He went up to her, lifting her face for Davius to see. Her eyes remained cast downwards, dully staring at the floor. “She is a revenant, a creature unable to have an intelligent thought on their own, though she is immortal, just the same as you or I. Her kind is created when one tries to turn a human after death has already occurred. Her soul has completely moved on, but her corpse still remains, animated by my blood.”
“A daemon attempted to take her soul,” Davius remembered. “I interrupted it.”
“I fed upon her initially, but was interrupted and she managed to escape,” Lucius explained. “The daemon sensed she was between worlds and went to collect her soul, which you interrupted. I went for her after, curious to see what would happen to a human drained without my blood as replacement. Would she still turn? Would she heal? I had to know. I stole her body before the pyre and drizzled my blood into her mouth until her limbs moved once again. Yet since her soul was already gone, a revenant, she became.”
Davius was initially shocked by his admission, then struck with confusion over his apathy, realizing his countenance was cold and emotionless, a far cry from who he was. “I no longer feel pity for her, Lucius. I do not care that she is weak, nor that she died at your hands. I feel … nothing.”
Lucius laughed. “You are an immortal now, Davius! You need not be bothered by such trivial things such as human emotion. Some feelings will linger, but pity is one far too primitive for you to hold on to.”
“Will she live forever with us?” he asked.
“Ah!” Lucius clasped his hands together. “Here is lesson, the first. As I told you before, the witch who brought me into the earthly realm was not as proficient as I had hoped. We are bound by earthly laws, which include ways to reach an untimely demise. Without violence, we will live forever. However, there are two things that will bring about our end. The first is the sun. We are forever nocturnal. Our skin cannot bear sunlight and too much time spent under its rays will incinerate us into non-existence. Man-made fire will turn our bodies into charred remains, but we will not fully die. Although I can will the power of fire with my hands, there may one day come a time where I am caught unaware, and I shudder to think of a scenario I cannot control. So, fire we shall always evade. The second is silver.”
From his robes, he produced a stiletto knife, its handle bearing a single obsidian stone. Without warning, he thrust it into Moira’s breastplate with a sharp crack, piercing her heart with the blade. She gasped, eyes wide as she tried to remove the implanted dagger, only to dissolve into a cloud of black dust. The ashes fell to the floor, the dagger landing with a sharp clank. Moira was no more.
Lucius retrieved the knife from the ground, shaking it free of the residual fragments. “Beware of silver, Davius. I do not know why it kills us, perhaps because of some ancient sorcerers with daft notions of good. Regardless, it is to be avoided and the truth of its power kept a secret at all costs.” He slid the knife back into its sheath.
“So, we can die at the hands of humans,” Davius remarked.
“She was no more than a walking corpse with a few drops of immortal blood. She died by a simple knife, but for you and I, it will not be so easy. We equally share my powerful blood, and it will take an entire day in the sun or the purest silver to bring us to our end. Even then, godly death has yet to be seen.” He smiled with an air of impudence.
Davius nodded, letting the knowledge sink in as he fell into one of Lucius’s upholstered couches. He wasn’t tired, but his legs were still enervated by shock.
Lucius approached him, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You feel beleaguered by all this, I understand. Some human thoughts and feelings will linger until you have fully grown into your new existence. You are like a newborn—everything is fresh and titillating, but overwhelming just the same. You may rest now if you would like, and we can finish our lessons later.”
“No.” Davius rose to his feet. “I must avenge Gaia.”
Lucius sighed, visibly disappointed. “And the frivolous feeling of love still remains.” He came up to face him, tenderly taking his hand in his own, his eyes pleading. “I appreciate your lust for revenge, my dear brother, but it is not the time. There is still much more to learn before you can attempt such a feat. Most importantly, you have to feed.”
Hunger pangs let themselves be vociferously known in Davius’s stomach. “Yes, I should feed. Please.”
Lucius smiled. “Follow me.” LONDON, 1857
The night sky had cracked open, revealing an angry orange at its horizon, spilling the vibrant hue onto the clouds as the sun threatened its ascent. The air through the open window of the carriage was crisp but heavy with moisture, and although the brilliant swirl of color teased daybreak, David knew rain would soon interrupt its plans. Nevertheless, he retrieved a pair of tinted eyeglasses from his breast pocket, tucking the frames neatly behind his ears. The immediate reprieve from brightness was soothing to his tired eyes.
The initial thrill of the carriage ride had subsided for his companion, her long frame now stretched back into the seat as she sporadically emitted tiny yawns. She tried her best to hide her building lassitude, encouraging him to continue his story with strategically placed sounds of astonishment and genuine gasps of awe.
He had paused moments earlier, aware that they would soon be approaching his place of residence. “You will see it right over the hill,” he explained.
For most of his life, he had wandered, briefly inhabiting hotels or renting townhomes in whatever city he found himself. Yet London had charmed him immediately, its perpetual choking fog and congested populace allowing him the undisturbed seclusion he so desired. Housing had also greatly improved with the turn of the century, and David found himself enamored by the spacious manors that affluent mortals erected for themselves. How many rooms and stories a man could fit into one household was a mark of stature, the grotesque expense of the undertaking, a reflection of his greatness. Many remained within the city borders, satisfied with elegant townhomes, but a select few cherished not only the capaciousness of a residence, but the accumulation of land. These folks ventured out into the English countryside in an action reminiscent of the Ancient Romans, snatching up vast amounts of acreage before there would be no more land left to purchase. Intrigued, David had followed suit, and soon discovered what would be his manor, the Estate of Lardone.
