Dead Souls Volume Three (Parts 27 to 39) Read online

  Dead Souls Volume Three

  (Parts 27 to 39)

  by Amy Cross

  Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

  Published by ACBT Books

  Omnibus first published: April 2015

  This edition first published: February 2016

  Originally published in serial form

  between February and April 2015

  http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

  Dead Souls Volume Three

  (Parts 27 to 39)

  Part Twenty-Seven

  I

  “Nineteen... eighteen?”

  “August,” Jennifer Kazakos replied. “Is that a problem? Have you escaped from somewhere?”

  Looking back across the kitchen, Kate tried to find some sliver of sanity that might explain things. She began to run through the things she knew for certain: she was on Thaxos, sure, but there was no way she could have traveled back in time almost a century, which meant that something else had to be happening, something that – once she figured it out – would make perfect sense.

  “Do you have today's newspaper?” she asked, turning back to the woman.

  “The Thaxos Daily?” she replied. “No such thing. I get copies of the national paper each weekend, just so people can keep up to date with events on the mainland, but that's about it. We don't need a newspaper on Thaxos. Everyone talks to everyone else, and besides, we don't need reminders of what we're dealing with.” She reached over to the counter and grabbed a creased paper, which she tossed over to Kate. “That's the most recent paper from the mainland, it's from the Saturday just gone.”

  Grabbing the paper, Kate looked at the date:

  Saturday July 27th 1918.

  “So what's going on here?” Jennifer asked, with the knife still in her hand. “You don't look... Well, you don't look like you're from around here, that's all.”

  “I'm not,” Kate whispered, still staring at the newspaper. She knew enough history to understand that by early August 1918, the First World War was drawing to a close but that it still had a few weeks left to run before it would be officially declared to be over.

  “So you're a long way from home?”

  Kate nodded.

  “But you're British? I recognize the accent.”

  “I'm from London.”

  “Then I guess we're on the same side,” Jennifer continued, lowering the knife a little. “You don't strike me as a German or a Bulgarian. If you were either of those things, I'd have to finish you off right here. We had some spies trying to come to Thaxos a while back, but they didn't last long. Strangers aren't popular.”

  “The Macedonian Front,” Kate whispered, her mind still racing as she tried to recall the details of Greece's involvement in the war. “Thrace was invaded by Bulgaria, if it's August now... That means Greece only recently made its full entry into the fighting and... Greece was originally neutral, but by the end of the war they were drawn in.”

  “End of the war?” Jennifer asked.

  “Soon. November 11th, to be precise, it'll all be over. The Allied counterstrike should start in just a few days and...” Pausing, she looked over at Jennifer and saw the doubt in her eyes, and finally she realized that she should probably hold back from revealing too much, just in case she truly had been sent back into the island's history. “The war will be over by Christmas,” she added. “I promise.”

  “Let's hope so,” Jennifer replied. “Are you with the military? You seem to know a lot about what's going on, more than most people.”

  “I studied a lot of history.”

  “This isn't history, this is happening right now.”

  Setting the newspaper down, Kate made her way over to the window and looked out into the yard. She still expected to see Ephram at any moment, but a slow sense of doom was starting to crawl through her gut. For a few seconds, she watched the chickens as they pecked their way around the yard, and then she turned back to Jennifer.

  “Anna,” she whispered.

  “My daughter.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Five. Why?”

  “That means she was born in 1913?”

  “So?”

  “So by the time I met her...” She paused, thinking back to the centenarian old woman she'd met when she first arrived on Thaxos; by that point, Anna had been so old, she could barely walk, and Kate remembered not only her gradual decline but also the day, finally, when she had died. She also remembered Anna's funeral. “It can't be,” she continued, her heart pounding at the thought that after seeing the end of Anna's life, she was now at the start.

  “No offense,” Jennifer continued, “but I don't like it when people burst into my store in the middle of the night and start talking gibberish.”

  “Jennifer,” Kate whispered, “I remember... I remember Ephram mentioning someone named Jennifer. She was his great-grandmother.”

  “Come again?”

  Kate stared at her for a moment. “Never mind.”

  “So what exactly are you doing here?” Jennifer asked.

  “I have no idea,” Kate replied.

  “You're not with them, are you?”

  “Who?”

  “Let me see your teeth.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. I want to make sure you're not one of them.” She adjusted her grip on the knife. “I'm a good person,” she continued. “Well, maybe I'm not a saint, but I've still never done anything to make them come after me. If you've come here to do whatever the hell it is you people do to someone before you drain them, I'm not going down without a fight.” She paused, with tears in her eyes. “Please. I've got a child, and she's already lost her father...”

  “I'm not going to hurt you,” Kate replied, before realizing why Jennifer wanted to see her teeth. Opening her mouth, she let her see that she had no fangs. “You're scared of the Le Compte family?”

  “I'm not scared of anyone,” Jennifer said firmly, even though it was clear from the look in her eyes that she was terrified.

  “Yes, but -”

  “I'm not scared!” she said again, taking a step forward. “I'm just wary!”

