Man

at

War

Evelyn Chartres

(Nom de Plume)

Copyright 2026

Ottawa, Ontario

ABOUT

For centuries, Marc DesPlaines was a shadow among the living. A vampire stripped of emotion and forged in the fires of endless conflict. Notably, he dutifully served as guardian to his spirited charge, Evelyn.

Man at War thrusts Marc into the mud and madness of the Great War along the Western Front. There he commands forces to counter the rising, supernatural threats born from a war waged on an industrial scale. Amid ghouls, werewolves, and vampires, Marc battles the void within while Evelyn does her part on the home front. As unseen threats converge, shall duty prevail, or will chaos consume even the immortal?

Set against the grim tapestry of World War I, this dark, historical fantasy immerses readers in a supernatural saga of strategy, survival, and the cost of eternity. Before turning the page, remember: In the fog of war, even hunters may become prey.

While a sequel to Man of War, this work stands on its own. Man at War welcomes new readers to a narrative that can be enjoyed independently or in conjunction with the preceding novel.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FRONT PAGE

ABOUT MAN AT WAR

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

NOTE ON BACKGROUND CHARACTERS

MAN AT WAR

CHAPTER 1 - THE WESTERN FRONT

CHAPTER 2 - IN THE TRENCHES

CHAPTER 3 - NESTLED IN THE ROCKIES

CHAPTER 4 - THE LETTER

CHAPTER 5 - ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

CHAPTER 6 - CONTACT

CHAPTER 7 - MONTCALM’S SHADOW

CHAPTER 8 - LOOSE LIPS

CHAPTER 9 - VANTAGE POINT

CHAPTER 10 - BLUTSAUGER UND WERWÖLFE

CHAPTER 11 - FIRE AND MILK

CHAPTER 12 - ON THE SUBJECT OF APEX PREDATORS

CHAPTER 13 - DEBRIEF

CHAPTER 14 - HUNTERS AND SAPPERS

CHAPTER 15 - DOUBLE TAKE

CHAPTER 16 - BLOOD AND SUTURES

CHAPTER 17 - ACORN AND STARLIGHT

CHAPTER 18 - CARRIED BY SIX

CHAPTER 19 - WAR MEASURES

CHAPTER 20 - BEYOND THE VEIL

CHAPTER 21 - VOLUNTEERS

CHAPTER 22 - RANK AND FILE

CHAPTER 23 - ON THE PRECIPICE

CHAPTER 24 - AMBUSH

CHAPTER 25 - GOING TO GROUND

CHAPTER 26 - VAN HELSING’S SHADOW

CHAPTER 27 - IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW

CHAPTER 28 - DIVERGENT PATHS

CHAPTER 29 - COLLAPSE

CHAPTER 30 - THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR

CHAPTER 31 - SUNDAY TOAST

CHAPTER 32 - HOMECOMING

EPILOGUE - THE WATCHMAKER

BIOGRAPHY OF BACKGROUND CHARACTERS

ABOUT EVELYN CHARTRES

ALSO FROM EVELYN CHARTRES

LICENCE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to thank those who helped make this novel a reality.

Amy Queau, who accepted the challenge of making a cover for Man of War. The result turned out even better than I hoped!

Thank you, Mark Schultz, for the edits and review. While nothing is perfect, I’m certain that the biggest offenders were purged.

Lastly, I wish to thank those brave souls who read my work in its early stages. You are my shining star in the night, proof that I’m not navigating these waters alone.

Evelyn Chartres (Nom de Plume)

theportraitofawoman@gmail.com

http://evelynchartres.com

NOTE ON BACKGROUND CHARACTERS

Man at War is part of an interconnected universe. While some stories stand alone, recurring characters and places sometimes come up as a way to tap into the rich, cohesive tapestry of the series. This section lists characters who shaped the narrative through their influence on the main cast but do not take an active part in the story.

These biographies provide valuable backstory for new readers and serve as a refresher for those familiar with the series.

A copy is available online. Either click on or scan the QR Code, or type in the link below:

http://bit.ly/4fz0Ij6

MAN AT WAR

CHAPTER 1

THE WESTERN FRONT

The temperature plummeted after the last rays of sunlight surrendered to the night. Humidity began to cling to their uniforms and weapons. It was only a matter of time before they ended up shivering once their jackets and kilts were soaked through.

