ARMINIUS’S WORDS OF WARNING
He took a single step before the words left him in a hurry: “Xavier, you must forgive me. It-it was foolish of me to attack the Lycan, foolish of me to move so recklessly—”
“No,” Xavier interrupted, “I know how hard it is to still oneself from the lure of a Lycan’s blood. You need say no more.”
The Vampire turned to Victor, who looked prepared to speak, his thoughts lost in question. He had fully expected the Vampire to ream into him for even attempting to fight a Lycan—what was this? “We…must stop Darien before he comes after Alexandria,” Victor offered cautiously.
“Darien is not going to come for her, he is traveling to Lane,” Xavier replied.
“How do you know?”
Christian kept his gaze on his brother, mind working hard on just what could have happened that was more important than he, the roughshod brother, foolishly moving to get himself hurt by an overgrown beast.
He followed Xavier’s eyes when they moved to the woman near the door, fear and bewilderment in her eyes.
Xavier stared back at Victor, sure to say, “Dracula wanted me to escort Dragor out of the City before he was put to death. Upon leaving his mansion, a Vampire approached us. It appeared Dragor knew who it was. Yet it wasn’t until the Vampire turned to me that I realized he was Lucien Caddenhall.”
Christian stared, nonplussed, as a gasp of surprise left Lillith, and he looked to her, her eyes moving in disbelief to Victor. “How did he get into the Vampire City?” she asked the room at large.
“It seems the Caddenhall Curse is true,” Xavier said. “Lucien moved in shadows, his aura most elusive, just like in the stories. He’d told me he was to escort Dragor to Lane, mentioning that he came from some alliance for all Dark Creatures, due to some Demetrius Bane, the Head of Office there.”
Lillith and Victor exchanged appalled looks, but they did not speak and Xavier continued: “When we left the City, Lucien left with Dragor. I was preparing to transport home when I heard voices in the woods. It was Minerva and Yaddley Caddenhall, and I followed them to Caddenhall Manor.
“Minerva was speaking of ways in which they could acquire the human woman. And when they entered the house, another voice emerged.” But he quite suddenly looked as though he didn’t want to go on.
“Who was it?” Lillith said, sounding nervous, Alexandria now the only one left at the doors.
“Ewer Caddenhall,” he said after a moment.
Victor shook his head. “Impossible.”
Lillith shrieked, “He’s dead!”
“No,” Xavier said tersely, much to Christian’s bemusement. “The Caddenhalls continued their conversation, and Yaddley mentioned Demetrius Bane. Ewer was quick to correct him, saying that Demetrius Bane was Darien Nicodemeus. That the name Demetrius Bane was only a front.”
Victor bared his fangs in frustration. “So it was him.”
All Vampires eyed him, but it was Xavier who said, “Darien was here?”
“Yes,” Lillith said, looking both angry and scared.
“Well according to Ewer, Damion has ‘long since betrayed’ them,” Xavier said.
“Well what does that mean?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Christian, feeling all the more left out kept his thoughts on the only thing that made sense to him. “Well what will be done about Alexandria?”
The Vampires turned to look at her, and she stared back, speechless.
“We should take her to Dracula,” Xavier said.
Victor sighed. “So it’s another trip back to the City, is it?”
“No,” Xavier said.
Christian opened his mouth to speak, when Lillith said, “But you just said we should take her back.”
“Dracula has lied to us all avoided our questions for years. He’s had us read books on the Curse and here we stand, once believing all of the Caddenhalls to be tucked away safely with their Invaders, only to find that no, that is not so and, low and behold, Darien and Damion Nicodemeus have been the Invaders all along.”
“But—”
“It is clear Dracula has been keeping this from us for as long as we have been under his command. There’s no telling what he truly needs from the woman. And Eleanor Black, we believed her dead, but she is very much alive, and I believe Dracula knew what she was capable of.”
No one said a word for a long time, and then Christian, once more at a loss, offered quietly, “So what will we do?”
“We will resume things as usual. I do not think it is best to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves…but remain cautious, naturally.”
