Blood Sisters (The Olivia Chronicles) Read online

  Blood Sisters

  Book One of the Olivia Chronicles

  Angelic Rodgers

  This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  Blood Sisters

  Copyright 2012 by Angelic Rodgers, first edition (ebook only)

  Copyright 2014 by Angelic Rodgers, second edition

  “Van Helsing’s Lament”

  Copyright 2012 by Angelic Rodgers, first edition (ebook only)

  Copyright 2014 by Angelic Rodgers, second edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For Dani, Stacy, and all my sisters everywhere.

  Table of Contents

  Van Helsing’s Lament

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Prologue

  Notes

  Van Helsing’s Lament

  A Prequel story for Blood Sisters

  From Dr. Helsing’s Memorandum, November 5, 1893, as cited in Stoker’s Dracula, Chapter 27

  “I knew that there were at least three graves to find, graves that are inhabit. So I search and search, and I find one of them. She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as though I have come to do some murder. Ah, I doubt not that in the old time, when such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve.”

  Van Helsing stood over the coffin, watching her sleep. While Lucy had been beautiful, the woman who lay here was breathtakingly so. He imagined that this is what angels must look like. She was dressed in rich silk, the outer layer a rich burgundy. The porcelain of her skin was only slightly darker than the white cotton ruffle of fabric that peeked over the hem of her bodice. Her hands were clasped at her waist, as if she had just laid down for a brief afternoon repose. She looked perfectly at peace; her brow was unfurrowed and the corners of her mouth barely curled upward, as if she were dreaming of pleasant things, not slumbering in a box for the dead. Her hair was carefully plaited and wound around her head like a halo, adding to the seraphim effect. On her fingers were tasteful rings, including a thin band of gold on her ring finger on her left hand. He wondered at her role in the house. Were these women brides of the monster? He would save her for last.

  He turned toward the coffins on either side of the open one. They were of similar size, but nowhere near as ornate. He opened the one on the right first. Inside was Sasha. Her face did not bear the same look of peace and contentment that the face of the first Vampire did. She looked downtrodden and weak in comparison. She frowned in her sleep, and despite looking quite young at first glance, Van Helsing felt that she was tired of her existence. This one was easy to dispatch quickly, as he felt he was doing her a great service by relieving her of an existence that was obviously paining her.

  He placed the stake on her sternum, and briefly pausing long enough to whisper a brief prayer for forgiveness for his actions on the basis that they were for the good of mankind, he struck the stake with the mallet. One strong strike was all it took to drive the stake home. Sasha’s eyes snapped open, and just as her body started to crumble to dust, Van Helsing heard the faintest whisper of gratitude, feeling it as if she were standing next to him, whispering it in his ear. Left behind were her clothes and the gold band she wore on her left hand. He took the band, placing it in his vest pocket.

  When she was gone, he turned to the coffin to the right of the first. Whereas Sasha had been fair and blonde, a rarity for this area of the world, the inhabitant of this coffin was of more olive complexion and obviously had been of a higher class when she became a Vampire; her hands were less muscled and more carefully manicured. She did not wear the same sadness and worry that Sasha did, but she did not seem as restful as the first Vampire, the one he was saving as his final kill. He somehow sensed that Daniela was favored over Sasha and that she had more power, but it was all based on the feeling he had and his observation of the differing levels of ornateness in the coffins and in the differences in dress and appearance. As he readied himself to strike, he became aware of the Vampire’s movement. She stirred as if in a bad dream, her lips parting and calling quietly in a hushed whisper “Finally free. . . Sasha.” She whimpered as he pressed the tip of the stake to her chest and he hesitated for a moment. Her eyes opened, too, but before he drove the stake home.

  Van Helsing stared into Daniela’s eyes. They seemed to glow; they were neither brown nor green, but some mixture of the two with yellow highlights—they reminded him of tiger’s eye stones, but brighter as if lit from within. He felt himself start to waver. His ears first started ringing, then the sound became different—it was the sound of fluttering wings, first slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of leisurely flight or a calm heartbeat, then becoming stronger and more frenzied. When he thought he could no longer take it, the sound stopped and he heard in its place, her voice. Her lips did not move—it was as if she had somehow invaded his brain.

  “Understand that this is not the end, Van Helsing. Understand that what we’ve done we did out of love, however misguided. And know that you’ll have hell to pay the moment you’ve driven home that stake. Be aware of what is behind you. We will meet again, be sure of it. I hope you will help me then, as well.” As he received her message, he felt and saw her remove her own gold band and slide it into his pocket. She then wrapped her hands around the hand that held the stake and closed her eyes.

  He felt as if he had help raising the mallet this time, even in his dazed state, he somehow managed to drive the stake through in a single blow. It was as if she drew the stake into her body as he struck. Daniela’s hands were pressed over his own, helping to drive the stake deep.