Sergeant Murphy poked into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver pocket watch. It was a gift from his father, the watchmaker, given before he began the long journey to the battle-scarred shores of Europe.

He rubbed the glass clean, but there was a persistent fog within. Still, the familiar ticking was present, and there was just enough light from the crescent moon above to make out the time.

“A quarter past midnight,” Murphy whispered. “Corporal, take a peek over the lip of this crater.”

The nineteen-year-old grabbed his helmet and weapon before moving closer to the edge. He first popped his head over the crest for a fraction of a second, long enough to confirm if snipers were on alert. Had he delayed much longer, he might have taken a bullet to the head.

While the shallow, dish-shaped helmet with a narrow brim might have deflected the shot, it was better to be safe than sorry. Command said they were working on an improved variant. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Murphy watched those lips move while Roy counted to thirty before taking another look. The Corporal took a good look at the German lines. He’s going to lose his head.

“Psst,” Murphy uttered, while making a downward hand signal to remind the Corporal of the risks of remaining exposed.

Roy dropped to his knees before working his way back. He had a wide grin on his face, which could only mean that God Almighty sent some luck their way. Keep calm, you’re not out of this yet.

“A fog rolled in,” Roy said. “The Huns can’t see us.”

“But they can hear us,” Murphy murmured, in a way that bordered on making a confession in church.

“Right… Sergeant,” Roy whispered in return.

They were stuck here for eighteen hours. His regiment had been readied along the trenches before first light. Upon hearing the whistle, the men went over the top of the wall and began the perilous journey towards the enemy.

No Man’s Land was a mass of barbed wire, traps, unexploded munitions, craters like this one, and the dead slowly sinking into the mud. Last night’s rains saturated the ground, making such advances treacherous. So much so that his regiment only made it a hundred yards before the enemy opened fire and felled a third of their number. That’s when we got the signal to withdraw.

What remained of his men headed back to the relative safety of their lines. At first, their withdrawal was orderly, until a Private took a bullet to the ankle. The round pulverised flesh and bone leaving behind a bloody stump.

Corporal Roy and Private O’Reilly moved in to assist. For a minute it looked like they might make it back, until the menacing whistle of artillery bearing down on them reached them. There’s no way we can survive a blast out in the open.

Murphy spotted a fresh crater and launched himself at the three men. He pushed Roy and the wounded Private into the crater, but O’Reilly broke free, standing there with wide, glassy eyes.

From Murphy’s perspective, the Private was standing there for an eternity. Instead, it took only the time needed for him to fill his lungs. I never got the chance to warn him.

The shell struck nearby, enveloping them in a shockwave followed by a wall of dust and debris. He never knew what hit him.

The lad’s uniform quickly turned crimson, and he dropped dead, six feet away from relative safety. I tried to reach for his body, but the snipers forced me back.

* * * *

“Is he alright?” Roy asked.

The Sergeant shot him with an icy glare. The question was valid, but that tone made it clear this was not a matter of gallantry. If the Private was dead, it meant two, able-bodied men making their way back to their lines. Otherwise, they had to carry the casualty through a hundred yards of the most hostile land imaginable.

Nevertheless, Murphy checked on the soldier. Even in this light he could tell this man was pale as a ghost. Still, after putting his watch under the man’s nose, he watched it fog.

“He’s holding on,” Murphy whispered. “I’m not sure if that’s by the divine will of our Lord or because he caught Lucifer’s eye.”

Given the conditions in this blood-soaked mud, Murphy guessed the man would lose the leg. If gangrene or infection set in, then a slow and excruciating death was all but assured. Had the sniper been a better shot…

“Sergeant—(Do you think it’s time to head back?)” Roy whispered.

A battlefield at night could be quiet as a tomb, doubly so once the wind died down. While there were artillery barrages at night, tonight was mercifully free from the chaos they unleashed.

Still, there was a bizarre noise in the distance. It sounded like a dog gnawing on a bone. They both recognised that man’s best friend knew better than to venture into a land that the Lord himself had forsaken. Snipers aren’t fussy.

Murphy made a series of hand motions which Roy acknowledged. Once more the Corporal peeked over, but this time froze in place. Murphy saw the young soldier’s jaw hanging loosely as though no one was home.

“Psst,” Murphy whispered.

Since that failed to get his attention, Murphy put away his watch and grabbed his weapon. When he peeked over the crater wall he saw it immediately.

