Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
The count’s home was a sprawling gothic mansion of extraordinary character.
The striking facade rose above the lesser homes surrounding it. The magnificent workmanship suggested French design. Blackfriars Manor was forged into the entry gate’s cast-iron arch.
I’d decided not to bring along the girl.
Transforming Rachel had been remarkable.
A wave of emotions flowed through me at her rebirth, as Rachel’s beauty had intensified, and afterward, within my arms slept titian-haired perfection.
She’d risen with an expression of wonder, as she took in the world with renewed senses.
Benjamin asked that it be he who explained what had befallen her.
He wanted to give her time to adjust. Memories of my own death and life again came flooding back.
There’d been awe in Rachel’s gaze as those big green eyes of hers had fixed on her maker. A bond forged in blood. A token bride fit for a count. He’d plucked her out of a crowd of mortals for his very pleasure.
I’d been caught off guard by an uncommon devotion for the girl whom I’d saved, as an extraordinary ardor captured me, making me feel as though I’d always known her. I considered this was the reason a vampire would choose to keep their young close by.
Sunaria had obsessed over me, and even now with my behavior as wayward as it could be, she still loved me.
On my detour via The Fountain Hotel, I’d panicked at not finding Sunaria – only seeing the clothes she’d worn the previous night, neatly folded over the armchair. Everything was exactly where she’d left it, with no sign of a struggle.
Delacroix had a penchant for manipulation.
Sunaria hadn’t lived this long without learning a thing or two about survival. She’d be too fast for this bully of a vampire, but a nagging doubt persisted. The fact that I still hadn’t heard from her made me cautious.
The castle was a bedrock of power, a veritable vampire’s lair. High florid railings encircled the property and served to deter unwanted visitors. Anyone who did make it inside would probably never find their way out.
I yanked open the gate. Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I neared the manor.
It rose into the starlit sky, four floors high.
Slender vertical columns and dramatic arches dominated the facade.
Surprisingly, the structure had many windows, but these were shuttered.
Stone hunting dogs sat halfway up huge towers with melodramatic carved details, threatening to pounce on an unsuspecting visitor.
Unknowingly, mortals had nestled close to a dangerous domain.
The oak doorway squeaked on its hinges. Candlelight threw shadows over the spacious foyer and up the sweeping staircase.
Vampires were everywhere, just casually mingling.
Their attire reflected wealth – the finest linens for the men and lavish velvets for the women, all leaning toward darker colors, so they’d blend in with the night.
This sophisticated crowd easily passed for aristocracy.
I was regarded for a moment by them as my presence became known, and then, much to my relief, I was promptly ignored.
Their conversations continued as their stares fell away.
Seeing no sign of Delacroix, and not sensing Sunaria, I began to question the sanity of my decision to come here.
The lavish décor showed signs of wear and tear, and line upon line of weird-looking characters represented in numerous paintings were strewn randomly upon the walls.
I ascended the stairs as they creaked underfoot.
A slight wobble of the banister proved my theory; this place had to be over one hundred years old.
One had a sense that soon these nightwalkers would be out stalking. Unknowingly, I’d walked amongst them, naively unaware that I’d shared the city with so many.
I proceeded down the north corridor, passing a few lone characters, focusing on the way ahead. I pushed all thoughts of my son away – and Sunaria, too. A nightmare would ensue if these villains could read my mind.
Within one of the rooms hung a portrait of Delacroix above the fireplace. Dressed in Italian fashion, he held a carnival mask by his side. His wry smile accompanied a knowing expression. Several other masked characters stood behind him. I didn’t need to see their faces to know they were suspect.
On the other side of the room, I tried to exit through a fake door that, when opened, revealed not an exit, but a brick wall. A clock on the mantelpiece ticked away, but the time was off. The dial lied that it was morning.
Delacroix’s library appeared well stocked. For a split second, I wanted to linger, but with no time for such indulgence, I headed out and trekked down the corridor.
On an overly embroidered couch, two vampires were in the throes of passion.
The female straddled the male, who controlled her pace.
They were fucking, not caring who saw them.
I’d never seen such blatant eroticism before.
Her long raven hair was so like Sunaria’s that it was alarming.
She paused and glanced over at me, then turned and resumed her pleasure as though I weren’t there.
