Chapter 11

The Glimmer in the Darkness

From the journals of Brogan O'Garvie

I found it to be a sight more difficult than I had anticipated, leaving the shelter of Prime Manor. I knew well enough that we might be going to our doom, but no man or woman of the House does any less any time they take up a task in the name of the Primes. In truth, I find I was more sorry to leave the company of Miss Liú, for she is a noble young woman with a heart stouter than many men I know. Truth be told, she has saved my life as often as I have protected hers.

I know it is an impropriety, but I cannot help feeling that the Band is not complete without her presence, even if she is without a chaperone. Better to keep those words to page and not speech, of course, lest I invite censure on the lot of us. All the same, I can't help feeling a great weight off my shoulders, knowing she remains behind. It makes my blood run cold, thinking of Miss Liú facing Polidori again. Once was more than enough, and there's the truth! Brendan and Wheel and I had the foresight to add a few Winchesters to our armory, though our odious guest was quick to remind us that ordinary weapons would have no effect upon a being of pure darkness. It is as if he imagines he is not upon the list of enemies of the House. The guns are not for the Count.

I do not know what we go to face tonight, but saints be with us either way.

From the journals of Arcee d'Iacon

The carriages moved swiftly, as though no obstacle stood in the road before us. It was as though all life had fled the streets after the sun had set. We were now somewhere past the ruins of Carfax Abbey, and all those within the coaches were utterly silent. The Bull's Horn Band rode together in one, weapons gathered and checked for the hundredth time, I have no doubt. I had the misfortune to ride across from Megatron himself, though the added presence of Lord Prime and Inspector Fowler did ease the discomfort of the journey somewhat. Lord Megatron of Kaon shows entirely too much interest in our copy of the Codex. My heart misgives me, and I know not why. He cannot be merely observing the page concerning the dispatching of people afflicted with vampirism, or he should have said so. What can he be planning?

I find myself more apprehensive this night than I have been in long years, for I know without doubt now that we go to face a creature of pure evil, one utterly at odds with all our faith and our morals. My beloved Heathcliffe once gave to me a little crucifix that had been his mother's, asking that I wear it upon our wedding day. And for all that I am yet Protestant, I intended to do so, but when he was so cruelly snatched from us, from me, I shut the cross away in a drawer and did not take it out again. Perhaps I ought to have returned it to the Foiche family, as they were his cousins, but I could not bear to lose his last gift to me. I now found myself immeasurably grateful that I had thought to put on the crucifix before leaving my flat yesterday, for though I do not know if popular legend holds any truth when fighting vampires, I suspect the sight of something with even connotations of holiness will vex our eldritch foe. Let us pray it will be so.

From the private notebook of Lord Megatron of Kaon

The carriages stopped only a few times to allow the horses to rest. How we managed the journey without killing the beasts amazes me yet. I should have liked to have had Bajāna by my side, surrounded as I was by Prime and his ilk, but I needed him to mind the estate in my absence. I would have been a fool to leave it all in the dubious hands of Mme. Clamat, much though she would have enjoyed it. Halfway to Essex, I discovered the page I had been so earnestly seeking before this unfortunate business with the Count. This was, after all, the very volume that Prime in his youth had stolen from me, and though I made him pay dearly for that transgression, I forever after feared that he might take pains to use it against me. He had sealed many of the pages together with wax: I would not have been able to pry them apart without damage being done to the pages. Yet he left the page about vampires grafted into the spine and unsealed, and he had yet to lock the second half of the volume - this is where I found the ritual I sought.

But now, even as the unwitting boy sat at my right hand - I do not deny an odd sensation coming over me at writing those words, and it cements in my mind the venture I shall attempt - I made notes, scratched into the flesh of my own palm, that would serve me later.

I felt, at times, some presence or cloud doggedly trying at the corners of my mind, like a cat that has found a mousehole in the wall, but cannot persuade the vermin to exit its refuge. Polidori had not gotten but the slightest taste of my blood, and by no means with my leave, and already he could forge this faint and fluttering link between us? I shuddered to think of what control such a creature must exert over those from whom he has taken more than just a few drops. The faculties of my own mind were and are mine and mine alone to control, yet I feared that the Count might perhaps gain purchase enough to guess what his manner of demise might be, and so I shut the Codex and handed it back to my enemies with a grim smile.

That insufferable boy did not so much as glance my way, hands folded and eyes shut in prayer. God knows I am far from a righteous man, with little inclination to do aught about it, and yet I felt within me the slightest breath of relief that someone had thought to appeal to a power higher than the Count, if such a thing exists. My own faith is paltry at the best, I confess it freely.

