Futile Flame Read online

  I bit her throat, her blood poured as though it was her female moisture. She gasped. I stroked and explored her body. Squeezing her tiny breasts through the fabric of her clothing, which I ripped away to reveal her innocent buds. I lapped at her blood, drinking and sucking greedily, while pinching her nipples. She writhed against me, crying out with pleasure. I wanted to take her like a man. I did in a fashion. I rubbed between her legs as I bit deeper. Her hips rocked against my hand as I let my fingers slide over her virgin mound. Her cries echoed around the room. I didn’t care if we were heard. My fangs slid deeper. I fought the urge to plunge them in and out of her like some sort of rapist.

  Her blood came faster. With it, my arms tightened and strengthened while my fingers continued to massage her until she screamed my name. My hair covered her face like a shroud, muffling her orgasm. She choked as though even my locks would ingest her. Still she came, over and over until all of her strength evaporated. Lena, an innocent, sweet girl, died during her final orgasm. I drank, taking all of her wonderful liquid down into my stomach where the muscles grew taut as my immortal body fortified.

  When no more blood came, I flopped on the bed at her side licking the last clotting dregs from my lips. I felt sated and drifted into the dreamless sleep of the innocent.

  Chapter 15 – Lucrezia’s Story

  Revenant

  ‘Murder!’

  I sat bolt upright in the bed to see a young servant girl standing in the open doorway of my room. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stared at me. I stared back at her.

  ‘Murder!’ she screamed again, yet her mouth did not move.

  She was paralysed with fear; somehow I was hearing her terror in her frightened mind.

  I shifted position and she let out an ear-piercing scream. She had perhaps thought me dead. I must have looked like a corpse rising from a satin coffin. A male valet, a scullery maid and a groom entered the room at high speed. All three halted just inside. I gazed back at them in confusion. Their expressions were all the same; each frozen with their mouth open, eyes wide. It was as if time slowed and stopped. They too had expected to find me dead. Instead, I was very much alive. I followed their eyes, turning to Lena as she lay beside me. I gasped.

  Lena’s throat was gnawed and bloody. It looked as though a wild dog had attacked her. For a moment I was immobile with fear and then I threw myself off the bed, landing crouched on the floor. My robe was half open revealing my breasts. I barely noticed. I shivered, terrified, on the floor beside the bed as more servants bustled into the room. Then the memory of killing Lena flooded my mind.

  By now the daylight was slipping into early evening. The housekeeper would have insisted that someone came to check on me, to bring me food, even though I hadn’t called. It explained the unexpected intrusion of the young servant girl, who now sobbed against the chest of a robust valet. My movement did nothing to break the paralysis; the servants remained quiet. Their gaping mouths silently cried accusations. I stood, straightened my robe and stared back at them arrogantly. The strength of my vampiric transformation empowered me.

  One footman gasped as he arrived, pushing through the others to look into the room. ‘Oh my God. He musta killed her and she’s come back as a revenant.’ His entry broke the silence.

  ‘Take her! She’s a monster,’ someone shouted.

  Instinct and self-preservation kicked in. I ran towards the window, threw open the drapes, and hurled myself through the glass. The sounds of shouts and yells followed me as I fell down three storeys into the garden, landing on all fours as broken glass cascaded around me. The jar of the fall made my bones twinge. My knee was cut and bled briefly, but I was up on my feet and running within seconds. I felt the now more familiar itch of my skin repairing itself. By the time I reached the end of the garden my cuts and scrapes were already healed.

  I ran as though hounded by demons. Behind me I could hear the cries of my servants as they rushed down the stairs and out into the garden. They were afraid. I could smell it on the night air. I glanced behind me, could see the flare of torches as they scurried out across the field. I was entering another stretch of land and they were miles behind so I ran on, knowing that the farther away I could get the harder it would be for them to track me.

  What witchery had Caesare raised to alter me so much? My mind flicked back to the weird symbol Caesare had cut into the floor. A ‘pentagram’ he called it. The image nagged at my brain. I’d seen it before somewhere, perhaps a book in the library at St Peter’s.

