Volker tried bending his elbow, but it had locked up. He was fortunate the mechanical thing hadn’t hit the tree.
Although his mangled limb had been replaced by a mechanical wonder, it was still fragile in some places. Anci had surprised him with the incredible job she’d done, considering she’d merely gone by the drawing he’d stolen from an Inventions of the Future exhibit displayed at a Russian-owned circus. Until her, he couldn’t find a tinkerer with the skills necessary to conduct such an operation. Then came a demon named Thooranu. The demon told him to hunt down the Trickster who had imprisoned him. The demon claimed he was collecting on a boon that Volker owed from his past life as Vlad Dracul when Thooranu gave him the idea to attack the Turks’ camp during the night, resulting in a great victory.
Despite the strange debt he apparently owed, Volker threw in his own terms by requesting that the demon find him a tinkerer to build his mechanical limb. And the creature delivered, though when Volker first saw Anci, she was locked inside an insane asylum.
It had taken months of surgeries, a few mishaps, and, of course, mind-numbing pain that Anci had dulled with morphine. In the end, however, he had gotten his arm back—more or less.
Volker stood and looked around. Where was she?
The cabin had burned to ash by the time he found Anci’s body. Autumn leaves had already begun to fall upon her. She had been drained completely of blood, which had rendered her dark skin an ashen color. Her pale, lifeless brown eyes were wide and staring up at the sky.
Volker had never loved her, for he loved nothing and no one, but she was the closest thing to love he’d ever had.
“Vampire,” he snarled through gritted yellow teeth when he spotted the two puncture wounds on her neck.
He began to storm off when Callum Grant called to him, “Don’t you want to bury your wife?”
Volker turned to him. “Give me your coat.”
Without arguing, Grant shucked off his cheap black tailcoat and handed it over. Volker slipped it on and walked away. “She’s not my wife.”
He needed to return to the hotel where Anci’s supplies were and repair his arm. Then he would resume his hunt for Landcross.
* * *
“You live here?” Pierce asked as he and Robin rode toward a large stone house.
The place sat near the edge of Sherwood Forest. It looked like a palace except for the large, arched tunnel cutting straight through the entire building.
“I live near the Archway House,” Robin reminded him. “I merely own this building.”
“You own it, and yet you’re not living in it? What are you using it for then, eh?”
“The Fourth Duke of Portland, who commissioned the building’s construction, died before its completion. The structure was left abandoned until I purchased the building and converted it.”
“Converted it into what?”
Just then, children dressed in red uniforms, poured out the side doors of the building and began playing in the yard.
“A school for the local underprivileged children,” Robin answered.
Robin of Locksley was still a saint after so many years as a bloodsucker.
The vampire rested his forehead upon Pierce’s back. “Hurry, Landcross. My home is just ahead.”
They pushed on over the narrow, quiet road until they came across a modestly-sized stone structure that was larger than Archie’s cabin. A water fountain with a statue of a woman in the center of it, dancing with her chin and hand raised, stood in the middle of the drive that surrounded it.
Pierce admired the house tucked away behind many tall Sherwood trees. “Not bad. Whatever happened to your old place in Nottingham?”
“I sold it.”
“Ah. Enjoy it here best, eh?”
When Robin gave no response, Pierce glanced over his shoulder. “Rob?”
The vampire slid sideways and fell off the saddle.
“Robin!” Pierce dismounted and dropped to one knee next to him. “You all right, mate?”
“Get me of out the light,” Robin ordered weakly through the bandana.
Pierce quickly hoisted him up. His dead weight nearly brought them both down. Straining to stay on his feet, Pierce led him toward the house.
“My lord!” called a tall, skinny bloke who was rushing out the door.
Pierce was thankful for the added assistance when the man—a servant, he reckoned—took Robin’s other arm and placed it behind his head.
“What are you doing out in the daytime, my lord?”
Robin didn’t answer, only kept his head hung low.
“Let’s get him inside,” Pierce suggested.
They hurried Robin into the house. Inside, heavy drapes covered every window, blocking out the sunlight. Directly in front of them were a set of stairs leading to the second floor. Pierce grimaced, for he was unsure if they could carry him up there.
The servant gestured with his head toward a dark room off to their left. “In here.”
They brought the weak vampire to a fainting couch that was barely visible through the dim lights of the lamps. As soon as they laid Robin down, the servant helped remove the goggles and bandana from his master’s face. Just as Pierce had suspected, Robin hadn’t changed a bit. He even had the same facial hair he’d sported seven years ago. The only thing different were the red rashes and blisters dotting his pale skin.
“Fuckin’ hell. Sunlight did this? It never touched him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” explained the servant, rolling up his own shirtsleeve. “Vampires are highly allergic to the sun’s rays. Not even layers of clothing can protect them from it.” He pressed his wrist over Robin’s mouth. “Take, my lord.”
Pierce didn’t fancy seeing the feeding. Besides, he had people to get out of harm’s way. “Erm, Robin, I gotta go warn some folks who’re with me. Volker could find them.”