By the greying of the dawn, we arrived at the ruinous house I suspected the Count had taken refuge in, for this was where he had ordered Drake and Ottenwilder take several long boxes of earth - coffins, if the truth be told - some time ago, and it seemed likely that it was his place of refuge when the sun managed to break through the clouds in the warmer months. The long chill of winter and the overcast climates had been very hospitable to Polidori, allowing him access to prey even in the daylight hours - though his power over them is greatly diminished so as to be no more than an uncanny charisma that sways a victim into compliance.

It was a narrow pile of brick and mortar, this house, more after the fashion of a wealthy merchant's home than one of my properties. There was no black cloud hanging about the roof, nor were there ravens upon the chimneys, and the facade was neat and well kept. Still, we each felt a peculiar chill as we alighted from the carriages. This place, however debatably wholesome it had been before, had become a stronghold of evil, and by my doing. This would not normally have unsettled me, save for that now I knew that the destruction of the House of Prime was not Polidori's only goal.

So long as the hand that ends Prime's life is mine, I would have struck a deal with the devil himself to help me bring down my rivals. To an extent, I had done exactly that, enlisting a being that I knew of from the Codex Quæ Occidis volumes in my possession. Ǣthulwulf, the ancestor of Optimus Prime, had some rivalry or quarrel with Polidori - going by some other name, I shouldn't wonder - and Ǣthulwulf dealt him a mighty blow, imprisoning him in a stone tomb for generations until some fool released him. But clearly Polidori had more than revenge upon his mind. He has purposed to rule all of Britain, affording him the power to take blood at his leisure. I am a hateful creature, a black-hearted brigand, but I am also an Englishman. I will not allow that creature to harm our Queen nor her Prince Consort.

It is to be hoped that we were not spotted as we five men and a woman, each heavily armed, moved from carriages to the shelter of Carnadine House, or that if we were seen, no one would think to comment upon it.

"Come along then," said I, "There's work to be done."

My collar was turned up, and my top hat low, but anyone chancing to look directly at me would easily have recognized my features, I fear, and so I thought it best to make a clean breast of it and play at no subterfuge. I did set that Bull's Horn Band on edge with the jaunty air from The Pirates of the Penzance that I whistled as I fished the keys to the house from my waistcoat. A policeman passed and nodded politely to the lot of us. I expect he recognized that I owned the dismal little cottage we were entering.

I had not expected the youngest of Prime's little band, the Irish pup, to have much taste for the musical arts, yet it did surprise me that as I swung open the door with nary a creak, he kept up perfect accompaniment in a sprightly whistle of his own. I am not without appreciation for those able to carry music well, though the Irishman's place in the House of Prime precludes it from being anything more than a passing acknowledgment. Manners dictated that I hold the door and allow the secretary to enter first, but the woman wisely declined and I found myself leading the way.

For all that the interior was reasonably clean, there was a foul odor about it.

"This place," said the older of the two Irish boys Prime had brought, "feels vile, like it's got a sickness."

"If this is not a trap, then it has," answered the woman, "It's called Polidori."

We divided into parties of two to search the house, each armed and warned to call out for the others should anything be discovered. The Foiche boy with the d'Iacon woman, the other Irishman with his cousin, and myself with Prime. It must have been because he did not trust me with his staff, yet I found myself strangely grateful that I would not have to suffer the idiocy of his servants. I remarked upon it, and received in turn a look that might have shattered glass. Since the testing of the lighting gauntlet upon the smallest Irish brat, he has indeed taken a harder view towards me.

It was not yet certain at that time whether our common enemy was within the house, but by the brightness of the sunlight that filtered through the closed drapes, I knew that as strong as he was, he would still need the shelter of his box of earth to regain his strength, especially if he were from home at present. Two drawing rooms revealed no sign of the Count nor of any of my people, yet the rotting stench grew ever worse.

Optimus's hands were restless, and it drew my gaze after a time. Every now and again, his fingers would trace a pale band of skin around the third finger of his right hand, where the Prime signet ring customarily sat. This surprised me, for I had not seen Optimus without that ring since he was hardly older than the dark-haired whelp we had left behind at the Manor. Thoughts of the whelp tugged at my memory once more, and it seemed to me that I had seen a glint of silver on his hand as we stepped into the carriages. How very useful. Doubtless the brat hadn't the slightest idea what the old heirloom really was, nor where it had truly come from. Even old Sentinel had not seen fit to tell Optimus until he lay dying on the deck of his own ship, and so I doubted my rival had thought to do the same if he had truly passed the ring along. Never mind, the whelp would be dealt with at another time: what mattered was that I could count on the aid of Lord Prime for the time being, and for any space of time between the destruction of our foe and the return to the Manor, he was vulnerable.

