Immortal Earth (Vampires For Earth Book 1) (4 page)

Harland’s monologue had taken them all the way from the pub to the tailors. Isi could hear a low rumbling sound, almost a growl, coming from each of the three Immortals, who were walking behind her. Harland was pushing all of their buttons; they were all starving for blood, and Harland, a giant bag of blood, was annoying them greatly. Harland needed to leave.

Isi held out her hand to Harland, and said, “Thank you for your kind guidance, Mr. Fergusson. It was truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

Harland bowed and kissed Isi’s offered hand. “The pleasure is all mine, my dear Countess, though we do not have to part now. You should go across the road, to the ladies shop, and I will stay here and assist the Count with your servant’s needs. You’ve all traveled so far, it really is the least that I can do.”

There is no shaking this man,
Isi thought,
but he really shouldn’t have to become someone’s next meal, just because he’s clueless.

“Okay, Mr. Fergusson, if you insist,” Isi said. “Chivalry has not died yet in England, if you are any example, sir. I am all set with my wardrobe though, so I’ll stay here with you men, if you don’t mind.”

Harland broke into his biggest smile yet and said, “Oh, that would be absolutely lovely Countess, and please, do call me Harland. While the gentlemen are dressing themselves, perhaps you could share some stories of old Russia with me? I have a dear friend who is a writer, and I cannot wait to tell him about meeting all of you. In fact, perhaps we could all grab a bite together, after we are done here? Bram is always at the Rose Tavern around six – which is only a short walk from here. They do serve a delightful supper there, I must say.”

Before Isi could reply, Afon doffed his hat at Harland and said, “Yes, I am very much craving a good meal, Mr. Fergusson.”

Afon stared at Harland, his blue eyes drilled into him. He was giving Harland a chance to notice that something was not quite right … giving him a chance to run.

Harland stayed oblivious though, and said, “Superb, my dear Count, a bit of clothing, and then a bit of good cooking. Brilliant! Now, let me introduce you to the tailor …”

Isi watched Harland lead Afon, Nanook, and Jian across the store, and tried to think of a way to stop what was bound to happen to this nice man, after they left the tailors.
Will the Immortals let Harland live long enough to make it to dinner? And, if I can’t stop them, will it even matter? They need to feed and, if it won’t affect future events, I’m not sure if I should stop the Immortals from getting the blood that they need. Our goal as a group is infinitely more important than the life of any one man, but maybe they could feed off of Harland lightly? They don’t need to totally drain him in order to save themselves … a few pints should suffice.

SEVEN

A few hours later …

Harland Fergusson was lying on the sidewalk, propped up against the outer wall of the Rose Tavern. His eyes struggled to focus, as he slowly came back to consciousness. Reaching into his vest pocket for his watch, Harland’s fingers slid through a puddle of some liquid the texture of warm, wet, sticky paint. He held his hand up to his face and gasped.
Blood.
Searching himself quickly, he could not find any injury to explain the viscous liquid that covered his whole front, and dripped all the way down to the puddles that he could hear squishing in the bottom of his boots.

Harland rolled onto his knees, steadied himself with his hands, and slowly rose to his feet. Other than a slight dizziness, and a throbbing in his teeth, he felt fine.
What in the bloody hell happened to me
, he thought, as he looked around him. Night had fallen recently. The streetlamps were on, and the Rose Tavern was glowing warmly, but the sky was still the dark blue, touched with light, which immediately followed the sunset.
It must be about six pm … but the last thing that I remember; I was at the tailors with the Count and Countess, just after lunch. I didn’t drink an awful lot of scotch, so how could I have blacked out? Perhaps I was knocked unconscious?
Harland ran his fingers through his hair, and down over the natural protrusion at the back of his skull, but he found no bump or sore spot that could provide an explanation for his loss of consciousness, and his blood covered state.

He braced himself against the wall and pulled the door to the Rose Tavern open, hoping that the barkeep might have seen whatever it was that had happened to him outside. He weaved his way up to the bar, and managed to ignore the shocked looks on the faces of the patrons he passed, but he couldn’t ignore the mirror behind the bar that reflected his horribly bloody appearance back to him.

