Hidden (Marchwood Vampire Series #1) (34 page)

‘
In England, yes,’ she confirmed.

‘
You go,’ he said. ‘I will wait for the others to
wake.’

*

In his bed,
Harold felt no fear, only anticipation that he might finally see
what he had been hoping for, for so long. When he opened his eyes
he was not disappointed.

She was almost
ethereal. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, her pale face
luminescent in the darkness. He realised her hand was stroking his
brow. It felt cool.

‘
Father,’ she whispered. A soft sighing sound, like the wind
rustling the leaves in the trees.

‘
Leonora.’ He sat up slowly. ‘How do you feel? Are you
well?’

‘
Father, I am well. Where is Mother?’

‘
I am sorry, my angel, she is …’ Harold choked over the words,
unable to tell his daughter her mother was indeed gone from
them.

‘
Do not cry, Father,’ Leonora sat on the bed next to him.
‘Mother is gone?’

He nodded.

‘
And you have brought us home,’ she said.

He nodded
again, half afraid of this composed creature who was his
daughter.

‘
Alexandre is awake but the others still sleep. They will wake
soon,’ she said. ‘We just needed time to recover and adjust to our
new lives.’

‘
How do you feel?’ Harold whispered, as his heart hammered in
his chest. It was madness to feel such fear from his own flesh and
blood, but he could not help it. She was so …
magnificent.

‘
I feel as if the world has given me all of its gifts at
once,’ she replied. ‘As though I have the power of the moon and the
stars at my fingertips.’

‘
Well, that is good,’ Harold said.

She laughed at
his words; a melodic tinkling sound, like the pealing of silver
bells. ‘Yes, Father. That is good.’

‘
What will you do now?’ he asked.

‘
Why, we can do whatever we wish. But we cannot bear the light
of day, that is all. What would you have us do?’

‘
I do not know. I am just happy you are well. I despaired you
would stay unmoving for all eternity. There is just one thing I
need to know. Do you ... Do you ...?’

‘
You may ask it, Father. Or would you rather I just told
you?’

Harold
nodded.

‘
I know your question and the answer is
yes
. We do need blood.’ She
confirmed his fears. ‘It is to
us
what bread and water is to
you
.’

‘
Do you wish to drink from me again?’ Harold asked. ‘You know
you do not even need to ask ...’

‘
Father, no!’ She looked like a teacher scolding an insolent
child. ‘I am sorry we took from you before, but we were not
ourselves. No, we will find sustenance elsewhere.’

‘
Please,’ he said. ‘You will not kill anybody will
you?’

‘
I hope we shall not, but in truth I cannot yet be certain. I
do not feel quite in control.’

Harold felt a
dread-tinged happiness. ‘Just, please do not hurt Refet. He is here
in England with us. He lives in the Lodge House.’

‘
Refet!’ she exclaimed. ‘He is here in England? How wonderful.
Of course I would not dream of harming a hair on his
head.’

‘
Good, good,’ Harold said, relieved. He was on new ground here
and he did not know how his daughter’s altered state had affected
her mind or her moral compass.

‘
I believe the others are waking. I will see you soon,
Father.’ And, with that, she was gone, like a piece of gossamer
snatched up by the wind and whisked away.

*

One by one,
they awoke and discovered different ways to adjust to their new
lives. Harold realised they would never willingly or consciously
harm him and he relaxed in their company, enjoying looking at their
beauty and listening to their sighing voices.

Refet learned
to be around them, but he could never fully trust them. He could
still see the aftermath of the underground massacre in his mind
and, although these creatures may not currently wish him ill, they
were certainly capable of it. He treated them with respect, the way
you might treat a pet dog that has been bred to hunt and kill.

Freddie gently
told his father what had befallen them in the cavern and Harold
wept all over again at the way in which his wife and friends had
been so brutally murdered. But it was now clear that all five of
them were adjusting well to their new lives as vampires, for that
was what they were.

Harold
purchased numerous books on the subject of demons and mythical
creatures and the word ‘vampire’ was the closest description to
what his children had become. They craved human blood, they could
not go out in daylight and nothing appeared to harm them. Their new
bodies were strong and their senses razor sharp. Now they had
awoken, they no longer resembled statues and could almost be
mistaken for normal humans – beautiful, pale, luminescent
humans.

Leonora and
Freddie assured their father they felt the same love for him as
they always had, despite the fact his blood sang out to them. But
Harold still felt slightly distanced, especially from Leonora who
grew colder and ever more aloof. Perhaps also, the loss of Victoria
had damaged his family.

*

Alexandre did
not fully understand how he had been made. And why the five of them
and not their parents? They had a loose theory that their youthful
bodies had saved them from death and that their parents’ bodies had
been too old to survive the trauma of having the blood drained from
their bodies.

Maybe Harold
had not been killed or transformed, because his blood had not been
completely drained. They had just taken a little; enough to render
him unconscious for a few days but not to kill him. Or perhaps
they, as new vampires, did not have the ability or power to turn
anyone.

Alexandre
became pensive and withdrawn. He was not upset or angry at what had
happened, but felt surprised and somewhat melancholy at the turn
his life had taken. There had been too much unfinished business in
his human life. Avenues he had yet to explore and opportunities
left unexploited. Journeys he would never now be able to take.