"Got an Ishmael, haven't you?" I jeered at him, though perhaps I ought not have, lest he guess the direction of my thoughts. It would not do for him to know I thought too much on the ring.

"I hardly know what you mean," said he, and enlisted my help in prying open a bedroom door that had been bolted from the inside.

"You've no heir, or so it is believed," I spoke as easily as I could whilst operating a pry bar, "You've certainly never handed over your signet to any of the other members of your House, and yet you pay particular attention to the wellbeing of the dark-haired errand boy. And was that your family ring I saw upon his hand as we left? Tut tut, Lord Prime, keeping secrets, are we?"

With a splintering crack, the door gave way and left us panting and peering into the gloom at a long crate propped upon a dilapidated bed.

"You," said Prime in an icy tone, "know nothing at all, Megatron." With that he turned to shout for his companions, and I felt the scrabbling at the back of my mind return, urging me to sink my dagger into his unprotected back. But I refused it: when I kill Prime, he will be looking me in the eyes, and fully aware of what is happening, else the sport of it is lost.

We resolved then, as the footfalls on the stairs below heralded the arrival of the others, that we must make certain the vampire was in his coffin, and if he was not, then we must wait him out.

Narrative from the journal of Lord Optimus Prime

When all had arrived, we entered the chamber. The rotting stench came from the drained and putrefying corpses of some dozen birds, with the bones of human beings scattered amongst them. Miss d'Iacon fished a child's hair ribbon from the filth and her face was drawn. It was decided that whatever would be done must be done quickly, and we hurried to open the coffin. It was empty of all save bloodstained dirt, and despite our bitter disappointment, we felt certain that Polidori would return before long. Wheel and Brogan took sentinel positions at the door, and Brendan stood with Arcee upon either side of the bed where the coffin lay. I found myself seated at the mattress edge, with Megatron leaning against the bedpost beside me.

It did not once leave my mind that the enemy who leaned there watching me was every bit as cunning and wicked as the creature we hunted, though considerably less immortal and perhaps a bit more short-sighted than the Count. Megatron would aid me only so long as it suited his own purposes, and I felt within me the constant need for watchfulness lest he turn on us here in the lion's den. Ours had always been a tumultuous relationship, Megatron and I. He had considered my watchful father a political rival once, when I was a young man, but held little ill will for me save that I was my father's son. For a time, he even served as an instructor of sorts, very nearly a friend, as I passed through the trials of adolescence and became interested in government.

It did not last, for the hatred between the Houses of Kaon and Prime is too strong to be broken by one man. There was a duel, a frightful duel, upon one of my father's ships when I was a lad of twenty-two. Lord Megatron offered me a choice: to stand with him and be considered a member of his household, or to stand with my father and suffer his wrath. I chose my father, and Megatron struck him down. He still watched me, eyes cold and calculating, to see whether I would yet change my mind. When I took the ancestral Prime ring from my father's hand, however, and placed it upon my own finger, he knew that I would never join him. From that day forward we have been the most bitter of foes.

Those early years were the cruelest of all, for I burned with the hatred of a young man, which has since tempered to a wariness and a kind of grief for a man who has consistently chosen evil over good. It was when I was still a boy, twenty-four, that I stole a volume of the Codex from Lord Megatron's study, having never returned the key he once allowed me. O! But he made me bleed for it! I suspect that was when he first truly desired to kill me, rather than simply ruin my House. Now that I was older, more experienced, our battles had fallen often into a kind of holding pattern, for we were more evenly matched than either of us would ever have cared to admit.

Megatron seemed restless, and an uncharacteristic pallor hung on him like a shroud. Every now and again he would reach up to the back of his skull with two exploring fingers as if checking to see that his scalp was still in place. Then he would wince and hunch his shoulders a moment, only to straighten again. At last he seized a pistol and each of us readied ourselves to fight, should the barrel be pointed at us.

"Get up," he hissed, "He's coming!"