  As he watched her body crumble to dust, the sound of fluttering wings intensified. Looking upward, he saw the entire room was filled with bats, circling over his head. He was deafened by the sound of their wings.

  He spun around to find the first Vampire standing in her coffin. Over the din of bats’ wings her scream rang out. It was a horrific noise, at once incredibly human and full of sorrow while at the same time animalistic and full of primal rage. The muscles in her neck were visible as her jaw opened wide to fr
ee the horrible scream. It seemed to last forever and Van Helsing thought he would lose his mind over the sound.

  She looked petite. While Van Helsing was no giant at 5 feet 6 inches, he did have a height advantage. While shorter and much slighter, however, she was much stronger than Van Helsing. She demonstrated this by picking him up by the neck, a single hand around his throat, under his chin. She brought him up to eye level, and she said nothing as she reached in his pocket, retrieving the rings there. He could only mutely stare at her eyes. Despite the precarious situation, he found her even more lovely and bewitching with her eyes open. Whereas her companion Vampires’ eyes had been more like tiger’s eye, hers were more like star sapphires. The pupils almost seemed to shine hot white for a split second before contracting to tiny black pinpoints in the purest, deepest blue irises he’d ever seen.

  She cast him aside and while he attempted to gather himself, she slid the two gold bands she’d taken from him on her finger to join her own.

  She wailed again, this time scattering the bats gathered overhead. When her wailing ended, the sound of wings was gone. In the absence of the noise, suddenly the silence was oppressive and horrifying. She moved so quickly that by the time Van Helsing had risen from where she’d cast him off, she was standing on the ground, casting a circle around herself, using the ashes of her dead sisters to draw the protective barrier.

  “You have no power here, Van Helsing. I am only keeping you alive because I want you to know what you have done. I also want you to have a long time to consider the ramifications of your actions and to live in fear of me.” Olivia waved her hand slowly in the air, and Van Helsing heard the sound of a chair sliding. She pulled the chair to a few feet in front of her, outside the circle she had cast. “Sit.”

  Van Helsing sat. His throat hurt, and he was fairly certain he could speak. He reached into his coat pocket and found the vial of holy water. Next to it was his flask. The flask came out first. He took a long draw off of it, feeling the brandy burning a new bit of life in him, warming him up. He was suddenly colder than he had been outside where Mina still was. What horrors was she facing outside right now? He worried about her as he sat and watched Olivia and tried to calm himself enough to create a plan.

  Olivia stood perfectly still, her eyes the only thing he could see moving. She observed him closely, sizing him up. She waited for him to speak, still wearing the almost grin. Her eyes were otherworldly in their glow and the pulse of hunger he sensed frightened him.

  He put the flask back and having come up with no new plan, grasped the vial of holy water. He brought it out and got up from his chair, leaning forward and dashing it toward Olivia. He felt it bounce off the protective circle’s invisible edge and sprinkles of it landed on his face and hands. He sat back down in the chair, holding his face in his hands. This was something unlike anything he’d seen or read about in his quest to understand the Vampire. He had been arrogant and now all of the troubles that Mina and the others had gone through would be for nothing. He had failed.

  Olivia laughed at his effort. “The game is different with me, old man. I am not like my father and others who came before him.”

  Van Helsing looked up from his hands. The Vampire was still in her circle, but she seemed to be floating a few inches above the ground. Oddly, she looked more relaxed in levitation than when standing. He cleared his throat. Had he heard her right?

  “Father? Are you not a mere plaything of Dracula? I assumed you and your companions were concubines.” Everything Van Helsing had read and studied indicated that Vampires were made, not born. All cultures seemed to have some myth of the undead, but they were undead because of actions taken by others and of their own volition. Vampires were barren, weren’t they?

  “Oh, that’s a good joke. I’d be greatly entertained, I have no doubt, if you were to tell me all that legend says of my father’s damnation and of his kind.” Olivia smirked. “My father is a bad man in many ways, but my creation was not one of his acts of evil, at least not one that was intentional. My mother is the only woman he’s ever truly loved. While I’m sure he’s satisfied carnal lusts with other women, for the most part humans are instruments of entertainment and a source of food for him. He uses you to gain power in your realm. It gets boring otherwise. He had no concubines, however.”

  Van Helsing felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. “How, then? How did all of this come to be as it is? What are you?”

  “I am Olivia; the sole natural heir of the man you call Dracula. To be fair, that is his family line. He’s had many names in his long lifetime, though, and I suspect will have more before time is through.”

  “The sole heir? If you are the sole heir, and he had no concubines, who were these other women?”

