If Morning Never Comes - Episode Thirteen

In Which: Charles Learns About Vampires

Welcome back to “If Morning Never Comes,” a serial adventure of gothic peril from

Gaius Warner

and

The Graveyard Orbit

proudly published by

Pulp, Pipe, & Poetry

.

If this is your first time with this serial story of adventure and peril, start at the beginning! - Episode One | In Which: We Meet the Ashley Family

If you got lost, visit the Table of Contents! - If Morning Never Comes

---

---

Later, Charles sat at the table in the library, a blanket draped around his shoulders. He struggled to swallow a cup of hot, bitter coffee. Herr Stryker sat opposite, chair angled towards the door. The old man’s hat was won the table, his bald pate exposed, but the short rifle was resting at the ready.

Neither spoke. The German had promised him an explanation, so Charles waited. But Stryker was lost in thought, and he was losing his patience.

“You hunt vampires,” Charles offered as a beginning.

Stryker’s eyes were unfocused as he stared into the firelight. He nodded.

Again, Charles’ patience ran thin quickly. He spoke again.

“Are you good at it?”

Stryker closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Charles saw he would be in no mood for levity. One more time, he ventured a question.

“Can you at least –”

“So many questions, Charles,” Stryker interrupted. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Charles let a beat pass, “Can you blame me?”

Stryker smiled, or maybe it was a trick of the light.

“What are they like?” asked Charles.

Stryker thought and answered, “Fast.”

Charles cocked his head. He swallowed his coffee.

“Fast?”

“Impossibly fast.”

Charles wasn’t sure what to say.

“I must say that’s not the answer I expected.”

Stryker chuckled and shook himself back to the present. He turned to Charles.

“No, I wouldn’t suppose so. But it’s true. They are fast. Deadly and fast.”

“Do they not just vanish and reappear?” Charles thought he had heard that legend before.

Stryker shook his head. “No, but it can seem that way. They wait to strike until they know they cannot fail, so it seems like magic.”

“Are they not magic, then?” asked Charles.

“No,” said Stryker quickly. “No, if we are to fight them, we must not allow ourselves to think that way. They are fast and strong and cunning, but they can be outmaneuvered, and they can be beaten.”

“We?” asked Charles.

“My comrades and I,” said Stryker.

“Oh,” said Charles. “But they do drink blood?”

“Oh yes,” said Stryker. “They must.”

“Why?” asked Charles.

“Because...well, I can’t explain that unless – You know, boy, if you could have waited another ten seconds, I would have started from the beginning and saved us some trouble.”

“You’re the one who chose to begin with ‘Vampires are fast.’”

Stryker waved his crooked hands, “Let me start from the beginning.”

Charles took a drink of the bitter coffee and leaned closer. Herr Stryker took a breath.

“A vampire is a man who comes to the end of his life and trades his soul in order to keep on living.”

“Trades with whom?” asked Charles.

“The devil, of course,” said Stryker, exasperated. “Listen now. The devil gives them the chance to return to the earth, rising from their graves to live again.”

“You can do that?” asked Charles.

“Yes,” said Stryker. “At least some do. But you must not let yourself envy them, Charles. It is a false resurrection. Only God can grant life. A vampire must maintain his reanimation by drinking the blood of living victims.”

Charles shuddered, thinking of how Amelia had kissed his throat earlier that night. Stryker nodded, as if reading his thoughts.

“To that end, the vampire is empowered with a prodigious ability to attract victims. Especially of the opposite sex. To those of weak spirit, they can be irresistible. As you found out.”

Charles wanted to be offended at the implication that he was weak-spirited, but there was no objection he could make. “What would have happened to me?”

“One of two things,” said Stryker. “A vampire needs only to feed on the blood of his victims. It is often simpler for them to rip apart the body and feed that way.” Charles thought of the sheep in the workshop. “However, in special circumstances, a vampire will choose a bride.”

“A bride?” echoed Charles.

“A groom in your case,” said Stryker, caught up in the lecture and not paying much attention to Charles’ reactions. “A vampire may drain the blood of its victim without causing immediate death. This has the effect of transforming the unhappy soul into another walking corpse, with the same powers and compulsions of the first.”