His feelings confused him and he could not have articulated
them if he tried. He felt …
loss
. That was the simplest way to
explain it, but it did not fully cover the range of emotions which
flooded his new body. He thought about the possibility of returning
to Paris with Jacques and Isobel; returning to the only home he had
ever known. But he knew it would only exacerbate these feelings of
loss and the three siblings agreed it would be better to stay in
England, at least for now. They were orphans, and France would feel
wrong without Maman and Papa.

The death of
Alexandre’s parents could almost be counted as a blessing, given
what had happened. Maman could not have borne it - to see what her
children had become and Papa would have been saddened by the future
they faced. A future of blood-filled nights in darkened corners; of
cold skin and sharp teeth. Outsiders. Creatures of legend and myth,
never belonging, never changing, just enduring.

No, his
parents were better off dying with the image of their human
flesh-and-blood children in their minds. This was the whirl of
thoughts Alexandre’s mind contained. They spun around, forming and
reforming but always resulting in the ever-familiar hollow feelings
of loss.

Leonora became
more detached as the nights went by. Alexandre sometimes felt her
eyes on him, but when he turned to face her, she was always looking
elsewhere; still as inscrutable as ever. She only spoke to him when
necessary - polite but distant.

He remembered
Cappadocia, where she had bandaged his bleeding palm with her
petticoat and held his good hand in hers. She had spoken to him
with tenderness and concern, comforting him in the wake of his
father’s death. But all that gentle warmth had left her. She was as
cold and hard as her new vampire body. Her pale eyes gave nothing
away. She was obedient to her father, patient with her brother and
solicitous to the rest of them, but her old personality appeared to
have been leached away. Maybe in time she would soften a little?
Maybe.

As summer
turned to autumn and autumn to winter, something was going wrong.
Alexandre felt alternately strong as a god and then weak as a
kitten. He did not understand it. One minute he had enough strength
to fell an oak tree, but then he would be overtaken by a great
lethargy that left him incapacitated for hours, sometimes days. The
others were the same. They tried drinking more, but their appetite
for blood decreased along with their energy.

Harold was
pinched with worry. He feared they were dying and was desperate to
find out what was wrong.

‘
I think it is better this way,’ Refet said. ‘How long you
think before people in village start to realise there is something
odd here? Already is talk of foreign strangers and rumours about
this house. I think is better they sleep longer, awake
shorter.’

‘
Well I know your feelings on the subject, Refet, but do not
forget these are my children we are talking about.’

‘
I know, I know, you children! They not children anymore. You
know this.’

‘
When I want a lecture from you, I will ask for
one!’

‘
Yes, yes. You only want me speak when I say something you
want hear.’

‘
You are right, Refet. I do not wish to hear that it is better
if my children fall into a coma and die. On this, you are
right.’

‘
You know I not mean this. I only say …’

‘
Yes, you are only being sensible. I know. But I could not
bear to lose them all over again.’

‘
I know. I sorry.’

‘
No, I am sorry. You are a good man to put up with all this
mad nonsense.’

‘
You not so special. My life full of mad nonsense before I met
you.’

‘
I am sure it was, Refet, my man. I believe this world is full
of more mad nonsense than you or I will ever know.’

*

The vampires
slept more and woke less. And then, one day, they just never woke
up. Harold continued to talk to them and to read to them, ever
hopeful they would rise and speak again.

After some
years, he purchased a new machine called a gramophone and played
music to them, sure this would provoke some reaction. Very
occasionally, one or other of them would grab his wrist and drink
from him. These episodes usually left him weakened and delirious,
but he noticed no change in any of them. Their eyes remained closed
and their bodies stayed still as stone.

He thought of them
all
as his children now and cared for them equally.
He thought often about why
they
had transformed and not his beloved Victoria or
Didier and Marie-Louise. Could it simply be because they were
children, younger and stronger than the adults who had
perished?

Harold read
voraciously of vampires and ancient legends, to see if he could
discover what his children had become and why they remained
unconscious. But all the information he came across was fictitious
and brought him no nearer to discovering the truth.

So many
questions and no answers. It was frustrating and disheartening but
he would not give up hope. He had no other family and worried
constantly about what would happen to them when he died. He would
have liked to travel back to Turkey, to speak with the old woman,
Havva Sahin. Perhaps she would be able to cast some light over what
had happened. But he daren’t leave his children for too long. He
decided to write her a letter.

Refet married
a local girl. They had children together and seemed happy working
for Harold, sometimes keeping him company in the evenings. He made
Refet promise that when Harold died, he would continue to look
after the house to ensure no harm befell the children. Refet said
he would be happy to take on this role, but that Harold would
probably outlive them all.

After some
months, on a wintry November morning, a letter arrived. It was the
letter Harold had been waiting for and he took it into the library,
sat at his desk and sliced open the envelope with shaking
fingers.

My Dear Mr Swinton

I am so sorry for the loss of your wife and friends. I had
the pleasure of meeting Agha Isik Kaya and he struck me as a good
man, God rest his soul.

Your children have become blood demons. They are vampyr.
There is nothing you can do but be thankful they sleep. Keep them
in the dark, in the ground and speak of it to no one. I will keep
your secret.

Peace be with you.

Havva Sahin

Was that it?
Was that all she could tell him? He already knew what they had
become and he already knew he must keep it a secret. He had hoped
she might be able to offer him a cure, or at least some useful
information. Her letter was nothing more than a polite
confirmation. Harold resisted the urge to tear it into little
strips and throw it onto the fire. He now realised he would have no
help or enlightenment and that he may never be able to revive his
children. He had reached the end of the road.