Vampire: Find my Grave

Vampire

Find my Grave

Published by Lazlo Ferran at Smashwords

Copyright © 2015 by Lazlo Ferran

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

PRINTING HISTORY

First Edition

The Ordo Lupus Series:

ORDO LUPUS AND THE TEMPLE GATE

THE DEVIL’S OWN DICE

THE SYNCHRONICITY CODE

Credits

Pedro Diaz, Yessir, Kara, Linda Jørgensen.

Cover by omrikoresh.com

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The Prize

The prize of £500, mentioned in the story, is genuine. If you can solve the mystery, email me (my email is at the end of this book) with the answers. The first person with the correct answers wins the prize! Please note; the cover illustration is in no way representative of the actual grave in question, and if you find a gravestone, please do not touch or violate it. It marks the burial site of a real person, and the treasure is nowhere near the grave.

Introduction

Ah! John Wilmot! How I loved to hear him recount stories of his adventure in Bolsover Castle as we drove back to London in our carriage, drinking from a carafe of fine wine to drown our sorrows. But I found his stories hard to believe! Here is one such!

***

Sure enough, upon the next noon, I found a door and thus the circular chamber once again, where my array of weapons lay in the rack, in the centre of the twelve-pointed star on the floor.

Wearily, I lay against the plinth for what seemed hours, but I knew I should not wait too long. Outside, the Full Moon would be passing. Picking up the halberd, essentially a long-handled axe with an extended spike on the shaft and a hook at the rear of the blade, a weapon of which I had no experience, I made my way to the door marked with the stag.

I had already guessed, of course, that each door represented a sense or faculty of the body, and that I would have to deal with each in order of increasing difficulty. I did not relish dealing with the later beasts. I had also begun to notice that my own relevant sense had felt increased in each kingdom of the Underworld that I visited. If this one were no different, I would find that my hearing would be intensified.

After stepping through the door, I found myself in a forest of giant trees. I had heard tales of such trees in the New World, so perhaps this part of Hades represented that. I set off in search of a stag.

I had not gone far when I heard a distinctive bellow. It echoed among the trees in a slightly higher pitch than the English variety, but I knew it to be the call of a stag. I quickened my pace under another black sky, darker than the last.

I had to push through a thick stand of firs and scramble up an escarpment to reach a narrow grassy ridge. My quarry stepped out from behind a tree, so that we faced each other.

She looked like a woman but had the headdress of stag horns upon her head and pelt around her shoulders. She looked wild and quite intimidating.

Now, I am not an expert in the history of New World Tribes, but this woman, for woman she most certainly had to be from her shapely thighs and gait, looked more like a shaman than a native maiden. I approached her with caution.

Before I even saw it, I heard that she had contrived to get behind me somehow. I swung round, and saw her smiling at me from a distance of perhaps ten feet. Yet again, I blinked, and l heard her steps behind me. When I swung round, I saw her dart behind the tree again, perhaps seventy feet away.

How could I possibly hear such distant steps?

I recalled that each of my senses seemed heightened in my encounters and assessed that it must be so for my hearing. Nevertheless, my weapon seemed singularly useless against such a quick foe, its weight and length making it slow to turn. A sword or dagger would have been more useful!

Can you fly? Are you a great magician? I yelled in frustration.

Ha! Ha! Your weapon is useless here. I don’t know who made the selection for you, but they made a mistake. I feel I might not even waste time seducing you.

I blinked and opened my eyes on a sight which cast down my hopes. Before me stood a stag of enormous proportions. Perhaps ten feet high at the top of its flat head, its horns spread just as wide and as far forward. I would never reach any vital organ with the halberd. I wished that I had a spear, or even a sword or axe that I might throw. The halberd is wayward in flight!

Nevertheless, I wielded the weapon fiercely while the stag trotted toward me.

Before it reached me, it lowered its great head and tangled my blade in its prongs. Raising its head again, I felt myself lifted from the ground and had to let go the weapon. I dropped to the ground on my derriere and braced myself for death. I had just enough time to curse Henry for his folly before I felt myself tossed in the air by those great horns.

