The Quill Pen Killer (Vampire DeAngeliuson Book 1) Read online

  The ghoul nearly slobbers, "Where's the real one?"

  "Here," the waiter opens a door, "in this room." The ghoul and his friend drag and pull the replicated burden they’ve been carrying into the tight quartered store room.

  The waiter shuts the door behind them both, but whispers in through a crack before shutting it completely, "You've got two minutes." The waiter goes back to pouring ‘the bubbly’ into dozens of empty glasses arranged neatly on circular serving trays .

  Ickabod’s toast ends and the applause from the room is heard in the kitchen where the waiter begins to wipe sweat from his brow and fidget. Then, the ghoul and transfixed partner emerge from the back room, carrying, once again, a statue wrapped in black plastic. The waiter rushes to open the back door. He glances behind him as some of the staff begin to filter into the kitchen, smiling and chatting about what they have just heard their employer, Ickabod, say.

  "Quickly!" the waiter hisses as the ghoul and his ghoulish friend nearly stumble down the stairs, somehow managing to keep hold of the heavy statue; stepping, at last, into the darkness without dropping it or disrupting the party in any way. A relief to the waiter who can’t wait to get the dirty business about the art piece off of his mind .

  He turns his attention toward the other waiters entering the kitchen after Ickabod’s speech to his guests during the toast, bounding to the back of the room to 'share' and ‘dish’ about what they have heard. The accompliced waiter slams the door quickly and leans against the top portion window of the door, blocking any view of the art thieves as they disappear into the darkness.

  He drolly asks, without a trace of tomfoolery in his voice, nor upon his face, "Well, now, how was the toast?"

  Another waiter dishes with sly amusement, "You know, the usual... luring the unsuspecting toward the final blow of the night...

  "What blow? The fact that many of his unsuspecting his guests are not just at the feast but are the feast?... Yada, yada, yada..."

  The second waiter giggles, "It has just always amazed me how he tells them straight out, to their faces - really he does - yet they never seem to hear what he is saying. They just applaud and cheer along, as if to their own demise."

  "Why do you think he does it, bothers telling them at all?"

  "I think this old vampire's in it much more for the game than the 'kill'. I imagine he likes watching the realization come across their faces... That moment of when there is no more room for denial... you know?"

  "Later on, as he takes his first bite, you mean?" the waiter asks.

  "Exactly! That he'd spelled it right out – the poor victims just didn't bother to listen," the second waiter squeals in delight.

  "I think it shocks his guests."

  "You mean the other vampires? I know!" he continues gossiping about his host. "That's why I especially like watching him give the toast with other vampires in the room. Some of them look shocked and some look angry, like, 'what is he doing! He has given it all away.' Their secret. And then as he goes on, well, they just think he's brilliant by the end of it, because although he's said what no other vampire would ever say to a room full of mortal flesh and blood.”

  Another waiter finishes chimes in, "They become aware of what he knows: the unknowing humans don’t heard it, at all."

  The headwaiter laughs and adds, "By the time they're actually clapping, the other vampires in the room are nearly in fits of giggles at his courage, or is it apathy by now?"

  "Gargoyles in heaven! I don't see how you stand it," the waiter who stayed behind to open the door complains, "I can't watch it anymore."

  "There certainly are some good lookers out there. Stunning!" the head waiter begins to pick up a circular tray of drinks.

  "As usual," the unamused waiter reckons.

  "Why do you think vampires do it? Ruin the good looking. I mean, you never see the room full of average types, do you? Why not the cab drivers of the world, the down-trodden, sods with a case of the uglies, at best? Certainly wouldn't bother you to see them die of virtue, drained and zombied-out," the waiter, now full of enthusiasm about his employ for the night asks, as he lifts the tray above his shoulder.

  "Sure it would! You shallow cad! Your mother would be in there, then," says the apathetic waiter, having some fun at last.

  The other waiter almost laughs, careful not to spill his tray of drinks, "And so would yours!"