Victor and Lillith exchanged apprehensive glances, and Victor said, “And what of Alexandria?”
All Vampires eyed her, and she shrunk under their gazes, drawing herself up against the frame of the doorway.
He considered her before saying, “Damion saved her, yes, but we cannot give her up to Dracula unless we know what he intends to do with her.”
Christian stepped forward, mind intent on what he could do. “I’ll watch over her.”
“Don’t be silly, you need to be able to protect her, not kill her,” Xavier said.
“But I can!” he retorted, anger filling his dead heart. It was clear they were all wrapped up in this Caddenhall business—why not leave the woman with him, the only Vampire that had nothing helpful to do? “I can protect her. I won’t kill her. Bloody hell, I cannot bite her, none of us can. Why is she safer in your hands than she is mine?”
Xavier looked at him coldly, and Christian almost retreated under that gaze. “I never said I wanted her. She would be rather troublesome for me, I do imagine. If I had her, there is no telling the number of Creatures that would be knocking down my doorstep to snatch her up. And even if I did want her, she would be safe in my hands because I would know how to defend her. You were sent to Damion for training, and you got yourself cut up by a large dog. You’ll look after no one—especially no one as important as her—until you can properly protect yourself.”
Christian snarled, but he could not find a word to say.
“So who will look after her?” Victor asked.
Xavier turned to him. “I would think it unfair to ask you to do the honors, since you already have Lillith here with you.” His green eyes flew to Alexandria. “I believe it would be best to have her decide herself.”
Christian stared at her, along with the others, and she blinked, looking from Vampire to Vampire, the fear full in her wet eyes.
“I...” she began, and Christian heard how low her voice sounded against Xavier’s, “I don’t know wh—”
“Please, human,” Xavier said, “you need to choose who you will stay with.”
“B-but why?” she breathed, her chest heaving, her breath leaving her in gasps. “I just—I want to go h-home.”
“You can’t,” he said, stepping toward her, and she drew up even further against the wall.
Christian stepped forward. “Xavier, please—”
“She needs to choose and she needs to do so now,” Xavier interrupted, stopping just before her.
Her eyes were closed, her head turned away from him, tears leaving her eyes.
“Xavier!” The way he was going about it wouldn’t help anything, truly.
“What?” Xavier snapped, turning to eye him at last.
He felt their gazes upon him as he said, “Can’t you see you’re terrifying her further?”
Xavier’s eyes widened; he seemed to realize what he caused in her, indeed, and turning back to her, he asked, softly, “Please, Miss Stone, you will be safe with us.”
They waited for what seemed an eternity before she relented, her shoulders slacking as something like release filled her, but release from what, Christian could not know. They said nothing as she lifted a shaking hand and pointed a finger past Xavier, toward a direction Christian could not quite believe.
Xavier followed the direction, his eyes lined with slight disbelief. “That settles it then: she stays with Christian.”
“My Lord, there is someone here to see you,” the man said with a sniff.
Xavier turned from the window, dispelling the notion that his servant had run off; he had not seen him in quite some time. “Who is it?”
“He is a...most odd-looking man, my Lord.”
Xavier narrowed his eyes at the clear hesitation in his voice. “Odd looking? Do explain.”
“Well...” and the man shuffled from foot to foot, looking perplexed as to how to go on. “He has rather large ears, my Lord.”
“Large ears?” he said, wondering why in the world an Elf would decide to pay a visit in broad daylight.
“Yes, my Lord.”
He asked no more questions. His servant was intensely confused by the Elf’s appearance, as were the maids and doormen no doubt would be. He stepped through the doorway, leaving the man with his bewilderment.
When he reached the main hall, he looked warily for any exceedingly pale man with large pointed ears, but found no one waiting for him near the main doors. He signaled to a maid scrubbing the floor farther down the hall. “Excuse me, where is the gentlemen that came to see me?”
She never lifted her head. “Last I saw of him, he was escorted down into the living room, told to wait there for you, my Lord.”
The living room? he thought, proceeding past her. “Which living room was the man taken to?”
And now, seemingly aware of the distance between them, she looked up, although no farther than his shoes. “The one not many are allowed in, my Lord,” her voice shaking with the words.