I think that I shall not have an opportunity to write again for some long time. The same misgivings that prompted me to pass the Ring of Dispel to young Darby now rise up once more in my soul, and I have a terrible premonition that I may not return to the Manor this night. If this book is found without the hand that writes it, it is to be taken to the Manor immediately and given to Dr. Rach, or else destroyed. I cannot risk Lord Megatron seeing what I have written within these pages. Should I fail to return tonight, the good doctor is well aware of my will and my beneficiaries. Tell Mrs. Darby that I regret we could not continue our former discussion of future possibilities, but that what I have set down in the will may have to suffice in my absence. Should my solicitors argue against the changes - which I fear they might, as it must seem quite irregular to them - at last resort you may pay a visit to Baker Street, where a physician with some influence owes a favor to me.

May God watch over us all,

Optimus

From the journals of Arcee d'Iacon

It was midafternoon, the warmest part of the day - which is not to say that the day was altogether warm, only that the sun was the strongest it had been thus far - but it seemed as though a darkness had covered everything within the house. It was not so much a physical darkness that blinds and obscures, but a sense of oppression that might have overwhelmed a lesser person. I felt for Heathcliffe's crucifix and held it tightly in my fist, for it seemed clear to us all that Count Polidori had arrived. It was clearly written on each face present.

Even Brendan's face, so youthful and brave but days ago, now seemed haggard, and lined with grief in a way I have not seen since we came so close to losing his youngest brother - and still I rejoice that Raphael lived, for my own heart should not have borne it had he died, for in the losing of Heathcliffe I have become nearly another member of the family Foiche myself. Wheel's fine tanned skin, owed to his American father I think, had paled considerably and I do believe that his hands shook a little as he primed a howdah pistol and reached for a wicked dagger at the back of his belt. Brogan seemed to have aged in mere moments. I know that he is no more than eleven years Mo Li's senior, yet he looked in that moment as though he could have passed for a man in his thirties. Poor lad.

I looked across at Lord Prime as I readied myself, and he seemed deeply troubled, more so than any of us. And well he should have been, for this concerned not only the Houses of Prime and Kaon, but indeed all of England!

"He is not invulnerable," Lord Kaon spoke in something of a weary tone I was not accustomed to hearing him use, "But he can withstand much. Holy water will indeed burn the outer layer of his skin, and it is when this is gone that you will find him as easily shot as any mortal man."

He took the flasks of holy water he had procured from beneath his coat and held them in readiness, and Optimus stood beside him, just to his right. It did not occur to me at the time, but viewing them then I should have thought I beheld Lord Prime and Brendan, the way they seamlessly prepared together to do battle. I have never pried into the past of my employer, but I recall now that Dr. Rach said once that in his youth Optimus was briefly a pupil of Lord Megatron's, however astounding that may be.

"Whatever else," Wheel said in a low voice, "He'll have to come back here. The other two boxes in the basement - Brogan and I destroyed those."

"Two boxes?" I thought Lord Megatron seemed quite unnerved by this, and I could not guess why. There was some sharp remark about the previous instruction to call out if anything was found, but then there was no more time to speak, for we heard footsteps on the stair.

They were slow and deliberate, for it seems Count Polidori knew of our presence, or at the least suspected a trap. He would not attempt to charm us this time, for we had seen his true face. At last the footsteps stopped at the open doorway and we looked upon our enemy. Whether or not he could see all of us, I do not know, but he had locked eyes with Lord Megatron and his face was twisted with hatred. He sneered down at us all as we began to advance upon him, and Brogan took it upon himself to kick the door shut behind the count. This seemed to amuse him, and no doubt he believed we had just shut ourselves up with a lion. Then the fighting began in earnest.

It was I who acted first, taking a shot at him with my pistol. I knew it was not likely to have much effect, but Megatron seized the opportunity presented by this momentary distraction to uncap one of the flasks and fling a little of the liquid inside at the vampire. His aim was off, and rather than striking Polidori full in the face, it splashed across his cravat and vest. There was still the stench of burnt flesh and an agonized, infuriated scream, but his face remained unchanged.

Catlike, Polidori sprang at Wheel, bowling him over. Now as he bared his teeth, he made as if to tear the man's throat out. With a terrific report, he was knocked aside. Brendan had got hold of one of the Winchesters and the force of it had thrown Polidori off of Wheel, though it did not kill him as it would have a normal man. The sun was beginning to set outside, and we knew that if we could not destroy the creature before the moon rose, he would become stronger and our chances of success would greatly diminish.

Brogan, Brendan and I moved together, each firing while the other reloaded so that Polidori should not have even a moment's peace. With every thud of the bullet he grew more and more enraged, and looked less and less human. His long fingers became claws, and his face was twisted and savage. I'm afraid he caught me across the ribs with a good blow, which put me out of the fight for longer than I would have liked. I suspect the gashes will scar if I am not careful.