  He exits the kitchen with his tray full of goblets. The other waiter doubles back, after the others have entered the rooms with their host and then opens the back door. He peeks out to be sure the sorted lot about the statue business are gone.

  He looks in both directions. "Vanished," he mumbles and then retrieves his own tray of sparkling juice poured into fine goblets from an ancient pattern of glassware.

  Out in the room with the black and white tiled floor set with dining tables and lavish decorations, Jessica's father tells Jessica that it is time for her and Raven to be taken home. They talk together with Date and Jessica's father while waiting for their coats. Jessica notices an awful looking ghoul whisk past her father and disappear into the back kitchen, bumping him - almost intentionally from the looks of it - as he goes.

  "Watch it! I have my eye on you," the man mumbles and Jessica recognizes the voice. She looks down, and feels a shiver at the sight of his boots.

  "Here you are, sir," the rude interlude is interrupted by the coats from the coat check being passed around. Raven and Jessica are escorted to the door. Jessica turns back to look at her father. She is worried. She sees her father standing near the door, watching the two of them go out into the night; a bright moon crests over the hilltop shining a light for her to see. He forms the shape of a heart with his thumbs and first fingers touching, and holds it up for her to see. Jessica makes the same heart shape back at him. He smiles.

  "Come on, Jess, don't worry," Raven tells her and she turns back around.

  "Goodnight, little fright!"

  “Goodnight!”

  The door is opened for Raven and Jessica, as they walk toward the light of the car door that is open and waiting to take them home.

  Once at home, in the DeAngeliuson mansion, Jessica yells out as she lets the door slam closed behind her, "Anybody home?!"

  Mattressa, the house manager, walks in carrying an armload of resurrection/crucifixion decorations and says,

  "Hello, Miss Jessica. How was the party?"

  Jessica does not answer her question but instead comments on her late night activity, "Interesting. You still working? Here, let me help you with those." The maid walks into the living room.

  Jessica follows and then exclaims with joy, "Oh, we got our tree!" Mattressa smiles at her girlish squeal.

  "I knew you'd be excited. I wanted to have it decorated before you got home. So that you just walked in and were surprised. Not up to your father's usual late-night lifestyle, yet, I guess. Want to help me decorate it?" Jessica nearly sparkles with the magic of the season’s merrymaking in the room.

  "Yes," she replies, "I'd love that."

  Mattressa hands her a box, "Here, open these."

  "Thank you." Jessica opens the box and pulls out several vampirish decorations and some childish ornaments that she'd made for Mattressa and her father over the years at school. Jessica oohs and aw's over each and every one until she pulls out the one most fascinating; she'd seen it over the years, and yet never remembered taking note of its existence at any other winter holiday - until now. It is a tiny, marble statue ornament, an exact replica of the one at Ickabod's, the one in which she has just celebrated its arrival. Because, although strange, it makes her father’s dear friend happy and fond of talking about; also, it is just like the one she had seen beneath the plastic bag behind the ghoul's house last week. She looks at it and gasps in amazement touching her fingers to her lips to chew her warn down fingernails – worn down with worry and the bad habit of nail biting, which according to her father, most young vampires don’t have.

  Mattressa stop
s what she is doing and looks over at the young girl, mid-bite.

  "Miss Jessica, are you alright?" she asks causing Jessica to instinctively remove her nails from her mouth.

  Jessica replies calmly, "No. I'm not."

  "What is it?" the house manager asks.

  "This ornament," she holds it up by its golden thread and watches it slowly twist and turn while she talks, "we've always had it, as long as I can remember, yet, I've never really paid it any attention. Like it wasn't really here."

  "But tonight is different?" the maid asks.

  "Yes," Jessica exclaims. "Where did it come from?"

  "That's been in your family for ages," Mattressa tells Jessica all that she knows, "handed down from one of the most notable vampire ancestors. And here's an old photo album," Mattressa points to a book on the coffee table, "must have gotten put in the wrong storage box. Look through it, his picture is in here. I'll show you." Jessica begins to flip through the album. She gets to a photo of an old vampire, a young woman and what looks like the statue behind them. Jessica gasps again. Mattressa looks up from the interesting old book.