  I gathered speed, never tiring, running and running across fields, over hedges and paths. Before long I reached the highway and heard a carriage approaching. I dipped behind the trees lining the road, never slowing, keeping my pace with the carriage. I realised that I could run even faster. The speed was exhilarating. I felt the most intense sense of freedom. I rushed on, loving the whip and pull of the wind in my hair as I hurtled forward. For a time it wiped the fear of my pursuit from my mind. I felt intoxicated by my new strength; it poured into my limber muscles and I hurried on, basking in the thrill of my supernatural speed.

  Eventually I crashed through some woods, cutting away from the highway and came to a halt in the middle of a small clearing. My breathing was even. I should be gasping, should be weary, but neither my limbs nor my lungs suffered any ill effects.

  The exhilaration seeped away. Terror rushed back into my mind as I remembered my situation. I fell to the leaf-strewn earth.

  ‘I’m dead. A revenant. Just like the servant said.’

  I had killed Lena and had enjoyed it. I was dangerous. I lolled on the soft matted ground recalling the sensation of loving her, of feeding on her. My eyes half closed with the memory of the pleasure it gave me. I felt powerful, aroused by her sex and her blood. The guilt resurfaced and my body began to tremble. My mind was as confused as my contrary emotions.

  I wrapped my arms around my body and cried. I sobbed for the loss of Lena’s life, for my children, for my husband and for my former life. The salty fluid flowed down my cheeks unchecked. My ribs heaved and sighed until they ached.

  For a long time after the tears subsided I lay listless. I felt the twitch and tickle of insects as they crawled over my still body. The cool leaves and moss beneath me was a comfort to my fevered flesh. The ants and beetles were a fitting blanket for my abnormal carcass.

  ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...’

  I’m dead, I thought. Worms should feed on me. This is a suitable end. The beguiling five-pointed symbol burned once more in my mind, imprinting itself on my brain. It danced seductively behind my eyes.

  ‘Pentagram.’

  Chapter 16 – Lucrezia’s Story

  Freedom

  A sweet, dusty scent awoke me, mingled with the smell of food being cooked on an open fire. It was newly dawn. The sky was vaguely pink, but already I could feel the prickle of the sun’s heat seeping through the trees. I sat up, blinked, and gazed at my surroundings. I wasn’t sure for a moment how I had come to be here and then the memories of the last two days came flooding back. I sank back against the nearest oak, as if the solidity of the ancient wood could steady me. If I was dead, and I didn’t think I was actually dead, then how did I have awareness? Do the dead weep? Do the dead sleep and then re-awake?

  I looked down at my hands; grime and dirt covered my skin. I looked like I’d crawled from a grave. When I shook my arm the dirt fell away leaving my skin completely smooth and clean. Curious.

  I stood, scrutinising the muscle tone in my leg as I pushed aside the filthy robe to reveal my bare skin. My body had evolved still further. It must have been the blood I drank. I’d thought I had imagined feeling my muscles harden as I had sucked the life from Lena. The memory of kissing her, of touching her intimately, brought a flush to my face. The thought of murdering her – eating her life-force – was simultaneously the worst and the best memory. Guilt churned my stomach and I slid once more to my knees.

  Ants swarmed around me. My vision inexplicably
zoomed in. I scrutinised the tiny antennae of one insect as it reached out to smell me. A multitude of eyes within bulbous black eyes watched me, were alert to my interest, as it twitched nervously. It had its own set of fangs, but in many ways its mouth reminded me of the pincers of a lobster. It had six spindly, yet powerful, legs and a large bee-like back end. With a jolt, I realised that usually these features were invisible to the naked eye. I had never really analysed anything in nature before. As I turned my gaze away I felt the ant, heard it even, scurry after its sisters in their search for food. I fell once more into a trance-like stupor as I examined the grass and mud, and the multitude of living things that squirmed and crawled there. The insect world was a fascinating place.

