Chapter Text
New Orleans, Louisiana, 1783
A covered wagon came up to large wrought iron gates.
‘This is it?’
‘Yes. See? The same insignia is built into the gates as the one on the woman’s coat.’
‘Let’s hope that means it’s the same family. How did they come to your notice?’
‘During the war, this was one of the houses the British tried to take to house their soldiers but they couldn’t. For some reason, they were always stopped at this gate. But the gates were opened for people who were displaced from their homes by the British and for our own revolutionary soldiers to use as a base.’
‘I am pleased to hear it.’ He sought out some sort of bell to ring for attention but he saw a slave dressed as a footman – which struck him as odd – already approaching the gate. ‘Did the Master of the House actively participate in the revolution?’
‘There was no Master of the House, but rather a Mistress. The daughter of a French aristocrat, I believe. I never saw her; only the commanders did. The word was that her father purchased the estate, built the house, and sent her here so their family had a presence in the Colonies. She spent most of her time coordinating her spies.’
At this point, the slave arrived at the gate. ‘May I help you, gentlemen?’
‘We have come to speak to the Master…or Mistress of the House.’
‘Mistress, gentlemen. And she will want to know for what reason you are calling upon her so early in the morning.’
Very…forward of a slave, but he was likely just doing his job. ‘We’ve travelled from Boston. A body was found. The unfortunate woman was wearing a coat with the exact same family crest as is on this gate.’
The slave raised his eyebrow. Then he reached up and unhooked the gate. Opening it, he let them in and led them up the path to the large house. At the front doors, the man hopped up the stairs and opened the doors. He spoke to someone inside, before returning and leading them down to a building attached to the side of the house.
Several more slaves were present and quickly went about moving the woman from the covered wagon onto a large, flat table in the centre of the building. It struck him as odd that such a building would exist…unless it had been used as an operating theatre during the Revolution. That would make sense.
But…the slaves really were acting more like servants than slaves.
He didn’t have much time to ponder it as the door swung open and a young white woman – young, but still old enough to be considered a spinster if she really were unmarried – walked in. She was fully dressed and he found himself wondering in what kind of a hurry had she dressed herself to already be down here.
‘Am I right in assuming you are the Mistress of the House?’ he asked.
‘You are,’ she said, her voice carrying the Louisiana twang that all the locals around here seemed to have. ‘My name is Ana Belmont.’
She walked right over and flicked the sheet back from the woman’s face. Her expression tightened and she lowered it further before making an examination.
‘Miss Belmont?’ one of her slaves asked.
‘Impaled through the heart,’ Miss Belmont said, repeating exactly what the doctor had said. She pulled the sheet back over her. ‘Leave her here for now.’
‘Leave her here?’ one of the slaves asked.
Rather than get angry, as most slave-owners would, she fished out a pocket watch. ‘The undertaker doesn’t open his doors for another four hours. In the meantime, warm up the telegram machine. I’ll have to tell Juste and Violette that Julia is dead.’ She turned. ‘Gentlemen, thank you for making such a long journey at, I expect, very short notice. Your efforts are appreciated.’
‘Ma’am.’ The leader of the expedition tipped his hat. ‘We have no idea who killed her, though.’
Miss Belmont’s eye twitched, ever so slightly. ‘That is not my primary concern right now. Julia had a young son, of about nine or ten years, by the name of Richter. I don’t suppose you are aware what became of him?’
Oh…that was alarming. ‘We did not even know she had a child.’
‘Perhaps we best return to Boston and try to track down the boy.’
‘Indeed,’ Miss Belmont said.
Machecoul, Loire-Atlantique, Western France, 1792
‘They claim it’s the natural order. They are born rich and we are born poor. And that’s just the Will of God. It’s the natural order for them to get rich by milking us dry with impossible rent and unpayable taxes. My mother hasn’t paid her taxes for years now, because she’s just too poor. Sooner or later, they’ll send around their bully-boys. And you all know what I mean by that. They thought it would stay like that, til the end of time. Well, the king thought it was his divine right to be king. Well, do you know what happened to him? He’s been arrested.’
A young girl stood in with a group of others. She was about the age of sixteen. Her long blonde hair was in a ponytail than hung down her back. Her clothes were all handmade but dyed more brightly than anyone else’s. They were, in fact, dyed pink. There was a sense, among the group, that she may be better off than most of the others. But there was also the sense that her mother, of whom she spoke, was a seamstress and, thus, had easier access to more valuable materials.
At any rate, nobody doubted that she understood their anger and the plight of the poor as well as they did; nobody doubted that she experienced the very same poverty that they did.
‘The government in Paris have overthrown the monarchy and declared a republic,’ the young girl said.
Back front the group, a man known to be the girl’s cousin, older by three years, sat against a tree.
‘To hell with the natural order!’ the girl continued. She raised a fist into the air. ‘No more kings! No more aristocrats! Vive la révolution!’
The others in the crowd lifted their fists and cheered. ‘Vive la révolution!’
The young man sitting against the tree smiled.
But not because of the cheering. He’d heard something. A moment later, there was a snarl and the form of a man leapt from the trees and landed right in the middle of the fire, extinguishing it. The revolutionaries jerked back. The male lifted his head, snarling again. His razor-sharp fangs could be clearly seen.
He was a vampire.
The young man rose from his place at the tree. From his belt, he took a whip and, with the snap of his wrist, the end of the whip sliced the whole top of the vampire’s head off. Blood and brain splattered. Right before impact, he noted a strange circular tattoo, with a crescent on the side…on the vampire’s forehead. But there were more coming.