  “What now?”

  "Is this an ancestor?.. In front of this statue?" she asks.

  "Yes," Mattressa replies, "That’s the one. Dashing, isn't he?"

  "Umm, not really. Can I, borrow this photo, for a while?"

  "I don't see why not," Mattressa shrugs, "What are you going to do with it?"

  "I'm not sure, yet, but I think it will come to good use... in solving a mystery I've been working on."

  "Oh, I don't know why you don't listen to your father about some things, at least, Miss Jessica. This one in particular. It's not good for a girl to go snooping around old family business. Especially in this kind of family. Hate to make such a bad pun, you know, but too many skeletons in a vampire's closet..."

  "I know you're right," Jessica says. Mattressa smiles.

  Jessica adds, "I don't listen to my father enough," she smiles, now too, “about matters like this.”

  Mattressa worries out loud, "Does your father know you're up to something, again?" while Jessica tucks the photo into her pocket.

  "What?"

  "Does he know, that you're working, on solving a mystery?" Now Mattressa begins muttering (a sign she is truly worried) as if to herself more than to Jessica, "I speculate you're solving a family matter you’ve uncovered or run up against, anyway, he probably wouldn't mind at all if you were 'creating' one, you know, usual vampire business, but digging up something best laid to rest, dear child, I cannot encourage you-"

  Jessica interrupts, "No. I’m not," she says to calm Mattressa’s fears more than anything. She doesn’t like to worry her or see Mattressa become distraught. The kind house manager looks at Jessica and exhales a deep sigh of relief.

  Now, she explains she won’t have to field her father's questioning or calm his anger and concludes the matter by stating, "Good!" Jessica and Mattressa both laugh, and then agree it is best not to keep the information from him, should he ask; yet, it is better to keep from upsetting him with it to avoid his lecturing or bemoaning the matter any further.

  Mattressa rationalizes, out loud, her decision to keep Jessica's investigating quiet from Jessica’s father, "It's not as if you've robbed the world blind, is it? Anyway, I won't tell if you won't tell. Let's get our pj's on and have some cocoa. You can tell me all about the party."

  Jessica jumps up at the suggestion, "Good idea!" she says and they both walk out of the living room to meet at the counter for cocoa and let Jessica tell about all that she’d seen while at Ickabod’s house.

  Mattressa pauses in the doorway and turns to briefly admire her work.

  "It looks so magical," Jessica tells her about the decorations adorning the ancient room.

  "What do you think people would do if they knew vampires celebrated holidays? Except Halloween. Ofcourse?" Jessica looks at her.

  "Bats! You mean they don’t know? Well, I guess they’d probably do the same thing they'd do if they knew vampires were living next door, in their neighborhoods," Mattressa answers. Jessica screws up her face to a terrible frown, thinking about such things as vampire killing kits, complete with metal stakes, like they used to sell door-to-door in the old days.

  "Eww, no. We don’t want to know what that's about, now do we."

  Mattressa looks toward the doorway and shudders from the thought, "Come on," she says putting her arm around Jessica, turning her back on to the path of putting on her pj's and sipping hot cocoa, "that's not a topic for tonight. Strange bumps and creaks in the house before you got home. I'd much rather hear your critique of Ickabod's party – much rather."

  "Do you wish you had gone?" Jessica asks her.

  "Sort of," she says, "probably the reason I was feeling a little uneasy about the eeriness of being here alone."

  “Probably,” Jessica agrees, and then heads for her room to cheer up Mattressa by telling her stories like about Raven and the animal hat.

  The Quill Pen Killer

  Chapter Four: An Unwelcome Intrusion

  Jessica and Mattressa talk, together in the kitchen, until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, Mattressa grows tired and tells Jessica they must both get to bed. Jessica agrees without putting up much of an argument, but once she hears Mattressa close her bedroom door behind her, Jessica sneaks back out into the hall. She carries the old photo album from the storage box with her into the library and sets it on the desk. She is carrying her notebook and favorite quill pen, a gift from her father several years ago, when she notices that the door to the office, the one just off the library, is open. She walks into the office, where the light is on unusually late; and, it is coming from a candle. Jessica’s mood switches from sneaky to cheerful when she thinks her father is home, already, and in his office, where he often does work or reads to catch up on the news.

