My first novel in my Victorian Vampire-Huntress series is called "Broken Ivy", and is available here as an e-book (http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Ivy-Frost-ebook/dp/B005FHX0ZU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1364235182&sr=8-1&keywords=broken+ivy)
This is the second book in the series, set in London, about a year after the first one ended.
Chapter One
The November
rain found a way under her collar, slithered down her back, and her skin broke
out in gooseflesh with its touch. Her concentration was devoted to the white
sandstone that stood before her. She did not have to read the words that were
carved into the stone; they were forever etched in her memory, and on her
heart. “Joshua Richard Frost. 1820-1837. Beloved son and brother.” She
suspected she would have convinced them to write something more if she had been
coherent enough at the time. But the sudden death of her twin brother had
devastated the family and changed all their lives.
A sound in
the trees that surrounded the cemetery broke her concentration and she
remembered that she held a rose in her gloved hand. Sighing, she lowered
herself to one knee, unaware of the moisture that soaked her pants. She placed
the rose on the ground before her brother’s marker and told him how she missed
him and had thought of him everyday for the past six years. And of how she
would continue her mission to rid the world of murderous fiends that no one
else was able to control. Or acknowledge.
It was
because of that mission that she stood to her full height, which was a little
below average for a woman, and brushed the tears from her eyes. The night was
early and the streets of London
called to her. Monsters stalked the black fog that was London after sunset. The thick air left her
longing for the clear northern nights of Warton. Almost a year had passed since
her return to London; almost a year she had lived with her former maid but now
close friend, Tess, in the house that her former lover had bought for them.
Ivy exhaled
slowly. Along with the thoughts of Josh that still plagued her mind, Vincent
Sheldrake was always simmering on the edge, and her efforts at trying to mute the
memories of him only inflamed them.
She had
been unable to control her footsteps this evening. The notes of Mozart’s
Requiem still sounded in her ear from hours before when she had attended the
symphony with her parents. The melancholy notes captured her feelings for her
brother’s death in a way words never could.
Her feet trod
over the cobblestones on their own accord; she was too lost in her thoughts to
be devoting much attention to anything but her own misery. When she stumbled on
an overturned stone, she braced herself against a wall and lowered her head.
Perhaps it had not been a good idea to venture out tonight like she did almost
every other night. Perhaps she should have taken Tess up on her offer of late
night theatre instead of hunting vampires when she was too distraught to walk
in a straight line. As they had a way of doing, the ghosts of her past were
pressing down too hard tonight; stealing the present.
She pulled
her hands from the soot covered brick wall and wrapped her arms around herself.
The sounds that surrounded her indicated she was close to the Thames,
near Whitechapel from the smell of it, but all she could hear was a chorus of
loss. Realising she would be of no use tonight, she shook her head for clarity,
took in her surroundings, and began to return to her home.
She walked
softly, silent and unseen as always, following the river slums. The Themes
lapped at the river walls and the echoes of madness floated down the alleyways.
Ivy shivered unconsciously whenever she thought of lunatics.
Her
concentration was suddenly broken by a shrill whistle that caused her to stop
for a second before retreating into the shadows of a doorway. Her back was
pressed hard against the stone wall. Slowly she poked her head around to see
what was happening. There was only one whistle in London that broke the air with that
particular shrill tone. Scotland Yard officers were at the scene of a crime.
Seconds
after the whistle she heard footsteps running past her. They were closer than
she had thought, but they went past her without a glance. They called out to
each other, their voices strained with concern and fear. Which meant they were
vigilant; more so than the other squads of officers. Which meant they were Roth’s
men.
Bloody hell, she thought, knowing she
would not get a chance to inspect whatever it was that had brought them out
tonight. Roth was too smart, too keen, and too aware of his surroundings to not
notice her approaching a crime scene. And she definitely did not want to be
anywhere around the officer who had it in for her and would arrest her with the
first chance he had. She suspected his utter dislike of her stemmed from her
being a vigilantly in his city; the fact that she was often too close to the
mysterious deaths that could never quite be solved; and that she followed her
own laws, which did not always match with those set by the English Parliament.
And that she shot him a little less than a year ago.
Roth or
not, she knew she had to have a look at what this was about. If she was lucky
it would be a simple murder; one human who had killed another, and she could
still go home early and wrap herself in her dark thoughts. She tucked her hat
into her pocket so the rain would not make a sound as it landed on the leather.
When she was certain no more Yard officers would be running past her, she
pushed herself from the wall and stalked the men until she was close enough to
hear them.
“Several
wounds, sir. Look ‘ere, something tore a good chunk out of him.”
“And here,”
another added.
“Here too,
look sir, is that . . . what is that? Looks like teeth marks.”
Damn.
A brief
silence fell over the group and Ivy held her breath. Teeth marks led to
vampires. But from the sounds of the officers, there were several marks.
Vampires usually did not bite or tear the flesh in several places. Unless. . .
.
