So, this is my newest story... I won't give away too much except there will be a lot of OCs and it will be more focused on Iscariot.
The chapter titles are usually the titles of songs (mostly classic rock / metal), so feel free to check them out. Without further ado, enjoy reading!
EDIT (31/07/15): There is a cover now! Thanks to my best friend NigruStea for that. Also by her (because I can't draw for my life...) a sketch of Mira as the countess.
EDIT II (8/14/15): Totally forgot this page kills any external links. My deviantart profile goes by the name of Cedidit. You can find the sketches there.
Prologue: Winds of change
An orphanage near London, 2011
Caitlyn was woken with a start when the door slammed open hard enough to make holes in the walls. Her first thought was: They're finally here. She heard a muffled scream. Somebody started to cry silently. Probably Madeleine. She was only eight, the youngest in their bedroom.
Saint Joseph's was a small place. This bedroom had eight beds, seven of them occupied. The eighth child had been adopted only two days ago. Caitlyn didn't know what the law said about how many kids should be in one dorm, only that she didn't mind. The breathing of the other girls calmed her. It meant she wasn't alone.
Heavy boots pounded slowly on the floor while the gangsters (that's what Caitlyn called them in her mind) went through the rows, studying each face closely. At least that's what Caitlyn thought. She couldn't be sure. She kept her eyes closed and tried to pretend she was sleeping. Everybody did. The gangsters knew it was fake of course. They slammed the doors open on purpose after all. Maybe it was to keep everybody in line. Caitlyn didn't know and was too afraid to care.
It had only been a matter of time until they turned up. The director and part-time employees of the orphanage, "Josephs and Josies", how they were called by the kids, had tried to keep the reports away from them. They only reminded them to lock the doors and windows.
Caitlyn, at age 16, wasn't so easy to turn away of course. In school everybody was talking about the guys that broke into orphanages, checked all the girls out and left without stealing anything. Nobody had been hurt, except for a nun that tried to stop them. She was knocked out with a MagLite. That was it. They didn't even touch anyone if they didn't have to. It was all very strange.
Caitlyn dug further into her pillow and her auburn hair. She didn't want them to study her like a goldfish in a bowl. Probably they would just go out again, she told herself. Still – what were they searching for anyway? No one knew. Maybe a girl from their midst? There had to be a reason the boys were left alone.
Somebody snored. Caitlyn was close to screaming with hysterical laughter. That had to be Sasha. No doubt about it. And the funny thing was, Sasha really was sleeping. Not even a cannon could wake her up before seven o'clock. Tomorrow morning she would wake and wonder what everybody was making a fuss about. She'll be horrified to find she missed everything. The only one that wouldn't be scared was sleeping. Life just didn't work like a movie. Heroic fantasies aside, Caitlyn knew it would be the worst idea possible trying to make a stand.
Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.
The footsteps ceased for a moment. Then somebody laughed. The voice was surprisingly soft, not at all like some hardcore gangster (or what somebody might think such a person might sound like). Also, he seemed to be quite young. Caitlyn fought the urge to open her eyes. Voices could be deceiving. The footsteps continued and stopped beside her. The light of a torch wandered over her face. Caitlyn froze, every muscle tense. Goose-flesh broke out on her whole body. The man standing beside her carefully pushed a strand of hair out of her face. Caitlyn's eyes burned with tears, but she didn't move. Breathing was suddenly hard.
"You", the man who had laughed said. "Stand up."
Caitlyn didn't move. She just couldn't, even if she wanted to. Her body was frozen. Her brain was running in circles, but somewhere in the background she tried to profile the person. He had a voice like he was used to speak to others, sympathetic and calm. It was very soft and even friendly. Somebody pushed the covers aside and grabbed her arm. The hand was warm and big, but not violent. Used to work, probably a man slightly above average height. Not prone to violence. "Don't try to make a fuss. We won't hurt you. You just need to do something for us and we'll bring you back." No accent, but probably not British either. He was a professional.