He narrowed his eyes. “The white one?”
“Yes.”
Xavier stared down at her for a few more seconds before tearing his gaze from her small frame, moving down the main hall, mind thick on just why an Elf was here—and to see him.
When he reached the white doors, he turned the handle, and pushed them open, only to see a tall man standing near the fireplace. The Elf was still. He appeared to be gazing into the flames so intently his head did not move. His long black hair was straight, resting lightly over the long white, gold-lined robes he wore, and only from behind the black curtain of hair could Xavier make out the two tips of the man’s ears.
Xavier stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Arminius,” he said, “to what do I owe this surprise?”
Arminius turned, his black eyes distracted: He looked lost. It was a long while before he stirred at last, if only to clutch the red stone that hung from a golden chain around his white neck. “Xavier,” he breathed, and his voice came through oddly strangled in his throat, as if someone was forbidding him to speak, “I hope you can forgive me, but I had to see you.”
He took a small step forward, sure to keep his distance from the Elf. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”
Arminius let out a quiet hissing sound, keeping his white lips together. His gaze danced from the flickering flames back to Xavier’s eyes. “There is unrest. Great unrest. I am not sure how long we have until things explode in our World.”
“What do you mean?”
“Surely you have heard—witnessed even—the crushing feeling that plagues all Dark Creatures?” the Elf said, with a bit of hysteria, as if he could not believe the Vampire’s inability to understand. “Alinneis is plotting his revenge against Dracula, all Vampires. He claims that what is happening, the mysterious Creatures plaguing our woods, our caves, is all Dracula’s doing. He seems to think that this is part of some grand scheme cooked up by the Great Vampire to do away with all Dark Creatures. These…Creatures plaguing our World have an influence on every Creature, and from what I have gathered, it is never a good one.”
Xavier did not speak.
Arminius continued: “What is Dracula planning, Vampure?”
He merely stared at him, wondering what the Elf’s purpose was for coming here, speaking so freely. “I thought you were not with the Etrian Elves, Arminius.”
His face twisted into a smile with the words, and Xavier could only marvel at how odd it looked upon his long face. “Etrian Elves? No. My...leave of that band of Elves has long since taken place. I have you to thank for that,” he added bitterly. “I am now with the Elven Wing, a much more serious group. There are many more breeds of Elves than I would have ever thought. But, my reasons for journeying here are not to catch up on old times. I am here to see what the Vampures’ point of view of this whole… plot to destroy all Dark Creatures is. Well, Xavier? Is Dracula planning to unleash these new Creatures all over the world to satisfy some sadistic urge he has to be on the only ‘King’ left standing?”
While it was true Dracula was acting strange, Xavier could not be so sure that Dracula had some hidden agenda to destroy all Dark Creatures. “There is no such plan that I can say is taking place, Arminius.”
“Hm,” the Elf sniffed.
He reached out a long-fingered hand to the fireplace, and for a brief moment, Xavier thought he was to grab for the flames, but his hand clasped a white cane, which was embellished with snakelike, golden designs draped around the long body. The handle was straight, turned at a sharp ninety-degree angle, perfect for grasping, which Arminius now did, looking quite prepared to leave, as if he’d been offended in some ghastly way.
But instead, he kept his gaze on Xavier. “You realize I came to you, not because of our past, but because of your standing with the Vampures. I thought if anyone knew Dracula’s deepest secrets, it’d be you, Xavier. I can see now...Dracula must be getting desperate, hiding his secrets from even you—”
“What are you implying?” he whispered.
“Simply,” he hissed, the stilted pleasure gone from his person, “that Dracula is not, nor has he ever been, what my kind would call a trustworthy Creature. We Elves value trust, and it is clear from the moment you meet Dracula there is something terribly wrong inside that mind of his. It is because of him—placing all of our trust into the hands of one Creature—making him ‘King’ of us all, that we will soon meet our end.” He lifted the cane and bought it down in front of him, stepping with a leg that seemed to drag. He made his way toward the white doors, not looking Xavier in the eye as he limped past.
