This
week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming best-selling historical author Jeanne Kalogridis, as she celebrates the release of her DIARIES OF THE
FAMILY DRACUL trilogy on Kindle. The novels are available now. Join us Sunday,
when Jeanne will be here to talk about her series and give away a copy of
each of the books in the series, COVENANT WITH THE VAMPIRE, CHILDREN OF
THE VAMPIRE and LORD OF THE VAMPIRES! Today, Jeanne offers
an excerpt from the first book in the trilogy. Here's the blurb:
A sensual, terrifying,
incredibly accomplished novel, this fascinating prequel to the classic
and most popular horror novel of all time, Dracula, focuses on
Dracula's great-nephew, who inherits the job of managing his great-uncle's
estate...and his appetite.
At
the castle of Prince Vlad Tsepesh, also known as Dracula, Vald's great-nephew
Arkady is honored to care for his beloved though strange great-uncle...until he
beings to realize what is expected of him in his new role. It seems that either
he provides his great-uncle with unsuspecting victims to satisfy his needs, or
Vlad will kill those Arkady loves. He is trapped into becoming party to murder
and sadistic torture. And it is in his blood. When Arkady learns that his
newborn son is being groomed one day to follow in his footsteps, he knows that
he must fight Dracula, even if it means death.
**An Excerpt from COVENANT WITH THE
VAMPIRE**
In
the excerpt, "Stefan" is the ghost of the narrator’s, Arkady,
brother. Arkady drives the carriage (caleche) into the
Transylvanian forest in search of a missing houseguest (Jeffries) of his
"Uncle" Vlad's; Arkady fears something sinister has happened to Mr.
Jeffries. Arkady does not yet realize who and what his Uncle Vlad is:
Dracula, who has exerted mental control over him to keep him from seeing
the truth. But Arkady's subconscious, in the form of the ghost of his
younger brother Stefan, is urging him to seek the truth.
It was a warm spring day. Dawn had been clear, but
early afternoon saw iron clouds filling the sky, and the air had the smell and
feel of an approaching storm. Some inexplicable compulsion drove me
towards the edge of the forest where I had last seen Stefan. As I urged
the horses between the trees, a gentle rain began to fall, but the thick foliage
protected us. Even so, we grew wet as the sweeping branches sprinkled us
with dew.
The
animals tossed their heads and whinnied their disapproval of my foolish
decision to re-enter the forest. I told myself that I was not afraid,
though my mouth was suddenly so parched my tongue adhered to the inside of my
cheek, and I held the reins taut in slightly trembling hands. Not afraid,
though I could not keep from peering up at the tops of the tallest trees, to
see whether Jeffries lay swaying there with the wind.
It
was day and it was warm. Wolves did not attack in daytime in warm
weather, nor singly, but in packs, and then usually only on winter nights.
That was the prevailing folk wisdom, yet Stefan had died on a beautiful,
glistening summer's day, killed by a solitary half-wolf. I remembered
Father's revolver, beside me on the seat where I had stowed it for just such an
occasion. I set it on my lap.
There
was no sign of Stefan. I drove the horses forward a bit, slowly,
straining my eyes in the showy dimness for my dead brother's small form.
We retraced the progress I remembered, finally coming to a stop at the
place I decided was the one where the wolves had attacked.
The
horses lifted their hooves and snorted, impatient, nervous. I held very
still, watching the same spot in the shade of an alder tree where I believe
Stefan had last been. Watching, and listening, to a distant rustling in
the trees--most likely of birds and squirrels. A crow cawed, reproachful;
a bird sang.
I
sat watching several minutes, aware of every sound around me, of the muted
patter of rain against trees, of my own breathing. At last, slowly,
slowly, out of the reticulate pattern of light and sepia shadow against trembling
leaves, Stefan emerged.
And
gestured onward, at the deep recesses of the forest.
We
followed, the wheels rolling against the damp, needle-strewn ground with the
snap of breaking twigs.
Once
again, my brother's spectre vanished, only to reappear once I progressed a fair
distance in the direction indicated. We continued a good half hour into
the forest in this manner.
At
last, Stefan appeared but gestured no more; only stared intently at me a time,
as might a living loved one trying to memorise the details of my face upon
parting.
And
then he disappeared.
Confused,
I looked round, and saw nothing but the same alder and pine trees. I
waited some minutes, then slipped the waist of my trousers and crawled out of
the caleche. I tethered the horses to a branch, then commenced
investigating the area. There was nothing remarkable, just the same dense
foliage as before, and dark soil almost entirely covered by a carpet of dead
leaves and pine needles.