He helped her up without dragging her. Caitlyn shivered in the cold of autumn. She still hadn't opened her eyes. The man with the soft voice led her to the lockers. Caitlyn knew that because they walked to the window. She could feel the light of the street lamps from outside. The man let go of her arm. "Which one?"
"Bottom left", she replied automatically. There was a clang when the locker was opened. The door sometimes got stuck. The man gave her her clothes. It was not much, just what the orphanage could provide. She clung on to it to conceal her trembling. She was barely able to walk. He led her out of the room and closed the door. Then they turned left.
Caitlyn counted her steps. Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen. They stopped. There was an old broom closet here. She knew the orphanage by heart. As a child she had counted the steps leading from one point to the other when she was bored. She had been bored a lot.
"Dress yourself properly, it's cold outside," the man told her and nudged her gently in the direction of the door. Caitlyn went inside and it was closed behind her.
She finally was able to open her eyes again. There were no windows, but she knew where the light switch was. The harsh electric light from a single light bulb stung in her eyes. Just now she realized she had been crying all the time. Her face was wet. She wiped it off and started to undress. Now that she was conditionally alone, her brain began to work again. What did they want? Why her?
Can't be rapists. That operation is way too elaborate just to find them a girl. The thought was a bit relieving. The only other explanation was that it was about her in particular. They had searched for somebody and obviously thought she was that person. But why?
"Are you ready?"
"Not yet," she croaked. Hastily she put on her jeans, a black shirt with long sleeves and a second-hand jacket with the print "New York City". Then the boots that had been too tight for almost half a year now and her way too big trenchcoat. But that had been a gift from a nice old man who died two years ago and she had kept it dear since. There was also a washed-out purple scarf. The only thing left was a dark blue fabric, some kind of scarf as well, that didn't belong to her.
"Tie the other scarf around your head and cover your eyes. Don't try to peek. And switch off the lights."
"Yes." Caitlyn looked around for a possible weapon. The broom looked like it would fall to dust if she stared at it too hard. No chemicals, nothing else. They probably had cleaned it out. Nothing in this wasn't planned out. She glanced at the broom. Maybe she should try.
Or this was a trap. To see if she intended to start trouble.
Caitlyn wiped off the new tears on her face and put the scarf over her eyes. A terrible hopelessness hat begun to settle in. What could she possibly do against so many? She groped for the light switch, felt it flick downwards and heard the click when the light was shut off. "I'm ready," she stated.
The door was opened and then she was – ever so gently – led out of the closed back in the hallway. They continued to the left. Caitlyn counted her steps. She knew every number by heart. Seventeen from the dorm to the closet, twenty-two to the wash rooms, fifty to the stairs. Sixteen stairs to the ground floor. Nine steps to the door. Three stairs. Sixty-five from there to the gate.
The cold air bit into her face and swept up her hair. She wore it at shoulder length. She would have preferred it shorter but she wasn't allowed to. This was minimum length for the time she lived here. Fourteen years now. Her parents died when she was two, or so she was told. She didn't know anything about them and would only get to look into the files when she was eighteen.
When Caitlyn was younger she had fantasized about a weird connection, a secret about her parents, that they still were alive somewhere. That they had given her to the orphanage to protect her. She imagined adventures and new friends and... now, that she was in an adventure, she just wanted to go to sleep and pretend nothing happened. This wasn't cool at all.
They walked down the path to the gate. She was abducted in front of everybody's metaphorical eyes. She giggled and immediately stopped, startled.
"What is it?", the man asked.
Caitlyn didn't want to answer, but she had seen enough films to know this wouldn't help her. "I... I just though how ridiculous it is that we walk out the front door," she answered truthfully.
The man with the nice voice laughed. "You're right. It is."
They reached the pavement in front of the orphanage. A car was started and a sliding door opened.
"Careful now. You're gonna climb into the car and sit on the bench, okay? Put on the seat belt. You ain't going to make trouble, right?"
"No." The man had no accent at all, but... Ain't. He got to be American. Maybe that would help the police later on. If you ever live to tell.