“Spread
out, dammit. The body will only tell us so much. Look for clues.” The sound of
Roth’s voice was unmistakable. His tone left nothing to be questioned and he
spoke with such confidence that even she wanted to trust him.
“But the
rain, sir.”
“What about
it? Look,” Ivy strained her eyes through the rain to watch him, dressed in the
blue uniform and trench coat – made black by the wet night – walk around the
body of a very pale dead man. “Look, this area doesn’t connect with the drain
line, see, puddles are forming, but they’re just,” he lowered himself to his
haunches and touched the water on the streets, “water and muck. No blood. And
look, in the soot, foot prints. Several of them. So if there is no blood and
there are lots of foot prints, what does that point to?” In was a rhetorical
question and he answered it himself.
“That this
victim was not killed here, but elsewhere, where all the blood drained, and
dragged here. But, but the clothes, they’re not pulled down as though he was
dragged, so they must have carried the poor bloke . . .”
Ivy backed
away as quietly as she had approached. She had heard enough. Roth was willing
to believe that this man had been killed elsewhere, but he was sorely wrong.
However, she was not going to be the one to point this out. Actually, Lieutenant Roth, it seems more
likely that the poor bloke was attacked by a gang of vampires. Which in itself
is rather odd behaviour for vampires and worth a serious investigation. She
did not see that conversation ending well. It was not like he would give her
the chance to speak, anyway; but, if her theory about the pack of vampires had
merit, than perhaps Tess could deliver the message.
She had not
travelled far when she sensed she had stumbled upon her second unexpected
problem of the night. Though she had learned to have no expectations about what
monsters might unfold before her, she had sincerely planned on retiring early.
Vampires
were close. It was not the largely ineffective street lamps that tipped her
off; stationed every few yards but either so covered with soot that they
emitted no more than a glowing black ball, or not lit at all because no one in
this part of town cared enough or was paid enough to do so. Ivy had trained for
the past six years on how to sense vampires in the murky dark, and her trained
senses rarely failed. The air itself seemed to thin unnaturally, shadows moved
too silently to be the result of humans, and the wet sucking was not caused by
footsteps on the moist streets. She had discovered early on that vampires
favoured the rain because it covered the sound of a victim being drained.
Making London a
favourable city amongst the undead.
If there
really was a pack of vampires on the hunt, she would have to move carefully.
She would need to assess the situation before acting. She rounded another
corner, relying on her hands to guide her to the edge of the buildings, and
took in the horrific sight.
Almost half
a dozen vampires were several yards before her in a wide alley, drinking from a
man. Despite her years as a hunter, she had rarely seen such a disturbing
event. The vampires swarmed him, their faces and teeth pressed into various
parts of his body as he stood – his life being sucked out of him – in the
centre of the pack.
She doubted
she could take on so many herself; regardless of how many stakes she carried; or
her swords; or her hunting armour that hugged her body beneath her thick trench
coat. It was simply too dangerous, and the man was already at death’s door. She
planned to back away, but as she turned her head, she saw another vampire
standing off to the side, his fingers dug deep into the thick hair of a young
girl.
The child
watched silently as the vampires drank from the man, her face twisted in raw
horror at what she was seeing. And what she must believe would happen to her
next. There was more on the child’s face than the fear from the vampires; there
was intense loss. Ivy suspected correctly that the man was the girl’s father.
Suddenly it
didn’t matter that the odds were five against one. She was not going to let the
parasites feast on this girl. Ivy flexed her fingers in her gloves, tightened
the cord around her collar that covered half her face to protect her identity,
pulled her short sword from its sheath and a stake from her belt, and wadded
into the feeding frenzy. At least I have
surprise, she told herself. It offered little comfort.
“Disgusting
creatures!” She screamed into the night and launched herself at the vampires.
With her
sword already falling in an arch at a vampire, she rushed them, slicing the
steel through a vampire’s neck and twisting swiftly to decapitate the monster.
The vampire, who had been at the man’s thigh, was now headless on the
cobblestones.
Around her
the other vampires dislodged themselves from their prey and hissed at her,
planning to encircle her. She did not plan to give them that advantage, and
rushed another before they could fully surround her. She spun on the ball of
her foot, ducked a punch, and shoved the stake into a dead heart. Before the
vampire was on the ground she had another stake in her hand.
Reeling off
the momentum of the second kill, she spun her sword and lobbed it into the shoulder
of a vampire. The creature cried out but the wound was not serious for the
immortal. The vampire reached for the sword with movement so fast Ivy could
only sense but not see, but she knew it was coming and had the blade out before
it was in the hands of her enemy. She spun low, avoiding another that was
coming at her from behind, and sliced the knee caps of the vampire. Despite the
vampire’s ability to heal, and their high tolerance for pain, having the knee
caps split open always hurt and left them immobilized for a few minutes.
With
another monster on the ground, she took a count that three were down but two
still remained. One of the two managed to get behind her and grabbed her under
the arms. She pushed her sword backwards and kicked at the vampire approaching
her with her feet. Her sword dug into the stomach of the vampire holding her
and while he did not completely release her, his grip loosened enough that she
was able to pry herself free. As soon as she landed, she felt a swift kick to
the back and fell face down. Her sword scattered just out of her reach but
before she could attempt to claim it she was kicked over onto her back.
