Bram’s study was in shambles. The desk and chairs overturned, books and papers torn apart and thrown all over the floor, the curtains ripped to shreds.
His bedroom was the same. The bedsheets had been shredded, as well as the curtains. It looked like a bear had come barreling through the room.
There was blood everywhere too—Bram had obviously put up a fight with whoever, or whatever, had attacked him. A few of the windows were broken, and the wind made an ominous whistle and cold air blew through the room. Callum shivered and tightened his jacket around him, broken glass crunching under his shoes.
“Where is Mary, his servant?”
“Downstairs with your friend,” Van said. “She seems quite shaken by the whole thing, but she won't tell us anything. She called the tavern and demanded to speak with you.”
Callum went down to the drawing room. There was no blood in the halls... no sign of a struggle anywhere but the two rooms. It didn't make much sense--they were on opposite ends of the mansion. Were the two destroyed room related, or was it two different incidents? The bedroom was clearly where Bram had been attacked. Had he destroyed his own study, or had an intruder done it before seeking Bram out in his room?
Mary was sitting by the fireplace, clutching a cup of tea in her shaky hands. Her eyes were a bit red and puffy, like she'd been crying.
“Miss Mary, you can talk to us,” Quinn told her. “Anything you could tell us would help immensely.”
Mary didn't respond, but her eyes went wide and she practically jumped to her feet when Callum entered.
“Mr. Harker!” She dropped her teacup onto the table with a loud clatter and rushed to him, gripping his arm almost too tightly. “You have to do something!”
“Mary…” Callum glanced at Van and Quinn, then sighed. He knew Mary wasn't going to tell them anything. “Can we speak alone for a moment?”
Quinn and Van shared a concerned look, but they didn't protest. They couldn't waste time arguing when Bram's life might be on the line. Once they were out of the room, Callum locked the door and turned to face her.
“You know what happened, don't you?” he questioned, and she stood up straight, a defiant look in her eyes. “Mary, please, I can't handle any more secrets.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” she questioned. “So you can call me a lunatic too? Bram already told you what was going on. Why can't you just bring him home and leave it at that?”
Callum sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Let's just pretend for a moment that I believed vampires were real, and that Bram Shelley is one of them… What does that have to do with him going missing? Was it Renfield? He said he wanted Bram to Turn him.”
“It wasn't,” Mary said, shaking her head.
“No? Who took him then? The Bloodsucker? It looks like they fought for a while. None of the Bloodsuckers victims put up a fight. Nothing here matches anything that's happened to anyone else who encountered the Bloodsucker.”
“That's because they're not Bram.” Mary sat back in her seat by the fireplace with a sigh of defeat, her eyes full of tears. “I didn't see who took Bram, but I do know the only person who could overpower him like that. If he's the one who's been causing trouble in town, this town is as good as done for.”
“You mean Vladimir?” Callum asked, remembering his last conversation with Bram, and Mary's eyes widened in shock, but then narrowed with suspicion, a hint of anger in her voice.
“How do you know about him?”
“Bram told me he was executed in Inghet.”
“He was. Or at least, Bram thought so. It was the only way he was able to escape him and come to Otravire. He must have survived somehow. He's the only one I know who might be more powerful than Bram.”
“And you think he's the one who took him? Why would he do that?”
“To punish him, I suppose.” Mary was quiet, and she lowered her gaze. “He's probably angry at Bram for abandoning him in Inghet. He was a possessive, cruel master. It's taken decades to break his hold on Bram, and I'm afraid he'll return to what he was before.”
Callum sat across from Mary, engrossed in what she was saying. He nearly forgot he was supposed to know that vampires weren't real. He leaned in and gave her a hard stare.
“How he was before? You mean some kind of monster,” he said, and she nodded. “Why would he act differently? Does Vladimir control him?”
“When a person is Turned, many inherit bits of their master's demeanor, and they can manipulate their Thralls’ actions to an extent. Bram was so cold and cruel when I met him. He seemed so empty. All he wanted to do was consume blood and kill humans. Being away from Vladimir, he slowly started to calm down, and he realized what he'd been doing was wrong. Because of that, he wanted to die. He thought it would be a better option than risking becoming like Vladimir. I've cared for him for decades and helped him break free of his master's hold, but now…”
“You’ve been in Umbra Harbor with Bram for decades,” Callum said. “Where might Vladimir take him? Is there anywhere in this county that people won’t go?”
Callum’s heart was pounding as he stood between Van and Quinn, staring up at the old, abandoned church.
It was deep in the forest, far beyond the edge of Bram’s estate. Part of the roof was caved in from a fire, and the entire building was rotting away, overgrown with weeds and vines. The fog around them was so thick that they could only see it clearly when they were standing directly in front of it.
