In The Blood

Chapter 1 - Every Breath You Take

There was a storm during the night. I got woken by thunder claps so loud they made the glass panes in my window shake. For some reason, it had taken me hours to fall asleep. I recall glancing at my alarm clock around 2 a.m. and a loud rumbling sound woke me exactly one hour later. It could have been the oppressive heat that prevented me from getting to sleep in the first place. The air was thick and suffocating as it always is before a summer storm. I watched the rain pouring down my window illuminated by the blue cracks of lightning. Maybe I owed my restlessness to the storm and the memory of another one long past. Then again, perhaps it was Irene's so-called Chili that kept me up so late; she did go overboard with the jalapeños and cumin. I had to drink at least six glasses of water before bed, and my throat still felt like it was on fire hours later. My stomach didn't feel too good, either. But maybe I'm just looking for excuses because I don't want to believe the reason I couldn't sleep was due to 'him'.

I have seen the owl again; yesterday evening, on my way home from the library. I decided on impulse to walk through the park, and there it stood on the stone obelisk near where I used to do my play-acting. It watched me pass before taking flight; it swooped down low so close to my head, I swear I felt the tips of its wing feathers brushing over my hair. I ran the rest of the way home and the owl followed. I could feel its eyes on me as it soared in the sky above. When I got in, I checked the second poplar tree, the one next to my bedroom window where I've often seen it perched, (I asked dad to get that tree cut down but he wouldn't do it). The owl sat there staring in at me for what felt like hours before flying away. Thankfully, my feathery tormentor wasn't there when I looked outside before bed. But I did get a strange feeling that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, as if I was being observed from afar by some unseen thing. I've often felt that way, ever since I returned from the Labyrinth. I know he can see me somehow, even when he's not around in his owl form.

Sarah Williams sat cross-legged on her bed scribbling away in her journal. She had started keeping one eight years ago, after her mother left, as a way of keeping note of all the little day to day happenings she wanted to remember. Her mom missed out on so much of her life and they hardly ever got to spend any quality time together, she wanted to be able to tell her about some of the things she wasn't around to see. It also served as a useful means of unburdening herself of thoughts no one else could be trusted with. Only one other person knew all her secrets and she lived thousands of miles away, letters and the occasional phone call their only means of communication. But soon, all that would change. Sarah set her journal down on the bed in favour of the latest correspondence from her pen pal. She must have read and re-read it twenty times, at least. However, her buzz of anticipation sharply changed into an unexpected shudder, the type people describe as someone walking over your grave. Thankfully, the sensation swiftly passed and she returned to her reading.

Dearest Sarah,

I'm so excited to be finally meeting you in the flesh; I can hardly sit still long enough to write this letter. My (not-so-wicked) stepmother is growing quite weary of my endless preparations. I find I have to keep getting up from my desk and calling out to her to add something else to the shopping list for your visit. Please, do not concern yourself that I'm going overboard or to unnecessary expense because my father can afford it. Just think, this time next week, we will be able to speak in person. I know we've chatted before on the telephone but it isn't quite the same, as I'm sure you'll agree. I have so much to tell you, things that are perhaps best saved until we can talk face to face. I know you'll understand my reluctance to put such tales down on paper, and my fear, especially after my last letter got "lost" in the post. Anyway, I haven't seen any sign of "old red eyes" for a while but I'm taking nothing for granted.

I've thought again about how fortunate we were to find each other as I'm sure anyone else would think me quite insane, and vice versa, I dare say. Fate somehow brought us together, and for that, I'll be forever grateful…

Sarah always looked forward to receiving a letter from her English pen pal, Billie. Over the last three years, they had corresponded regularly having found each other via an advertisement in a magazine. Their interests and family circumstances were spookily similar. Billie also had a stepmother, her own mother having died from a brain aneurism when she was eight, and a younger stepbrother. It didn't take them long to discover they had much more in common than they could ever have guessed. When Sarah's often-absent mother offered to pay for her to go to London as a combined eighteenth birthday and High School graduation present, she jumped at the chance. Billie invited Sarah to stay with her and her family and she eagerly accepted. The date of her departure had been marked on the calendar with a big red circle and she counted the days with mounting excitement. She half packed her suitcase more than a fortnight in advance, although Irene warned her not to put anything in that would crease until the last minute. Sarah had been on much better terms with her stepmother since her encounter with the Goblin King. Both accepted they were never going to be bosom companions, but at least they weren't at each other's throats all the time.

