Inside, the cooking area was clean and tidy and the floor and fireplace had been swept but there was no sign of Widow Maleina.
‘Hello!’ Aelia called into an echoing darkness.
No reply.
She lit the lamps, fumbling in the darkness, and she searched all around the back of the cave, but the widow wasn’t there either. Aelia felt bemused and a little concerned, but she was also hungry and thirsty. She dipped a cup into the spring and took a long drink. The idea of cooking did not appeal, but she managed to find a stale piece of bread and an apricot. Curling up on her pallet, Aelia chewed the bread and waited for the widow to return. Before long, she was asleep.
A low droning sound woke her up. Or was it someone muttering? Aelia strained her ears and realised it was a sort of tuneless humming. She opened her eyes and sat up. The pale waxy light told Aelia it was morning. The cave always descended into absolute blackness at night. She stood and saw Widow Maleina sorting out her medicines; putting some into a leather bag and arranging the rest on the thick stone ledges of the cave. This was not such an unusual sight. What was unusual was the manner in which the widow was moving around - she seemed almost light-hearted and was she … singing? Yes. The tuneless humming was emanating from the widow.
‘Good morning,’ Aelia said, unnerved by the widow’s strange behaviour, but pleased to see she had returned to the cave after last night’s absence.
‘You’re awake,’ the widow replied. ‘Good.’ As Widow Maleina turned, Aelia noticed she still wore the cloth tied over her mouth and nose.
‘I suppose I’d better leave soon,’ Aelia said, feeling trepidation at the thought of the journey ahead. ‘It will take me most of the day to reach my village and I don’t want to travel after dark.’
‘No need. You can leave a bit later.’
‘But I have to …’
‘I have something for you,’ the widow interrupted. ‘Come.’
Aelia followed. As they entered the narrow passage which led to the cave entrance, she smelled the earthy warm scent of an animal. Tethered just inside, she saw a small grey horse.
‘He’s yours, so there’s no need to leave just yet.’ The widow briefly locked eyes with Aelia before heading back inside.
‘What?’ Aelia hurried after her. ‘Mine? But …’
‘There’s no time to change him so it’s hard luck if it’s not what you wanted.’
‘Change him? Why would I want to change him? He’s beautiful. Thank you so much. A horse of my own. Not even a mule. Why would you do that for me?’
‘I didn’t do it for you. I did it to stop them. It is safer to travel on horseback than on foot. This beast is fast. He will carry you away from danger if you meet it. We must keep you safe until you are able to do what you need to do.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Of course you don’t. I will explain, my dear. Come, sit.’ Aelia had a flash of déjà vu as the widow pointed to the same chair-like boulder Aelia had sat on when she’d first arrived. She sat now, almost as confused as she’d been all those months ago.
‘Have you heard of the blood plague?’ Widow Maleina asked. She shuffled over to her medicines and continued fiddling about with the various jars and bottles, her back to Aelia.
‘I’ve heard of the plague,’ Aelia replied.
‘The blood plague is similar, but worse. The symptoms are terrible, agonising. Brutal.’
‘You said before that the demons drank human blood. Is the blood plague carried by the demons?’ Aelia asked.
‘No. The demons are immune to all human disease. The blood plague is a human disease which poisons the blood. There is no cure and it is very contagious’
Aelia digested this information. Widow Maleina turned to face her and in her hand she held a small box. Her hand shook as she held it out.
‘What’s that?’ Aelia asked, although she thought she knew the answer.
‘This is the blood plague.’
‘In that box?’
The widow nodded.
Aelia looked at the small brown box. ‘How can you have a plague inside a box?’
‘From the tiniest, most insignificant insect, I have taken this plague and changed it into something else and I have sealed it inside this box.’
Aelia didn’t really want to hear the rest of the widow’s explanation. Truthfully, she dreaded it. This talk of plagues and blood was bad enough, but somehow she knew it was going to get worse.
