Michael Belmont and the Heir of Van Helsing (The Adventures of Michael Belmont) (12 page)

“Is the boy alright?” Mrs. Stoker croaked.

Michael’s father and Liam helped him to his feet, although he hadn’t needed them to, and sat him down in a nearby chair.
 
His father looked hard into his eyes to make sure all the lights had come back on.

“Goodness, child,” Mrs. Stoker gasped.
 
“The next time you decide to up and faint like that, don’t do it while leaning over a sword.
 
Are you trying to give an old woman a heart attack?”

“Sorry about that,” said Michael, rubbing his head.
 
He glanced at his mother, who did not look the least bit amused.

“Come with me,” she said, pushing through the others and dragging him toward the kitchen.
 
“Everyone, lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

As they left the room, Michael heard his father assuring Mrs. Stoker that he would be all right, and returning her attention to the sword.

His mother sat him down at the table and poured him a glass of soda.
 
Then she started to make lunch, watching him suspiciously and waiting for him to talk.

“WELL?” she said finally.
 
She didn’t sound mad, he decided, just concerned.
 
He carefully told her about everything he’d seen.

“Alright,” she said calmly.
 
“So that ring of yours, for some reason, is causing you to see other people's memories when you touch certain relics.
 
Has this ever happened apart from the amulet, the sword, and Anubis’s sarcophagus?”

“No, it hasn’t.”

She raised her eyebrows threateningly and began to take containers out of the refrigerator.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about it Mom.”
 
The implication made him feel mad and a little hurt.
 
He couldn’t claim that he’d
never
lied to his parents, but he hadn’t in a long time, and this was too important.

“Alright,” she said, believing him.
 
“But you said that with Anubis it was different.
 
He told you that a friend had helped him design that contraption in order to store his memories, and that was before you had the ring.
 
And this Uriel guy; he’s the one that gave Anubis his staff as well.
 
He told George that the sword had been forged with…what was it again?”

“He called it celestial light.
 
It has to be the same stuff that was in Anubis’s staff, and in my ring too.
 
It’s why the ring reacted to the sword.
 
That has to be the answer!”

“But what’s that got to do with my grandmother’s amulet?
 
You didn’t see this Uriel character when you touched the amulet did you?”

“I didn’t see much of anything, you jerked it away from me before I had the chance, remember?”

She glared at him.

“Sorry, Mom.”
 
He smiled guiltily.
 
“But maybe if you let me take another look at the amulet, I can figure this out.”

She sighed.
 
“We need to talk to your father about all of this first and see what he thinks.”
 
She looked worried.
 
“How do you feel?
 
It doesn’t hurt or make you sick or anything when you see these visions?”

He shook his head.
 
“It doesn’t hurt at all.
 
It’s actually really disorienting for a few seconds, and it makes me a little tired, but I’m fine after that wears off.”

“Okay,” she conceded.
 
“But like I said, we need to talk this over with your father.
 
I won’t put you in any danger, either from the amulet, or that sword.
 
Besides, we need to work all this nonsense out with the vampires now, so let’s just take things one step at a time.”
 
She sounded drained.

Michael got up to help her with the final preparations for lunch.
 
“It’ll be okay, Mom.
 
It sounds like Mrs. Stoker is working with some people who’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, I suppose so.
 
I just hope your father doesn’t get any wild ideas about trying his hand at vampire hunting.”
 

Michael chuckled, but stopped when he could see by her expression that she was serious, and very unhappy at the prospect.

“Um, Mom, there’s probably one other thing I ought to tell you about.”

She set a bowl of lettuce down on the table and looked at him nervously.

“You know how I told you about seeing those wolves in the yard a few weeks ago?”

She nodded apprehensively.

“Well, I think I shot the white one a little bit earlier today with my bow.”
 
He told her the story as she stared at him with a half open mouth.

“That
is
interesting.
 
I think it’s something we need to discus with everyone- including out guests.
 
But not until after lunch, okay?”

Michael felt sorry for his mother.
 
She looked so tired and worried.
 
He wished he could do something to make her feel better, but he didn’t know how to help.
 
“Are you okay, Mom?”

She nodded, and thrust her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

The night seemed too quiet and Michael couldn’t sleep.
 
He kept thinking about the sword of Van Helsing, and the stories that Dorothy Stoker had told them after dinner.
 
Stories of impaled bodies, burned villages, and inhuman crimes- all committed by this Count Dracula.
 
Would it really be possible for such a monster to return from the grave?
 
That he might be forming some type of army for a return to power?
 
The whole idea would have seemed crazy to him once, but not anymore.
 
If werewolves existed, then perhaps vampires were more than just a story as well.
 
He had no reason to disbelieve Mrs. Stoker; he just didn’t
want
to believe her.

And why was he having these visions?
 
First it was his mother’s amulet, and now the sword of Van Helsing.
 
Was there some purpose behind it all, or was it nothing more than coincidence.
 
He desperately wanted to figure things out.

Who was this George fellow that he had seen when he touched the sword?
 
It certainly didn’t seem like he had anything to do with Abraham Van Helsing.
 
He had to figure out a way to get his hands back on that sword, so he could learn more about where it came from, and how it was used to destroy Dracula.
 
If it had been used to defeat him once, they might need to use it again.
 
Maybe the vampires were looking for it because it was the only thing that
could
defeat him.

He wondered where his father had placed the sword.
 
Back in its original hiding place?
 
Maybe he’d given it to Mrs. Stoker, or Mr. MacDonald.
 