The fresh morning air after the stormy night blew a cool breeze through her window. Sarah pulled a blanket around her shoulders to keep the chill out. Could that be an owl hooting? She scowled, cocking her head as she listened intently. Weren't they only supposed come out at night? This one didn't.

"I know who you are," she glowered, catching sight of the bird in the poplar tree. "Why are you still haunting me?"

Sarah pulled her window shut with more force than was necessary making the glass pane rattle. The owl blinked and tilted its head as it watched her every movement. She drew the curtains to block its view and returned to her bed to finish reading Billie's letter.

"Why can't I go to London?" Toby whined from the backseat of the car.

Sarah loved her little brother to pieces, but he could be a spoilt brat on occasion.

"I wanna go," he pouted.

His sister tried to placate him before it escalated into a full-blown tantrum. "Hey, I promise I'll bring back some cool presents for you."

Irene rolled her eyes at her son's complaining. "Toby, don't forget we're going on vacation too. Sarah gets three weeks in London, but we get to visit Grandma Alice in Florida," she reminded him.

The boy frowned even harder. "Grandma Alice smells like boiled cabbage and she gives me hard candies covered in pocket lint," he grouched.

Sarah and her stepmother were forced to stifle their giggles.

Irene kept her eyes studiously on the road ahead as she spoke, "It's a shame your father had to work today. I know he would have liked to come with us to the airport."

Robert Williams always had an excuse to keep away from any situations that might involve females and their emotions. At breakfast, he did tell his daughter he'd miss her and gave her an envelope stuffed full of spending cash, so she decided to overlook his fatherly inadequacies on this occasion.

"You're to call us the minute you get there and let us know you've arrived safely, okay?" Irene couldn't help worrying.

Sarah smiled and nodded, she could hardly believe that in less than eight hours she would be in London. Her mother and stepfather took her to Paris for three days in Jeremy's private jet when she turned sixteen. That had been a treat, but this was better. To have three weeks' vacation in another country and in a place she'd always dreamed of visiting, no less. Not to mention, finally getting to meet the person she regarded as her best friend in the whole world, despite the fact that they'd never actually met. The letters they'd shared over the last three years contained stories she'd never told another living soul. Billie understood and believed in Sarah's fantastical adventures because she'd had a few of her own. Both of them had caught the eye of mythical creatures and were being haunted by them.

She fidgeted unconsciously with the silver crucifix around her neck.

"You're not worried about the flight or anything, are you?" Irene questioned, noting her unease. "I should have got you a St. Christopher's medal, he's the patron saint of travellers after all, but you were the one who insisted on the cross," she fretted.

Sarah let out a weary sigh, "I'm fine, please don't fuss."

They continued in awkward silence for a while until Toby resumed his whining. "I still don't know why I can't go to London."

Dearest Moppet,

I know you're all grown up now and will be cursing me for using that old nickname. But I am your mother, and you'll always be my little girl. Anyway, I just wanted to scribble a quick note to let you know I'm thinking of you and hope you'll enjoy London as much as I always do. I am sorry that Jeremy and I could never make time in our schedules so we could be the ones to take you. But you will have much more fun discovering the delights of that great capital city with someone of your own age, I'm sure. And perhaps a handsome Englishman will sweep you off your feet, just as Jeremy swept me off mine.

Have you finished the book I sent you yet? I know you said you'd read it before, I just couldn't resist getting you a copy when you told me about your pen pal. I'm sure her famous namesake must be the reason why she prefers to be known as Billie. However, so many people are ignorant of classic literature these days, one should never assume anything.

I apologise for the brevity of this letter. I did intend to call you before you left for London but it's been so hectic here. Indeed, I can hear Jeremy calling for me now as I write. He has been completely consumed with casting and rehearsals for our latest play. You know how passionate he gets about these things, and rightly so. If we don't take it seriously, we are doing our audience a great disservice. As Jeremy always says, it isn't life or death, it's much more important than that.

