Bloodstone Heart (23 page)

Anton Larsen was on an errand for his father, Dominic.
 
He was to head to Heart Island to the Boldt castle.
 
This island was said to be where the old crone had lived somewhere in the catacombs under the castle.
 
If the Order of the Black Orchids was emerging into power again, the entrance to the crone's lair needed to be found. Dominic provided Anton with old maps of the catacombs that had been hand drawn when excavation was being done to alter the shape of the island to that of a heart.

The castle sat on an island in the St. Lawrence River and the only way to the island was by boat. Anton was playing 'tourist' today in hopes of breaking off from the tour and finding the entrance to the altar room where the bloodstone altar was said to still stand. Anton was happy to have a distraction.
 
He was happy Devon had been found and that Darby was finally happy, but the part of him that had fallen in love with Darby over the last six months wasn't quite as happy.
 

He was a widower after the events of the previous week when they’d rescued Devon from being held prisoner by Anton's estranged wife, Libby. What a nightmare it had all been. For forty years, his wife would come and go as she pleased, draining Anton of his vampiric blood. All the while he had no idea she was controlling his mind and draining him, along with half a dozen other men along the east coast, of his sexual energy.
 

Had she ever loved him? He wasn't sure anymore what love was. It wasn't until Devon showed up with Darby that he’d had a glimpse of what love could be.
 
It had been a miserable married life and part of him felt maybe he should just give up on being in love. It was good to be out of the house in Westport and not be reminded of what a shambles his life was.
 
Standing on the boat heading out to the castle, it was nice to smell the fresh salty air and the breeze coming off the Atlantic Ocean.
 
It had been awfully stormy the day before and all seemed clean and renewed today.
 

He stood, feeling out of place and alone, amongst hundreds of couples and families. His blue eyes felt dry against the gusts of chilling breeze that came off the water. The sun sparkled on the ocean like a gazillion diamonds rolling and tumbling in the waves. His lean body was tense under his cabled Irish sweater and jeans. He pulled the collar of his stylish black overcoat up and closer to his cold, red ears and pink cheeks. He could see in his deformed shadow on the water that his hair barely moved in the wind since it was so short.

Though he looked cold to the onlooker, he was content in this coolness and followed the happy couples and families off of the ferryboat to the entrance of the castle where he paid for his tour ticket.
 
He appeared to look over the crowd of people, but he didn't really see them. He kept his mind tuned to the task at hand and followed the cluster of people around their tour listening to a young woman who couldn't have been more than nineteen, spilling out fact after droning fact as if she had given this speech a few hundred times. Every once in a while a bad joke was thrown in and the crowd followed her cues and chuckled.
 

When the tour group took a hard turn in the path around the castle, Anton ducked out of the mob of people into the shadows of the building and onto more interesting areas of the grounds. He had his map from the tour that highlighted the key elements of the grounds and castle, then pulled out the old hand drawn map and compared the two. What he found was an old underground tunnel used to run the electrical wiring and water pipes from the powerhouse to the castle and other buildings on the island.
 
The original entrance to this tunnel was at the servant's dock on the water's edge.
 
Goods were to be transported from barges by way of the tunnel to storage rooms within the castle's foundation, thereby avoiding the main floor and disturbing guests. To Anton, it was like following an ancient treasure map, with the treasure being the altar room.
 
The tunnels were old, but the map Dominic had given him seemed to be reliable and soon he was at the entrance to the underground tunnel.
 

The door was locked to keep nosy tourists like him out, but Anton had been prepared for that and pulled out his lock picking kit. Anton had become quite good at picking locks when he was a youth and though he didn't use the skill much as an adult, it did come in handy from time to time. Now was most definitely one of those times. He walked along a narrow path of tunnel a several hundred feet heading north, and then the tunnel made a sweeping turn to the right and continued at least another few hundred feet until it made a ninety degree turn to the south.
 
According to his map, he needed to make a left hand turn up a little ways and follow the foundation of the castle.
 
The tunnel went on for several hundred feet and made another ninety-degree angle turn to the right. He continued heading south.
 
The tunnel continued to the right about forty or fifty feet; according to the map, he was supposed to continue going south, but it dead ended at three large wine casks that appeared to be built into the wall.
 
They were at least eight feet in height and six feet across, each with a spigot.
 
Surely they don't make wine here anymore,
Anton thought. He didn't recall seeing any grapevines during the tour. According to the map Dominic had given him, the tunnel continued on for quite a ways to a rather large antechamber.
 
He looked closely at all three of the vats and the one on the far left had a tiny marking near the spigot, almost unnoticeable, but if someone were looking for it, they would recognize it as a black orchid.

He felt around the seam of the face of the cask for some kind of release or lever, but found nothing.
 
He pulled the spigot to the open position, but nothing happened. He twisted the top of the spigot the way you might twist a doorknob and heard a loud click behind the wood, and the face of the cask swung forward and opened to a very dark tunnel. The smell of ancient spoiled wine wafted into the air as the cask door grew wider, that along with the smell of damp earth and salty sea made for a rank odor that made Anton's stomach lurch for a moment.

Anton reached in his pocket for a flashlight and turned it on. He stepped into the tunnel closing the cask behind him.
 
It was a slow progress being wary of where he was stepping in complete blackness with only a pinpoint of light, but as he continued on, looking at the map every once in a while, he realized that the workmanship in the masonry had changed. He could see next to no mortar, if in fact there was any. The cuts of stone were precise and meticulously pieced together like a giant 3D puzzle. Anyone who had the least amount of interest in architecture would be impressed by the workmanship there.

Finally as the map had shown, the tunnel deposited him into a large room.
 
