denmark. But the scent did not match that of the Black Magic drug.

  “There are similar columbariums kept by the Minters of the other ten covens. I will contact them to find out whether any of their establishments have been breached. While we are careful to ensure the security and purity of the blood of the sons of Kayne, these ancient relics have been long forgotten.”

  “But does the dried blood of these ancient vampires retain the same potency as fresh blood?”

  “Not quite. This is due to the chemical kinetics, which is also why it would be impossible to turn a human with their dried blood.” He replaced the limestone ossuary and brought out another decorative marble urn. “The records are kept within our database, but you may wish to see if you recognize any of these vampires from their preserved blood. Perhaps one may be recognizable to you.”

  Opening the decorative marble urn brought both familiar and fresh scents: again, the rich, rusty metallic smell, but this time combined with feldspar, malt, and peat which hinted at the vampire’s Scottish origins.

  “Perhaps, if I may make a suggestion, you could furnish me with one or two pills of this Black Magic drug? I may be able to assist you with the origin of the vampire blood.” The Minter sniffed. “I always like to say that a Minter is like a vintner.”

  It made them all realize how foolish they had been not to recognize the Minter’s rare talents. His olfactory sense was better than most any other vampire, perhaps even better than Aislinn’s since he worked to ensure the purity of blood in the coins he crafted and placed into circulation, almost as a kind of “sanguisculturalist”.

  “Of course,” Aislinn said with a smile, unconsciously giving off an alluring aura. “That’s a great idea. I think that can be arranged.” She looked over at Benjamin to confirm that he’d see to it, since he was now in possession of the packet of drugs.

  The others responded instinctively to her aura.

  It made the Minter uncomfortable. Female vampires were so rare among them, especially one as attractive as Aislinn. “I shall leave you now since I have business to attend to, but feel free to look among the lifeblood of our ancients. I trust you will handle them with respect. When you are finished, Prima Aislinn, you may wish to join me for Elevenses.” It was a command, not a request. The Minter was a tyrant over his own domain.

  They bowed in response and watched as he retreated from their view, back through the stifling limestone tunnel.

  “Vlad, he’s intense,” muttered Benjamin. “He has the driest sense of humor around. It’s fossilized.”

  “That’s what we’ll be if we don’t get moving,” Caleb said, unnerved by the claustrophobic environment. “Can we just hurry this up?”

  “Relax, old man. Start with that wall over there. This’ll do you good. Build up your resilience. Perhaps you might eve
n recognize some vampires from your own generation.” Aislinn gave the burly Malum a wink.

  Caleb groaned in misery. “Geez, thanks. You’re so considerate.”

  Benjamin laughed, the deep, rich sound echoing around the chamber. “You don’t get it, Aislinn. That’s exactly what Caleb’s afraid of.”

  Her eyes and mouth tightened a little at the corners. “Oh, I know.”

  As it turned out, the ossuaries of dried, ancient vampire blood belonged to no one Caleb personally knew, nor did they even remotely resemble the vampire blood used in the Black Magic drug. Not that this was a dead end, since it yielded valuable information about where the ancient vampire blood might have come from, another potential source. Aislinn felt that she would share this information with Stanislav quietly. It brought them one step closer to the dark mages responsible for both his brother’s and her sister’s murders, and he could use his Underground network to their advantage.

  After taking refreshments with the Minter, they swam back through the Thames to surface at the steps of Tower Pier. Climbing up one after another, Aislinn was wringing the putrid water from her platinum-blonde hair when the heavy tread of boots could be heard from across the wharf.

  “Hunters,” Aislinn said. She exhaled on a long sigh. “Seriously, I don’t have time for this.”

  “When don’t you have time for a good fight?” asked Caleb, looking more like himself with every moment they stood above ground in the chill night wind. Luckily, the cold did not penetrate their skin, nor did the icy waters affect them.

  “Just deal with it,” Aislinn said. “And don’t play with them.”

  From afar, they could hear the hunters talking. “It’s the female we need to keep alive. Marcellus wants her for fun and games.”

  “Rogue hunters,” Benjamin whispered. “Mercenaries. Marcellus really has stooped pretty low if he’s keeping company with humans. Can’t picture him as a Zooarian somehow. Not after his number of kills.”

  “Humans are food, not friends,” Caleb spat. “That’s like talking into your tankard when you’re drunk.”

  “Or having a pet like a pig in a teacup,” agreed the other Malum.

  Caleb sighed wistfully. “Damn, I miss bacon.”

  “And pork knuckle.”

  “And crackling.”

  “Boys. Focus.” Aislinn hit Caleb lightly on the arm to draw his attention back to the task at hand.

  The hunters were closer now.

  “Let’s kill the big, bald one first then,” another mercenary suggested. “He looks like he might be difficult, and he’s probably too stupid to show any fear. It takes imagination to know fear. Can’t see him as being particularly imaginative. All brawn, no brains.”

  “That one’s mine,” muttered Caleb. There was a dreadful anger glittering in his obsidian eyes.

  By now, nine rogue hunters were fast approaching.

  Benjamin’s fangs snapped down into place. “Whatever. Let’s go, I’m getting hungry.”

  Chapter 27

  It was a short, brutal, ugly fight. Though only two Malums, they swarmed over the rogue hunters as if there were a dozen more. The swiftness of their motion was invisible, no more than a blurred, savage rush. Several were down before the others comprehended what was happening. Though well trained, they lacked the discipline that united them as a unit, with every man for himself.

  Caleb was pounding a stout hunter’s head against the concrete ground until he heard the skull crunching, while using his free arm to elbow another’s face, shattering his cheekbone. Benjamin strangled a third, crushing his windpipe with barely any exertion of force.