“I would have turned into a vampire as well?” asked Charles.

“Yes, but your powers would have been dependent upon her, and your life tied to hers.”

“I would have died if she did?”

“If she had bitten you. But she did not. And you would have to be bitten many times in order to come to that place. She would have to drain your blood entirely.”

They sat in silence while Charles took this in. He asked another question.

“So it’s they that have been killing the sheep?”

Stryker stroked and straightened his mustache, “Almost certainly. But it is strange.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never seen a vampire feed on beasts when there are this many people to be had.”

“Have you ever seen them feed on animals?”

“I tracked one through the mountains by following a trail of deer carcasses he’d ravaged.”

Charles filed that story away to be heard later. Clearly there was much more to Georg Stryker than even his family had dreamed up. He laughed and pulled the blanket closer. “I can’t believe Charity was right.”

Stryker hummed, not quite a laugh, “Yes, she’s an insightful little thing. Even if she doesn’t realize it.”

“Don’t call her insightful to her face, Herr Stryker, you’ll break her heart.”

The wind on the moor whistled. Stryker went and built up the fire. It was hours yet until dawn.

Charles was eager to continue, “So Amelia and Edgar Raines really are vampires, then?”

Stryker came back, holding up a finger. “One of them is. It is very possible that the other is a bride, only.”

Charles wrinkled his nose, “A sister bride?”

“That is one possibility, yes.”

“One possibility? I don’t understand.”

“Miss Raines could be the true vampire.”

Despite the events of that night, Charles felt his heart break at that. “No,” he said, “it’s Edgar.”

Stryker rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger and sighed, “How could you possibly know that, Charles?”

“Because she – Stryker!” Suddenly, Charles remembered. “Stryker, she told me!”

“She told you what?”

“Tonight. And before. She told me – she told me I could save her. That she wanted to run away and leave him behind!”

Stryker was stern, “Charles, I strongly advise you not to put your faith in the words of a vampire.”

“But if she’s the bride,” said Charles, excited now, “If she’s the bride, then we can save her!”

“Charles...”

“Can’t we? Is there something we could do?”

“It’s not that simple, Charles.”

“But there is something?”

“Charles, the first chance I get, I’m going to drive a stake into the heart of them both and burn their bodies to cinders.”

The cold sobriety of that statement hit Charles like a bullet. For a moment, this had been a fun conversation – abstract and fantastic. But now he was discussing the death of the woman he loved and her brother.

“What did you do to her tonight?” he asked.

Stryker did not waver, “I shot her twice and ran her through.”

Charles sunk into his chair. “She’s dead after all, then?”

“Oh no,” said Stryker. “She fled. Doubtless she made it home rather quickly. That is why we are barricaded here until morning.”

“How could she survive that?”

“Vampires cannot be killed easily. They are able to recover from any wound that does not pierce their heart directly or sever their head. Fire is also deadly to them. They burn even in the sun.”

“So she’ll be alright then?”

“Heh!” Stryker spat, displeased at his concern, “Unfortunately. Although two direct hits from scattershot and a sword through the chest is not exactly a holiday. You won’t be seeing her for a long time.”

“You stabbed her through the chest?”

“But not her heart,” said Stryker.

Charles sat quietly, his coffee cold. He thought about all that Stryker had said. Clearly there was much more to know and understand. He thought about Amelia. She had tried to kill him. Yet she had not butchered him, so was it possible that she really loved him even so? He thought of her, enslaved to her brother – although now he realized it was unlikely he was her real brother – and now trapped in agonizing pain until her body could heal itself. And he thought of his family. His mother and sisters. They were enamored with Mr. Raines. He had to stop him. He had to save them all.

“Alright then,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Stryker’s blue eyes were inquisitive, “Do what?”

“I’m going to help you,” said Charles.

“You will do no such thing.”

“Why ever not? You need help.”

“No, I do not. And even if I did, I hardly think you are the most qualified.”

“What, because I’m too young?”