I came down with a sickening crunch but not on the ground. Somehow, links of my mail shirt had become caught upon an antler prong, and I landed squarely on its shoulder.

For a long time, the beast bucked and writhed, sometimes rolling over on stones in an effort to shake me off, but I held on with my arms around its neck for my very life.

I will not let go until Hell freezes! I told myself.

The stag threw me against trees several times, but each time either its own horns protected me, or else I managed to sustain the blow. Nevertheless, I wearied until I felt I would lose my grip.

This can do neither of us any good! I yelled over the commotion. Why don’t you let me see you as you are, and we can talk? You must be lonely!

No! I do not need your lies!

This seemed new; a female demon who detected my subterfuge. I felt at a loss. In desperation, I kissed the rough fur of the beast’s neck. I felt her shiver, so I continued.

***

Now you will understand why I found it so difficult to believe him! Such battles! Such women! Could such things be true? I will let you find out for yourself. But I get ahead of myself. How did this all begin?

It began with another leaden sky that hung heavily over Bolsover Castle, perched above the little village in Scarsdale.

I climbed, on horseback, to the castle with John Wilmot, the notorious libertine, vampire and 2nd Earl of Rochester for a night of revelry. John had visited Bolsover once before and had been told the most extraordinary tale of magick and secret treasure. I was to accompany him on a quest to recover the treasure using simple cunning and a large dose of bravery.

Henry, the 2nd Earl of Newcastle and son of William, the Cavalier who had tried to woo the King in 1634 was, at best, what I call a domestic vampire – drinking as little fresh blood as necessary and only in secret – but his father had been a flamboyant vampire of the First Order and had installed a secret underground labyrinth.

I am Zosimyache, the vampire from the Ordo Lupus and the Blood Moon Prophecy Volume III, soon to be published.

Ironic, isn’t it, that John discovered the origin of Ordo Lupus, a secret society of Angels, in Hell? But this story is not about me, it’s about a vampire posing as John Wilmot, whom I met while passing through London in 1673. The real John Wilmot had been bled dry at twelve years old by the vampire, whose only story about his life revealed him to have come from ancient Persia.

As it turned out, a small part of the treasure was recovered, but by which of us, you will have to read this story to find out.

John made me swear never to reveal the secrets of Bolsover Castle to a soul or reveal his part, but I can tell you now that his gravestone is in England. What is more, I have some of my share of John’s booty still, and I am offering 500 English Pounds, yes £500, to anybody that can find John’s grave from the clues.

If you find the location of his grave, write to me, and I will give you the reward.

Good luck!

What follows is John’s story.

***

Chapter One

For a while, I was John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester.

No doubt you have heard my reputation. First let me reassure you that not all we vampires do is bad. I myself merely enjoy life and its pleasures.

On a previous visit to Bolsover Castle, the Earl had asked of me:

Did you know there is a secret labyrinth my father built to solve a riddle.

No! Tell me more Henry.

It is hidden in the basement of the Terrace Range. My father, you see, was an occultist, a disciple of Eastern wisdom, and had obtained secrets that he believed would lead him to the riddle’s solution and some great treasure of the Underworld. He spent his last years attempting to obtain this great treasure, but never succeeded.

We were greeted at the foot of the great Terrace stair, which had much declined since the great feast of 1634. But still I felt almost cleansed of my London sins as I reached its summit, turned and looked out over Carr Vale. The clouds broke apart for a moment to reveal the weak October sun, cheering my spirits.

With that, I turned and followed the Earl into the Range. He led us along passages to a vast Dining Room, where he had gathered his many guests for the evening.

A few miles behind us, in a covered carriage, followed my new mistress and protégé, the actress Elizabeth Barry, several of her more alluring friends and the fetching mistress of my companion, the vampire Zosimyache, with whom I had met a few years before.

We shall wait here for our companions before entering, I suggested to the Earl and Zosimyache.

As you wish. When you are announced, I will come to you.

Our companions arrived shortly after and Henry led us into the melee of guests, who were in the process of being seated.

Elizabeth wore a powder-blue open satin bodice, revealing her fulsome bosom, and a matching tabbed skirt with three-quarter length open sleeves over full silk chemise, all gifts from my generous purse. Her wig was