Chapter Eighteen

Unexpected Guests

Thunder rumbled overhead as lightning, dark and red as blood flickered across the sky.

A tingle of sensation passed over Wesley as they crossed the front lawn, probably his missing rib calling out to him, though the armor should have taken care of that. Still, something inside him called to the Nocturne, whatever indelible mark he’d stuck on Wesley, it knew when its master was near.

Wesley slowed to look towards the old estate gates, their grandeur snubbed by the darkening skies and the slow embrace of the coming battle.

For all intents and purposes, the estate did not look like it was awaiting an imminent attack. In fact, it looked like it had barely been changed.

Save for the dome shield overhead, rippling from the lightning, there was nothing. No more portals. No dug in, trenched, men. No more walls raised defense.

Wesley knew his father was a damn near tactical genius so there must be something he was missing. He was a hero of wars a plenty. Both famous and secret. But still, there had never quite been an enemy like the Nocturne.

They neared the door when the ground first shook.

Turning, they saw the shield above them rippling the brightest blue, shooting stars of light erupting across it.

Then the ground shook again and they saw what was making it.

A troll, near the front gate, big as a double decker bus, slamming its fists down onto the shield. Around it, barely visible, stood dozens, if not hundreds of shadowed figures, cast in glowing mist. They looked ghoulish in their haze, statuesque in their stillness, and frightening in their numbers.

Something like fear bubbled in Wesley’s stomach.

A woman, who couldn’t have been older than twenty, intercepted just as Wesley’s father reached for the handle. She was pretty, though her gaze held a kind of austerity. Bright hazelnut eyes muted by a stern jawline and thin lips.

She was familiar to Wesley and her quick glance told him she knew him as well.

“My lord,” she began, her voice low. “Others have arrived.”

Wesley’s father took his hand off the door, his nose twitching above the mustache. Slowly, he tensed. “There is a ward here that is not mine.”

The girl nodded stiffly. “They are powerful.”

Wesley drew his blade and squeezed his wand but his father shook his head. “Not yet, son.” He rubbed his mustache and motioned to the girl. “Wesley, I’m sure you remember Cecelia Harewood.”

Wesley nodded, smiling. “Little Cece,” he said, remembering the gangly little girl that would follow him around the estate. Her grandfather had been the groundskeeper. What she was still doing here, he wondered. She did not look like a groundskeeper herself.

Cece didn’t look like she liked the name little either. She gave him a curt nod, which he returned, still smiling.

“How many of them?” his father asked.

“Five.”

“What did they look like?”

She scrunched her nose. “Old and mean.”

“And the other defenses?” he asked.

“Ready,” was all she said.

“Get everyone ready. I want you on top. Anyone or anything gets through, turn it to ash. We are playing for keeps today. If anything goes wrong, you know what to do.”

Apparently she did because there was no explanation.

They shared a glance, in which, if Wesley was not mistaken, his father gave her a fatherly nod.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, turning on her heels.

“Now,” his father said, turning back to the door. “Who has the balls to ward my own house.”

He pressed hard on the door and it opened easily, the sliver of magical barrier barely making a sound or mark.

They were met with a scene that was so unusual it stopped them both in the doorway. The big room was split into two sides. One held the mortals, or atleast, the non-vampires. The otherside held the immortals.

On the left side stood a tall, gaunt man in long dark robes that could have only been the father of the vampire who’d met them in the armory. His eyes were pitch black and his face was caught somewhere between stone rigid and eerie calmness, despite his long, pale fingers gripping the throat of a woman who was on her knees before him. Little droplets of blood ran down her neck, disappearing into the thin silver cuirass she wore.

Opposite this scene was an equally tall man, though obviously human, his features old but somehow eternal like a statue’s. He had intelligent, bright eyes that cast a kind of shadow over the rest of his face. It was a contrast that made him seem dangerous.

His wand was out, the tip glowing and it took Wesley a moment to see what was happening. Against the far wall, caught in a kind of spider web spell, was the vampire girl who’d met them in the armory. She was contorted oddly, almost hogtied. Though one of her arms was clearly broken and her smooth, pale face was broken in an angry grimace. The broken arm, due to the presence of magick from her vampirism, was attempting to heal itself but the angle was just enough that it didn’t allow for it.

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It was difficult to tell if this was done on purpose or not but Wesley had a sneaking suspicion that it had been.

“Gentleman,” his father began, stepping fully into the room. “I rather doubt this is the time or the place for such things.”

Both men looked over. The one on the right’s face broke into a small smile. It looked unnatural and forced.

“Ah, Lord Barstow, what timing. It would seem you’ve an infestation. I am teaching them a lesson,” he said, his voice a deep, powerful baritone.

“I see,” Wesley’s father responded. “They are, however, my guests here. And you are…”

Wesley had a feeling his father knew exactly who it was.

“Don’t you remember?” the man boomed. “We met many years ago. My name is Colonel Francis Ferdinand. My colleagues and I have come to assist you.”

Wesley froze at the words, his mind racing. The Court of Nine had come to Morningstar Estate. They had come to do battle with the Nocturne at last.

Wesley’s father did not miss a beat. “Yes, of course, I do remember. We are grateful for any assistance.”

There was a moment's pause.

“Now, Colonel, if you wouldn’t mind releasing my friend.”

Another beat of tense silence.

The Colonel’s eyes widened slightly, questioningly. “Friend?”

“Yes, sir.”