The bartender rushed over from his perch in the corner and exclaimed, “My God, and what happened to you then? Kicked by a damn horse, were you?”

Harland thought that this was the most believable, and likely, explanation for his appearance, though he knew that it couldn’t be true, since he couldn’t find an injury anywhere on himself.

“Aye, I think you are most probably right, lad,” Harland said. “Do you have any idea when the next tram heading out to Whitechapel is coming along? I need to get home to the East End and clean myself up, but I’d rather not seek out a horse car … I’m sure you understand.”

A tall man with a full head of well-kept red hair, and a closely trimmed beard of the same vibrant color, walked up behind Harland, put a hand on his back, and said, “My dear man, what kind of calamity has met up with you now?”

Harland turned around to face the man, and recognized his friend, Bram Stoker. Bram’s face went pale when he saw the amount of blood on Harland.

“Dear God, are you okay?” Bram said. “Shall we take you to see the doctor?”

“No, it’s nothing to worry about, I’m not hurt, I just …”, Harland’s voice trailed off, and he looked searchingly at Bram. “I just don’t know what happened,” Harland said, and looked down at his bloody vest and trousers.

Bram was on his feet instantly, and yelled across the room, “Barkeep! We’ll be needing our tab over here, quick as you can chap.”

The bartender waved him off, “That’s all right, we can settle up next time, Mr. Stoker.”

Bram smiled at the bartender, turned to Harland, and motioned for him to follow him out the door.

“Come on Harland, make your steps quick son,” Bram said. “My driver is waiting just at the end of the row. We’ll get you back to my flat and send for the doctor from the Lyceum Theatre; he’ll give you a good once over. You need not worry, he is the very soul of discretion.”

Bram and Harland exited the Rose Tavern onto King’s Road, and climbed into the back of a horse-drawn carriage. The man at the reins was outfitted in a black suit and cape, but Harland noticed something about him. As they passed under a streetlamp, the driver’s face was illuminated to reveal the most horrible cleft palate that Harland had ever seen. The poor man’s upper lip was drawn toward his nose in a snarl.

Harland sat back quickly against the seat that he was sharing with Bram, and hoped that the driver didn’t notice him staring.
He must be another of Bram’s charity cases, the poor old sap,
Harland thought.

The carriage pulled up in front of 18 St. Leonard’s Terrace, Chelsea, a few minutes later. Bram and Harland stepped down from the horse-car; Bram doffed his hat to the driver, and sent him on his way. After he unlocked the door to his flat, he paused and held the door for his bloodied friend.

“If you don’t mind Harland, I’d rather that you not touch anything until you are well cleaned up,” Bram said. “The lavatory is just down the hall there. I’ll meet you in the parlor for a drink, when you’ve made yourself presentable again, and you can fill me in on all of the details.”

Harland nodded and headed off down the hall. Bram walked into the parlor, fixed himself a Scotch, and thanked whatever God was in heaven for the fact that his wife, Florence, was starring in a play at the theater tonight.
Lord only knows what she would think of Harland’s blood covered attire,
Bram thought. He sighed, took some tobacco out of his pouch, filled his pipe, and tamped it down before lighting it. Bram had time for only two or three drags before Harland entered the room, wrapped in a robe.

Bram handed Harland a Scotch and walked across the room to sit down in a brown leather wingback chair, next to the fireplace. Harland took the seat opposite from him and swirled his scotch around the glass for a few moments, before speaking.

“It’s the funniest thing, Bram,” Harland said. “I innocently stopped to help a young disoriented Indian man, who had fallen down in the street. The poor lad was lying in the road in his pajamas. In any event, I managed to get the sad case into Smith’s tavern for a spot of lunch and, just after we had arrived, his employers showed up to claim him. They were the most delightful couple, I must say. They had traveled all the way from Russia, just that very day, but their clothes looked fresh as day. And their accents … so refined you’d not notice a trace of the East, unless you knew to listen for it … the Count and Countess Solovyov. I so wish that you’d had the chance to meet them Bram, quite the characters they were, and you probably could have made good use of them in your next novel. In any event …”

“Yes, Harland, please do get to the point, my man. Perhaps you could explain where all of the blood came from?” Bram said. “I’d be very worried for you right now, if I didn’t know you better. Babbling is an endearing habit of yours, old chap, but a sensible explanation is the only thing that will stop me from calling the Constable to take you to the mad house. I do not care a whit about the Count and Countess, I’d like to know how you came to be dripping with blood!”