‘As I said before, the blood plague is fatal to humans, but the demons are immune to any human disease. Now, I have changed the disease. Now it will affect those demons. We can infect them with this plague.’
‘So it will infect demons and not humans?’
‘No, it will affect both, but it can now only be transmitted through the blood.’
‘How can you be sure it will work on the demons too?’
‘I can’t be sure,’ the widow snapped. ‘But it is the best I could arrange and it will have to do. Now listen to me, my dear. Listen very carefully and I will tell you what it is that you must do.’
Chapter Twenty Two
Present Day
*
Tetbury was in full Christmas mode. Twinkling lights garlanded Long Street and at the far end, two Christmas trees towered either side of the Market Hall steps. Underneath the Hall, flanked by stone pillars, was a bustling Christmas market, jammed with traders and shoppers as carol singers sang Silent Night accompanied by a brass band. The whole thing reminded Ben of the Victorian style Christmas card he’d received from Esther and Morris a few days ago.
In the street, shoppers chatted and laughed, jostling each other, red-cheeked and innocent. They flitted in and out of the pretty Cotswold stone buildings where shopkeepers sold beautiful things which would soon be wrapped, be-ribboned and piled high in living rooms around the county.
Ben viewed it all as if he were watching a movie. This festive cheer certainly had nothing to do with him. He paused and swallowed in front of the imposing building before him - a Georgian hotel on the main street. He told himself this was no time to be hesitant or nervous and walked inside, straight up to the front desk.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to the man on duty.
‘Yes?’ The man wasn’t exactly hostile, but he wasn’t friendly either.
‘Do you have any headed paper?’
‘Sorry?’
Ben blushed and stammered. ‘Umm, head … headed paper. My mum stayed here and I … er … thought I’d get her some. Umm … buy some I mean.’ God, he sounded like a right idiot. How lame was that.
‘I’m sorry,’ the man replied. ‘But our headed paper isn’t for sale to the general public.’ He said the words ‘general public’ as though they were something terrible and disease-ridden.
‘Could I have a look at it then?’ Ben asked, cringing as he spoke. ‘I just want to check something.’
‘No you can’t.’ The man began to look around for someone and Ben knew he’d cocked the whole thing up. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ the man said.
‘But I’m not doing anything wrong. I just want to …’
‘Now. Or I’ll have to call security.’
‘Security? You are joking.’
The man lifted the phone and poised his index finger over the buttons while looking pointedly at Ben.
‘Fine,’ Ben harrumphed. ‘I’m going. Don’t know why you had to be so snotty about it.’ He turned and slouched back out into the chilly street. Stupid git. What was his problem? Well that tactic obviously wasn’t going to work. He hoped that wasn’t the hotel notepaper he was looking for. If it was, he’d have to wait for that twat to finish his shift. And he’d have to think of a better line next time. A much better line.
He felt more confident as he marched up the steps of the next hotel. A young girl sat at the curved black reception desk, talking in a business-like manner on the phone. A noisy family had followed him through the entrance doors, a concierge heaving their b
ags up the steps and through the lobby. As Ben waited by the desk, their son slid across the marble floor with some style. The dad was tickling the little girl who giggled and squealed while the mum rolled her eyes and laughed at them. Ben experienced a pang of something. Not quite envy; more a longing tinged with regret for something he’d never had.
‘Can I help you? Hello-o! I said can I help you?’ Ben looked up to see the receptionist smiling down at him. ‘You were miles away.’
‘Oh sorry,’ Ben replied. ‘I was … er … wondering if you had a piece of paper I could borrow, or … er … use. My friends are staying here and I need to leave them a message.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Hold on.’
The newly-arrived family was now also standing at the desk, the children bouncing around while their mum tried to calm them down.
‘Won’t be a minute,’ the girl said to them before handing Ben a sheet of headed paper and a pen.
