A Vampyre's Daughter by Jeff Schanz (free novel 24 TXT) 📖

appeared that an easement outside shaded them, so wherever the sun was, it probably wouldn't be able to send a direct beam unto the floor at any time of the day.

The floor below was made from the same wooden planks as the hallway and was covered in many places by ornate rugs. The rugs were a complex weave of fancy patterns, predominantly red, tan, and black. The centerpiece of the room was a banquet-style table, a huge mahogany piece that likely weighed about as much as a truck. A dozen matching chairs surrounded it, except for one chair at the end that was larger and fancier, designed to impress. It looked almost royal. There were carved designs on the backrest, leather-wrapped arms, and padded seat that matched the rug below the table. The table was devoid of plates and utensils, and showed no signs of being in use recently. In fact, even though the light was dim, Brandt thought he noticed a light sheen of dust that covered the table and looked undisturbed. On the far wall was a broad fireplace that was open except for a brick chimney above it. The fire would be accessible from three sides if it was lit, which it wasn't currently. Along the walls, and to the left of the dining table, were an assortment of Victorian-style couches and chairs. In the furthermost corner was a group of twin leather chairs that looked like something you would find in an old-fashioned gentlemen's club, where men in silk smoking jackets would sit, puff pipes, and discuss world politics with stuffy English accents. Behind the chairs, the walls changed from stone to wooden shelving which boasted a small library of unknown, ancient-looking books. Huge, leather-bound books, like the kind that city libraries usually allowed people a limited time to view, and only in a special room with white gloves.

The front doors were heavy, carved wood, mahogany perhaps like the table, and stood next to a solid colored rug with an elaborate symbol on it that might be a family crest. Next to the doors were a coat stand and a hat rack. A hat rack? Who the heck keeps a hat rack next to the door anymore? Not surprisingly, Brandt saw the subtle gleam of a spider web that ran from the hat rack to the wall. And once he noticed that, he spied a couple more strands of spider-silk extending from a few of the couches and chairs.

No plates out, dust on the table, spider webs on the chairs, no fire lit, and no light. Whoever did live here probably hadn’t been around in a while. So, who the hell brought me here? And why would they drop me off and bolt?

It was a beautiful house, despite the darkness. Kind of the old-world, turn of the century feel. Brandt liked that style. If it had windows, the place would feel like some prince's rural retreat.

Brandt leaned against the railing, which thankfully was solid and didn’t waver under his weight. He didn’t feel like he would faint anytime soon, but he had yet to feel stable. He had the fleeting urge to make his way downstairs and start a fire to warm his chilled bones, but he would reserve his trust in whoever brought him here until he got to talk to them and found out what their motives were. Whoever owned this place must have a lot of money to have built it way out here, and Brandt knew some very bad people who had that kind of money. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d make it down the stairs without falling. It wouldn’t do to be saved from freezing to death, or drowning, just to break his neck tumbling down some stairs.

He needed to stop guessing about his rescuers and find out once and for all if he was safe. He wanted to believe he was. Everything indicated that he probably was. It just wasn’t guaranteed. For now, he would just keep his doubts quiet and go under the cautious assumption that whoever put him here meant well.

Brandt turned and shuffled slowly back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He had previously noticed the old-fashioned lock under the doorknob, and now it hit him that he could be locked in his room like a prison if someone had the intention. If so, leaping out of a second-story window to a rocky ground below would be his only escape. The key was still sitting inside the keyhole, which could mean that someone had no intention of locking him in. It could also mean that no one expected him to be awake yet, and that when they did, they could lock him in and remove the key.

Stop it, man. Jeez. Brandt needed to get the proverbial grip. If someone wanted to imprison him, there were far less elaborate and inane ways of doing it than placing him in some old-timey house and giving him a bed with a down comforter. You’re safe until you find out otherwise. Be vigilant, but don’t be stupid. Or rude. Eventually, someone would drop by to check on him, and he’d find out what their intentions were then. Nothing he could do for now, nor anything that he should do. He was on an island, and he didn’t have a boat or a weapon. Like it or not, he was at the mercy of whoever did live here. At least until he regained all his strength.

He relaxed and hobbled back to his bed. Much slower than he would like, and with a lot more pain than he would like, he wrenched his body back under the covers and got himself comfortable again. He breathed deeply and slowly until he could feel sleep coming on. A waning thought came to him that he should've closed the window before he got back in bed, but he was too warm, comfy, and sleepy to bother. Maybe after his nap, he'd take care of that.

He drifted off into a deep sleep.