But the Colonel did not move. Neither did the three other people behind him, all of whom wore dark robes, armor, and were holding their weapons at their sides. They seemed bored.

Wesley’s father turned to the vampire, who still held the woman below him. “Alaster, please.”

The immortal nodded and threw the woman gently across the floor, where she rose, wand in hand and pointed it at Alaster.

A spell, half formed on her lips, died when his father slashed his wand across the air. A small pop sounded and she was flung back to the ground, her hands tight against her sides as if tied by an invisible rope.

The three others behind the Colonel moved but were quelled instantly by a command from the Colonel. The order came in a language Wesley didn’t understand but it sounded ancient and guttural. They may have stopped moving but it didn’t stop their leering and death glares.

The Colonel looked past Wesley’s father to Wesley himself. “Is this your son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve heard of him. Hunted the LeCroy killer, didn’t he. Not bad work. Don’t think I would have thought to check the painting either. Had the Minister drooling over it.” He cocked his head sideways. “You are proud, I’m sure.”

Wesley’s father’s chin dipped. “I am. Now, Colonel. Release her, please.”

“Is this how you treat guests? With vermin?” the Colonel pushed.

“They were invited. You were not. I will not ask again.” An angry vein, one Wesley was familiar with bulged on his father’s neck. He gestured towards Esther. “If you please.”

“You will show this man respect–” began a man behind the Colonel. He was a bear looking fellow with a big beard and small, beady eyes.

“Silence,” Wesley’s father roared and the man stumbled back as if struck by a physical force. From around them came several loud thumps and the enchantment, no doubt from the Colonel, was released. At that moment, even the Colonel looked impressed. Not to mention his gaping friends.

“You have entered my home without my permission and attacked my guests. I will abide little more insouciance. Colonel, if you please.”

With an easy smile, the Colonel flicked his wand and Esther fell to the floor, landing hard. She immediately crouched like a cat, graceful even with her broken arm. For a moment, Wesley thought she might jump at the Colonel, but a lazily raised hand from her father shook her of that motion. Calmly, she strode over to stand with the rest of her folk, behind her father.

“Good, pup,” the Colonel chided.

In Wesley’s opinion, the man was acting a child. Like a teenager, itching for a fight and uncaring in the collateral. They were under threat from the goddamn Nocturne for god's sake. This man’s bloody son and he seemed to not care.

No wonder the Nocturne wanted him dead, Wesley probably would’ve wanted the same in his position.

Of course, his own father had not been a saint, but this man…ten minutes in and he was a bastard.

But soon Wesley’s mind was far from this. It was questioning this man’s appearance here. Why now? Had he been hunting his son this entire time?

“Now, gentleman, we are here for a reason. Are we not? The Nocturne has come and it is up to us to stop him. I’ve been told he’s requested to speak with me. I will oblige him. When possible, I always greet my guests. While I do this, Colonel, your people may go to the roof where they will be issued orders, if that is fine with you.”

The Colonel nodded stiffly.

“Likewise with you, Alaster.”

“Of course,” the vampire said, his voice soothing tenor. The dangerous kind that likely carried some kind of magick in its wavelengths.

Begrudgingly, and with much hesitation, the Colonel’s men filed out of the room, followed by the vampires. Just before disappearing from the room, the woman who’d been held by Alaster, shared a glance with the Colonel. Wesley could have been wrong but there was something mischievous in it.

It made him curious.

He had no time to question it now but he would mull it over.

In the meantime, Alaster had risen and walked over to them. Him and Wesley’s father traded grips.

“Thank you,” Lord Barstow said.

“My friend, you never need thank me,” the vampire said in his wooing voice. “But you are welcome nonetheless. Apologies for the excitement, the Colonel has an aversion to my persuasion.”

“I’ve no aversion to vampires,” the Colonel said, walking casually toward them, his hands clasped behind his back. “Only an aversion to those with their heads still attached.”

Alaster, who must’ve been in a good mood, merely chuckled. “Perhaps, if you’d been less concerned by vampires and more concerned with raising your son, we would not be fighting for our lives.”

The Colonel didn’t speak, possibly caught off guard, so Alaster kept going. “Yes, I’m aware of who this Nocturne is. I smelt his blood when he attacked my home ten years ago. It's just as wretched smelling as yours, Colonel.”

It was the Colonel’s turn to laugh, his thin lips making nothing resembling a smile. “Indeed, I am sure none of your offspring have ever hurt a soul, vampire.”

“If my offspring step out of line then I put them back in, like a man should.”

Ferdinand gave a derisive chuckle. “Do you even remember what it's like to be a man?”

“More than you know.”

“Enough,” Lord Barstow boomed. “We’ve little time. The plan is simple. We will invite the son of a bitch in, no offense, Colonel, and we’ll thrash him. The estate is set up with a variety of defenses. He’ll get through them but he’ll expend a lot of energy.”

“What about the orb?” Wesley asked.

“Unknown. We don’t know if he can use it like he did before. Or if it’ll be weaker.” He turned to Alaster. “You take the west, Colonel, you’ll take the East. I’ll be in front and we’ll have a number of men posted rear, though the maze will likely stop them all.”

Neither the men had anything else to say. Alaster was impatient and the Colonel seemed apathetic to the whole situation.

“Now, Colonel, would you like to help me welcome your son to his death?” Wesley’s father asked, as if it was not the oddest thing he’d ever said in his life.

Wesley followed them out the big doors and down the driveway to what might be the last good fight he’d ever know.