CHAPTER TWO

La Reluire Dorée was tucked away down a narrow cobblestone street on the outskirts of Paris. A bell above the door rang as the vampire, Conrad Sinclair, entered the little bookshop. The musty smell of old pages rushed his nostrils as the door clicked shut behind him. Glass display cases lined the walls and were dotted around the room, all of them containing books that were older than most of the people in Paris. Some of them may even have been older than Conrad. 

Footsteps heralded somebody’s approach, quick and heavy. “Monsieur Sinclair?” A portly bald man said as he emerged from a door at the back of the shop. He was dressed in a dapper waistcoat and a pair of black shoes that had been shined to perfection. 

“Monsieur Valmont, good evening. I believe you have the book I wish to purchase,” Conrad said in perfect French, his tone polite but lacking warmth. 

“Yes, this is correct. Welcome to my graveyard of forgotten knowledge,” he said, proudly sweeping his arm at the books around him. He hurried around Conrad to lock the door and then beckoned the vampire to follow him down one of the aisles. “Follow me if you please. I would offer you a drink, tea perhaps, but I have no staff available to make it. I am not usually open so late, you see.” The last was said with clear disdain. 

“I do not require any tea,” Conrad said. He had become a vampire long before the British had developed their taste for the Eastern leaf and whilst he had tasted it out of curiosity, human beverages tended to disagree with him, as they did with all vampires. “Had you finalized the deal with Hugo you would not have needed to work so late this evening.” 

Hugo was Conrad’s familiar, the human who handled his affairs during the day. Hugo had been arranging the purchase of the ancient book with Valmont. A price had been agreed and the sale was supposed to have been completed yesterday when the bookseller had suddenly demanded to deal with Conrad in person. Conrad assumed that he was going to increase the price having deduced the extent to which Conrad desired the book. Hugo had insisted that he had full authority to make decisions regarding the purchase but Valmont had refused to sell to him thus resulting in Valmont having to remain open until Conrad was able to attend the shop without bursting into flames. 

“I find it is more efficient to deal with the master and not the monkey,” he said. 

“Quite.” Conrad glanced at the books as he passed them. The displays were kept in immaculate condition with not a speck of dust or fingerprint in sight. Despite the yellow-paged age of the books not a single one of them looked like it was about to fall apart; they had been well cared for and maintained. Valmont was one of the best in his field and Conrad expected no less. The prestigious bookseller would not allow a tatty book to disgrace the shelves of his shop. 

Valmont led him through to a small windowless office at the back of the shop. A large oak desk stood proudly, its surface clear except for a leather desk pad, a collection of expensive pens all laid out in perfect symmetry, and a glistening letter opener with the book seller’s initials engraved on the blade. 

“Have a seat.” Valmont gestured to a small wooden chair that looked like a relic of the 19th century. 

Conrad lowered himself into the chair and leaned back, relaxed and at ease, despite the rigid discomfort of the chair. Valmont’s own chair sported padded leather and its high back dwarfed the little man. 

“The book?” Conrad prompted. 

Valmont disappeared behind his desk and Conrad heard the scraping sound of the desk drawer sliding along its runners. When Valmont reappeared he had a leather-bound book of brittle, yellow pages held delicately in his hands. He placed it carefully in the center of his desk and then turned the tome so it was facing Conrad. 

“The journal of Heinrich von Schwaben,” he said, flourishing his hands over the book. “Dated to the 11th century BCE. Written all in Latin, Heinrich details his time as a member of the Brotherhood of the Blackthorn Blades and his ascension to the leadership of said Brotherhood.” 

Conrad raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read it?” 

Valmont nodded, his dark eyes trained on Conrad, assessing him. “No book passes through my shop that I have not devoured from cover to cover.” 

Conrad placed his elbow on the arm of his chair, resting his chin in his fingers as he pondered the man before him. “What did you make of it?” 

Valmont blinked, the question coming at him unexpectedly. “Well…I’ve seen so many unusual books in my time. Anybody reading this book would have to ask if it is a work of fiction, the demented writings of a lunatic, or if it is indeed true history.” 