“Because you’re too weak.”

“You can train me.”

“Not physically, boy. Your spirit is weak. If I had not been here tonight, you would have been seduced to your own damnation.”

Charles stood up. “Then teach me, Stryker. Teach me to be stronger.”

Stryker waved a hand, “I cannot teach you that.”

“Yes you can.”

“No.”

“Please, Stryker!”

“No.”

Charles stood, staring down at the old German. The man’s eyes were on the window now, dismissing his young companion. Charles felt the familiar anger rise in his heart. He was being excluded again. But he forced it down. Not this time. He stepped into Stryker’s line of sight.

“You already told me everything.”

Stryker’s rocky countenance slipped a bit. Charles saw his mustache turn down at the ends.

“I know all your secrets.”

Georg Stryker scoffed, “Hardly,” then let his head fall into his palm. He muttered in German to the floor. Charles felt a smile sneak onto his face.

“Well. Either way. You might as well let me help you.”

Stryker took a long breath, his shoulders rising. Then he let it out quickly. His head whipped up, looking at Charles with annoyance and amusement. He stood, a little shorter than the younger man. He nodded several times.

“Alright then, Mr. Ashley.”

Charles’ eyes widened.

Stryker took his three-cornered hat off the table and placed it back on his head.

“I will allow you to assist me.”

Charles felt his heart leap within him.

“But!” pronounced Stryker, a finger raised. “You must understand something, Charles Ashley.” His face was deadly serious. “From now on, you are not my neighbor or my friend. You are a peasant and I am your king. I am your master, your shepherd, your commanding officer. This business is the work of God and it is too serious to risk your disobedience. Is that understood?”

Charles saluted, “Yes sir.” He could not suppress a grin. Stryker did not smile.

“When I tell you to work, you work. When I tell you to listen, you listen. If there are long nights, menial tasks or confusing instructions, I expect you to comply.”

“I’ll do it, Stryker. Yes sir.”

Stryker stepped closer, his mustache almost tickling Charles’ face he was so near.

“And Charles,” he growled, “I need your solemn oath that you will not allow your infatuation for Amelia Raines to interfere with our work.”

Charles hesitated. But Stryker insisted.

“She is a creature of Hell, not a damsel in distress. At this very moment, she has likely crawled into a tomb or a coffin under the earth to undergo her vile regeneration. I need to know that you understand this. Do you?”

Charles’ blood chilled at the gruesome image. But despite Stryker’s words, there was a small part of his heart that refused to let go of the way she had felt in his arms. He needed to feel that again. But now was not the time for such thoughts. He locked that sentiment behind a door in his heart and answered the old man.

“Yes, Herr Stryker.”

Stryker’s voice dropped low, “Charles, I will not hesitate to command you to kill her.”

Charles’s eyes flickered down for a moment, but he set his jaw and nodded. “Understood.”

“And Charles,” said Stryker, with sad determination in his voice. “You must know that I am not afraid to send you to your death in the service of this crusade.”

A silent moment hung between the two men. Old and young, German and English, blue eyes and brown. Charles nodded his head and Herr Stryker extended his hand. The two shook and Stryker placed his hand on Charles’ forehead. He spoke in what seemed to be a prayer, yet it was no tongue Charles had ever heard. In the dark firelight, the winds of the moor howling outside, he felt as though he had entered a new world, with new rules.

Stryker removed his hand and met Charles’ eyes again.

“No fear,” he said.

“No fear,” Charles echoed.

As the moment ended, Charles began to feel awkward. Eventually Stryker returned to his seat and took up his weapon again. Charles sat down at his place. He didn’t know what to do.

“What now, Herr Stryker?”

Stryker checked the clock on the wall and said, “Now you should sleep my boy. Sleep while you can.”

Charles returned to his place before the fire. He was too keyed up to even consider returning to his room. As he lay there, the warm crackle keeping him warm, he asked a final question.

“Herr Stryker?”

“Hmm?”

“Why does the garlic keep them away?”

Stryker laughed high in his throat. “I don’t know, boy. And you’d best grow accustomed to hearing that answer.”

---