  She calls out, "Father?! You in here?" when the candle suddenly blows out and the room goes instantly dark, a murky kind of dark, the kind of a moonless sky in the night’s darkest hour. Not the kind that lurks in corners or under stairs, but the kind that is thrown on, suddenly, like a veil and brings with it a sudden frightfulness or gloomy unknowing. No matter how you try to shirk the feeling, it hangs in the air, through rationalizations like 'it's just a power outtage' or 'it’s possible the candle has burned down'. Jessica rationalizes this second version as she tries to shake an unspeakably foreboding hunch that whomever lit that candle is still in the room (with her), although not making a sound, and it is entirely possible that someone is not her Father at all!

  "Father?!" Jessica’s voice nearly cracks as she calls into the darkness, at least one pitch above her normal tone. A rush of air and a human shape shoves past her out the office door into the library. She stands completely silent with fear listening to his footsteps against the library floor.

  Remembering the encounter in the library before, Jessica suddenly feels braver, and a bit angry. She peeks around the corner. Her hunch is correct! It is the same ghoulish fiend who threatened her father just last week. Before Jessica realizes what has come over her, she bares her fangs and flies at the

  intruder. She bites her victim on the neck and begins to feed upon his blood, like all vampires do, in all the best vampire stories; however Jessica, until now, has never really wanted to be a vampire. And until now, had definitely never even considered taking a victim, and especially not attacking one. In the case of this intruder, and at this moment of fury to protect the family she loves and the home she holds dear and nearly sacred, she doesn't feel so bad about her kindred primal ancestry. She lets the instinct rule the feed, and for the first time, the vampire in Jessica is truly let out of the tightly guarded cage inside her heart, where, for Jessica, doing right has conquered an internal thirst for doing wrong.

  Finally, Jessica lets the limp, lifeless form slump down to the floor of the library. Dazed at the sight of what she has done, Jessica leans against the wall and bends her knees, sliding slo
wly down the wall until she is sitting on the floor, right next to the form of the drained out flesh, with the bite marks gleaming drippy crimson down a pale and lifeless neck. String quartet music fills Jessica’s ears, and then, urged by a strange compulsion, Jessica picks up the notebook she has dropped and her favorite quill pen. Acting upon what seems to be translated between complicated notes of the musical score, Jessica dips her quill pen into the blood of new bite marks and begins to write with - no pun intended - words flowing right from the wounds onto the page. String quartet music now fills the room, not just her ears and as the musical sound increases, her pen furiously forms words that dart left to right across the page.

  That same night, at that same moment, across town, Ickabod feeds upon a victim, haplessly wandering the gardens, awed by the host’s attendance along the garden paths at that late of an hour. His statue does not cry or drip, as he had been awaiting; but, as Jessica's quill pen flies across the page, music of a string quartet reaches crescendo, and a statue in a dark corner of a house somewhere, trickles a single drop or tear of blood.

  Writing to a feverish pitch, Jessica does not hear the front door shut. She does not look at the clock, nor see that it is 4 am. She does, however, stop immediately what she is doing, taking a long look at her surroundings and the evidence that she has hunted, for the first time since the 'attack' – she really looks. She is awakened from the fever of her instinctual attack first by the blood-stained notebook and fact that her fingernails, now blood-red, have grown longer – and they are sharp. As she looks around herself in astonishment, sitting on the floor amid the scene of ancient debauchery, she notices odd details of the 'scene' she finds herself sitting in, as though she were viewing the room from a dream (or a nightmare). She hears the vampire cry of her father, calling for her by her ancient name. The halting, deadly-sound, the music of the strings in one ancient shriek of all the ages, as if her name were whisked along a sound wave, straight to her, on a rush of the wind through a bat's cry.