‘Thanks,’ he said and went over to sit on one of the sofas in the wide bay window. The headed paper was smooth and creamy, nothing like the notepaper he was trying to match. Ben stayed on the sofa for a few seconds, disappointment making him scowl. Then he heaved himself up and returned to the front desk.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, holding up the pen and paper. ‘My friend just called. I don’t need these anymore.’
The girl was preoccupied with the new arrivals and so just mouthed a quick, ‘okay’ at him.
Ben placed the pen and paper on the side and left the hotel. He picked his way through the shoppers and joined the steady stream of people on the zebra crossing, ignoring the exasperated glares of the stationary motorists. The end of the crossing brought him to a stop outside The Old Bell, his next port of call.
The lobby was packed and Ben had to wait in line at reception as various people checked in. He kept getting jostled out of the way. None of the staff on the desk would catch his eye. He guessed it was so busy because it was Christmas. Everyone was here to spend time with their loved ones, their friends and families. Where were his family and his friends? In another bloody country trying to rescue his sister from evil vampires. It sounded like a bad B movie. And what was he doing? Looking at headed notepaper in hotels. God, he was pathetic.
He turned to go. This was a waste of time. He was just a stupid deluded kid who thought he was doing something useful. No wonder the others had left him behind. As he walked out of the door, he passed a wooden lectern with a pen and notepad resting on it. Ben stopped and backed up. The paper was a mottled white colour with a blue-inked header. The lobby was still busy. No one was looking in his direction. He swiped a few top sheets and stepped outside.
It had started to rain, slanted sleety bullets which had driven the shoppers inside. The choir and brass band had stopped and the only sound now was of spattering rain, muffled car engines and wet tyres. Ben paused under the stone canopied hotel entrance.
‘You can’t wait here,’ a uniformed bellboy said.
‘Yes I can. I’m a guest,’ Ben retorted. ‘I need a taxi.’ Ben didn’t know where his confidence had come from, but it worked.
‘Oh, sorry. I’ll call one up for you. Two minutes.’
As he waited, Ben pulled the original notepaper out of his pocket and compared it to the hotel paper. He held his breath. The original was pretty crumpled, but as far as he could tell, they were a perfect match, apart from where the header had been snipped off. Ben’s heart beat faster. Now what? How could he find out who had been staying here?
This hotel, The Old Bell, was Morris’ local. It had once been a normal pub, but had since been converted into a posh hotel. Morris and his drinking buddies still came here on a regular basis. A horrible thought crept into Ben’s mind. But surely … No. It couldn’t be. No. Not Morris.
*
The others would not be happy with him. No. they would be furious and they would be worried, but it was a small price to pay to keep them safe. Alexandre had lied to them. What other option had there been? He had already tried to tell them he wanted to go to the underground city alone, but they hadn’t listened. They didn’t realise it was the best plan for everybody. And so when they had argued, he’d pretended to capitulate. He told them they were right. That he would wait until tomorrow and then they would all go to the city together.
Isobel in particular had been relieved. She’d been working herself up into a bit of a frenzy, but now she was calm again. Well, as calm as she could be here in Turkey where the memories threatened to suffocate them all. He’d told them he wanted to be alone tonight, to give him a chance to plan tomorrow’s meeting. It had sounded a weak excuse to his own ears and he wasn’t sure the others would buy it. But they had been so relieved he wasn’t going to do anything rash and foolish, that they hadn’t questioned him further.
And here he was now, about to do something rash and foolish. Alexandre smiled grimly to himself. He just hoped the others wouldn’t do anything stupid, like follow him. He was so annoyed with himself. He should’ve done this on day one. As soon as Blythe had confirmed where Maddy was being held he should’ve jumped on a plane and flown straight here. Why had he spent so much time deliberating? He was an idiot. He didn’t need to work out a plan; he just needed to get her back. But he had allowed the others to talk him out of it. Well no more. Tonight he would act.
