In Shadows

Prologue

And so begins the descent into darkness, where none shall escape. Her embrace is eternal and all-consuming. The passage of the moon shall be her sign, and all will bow before her.

Their souls shall fall into the pit of despair, where hope is extinguished. They will languish in pain and their souls shall know no reprieve. So begins the descent into the abyss.

One

The Shadowy Figure
London, England

September 1832

As night fell across a dark, lonely street, flickering street lamps on either side of the cobblestone street glimmered. Ominous clouds gathered, threatening rain, and a chilly breeze began to blow. The door to the Ladies Boutique, a purveyor of fine ladies dresses, linens, and lace, opened as its assistant shopkeeper left the building. She glanced up at the sky and turned back to lock the door. Turning the key, the lock clicked, echoing lightly down the empty street. She briskly walked down the sidewalk while pulling a shawl over her head.

If only I had brought my umbrella today. It's going to rain. I just know it, she thought.

As if she'd summoned the rain by thought, it started to sprinkle lightly. Sprinkles became raindrops that soon turned to puddles on the road. She hurried along, trying to avoid splashing her dress, but even with great care, the hem of her dress became damp. The sound of the rain and her footsteps beat rhythmically down the street. Off in the distance on Golden Lane, she heard local pubs opening and music playing.

Down the street under cover of the bridge, a silent figure stood. From the shadows, he watched her make her way down the street. She began to have an uneasy feeling, glancing over her shoulder, she noticed the dark personage. The distraction caused her to step directly into a deep puddle; she glanced down only for a moment to catch her footing. When she looked back up, he had disappeared. She paused, staring at the bridge. Feelings of fear began to sweep over her, for she had heard strange stories of disappearances. Of course, these were dismissed as old wives tales, stories told merely to scare people. Yet something inside of her, perhaps instinctual, told her she must hurry home quickly.

She spied a couple up the road, leaving a restaurant. If only she could catch up to them to walk nearby, she would not be as vulnerable. She began to quicken her pace while occasionally glancing back in the direction of the bridge. She still saw no one, but knew better than to put trust in a false hope. Her desire for safety was paramount. Even though she would not walk directly in the company of the couple, for she could tell, even from a distance, the pair were a fine gentleman and his lady. If she were being watched or pursued, she would at least have witnesses at her disposal. For it is said, according to the tales, dark scoundrels of the shadows like to take their prey without being noticed—no witnesses are allowed.

The shop assistant remembered a story about a young lady who traveled alone and fell victim to a dark spirit. The maiden disappeared, never to be heard from again—she shuddered at the thought. To her relief, the shop assistant had gained on the couple and would soon be in close proximity. Her anxiety lessened with every step.

Being near the couple afforded her a better assessment of them. The distinguished-looking man had black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He sported a dining suit with a black coat. His companion, a slim, beautiful woman, wore a red velvet dress with black ribbon embroidered around the bosom and waist. A red velvet hat sat upon her head and black ringlets framed the sides of her face. She carried a black lace parasol daintily, her hands and arms sheathed in long black gloves.

What is a fine couple, such as this, doing standing in the rain? Yes, it's lightly sprinkling at the moment, but shouldn't there be a coach for the fine lady? As she thought these things, the couple turned and saw the shop assistant approaching quickly.

"Good evening madam. Forgive me for saying so, but you appear to be distressed. May I assist you?" the gentleman tipped his hat, and then bowed slowly. As he rose, a red glint appeared in his eye, just for a brief moment. The gentleman smiled coyly, his companion looked on calmly. The shop attendant gasped, then backed up quickly, turning to run down the nearest street.

Am I going mad? What hell is released this night?

Hysteria gripped her as she ran down Broadmore Street, hoping to get as much distance between herself and the couple. She glanced back and saw no one following, but she could hear the lady's laughter in the distance. The shop assistant ran as hard as she could as tears streamed down her face. She felt adrenaline surge throughout her body as her heart pounded in her chest. Reality had become a nightmare as she grappled with the knowledge: some old wives tales are true.

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. Up the road, directly in front of her, stood the dark figure she had glimpsed at the bridge. He stood in the middle of the street, completely still, watching her every move. She frantically looked to each side of her, trying to find another street or alleyway to duck into. Even if they chased her, she would not stop. Instinctually, she ran to survive. A scream erupted from her dry throat, but came out broken and weak. Breathless and unable to force out a scream, she turned to run down the next street. But to her dismay, standing before her, the gentleman from outside of the restaurant effectively barred the way. He appeared to be confidently positioned as if he had always been there, but how?