  Meanwhile, Aislinn sat on the railing and blindly watched. The boys seemed to be having fun, leaving her to contemplate other things.

  “Quite entertaining,” Caleb said, surveying the littered ground with a satisfied look. “Sure you don’t want to join in?” he called to Aislinn.

  “Fun fight,” Benjamin agreed. “It’s rather invigorating. Can’t say I’ve been attacked for a while. Aislinn?”

  “No thanks. You two go right ahead.” She was preoccupied with puzzling out the new information she had gathered with the rest of what she already knew. The nursery rhyme, “Hickory Dickory Dock”, was playing endlessly in her head.

  One of the rogue hunters gave a startled cry as Benjamin came at him, trying to dodge past the strewn bodies and other hunters fighting off Caleb. Seemingly directionless, he ran toward the pier. Without thinking, Aislinn stuck out her leg. He didn’t look. Suddenly, he was tripping over, falling, tangled up at her feet.

  He started to rise just as Benjamin caught up to him.

  “Thanks,” he said, cracking his knuckles. His hands closed over the mercenary who lunged at him with a sharp karambit curved blade, managing to cut a nasty line across the Malum’s ribs. Black blood oozed, but it failed to slow the tough vampire down.

  “Where’s your seraph blade, asshole? The Church took them off you? What did you do to get kicked out?” He slammed the man against the stone retaining wall with terrific speed and force. There was a crunching sound of bones breaking, and the man went limp, dropping the weapon from suddenly nerveless fingers.

  “Are you about done dicking around?” Caleb called out, finishing off the last of them.

  “Almost.” Benjamin lifted the man’s head by his long, lanky, sweat-streaked hair and critically examined his vacant eyes. Then he prudently banged the man’s head against the wall one more time and let him fall to the ground. “I’m done. And I never dick around when I’m fighting or when I’m making love.”

  Aislinn finally snapped to attention and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re comparing making war to making love? Don’t tell me you suffer from IED? You should talk to Nikolaus about it. He might be able to help you.”

  “Hey! What the Vlad? I do not suffer from Incisor Eruption Dysfunction or any other type of erectile disorder.” Benjamin ground his teeth together. “I was merely pointing out that, as a fighter and a lover, I’m—”

  “Boring,” Caleb groaned. “Defend your honor some other time, Benji. Shall we go? Or are we waiting for their friends to show up?”

  Aislinn laughed and hopped down off the railing as the other Malum stiffened. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” She patted his cheek and gave another tinkling laugh. “Caleb, call the Cleaner. C’mon boys, let’s move. I want to have a chat with Psychic Seth before dawn. That nursery rhyme has me wondering.”

  They found him lounging on the Magic Fingers vibrating mattress wearing a satin sleep mask and a plush emerald-green velveteen robe, looking like the vampire version of Hugh Hefner. Beside him on a pile of threadbare old cushions was Princess Twilight, wearing her usual plastic tiara and, this time, sporting a pair of oversized rainbow glasses which made the hollow eye sockets seem exceedingly macabre.

  “Seth?”

  Failing to realize he still had his sleep mask on, Seth looked around blindly, searching for the source of the voice. “Go away! ‘I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun! Go back to the shadow. You shall not pass!’”

  “Seth, for Vlad’s sake, take off your sleep mask! You’re not in the underground mines of Moria!” Caleb strode forward and removed the offensive item from Seth’s eyes.

  “Noooo! Mine! Gimme back!” Seth protested with a howl like an animal in pain. He leaped up from the vibrating mattress, revealing he was completely naked beneath the robe as they all caught an eyeful, and he tried to snatch the mask back as Caleb dangled it above his head.

  “Give it back to him, Caleb.” Aislinn grimaced. She approached the crazy Nubes and spoke in her gentlest voice. “Seth, remember me? It’s Aislinn.”

  “Did you come from Narnia?” he asked curiously.

  “Ais-linn not Aslan,” she corrected. “Remember?”

  “You look like the White Witch.” Seth gazed at her platinum-blonde hair, then quickly becoming disinterested,
moved toward the walls, facing the bloody scribblings. Aislinn followed, moving to stand beside him.

  “Well, I’m not a lion nor a witch nor a wardrobe. I’m your friend, Seth.”

  “It’s polite to bring a bottle when you visit someone’s house if you’re their friend. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?” He sounded peevish.

  “My mother died when I was a baby,” Aislinn stated, raising an eyebrow.

  His eyes flicked toward her and back again. “Oh. Well, I suppose you’re forgiven. But it is etiquette.”

  “Next time,” Aislinn promised. She contemplated reaching out to pat his head but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She liked Seth and felt sorry for him, but the thought of touching his blood-and-entrails-matted hair made her shudder. Instead, she watched as he traced the bloodstained line of a red circle on the wall.

  “Pretty red circles. Tick tock clock. The big brass circles dissolve in the air.”

  Caleb made a loony sign behind Seth’s head, which earned him a filthy look. “Stop it,” she hissed.

  “Cry me a river.” Seth gave a sad smile and looked at her. “Cry me a river, Niobe.”

  “Seth, what are you trying to tell us?” Aislinn asked, calmly. His crazy antics no longer had the power to scare her. “Is it the drug or about the dark mages?”

  “‘The clock struck five’—”

  “‘The mouse took a dive’—” Aislinn continued.

  “Five five five dive dive dive.” He became intensely animated at her words. His coldly pale hand flashed out suddenly to grab hold of her arm. His skeletal fingers were immensely strong. “‘London Bridge is falling down.’”

  Suddenly, Aislinn whipped her head around, staring at Benjamin and Caleb. “It’s a riddle. Or a message. The river. Dive. London Bridge.”

  “The Minter perhaps?” speculated Benjamin, eyes narrowing as he crossed to sit on the vibrating mattress.