Robin lifted a weak hand, pushing aside the servant’s offering. “No, Palmer. Not this time, my friend.”
Pierce thought his knees had shattered when Robin grabbed his wrist and yanked him down to the floor. Despite his weakened state, Robin was still stronger than any mortal.
He rasped, “Stay, Landcross. Please.” To the servant, he said, “Palmer, hitch the wagon and fetch his people. Landcross will tell you where they are and their names.”
Pierce was apprehensive but decided to comply and told Palmer everything he needed to know.
“Are you sure, my lord?” the youth asked Robin.
“Go, Palmer. Bring them here,” Robin ordered, placing his hand gently on his servant’s shoulder.
Pierce wondered why Palmer was receiving the bloody delicate treatment.
“Yes, my lord.” Palmer bowed his head before taking his leave.
As he left, Robin said, “Your party shall be perfectly safe here.”
“Erm, cheers. I could just as easily bring them—”
“Can you guess how I was able to find you?”
Pierce arched an eyebrow, curious of why he hadn’t asked about that himself.
“It was your blood, Landcross,” Robin explained, tightening his grip on Pierce. “I sensed your presence in the forest the moment you arrived simply because of the blood I took from you.”
Pierce tilted his head sideways. “You can home in on folks you’ve taken from? Er . . . that is, if you haven’t killed them, I mean.”
“Not just anyone. You. You have a combination of strong bloodlines that have lingered inside me even after all this time.”
Pierce thought about that. He knew he had the blood of an elf in him, inherited from his grandfather. His grandmother was a witch, but did that count? What else did he have?
“How did you know I was in trouble?” Pierce asked.
“I didn’t. However, your grandmother told me that one day you would return and would need my help. I decided to investigate after your presence woke me from my slumber.”
Pierce rubbed the part of his neck where Robin’s teeth had scarred him. �
��Oh. Reckon it was a good thing you bit me, then, eh?”
“I’m dying. I’ve stayed in the light for far too long. Only your blood can save me. I must drink from you, Landcross.”
Pierce gulped and tried prying Robin’s hand off. “Erm, Rob. I . . . I dunno about that, mate.”
Robert didn’t need to ask, for he could simply yank Pierce over and start draining him dry. Instead, he released him, sending Pierce down on his arse. He scooted backward until his back hit the wall.
“I’ll not force you,” Robin stated while reaching out to him. “I am now asking you as—a friend.”
Bugger! He was playing the friend card. Pierce didn’t fancy the idea of being used as a medicine pantry to supply a remedy, but Robin had left the safety of his home to come for him.
“Please, Landcross.”
Pierce let out a sigh of surrender and stood up while taking off his coat. “I’m not going to be turned into a vampire, am I?”
“It takes more than just being bitten to become immortal. You should know this.”
Pierce tossed the coat over onto a nearby chair and approached the couch while rolling up his shirtsleeve.
He stopped just out of Robin’s reach. “And I won’t die?”
“I can control myself, if need be.”
Pierce saw no way out of this except to abandon Robin, which he could not bring himself to do. The feeding would hurt, he was sure of it, but Robin’s death would cut deeper than his fangs.
“Right,” he huffed, taking the final step forward.
He moved the manacle around his wrist up as far as he could and held it out to him. “Drink up, ol’ boy.”
Robin slowly grabbed hold of Pierce’s forearm. He was thankful Robin wore gloves so he would not have to endure his cold touch.
“I remember how your blood tasted,” Robin admitted hungrily. “I do hope I don’t get carried away.”
“Wait a tick,” Pierce protested just before the vampire pulled him toward his fangs and sank them deep into his veins.
The sharp pain traveled like electricity up his arm, over his neck, and nailed stakes at the base of his skull. It was enough crippling agony to force him to his knee.
“Ah, shite!” he hollered.
His body temperature dropped as Robin sucked down gulps. The feeding had an immediate effect. The blisters and rashes began vanishing like evaporating water. Robin’s grip tightened as he sat up, but he maintained his powerful hold on Pierce as he continued drinking.
“Stop, Rob,” Pierce demanded in the strongest tone he could muster.
It mattered little how forceful his voice was. Robin was in full control and could damn well do whatever he wanted. Pierce thought he could hear his own heartbeat slowing. He needed to bring Robin back from wherever his blood had taken him before his heart gave out. As a last ditch effort, Pierce clasped Robin on the shoulder and offered the most pitiful expression he could.
Robin shifted his icy eyes to him, although it seemed he was looking straight through him.
“Stop,” Pierce whispered. “Please.”
A vital heartbeat passed before a flicker of recollection flashed in Robin’s radiant blues. Finally, he retracted his fangs.
“My apologies, Landcross,” he said, letting him go.
Pierce fell to his side, holding his wrist. He felt cold and feverish.
Robin stood and licked blood from the corners of his mouth, apparently savoring every drop. “I shall prepare you some beef stew. The protein will build up your strength.”
Pierce glared up at him crossly. “Brilliant.”