Startled by his appearance, she slowly backed up, then bumped into something, or rather bumped into someone, as two hands clasped hard around both of her arms from behind. She recognized the fine black gloves, ensnaring her—they belonged to the gentleman's lady companion.

"You'll have to forgive Katrine, she's always popping up where you least expect her," the gentleman said coyly.

Forced around to face Katrine, the shop assistant trembled as tears tumbled down her cheeks. Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard as her heart pounded wildly. Katrine gently touched the woman's face and began to trace its curves, starting at her brow and traveling down to her chin.

"Very lovely," Katrine said, while her eyes carefully and coldly assessed the woman's features. She paused when she came upon the pulse in her neck.

"She's calling for you, Trevaun."

Suddenly, the gentleman sprang like a wild beast. His eyes glowed red as his teeth grew long and sharp. He grabbed hold of her, then plunged his teeth into her neck, holding on to her as she collapsed.

Just as suddenly the street became eerily quiet for as quickly as they had appeared, they had vanished in the blink of an eye. The dark figure stayed for but a moment longer, and then disappeared as well.

Nothing remained of the shop assistant except her handkerchief which had fallen off her in the struggle. In the morning, no one noticed as it lay in a puddle from the rain the night before. Carriages drove over it again and again as they went up and down the street. The handkerchief was the only witness to the event from the night before.

The daytime came along as it always did. Shops opened and people hurried about, getting their errands out of the way. They made their purchases of linen and candles, produce and eggs. The market sold fresh bread and meats of all kinds, and people went busily about their daily activities. Even the Ladies Boutique opened on time, for the owner always opened the shop in the mornings. Usually her assistant closed the store in the evenings. The owner of the shop began to wonder why her assistant hadn't shown up for work yet this day. Her shift started at 11 a.m., but she hadn't made an appearance. The shopkeeper became impatient as the clock struck noon and still her assistant was nowhere in sight. She wouldn't discover until later her assistant had never made it home that night.

Daylight slowly ebbed away and the sky changed into shades of dark blue as evening approached. As night took hold, the sky grew even darker. Shops began to close, hawkers cried out special offers in order to unload their daily goods and people set off to return home for the evening. Down High Street, the theater had begun the show of the evening, and on nearby Golden Lane, pubs became busy. The street lamps came to life again, flickering as people walked by and carriages rolled along.

A black carriage with lamps aglow pulled forward to the front of the Grand Theater. The black horses stamped impatiently as footmen stepped down to open the carriage door. A finely dressed gentleman wearing a top hat and black suit with tails exited the carriage. He was very handsome with black hair and deep, mysterious green eyes, and had a distinct air of sophistication about him. He left the carriage unaccompanied and approached the large doors to the theater.

"Good evening, Mr. Rochester," said the doorman as he entered. The gentleman nodded in acknowledgment, before being led to his seat, which was situated in a box above the main seating platform. From his position, he had a clear view of the stage as well as the audience below. He removed his hat and coat and handed it to the usher, who bobbed his head in acknowledgement and turned to depart. Mr. Rochester sat down in a red velvet upholstered chair and began to survey the audience below. People were talking amongst themselves, greeting old friends, meeting business partners and looking around the theater. There was much to be seen, for the theater was where many people came to mingle and make new acquaintances.

His thoughts turned to his brother, who was to attend this evening's event. He could sense his brother well before he entered the building and walked up the stairs to the private theater box. The curtains were pulled back to the private area by the usher as Mr. Trevaun Rochester entered.

"May I take your hat and coat, sir?"

Trevaun Rochester handed the items to the usher, and with another nod, he turned and left.

"So, how are you this evening, Dimitri?" Trevaun viewed his brother quizzically as he took the chair directly to the left.

"Hungry."

"I asked you to join us last night."

"I kept an eye on you and Katrine. You managed well enough without me. Except you were a little careless," Dimitri scolded as he handed over a tightly wadded up handkerchief.

"I see..." Trevaun trailed off, inspecting the handkerchief, holding it tightly in his hand to shield anyone's view of it. "A momentary lapse I assure you, brother. It won't happen again."

Trevaun placed the tightly wadded handkerchief into his pocket and glanced around, surveying the audience with a vain hope of finding a way to change the subject. He knew his brother was displeased with their momentary lapse of control over last night's events by letting a piece of evidence slip by from their feeding.