Her partner gestured for me to join them.
Tempting, but fear has a way of dulling certain appetites.
Heading back the way I came, I passed a sad-looking vampire, and considered asking him if he’d seen Sunaria, but then thought better of it.
I descended to the main foyer and caught a glimpse of Delacroix just before he disappeared.
I followed him into the shadows. He went through a doorway and descended a dark stairwell.
The lower I went, the lower the temperature felt.
As I reached the bottom, I almost crashed into a stone statue of a naked man.
The six-foot sculpture guarded the entrance, looking strangely out of place.
I passed under the arched doorway and soon saw three gaping tunnels just ahead.
A loud bang behind me made me jump.
I flew back toward the door and tried to turn the brass handle. It was locked. I yelled with anger as I heard something being shoved up against the door – likely the stone sculpture.
I chose the east corridor, careful of my footing as I trekked along the wet ground.
A rat scurried over my foot, and I broke into a sprint as the tunnel veered off to the right.
The cold water kept rising until it reached my waist, and the darkness wrapped itself tighter around me the further I walked, nervous of what may be lurking beneath me.
Sunaria, can you hear me?
I was soon forced to swim through the murky water as the never-ending tunnel narrowed, its brick work crumbling. When a bloated body floated by, face down, I turned around.
When my feet touched ground, I ran down the middle corridor dripping wet. After ten minutes, I reached a dead end. Layers of clay had been heaped over the exit, shoddy workmanship, but effective. My wet clothes cleaved to my skin.
My last choice was the left tunnel. The ground was covered in dark stains and dead insects. With my handkerchief pressed up against my nose, I rallied my courage and continued. A series of doors lined the way. I reached the last one, finding another dead end.
If ever I met with Delacroix again, I’d thank him for his hospitality.
And then kill him.
I pried open a rusty hinged door and peered inside the room.
A lone chair with leather straps that hung from the armrests was positioned in the center.
Beside it lay a small table, strewn with assorted instruments and strange contraptions, designed for the sole purpose of torture.
My gaze hovered over the worn saw. I could tell from the sticky discolorations on the floor that it had been used recently.
Lined along the far wall upon poorly constructed wooden shelves was a collection of oddities - stuffed dead animals, their fake eyes bulging, and the skeletal remains of small creatures were ghoulishly preserved.
Lined along the top shelf were large glass bottles filled to the brim with murky water.
I approached the shelves and peered into one of the jars.
Through the cloudiness, I made out a familiar shape.
“Bloody hell!”
It was a floating severed hand, pallid and wrinkled. For a split second, I thought that the middle finger twitched. On the small finger, a gold band with an ornate crest was embossed into the metal. I pressed my nose up against the jar.
The hand jerked.
“Fuck!” I leaped back.
The clang of the door echoed as I slammed it shut.
As I started back down the corridor, a sob startled me. Using caution, I followed the noise and found a jail cell. Two young men and a girl, wearing rags, were shackled to the wall.
Studying their faces, hoping for a sign that would indicate sanity, I stepped inside and tried to mouth breathe to avoid the stench.
“Take me,” the redheaded man muttered. Tatty spectacles balanced on the bridge of his nose, his right lens smashed.
I shook my head.
“Did Evan send you?” the girl asked.
She looked about eighteen, but her dimpled cheeks, button nose, and pigtails were misleading. I wondered if it had been Evan’s corpse that had floated past me.
“I’m Daumia. Have you seen a woman around twenty with raven hair and blue eyes?” I asked.
“She’s gone missing as well?” said the redheaded man.
“Others have gone missing?” I asked.
He answered with a nod. “Her brother and my sister.”
“She has red hair, like you?” I stepped closer.
“Have you seen her?” He shuffled uncomfortably. “Her name’s Rachel. She disappeared two nights ago.”
“She’s with Benjamin.” I peeked down the corridor.
“Who’s Benjamin?” His voice was tinged with fear.
I hid my surprise and knelt beside him. “A friend of your sister’s.”
“If she’s safe,” he said, “that’s all I need to hear.”
I wondered if there could be another Rachel, but their similarities went beyond just their hair color.
He squinted at me. “Where did you see her?”
“In the cathedral.”