Chapter 26: 28: The Intruder

We returned to the elevator and headed back up to the mansion proper. Victoria took me to a room that was three times the size of my bedroom, where some formal dinner wear had been laid out on the fourposter bed. A suit, waistcoat and black bow tie.

“That’s all a little richer than I’m used to,” I said

Victoria shrugged. “You’re welcome to stay in your jeans and t-shirt. My brother is a traditionalist when entertaining guests for the first time.”

“I’m going to meet your brother?”

Major Wilson had mentioned that Victoria had a brother, and they ran their businesses together. I hadn’t seen him so far, however, and had assumed he wasn’t at the mansion.

“In an hour, at dinner. Don’t worry if the suit is too formal for you. Mind you, if you’re going to be moving in certain circles with me in the future, you may need to get used to a bit of formal wear. I’ll send someone for you shortly. Freshen up now, there’s a good boy.”

“You’re just going to leave me here with my phone? How do you know I won’t report straight to Section 13?”

“Not a problem. I trust you,” Victoria smiled. She left me to it.

I discovered the bedroom was en-suite with a bathroom area that really was the size of my bedroom. As I freshened up, I thought through everything I’d learned so far, but it wasn’t enough. Just more mysteries, if anything else. Who was Alice and how long had she been a vampire were high among the questions in my mind. After showering, I considered just going in my usual jeans and t-shirt, but tried the suit on for size.

It fitted perfectly, and I’d never felt quite so James Bond-y as I did looking at myself in the full-length mirror.

Just need some cool gadgets and I’m set. If only Jess and Dee could see me now…

“You look good,” a voice called out behind me.

I whipped around, startled, to see Alice standing in the doorway. She’d switched into an elegant blue sleeveless dress.

“Damn, you’re quiet,” I said, trying not to stare.

“No, you were just too busy admiring yourself in the mirror,” she bantered back.

“Fair point. I’ve never been in a suit like this before. You look really good yourself.”

I felt like rather than going to dinner, we were heading to the prom.

I glanced back at the mirror and noticed something.

“Your reflection. I can see you in the mirror. I thought vampires were supposed to be invisible in mirrors.”

“Untrue,” Alice replied, “But from what I understand, most vampires don’t enjoy seeing their reflection because they show a vampire’s true age. The older a vampire is, the older they appear in mirrors, even if they present as young as the day they were turned.”

I glanced at Alice’s reflection.

“But you look, you know, seventeen.”

“That’s because I’m seventeen,” she deadpanned.

“Right. So you’ve not been a vampire long then?”

A shadow crossed Alice’s face.

“Just under three months. And I didn't ask for this. That’s why I came to Victoria. For help. I’m still learning about it. Trying not to give in to the bloodlust and kill someone.”

“In the ring, your teeth…”

“Yeah, that was… well I don’t want you to see that again. Your attack triggered it, the strongest punch I’ve taken since I was turned. It was an automatic response.”

“Victoria was testing both of us,” I realised.

“Probably,” Alice nodded, “She’s all about the data, after all.”

She brightened. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it another time. We need to get to dinner.”

“Victoria said she was going to send someone to escort me…”

“She did. Me.”

I nodded.

I wanted to ask her a dozen more questions; if she drank blood, if sunlight hurt her, but I didn’t want to sound ignorant. She seemed happy enough to talk later, despite the whole ‘meeting and beating each other up’ introduction. I still felt I needed to apologise properly for punching her in the face, but then she had started it, to be fair.

*

Ten minutes later, we were on the second floor of the “east wing”, sitting in an enormous and lavish dining room. Alice and I were sat on one side of a huge ten-metre long polished black oak table. Victoria and Vincent were on the other side. An open log fire burned nearby.

Outside, the weather had turned nasty. Brutal winds whipped around the mansion and rain sliced down from the dark clouds above.

We’d been served a simple meal of mushroom soup followed by chicken breasts in a creamy cheese sauce, baked potatoes and vegetables. I was surprised to discover that rich people ate food just like the rest of us. Victoria told me they employed full-time kitchen staff to service the forty odd soldiers and technicians on site.

Victoria’s brother sat in a wheelchair opposite me. He’d been perusing me ever since we’d been introduced.

He was a frail old man who looked like he was in his nineties, dressed in a simple grey jumper and black jeans. He appeared fifty years older than Victoria at the least, old enough to be her grandfather, not her brother. Only their smiles gave the connection away.

Vincent was weak and occasionally coughed as we ate dinner. I assumed he was suffering from a terminal illness, but thought it rude to ask. He’d introduced himself as ‘Vincent Pryce, like the actor,’ and then had looked irritated that I didn’t know who the other Vincent Price was.

Since then, he’d said nothing.

Alice picked at some of the food she was served. I wondered if this was more out of politeness than a need for sustenance.

“So, you’re the one, are you?” Vincent eventually said.

He’d only eaten the soup and had waited as the rest of us finished our main courses.

“I’m not sure what you mean. The one what?”

“Vincent, behave,” Victoria said.