Xavier was sure to step out of the way, but the terrible blame that exuded off the Elf’s body was tangible. He still held the grudge.
He wondered if the Elf would ever forgive him for throwing him off the edge of the cliff, foolish he was in his youth as a Vampire.
But he could not think on it for long, Arminius turned to him, pressing the crane against the floor. With his free hand, he clutched the red stone on his chest again and closed his eyes, most likely remembering something very painful. When he opened his eyes, his mouth moved, “You may not see it, Xavier, but the fall of our World is coming. It approaches sooner than we know. Dracula is the key to our survival, but he also must be destroyed before things are taken to a new level. Push aside your love for the Vampire and see what he really is: a murderer.”
Xavier could say nothing more before the Elf hobbled down the long hallway, his voice reaching Xavier’s ears with profound ease: “I will be back, Vampure. Let us hope we have not been destroyed when I return.”
Westley Rivers was aware his dead heart was pounding in his chest as he neared it. He could see the silver handle just there, yes, all he would have to do was reach out for it...
It took him a moment to realize he’d stopped walking. Such was the fear that filled him, but with a quick, “Get on with it,” he resumed his movement toward the door, and before he knew it, his hand was upon the silver. His blue robes danced around his boots as he pressed down and entered the room.
For we do the work of the Phoenixes.
He scanned the large office, the draping curtains against the long, arched windows, the desk pushed in front of the wall.
The desk. Perhaps Dracula had left a clue, a piece of information about where he now was. For how bloody strange he wouldn’t dare share a word, now, when he had done so many times before.
He started for it, a dark hand reaching out to grasp the small handle of the first drawer, which he pulled open with ease. He looked hard at the various folders that sat in a messy pile, and he pulled them out, reading the various documents they held within.
“Haven for Vampires,” “Rules and Regulations for Newly Turned Vampires,” “How to Keep Lycans at Bay.” None of it was what he needed. With a frustrated sigh, he dropped the files back into the drawer, turning his attention to the one beneath it.
Here were folders, arranged in a vertical fashion, that held many papers. They were thick, making it rather hard to dig one out, but when he did, he saw the words “Eleanor Black” upon one and his hands began to tremble.
He stared in awe at the black ink that held the name atop the aged folder. He flicked it open, wondering what Dracula had never shared of his Vampire—the one Creature that had returned from permanent death.
Upon the topmost page were descriptions of Eleanor, and they seemed to be written in Dracula’s neat handwriting:
Vivaciously beautiful, immensely curious, seemingly no qualms as to her state of being...even seems to enjoy drinking the blood of humans...does not take too well to my creation of necklaces to keep the urges at bay—
He tore his gaze from the paper. He was reading something not meant for his eyes, and indeed, was he not here to figure out what happened to Armand?
Quickly placing the paper back inside the folder, he slid it back into the drawer with the others, fingers moving, once again seeing names of various Vampires he knew and knew well. Then he saw it: The aged folder was dog-eared, more so than the others, and he pulled it out of its bed, the name written in that same neat handwriting:
Xavier Delacroix.
His dark eyes gazed at the name in wonder, for here were, perhaps, the very secrets Dracula held of his favorite Vampire. The one chosen where all others failed. He sighed, throwing it back in the drawer, knowing the matter of the Vampire’s truth would come to light, and soon.
He blinked, drawing his mind from the Dragon; he was intruding, his time perhaps very limited. There was no telling who, or what, would come barreling through the dark door at any moment. Yes, he had to find out where Armand was. He could not do his job if he did not know.
Closing the drawer with his boot, he scanned the large office, looking for anything out of place, any book out of line on its shelf.
He maneuvered around the desk, sure to make his way toward the table before the windows. The dark wood gleamed in the light of the torch, and he let out a quick sigh, there was nothing here—nothing here that would incriminate Dracula, nothing here to even suggest that Armand had entered...
Quite prepared to leave at last, his gaze fell upon the thick green curtain draped against the wall, it was in between two bookshelves, which begged the thought: Why on Earth was it draped there, of all places?