There was no sound around them, save for the dripping of water from the rain. There was no wind, no birds or frogs or crickets… not even a slight rustle of leaves.
“Why didn’t they ever build another church?” Quinn questioned, keeping his voice almost at a whisper. There was no real reason to be so quiet—they were obviously alone—but it felt appropriate, standing in the shadow of the church. Van just shrugged.
“This whole part of the country, not just this county, is incredibly superstitious. The church has been abandoned since long before I was even born. I heard that when it burned down, they tried to rebuild it a few times, even in different places. Each time, something stopped them. Fires, accidents, weather… The townsfolk back then saw it as a terrible omen, believing that their God had forsaken them. If vampires are this place, they may have been right. Vampires can’t enter hallowed ground.”
Callum sighed and rolled his eyes. He was tired of superstitions and hearing about vampires. He took his pistol out of its holster and approached the front of the church slowly.
The stairs leading up to the entrance were broken and uneven, and a few of the stones shifted under his feet, sending spiders and centipedes scurrying away from him.
The doors were broken and overgrown with vines, making them impossible to open, so Callum had to squeeze through the bit of open space between them. The others followed, Quinn armed with his own pistol, and Van armed with a wooden stake. Callum didn’t care anymore—it wasn’t worth fighting about, especially now when they needed to find Bram.
Just inside the door, there was an old, mossy basin. He assumed it had once held holy water, now full of murky rainwater that dripped from the missing parts of the roof, giving life to small mushrooms and plants and crawling with bugs.
Most of the old stained-glass windows were destroyed, presumably blown out by the fire. The only one mostly intact was at the far back of the sanctuary, and even that one was missing pieces. The depiction of the holy figure was missing its face and hands.
As he moved deeper into the room, the floor felt unsteady under his feet. It was old and rotten, already ruined by the fire, now being eaten away in the damp forest. Cockroaches rushed out from under his feet, and he shuddered. Callum hated bugs and rodents.
“What now?” Van asked, and Callum nearly jumped out of his skin. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and pressed his hand to his chest.
“For fuck’s sake,” he breathed as he put his pistol away, and Quinn laughed softly. “I’m glad you think this is amusing. We’re potentially dealing with a serial killer here.”
“There’s nobody here, Cal,” Quinn said with a sigh. He put his own gun in its holster and glanced up at the old rafters. They were covered in webs with large spiders, glistening with rainwater in what bit of light came in through the collapsed roof. “There’s no way anyone’s been in here—there would be signs. We’re probably the first people to set foot in this sanctuary in decades.”
“Mary said this is the only other building in the entire town. If he’s not here, then—”
There was a strange creaking noise, and they all went silent, glancing all around. Before anyone could react, the floor collapsed under them. Van grabbed Quinn and pulled him back, but didn’t reach Callum in time. He dropped through the floor, down into darkness. He didn’t know how far he fell, but he landed on his back, the wind completely knocked out of him.
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“Cal!” Quinn called down, and Callum just laid there, staring up at the large hole in the floor far above him. His voice echoed around him. “Are you all right?”
Callum sat up with a groan, rubbing his back. Nothing was broken, thankfully, but there was no way he’d be able to climb back up. He sighed and pulled out his matches, lighting one to try to look around.
As he lit the first one, a few bats flew at him, and he dropped it with a cry, covering his head. The bats swarmed around him before flying up and out through the space where he’d fallen.
“Damn it all,,” he muttered to himself, feeling around for the matches he’d dropped. The ground was wet and disgusting—so he gave up on them. There was no way they’d light now. “I think it’s some kind of catacombs.”
“A lot of old churches have them,” Van said. The way his voice echoed made Callum think the tunnels must have been extensive. “Don’t move—the stairs are just in the back here. We’ll be right down.”
Callum opened his mouth to reply, but he froze as a terrifying sound came reverberating through the tunnels. It was faint and distant, but they all heard it, and Callum was certain it was the sound of a man screaming. He grabbed his pistol, his hands shaking as he pointed in the direction of the sound, or at least the direction he thought it was coming from. It was difficult to tell with all the echoes through the catacombs.
The sound seemed to last an eternity, and a chill ran up Callum’s spine. His hands were trembling and sweat ran down his face. Was it Bram? Was it another victim of the Bloodsucker?
He was frozen there, his pistol aimed into the darkness, until Van and Quinn made their way down to him. Van had a torch, and held it out in front of them, revealing a long, dark tunnel. The light reflected off pools of water and the eyes of rats that quickly ran off, deeper into the darkness.
