Mistwalker

Chapter One

Blood spattered the stone arches beneath St. Augustine Chapel.

The mess stopped Juliun cold. His gaze flicked to the pool of blood on the floor, footprints of it in the compacted earth. He eyed the bloodied handprints on the grey bricks with the certainty he’d arrived too late to save his friend. He ran so fast down the tunnels t
hat he blurred. Further into the passageway, tangled human and vampire skeletons were carelessly tossed against the walls.

An encounter with a goblin at the nightclub,
The Python,
led Juliun here. Now he didn’t know what to expect, looking at so many broken bones as pale as snow. But he’d never seen snow. At least, not in daylight. All he possessed were pictures, photographs, movies and dreams.

His senses expanded, and
he picked up the bitter, rotting scent of a dying vampire. He swept through numerous red puddles, deep into the bowels beneath the chapel. He found a door, locked and barred. The wood evaporated into mist, but so did he.

Juliun reappeared inside the tunnel in a black cloud and stalked into the cavern.

A pale, thin body lay curled up in the corner of a cage against the far wall.

“Lars, I have come for you. Open your eyes,” Juliun said, crouching low so Lars could look at him. “Quickly, we must leave here.”

Silence.

Then a command,
“Lars, open your eyes. Look at me. Talk to me. Tell me you are living.”

Lars’ eyelashes flickered, and he whispered through cracked lips, “Prince Juliun?” He moaned, and a wide length of heavy chain jangled to the floor between his bound and whittled ankles.
“Blood. Too long.” It was the last sigh of the damned.

“Yes.” Tiny dots of fire danced down Juliun’s spine, but he banked the anger. They both instantly disappeared, and then took form at the Gothic Festival.

Juliun looked around.
Perfect.

***

It should have been easy to locate a loud blonde in a black corpse bride’s veil.

Simone’s skin chilled with sweat, and she shivered. P
eople spilled from the closing nightclubs onto the orange-lit streets. The clinking of chains and boots rattled over the din of the crowd. She held her breath against clouds of stale smoke and walked back through the partygoers toward the nightclub’s entrance.

Whitby’s Gothic Festival had been a fantastic lark so far with Tammy and her crazy ways. Dancing and drinking the night away, the assortment of costumes and faces never-ending. But her friend had disappeared. Gone out for a breath of air, supposedly, and Simone couldn’t find her.

What if she’d gone for good?

Simone shook her head, unwilling to let that dark thought take root inside her mind. Sweat beaded her brow, and she stepped up the dew-slicked stoop,
then cupped her mouth in a mock loudspeaker.

“Tammy, where are you?”

The bouncer twisted, then leered at her cleavage rounding the top of her tight corset. “You called, love?”

“No.” She sighed and pulled up her velvet sleeve. 12.30 AM.

Thirty minutes until she had to meet Marcus Dooley at
The Black Dog
. She tapped her heels, the distant tune of Rocky Horror Picture Show’s
‘Time Warp’
keeping pace with her anxious heart. She didn’t think she’d finally return home, except in the small hours of dawn when she’d jack-knife awake from
that
nightmare. Her heart pounding; body sweat-slicked beneath the blankets. Wondering…why the darkness was so overwhelming and sleep always eluded her.

A hand grabbed hers from the mass of bodies. “Hey, stop,” Simone growled and stood firm, then pulled back.

“Simone, wait—” Tammy laughed and jostled out with her fair hair and black veil. Her heavily kohl-lined eyes emphasized the intensity of her baby-blues. “It’s only me, but I feel lucky I made it out alive.”

Simone sighed.
Clever girl. Not all of us do.
She tucked her right hand in the curve of Tammy’s lace-clad elbow, and then Simone lifted the skirt of her Lady Bathory costume and descended the stoop to join her friend. “Are you all right? Where’d you disappear to?”

“Outside,” Tammy said, nonchalantly. “Checking out some guys, hoping to score, but I got stuck beneath a horde of vampire cloaks. I’m too short, and this town is
lousy with weirdos in capes.”

Simone grimaced. “Whitby isn’t…well, it doesn’t matter now. I have to hurry to meet this guy before the pub shuts.”

Tammy flicked her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder—a well-practiced move that showed off her gorgeous profile, and tonight the black veil didn’t hamper the effect. Her shoulders slumped a little. “Why’s he making you do it on New Year’s Eve? I wanted to go out and have a little fun.”

“Bad luck, I guess. It doesn’t matter. You go. I just wanted to let you know where I was going. Make sure you were all right.”

Tammy stopped and rifled through her plastic skull clutch. White receipts fluttered to the ground and at once were trampled on by the mob. “
Who
do I have to do around here to get a smoke? It’s going to be murder getting a cab. I didn’t even get a date,” Tammy muttered, making it sound like a moral failing. “Not a measly stinkin’ phone number. Brilliant night, though. How come you never told me this sort of thing went on around here? I would’ve come sooner.”

“I wanted...” Simone trailed off and shook her head.

A tight band of pain pulsed around her heart at the unbidden memory of her mother’s dead green eyes staring up at the night sky. Her wonderful soft skin, so cold and pale. Blue lips. Long red hair soaking wet, and stuck to the ground in spidery tendrils of red and rain so similar to her blood leaking between the cobblestones. That total vulnerability of death.

She lifted her teary gaze to the crescent moon; a milky white
gleam behind the abbey. No hounds bayed upon the sea cliff, but the towers were jagged and ancient. Dark and ungodly.

The old tales warned of the undead who roamed the streets at night, but she’d never indulged in such fanciful thoughts. There were enough living predators in this town for her to worry about.

“I never thought I would be back here again,” she finished.

The street lamps buzzed before the ever-present fog swallowed the glow. She rubbed her arms, but nothing stopped the cold and familiar breeze which intertwined the smell of her childhood and pain.

“Let’s catch a cab together. We’ll make it to the fireworks afterwards,’ Tammy said. “It’s better if we go together.”

Simone groaned.
“
Yeah.
Good luck with that, hon. Check out the line-up.”

A queue of disorderly people snaked down the pavement along the main road leading to the T junction. The line disappeared around a shop corner veiled in darkness. Drunks sat on the curb, gagging the contents of their stomachs into the gutter. Yellow taxis rolled to the head of the line where a traffic warden waved a light stick better than a marching girl.

Simone ran a hand through her windswept hair. No other taxis trolled the area; they were all lined up at the rank. She
had
considered the possibility of no transport. Whitby was a small town, and the Gothic Festival attracted thousands each year. Only taxis were permitted to drive, and even then, they still had trouble navigating the narrow streets. She’d hoped by leaving the club earlier, it would be easier to get a ride.