Callum lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He kept rubbing the back of his hand where Bram had, thinking back on the moment. What did it mean? Was the Count flirting with him? Was he trying to charm him in an attempt to avert suspicions about being the Bloodsucker away from himself?
He felt his face and ears get hot as he remembered the look Bram had given him. Those deep amber eyes and roguish grin… He let out a long breath and covered his flushed face with his pillow.
“Get it together, Callum,” he demanded. “He’s a suspect—you’re not here to flirt with the locals.”
He turned on his side and closed his eyes, taking deep, slow breaths. He’d been out all day, trying to find leads on the Bloodsucker and meeting with the Count. He was exhausted.
Tap, tap, tap.
There was a faint sound, like fingertips against glass, but Callum didn’t move. It was probably just the rain against the windows. He’d been in Umbra Harbor for a little over a week, and it seemed to rain at least a small part of every day, and the sky never cleared.
Tap, tap, tap.
He opened his eyes went the noise got louder, a bit more urgent-sounding. He sat up quickly, eyeing the heavy drapes that covered the balcony doors. Was someone out there? Was it the Bloodsucker?
He waited and listened, but the sound didn’t come again, and he lay back down. His heart was racing, and he sighed. He was getting himself all worked up over the case, and letting Van’s constant ramblings about monsters in the shadows get to him.
Tap, tap, tap.
The sound came again, and Callum got out of bed, rushing to bed a robe on over his bedclothes. He went to open the drapes, but froze, his fingers barely touching the velvet, and realized his hands were trembling.
Stop it, he told himself. Vampires aren’t real. There’s nothing out there. There’s no reason to be scared.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
Callum cried out as he fell back on the floor. It sounded like someone was pounding their fists on the glass doors. His heart beat just as aggressively, and he placed his hand over his chest, trying to catch his breath. It felt like it might be the only thing keeping his heart from flying out of his body.
Sitting on the floor, Callum got angry then. He got to his feet with a frustrated huff and threw the curtains open and yanked the doors open.
It was pouring outside, the wind howling loudly, blowing water and leaves into the room. He pulled his robe tightly around himself as he stepped out onto the balcony.
He was alone in the darkness, and no one was out of the road below. Of course, no one would be out so late, or in such poor weather.
He startled as a lone bat flew by, dangerously close to the top of his head, then cursed under his breath. He felt foolish for allowing Van and his wild stories get to him. There was nothing to be afraid of.
He brushed his now-soaked blond hair out of his face and went back inside, shaking his head with disdain. There was no Bloodsucker, no evil thing lurking outside his room, no monsters hiding in the shadows of Umbra Harbor. The Bloodsucker was human, and Callum was determined to find out who it was.
In the morning, Callum sat at a table in the tavern. He had his head in his hands and an untouched cup of coffee in front of him, a half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray. He hadn’t gotten any sleep, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“Are you all right, Mr. Harker?”
He looked up to see the tavern employee, Lucy, looking over him with concern. He let out a long, tired breath, then gestured for her to sit in the chair across from him.
“May I ask you a few questions, if you have a moment?”
“Of course.” She sat down while Callum quickly downed his coffee before pushing the empty cup aside.
“You were one of the first people to be attacked by the Bloodsucker, were you not?”
“I was.” Lucy nodded. “I don’t remember much about it, though. I felt faint in the morning, and I collapsed here. Doctor Helsing was the one who found the marks on my neck, but I don’t recall being bitten. I assumed I had nicked myself with my brooch or the pin to my cloak.”
“Did anything strange occur the night before? Anything leading up to it?”
Lucy was quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look in her eyes.
“Well… I hadn’t been sleeping well. I was having strange, recurring dreams, but I didn’t think it meant anything. The first few nights, I thought I heard tapping outside my bedroom window. It was quiet usually, but sometimes it was loud, but there was never anything out there.”
