The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Chapter two.



Cornelius turned and smiled. It was a peaceful, smile, the smile of someone who’s either in the rapture of enlightenment, or just stoned out of his head.

“It’s alright, everything is going to be just fine.” Given that the rope bridge had collapsed, the lava flow was rising at a frightening rate, and the sun was already spreading it’s fingers across the landscape, his statement was not quite convincing.



“Really, I’ve got a good feeling about this, it’s going to work.” I tried to fly across the glowing chasm, but I couldn’t even get close – the magnetic field of the fast flowing magma held me Earth-locked. I don’t recall ever feeling quite so helpless – and then it happened. As Cornelius stood on the rocky outcrop with arms outstretched in supplication, a billion tiny motes of stardust swirled in a vortex about him. Then, he just vanished, winked out of existence as if he was never there. That was the last time I ever saw him.



That was two hundred and eighty four years ago, and ever since then I’ve been the Clan Leader; but as much as the clan respects me, I’m no Cornelius Draconis, and I never will be. He was more than just the Clan Chief – he was our mentor, our guiding light. He was a father to me, and taught me almost everything I know. Sure, I can teach the brood about our myths and history, I can protect them, teach them how to use their powers. I was a damn good Druid even before I met Cornelius, and I’d been one of the Nightkin for about fifty years, so I wasn’t exactly a novice; but he was something else. My Clan Chief had been slaughtered along with most of my clan – there were only three of us left, and we were on the brink of extinction. Cornelius rescued us, adopted us, and built up our strength.



It’s something I’d managed to push to the back of my mind and forget, until last night, and a meeting with an old face that was more than just a chance encounter.



I was stretched out on the parapet of the castle, resting after a “good” feed. An inmate who by rights should really have been a resident of Ridge Lea, but the justice system isn’t perfect. It was so easy to drift through the gates, and enter his cell like an unseen ghost. Of course, he could see me – animals, the gifted, the insane, and some children usually can. Don’t misunderstand me – I’m no ghost – but when I phase shift, I’m not truly in this world – at least not entirely. Maybe after he’s finished screaming, they’ll review his case. Anyway, I digress. I was alone at the top of Lancaster Castle, savouring the delirium of my snack – except I wasn’t alone.



“Still getting high on the blood of the insane? I do believe you are developing a “habit”.

“Hello Sheridan, what brings you up here?” I replied - cool as you like, and without batting an eyelid. “You know the blood of madmen gives us visions. That’s how I knew you were coming tonight. I just didn’t get enough to see why”

“Have I piqued your curiosity little Piglet?” I know this game. He knows that name irritates me. In the old tongue, my surname means “Son of the Sow”, a great honour to be named after one of our most sacred totems. Sheridan taunts me with his “Piglet” jibe whenever he has something I want, so by using it, he is hinting that he knows something of importance to me. But of course, he knows I know that, so he’s probably just dangling that bait, because he wants something from me. When you live too long, you know the ways of the devious too well. He knows that I know that he knows, so he wouldn’t waste time coming to me unless he really did have something worth offering. In truth, I’m not sure if anything he has traded me has ever been worth the trouble.



“Actually, Piglet, I shouldn’t criticise your little foibles – I myself have been indulging in one of my own private passions again.”

“You mean, you’ve been meddling in the affairs of Man again? Didn’t you learn from the Dashwood incident?” At the mention of this, Sheridan flinched and fingered the pale scar around his throat. “I admit, I was too closely involved there – I’ve been much more careful since then.”

“So what is it this time – a Templar sect in the Midlands? Illuminati in Whitehall? One of our kind in the Royal Family?” it was my turn to taunt him – Sheridan has been obsessed with conspiracy theories and secret societies for the past three hundred years – at least. To my surprise, he didn’t scowl, or smirk, but with a deadpan face said one word – one name that was ice cold daggers to my spine.

“Remus”

“Remus is dead – been dead for over two thousand years.” I replied curtly. “if he ever really existed at all, that is.”

“He existed alright, and he still lives.”



“Who the smeg is Remus?” asked Jules, back at the crypt. Yes, we were back in the crypt again. For a year or two we’d been squatting in an abandoned hotel, and before that, we’d settled under the stage at the Winter Gardens, but work had begun on renovating the old theatre, and now the hotel was scheduled for demolition. We don’t particularly like living in a crypt, but it’s relatively safe from prying eyes.



“Come to that, who’s Sheridan?” Jules added. She’s still our Renny, and hasn’t been introduced to any Nightkin from outside our clan yet. Those who had met Sheridan themselves were anxious to find out what he was up to – those who had only heard of him were keen to hear more.

“You’ve never heard of the legendary Remus?” laughed Alex.

“Legendary? Mythical more like – he was a Myth two thousand years ago!”

“Nay, they say he was real – one of the first of our kind.”

“Sheridan has been trying to track him down for centuries.”

“Sheridan’s a Stoke-head!”

“Yeah, he’s bitten too many poets.”



I let them chatter amongst themselves before starting the history lesson.

“I don’t know the whole truth myself – only what Cornelius told me, and what Sheridan claims to have unearthed over the past couple of centuries – and that’s all hearsay and legend.



According to Roman mythology, Rome was founded by two brothers - Romulus and Remus, who had been abandoned as children and raised by a she-wolf. According to our myths, they were Nightkin – high ranking members of a wolf worshipping cult. Their clan leader was a Trueblood – one of the Lost Gods, and it is said that their clan were the progenitors of the Werewolves. Lupus – they say that was the name of their God – had a wish to create a city of culture and art that would rival that of any of the Egyptians or Greeks, so sent his two best men out to do it. So Rome was built, and a bunch of farmers became an Empire.”



“Somewhere along the line, Lupus vanished – some say he was destroyed. Then, according to the myth, Romulus and Remus quarrelled over who should take over the clan. There are lots of different tales of what happened next, but the gist of it is, Romulus and Remus dropped out of sight, and the clan scattered across Europe.”



“Some say that Remus murdered Lupus and Romulus, that he was power mad, and wanted to be a God. He betrayed his own kind and betrayed his God. He’s the arch-villain and most reviled enemy of us all.”



“Most of us assume that he either died long ago – or never truly existed anyway, and is just a myth – a story to frighten children. But there are one or two who believe that he simply went into hiding to protect himself, and ruled the Roman Empire from behind some secret society. That’s Sheridan’s obsession.”



“Not wanting to sound cynical,” Byron interjected, “but why does Sheridan come to us with this? What part are we to play in his little mind games?”

“Good question. He says he needs as many clans as possible to be part of his “underground resistance”. Gathering information, recruiting the right people in the right places, preparing.”

“Preparing for what?” asked Clooty.

“Preparing to be set up as bait!” snorted Alex.

“You’re undoubtedly correct.” I said, “but I’ve agreed to play along anyway.”

“WHAT!”

“Hear me out. For all his deviousness, Sheridan is a resourceful beast, and he always falls on his feet. He’s got backing, and he’s setting us up with a nice little cover.”

“Oh?” butted in Jules. She really does catch on fast, she has that knowing look in her eyes.

“Yes, we may as well start packing, we’re moving out of this pit – we’ve got our own nightclub!”