It had several small rooms that joined off of it, but it was apparent that this was the meeting place of the Order. A beautiful round mosaic of a Black Orchid adorned one of the walls and in the center of the room was a large altar stone. On the opposite side of the room was a hearth long abandoned and bricked up. Directly above the altar in the domed ceiling of the room was where the light came in. The glass was primitive and thick blocks of it formed a circle like it was a pedestal or the foundation of something above ground.
 

Anton ran his fingers along the cool stone of the altar and into the indentation of the heart. A tingle of heat sparked one of his fingertips and made him jump. The slab of bloodstone was beautiful, dark green chalcedony with bright red iron oxide or red jasper inclusions that looked like tiny blood splatter all over. The room was actually quite beautiful lit up with the outside light.
 
He couldn't get his bearings on where he was in respect to the castle but he knew he must be somewhere near the foundation of it or one of its structures. The windows must be visible from above, but they were not easily found from the tour he took. Only a groundskeeper or gardener might stumble upon the windows of glass blocks.

He tried to imagine the old crone and her love living down here away from prying eyes with a warm fire burning. He thought about how something that had started out of so much love had turned into an object of destructive power. That's when he felt a presence closing in on him.
 
He closed his mind to whatever it might be and then a gust of wind passed by him and a strong black leather gloved hand was around his throat and had him pinned to the wall under the Mosaic. He'd never had anyone get the better of him like this.
 

He was stunned and confused, but mostly he was scared. The dark figure overtook him with power he had never before felt.
 
The figure was not exceptionally tall or big, but that didn't mean much in the vampire world. An ancient vampire could be living his 400th year in a 15-year-old’s body.
 
Looks could be deceiving and the older the vampire, the stronger in every way imaginable. This one sauntered through his brain like a person browsing at a video store, and Anton could control his mind and thoughts better than most. The figure stood there rummaging through Anton's thoughts, clasping his throat. Anton could see no skin but the very tip of a slender, noble nose.
 
Its eyes were covered with sunglasses and a hood was slung low over its face. A turtleneck or something covered the lower part of its face.

As suddenly as the dark figure appeared, it threw Anton across the room and away from it. It stood casually under the Mosaic with its head lowered. A walking cane that Anton hadn't noticed before was in front of it and both gloved hands were resting on top of it.
 
Anton got to his feet, never taking his eyes off of the figure, and stood waiting for it to speak. When nothing happened, Anton asked, "Who are you?"

The words were spoken in his mind – a voice that had no gender –
Dark Angel
.
 
Then it struck him hard like a hammer hitting a bell. "You are the Dark Angel?"

The dark figure bowed in acknowledgement.

"Wow..." was all that Anton could say. He wasn't sure if he should run over and shake the figure’s hand or run screaming in fear. The Dark Angel was a legendary vampire - famous, but also infamous. In a voice that was not spoken, the Dark Angel spoke directly in an anonymous voice to Anton's mind.
 

Who are you?
Anton never knew anyone or anything that could control how they sounded to another person, but then again, this was the Dark Angel.

"I'm Anton Larsen."

Of the Ancient Ones - Larsen?

"Yes," Anton nodded and bowed, he wasn't sure why or if it were appropriate, but the way the Dark Angel addressed the Ancient Ones, it seemed necessary. The Dark Angel seemed to be rattled by this affirmation.
 

Then you are related to Owen Larsen?

"I am - he was my great, great uncle," Anton answered.

The Dark Angel shifted its weight as if agitated and one hand came up to its chest to finger something under its shirt - something hanging around its neck.
 

What is your business here in the room of the Order?
the Dark Angel asked without speaking.

"I...well, I was curious about the legend," Anton quickly answered aloud. He wondered how odd this conversation would appear to a passerby – Anton talking and answering questions that no one else could hear.

Which legend?

"Both."

Then you are not just a power hungry vampire, you are a romantic, too?

As the Dark Angel accused him of these attributes he thought about Libby, Darby, and the old crone in a split second then replied, "No, I'm neither."

Explain.

"Well, a friend of the family has recently had a fallout with someone in the Order and I did a little digging.” Forgetting himself he continued, “What do you care about the Order and its business or why I’m here?"

That's none of your business. I would suggest you drop this 'digging' and find another way to help your family friend.

"So you won't tell me anything about the Order? Or where the archives of the Ancient Ones are?"

What makes you think I know anything about the Order or where the Ancient Tomes are laid?

"Well, you are one of the oldest vampires alive; you must know all kinds of things."

There are many vampires older than myself. Besides, if you know so much about the tomes and the Order, you'd know that I am not privy to that information, not being a 'born vampire' such as you and your royal blooded family. If the royals can't keep track of their heritage, that's their problem, not mine. I learned early on that you trust no one, you look out for yourself, and you keep quiet. There can be no exceptions to these rules or you perish.

"That sounds like a lonely life. I know a lot about being lonely, but certainly there must be more to one’s life, especially one so famous and powerful. If I wasn't so terrified that you might kill me any second, I'd love to sit down over dinner with you and pick your brain of all the amazing things you've seen over the years. My father is really more the historian in the family, but I think it would be fascinating, too."

First off, I'm a made vampire, I don't eat dinner, unless it’s human, unlike you blue blood vampires that sip your blood from a wine glass never even knowing your victim. Secondly, you'd think that after being sucked dry and left to die by your wife, an Insatiable one, for God's sake, you'd be happy to be alone and be more likely to trust no one.

Anton blushed, and then looked rather sick. He hated that he was so easily read, but more than that was the revulsion that spread over him at the thought of Libby draining him for so many years. He crossed his arms over his chest and dropped his head, shaking it slowly.