The impressive building appeared in the distance, nestled away by acres of countryside. The articulated iron fence that surrounded it kept it strategically obscured from potential onlookers, its twin spiraling towers the only parts visible from the road. He had chosen his home first for its beauty, a gargantuan edifice hidden by hills, stretching three stories high and two wings in length. But the discovery of its history is what kept his interest.
“It was once a church used by the wealthy,” he explained to his inquisitive companion, “the exact year of construction unknown. It served as a welcome departure from the harsh city streets, aristocrats traveling for miles to worship in a place surrounded by lush landscape and warm sunshine. It remained in operation for quite some time until the advent of the railroads breathed new life into the city and officials began to renovate the districts of the West End, adding fancy hotels and attractive taverns. With the newly revamped lodgings came the desire for local places to worship, and soon a new chapel was erected nearby, replacing several dilapidated buildings that were eagerly torn down. The patronage of the countryside church dwindled steadily until it was forced one day to close its doors forever. It was then purchased by Charles Lardone, a wealthy steel tycoon who had moved to London with his family during the peak of railroad construction. They transformed the simple church into a magnificent estate, adding wings with spiraling towers filled with rooms, gardens, and a carriage house. They left the windows of colored glass and the tall cathedral rooftops intact during construction, which only served to add to its grandiosity. When the manor was finished, it was truly a sight to behold.
“The wretched Lardone Family, however, only lasted a few months in their new home before petty rivalries between the brothers destroyed the entire family in one act of vicious bloodshed. It remained abandoned for years before I found it, most Londoners far too superstitious to purchase it for themselves. As you might guess, I don’t suffer from these trepidations.”
“I didn’t expect you would,” his companion smiled, her lips gliding over teeth remarkably well-preserved for her class and condition.
As they drew closer, she pushed her head out of the small carriage window. “Bloody hell,” she exclaimed. “It’s even more beautiful than you described.”
David smiled.
Jacob slowed the horses to a complete stop as they reached the towering gates, then carefully maneuvered himself down from the driver's seat. David heard the jingle of his keys as he turned them in the massive lock, and his grunt as he heaved open the iron gate doors. Within moments, they were moving forward again, and he tried to envision what his companion saw from her clear vantage point; stone ashen with time, coils of ivy crawling up towards the skies as if begging for divine redemption. The Greek revival inspired buttresses with carved pinnacles, the meticulously tiled roofs, the elaborate glazed windows on the upper side walls. He was particularly fond of the use of tracery around the building, the elaborate geometric shapes and patterns allowing the revamped cathedral to safely boast architectural splendor.
He wondered if she had been able to tear her eyes away from the manor itself to notice the graveyard laid obliquely to the house, the final resting place of the tragic family. Dilapidated stones jutted out from the earth in an awkward pattern, forever inferior to their neighbor, a giant marble crypt boasting the name, Lardone. The graveyard was his most cherished attribute, an open sanctum he used frequently to pass the hours.
“You may want to tuck your head in, miss, the skies look like rain,” Jacob’s voice came from above. As if on cue, thunder rolled in the distance.
She pulled her head back into the carriage, breathless, eyes widened by amazement. The carriage halted with a sharp jolt and the horses whinnied in response. Jacob wrenched open the carriage doors as another crackle of thunder shook the ground. “Best hurry, sir, the rain is starting,” he suggested.
No sooner had he spoken did the heavens part, letting down a torrent of frigid water. She let out a startled cry, hurrying towards the great front doors that were hastily opened for her.
When they were safely inside, Jacob gathered their effects from them, water droplets falling to the marble floors as he tenderly hung each coat upon the rack situated near the wall. He then swiftened his movement, igniting the numerous sconces along the walls to deliver them from the dark.
In the meantime, his companion stared about in silent wonder, absorbing the great house with innocent marvel as it came to life under the lamplight.
David wondered what it would be like to see the inside of his home through the eyes of another, taking in the dual staircases that climbed up each side of the massive foyer, the chandeliers that were once magnificent but were now tarnished and caked with cobwebs, the somber curtains that choked any light from the rooms, save for the dozens of stained-glass windows hovering near the ceiling. Left completely intact, the glorious masterpieces depicted Christ’s agonizing journey to the cross, the overtly religious tone ironic when considering the Lardone Family and their sinful affairs. David enjoyed the aesthetic beauty they provided, allowing just enough filtered sunlight for the rich hues to sparkle across the halls without causing his eyes to strain.
“You chose a home that was once a church, just like Lucius did,” his companion interrupted his thoughts, following his eyes to the macabre depictions of a half-clad man bearing his great affliction.
David blinked, realizing the connection for the first time. “You're right. I suppose I am still entranced by religious art.”
“It’s difficult not to be,” she offered dreamily as she began to ascend the stairs, her wide eyes continuing to drink in the splendor around her.
“Jacob, if you would, please fetch some provisions for our guest before you retire,” David murmured to his manservant before following her up the stairwell
The old man nodded, politely tipping his hat as he disappeared into the labyrinth of halls. If he was surprised that David had brought a guest into his home after so many years of solitude, he didn’t betray it in the slightest.