Believing this rather odd, he moved across the room and ran a dark finger down its edge, his thoughts turning to the feel of it: it was quite rich, made not of silk or cotton, but of another material, one he could not place, not readily anyhow.
He pulled it aside, the remainder of hard stone appearing, but here, even with the bookshelves placed on either side, he rather thought the space resembled a door...
And indeed, didn’t other Vampire cities, their Head Vampires, always hold secret rooms or tunnels leading to or from their offices? So why hadn’t Dracula ever let it be known that he too held a secret room? For Westley knew the Vampire must have one It would only make sense.
He was just pressing a dark hand against the stone when the black door flew open, causing him to turn in alarm, the curtain swinging back into perfect place.
“Westley Rivers.”
A slight gasp left him, and before he knew what to more to do, the pale hand was raised, and he found his voice stuck hard in his throat. He lifted a hand to grasp at it as Dracula entered the room, closing the black door behind him, the fireplace sparking to life.
Dracula looked quite tired, windswept, his brown eyes sweeping across the large room. Westley could not make out his expression, not a hint of surprise, nor even a flicker of recognition.
“What were you doing in here, Vampire?”
“I,” he gasped, finding himself able to speak suddenly, “I was merely...looking, my Lord—”
“Looking?” Dracula whispered, he kept shifting his gaze from his desk to the curtain. “What on Earth were you looking for?”
He took a small step forward. “Ar-Armand Dragon—” he began.
“Armand? What of the Vampire?”
“He is...missing,” he whispered, dark eyes narrowing at the Vampire’s sporadic eye movements. What was wrong with him?
Dracula took several steps forward. “Is he now?” the Great Vampire whispered, a hand moving to the golden clasp of the thick blue traveling cloak against his lean frame.
“Y-yes,” he barely whispered, “under protocol, I—”
“Took it upon yourself to enter my office and do your duty: search for your missing Chair,” Dracula said, releasing the traveling cloak from his body, throwing it carelessly atop his desk.
Westley almost thought it was with anger that he Dracula spoke “Well, I assure you, Mister Rivers, Mister Dragon is not here...and he is not there behind that curtain.”
Damn, he thought, the Vampire’s pressing eyes difficult to stand: Their gaze made it quite impossible to move. “My Lord, please, I was not trying to intrude, I was only doing my duty—”
The scoff left him, and Westley fell into silence with the sound. Dracula began to stride the length of the desk, before turning when he reached the end of it in order to resume his pacing, and the more Westley stared, the more he realized the Great Vampire was smiling, although the smile never reached his eyes They remained cruel and lost in dark thought.
“Your duty,” he mocked, white hair flying out behind him; he turned to eye him straight on at last. “Is it not your duty to pay heed to my word, my action, Bronzechair?”
“I—”
“And is it not your duty, Westley, to keep my secrets, my truths, close to heart?”
“It is, of course, but Armand—”
“Armand didn’t go the lengths you have to ensure my secrets are kept!” He waved a hand to the curtain. Westley turned and eyed it before Dracula continued, bringing his gaze back, “Armand has been relocated, Rivers.”
“Whatever for?” he asked, wondering what more the Vampire kept from him, for it made no sense, no sense at all.
“He wished...he wished to take action where I would not allow him to, and you know better than anyone that that...is not done.”
He opened his mouth, but as the thought came, he closed it, knowing the Vampire spoke miserable truth. Instead, he said, “The Vampires...they began to whisper of your disappearance.”
A hand was lifted to his lips, his brow furrowed in dark question. “As they would,” he said behind the hand, “though I hoped they wouldn’t notice.” Then he had a renewed vigor about him. “Well, I am here now, so—” He gestured toward the door expectantly.
He did not miss his cue, starting forward, he kept his eyes down. He had dodged an arrow, perhaps laced with Lycan blood, for Dracula was keeping something hidden, he had a feeling he had been very close to uncovering it, spared his life only with the secrets he’d been entrusted.
When he reached the door, Dracula said, “I was always here, Westley.”
“Of course you were, my Lord.”
And with that, he pressed down, wasting no time in tearing himself from the room and the Vampire within.