* * *
The day ticked on and there continued to be no signs of Joaquin. Jasper had gone to Moana Village and asked if anyone there had seen him. None of them had, but they offered to help in the search. Élie ventured deep into the forest and summoned Durothil. He, too, went looking for the child. For the entire day, everyone searched, only to come up empty-handed. Taisia, unable to travel far on foot, stayed close to the house with the rest of her children. She was in shambles. Even with the assistance of Ailani’s people and the elves, no one found any trace of the lost boy.
When night came, the search continued. Once more, Élie met with Durothil in the woods, and they stood just out of earshot.
“The child is still missing,” he reported. “My elves will keep searching through the night.”
“Merci, Durothil. I’ll relay the news to Taisia.” She looked over at the distressed mother, standing in the backyard near the forest’s edge, staring into the darkness. “She hasn’t been well since he went missing this afternoon. I fear for her health and the health of the children she carries.”
“Can you not sense him?”
“I’ve tried locating him. I used to be able to feel the presence of every family member so strongly. The moment he vanished, however, my connection with Joaquin was broken, just like with Pierce.”
“If you cannot sense the boy, what does that mean, Élie?”
She looked at Durothil with great concern. “I-I’m not sure Joaquin is on this island anymore. I’m unsure how she did so, but, somehow, Freya must have gotten him.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Horrid History
Along with the gear Landcross had damaged, he’d also bent the metal strip that helped to hold the iron forearm to his bicep.
Volker flipped through the pages in Anci’s journal, a book she kept with instructional notes about his arm, and the process she had used to build and maintain it. Once he’d located the instructions on how to fix the gears, he fished out the necessary tools and went to work. It was his first attempt at repairing it on his own, and he would need to do it from now on. He’d also need to teach himself how to take the arm apart to clean the pieces and then reassemble them, as well as change the oil in the fuel line.
As he heated up the soldering tool, a knock came on his door. “Enter.”
The hinges creaked and the remainder of his men entered. He had found the whole group shortly after he and Anci arrived in Mansfield. The woman in his dreams had sent them to him. They were the remnants of the once strong British Guardians that had chased the cuckoo clock thief. They had figured out that the thief had buried money somewhere in the area, but they had since grown roots and started families while searching. Volker thought it odd that only the men with families to provide for had been spared by the blasted vampire.
The men trailed in and stopped near the table where he was working on his arm. “Found anything?” Volker asked.
“No,” Grant answered. “But we believe they’re in the area somewhere. If it was a vampire who helped that Landcross feller, then chances are they won’t go far until dark.”
“We should hunt for them and take our money from that bastard,” Ryan Anker, the man with the deformed face, suggested.
His brother, Joe, nodded in agreement.
“No, you fool. Landcross is being protected by the creature, and he’ll probably be expecting an attack,” explained Volker, taking hold of the soldering tool. He used it to fuse the bent strip onto the metal band around the humerus. “If Landcross catches the next train out this evening, we shall follow.”
“What happens if the vampire is with him?” asked Cash Finley.
“Find silver,” Volker commanded, concentrating on his work. “We’ll be prepared this time.”
* * *
Frederica woke up with her brain pulsating violently inside her skull. Parts of the night before resurfaced in her mind.
After a few drinks of gin, she had begun thinking about her nights with Pierce. Eighteen years ago, Frederica had gone backstage to fetch a costume for an actor. There she found a scared adolescent hiding behind the outfit. He had startled her before she was quickly taken in by a strange, mesmerizing feeling. From the moment she saw him, she’d felt an enticing emotion she never again experienced with anyone else.
While harboring Pierce Landcross, she came to know him. She taught him to speak German more fluently
, and he helped her recite play lines. They shared their first kiss and began an intense love affair. Frederica had always been afraid of being in a serious relationship, as she’d seen what it could do to so many women in her profession. She had dreams, after all, and she and Pierce were completely different people, living different lives that could never coincide. At the time, he was a hunted young man, and she had no intention of running off with him to live the life of a fugitive.
When Oskar admitted his affection for her, Frederica realized who her true love had always been and she fell into his arms and happily wore the wedding band he presented her. Every day she missed him greatly. Oskar was a good man and, together, they had conceived a beautiful child.
Was it her grief that had caused her to stumble into Pierce’s bedroom? Was it the alcohol, or had she read too much into the smiles, the laughs, the light touches, and brief glances? It wasn’t like her to paw after a married man. It was wrong, regardless of their history together.
She plunged her face into her hands in shame. “Oh, no. What have I done?”
Frederica cleaned up and dressed. She checked the clock and saw it was half past noon.
If Pierce had left as early as he’d stated he would, he should have returned by now, yet no one answered the door when she knocked.
Had he gone ahead and ridden the train back to Reading? She feared he had, for her actions last night were not only embarrassing, but also disgraceful. Perhaps he did not wish to see her, which would rob her of the chance to apologize.
“Mother,” called Kolt, walking toward her in the corridor. “I was on my way to fetch you.”
The Forgotten Story Page 20