Optimus darted in now, firing his Beaumont-Adams revolver with a surety few other men might have in such a situation. At his back, Megatron kept the flasks in one hand and had drawn a wicked-looking Kukri knife with the other. Now Polidori flung off Brendan and Brogan with an inhuman strength and stretched out a hand towards Megatron, eyes squinted as if focusing very hard upon something.

At once, Megatron began to make the most alarming choking sounds, as though he were trying to speak and something was preventing him. The knife rose in a slow and halting manner, trembling as the point seemed to direct itself at Lord Prime's unprotected back. There seemed to be a war going on within Lord Megatron. His teeth were clenched, and all the veins stood out across his neck and forehead. Great beads of sweat began to roll down his face as he held the knife there, inches from Optimus. Then, with a mighty effort, he drew the arm back.

"I am slave to no one!" he roared, and it was then that we understood that Polidori had attempted to play the puppet-master against us, forcing Megatron to stab Optimus. In two steps, Megatron had pushed Optimus aside and flung the knife at the vampire. It turned over once in the air before plunging into Polidori's chest, right where he had been burned the previous evening. Gouts of yellowish ichor began to drain from the wound, where his heart ought to have been.

"Brogan, Brendan, get the others outside!" Lord Prime suddenly commanded.

Despite my protests, Brendan lifted me carefully from the floorboards, and Brogan slung his still-winded friend across his shoulders. The four of us were near to halfway down the stairs when a flash of light lit the room behind us, accompanied by a thunderous voice shouting words I could not understand. Then there came a long, awful cry, and then silence.

As near as I have been able to decipher from the aftermath, Lord Prime called down the same curse his ancestor had laid upon the monster and cut its throat as Lord Megatron drove his knife deeper into its heart. The vampire known as Count Iudas Polidori was defeated, unless some future fool should desire to return him to the world of men once more.

But I will say no more for the present, my heart is too grieved.

From the private notebook of Lord Megatron

It did gall me the slightest bit that my Kukri knife should have become so irrecoverable to me. Like the vampire himself and the Bowie knife Prime had wielded, it had turned to stone at the pronunciation of Ǣthulwulf's curse - which I had never before heard spoken aloud, only hinted at in history texts. It was a thoroughly disorienting experience, and one I hope I shall not have to repeat - and like Prime, I found myself lying upon the floor in a state of confusion. I recovered first, and thus I knew I at last had my chance to put into practice the plot which had merely existed in contemplative form until now.

Prime had rid himself of his signet ring, gifted to the brat he'd left behind - I would soon need to determine whether he posed any viable threat to me and my House - and thus without the aid of the ring Dispel had no shield against hypnotism or spells of false memory.

I had little time. Prime's servants would find their way back up the stairs before long to see how the battle had ended. In a frightful haste I pulled the Codex from the satchel Optimus had brought and rifled through the pages until I found the incantation for the implementation of false memories. Adding the calculations I had scratched into my hand on the journey there, I had just enough time to whisper the spell into the second flask - which contained not holy water, as the House of Prime assumed, but tincture of day lilies: the Flower of Forgetfulness - and drip the mixture into Optimus's eyes and ears under the pretext of checking to see if he still breathed. Then I shook him, gently at first, then harder.

"Orion!" I hissed.

Aye, the Hunter. I'd called him that once when he was young, and he called me Sagittarius. Those days were long behind me now. At last, the man's eyes opened and I would see if the spell had worked.

"Uncle?" he asked, utterly confused, and I felt a flash of triumph. "What's going on?"

"By thunder, get up boy!" I pulled him to his feet, wearing a mask of concern. "We are in an unholy place!"

Optimus caught sight of the stone figure, and the book at our feet, and blanched. The Irish brat arrived in the doorway not a moment later.

"Lord Prime, we need to leave," he called out. From behind the man in question I directed an expression of smug supremacy at the boy, knowing that Orion no longer recognized that name.

"Who is that?" he whispered to me.

"An emissary of our enemies," I made my voice tight, laced with the slightest hint of fear. "Go. Out the window, I'll hold them off and meet you at the street corner."

When he hesitated, I took hold of his shoulder and bodily marched him to the window. "Now, Orion! Unless you wish to share your father's fate, then for the love of heaven go!"

He looked back one last time, then slipped out into the night. I met the horror-filled eyes of Brendan Foiche and nodded politely. "I think we'll bid you good evening then," I taunted, then I too was gone.