Theft
His new home was...acceptable. Large windows with fine drapes, a small but serviceable ballroom, billiards room, all the necessary accoutrements for a house for a minor noble...including a small cemetary with a half-dozen family crypts. It was an uncomfortable distance from Van Helsing's, though, and even with the speed of a supernatural wolf, his visits had been curtailed. Visits to London had proven entertaining and enlightening. Amusements as a human had been limited to traveling the ater troupes, minstrels, and court jesters, so the opportunity to enjoy an opera, a ballet, and theaters from fine to bawdy was not something he scorned.
He'd developed quite a taste for such shows, and a definite taste for the ballerinas and bawdy dancers. Theaters entertained him late at night, and early evenings provided him the chance to view the great bones of dinosaurs now proudly displayed alongside the Egyptian relics in the museums and fine homes. Those homes had been happy to welcome him to fetes and gatherings, and he'd rapidly gained a very modern knowledge base and dined on many slender and perfumed necks. Yet, time and again, he'd found himself leaving the various homes and gatherings early, drifting instead to the Van Helsing estate, watching Abraham, admiring and wondering and anticipating.
He was always careful to stay out of sight, to leave no trace of his careful and constant monitoring, and it kept him a frustrating distance from the man. Frustrating, but safe. Eventually, their interaction would come to a head and one of them would perish. For now, he was having far too much fun and too thoroughly entertained to hasten such an end.
x x x
Another hunt! Knowing that his human intended to hunt that night, Dracula had hidden away again in the nearby house, spending the day wrapped in a blanket in the corner of the attic. As soon as the sun set, he was up and ready to follow Van Helsing. The last hunt had been over impressively quickly; would this one be the same? Fortunately, this new vampire was closer to his own estate; there was no need to race to the Van Helsing home and track his foe, he could merely go and wait. Their lair was within a few miles of his own, both of them having chosen a residence within easy reach of London proper. He'd noticed this vamipre and her child when he'd first moved to his new property; weak and worthless, they'd sensed his own power and had the intelligence to stay well away. He ignored them, they avoided him, and with all of London to dine in, there had been absolutely no reason to even acknowledge them.
Until Abraham decided to hunt them. It had been delightful, if a bit unnerving, to realize that the man would be hunting so close to where he had placed his coffin! Leaning back against the shadowed side of a crypt, hidden in the deep blackness, he surveyed the small cemetary and waited, and watched.
x x x
Abraham sighed, pushing back his hat and rubbing the sweat running down his face. It was unseasonably, unbearably hot for England that night. His heavy red coat and hat were suitable for the wet weather typical of the island, not the balmy steamy heat of this night. He was hunting a vampire, there was no cause to do anything to make himself more vulnerable...and having sweat stinging his eyes would do exactly that. Grumbling, he folded the coat and let if upon a gravestone, hat perched atop it. He needed to concentrate on finding that vampire; a hunt through the cemetary had not revealed any likely hiding place for the coffin, and he wasn't certain this was even the right cemetary! If not...the next night, he'd try another local burial ground, and search until he found the beast. For tonight, he'd have to hope he was early enough to catch it emerging, hungry and hunting and thus making itself vulnerable.
He wasn't expecting ghouls; there had been no report of them. Swearing quietly under his breath, Abraham aimed and fire again. Five of them, but he'd nearly emptied both pistols of bullets dealing with them. Slow, stupid, but deadly, they'd lurched after him with a slow, but organized, advance, and he'd retreated, fired, retreated, and fired. One left, and his last bullet placed a hole directly in its forehead before it slowly fell to ash.
Abraham didn't even notice. As soon as the bullet had left the gun, he was pulling more out of his pockets, reloading quickly and desperately. Where there were ghouls, there were vampires...and with no bullets, he had no long-range weaponry. And letting a vampire get close enough to use a cross or sword was to tempt death. They were simply too strong and too fast.
The last bullet in the first gun, he began to snap the cylinder into place...only to see something flash a hairs-breadth from his hands. Jerking backwards with a gasp of shock, he saw the decapitated body hit the ground, and go to ash. It was only a moment, in the dark of the night, but that glimpse was enough to confirm the body was a vampire, and not a ghoul; silver-white and not rotten-gray, no bare bones or rot.
And something had killed it, inches from him. Had it been attacking him? Using the distraction of his reloading to spring on him and kill? His blessed and embroidered shirt might have slowed it, the cross on his neck helped to repel it, but it hadn't been slowed or repel. It had been destroyed.
What had stopped it? What was powerful enough to kill a vampire in front of him, without him seeing it?
Probably nothing good...and with a rush, he put his back against the rough, cold stone of a substantial monument, eyes scanning the grounds around him, loaded gun in hand, looking, looking. A crying, shrieking wail of fury and loss, and a furious vampiress appeared, keening over the ashes of the first one...then spinning to snarl at him.
She made it two steps before the bullets stopped her, slamming into her face and head, her ashes carrying on the breeze to continue her advance and dust lightly over his clothes.
Two of them. Child, and maker. And the ghouls. He should never have come here alone. This was no new, single, foolish vampire. He'd have been dead already if something, someone, had not destroyed the first vampire.
Fight over, he leaned against the monument, feeling his knees tremble in reaction. Gun, bullets...gun...reload...Yes...important. Shaking hands fumbled bullets into the second gun, loading it as his eyes darted about, searching for a threat. Nothing. Only two piles of ash, the glint of moonlight on the expelled cases. Not even a breeze to wave the grass about on this hot, humid night. No sound other than minor insect noises...nothing.
Walking to his horse would leave his back exposed to whatever was hunting him. Foolish, risky...
He spent the rest of the night with his back against that cold stone, looking about, watching and waiting. Only when the sun rose did Abraham leave the safety of that shelter and make his way to his dozing horse, stiff and exhausted.
The tombstone where he'd left his hat and coat was bare.