Conrad raised his eyebrows, prompting Valmont to continue. “Heinrich’s life was spent mainly in Western Europe, however, he did venture East even so far as Jerusalem. In his journal, he describes many historical events from Jerusalem to England, all of them with great accuracy. Its coherence and accuracy rule it out as the work of a madman. That leaves only highly researched fiction or truth. Now, if it were fiction I would expect there to be edits. This does not read like an edited work it reads like the writing has flown directly from the fount so to speak. I have been unable to find another copy of this journal in any form.” He paused, probably for effect, and when Conrad said nothing, he continued. 

“On the other hand, for it to be factual there would have to be mention of some of the events in other historical records. All of the already established historical events mentioned have been corroborated a hundred times over in other works, but this Brotherhood has not been mentioned in any other histories that I have seen. Except one.” 

Conrad leaned forward, his interest hooked. “Where?” Conrad knew of several lesser-known records that mentioned the Brotherhood and he wondered if Valmont had discovered one he was unfamiliar with. 

Valmont smiled, he had what he wanted, Conrad’s attention. Was this what he was after? He wanted to sell Conrad a second book. “The Brotherhood of the Blackthorn Blades is mentioned in passing in a Vatican record. They are described as an order similar to that of the Knight’s Templar.” Conrad snorted which earned him a suspicious look from Valmont. Conrad had read the document in question and disagreed with the comparison entirely. “The record is brief and undetailed and it certainly makes no mention of the purpose of the Brotherhood. This book here is the only detailed description of the group and their mission.” 

“So? Is it fact or fiction?” asked Conrad. 

“Until tonight I was still undecided. That’s why I wanted to meet you in person. I wanted to know why you were willing to pay any price for this book. Then when your assistant, Hugo, told me you were only available in the evenings, my suspicion was aroused. And then to meet you. To see you…” he trailed off, his excitement ebbing into caution. His tongue flicked out over his lips. 

“Yes?” 

“Forgive me if I offend you, but this book details the life of a vampire hunter and then the man who wants to buy it can only meet with me at night, his skin is deathly pale and his eyes have a red tinge that some might not notice unless they were looking for it. This whole time I have been wondering what it is about you that makes the hairs on my arms stand up, what is it that tells the primitive part of my brain that you are not natural. Only when I was speaking a moment ago did I finally realize what it was. Monsieur Sinclair, you do not breathe. Therefore, as ridiculous as it sounds, I must deduce that you are not alive. So, how can you sit before me? Hmm? And then there is the matter of your canine teeth being far longer and pointier than any I have ever seen before.” 

Conrad let out a small chuckle and allowed the slither of a smile to appear on his face. “Etienne Valmont you are a rare breed — a human with exceptional skills of observation.”

The bookseller’s mouth fell open in a perfect O shape and he pulled off his glasses, dropping them on the desk. “You mean to say…I am correct? You are of the undead?”

Conrad’s smile stretched wider. So infrequently did he meet a human worthy of praise, it was a moment he liked to savor. “Now you have the answer you wanted, tell me how much you would like for this journal.”

Valmont’s gaze dropped down to the book. His tongue flicked out and snaked across his lips again in lizardly fashion. Conrad heard his heartbeat pick up and the man’s hands began to grow slick with sweat. “You’re nervous. You think your price will be too high. I assure you I can afford it.”

“I do not want money.” He gulped. 

“Ah.” Conrad sank back into the uncomfortable chair, disappointment killing the appreciation he had for the chubby man before him. Already knowing the answer he asked, “What do you want?” 

“I want to be like you. I want to be a vampire.” 

“No,” Conrad said at once. He chose those who became his night children, they did not choose themselves, and whilst Valmont had impressed him, he did not meet Conrad’s criteria. 

“You did not even consider it.” 

“I do not need to. I am very particular about those upon whom I bestow the Midnight Kiss.” 

“Please, Monsieur—”

“I said no.” Conrad’s tone turned firm leaving no room for negotiation. 

“Then you may not have this book. I will keep it. I will find others like it. I will scour the world until I have gathered enough evidence to make this book credible. I will show everybody all the history that has been kept hidden from them. With all the vampires out in the open, I will find one who is willing to give me this Midnight Kiss.” 