She touched the fabric of a car seat and climbed into what had to be a van of some kind. Maybe like on The A-Team. She found a seat belt and buckled it. The man climbed in after her and checked if it was really strapped. "Not too tight?", he asked. Caitlyn just shook her head. She heard the clicking of another seat belt and then the heavy sliding of the door. The man with the nice voice rapped on a metal wall or something like that and the car drove off.
She didn't pay attention to the sound of cars driving by. It was only a few. They were on the outskirts of London and it had to be around two in the morning. Of course only few were up now. Caitlyn tried to count the turns and – unlike every film character ever - succeed. She was good at counting. Twenty-four right. Thirty left. Probably they used a more complicated route to confuse her. She had no idea where they might be. But that didn't matter. Counting calmed her. She wouldn't do anything stupid.
Finally, the van stopped. There was the sound of metal. An electric gate opening. They started off again, only for a small distance. She heard the man with the nice voice open his seat belt. "Unbuckle," he told her, then opened the door. "Don't try to run. There's nowhere you can go." Caitlyn didn't reply and did as she was told. Her legs were shaking badly. She stumbled when her feet touched the ground. The man caught her. He was slender, but well trained. From the sound of it he wore special clothes, probably black. A professional fighter. A mercenary, maybe. A well-paid one.
"Careful there," the man said. He steadied her and closed the door. Then he led her somewhere. There was no other sound than their shoes crunching on gravel. Caitlyn counted her steps. Twenty-two. Then forty. Then a hundred. Hundred and seven. They left the gravel and stepped on concrete. Hundred and twelve. "Stairs," the man said. Five stairs. They stopped again. The man unlocked a door. Caitlyn heard the key slide into the hole and the bolts open. A padlock, probably. Then another, normal lock. The doors creaked slightly. They sounded heavy.
Inside their steps were muffled by a thick carpet. Expensive. The odor was slightly musty, so the house had been empty for quite a while. It was big, considering the echo. Maybe an old mansion. Two steps ahead, the left. Ten steps more. A door opened. Fifteen. Another door. Twenty more. And another door. The man flicked a light switch. It drenched everything in blue, as far as Caitlyn was concerned. "We'll go down a few stairs. Right of you is a handle. Watch out, they're really narrow. I'll be right behind you", the man told her.
The air was wet and cold. The railing was metal and very cold. Caitlyn's hand hurt after a few seconds of touching it, but she didn't dare to let go. The man with the nice voice was right: The stairs were narrow. Caitlyn didn't trust herself enough not to fall down. Twenty-two stairs.
This had to be a basement of some sort. She didn't really want to know why they were headed in a basement. The pictures flashing in front of her eyes were just ridiculous. Blood and torture chambers and people like her, normal people. Ridiculous. She should read less. Maybe the Stieg Larsson books hadn't been such a good idea after all.
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
Her foot touched even floor. She stepped down the last stair and waited for the man with the nice voice. The thought of running away and hiding didn't even occur. Where should she go? The basement sounded huge, but she didn't know where it went or where she was anyway. Nobody did, except for the kidnappers. Providing there were more than two.
She heard something skittle over the floor and froze. That sounded like an army of small, many-legged creatures. Centipedes. It had to be centipedes.
She needed to take her mind off the subject before she started hyperventilating. "Can I ask what we are doing here?" Caitlyn didn't expect an answer, but also no punishment. Five, six, seven...
"It's nothing personal if you mean that, at least not for my part. I'm just a mercenary," the man answered friendly. "I'm just bringing you to my customers." Friendly, yes. But also emotionless. He didn't care at all what happened to her afterwards. Being nice to her was just his modus operanti. Suddenly, fear gripped her again. Horrific pictures flooded her mind. The man pushed her forward before she could stop. Would she get out of here alive? All of a sudden the torture cell didn't seem that far off. Death is a fearful thing. More fearful was the image of centipedes crawling over her. There were many in basements. That was the reason she hadn't set a foot in the cellar of St. Joseph's since she was eight.
Caitlyn had forgotten how many steps they had made or how many corners rounded, but all of a sudden they stopped. The man knocked and then opened another door.
They went in. It was warmer. Somebody had made himself comfortable for a longer wait. The door shut behind them. Light shone through the dark blue fabric.