  A chopping sound nearby roused me. A woodcutter was working the woods; the smell of food was clearly his. I stood up and slid away deeper into the forest. It was essential that I remained unseen. I weaved in and around oaks until the trees thinned once more.

  Smoke poured from the chimney of a small cottage. I heard the noises of farm animals in a pen around the back; the snort of a pig, the clucking and screeching of hens and the crow of the cockerel as he proclaimed the dawn.

  The morning opened up fully and the sun’s intensity made my exposed arms itch as if a thousand insects were climbing all over my skin. I swatted my flesh, believing the feeling to be the ants I’d seen. There was nothing there. I felt sick and dizzy. I slithered back into shade. Both the nausea and the itching stopped. I experimented by raising one arm and stretching it out of the shade into the light. The sensation returned so I yanked my arm back to gain immediate relief. The sun was a source of discomfort for me when openly exposed to it.

  A young girl came out of the cottage dressed in a coarse blue dress. I squatted down among the foliage. A grubby apron was tied around her waist and she carried a bucket of grain on her hip.

  ‘Druda!’ yelled a voice from within the cottage.

  ‘Si, Madre?’

  ‘Don’t forget to collect the hens’ eggs too.’

  Druda tutted. Her brown hair was unkempt and unwashed but she had a pretty face. ‘Si, Madre.’

  ‘And then take the washing down to the river...’

  Druda stopped, turned and looked back at the cottage.

  ‘I’m a slave in this house.’ The girl sighed, and then singing softly with good nature, she went around the back of the cottage.

  I heard the soft patter of grain falling at the feet of hungry birds and I moved around the back of the house. Druda sloshed swill into the pigs’ trough. There were three pigs. They dived over each other, shoving one another aside as they guzzled the foul smelling waste into their greedy mouths. Within minutes the trough was empty and the pigs squealed in protest. Their gobbling mouths opened and closed as they pushed against the wood. Druda watched them for a moment before moving to the hen house where she began gathering eggs, placing them gently into the bucket she had used to fill the trough.

  I remained hidden, watching the girl work and listening to her mother shout orders from inside the cottage. After washing clothing in the river Druda returned to the yard and proceeded to peg up undergarments and another coarse woollen dress onto a line that was strung between a couple of trees. She went inside the cottage where I heard her spoon out some broth for her ailing mother. The women barely talked. I could hear the rustle of bread being torn and the soft slap of spoons dipping quickly in and out of their bowls as they gulped the food down.

  It was an odd experience. Sitting on the outskirts of such humble life, knowing I was now no longer part of the living world. Could I ever be in it again? I became aware of my dress and the disadvantage of only having my robe. For the first time I considered going home to collect some things, but knew this was impossible. A militia would be waiting for me, of that I was certain. Then there was Caesare. My mind stumbled again. Confusion at my altered state led me to wonder if my brother too possessed the same strength and speed that I did. I remembered all too well how his teeth had grown into catlike fangs as mine had. The changes wrought were definitely down to him. A new horror gripped me. He knew I’d change, become the same as him, and he could keep me; torture me, for all eternity. Because how can the dead die?

  My mind was blank as I watched like a voyeur as Druda left the cottage once more and continued with her chores. How simple and uncomplicated her life was compared to mine. Filled with wealth and privilege, my world had for the most part been a silent hell. I’d have given anything in that moment to be this girl. To take over her life and live it in comparative freedom. The thought idled in my brain briefly. But no, this was still too close to my home. It would be so easy for Caesare to find me.

  A candle flame burned in the back of my brain, igniting the realisation that I now had an abundance of freedom. Caesare may have only just learned of my flight. He was the only person who could possibly find me. I leapt to my feet as Druda left the yard on her way once more to the river. Rushing forward I yanked the damp clothing from the line and ran.