  “I believe you,” Kate replied, holding her hands up. “I'm not one of them, I swear. I'm not with the Le Comptes, and I'm not a spy, I'm just... I'm lost.”

  “Thaxos is a pretty hard place to get lost.”

  “I think I...” Pausing, she suddenly began to realize that there was only one person who could possibly help her to understand the situation. “I think I have to go and find him.” Another pause. “Is he here?”

  “Is who here?”

  “Up at the mansion? Is Edgar Le Compte on Thaxos?”

  “Where else would he be?”

  “I have to go up there.”

  “Are you insane? People don't just go wandering up to that place. Le Compte and his friends aren't exactly known for being friendly.”

  “His friends?”

  “He and his sister, mainly,” she continued. “Ever since their parents died, they've been holed up in that mansion.” She paused again, with fear in her eyes. “Sometimes they come down into town, though. Mainly at night, mainly when there's no-one else about. Sometimes I think they might... I don't know exactly, but you hear stories about the kind of thing that used to happen in the old days. Now their parents are gone, the young breed might...”

  Her voice trailed off, but it was clear that even the slightest thought of the Le Comptes was enoug
h to strike terror into her heart.

  “I'm sorry,” Kate said, taking a step back, “but I have to go up there and talk to Edgar, he's obviously done something to me and this is all his fault, he...” She paused, struggling to make sense of the chaos. “It's a trick,” she said finally, allowing herself a faint smile of relief. “It's like when he suddenly has those huge parties up at the house, it's just an illusion. He's come back, and for some reason he's doing all of this to trick me!”

  “I was right,” Jennifer muttered, “you have escaped from somewhere, haven't you? Let me guess, you got out of some mental hospital on the mainland and you made your way over here.”

  “I'm sorry for disturbing you,” Kate replied, hurrying to the door.

  “I really don't think you should go up there!” Jennifer called after her. “You'll be walking straight into their den, and they're not known for their -”

  Before she could finish, she heard the front door swinging shut, and she realized that Kate had already left.

  “Well that was odd,” she muttered, setting the knife down. “Rest in peace, stranger. If you go up to that mansion, you'll be dead by dawn.”

  II

  Feeling unsettled, he tried to work out what was wrong. For the past hour or so, a sense of great discomfort had been settling in his chest, and now he felt he could no longer just sit back. Rising from his leather chair, he made his way slowly across the rug – past his sister as she lay drawing, and past his friend as he sat on the opposite sofa with a book in his hands – and finally he took a log from the pile and tossed it onto the fire. He watched the flames, hoping that they would calm his soul.

  “About bloody time,” Madeleine muttered, tucking a long strand of black hair behind her left ear as she continued to shade a pencil sketch of a man's rugged, muscular torso. “I was starting to get cold, dearest brother.”

  “You could have done it yourself,” Edgar replied dourly, taking a metal poker and prodding the fire. “There was nothing stopping you.”

  “Oh, but I'm just a weak little woman,” she continued, her grin becoming wider as she licked her thumb and began to smudge the edges of her drawing. She paused for a moment, her keen eyes searching the image as she tried to decide how to continue. “I can't be expected to pick up a whole log by myself. What if I chip a nail?”

  “God forbid,” Nixon muttered, not looking up as he sat reading on the sofa.

  “So you do listen to our tedious conversations,” Madeleine replied, narrowing her eyes a little as she continued to inspect her latest drawing. “How fun that must be for you.”

  “Your bickering interests me,” Nixon explained, setting the book down for a moment. “It reveals more about both of you than you could possibly realize. “Have either of you heard of a gentleman by the name of Sigmund Freud? He's doing some remarkable work in Austria at the moment. He has some rather interesting things to say about difficult sibling relationships.”

  “He's human, though, isn't he?” Madeleine asked idly. “Hardly something for the likes of us to worry about.” Opening her mouth a little, she ran the tip of her tongue against one of her fangs as she began to extend her sketch. A shiver of anticipation ran through her body as she started to draw the figure's crotch.

  “I don't know,” Nixon muttered thoughtfully. “On a psychological level -”

  “Hey!” Madeleine shouted, leaping up as Edgar pointedly stepped on her drawing, crumpling the paper.

  “Sorry,” he said, smiling as he went over to join Estella on the other sofa. “I didn't see you there.”

  Sighing, Madeleine tried to straighten out the drawing, although the paper was now hopelessly creased. “You're an ass, Edgar,” she said finally. “I hate you!”

  “God,” Nixon continued, “you two really are relentless, aren't you? Doesn't this constant back-and-forth get tiring? Talk about the decadent waste of time and energy, you're like a pair of Des Esseintes wannabes. You know, if you actually put all this effort into something meaningful, I truly believe you could achieve greatness instead of just lounging around all the time, bickering as if you were still children.” He stared at them for a moment. “Sometimes I worry about the future of the great house of Le Compte.”