He had odd nightmares about a bat-like creature that descended on him in his bed. The creature did nothing to harm him except sit above him and stare down with those glowing yellow eyes. It leaned its face closer. Its breath smelled like mold and dirt. It stretched its wings, and the slight breeze from the wing movement whisked over Brandt's body and rustled his clothes. His comforter was off. Why is my comforter off? Did the creature throw it off? Brandt knew he was dreaming, but it felt real. There was a strange prickling, like claws scraping across his abdomen. Brandt relaxed, choosing to trust that dreams couldn’t hurt him. The bat man was just a manifestation of the Coast Guardsman from his memory. His confused brain was keeping him on edge. Stupid nightmares wouldn’t help him get the rest he needed, so he dismissed the idea of even looking at the creature, and chose to just stare at black oblivion underneath his eyelids. He breathed easier and slept soundly.

 

 

In the transition between sleep and wakefulness, Brandt already felt refreshed. His eyelids had crusted shut, so they were the last things to pry open. Before he opened his eyes, he did a quick mental check. He was still lying on the bed, the soft pillow under his head was warm from an extended snooze. The comforter was pulled up to his neck, exactly where he had left it before he fell asleep. In his dream, he had felt claws pinching his stomach, and that feeling was gone now. Not like he really expected otherwise. The rushing sounds of the ocean were also absent. At first, he wondered if he had gotten up in his sleep and closed the window, but it was more likely that his benefactors had returned and done it for him.

Maybe they’re here now. Probably not in his room though. It was almost uncomfortably quiet now that the window was shut, and definitely no sounds of anyone shuffling around, or breathing. Even at rest, people were noticeably noisy in a quiet room.

He felt something odd on his right side. A mild pressure, like something was resting against him. Not heavy enough to be a human, more like something maybe about the weight of a fat cat. Well, that’s not crazy. Cats seek out warmth, and certainly one might live here. That would also explain the sensation of claws on his abdomen if that hadn’t entirely been a dream. Brandt moved his hand in that direction expecting to encounter a snuggling, furry pet.

His hand touched a human leg.

Jesus!

He ripped his eyelids open and stared into two pale blue eyes.

CHAPTER 2

 

 

 

 

A face was inches away from Brandt. The ice-blue eyes blinked, flew open and the face suddenly drew back.

Brandt shrieked. It was not a manly or intimidating sound, rather like the high-pitched squeak of a teenage girl who just found a spider in her hair. He pushed backward, trying to both sit up and get further away from the unexpectedly close visitor. The person in front of him launched upward like a frightened cat, then scrambled backward as fast as a lizard into the far corner. She stood frozen, hands flat against the wall, breast heaving.

The woman was medium height, slender build, and looked terrified. I’m scaring her? Brandt’s heart was pumping like it expected to run out of blood soon. The sudden jerking of his body had created a delayed pain, drawing a wince from Brandt. He calmed himself and examined the woman. Or maybe, girl.

She was young and striking. Her blond hair was coiled up into a style that had been popular at the turn of the 20th century, as was her dress. The old-fashioned dress covered every part of her body except for her hands and head. The top was off-white, with lace cuffs and neckline, and pearl beads in the front, and though Brandt was no fashion expert, he had the impression it was handmade. The skirt was greyish blue, pleated, and spread out to hide every curve except for her waistline, which was slim. He couldn’t imagine anyone in this day and age would wear something like that, but this woman didn’t seem average or modern. Her visible skin was unblemished and was the color of raw cream, with a pinkish hue near her cheeks, probably from her flushing fright. Her wide eyes were framed in thick eyelashes that appeared to be soft and natural, not thickened by mascara. In fact, there appeared to be no make-up on her face.

She was nearly hyperventilating. Though she had scared the crap out of him, she was acting like Brandt had just stood up in his grave.

“Hey.” His voice was soft and soothing. “Hey, it’s all right. Don’t be frightened. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

And why the hell am I apologizing to her? Her face was inches from mine as I slept. Although this might be her house, that still didn't give her the right to sit nearly on top of him while he was asleep. If he could just get both of them calm, he was sure this would be easily smoothed over.

“It’s ok,” said Brandt again. He held his palms out and tried to look non-threatening. He had wondered about the intentions of his saviors, but if this girl had malevolent intentions toward him, she was about as far from that expectation as could be imagined.

Her eyes darted to the door and she made a short little scooting step toward it.

“Wait. It’s ok,” said Brandt. Maybe she doesn’t understand English. “Uh, speak English? Sprechen sie English? Ingles?”

The girl didn’t respond except to renew her attention on the door. Despite the sheer terror on her pale face, she was one of the most beautiful women Brandt had ever seen. And possibly the oddest. Although she wore an ancient style of dress, she looked like she could be in her early twenties. With unusually