Conrad looked at Valmont with sorrow, releasing a small sigh. “I do wish you hadn’t said that, Etienne. When you read the book did you come across an organization called the Nytarch?” 

Valmont’s eyes flicked up as he thought about it then he nodded slowly. “A vampire group that was spreading across Europe.” 

“That’s right. A thousand years later and the Nytarch has spread across the globe. The Nytarch rules the vampires and holds one law above all others: our existence must remain secret. What I must do now brings me no pleasure, but if I were to leave you to the plans you just threatened, the future awaiting you would be filled with pain, and since I am an agent of the Nytarch it is quite likely that I would be sent to deliver such pain. This is a mercy.” 

Conrad moved with lightning speed. He deftly plucked the letter opener from the desk and with a swift slash he opened Valmont’s throat. A deep crimson waterfall gushed forth, drenching the man’s chest and pouring to the desk and floor below. Valmont’s gargled gasps were frenzied and desperate, his chubby hands futilely trying to stem the flow of blood from his gaping wound. Each breath became more gurgled and strained as life drained from his body. 

Conrad pulled the book away from the spreading pool of blood. Valmont slumped forward onto the desk, his body deflated like a balloon losing air. The metallic scent of blood filled the room, mingling with the musty smell of old books and papers. As the odor touched Conrad’s tongue he detected the faint taste of fine wine. It was a shame to waste it but he could leave no signs of vampires. He stood from his seat, returned the letter opener to its prior position next to the pens, and walked calmly out of the office with the book tucked under his arm.

Conrad made straight for his library when he arrived home in England. The library was an imposing monolith of dark polished wood with bookshelves that ran from floor to ceiling. The shelves strained under the weight of their load and some sagged noticeably. 

Conrad walked up the spiral stairs to the mezzanine level of his library; this was his personal study. From this vantage point, he could take in the full expanse of his beloved collection. He had devoted years to hunting down rare volumes and old manuscripts. Some had provided new leads in his quest for answers, some had been wasted efforts entirely. He was certain that his newest acquisition held the knowledge he sought, he could feel it. 

Pale moonlight shone through the large windows that overlooked the mezzanine, casting his study in pale, majestic light. Rain from the storm hammered against the glass, landing on the balcony outside and making the concrete floor shine like silver. 

He placed the book delicately on his desk and was about to lower himself into the high-backed chair that stood behind it when he saw a shape moving in the dark sky outside. As it drew closer he saw the silhouette of a man soaring toward him, the moon behind him illuminating his body with an eerie glow. 

Lightning forked across the sky and Conrad saw a mop of curly blond hair atop his visitor’s head moments before he landed on the balcony outside, his feet touching down softly making it appear as though he weighed nothing at all. Conrad’s hand was still touching Heinrich’s journal but he knew he was not going to open it tonight. The Nytarch Herald would not have been sent for anything but the most pressing matters. 

“Come on in, Barnabas,” Conrad said quietly, knowing that even outside in the storm, Barnabas’ vampiric hearing would pick up the words effortlessly. 

“Don’t you just love English weather?” Barnabas said as he pulled open the door and stepped into Conrad’s study. Water dripped off him and pooled on the floor. His fair hair stuck to his moist face and his long, violet coat hung heavily off his shoulders. Even his bowtie looked a little sad, drooping under the weight of the rainwater. 

“As it happens, I do,” Conrad replied. There was something soothing about the sound of the rain, especially when reading. He didn’t particularly like being outside in it, and he especially did not enjoy flying through thunderstorms. Although he tended to fly with a bit more cover than Barnabas. Conrad rarely flew without a shield from the elements, even on a clear night the wind was ferocious when he flew high enough. Being of a different vampiric bloodline, Barnabas did not have the same abilities as Conrad. 

“You are a strange vampire, Conrad. Then again, you were born here on this dreary little isle, were you not?” Barnabas strolled across the room, not caring that he was dripping rainwater everywhere. 

“Any vampire who willingly wears a bowtie has no right to call another strange,” Conrad said, indicating the sodden purple bowtie that sagged beneath Barnabas’ collar. 