"Found at last, found at last," another voice said. It was completely unlike the mercenary's, high and weird and unpleasant. Also, he was obviously a Brit. From London. "So we finally found the little Miss Hellsing. And such a obedient and pretty girl, too. Good job." Caitlyn had no idea what he meant. The name Hellsing only reminded her of the film of the same name.
"The payment," the man with the soft voice reminded. Caitlyn heard the characteristic sound of guns being made ready. Three people at least, she figured. The mercenary stayed calm. "I don't think you are stupid enough to use automatic rifles in a closed room, especially with your precious commodity standing right here. Also, my partners wait for me and will charge in the moment the think something is wrong. I have a chip measuring if I'm still alive and currently sending to my back-up." All warmth had left his voice. "Let us keep this professional, gentlemen."
The client laughed. Caitlyn tensed. She didn't like that laugh. It sounded like metal scraping over stone. The mercenary might not care about her life, but the other man was sadistic. She just knew he was. The mercenary let go of her. He made two steps and stopped again. He received his payment, whatever it was. Locks clicked. He checked the payment. Caitlyn pictured a suit case full of money. Then he went to the door. "Until next time." The door opened and closed and Caitlyn was alone with the man who had ordered her kidnapping and his friends. Or henchmen. Whatever.
She just stood there. Nobody moved. Probably the man studied her. "Take off that scarf." When Caitlyn didn't oblige immediately, somebody stepped forward and ripped it off, including some of her hair. She gritted her teeth.
It was a small room, furbished with a sofa, a radiator and two chairs. The man with the metal-over-stone voice was around forty, with deep wrinkles that showed he didn't smile much. He wasn't fat, but had a tendency to it and was on the best way. He wore an expensive, fawn-colored suit covering it up a bit. His head was next to bald and the remaining hair was an ugly gray.
"Do you know why you are here?", he asked.
"You wanted me to be brought here," Caitlyn answered sternly. The man laughed like this was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
"Indeed. Any why would I want that, little Miss Hellsing?"
"I don't know. Why do you call me Miss Hellsing? That's not my name!"
The man leaned back. Caitlyn began to sweat. It was hot in here. "Ah, of course that is your name. You just don't know yet. Do you want to take off the jacket?" She nodded and he motioned her to go on. Caitlyn was happy to get out of the coat. But when she wanted to take off her purple scarf, the man raised one hand and his henchmen – both tall and strong and not very bright as far as she knew – raised their rifles. Caitlyn froze and the man gave her an unpleasant smile. "I never said anything about the scarf. Joe, bring her a chair."
The right henchman did as he was told. Caitlyn stayed where she was. "Sit down." She did as she was told. The henchman named Joe stood directly behind her. Caitlyn sat, hands in her lap and didn't move. These people were different. If she made the slightest mistake it could be her last. People like him did that out of fun.
"Amazing, just amazing," the man said with that unpleasant smile. "We've been searching for so long and then you're right in the capital. Could have saved us a bloody bit of work." Caitlyn didn't say anything. "What is the name you think you bear?"
She hesitated, looking at the guns. Every henchman had an automatic rifle and a pistol strapped to his belt. That made how many bullets? "Caitlyn Olivier Morris."
The man nodded. "Of course. They kept you away from your heritage. For your own safety. Very clever, but not clever enough. Let me tell you a story:
There once was a woman named Abigail van Hellsing, the famous vampire huntress. She was a good friend of Bram Stoker, who wrote down Dracula. Then there were her children and grandchildren and the following generations. The last of the direct bloodline – meaning the males - was Sir Arthur Hellsing and, as their was no other heir, his daughter Integra. Sadly, Arthur died. Arthur's brother Richard wanted the title for himself. He died in an accident only days after his brother. Fell down the stairs. How unfortunate." The man smiled unpleasantly. "Equally unfortunate for the family business when Integra died of an unknown fever only one year later. So the Hellsing mansion was abandoned and Her Majesty's Royal Knights dissolved. Are you with me until now?"