The sound stopped, leaving all of them standing there in bated silence, collectively holding their breaths. Callum was the one who swallowed his fear first and stepped forward.
“Let’s go,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He gripped his gun tightly to try to will his hands to stop shaking. “Even if Bram isn’t down here, something is, and there’s no one else who’s going to come find out what it is.”
The catacombs under the old church seemed to branch off in a hundred different directions, with bats occasionally passing overhead, but most of them were impassable. Some were overgrown with deep tree roots, others covered in thick spider webs or blocked off by collapsed stone… and no sign of Bram or anyone else. The tunnels were as silent as everywhere else, the only sounds were the noises the three men made as they walked, their feet splashing in old water or the dirt crunching under their shoes.
When they reached the end of the tunnel, it split off into two directions. Van held his torch out, and the direction they needed to go became obvious.
On the wall of the path to their left, there were dark streaks of dried blood, like someone injured had run their hands against it. There were imprints of shoes in the mud too, as well as signs that something had been dragged through the tunnel.
“Well…” Quinn sighed, giving an uneasy glance down the tunnel, “even if it’s not the Count, someone is definitely down here.”
“Maybe,” Van said, kneeling down to look at the footprints. Callum and Quinn both looked at him, confused. “I’m not saying that there’s no one down here—we obviously heard something—but these could be old. The rain and wind can’t reach down here to wash away blood or footprints—who knows how long they’ve been here?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Callum told them. He was starting to get anxious. The longer they waited, the longer Bram was in danger, and if Vladimir really was the Bloodsucker, and the one who’d taken him, he knew exactly what he was capable of. He just hoped that Bram was still alive. “Old or new, this is the only indication we have of anyone else being down here. No matter what is or isn’t down there, we won’t know unless we go check it out.”
They made their way deeper into the catacombs, and the air got colder. There were no rats or bugs that deep, just cold, wet dirt and stone, and the sound of their footsteps in the mud and water echoed around them.
The tunnels didn’t branch off anymore, and they found themselves at the end. There was just one door, kept shut with a large iron padlock. Callum’s heart started to race again. Was the Bloodsucker waiting for them on the other side?
“I haven’t had to do this in a long time,” Van said. He handed off his torch, which was starting to die out, to Quinn, and he knelt down in front of the door to try to pick the lock. He made a noise of disgust as he put his knee in a puddle of mud. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“I don’t know about this,” Callum said, stepping back from the door. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach and every inch of his body was on edge.
“It’s a bit late to be having second thoughts now, don’t you think, Mr. Harker?” Van asked, still fiddling with the lock. “You want to turn back when we’ve already come this far?”
“We’re chasing a serial killer.” Callum ran a shaky hand through his messy blond hair. “We don’t really know what we’re dealing with right now—his M.O. was never kidnapping. Are you prepared for what might be beyond this door?”
Van sighed, his arms dropping in frustration as he turned back to look at him.
“Are you?” he asked, and Callum swallowed hard. Was he?
The truth was, he wasn’t afraid that the Bloodsucker might be waiting for them. In fact, he wasn’t even concerned anymore about whether vampires existed. Bram was missing—that was real enough for Callum. And the thought that Bram’s corpse might be on the other side of the door was really what gave him pause. Was he prepared for that?
“Cal…” Quinn placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be all right. We’re going to find the Count and get the hell out of here, okay?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. He took a few deep, calming breaths with his eyes closed. “Okay.”
A loud metallic sound reverberated all around them, making them jump, and Quinn dropped the torch. It landed in the mud, extinguished with a loud hiss as they were engulfed in darkness.
The noise came from the other side of the door. It sounded like chains being shaken, and there were loud thuds, as well as snarling, like a large animal. The men were all quiet, listening to whatever it was thrash and growl.
“That doesn’t sound human,” Van said quietly, but went back to picking the lock anyway, and the sound stopped.
Callum reached out his hands in the pitch black of the tunnels feeling along the wall. He touched something that quickly scurried away and he pulled his hand back with a noise of disgust.
“I can’t see a fucking thing,” he complained, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when something grabbed his jacket. He shouted in surprise and jumped, hitting his back against the wall.
“It’s just me,” Quinn said, reaching out blindly until his hand found Callum’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing his shoulder where it had collided with the stone. His jacket was damp now, and he hoped it was only water. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“We are vastly unprepared for this,” Quinn said. “But I suppose we’re past the point of no return.”
There was a loud click, and Van let out a breath.
“Finally,” he muttered, tossing the lock down into the mud. He tried to push the door open, but it was difficult to budge. It was old and rusted, and there was mud surrounding the bottom. “I don’t suppose either of you have ever kicked a door in?”
