Epilogue
Lord Chester Longchamps was dressed to the nines but not in a top hat and tails, nor in a custom-made kilt or a sharp suit delivered direct from Savile Row.
He was wearing the best, the strongest, the most magically enhanced armour that money could buy.
A bulging backpack rested on his shoulders and in one hand he carried a gun loaded with poison-tipped bullets.
In his other hand, he cradled the bellarmine jug.
The silly squib woman had been almost giddy with delight when she’d passed over the jug.
She’d couldn’t keep that ridiculous grin off her face even though it had been her fault that he’d had to wait so long for the damned thing.
Lives had been lost because of the delay, though thankfully not vampire lives.
The new system was working well and no-one with fangs had died since it had been implemented, but that wasn’t the point; it was the principle that bothered him.
Besides, it was only a matter of time before one of the other Preternatural groups noticed their missing brethren.
The new system was a stop gap, not a permanent solution.
Some of his less sensible peers were growing suspicious and their delicate sensibilities and overly liberal attitudes would soon be a problem.
The Clouded Map was the only way to put an end to this dreadful palaver once and for all.
It wasn’t lost on Chester that there was something going on between Mallory Nash and that mange-ridden excuse for a werewolf who’d dared to force his way into his house and launch an unprovoked assault.
Once this gruesome business was dealt with, he’d take his revenge on the MacTire bastard and the Nash squib.
He smiled. He’d told them that everything was over and done with, and that he wouldn’t seek further retribution; he’d even signed a second blood contract to that effect – but he’d not given his spoken vow.
After Nash had scammed him with her contract the first time around, he’d taken care to look for loopholes and exit strategies.
He could break the contract without consequences for an eye-wateringly expensive fee, but it would be worth it.
Nobody made a fool out of Lord Chester Longchamps.
Nobody. Those two would learn that the hard way.
‘Do you have enough spare blood with you?’ Alan asked him, pawing anxiously at the ground. The fool was more skittish pony than powerful vampire.
‘Yes, yes.’ Longchamps dismissed his question and ignored the gnawing worry that was settling deep in his bones. ‘I’m carrying enough to last me until August. In any case, I doubt that this will take me more than a couple of days now I have the Clouded Map.’
Alan swallowed. ‘Are you sure you’re happy to do this alone?’
Longchamps stared down his nose at him. ‘You’re welcome to join me if you wish.’
The other vampire blanched and Longchamps snorted.
‘That’s what I thought.’ He turned towards the entrance.
‘It takes a great man – a great hero – to put their life on the line for others. Somebody has to step up and take control, to stand up and make sure the Understream is kept safe for the generations of vampires who…’
He stopped and glared at the group of people standing to one side. ‘You are supposed to be filming this!’ he snapped. The anxiety he was trying to disguise was getting the better of him. ‘How can my exploits be recorded for posterity if nobody is fucking recording?’
There was a scramble and eventually somebody produced a small camcorder.
Longchamps huffed. This would be a lot easier if smartphones worked in Coldstream.
Somebody ought to do something about finding a way to blend the new technology with the old magic.
Perhaps he’d give it a shot when he returned from the maze.
Maybe it would be worth keeping the Nash woman alive for a bit longer so he could get her to work on the problem.
He’d think about it; he could always drain her blood at a later date.
She’d proved easy enough to manipulate and she’d gotten hold of a second bellarmine jug when he’d been almost certain that she would fail.
Longchamps caressed the jug almost absent mindedly.
‘Adieu, my fellow vampires,’ he declared.
‘I leave you now not because I want to but because someone must save the day. Many of you do not yet perceive this threat as real, despite the blood that has been shed on our doorsteps, but it is as real as I am and far more dangerous. Be thankful that I am prepared to deal with it on your behalf.’
He smiled, displaying his sharp white fangs that had been polished for this very occasion, then turned on his heel. With a swagger perfected over many decades, he entered the Night Maze.
His mission would be successful. He’d made every possible preparation. He could do this.
It was relatively easy to begin with because there were few choices to make and the Clouded Map soon proved its worth.
Every time he came to a crossroads, he took out a preservation spell, cast it and unstoppered the jug in order to slide out the map.
It revealed the surrounding area and indicated which path Longchamps should take and which he should avoid.
Although he would never have admitted it out loud, he was nervous about what the centre of the maze would reveal but he’d have the element of surprise of his side.
He would do this and those other vampires in the Understream would thank him for it.
If they didn’t, he’d be sure to let them know the error of their ways.
Ambling along a long walkway, he registered a junction up ahead with five possible exits.
When he cast the preservation spell and extracted the Clouded Map from the jug, it indicated that the third exit was the correct one.
He returned the map to its magicked container and turned, but he’d barely taken a step when there was a loud chime followed by an odd rumbling noise. It sounded ominous.
The ground trembled beneath his feet and a faint smell of musty cobwebs and stone dust tickled his nostrils. He hesitated then plunged down the third path.
Easy, he thought. It might have been a ball-ache getting hold of the bellarmine jug and the Clouded Map, but his efforts had clearly been worthwhile. He turned the next corner.
He didn’t get very far. When he saw what was waiting for him his steps faltered. What the hell was it – and why was it there? There had been nothing on the map to indicate…
Chester Longchamps didn’t get the chance to complete his thought or to work out what was happening. The sealed bellarmine jug containing the Clouded Map tumbled onto the dark ground. This particular jug was sturdier than the last one but even so it was surprising that it didn’t shatter.
Unfortunately that didn’t matter to Chester Longchamps, not anymore. He was beyond caring.
Thank you so much for reading Squib! Exactly what’s happened to Chester will be revealed in the next Kit McCafferty Cat Lady book, Night Maze.