  “Says the man who hasn't left that sofa all day,” Edgar pointed out, as he put an arm around Estella and she sank smilingly into his nook.

  “I'm reading,” Nixon replied. “That's different!”

  “I'm going to my room,” Madeleine muttered, grabbing the rest of her paper and her pencils before getting to her feet. “I don't want to be disturbed.”

  “Off to sulk, are you?” Edgar asked.

  Turning to him, she hissed, baring her fangs.

  He immediately sprung up.

  “Stop it!” Estella said, slapping his hand. “Edgar, leave your sister alone!”

  Returning to his book, Nixon smiled.

  “You're a real character,” Madeleine said, staring at her brother, “do you know that? You think you're so smart, you think you've got it all figured out now you're in charge, but you're still an idiot. If mother and father were still here, they'd -”

  “They'd what?” Edgar asked, taking a step toward her. “Think very carefully before you finish that sentence, dear sister. It might be your last.”

  “Edgar!” Estella hissed, taking his hand and gently tugging him toward her. “Come on, darling, we have so much to talk about. The wine, the food, the catering...” She looked over at Madeleine. “He doesn't really mean it, you know. It's just empty posturing.”

  Madeleine and Edgar stared at each moment, as if each expected the other to attack first.

  Finally, in the distance, the doorbell could be heard ringing.

  “Who could that be?” Nixon asked, looking over at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It's almost five in the morning, for God's sake!”

  “I'm tired,” Madeleine said, turning and heading over to the door at the far end of the study.

  “You should stay and greet our visitor,” Edgar said firmly.

  “Go to hell!” she shouted, heading out of the room. A moment later, she could be heard hurrying up the spiral staircase.

  “Leave her alone,” Estella said, looking up at Edgar with concern in her eyes. “Please, darling, you're so mean to her. Remember, she's upset too.”

  “She's not some fragile little thing,” he muttered dourly.

  “She's not a monster, either. I don't think she's half as tough as she likes to pretend.”

  “I'll talk to my sister however I damn well please,” he continued, turning to her. “I'm in charge of her now. With our parents gone, there's no-one left to steer her onto the right path. The very last thing mother said to me before she died was that I have to look after Madeleine as if she's a child. She has a weak mind and a weak soul, and she needs tough love. Trust me, Madeleine has a willful spirit and without the proper guidance, she could go completely off the rails.”

  “Couldn't we all?” Estella asked, with a hint of sadness.

  In the distance, the doorbell rang again.

  “Where the hell is Jacob?” Edgar muttered, glancing over at the door that opened out into the main corridor. “It's not as if the man has anything else to be doing with his time.”

  “I thought vampires were supposed to be noble,” Estella continued, her eyes still fixed on Edgar. “Sometimes you and Madeleine seem more like...” She paused, thinking better of the comparison.

  “Like what?” Edgar asked, turning to her.

  “Nothing,” she replied, forcing a smile as she patted the seat next to her. “Please, darling, come and sit with me. We have so much planning to get done, and time really is running out. The day will be upon us so soon and I want everything to be perfect.”

  “There he is,” Edgar muttered as he heard Jacob making his way toward the front door.

  “I blame the war,” Nixon said suddenly, before glancing over at them both. “Well, I do! How many millions of humans died just because France and Ger
many and a few other European powers couldn't get along? It's put something horrible in the air, a sense of madness, and it's catching. Do you remember all the earlier wars? The American Civil War, Crimea... There was some nobility, at least. This latest conflagration is just carnage, and now they're using huge machines. It's not as much fun.”

  “It's just a shame the latest war is coming to an end,” Edgar said darkly. “It was just building up a nice head of steam. There are still far too many humans around.”

  “Hey!” Estella said with a frown. “I'm human, remember?”

  He turned to her. “Of course,” he said after a moment, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend your delicate human sensibilities. I know how you hate having the weakness of your species pointed out to you.”

  “I hate war,” she continued. “No man was ever improved by taking part.”

  “You know nothing of wars,” he replied.

  “But I know you, and I know that you were in a war once.” She stared at him for a moment. “You have nightmares, Edgar.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “I hear you talking in your sleep.”

  “Ha!” Nixon said. “This sounds juicy. Spill the details.”

  Edgar fixed Estella with a dark stare, and although she opened her mouth to continue, she seemed to retreat a little. “I just don't like wars,” she added finally. “Human wars, vampire wars, whatever... I think there should always be another way. People talk to each other instead of lashing out. Anger never solved anything.”

  “It's so easy for civilians to say such things,” Edgar replied. “You weren't there. You didn't see the Gate of Sepphos after it had been torn down. You didn't help to drag your former generals down into the Catacombs of New York. You don't know what war is like, Estella.”

  “Maybe if you talked to me about it...”

  “There's nothing to talk about. Wars are about actions, not words. There are no words that can ever convey the horror.” He paused for a moment. “It's best left in the past. Very few vampires survived the war, and those who did were forced to shift themselves, to find ways of hiding. That's the only reason I'm still on this stinking island. I'm trapped here.”