Against the rolling fog there was a gangly man in tattered clothing, an outfit more appropriate for those interred in a cemetery. The face had an unusually long nose, ashen skin and distinctive beady, black eyes.

Most disturbing was that it was gnawing on O’Reilly’s arm. Tearing flesh from bone with a casual indifference that even the Huns were incapable of. That’s no man…

The realisation sent a chill down his spine, followed by a drop in blood pressure. After his vision blurred, Murphy reacted by taking several, deep and controlled breaths to regain his wits.

“We…” Murphy began.

It was hard to fathom, but the scent of this thing assaulted his senses. The odour was difficult to describe, but it evoked the image of a bloated corpse left out in the blistering heat of the sun. For a man constantly surrounded by death, such a strong reaction further motivated him.

“We do this quietly,” Murphy whispered to Roy.

The young man nodded and left his rifle against the edge of the crater. While a rifle was the most effective tool they had, it would also draw fire from both sides. That would close their narrow escape window. The snipers would be sure to be on the lookout for us.

Both Murphy and Roy took out their bayonets. With a couple of hand signals, the Sergeant ordered his Corporal to circle left and approach from the rear. Whereas Murphy went right, intent on distracting whatever this is for his man to make the kill.

Both were not new to killing silently, but Roy somehow managed to find the only dry stick in this cursed land. The snap caused that thing to pause, heralding an eerie, orange glow from the eyes. Like a lighthouse, the glow swept over the surface until it landed on the Corporal.

Roy froze in place, jaw agape, wide eyes, as though he was a mannequin. Without hesitation, Murphy closed in fast, grabbed it by the shoulder, and sliced its throat open. The slice left a black viscous liquid all over his blade. What in hell’s name is that thing?

While that killed the eerie glow, it did nothing to help Roy recover. Murphy crept over to the Corporal, oblivious to what was going on.

“Roy,” Murphy whispered.

When there came no reply, he snapped his fingers twice and still got nothing. Since they were sitting ducks, he grabbed his man and led him back towards the crater. The Corporal followed as though a mindless automaton.

That was when the situation really got out of hand. O’Reilly was no longer alone, there was another soldier near him, a Hun officer by the looks of it. The helmet with a brim at both ends and that distinctive spike at the top was pretty much all he needed to confirm his hunch.

While the presence of the enemy alone was problematic, this officer was also biting the neck of the Private. Despite heavy blood loss, the lad moaned in pleasure. What am I looking at?

With their rifles out of reach, Murphy grabbed his bayonet and threw it at the Kraut. To his surprise, the blade buried into the officer’s back cleanly.

The officer paused and pulled the bayonet away calmly and licked the blood from his lips. That’s when Murphy spotted two, elongated fangs, something befitting a wolf or large predator.

“The main course has arrived,” the officer said, in an English heavily tainted by German.

Having seen more than enough for today, Murphy pulled his service revolver from his holster. Before he lined up the shot, someone tapped his shoulder.

“Do that and you’re dead,” the man whispered.

The voice was entirely devoid of emotions, each syllable uttered in a way to match the cadence of marching soldiers. His mind never had the time to fully register those words, let alone his emotional response to them.

There came a blur from behind, followed by a gust of wind, and the Kraut’s head was turned violently a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Before the body dropped, Murphy realised there was someone new ahead.

Another officer, but this time it was a fellow countryman. The three pips on his shoulders marked him as a captain, but there was authority in his bearing that hinted this man was intimately familiar with the burden of command.

The man had black hair, dark brown eyes, and sunburnt skin. He was surprisingly short but his lack of height was offset by his hefty build. This Captain looked like he could hold his own in a fight. His service cap is sitting perfectly on his head.

“What—(was that?)” Murphy asked.

The Captain raised his hand to silence him, shaking his head. In the space between heartbeats, this gentleman was now less than a foot away.

“Not the place or time,” the Captain whispered. “You must get back to your lines.”

Whoever gave him that initial warning must have gone. The one before him spoke exactly like any other line officer. I’m not sure I’d like to meet the other guy.

“You’re not going, Sir?” Murphy asked.

“That… man… is not dead… I need to question him.”

That statement made no sense, then again neither did black blood, moving faster than a speeding bullet, or drinking blood. He was tempted to press the matter further, but there was resolve in those dark, brown eyes.