Please do try and see A Midsummer Night's Dream in the West End, I can get you tickets. One of my protégés is playing Titania, although I'm sure her performance won't be a patch of my celebrated run in that role. Have a wonderful time, Moppet. I shall expect a postcard from you, at the very least.

All my love,

Mom.

Sarah folded the letter and slipped it back inside the book she'd been reading to pass the flight time. It wasn't the one her mother had gifted her; she knew that story by heart, almost as well as she knew The Labyrinth. Her old battered copy of that playbook had been packed securely in her hand luggage. Loath as she was to bring it with her, the idea of leaving it behind made her even more uneasy. Better to keep it close and away from Toby, she'd reasoned.

The airport heaved with hot bodies buzzing to and fro, all of them desperately trying to locate where they needed to be. Sarah felt a rush of excitement, along with a sliver of apprehension, as she scanned the crowd for a sign bearing her name. Her eyes fell upon a familiar face, having seen some photographs of her friend, she knew without reading the card that she'd found the right person. Billie frantically waved at her, practically jigging around with anticipation.

"Sarah, I can't believe you're really here," she grinned.

Hesitant at first, they hugged. When they drew back and their eyes met, both of them burst out laughing.

"It's so good to see you, Billie," Sarah said wiping away a tear.

"None of that, we're all stiff upper lips and repressed emotions here, don't you know?" Her friend teased, although she too got choked up at being face to face at last.

With their long, dark chocolate coloured hair and pale skin, they could have passed for sisters. Sarah had a slight height advantage; there wasn't much between them, though. Billie had rich brown eyes in contrast to her sage green ones, but they were no less captivating.

After navigating their way through the car park, her friend's red Mini Cooper soon groaned under the weight of Sarah's luggage.

"This is me travelling light," she jested.

As it was almost midsummer, the sun still shone like day despite the lateness of the hour. Both women started to grow increasingly anxious about the advancing nightfall. Exchanging a worried look, they got into the car and made sure the doors were locked before driving away.

"I'm certain I heard the wolf howling again the other evening," Billie confided.

"Did you see it?" Sarah's eyes were wide with horror.

"No, but I could sense it was out there, watching me." Her friend grimaced at the memory.

"Exactly like the owl. It's there almost every night and sometimes during the day. It just sits there staring at me for hours on end, not that I want it to do anything else, but I do wonder what it's waiting for," Sarah mused.

"He has no power over you, right? I don't think the other he-who-shall-not-be-named has any power over me, either. My family haven't been troubled by him since he tried to turn my great-great-grandmother. Maybe it's just the women he's interested in. He's waited a long time for a female descendant of Mina Harker, and I look just like her too. My parents even named me after her. Talk about tempting fate." Billie heaved out a puff of exasperation. "I don't know what's keeping me safe, beyond my extensive crucifix collection and penchant for garlic, but he's never been able to touch me," she explained keeping her eyes on the road.

At that moment, a dark shape flitted past the car windshield and she swerved sharply, almost colliding with traffic in the opposite lane. It could have been a bird, but the light was dimming and they only caught a fleeting glimpse.

"What the heck was that?" Billie gasped.

Sarah peered out of the side window, desperately searching for the culprit. She half expected to see a familiar owl. There was no sign of it in the surrounding area, although she felt sure something was out there. The sensation that unseen eyes were watching their every move was overwhelming, and an icy shiver travelled down their spines. Not wishing to delay any further, they continued their journey into the heart of London. The bustling streets and vibrant city life gave them hope of protection from their darkest fears. There is safety in numbers, at least so the saying goes.

"Are you still having those dreams? I am, and they're getting worse. I think he's trying to make me call out for him," Sarah shuddered, wanting to believe it was revulsion she felt and fearing it wasn't.

Billie nodded sympathetically. "But they're only dreams, aren't they? I mean, if they could do the stuff they do to us in our sleep when we're awake, they wouldn't need all the theatrics. I don't believe they can actually touch us," she reassured her friend.

"Whether they can touch us or not, they're never gonna leave us alone," Sarah wearily sighed.

"That's what I wanted to tell you in my last letter; I think I might have found someone who can help us with our respective problems," Billie said her brown eyes shining bright with hope. "I tracked down the great-grandson of Professor Abraham Van Helsing. He's agreed to meet with us tomorrow at the Natural History Museum."