“I’m a P.I.,” Callum told him, “not a gangster.”
“Right.” Van sighed loudly. “I really am getting too old for this shit. Just be prepared for whatever might be on the other side of this door.”
Callum drew his pistol, pointing it in the direction of Van’s voice. He hoped that there was at least some light inside to see by.
“Ready.”
Van took a deep breath, then grunted as he kicked the door. It swung open, slamming against the stone wall with a deafening clang.
Callum was the first to rush in, with Van and Quinn close behind him. They all froze in the tracks, their eyes wide. Quinn covered his mouth in horror.
“Jesus Christ,” Van breathed, clutching the cross he wore around his neck.
There was almost nothing in the room, save for a few lit torches on the walls, and a chair bolted to the floor.
Bram was slumped over in the seat, and his wrists had thick shackles around them. They were connected to a heavy iron chain that was secured to the floor between his feet. His skin was cut up and bloody, probably from trying to twist and pull free, and fresh blood dripped down his fingers onto the ground.
There was blood everywhere. The whole room reeked of it, and it stained every surface, Bram included. His clothes were torn up and filthy, and it was impossible to see the extent of his injuries through all of the dirt and blood. Did it all belong to Bram, or was this where the Bloodsucker took more victims?
Bram’s neck was bleeding, staining the collar of his open shirt. He had dark bruises around his throat, like he’d been strangled, and there were dozens of tiny puncture wounds—the tell-tale mark of the Bloodsucker’s attacks.
His breath came out in quick, raspy huffs, and sweat mixed with blood and ran down his face. He wasn’t conscious, but still wore a pained grimace.
Van was the first to move. He shook his head in disdain and went to Bram, attempting to pick the locks of the shackles. It snapped Callum out of his shock, and he rushed forward, dropping his pistol.
“Bram!” Callum took his bloody face in his hands, looking over him with concern. Bram’s skin was ice cold and clammy.
Bram groaned, but he didn’t move or open his eyes. Was he dying? The thought of losing Bram, despite their arguing and their differences, was too much for Callum, and tears filled his eyes. His throat burned and he willed himself not to cry.
“I’ve seen some fucked up things in my life,” Van muttered, still trying to get the lock open, “but this might be one of the worst. What the hell has the Bloodsucker been doing to him down here?”
Callum looked him over as best as he could in the dim torchlight, but Bram didn’t appear to be injured anywhere else. So, whose blood was all over him? There was no way anyone could heal from the kind of wounds that would have bled that much.
“There,” Van said, the shackles clattering to the floor at Bram’s feet, then he eyed him cautiously. “We’ve got to get him up. We’re sitting ducks in here, and we don’t know where his kidnapper is.”
“Bram, come on,” Callum begged, his voice hoarse. He slapped his face lightly, and Bram groaned again. “Wake up!”
His eyes shot open as he inhaled a sharp breath, and before anyone could react, Callum was on the ground with Bram’s hands around his throat. He looked wild and panicky, sitting on top of Callum, baring his bloody teeth while he breathed heavily.
Van leapt to his feet, grabbing Callum’s pistol off the ground.
“Don’t!” Callum demanded, putting his hand out to stop him. Bram’s grip was weak, and he could still breathe. He grabbed his arms gently, afraid of aggravating any injuries might have. “Bram, it’s okay. The Bloodsucker isn’t here.”
He growled like an animal, tightening his grip on his neck. Callum coughed a bit, but Bram’s hands were shaking, and he couldn’t keep up the pressure. He was out of breath, and the sudden movement had caused his neck to bleed more.
“It’s okay,” Callum said softly. He reached up and pressed his hand to the bite marks on Bram’s neck. The skin there was hot, and Bram gasped at the sensation of Callum’s cool hand against it. It seemed to pull him out of his panic, and his shoulders relaxed a bit.
“Callum…” He leaned into his touch a bit, but then quickly pulled away, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come here. You have to leave!”
“What are you talking about?” Callum sat up slowly, rubbing his lower back. He was covered in dirt, and now he had Bram’s blood on him. “We’re not leaving without you.”
“We?” Bram looked around, and narrowed his eyes at Van. “Helsing.”
“Now is not the time to hold a grudge, Mr. Shelley,” Van told him. He put his empty hands up to show Bram his palms. “I don’t even have any garlic on me.”
Callum sighed and got to his feet, then reached out to Bram.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, but Bram didn’t take his hand. He shook his head, and he looked sad and scared as he backed up against the chair where he’d been chained. “What’s wrong?”
Bram opened his mouth to say something, but another voice filled the room, and he looked even more terrified than before.
“Unfortunately, you won’t be going anywhere.”