The scent of snow hung in the air, an expectant hush which cleared his mind and calmed his body. Tonight he felt invincible. The Cappadocians would not prevent him from reaching her. He would tear them apart. He knew he was capable of it. They might be older and more powerful, but they didn’t have his motivation. To them, Madison was merely part of a larger plan, but to Alexandre, she was everything. He was running on anger, desperation and love.
Would they try to stop him before he reached the city? He expected so, but as yet he could detect no scent of them. And now here came the silent snow. Sparse at first, but then thicker and faster, settling on the rocky earth and smoothing the landscape into soft curves.
Despite the snow-changed scenery, Alexandre knew the way. He remembered intimately the place of his hopes-turned-to-nightmares. It was the last place he had seen his parents alive. Afterwards, Leonora and Freddie’s father, Harold, had destroyed the entrance to the city, blowing it to hell with dynamite and concealing its hidden danger from the world. But Alexandre was confident there would be another way in. He would dig down with his bare hands if he had to.
He quickly arrived at the place, but there was still no sign of another vampire. Was it a trap? But even as he scented the area for signs of life, he was overwhelmed with memories. Everything here was as he remembered it. How strange. He had thought to find it changed – modernised somehow, perhaps even paved over by a new town. But here was the same stand of trees, now leafless and snow-covered. The small hillock over there, behind which their tents had been pitched. And here was the area where the fire pit had once sat, everyone huddled around its warmth on those long ago chilly spring evenings. The delicious smells of a well-deserved supper curling into their nostrils after a hard day’s work. He recalled the good-humoured banter, the disagreements and the endless planning of the two archaeologist families and the fearless Turkish guards who soon became their friends. But tonight, the snow fell onto silence.
Alexandre remembered it all as if it was yesterday. How his human self had been so full of ambition and excitement at what treasures they might discover here. But all those hopes and plans had come to nothing, turned to dust and death and destruction. And still it continued. Would there be no let up? Would the taste of ash follow him across the centuries forever?
No time to dwell.
The snow had blanketed everything, but he quickly found the place where the ventilation shaft had once been. The secret entrance to the underground city. Now, all that could be seen of it was a deep depression in the ground. And still no scent of another vampire came to him. How curious. He had expected nothing less than a heavy guard in this place. The sha
ft was long gone and so Alexandre began to dig.
Beneath the thin layer of snow, lay a swathe of thick ice and he smashed it with his heel and elbow. Under that sat a mixture of hard earth and soft rock. He tunneled through it in minutes, throwing the earth up and out of the hole as he dug, until he finally came up against solid bedrock. Now he changed from digging downwards, to digging horizontally. He tried in several directions, each time meeting the same solid rock. Eventually he found what he was looking for – rock, but hand-carved to a smooth finish. He cleared an area, exposing a wall of this smooth rock. Then he placed his hands on the centre of it and he pushed sideways.
Alexandre hoped this would work. If it didn’t, he wasn’t sure what else he would be able to do. The slab of rock he was pushing against was one of the old stone wheels used to seal off the underground passageways. No human had the power to wheel it open from the wrong side, but Alex was sure he could do it. And now he felt a slight give. There was a rumble and he was showered with yet more earth and stones as the millstone rocked aside.
The passageway on the other side was clear and Alexandre stepped through, spitting dirt and wiping mud from his eyes and ears. He was in. But there was no time to congratulate himself, for suddenly he could sense them coming from all directions. They would be with him in a matter of seconds.
Alexandre looked around and weighed up his options. He couldn’t run now and he didn’t want to. A friendly conversation would be the best approach; one in which he could glean as much information as possible.
The corridor stretched out in front of him, with rooms and other passageways branching off it. There was no light, but Alexandre did not need it. He could see, hear and sense everything clearly.
They arrived, fangs gleaming and then instantly sheathed. There were six in all and he recognised none of them. These were younger than the others, less controlled, but not as strong. Hostility radiated from them.