‘Stay close,’ the girl instructed her followers. ‘Stay together. Don’t run into the woods.’
That said, she turned and a golden glow appeared over her finger, which she extended out. With that finger, she drew a circle in the air. A golden glowing portal appeared in front of her and her hair was blown back as two birds with magnificent red and blue feathers flew out. With loud cries, they attacked.
The young man, meanwhile, had two more vampires charging at him. He smiled in delight, and he swung the whip around in well-practiced strokes. One of the vampires blocked the whip from himself with his battle axe. That was no problem. The young man grabbed the base of the whip and yanked it.
It snapped across, hitting the hand of the other vampire and throwing him off-balance. Then it continued on and hit the first vampire in the solar plexus. Both of them stumbled and fell. The young man drew the whip back to himself. He was once again charged. And he simply cracked the whip at both of them.
At this point, he was making sport of them.
***
The two birds cried out and transformed into their energy forms.
They soared straight through the nearest vampire. As a consequence, he had to stop attacking the man. The young girl, with golden orbs glowing over her fingers, guided them. The vampire swung at them but missed them with every attempt. Meanwhile, the birds attacked and cut into him. Finally fed up, he turned and charged at the girl controlling them.
The girl crossed her arms over her body. The birds transformed into energy form and flew down. They struck him right in the chest, throwing him off target. As he came down, the girl moved fast. She dodged out of the way and then pointed towards him. The vampire was promptly attacked by both birds.
***
Meanwhile, the young man was still fighting the other two vampires.
He pulled out a pair of throwing knives and sent them sailing through the air. The vampire that was his target dodged all but one of them. That final knife sliced through his thumb and severed it from his hand. With a cry of pain, he jerked back and grabbed his hand. And that moment of distraction cost him dearly.
The young man coiled his whip around the vampire. Instantly, he cried out as the consecrated whip burned him. The young man pulled him in and forced him to his knees. Then he planted a boot on the vampire’s shoulder. The vampire looked up at him, the same marking on his forehead as on the first vampire. Looking at it up close, the young man realised it wasn’t a crescent.
It looked like a tattoo of…an eclipse?
‘You can kill me, Richter Belmont,’ the vampire said, ‘but it won’t do you any good. Before the moon is full, the Vampire Messiah will come. The Devourer of Light will eat the sun. You…will suffer and die, along with everyone you love.’
Richter Belmont had his hand on his short sword and looked at the vampire. He raised his eyebrow and pulled a face. ‘That makes…absolutely no sense.’
And Richter sliced his head off.
Richter then turned as he curled his whip up again. By now, the birds had gouged out both of the last vampire’s eyes and were still ripping him to shreds. So Richter flicked his short sword across and impaled the vampire in the heart. He fell back, dead. The revolutionaries still stood in shock while Richter retrieved his thrown weapons.
‘I told you this was a damn stupid place for a revolutionary meeting,’ he said.
The girl sighed as she made a portal for her avian familiars to return through. ‘We’ll just have to start holding them in the town. I’m just worried people won’t come.’
‘Maria, if they’re more scared of gossips than they are of vampires maybe they’re not, you know, revolutionary material,’ Richter pointed out.
‘What did it mean by “the vampire messiah”?’ Maria asked.
Richter went and collected his short sword, which had just been pulled out of the vampire by one of the revolutionaries – Jacques, Richter thought his name was. ‘Who knows?’ He caught the sword as Jacques threw it to him. Oh, that was right. Jacques was sweet on Maria. ‘What a ridiculous concept!’
Maria was looking across the water. ‘It might explain why there seem to be more vampires around lately. They’re gathering somewhere. The Chateau, I wouldn’t wonder.’
Richter came and stood next to her. ‘Well…it’s where I’d go if I was a vampire. Want to go and check?’
Maria looked at him. She shook her head and turned to her revolutionaries. ‘Jacques, let’s get everyone back to town.’
***
Richter and Maria led the way out of the woods.
‘The devourer of light, it said,’ Richter mused. ‘That sounds bad.’
‘Why come here?’ Maria demanded. ‘What’s so special about here?’
‘Our beans!’ Richter suggested jokingly. ‘The local beans are pretty sensational. Makes local blood nice and smokey.’
‘God, you’re a wanker,’ Maria muttered.
As they came out of the woods, Richter made a suggestion. ‘Maybe we should discuss this with the Abbot.’
Maria glared at him.
‘I know,’ Richter said. ‘He’s no friend to the revolution, but he can’t be much of a friend to vampires either.’ He watched the revolutionaries walk past. ‘And he’s got assault monks. Strength in all their numbers.’
‘You’re right,’ Maria said.
‘I am?’ Richter looked at her in surprise.
‘We propose a temporary alliance. They help us see what’s happening, and then they help us fight.’ She began to walk.
‘What? Now?’ Richter asked. He followed after. ‘I thought you might want to argue me to the death about it.’
Maria didn’t answer.
‘Maybe don’t tell him about the magic birds though,’ Richter suggested.
‘He knows you kill vampires,’ Maria pointed out.
‘I have a reputation,’ Richter declared with pride. ‘And people accept it, because of the heroic and handsome thing. But teenage girls conjuring creatures from the other world? They start building piles of very flammable wood.’
‘You talk like I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut,’ Maria retorted.
Richter decided that was not an argument he was going to get into.