But
when I walked over to the large tree where Stefan's ghost had stood, the ground
abruptly sank, soft and spongy, beneath my feet. I pushed away the damp,
vegetal detritus and discovered fresh dug earth, darker and more loosely packed
compared to the surrounding soil.
My
heart began to beat more swiftly. Quickly, I swept more of the dead foliage
aside. As I did, I discovered something hard and white--a fragment of
bone, from an animal, I thought. But before I could examine it, the
horses emitted high-pitched, panicked whinnies.
I
looked up to see a wolf, running swift and low between the trees, headed not
towards the caleche and the captive horses, but toward me.
I
straightened and in a split second entertained the grisly notion that Stefan
had enticed me here to suffer the same fate as my two brothers; I imagined my
bright blood merged with the gentle rain and bejeweling the forest with crimson
dew.
The
wolf lunged. I drew the pistol from beneath my coat and fired. Not
four feet away, the animal emitted a shrill, canine yelp and dropped in
mid-leap, at the highest point of the arc, blooded at the juncture of leg and
shoulder.
Yet
it gathered itself and rose, unsteady, limping on three legs, and came at me.
I was forced to shoot again; this time, the proximity permitted me to
make a clean kill, and lodge a bullet just above and between its stark white
eyes. The creature sank to the forest floor with a whine that terminated
in a death rattle.
I
wanted nothing better than to sag weakly against the nearest tree trunk and
master my trembling--but the ominous recollection of the two dead wolves lying
at the open gate of our family tomb persuaded me to remain with pistol at the
ready.
There
came a crashing of twigs and leaves; the second wolf appeared bare seconds
afterwards. I forced myself to wait until he was near enough for my aim
to be certain, and when at last I prepared to fire, I had to steady my shaking
right arm with my left. The wolf charged and I squeezed the trigger, but
the sparse rain that dripped down through the forest canopy left the weapon
beaded with moisture; it slipped in my grasp as it discharged, sending the
bullet wide of its mark.
In
the fraction of a second it took to realise I had missed my target, I knew all
was lost. The wolf leapt for my throat. Its body collided with
mine, knocking the pistol from my hand. Huge paws struck my shoulders,
slamming them against damp ground. I steeled myself for the pain of those
cruel teeth upon my neck, thinking not of the irony of my fate, nor the
treachery of my brother's ghost, but only of Mary and the child.
The
wolf lowered its face to mine and peered at me with large, colourless, feral
eyes; its panting mouth revealed a long pink tongue and yellowed fangs
glistening with saliva. It snarled, and opened its mouth wide in
preparation for the kill. I felt its breath, hot upon the exposed, tender
skin of my throat, Gasping, I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for death.
And
then the impossible occurred.
I
sensed movement beyond my closed eyes, but it was not accompanied by the pain
of my throat being flayed asunder. The heat on my neck was replaced by
the cool damp of the forest; the pressure of paws against my shoulders
disappeared.
I
opened my eyes and saw that the wolf had withdrawn. He now sat on his
haunches at my feet like an obedient, panting dog, tongue lolling out the side
of his deadly mouth.
I
pushed myself to a half-sitting position. The wolf snarled and snapped,
and moved to charge again--but reluctantly held himself back at the last
instant, as though an invisible, unwanted barrier held him in check.
I
wasted no time questioning the reason for this remarkable phenomenon. I
found the revolver nearby on the ground and moved slowly, stealthily towards it
as the wolf growled his displeasure, but remained otherwise still. At
last, I reached swiftly for the gun and fired point-blank at the creature, who
remained so unresisting that I felt a stab of pity. It died with a soft
whine as its head sank onto its forelegs.
Afterwards,
there was only silence--not even the scurrying of a squirrel, or the singing of
a bird, only the soft, steady drum of rain upon foliage. The third wolf
never appeared. When my trembling eased, I determined with footsteps the
limits of the sinking soil. It was much smaller than I expected, perhaps
only three square feet--far too small for a body. With dark mirth that
verged on hysteria, I began to laugh: perhaps the tales of the moroi were
true. Perhaps my brother had led me to a buried cache of jewels or golden
coins.
Obsessed,
I began to do with nothing more than my hands.