"The house is filled with pretties tonight. Shall we entertain a few of the pleasantries? You know how I love fresh," he paused for a moment, eyes sparkling like a predator, "pleasantries."

"I do know how you enjoy your fresh pleasantries, brother. Perhaps a sample is in order, but I grow bored of these aristocrats and so-called crème de la crème of society. They believe themselves to be so important, but in truth they are nothing but pawns. They would serve as nothing more than an appetizer for the moment."

"All the better reason to put a few of these mortals in their proper place, dear brother."

Dimitri laughed under his breath. He always enjoyed his brother's sense of humor, even though at times it was a bit crass. His brother was anything if not entertaining. Dimitri and Trevaun had always been close, and knew they could rely upon each other.

They were of the House of d'Avange and of royal descent. Their uncle reigned as the Grand Ruler of the Vampire Realm, leader of the Vampire Houses and Clans within the kingdom. Dimitri ranked second in line and Trevaun the third to rule, respectively. There held one other in the line of leadership, their uncle's son Lasierre. Failing any harm befalling Lasierre, he would be the next to rule the realm.

Trevaun smiled playfully. "Shall we make a game of it?"

"Yes, until midnight," Dimitri agreed.

"Well, then, let the game begin."

Instantly, Trevaun jumped from his seat, then traveled down the stairs and through the corridor that led to the front doors of the theater and nearly burst onto the street. With precision he swiftly and quietly moved down the street looking for victims. He began quite methodically. He considered where he might find the easiest prey, making that a priority because the more kills he accumulated the more likely he would win, proving his superior hunting skills.

Trevaun enjoyed impressing people, most especially his family. After all, he snared Katrine by impressing her with his prowess and undeniable charm. "She fell in love with me before she knew what hit her," he boasted to himself. He loved Katrine and for a moment he let himself get lost in the thought of her. Soon he regained his focus, for not more than fifty feet away stood a man outside of a pub, apparently very drunk. He wore an old grey coat and swayed in a drunken stupor.

"Oh, this is too easy." Trevaun laughed.

In less than a second, Trevaun swooped onto the drunken man. He lifted him up and flew into the dark night, quickly drinking his blood and also breaking his neck, so he would stop screaming. He disposed of the body in a back alley and continued the hunt. Down the streets he prowled, subtle as a shadow. The town was his playground and he had selected the next area to hunt for a victim.

He swooped down and landed near the waterfront, by Lower Thames Street. Two prostitutes stood on the street near a brothel trying to entice people. He came up to the women and smiled at them.

One of them, a prostitute with blonde hair, invited him closer. "Looking for a little fun, dear?" Her ample curves filled out her silk bustier. The other woman, who had long red hair, took his arm invitingly and smiled. "Come on love, let's have a little fun."

He let them lead him inside of the brothel, where the low light made the ambiance more inviting. Once he'd been spotted, other prostitutes started to join in. They knew a gentleman with money when they saw one.

Trevaun laughed. "Come now, ladies, there's enough of me for all of you."

"Oh, yes," said one, while trying to slide off his coat. Another one took his hat, while yet another began kissing him. He laughed in evil delight, for in that moment he had calculated exactly how he would kill all of them and be off without anyone knowing what had happened, all in a matter of seconds.

The prostitute with long red hair looked at him hesitantly when he started laughing. He grabbed her first, and threw her fifteen feet across the room. When she hit the wall, the impact instantly killed her. As the shock of what had just happened settled over the room, the rest of the prostitutes began screaming in terror. Before they even had the chance to start running away, he killed each of them in turn, each died in the blink of an eye.

He came at them so quickly; he was nothing more than a blur. He drained some of them of their blood, and then quickly surveyed the room, making sure to leave no survivors. The women's bodies lie scattered across the room, randomly—a few with glazed eyes, staring off in the distance.

Satisfied with his work, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey he found sitting on a nearby table, then stuffed a piece of torn dress in it. He lit the fabric that he left hanging out of the bottle and threw it against a wall. The flames shot up high against the walls and the room was soon consumed.

He rushed out of the brothel in a blur and flew into the darkened sky to watch the building as it went up in flames. People around the docks took up crying "Fire!" and others started gathering buckets. Even so, it was too late, the whole building was consumed by flames, and nothing could stop it from burning to the ground. Sparing a small smile of triumph, Trevaun quickly distanced himself from the scene. He flew several blocks, but could still hear the people screaming in the distance.