  Deep into the forest I stopped once more to clothe myself, wrapping a shawl around my head to hide the abundance of beautiful hair that shone over my shoulders. I dirtied my hands and face again. I looked down at my discarded robe. I had to destroy it, or at least bury it. It would be too obvious a clue to my brother who had hunted all his life. Looking around I could see no obvious place to dispose of the garment so I rolled it up and tucked it carefully under my arm. The silk was so dirty and stained now that it looked like nothing more that some peasant rag. Finally satisfied, I stepped out onto the road, like a harmless peasant travelling to market.

  After walking briskly for a mile or two I observed the emptiness of the road and gathered speed, running full pelt towards the next small village. Here I would move among the peasants to see if any rumours had spread of Lena’s murder. I realised that I had now put many miles between my home and myself. It was unlikely that anyone would be looking for me this far away. However, Caesare’s name floated through my head. My brother had gone to extreme lengths to own me. I had to remain alert. After all I didn’t know what he was capable of.

  Having run the last ten miles on the darkening road, weaving in and out of the trees as the road traffic thickened, I reached the outskirts of the town at nightfall. It was a place called Tramonti. I knew by some bizarre new instinct that I was south of Rome. It was a small village with very little to offer other than a tiny community.

  I entered under cover of darkness. It was evident that it would be impossible for me to remain anonymous here. The town was too small and the villagers all knew each other well. It was obvious that my presence would attract too much attention so I quickly hid myself in the shadows, listening at doorways.

  ‘My cousin doesn’t make up stories, Tita.’

  The peasant’s loud voice echoed through the open shutter and I was drawn to the hatch to listen.

  ‘You come from the tavern and you tell me tall tales told to children to make them behave! Your cousin drinks too much and has too vivid an imagination.’

  ‘No, no. I tell you...’

  ‘Yes, you tell me a monster roams and eats young girls. There are many monsters in this world but certainly it is not a Duchess turned into a revenant. Go to bed, Ernesto. I will not listen to this drunken nonsense any more this evening.’

  Even this far, news of Lena’s murder was filtering through. I knew I had to leave immediately, move onto another town still farther away. Ultimately I needed to lose myself in the bigger cities. An image of the Vatican flared up behind my eyes like a welcoming beacon. Rome. I felt the pull of my past dragging me along and through the village. I followed the glow in my mind like a well-learned map. I was going home. Somehow I knew the way.

  Chapter 17 – Present

  The Hunt

  The road is dark, an A road with no streetlights. This is never a problem for me as I have perfect night vision. Lilly strokes my leg. I am driving for once. She has given up insisting that she is more capab
le than I. We are looking for a hotel, something quiet and remote, away from the city. I need somewhere quiet to think and to try and make sense of the stories that Lucrezia has been telling me.

  ‘Do you know anywhere in the area?’ I ask Lilly.

  ‘Just drive. There are hundreds around here.’

  I feel the swirl of energy a few seconds before something lands in the road before us. Excellent reflexes help me brake in time. I sit for a moment looking at the humped figure, knowing it is a body lying at an unnatural angle. It is crumpled in the road directly in the beam of my headlights. Lilly jumps from the car and rushes to examine it before I can prevent her and so I too am forced to leave the car. I feel uneasy.

  The man is of some vague mixed race. His head and face are crushed from the fall, body twisted and bent. One arm is pulled up over his head, the hand crushed and warped around the wrong way. That’s how I see the tattoo, or I might never have recognised him. It is a Celtic fish on a hook. The victim is the waiter from the bar the other night and I recall that I had fleetingly considered killing him for his attitude.

  ‘Same as our friend Ellie, except...’ Lilly hands me a piece of paper as I stand looking down at the mangled remains. It is a note, written in the victim’s blood.

  Mother

  ‘What does it mean?’ Lilly asks.

  ‘I don’t know. The killer has an Oedipus complex?’

  I take the note with us and throw it into the back of the car. I can sense the aura of the entity... alien, different.

  We follow the entity’s trail for almost an hour, all the time staying well back. It leaves a black essence, like a threatening calling card, along the road. We can sense it, taste it, smell it, even though it is invisible to the naked eye. It beckons us. I am unable to resist the call, although Lilly is a little more cautious.