Wherever the thing was, his father wouldn’t have left it out in the open somewhere, especially since he knew there were people out there searching for it.

Almost without thinking he jumped out of bed, headed down the hall and went downstairs.
 
He looked around the living room and the other common areas of the house before being fully convinced that the sword had indeed been re-hidden.

“Well, my Dad’s not an idiot,” Michael whispered to himself, “and Mom would have made him put it away anyway so I couldn’t get to it.”

He felt thirsty, and decided to head to the kitchen for a drink of water before returning to bed.

Getting a glass from the cupboard, he filled it with cold water from the faucet and took a drink.
 
As he stood in front of the sink, he looked out the window into the night.
 
It seemed brighter outside with the moonlight than it was in the house, and Michael could see the snow-covered trees standing still in the distance.
 
It was a calm night, and it looked really cold.
 
He finished drinking and placed his glass in the sink.
 
Perhaps his brain would calm down enough now to return to bed and get some sleep.
 
He was tired, and there would be plenty of time for thinking tomorrow, he told himself.

And then he saw something move in the distance outside the window.
 
It looked like a human figure passing behind one of the trees.
 
He stood still and watched for a few long minutes.

There was nothing out there.
 
He decided his imagination was just playing tricks on him.
 
That’s what he got for allowing himself to be spooked by ghost stories.

Each footfall seemed heavier as he staggered back up to his room.
 
He dropped into bed, and before long he’d fallen into a peaceful world of dreams.

The sound of a woman screaming tore its way into Michael’s dream.
 
He shot up and opened his eyes.
 
Was it his mother?

He pulled himself out of bed and staggered out into the hallway.
 
The smell of smoke drifting through the air made him choke, and he squinted to see a strange orange glow coming from the stairwell.

Sprinting for Abigail’s room and throwing open the door, he reached for the light switch and flipped it up, but no light came.
 
Though his eyes stung from the smoke, he could see the form of his sister lying on the bed through the darkness.
 
She was still sound asleep.
 
He grabbed her and shook frantically.

“What’s your PROBLEM?” she barked at him angrily.

“HEY,” Michael shot back at her, “We need to get out of here right NOW.
 
THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!”

“WHAT?”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room. It was like trying to lead a stubborn, confused mule, but before long she realized what was happening, and followed him toward Liam’s room.

Liam had heard the commotion and come out to meet them in the hall, a look of dread plastered on his face.
 
“A fire?” he asked them, already knowing the answer.

Dorothy Stoker came out of her room and shuffled off toward the stairs, only to come back a few moments later.
 
“Children, we can’t get out down there, we need to find another route.”

“But what about Mom and Dad?
 
And Mr. MacDonald?” Abigail pleaded.
 
Their rooms were downstairs, and it was clear they couldn’t be reached.

“I’m sure they all got out okay.”
 
Michael told her.
 
His voice was shaking but he knew he had to be strong and keep a level head.
 
“Follow me, everyone.”

He ushered them all into Liam’s room and opened the window.
 
Then he retrieved an emergency escape ladder from the closet and attached it to the windowsill.
 
Mrs. Stoker did not look pleased, but she had a determined glare in her eyes.

A woman began shouting at them loudly from the ground below.
 
Michael looked down to see his mother, fit to be tied, running to the bottom of the ladder.

“Is everyone alright?” she yelled as a thick smoke began to billow out the window.

“Yes, we’re all okay,” he yelled back as he helped Abigail climb out and start down the ladder.

Dorothy insisted that both boys go before she did, but Liam waited a few rungs down to help her as she came over the windowsill.
 
She hemmed and hawed nervously while trying to get her footing, until a window exploded somewhere beneath them.
 
This seemed to motivate her, and she scooted down the rungs like she’d just been replaced with a stunt double.

After everyone got to the ground, they ran to the sidewalk on the other side of the street where a few neighbors were starting to gather.

Michael turned around to see his house ablaze.
 
The fire had moved into the upstairs and flames were licking the frame of the window from which they’d climbed down.
 
The heat was so fierce they had to shield their eyes.

A few moments later a fire truck pulled up and the firemen scurried out.
 
They linked up to the closest hydrant and began to attack the blaze like a squadron of soldiers infiltrating an enemy base.

Michael’s mother grabbed all three kids and pulled them in tight.

Michael looked around, scanning through the night for his father.
 
“Where are dad and Mr. MacDonald?”

His mother just squeezed them all tightly.
 
“They’re fine.
 
They weren’t in the house.”

What did she mean they weren’t in the house?
 
At least they were safe, which was all that mattered.

Abigail began to weep, and Rose Dominguez came out of nowhere, put a blanket around her and kissed the top of her head.

It soon became obvious to Michael as he watched their home burn that the firemen wouldn’t be able to save it.
 
All they could do now was try to contain the flames and keep the fire from spreading to another structure, or to the forest behind the house.
 
He couldn’t believe what was happening.
 
It didn’t seem real.
 
The place where he had grown up, the place where he had always felt the safest, was now turning to ash right before his eyes.
 
All of his things, his video game collection, the bomber jacket he’d gotten for Christmas, they were all burning up as he stood there helplessly.
 
But none of those things suddenly mattered very much.

He thought of all the family pictures hanging on the walls as the fire swept through and consumed them.
 
He thought of the shelf in his sister’s room, where she had placed all of her kung fu trophies and the ribbons she’d won.
 
His heart broke for her, and for his parents and the things that they were losing, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.