Barnabas’ lips stretched into an amused grin as he fingered his bowtie. His eyes twinkled as they landed on the leather-bound book on Conrad’s desk. “Another crusty old book? Something to do with the Brotherhood?” He stepped forward, hand outstretched eagerly towards the book. His fingertips scraped against the leather cover, but before he could grip it, Conrad slid it across the desk and out of his reach.

“I’d rather you didn’t soak the pages with rainwater. Ancient tomes like this are rather delicate,” Conrad explained. 

Barnabas’ eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you hiding something, Conrad?” he asked. 

Conrad rolled his eyes. “Not at all. You were quite right, this is the journal of Heinrich von Schwaben, Hunter Supreme of the Brotherhood of the Blackthorn Blades.” Conrad carefully opened the book so Barnabas could see the title in faded ink on the very first page. 

Barnabas let out a huge sigh that made his lips quiver and he ran a hand wearily through his blond curls. “Really, Conrad, when will you abandon this ludicrous obsession with the Brotherhood? They’re a thing of the past, a bygone relic — you saw to that.” 

The Brotherhood was an ancient organization of vampire hunters that had spread across Europe and beyond in its heyday. Conrad had hunted it almost to extinction, but as it always did, the Brotherhood survived. The rest of the Nytarch believed the Brotherhood was gone but Conrad knew differently. He could feel it in his very soul, the Brotherhood’s heart beat weakly but beat it still did. Its existence no longer concerned Conrad, he was only interested in its old and forgotten secrets, and the possible existence of one hunter in particular. 

“There is still one sanctum that I am yet to find. The oldest and the first. There is where I will find the last of their secrets,” Conrad replied. If any hunters still lived he expected that’s where they would have gone. 

Barnabas walked away from Conrad, dragging his fingers along the railing at the edge of the mezzanine. He jumped up effortlessly perching himself on the railing and looking back at Conrad. “Pierre is dead. When will you accept it?”

There was a shift in Conrad, a darkening of his mind like a malignant storm cloud that never fully lifted. “When I see proof.”

Barnabas nodded. “Well, you shall have to put your search off for now. You’ve been summoned to New York. My night sister, Miriam needs you urgently.” 

Conrad straightened up. Miriam was the Nytarch Vizier, the second-in-command, outranked only by the Grand Master. All of Conrad’s instructions came from her, but usually, they were delivered by Barnabas. Very rarely did she summon Conrad to receive the instructions directly. If she had summoned Conrad tonight then something serious had happened or was going to happen. “Why?” Conrad asked, the word leaving his mouth in a whisper. 

Barnabas smirked at the reaction he’d caused. “Some humans have caused a rumpus in Pennsylvania,” he said waving his hand dismissively. 

“Humans?” It wasn’t often that Conrad was called upon to deal with humans. In fact, he could probably count on one hand the number of times it had happened.

“Yes. I don’t really know the details. I can’t say I care very much about it. I’m just the messenger. Speaking of which, I have other messages to deliver before I can enjoy my night. Let me know if you do find that sanctum. Maybe I’ll tag along. It might be fun,” Barnabas said as he walked back toward the door. 

“Perhaps.” Conrad had no intention of inviting Barnabas to join him when he gained access to the sanctum. As much as he enjoyed Barnabas’ company, he was not a serious vampire and would only serve as a distraction. 

Barnabas glanced back over his shoulder as he stepped out into the rain, the glint in his eye said that he knew Conrad would not take him to the sanctum, but he didn’t care. Without saying another word, Barnabas shot up into the night sky and vanished as though the wind had swept him away. 

Conrad turned his attention back to the leather-bound journal on his desk. He looked longingly at the age-stained pages knowing that it might be a while before he got the chance to read them. He had to leave for New York immediately. Humans causing a rumpus in Pennsylvania... it sounded too trivial for Miriam to request his presence. 

Conrad closed Jeremiah’s journal and placed it gently in the iron safe that stood in the cupboard behind his desk. It had taken him a good long time to find the book, he could wait another week or two before reading it. 

He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on as he followed Barnabas out onto the balcony. Conrad’s feet rose up off the floor and the air filled with tiny squeaks as a colony of bats gathered around him. The bats shielded him from the savage wind and the lashing rain as well as hiding him from any human eyes that might see him soaring through the sky. As the final bats joined the envoy he took off in the direction of New York.