It
was sweaty work. The soil was heavy with moisture and after an hour,
perhaps two, I was soaked, covered with mud, aching. The rain was coming
down hard. I was on the verge of giving up when my chilled fingers
finally struck something soft and yielding beneath the inch of muddy water.
It
felt like a thick layer of fabric. I frantically cleared away enough mud
to determine the dimensions of the hidden prize: it was a square roughly
twelve inches on each side, and when I dug deep enough to get my fingers
beneath it, I could feel that it was apparently a perfectly square box of some
very hard material, either metal or wood, beneath the cloth.
I
knelt on the wet, yielding ground and leaned forward, wriggling first fingers,
then hands, beneath the box. It took several moments before I could get a
good enough grip and enough momentum to pull it from the wet earth, but at last
I gave a mighty yank and it came forth with a loud sucking sound.
I
fell back onto m haunches and studied my treasure: it had been wrapped in
several layers of fine black silk, now soaked and filthy, but too new and in
too good shape to have been more than a day in the earth. Eagerly, I
unwrapped it, and discovered beneath a simple, unvarnished wooden box fashioned
from the native pine, with a crude brass latch.
I
set the box on the ground and unfastened the latch, cutting my thumb on its
sharp, unpolished edge, but in my fearful excitement, I did not care. I
flung back the latch, slipped my fingertips over the top, and attempted to pry
the box open. It took a good deal of effort, as the wood was swollen from
the moisture, but at last it came, and I threw back the top.
And
screamed when I stared into Jeffries' wide, death-clouded eyes.
I
sprang to my feet; the box fell from my hands. Jeffries' head rolled out
across the soggy foliage with a damp crackling sound and came to rest face up
on the very edge of the gaping grave., As it rolled, something fell from
the open mouth, which was frozen in the same anguished rictus it had worn in my
dream. I reached for the white object on the dark glistening ground, and
picked up a head of garlic.
His
neck had been sawed through in the same manner as father's, and his mouth
crammed full of the pungent herb, His skin was whiter than I thought it possible
for any human's to have been; it was precisely the colour of chalk, even paler
than the tufts of tousled hair that stuck out wildly in all directions from his
scalp.
Thunder
rumbled as I stared, aghast, down at the severed head. An abrupt
cloudburst beat down through the sheltering trees, spilling a violent cascade
on me and my unfortunate erstwhile guest, washing mud from my trouser legs and
sleeves. The rain pounded down on Jeffries' open, unseeing eyes, glued
his hair to his scalp, swept away twigs and soil and the solitary alder leaf
that had clung to his marble-white cheek.
For
an instant, I thought I would vomit; but what erupted from the depths of my
terrified being was entirely unexpected,
I
began to laugh.
Low
at first, then rising higher in pitch until the sound became hysterical.
I threw back my head and laughed harder, weeping, letting the rain mingle
with my tears, letting it drum against my open eyes as it did Jeffries'
sightless ones, letting it fill my grinning rictus of a mouth until I bent
forward, gagging, still convulsed by hellish glee.
For
I realized that Stefan had first appeared before Jeffries'
death. Jeffries was merely coincidental, an afterthought.
There
was more treasure to be found.
And
I found it, little brother. Oh, I found it.
I
spread my arms wide, embracing the rain, whirling in circles like a child
seeing how much he could bear before becoming dizzy. I danced, crashing
through the brush, unmindful of wolves, uncaring, pressing my feet into the
loamy, carpeted soil, pausing when it yielded to dig in the mud like a dog
hell-bent on retrieving a bone.
I
found bones, a graveyard full of them--and all of them skulls. Big skulls
and little ones, too. The infants were buried without any amenities,; I
found their heads in a mass grave. Many of the tiny skulls were
irregularly shaped, and hinted at gross deformity. One child had half an
extra head emerging from his cranium, as if he had endeavoured and failed to
give birth to Athena.
I
stopped opening the boxes after the second one--which contained the head of a
man several months' decayed and slippery with moss--though I continued my mad
excavation, collecting the small boxes like so many trophies. But after
some two dozen--in addition to too many infants' skulls to count--I found my
maniacal energy exhausted, though the ground still gave way in several places
immediately surrounding me.
And
how many more graveyards like this lay hidden in the endless forest?
Win a Kindle Fire! The Harlequin Historical Authors Holiday Giveaway is back. In the spirit of an Advent calendar, the authors are giving
away daily prizes and a Grand Prize of a Kindle Fire. Play every day for more
chances to win.