“Are you sure it was just a dream?” Callum questioned, but Lucy only shrugged, and his heart raced. Was he the next target of the Bloodsucker, or was he simply having strange dreams? How could more than one person have the same dreams? Was there something in the food or water that was affecting the townsfolk?
“After a few nights of that, there was one in particular when I finally went to the window. I pulled back the curtains, and there was a man on my balcony. It was a great shock, and it jolted me awake. That happened a few times.”
Callum was quiet. He picked up his cigarette and lit it again, taking a long, slow drag. Was the Bloodsucker able to torment people in their sleep? Was he poisoning them? Or was he actually approaching them in the night? The Seward’s son was killed in his room—was the Bloodsucker doing something to make his victims forget their encounter, chalking it all up to bad dreams instead?
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“Did he ever enter your room?” he asked quietly, and Lucy’s face went bright red. “I’m not trying to embarrass or shame you—I just need to figure out exactly what we’re dealing with here.”
“I didn’t let him into my room,” Lucy said, “but I did meet him out on the balcony.”
“You—”
“Nothing happened! I couldn’t even see his face, it was so dark. He was dressed like a nobleman from what I could tell. He was calm and polite, and asked me about taking a husband. I told him that I have more than enough suitors, but that I’m not interested in marriage. I woke up in bed that morning, and that was the same day I fainted here.”
Callum took another long drag of his cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
“Has anyone else had strange dreams like that?”
“Oliver did,” Lucy said softly, lowering her gaze. “He told me about them before he died. Abraham has been having them too.”
Callum returned to his room to gather up his notes and a coat before heading out. If others were having the same dream, he needed to speak to them. Lucy said that someone named Abraham was having dreams too. He recalled the name in one of Van’s letters.
He startled when there was a loud, urgent knocking on his bedroom door. John Seward was standing there, looking a bit pale and out of breath.
“What’s happened?” Callum asked, and John swallowed hard.
“Another man has been killed,” he said, and Callum’s eyes went wide. “Helsing is there now, but I think you’d better come too.”
There was a large crowd gathered in the street outside the home, and they quickly moved out of Callum’s way.
The stench of death hit Callum as soon as he entered the house, and he covered his face with his handkerchief as he followed John upstairs to the bedroom.
The doors to the balcony were open, the thin curtains rustling softly in the breeze. The young man was in bed, the blankets covering the bottom half of his body. There were no signs of any sort of struggle, and the victim looked as though he were sleeping peacefully. His body was scratched up and blood though, staining the white sheets underneath him.
Van was beside the bed, examining the body with a grim expression on his face.
“Who is he?” Callum asked.
“His name is Abraham. He was a regular at the tavern, and lived here alone. He’d complained to me a few times of nightmares where the Bloodsucker seduced him. It seems they became a reality.”
“You think he was seduced?”
“I don’t think so—I know he did. I’ll spare you the graphic details, but the proof is on the body. The Bloodsucker slept with him then killed him.”
Van turned Abraham’s head to the side, exposing his neck, and Callum saw the tell-tale puncture wounds in his skin.
“I spoke to Lucy just this morning,” Callum said, his heart racing. He had planned to speak to Abraham about the nightmares, and now he was dead. “She told me that his nightmares were the same as her and Oliver.”
“Oliver Seward?” Van questioned, and he nodded. “He was killed like this too. Perhaps these dreams aren’t really dreams—they’re indicators of who the Bloodsucker is targeting.”
Callum let out a small breath, and he slowly lowered into the chair beside Abraham’s bed.
“What’s the matter?” Van rushed over to him, eyeing him up and down. “You went deathly pale all of a sudden.”
“Lucy said the nightmares started with a light tapping on her balcony window,” Callum said breathlessly. His heart was pounding, and he felt like he might faint. “I thought someone was knocking on my window last night. I didn’t get any sleep.”
Van swore under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He knelt down to be eye-level with Callum and placed a strong hand on his shoulder.
“Listen… It’s going to be fine, all right? We’ll put up garlic, lay down salt lines… It’s only a theory anyway. The Bloodsucker is not going to get to you.”