Caitlyn nodded and the man continued, "But, and that's the interesting part, allegedly there is a family secret still hidden here. Something so special it was secured in a basement room with spells – real magic in our time."
Caitlyn couldn't help herself – she frowned. "Magic isn't real."
The man nodded and Joe slapped her. Pain shot through her cheek and she tasted blood. "You talk when I ask you to, understand?" She only nodded, teeth gritted against the pain. The man had strange eyes. They were dark green and brown, but the pupils didn't seem to work right. They contracted seemingly random sometimes and he had difficulties focusing his gaze. "Good girl. This family secret is what we want. And you're going to help us."
Caitlyn wanted to ask how, but stopped herself in the last second. Talking back didn't help her now. The man saw it and smiled. Then he stood up. Joe grabbed Caitlyn's arm, but the man raised one hand. "The young Miss Hellsing can walk alone."
Caitlyn did as she was told. Again. When she was free, she could get her revenge. For now she had to bear being abased by this arsehole. The man led her out of the room and down the hallway. Outside, it was freezing. Caitlyn shivered, but didn't say anything. The two henchmen followed. Maybe I just wake up at home, she thought. She didn't believe it, but it would be a nice turn of events. Screw being a forgotten member of a royal family. Screw adventures or secrets. She wanted to go home. Lie in her bed and count the breaths of the other girls. Maybe read a good book and dream about having adventures, until she grew tired of danger and put the book away.
She almost bumped into the man with the raspy voice. He had stopped in front of a door that looked suspiciously like a cell. There was a grid in the upper half. No flap for food, though. A huge sigil was painted on the door.
Did she really just think of it as a sigil?
It was a drawing in red paint or something like that, circular with a lot of symbols she recognized from various religions. Maybe she really read too much, but the paint looked awfully like blood. Her stomach revolted, but she took a few deep breaths. Even if. Magic was bullshit. Nonsense.
"Behind that door is the Hellsing's family secret. Something wonderful and terrible, I heard. And it will be mine." He turned around, suddenly a knife in hand. Caitlyn flinched, but the henchmen grabbed her from behind. She didn't utter a sound. Her throat was too tight to breathe. The man took her hand. His skin was wet and sticky. He pushed up her sleeve and the knife drew a burning line over her arm. Caitlyn had never thought a cut could be that painful. She screamed. Blood dripped on the floor. The man laughed in delight. "Take some of it!", he ordered her. "Put it on the sigil!"
The henchmen shoved her to the door. Caitlyn didn't really know what to do. The blood gathered in her palm. Her hand was trembling when she touched the door. Joe and the other henchman let go of her and she collapsed to the floor, grabbing her arm. It pulsed in the rhythm of her hammering heart. Why did it hurt so much? Tears blurred her eyes and she blinked them away. She needed to see what happened.
The sigil began to glow brightly. The man with the raspy voice stepped forward, laughing like a maniac. "It worked! The Hellsing's treasure will be mine!" The door swung open and he darted in. His laughter was cut off. After a few seconds of dreadful silence he barked: "Bring the girl in!"
Joe – or was it the other guy? - dragged her through the door, not caring if she walked or crawled. Caitlyn scraped her knees, but it was drowned in the pain in her forearm. Blood ran hot over her fingers. Can you die from something like that? The thought was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous.
The man with the raspy voice was red with anger. The room was built from huge stone blocks like the rest of the basement and completely empty except for a corpse. Caitlyn almost threw up. This was all too much. Blood, magic, corpses – what the hell was going on? The evening she had made dinner with her fellow orphans and read a book. Now she was here. The man's voice was shrill with anger. Her grabbed her head and made her look at the corpse. "Look at that! Look! That's your family's treasure! That!"
The corpse was dry. It had been a woman, Caitlyn figured, with long dark hair. The corpse was heavily bandaged with what looked like black leather. Caitlyn almost giggled hysterically. SM gone awry, I guess. Then everything went black.