“I
was
getting to the point Bram,” Harland said, “I do not know what happened to me, and I thought, if I gave you some of the background, you could help me to decipher the events that I seem to have lost in some fog in my brain.”

“Do go on, Harland,” Bram said, “I apologize.”

“In any event, I took the Count and Countess to the tailor shop, and the last thing that I remember, we were discussing going somewhere for supper. I did mention the Rose Tavern to them, since I was hoping that we would run into you there. They were such a fascinating group that I really did not want to let them get away, without you setting your eyes on them first. So, after the tailor’s, I have no idea what happened. I woke up outside of the Rose, covered in blood, but without a scratch on my body. I went inside the bar to see if the bartender had witnessed anything … and then you saw me and, well, here we are.”

Bram took a few long draws off of his pipe and stroked his beard, staring into the fire that his wife had lit before she’d left for work.

“If you are not injured, then something must have happened to the people that you were with,” Bram said. “Even without a wound to your head, I have heard that the mind can block all manner of horrible things from our memories. Have you any idea where the Count and Countess are staying? It would be simple enough, I suppose, to call on them and hear their version of events; if they are uninjured as well, which seems unlikely, I’m sorry to say.”

“No Bram, I’ve no idea where their rooms are, but I have this feeling that they are all fine. It’s, well, it’s something that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I’m sure that no harm has come to them.”

Harland rose from his chair and went to stand by the fire.

“
They
are fine, but
I
cannot seem to get warm, my teeth have been sore, ever since, and my neck has been itching something frightful,” Harland said.

Bram stood up, took Harland’s jaw in his hand, and tilted it at an angle, to let the light of the fire hit the spot Harland had been itching. Two small holes were apparent, on the side of Harland’s neck, but the tissue had already begun to close and redden over the wounds.

“I do see a mark there, Harland, but the skin is healing already, so this could not have happened only a few hours ago,” Bram said. “Why don’t you relax here for a bit, and let your body recover from whatever happened? I will get you a change of clothes for tomorrow, those bloody rags you wore in here, we will burn, and then you’ll sleep a bit, and things will seem much clearer in the morning, I’m sure. Now, let’s put another log on the fire, and you go and get your clothes from the washroom, before my poor wife comes home and is put to the shock with the sight of all of this blood.”

Harland nodded and reached down into the basket full of wood next to the fireplace. Absentmindedly, he threw the log he had grabbed onto the fire, and turned to walk to the bathroom, when he heard Bram scream.

Harland had tossed the new wood onto the fire too quickly. One of the already burning logs had rolled out onto the floor, and started a small fire on the rug. In one swift motion, Harland grabbed the burning wood with his bare hands, and tossed it back into the fireplace, while he stomped out the burning embers on the carpet.

Bram was staring at him, wide-eyed. He grabbed Harland’s hands, and pulled him down the hall to the washroom sink. Bram turned the water on, full-blast, and plunged Harland’s coal-blackened hands into the cold water.

“If you didn’t need a doctor before, you bloody well do now, you damn fool,” Bram said, as he held Harland’s hands under the tap.

“It doesn’t hurt, Bram,” Harland said.

“It will soon, trust me,” Bram said. He took a towel from the linen cabinet and, gently, began to blot Harland’s hands dry. The white towel was swiftly covered in soot, and Harland’s hands were covered in blisters.

Bram jerked his head back in shock; almost as soon as his eyes fell on a blister, it disappeared.

“What in heavens? Harland, have a look at this,” Bram said, but almost before his words were out, Harland’s skin had healed itself, each blister retreating back under the skin, leaving his hands the color and texture of a newborn baby’s.