Callum held his head in his hands and took slow, deep breaths. He needed to calm down.
“If I’m being targeted, that’s better, right? We can use it as an opportunity to catch this murderer.”
That night, Callum lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head about the victims that all had the same experiences before they died—the same ones he was having.
How could they all have the same dreams though? Were they really dreams? Was it a regular in the tavern, spiking the food and drinks with something? Even if that were the case, what were the chances of everyone having the same exact nightmare?
Tap, tap, tap.
He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep when he was jolted awake by the sound of tapping on the window again. He lay there, his heart pounding and his breath coming out in small, panicky huffs.
Tap, tap, tap.
Was it the Bloodsucker? If he got up and went to the balcony, would he share the same fate as the others? Lucy had survived her encounter, but the others, both men, had not. How did the killer choose his targets? How did he decide who to kill or who to spare?
Tap, tap, tap.
The tapping continued, every few minutes. It didn’t get louder or more urgent, and there was no loud banging like last time. Was the killer waiting patiently for Callum?
Tap, tap, tap.
Perhaps it really was all in his head. Maybe it was just a branch from the trees outside, rattled by the wind and rain.
Tap, tap, tap.
Callum inhaled a deep breath before getting out of bed. He wrapped himself up in his robe and grabbed his pistol before he went to the balcony doors. He found himself paralyzed again, his hands holding the curtains. Did he dare pull them back?
Tap, tap, tap.
He shook himself and swallowed his fear, throwing open the curtains. He nearly fell back at the sight of the silhouette of a man standing outside, his eyes glowing red in the darkness.
Get it together, he told himself. It’s just a dream.
It was dark and rainy outside, making it impossible to see the man. He didn’t move, and he didn’t try to open the doors. Was he waiting for Callum?
He opened the balcony doors, and the wind blew rain in his face. He shivered a bit, and the man still didn’t move or speak.
“Who are you?” Callum asked. “Why are you tapping on my window?”
The strangle laughed softly, and it sent a chill up Callum’s spine. From what little he could see, the man fit the vague description of the Bloodsucker. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, and he seemed to be wearing neat, tailored clothing. If he had never met him, Callum might have assumed it was Bram Shelley too.
“There’s nothing funny about this. Answer me!” he demanded, aiming his pistol at the stranger. “Why do you keep coming here? Are you the one who’s been tormenting this town? Did you kill Abraham?”
“Why don’t you invite me in, and then we can talk,” he said. His voice sounded strange to Callum. He was sure he must be dreaming. “You must really want to meet, if you came to the window again.”
“I’m here to catch a killer, and if it’s you, I’ll—”
The man rushed at him, and Callum fell back in fear. He stopped just outside the room, and he finally got a good look at him. The man had sharp, animal-like features, and he bared fangs at Callum. His hands had long claws instead of fingernails, reaching out to grab at him, but he didn’t advance into the room, and he let out a terrifying, animalistic snarl.
“You’ll what?” he asked, then laughed again. All Callum could do was stare up at the man, eyes wide and mouth gaping while his whole body trembled with fear. “You think you have the power to stop me? You think that little toy gun of yours can hurt me? You reek of fear—I bet you’ve never even shot anyone with that pistol.”
Callum couldn’t speak. His mouth was dry, and he was paralyzed.
“Leave this town if you value your life,” the stranger said, backing away from the doorway. “Stop asking questions, and stay away from the Shelley Estate.”
Right before Callum’s eyes, the man’s body exploded into hundreds of bats, swarming around before flying off into the night.
Callum stayed on the floor for a long while, staring in shock at the empty balcony where the Bloodsucker had been. Was it real? Was it a nightmare? He wasn’t so sure anymore.
When he finally got up, he rushed to close the doors and curtains before going back to his bed, where he wrapped himself up in the covers and shut his eyes tightly.
It wasn’t real. The Bloodsucker is human—you’re just having a nightmare. In the morning, it’ll be like it never happened.