“The boy who might help me with my little death problem,” Vincent continued, ignoring his sister, “Victoria thinks you hold the key to healing my body before I..”

He raised his bony right hand and opened his fingers outwards, making a ‘pooof’ sound as he did so.

“Vincent!” Victoria said.

“Oh, Victoria, do you mean to say you haven’t told him? That is remiss of you.”

You are reading story The Warlock’s Curse (Of Magic and Monsters Book 1) at novel35.com

Victoria looked irritated at her brother’s words.

“What haven’t I been told?”

“As I already explained to you, Ethan, what we’re doing here is trying to save lives. One of those lives is my twin brother’s. It’s becoming rather urgent.”

“Your twin brother? Where’s he?”

Vincent raised his hand up and waved slightly.

“Over here,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

There was no way that Vincent was Victoria’s twin brother. Not unless Victoria had had some serious plastic surgery, and even then, it seemed improbable.

“You seem shocked. Really, sister, have you not explained anything to the boy? This,” he indicated his frail body, “is the price of magic. It has a cost these days,” Vincent replied, “Far more than it used to have. There was a time when warlocks such as myself could tap power from other dimensions, when magic flowed through our world like water. Now there’s so little of it left that even the smallest of tricks drains the warlock himself. Or herself, in the case of witches. Magic has made me old before my time, Ethan. I have to use my own life force, you see. Every piece of magic I cast takes a little more of my life away.”

“Use your own life force?”

“I can’t very well use anyone else’s. Aside from the moral quandary that presents, it’s the first rule of magic. A warlock can never take a life to fuel magic. The second rule is that a warlock can never use magic to take a life, either. A powerful warlock centuries ago designed a curse to reign in our powers and prevent us from using them for evil. Nasty stuff happens if you use magic to take a human life, believe me. Worse still if you use their soul to fuel your magics.”

“What happens if you break the rule?”

“You become a cursed one,” Vincent said. “One of the saddest and most desperate supernatural creatures in existence. Not something you’d ever want. You’re stripped of all magic and forced to live forever, constantly reminded of what you did and what you’ve lost.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Believe me, eternal life without magic is worse than death for anyone who has used the arts. People who can’t use magic are lucky in one way. They don’t know what they’re missing. The energy, the rush, the feeling of power...”

“...not to mention the lung cancer, liver failure, Alzheimer’s and general physical and mental breakdown,” Victoria said.

Vincent grunted. They’d clearly had this argument many times.

“Anyway. My dear, eternally optimistic sister thinks your healing abilities may hold the key to my survival. Never mind all that for now, though,” Vincent winked a wrinkled white eyelid at me and grinned, “Watch this.”

He muttered a few words and made an elaborate hand gesture. The smoke from the log fire stopped rising upwards and instead drifted across to our table, where it took the form of an exquisitely detailed twelve-inch tall ballerina. Every ruffle of her tutu was visible, her fingers and face delicately carved from the smoke. The miniature ballerina bowed, smiled graciously at us and then began dancing and twirling. She leapt across the table and span on her toes, kicking and spinning in time to music that only Vincent could hear.

“Is she real?” I whispered.

“Just an illusion,” Alice whispered back. “Cool though, isn’t it?”

I nodded in awe as the ballerina danced over to me and curtseyed.

Her performance - and existence - was terminated by Vincent’s hacking cough. His concentration broke as his body shook. The ballerina dissipated into wisps of dull grey smoke that rose to the ceiling and vanished.

“Vincent, we’ve talked about this,” Victoria scolded. “You can’t afford to use your magic on silly party tricks.”

Vincent waved her away.

“That was amazing,” I said.

Vincent smiled.

Victoria gave me a stern ‘don’t encourage him’ look. I got the feeling that this was a game the two of them often played, her scolding him and him winding her up. Despite Victoria’s words and Vincent’s dismissal of her, there was an obvious affection between them.

As Vincent’s coughing subsided, the lights in the room flickered and then went out. We were plunged into near darkness, the only light that of the log fire. I jumped up, startled, as lightning flashed outside and rain battered the black windows.

The lights going down and the fire brought flashbacks of the night at Section 13.

Darkness, flames. Death. Major Wilson’s face.

I shuddered. The contrast of this evening with that one couldn’t have been starker.

“Power cut,” Victoria said, “Nothing to worry about. The backup generator will kick in soon.”

Sure enough, two minutes later, the lights came back on. Victoria noticed my nervous expression.

“Ethan, you needn’t worry. We’re safe here. Aside from the regular patrols around the estate, including the groundskeepers you saw, the whole place is wired with motion sensors and cameras, which would register even the most determined intruder.”

“Right, but what happens to the motion sensors if the power is out?”

Victoria frowned, pulled her phone out of her pocket and pressed call. There was no answer. She dialled another number. No answer.

“Dammit,” she muttered, “Someone report!”

One of the doors to the dining room swung open.

Major Wilson, brandishing an automatic rifle and a pistol, entered the room.

He was dressed for war and there was murder in his eyes.

“Well now,” he growled, “isn’t this all nice and cosy?”

So much for being safe, I thought.

 

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