Rain drop fell
into her eyes and though she tried to blink them away, they still stung. She
could sense the vampires pacing around her, preparing to pounce on her and
drink her empty. As they came down, with their fangs barred and mouths hissing,
Ivy twitched the sleeves of her jacket, releasing a bulb of garlic into each
hand, and shoved the ordinary kitchen spice into their mouths. The garlic would
do little damage but was unpleasant enough to have the desired effect. Both
vampires cringed and turned away to rid it from their bodies. In those seconds
Ivy jumped to her feet and kicked the one closest to her in the head.
When the
other came at her, roaring with furry, she ducked, took the impact on her
shoulder, and launched him into the air over her. He landed hard on the ground
and without thinking she took a stake from her belt and plunged it into his
heart.
One left.
The vampire
she had kicked came at her next and was able to duck her blows with something
of skill. She punched but he blocked her efforts, her fists landing uselessly.
She spun and brought her foot down on the vampire’s rib cage; the sound of bones
cracking was disturbingly dry in the otherwise saturated night. The vampire
reacted and his hand went to his wound. Ivy took the opportunity to make the
kill and reached for a stake only to find none left.
“Shit!” She
cried, and was backhanded into the wall by the recovered vampire.
As he came
at her, he made the familiar threats of drinking from her while she begged for
death, and tearing her heart out and showing it to her. She used the time to
think of what she was going to do. Her hands searched the wall and her feet
pressed against it. She found she was standing next to several wooden crates
that had been tossed aside because they were broken and rendered useless.
When the
vampire reached for her, Ivy fell to her knees, grabbed the crate and shoved
the broken edge into the vampire’s chest. The wounds from the stakes were clean
and precise; this was a box sticking out of a man’s chest cavity. It had hit
its mark and the vampire was sinking to his knees in death, blood spraying through
the rain and covering her. She turned her head and pursed her lips together to
prevent it from getting in her mouth, and closed her eyes. It always disturbed
her when monster blood fell on her face.
She broke
off a piece of the crate to use as a stake on the final vampire she had only
wounded. When she dropped to one knee, he started to laugh through his pain.
The action jarred her and she paused to ask what was so entertaining.
“Your days
are numbered, hunter.”
“What are
you talking about?” She demanded, but he only laughed harder.
“The master
grows tired of you. It won’t be long now . . .” With adrenaline still pulsing,
Ivy had no patience for this. The child was close and any second now this
vampire would regain his strength and pose a threat. She brought the stake down
on its heart, silencing him, and turned her attention to the scene before her.
The child stood
where the vampire had left her; her brown hair plastered to her face from the
rain, her dress torn and dirty from what Ivy thought was the encounter with the
vampires. The horror was still etched on the child’s face.
“It’s all
right,” Ivy said quickly, moving to the girl and untying her collar at the same
time. She didn’t know why, but she suspected the child would not fear an
exposed woman as much as a hidden man. She took hold of the girl’s arm, too
tight at first but then relaxing her fingers.
“I won’t
hurt you, I promise. I want to help you. Was this man your father?”
The child
stared at her for several minutes before slowly nodding. Ivy’s heart broke for
the girl. While she had problems with her parents, she could not imagine having
to lose her father when she was just a girl, when your father is still your
hero.
She opened
her mouth to offer comfort to the girl, but was robbed of the chance. A pistol shot
rang out into the night. In the closeness of the buildings, it echoed loud and
both Ivy and the child cringed at the noise.
“Frost!”
Roth’s voice filled the air. Ivy’s heart sank. She could not explain her way
out of this: being found at the scene of a crime with half a dozen dead bodies
around her.
“These men
will help you!” She said to the girl, then pushed herself to her feet and began
to flee.
“Get her!” Roth screamed, and Ivy heard
the footsteps of more Yard officers than she could outrun coming after her.
She tore
through the alleys, searching for a way to escape them, but no matter how hard
she pushed herself they were always so close she could hear their laboured
breathing behind her. They were Roth’s men; they would be relentless in their pursuit
of her.
Uncertain
of how long she had traveled, she began to feel the weight of her heavy
fighting garments. The extra weight slowed her down. If she could only have a
moment to shed some mass she could escape, but the men were too close. Cramps
tug at her sides and caused her to grit her teeth in pain. But she could not be
caught. She knew where Roth would take her, and that was not an option.
The same
rain that had given her shelter this night finally betrayed her. A cloth that
had been left on the road was soaked and slick with water. Ivy didn’t see it in
her mad efforts to escape the officers, and when her boot fell on it she lost
her footing and began to go down.
Down, no not down! Her mind screamed but
she could do nothing to stop the push of gravity. She was falling and bracing
herself for the impact.
Her hands
were out to accept the unforgiving cobblestones when something tight locked around
her waist and suddenly she was no longer falling to the ground; she was flying
through the air.