  “In time, good doctor. First, let us do away with the formalities. Know that I could easily kill you right now, but I need your assistance. You’re going to give it to me of your own free will, too. But first, let us get more comfortable.” She raised her right hand again, making slight movements in the air. Van Helsing felt his coat open, as if two hands parted the front of it. He was powerless to move and stop the invisible hands from taking the few weapons he had that were effective against Vampires. He watched, unable to move, as the stake and mallet were removed from his reach. The crucifix stayed but was tucked out of sight. He could feel cold invisible fingers slide it under the collar of his shirt. The vial of holy water, now empty flew through the air and shattered on a far wall. He blushed as he realized that the hands he could not see had gotten a rise from him and he placed his hands in his lap, feeling like a guilty adolescent who had been staring too much at his teacher.

  Olivia remained in her circle. “You’ll get those back once we’re done here. For now, you are a guest and you will sit quietly and listen.”

  And so she began.

  “My father has had many lives. His first is the one told of in history books; as Vlad the Impaler he was a bloodthirsty warrior and fearless leader. His first life ended, as far as the world knew, when he was killed in battle with the Turks some 300 years ago. He had felt his luck was running out, and he sent another in his armor. You can understand that given his reputation that my father could force a soldier to take his place. The lower officer’s only hope of not dying was to fight and hope he was victorious. My father would have killed him on the spot had he refused the order. As it was, he was beheaded by the Turks and my father began a new life.”

  “He fled and during the 375 years that he wandered, he learned much about the dark arts. With the horrors he had wrought as a human, he feared the afterlife and went on a quest, through a variety of cultures, to learn of ways to avoid the afterlife. As a result, he ensured his damnation; instead of burning in the Hell he feared, he’s spent his many years with great power on Earth.”

  She stepped outside of her circle. Seeing that Van Helsing knew he was too old, fat, and weak to be a match to her unarmed, she walked over to sit across from him. She motioned again and another chair came gliding to her hand. She sat.

  Van Helsing wanted to touch her face. Despite knowing she was a Vampire, he was compelled to touch her. He desired her even though he knew she would ruin him. He tried to shake himself out of the spell by asking a question.

  “Where did he learn of the secrets of the undead?”

  “He was familiar with Gypsy tales of Muli, the undead who are mostly invisible who return to their graves at dawn after feeding at night. The Mulo is what you think of, I suspect, when you think of Vampires. Such local superstition existed before my father was born.”

  “He first fled to Bucharest, as it was the one place he knew he could disappear for a time and where he could travel from successfully. As you know, he had lived there. Even though the only one in his camp who knew he was not killed in battle were his son and the man who took his place, he had church and occult contacts who ensured he was able to hide at the Monastery in Comana he founded. It was there that he reinvented himself and
became a student of the dark arts. It is also where he learned of his true destiny. His brethren took him in and helped him in his studies. He gave them the task of transcribing anything they could find regarding everlasting life, immortality, resurrection and transubstantiation.”

  At the mention of transubstantiation, Van Helsing gasped. Olivia chuckled. “Yes, it all started in the church. In fact, the whole reason the monastery exists at all is because my father and two of his men were taken in at that spot by nine monks who housed and healed them in their retreat one night as they retreated from the Turks. Do you know the names of those men, by chance?”

  Van Helsing thought for a moment. One of the names he did remember—“Mihnea.”

  “Very good! Yes, one was my half-brother, Mihnea. He later would go on to attempt to rule, but he never had the strength, apparently. He did help ensure that when father’s stand-in was killed later that everyone believed it was his headless corpse they buried at the monastery. Father was given a new name on the day of his fake funeral, and the monks who practiced the dark arts anointed him under that new name. He then studied there for a time, until it was safe for him to travel. During his studies, he learned that his true destiny was to become a Vampire.”

  “The monks had been isolated for some time before he built the monastery for them. They had been waiting for him to arrive, as their sacred texts prophesized a great leader who had the ability to bring a new age would come to them. They had spent years in prayer and poverty, waiting.”

  Van Helsing interrupted. “My friend from Buda-Pesth University told me of a family curse, saying that the Devil claims every tenth scholar as his own.”

  Olivia nodded. “Indeed. My father was the tenth, and the order’s sacred texts contained prophecy that told of his coming. His devotees, however, did not see his situation as a curse, but as a high blessing. It’s all in how you look at things, really, Van Helsing. His fascination and blood lust were not arbitrary in the least—they were very much a part of who he was on a much deeper level. He was always who he was, but he had to prove himself worthy. When he retired to the monastery, the monks were ready to teach him how to claim his birthright. He remained there for many years, studying not only their sacred texts, which he destroyed after committing them to memory, but also reading of others like him in other cultures. In his long life, he has studied in various places with those who know of the undead. Did you know in Africa, the Ashanti people believe that the Asasabonsam, for instance, are tree-dwelling Vampires with hooked feet that allow them to scoop up victims. Africa has a rich mythology of the undead. Unfortunately, so much of our history is tainted by fantastical notions like that—humans have been devoted to ensuring we’re somehow identifiable from the rest of you on sight. Pretty ridiculous, really.”