Someone shook her. She coughed and tasted more blood. Pain shot through her belly. Someone kicked her. "You! You little whore! That's your fault! That goddamn mercenary! You all tricked me!", he panted. The man didn't stop kicking her, while Caitlyn tried to shield herself as good as possible. He was out of breath and his kicks grew weaker by the second, but every one of them hurt like hell. Caitlyn was dully aware of being close to passing out again. A pool of blood had gathered where her arms were. It seeped into her shirt.
"Oh dear, that's no way of treating a member of the Hellsing family, is it?"
The man with the raspy voice and his two henchmen spun. It was the only thing persuading Caitlyn she wasn't hallucinating. The voice was female and had a lovely little accent. Eastern Europe, Caitlyn guessed. She had seen an interesting documentary about the former Yugoslavia, where the interviewed people talked like that. Not quite like that, but similar enough.
The man with the raspy voice was shaking. "Who are you?", he croaked.
"We're servants of the Hellsing family. And you are an enemy." The voice came from the door. Caitlyn tried to see something, but her body hurt too much to move. It was a child's voice, a boy who hadn't experienced the puberty vocal change yet. Somebody knelt beside her. "Don't move too much. This is over in a moment and then we'll treat your injuries." It was the boy. He was somehow able to pick her up, despite the slender body. Caitlyn shook her head. It spun horribly.
"Wait. Who are you? What's happening?"
The torches the three man had carried fell to the ground. They started firing. The air reeked of gunpowder. The men screamed. And then there was a hot, wet splatter. A huge drop hit the ground next to Caitlyn. She jerked upright despite the pain and leaned against the wall. Her head felt like it was filled with cotton wool. She threw up. The whole room stank of blood. But at some point her stomach was empty.
She heard a sigh. "Oh, bollocks," the boy said. He gave her a handkerchief.
"Thanks," Caitlyn said miserably, wiping her mouth. "You don't happen to have a glass of water?"
"Upstairs. Let's go." He carefully took her arm. "Mira, you clean that up, okay?" There was no response Caitlyn could hear... except for something like a current of water running. She concentrated on counting her steps. The boy helped her and she didn't stumble once.
Thirty-five to the warm room. She shivered. Her arms were covered in goose-flesh.
"Wait a second," the boy said. It literally only seemed to take a second until the boy returned with her trenchcoat. She put it on. The worn-off, familiar fabric gave her some of her determination back. She stayed where she was and tried to stand upright. Her body hurt, but it wasn't as bad as she had thought. "I want to know who you are and what this all is about."
"Can't that wait?", the boy sighed.
"Are you trying to oppose our master?" The female voice again. Caitlyn flinched when a figure just appeared out of the shadows. She was sure there had been nobody before. The woman just materialized out of nowhere. Or – the girl. She was not older than fourteen and wore a black suit. The long black hair was cut straight and she wore a fringe. For a moment she just looked at Caitlyn with bright red eyes in a pale face. Caitlyn shuddered seeing that smile. The girl was insane. There was a trace of blood in the corner of her mouth. Then she knelt down and bowed her head. The boy that had escorted Caitlyn did the same. He had a mob of wild black hair and wore jeans and a shirt with old-fashioned vest and tie.
"Sir Caitlyn Olivier Morris Hellsing," the girl said. "We are your loyal servants."
Caitlyn just stared at them. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.
"Walter Dornez, your butler," the boy said. He looked up and grinned at her with sharp fangs. His eyes were red like the girl's. Caitlyn had a ridiculous thought. They were vampires. Like in the films. Now I'm officially delusional. The thought was strangely calming.
The girl raised her head and smiled that insane smile. Caitlyn shuddered again. "Vladimira Tepes. Mira, if you prefer. At you service, my master. What are your orders?"
"Uh...", she said. There was an annoying little buzzing sound in the back of her head.
"Lady Vladimira Tepes," the boy, Walter, corrected. "Formerly the vampire queen of Transsylvania, also known as Alucard and-"
Caitlyn passed out.
Hope you enjoy and give me a bit feedback.
The title song "Renegade" is by Styx. "Winds of Change" is performed by The Scorpions. I'll try to entitle every chapter with a classic rock song. Just for fun. (I also take suggestions.)