“You have your orders, Sergeant,” the Captain said, while pointing the way which curiously happened to be the precise bearings he needed to take to get back to his lines.

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy said.

He went to grab the Private, but the Captain shook his head. He supposed it was too much to hope that they would all make it through the night.

“Before you go, I believe your corporal has Neurasthenia,” the Captain said. (Nervous exhaustion.) “I’m afraid he may never recover.”

“How’d—(you know that?)” Murphy asked.

It was that curious grin from the officer that gave the Sergeant reason to pause. This officer was clearly no stranger to the battlefield, but he genuinely appeared to appreciate being challenged.

The Captain, however, ignored the question and simply emphasised his reasoning.

“That excuse will get him help instead of standing before a firing squad for cowardice. No man ever deserves to be diagnosed with shell shock.”

The man withdrew a calling card from his breast pocket and held it before the Sergeant.

“I’m looking for a warrant officer second class to look after the day-to-day,” the Captain said.

“I’m a sergeant, Sir.”

“You don’t say?” the Captain replied. “Take a week to think it over. Show that card to your superiors, and they’ll know what to do.”

“Sir?”

The Captain slipped the card into the Sergeant’s front pocket. Without a word, he brought Roy forward. Those eyes were glassy and vacant. Why is he drooling?

“No time,” the Captain urged him. “Go now before the artillery starts up.”

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy said.

Murphy hoisted Roy over his shoulder to ensure they would not get separated on their way back. The added weight meant he risked sinking into the mud, but instead of complaining his jaw muscles bulged and he grunted.

In five steps, he made it out of the crater just as the ground shook. Soon after he heard shells flying overhead towards the Krauts.

He chanced looking back for a fraction of a second and spotted the Captain standing in that crater as though this was his natural environment. The man exuded confidence which helped Murphy find enough courage to push through to their lines.

The first rounds must have been smoke or chlorine because their impacts were muted. That changed after the third volley, which made the ground shake as the earth shattered.

“We’ll make it!” Murphy said.

Even as his eyes locked on the familiar round helmets with a straight all-around lip, he pictured that smiling Captain. Perhaps there was a greater power looking out for them tonight… I doubt it was God.

CHAPTER 2

IN THE TRENCHES

They never talk,” Marc said, to himself.

That was the trouble with the enemy, vampires who believed that they were the legitimate masters of all lesser creatures. Those he encountered on the battlefield were zealots who gladly met their death comforted by the thought they were walking the path of righteousness.

This old soldier had to admire that trait. He was once a young man thirsting for glory and honourable battles, but those ideals were soured by the bitter taste of betrayal. One such betrayal still haunts me after four centuries…

Colonel Marc DesPlaines looked up from the terrain laden with shit, blood, and mud to find the crepuscular sky transitioning to shades of red and yellow. He knew from memory there were seven-hundred-and-twenty-three steps to get to his dugout. A modest hole in the ground, complete with a dirt roof, that served as his headquarters.

“Plenty of time,” Marc said, since vampires instinctively knew where the sun was at all times.

He broke cover and gave himself a quick burst of speed. To anyone from the allied lines looking into No Man’s Land, they would have dismissed his movements as nothing more than a trick of the eye. Humans readily ignore what they don’t understand…

Marc was a vampire who served as a soldier under the father of the Sun King, Louis XIV. Unlike his opponents, he did not see himself as superior to the common man. Despite his origins as an impudent Viscount, he secretly joined le Roi’s army and served amongst the rank and file. I’d sooner trust a private over a general.

He found that vampires were predominantly selfish creatures. Those he sided with were intellectuals and artists. Whereas those he hunted were more closely aligned to his true nature. The difference is I don’t believe in the hereditary right to lead.

That was why he fought for those who saw him as a necessary evil. Those who believed in hiding amongst the flock, bystanders to humanity’s quick march towards glory or extinction. At least humans had the capacity to grow… even if they need to be reminded of their hubris.

As Marc moved through the lines, he swapped the third pip on his epaulettes for a crown. A swap done so casually that it might as well have been a sleight of hand performed by a magician. When done, he spotted a lookout with his eyes closed. Had Marc still been human, he might have checked the young lad for a pulse before tearing a strip off him. The truth was, the sentry’s heart was slow and steady, an indication he had been asleep for a while.

“Lance Corporal,” Marc whispered, to get another soldier’s attention.

Upon spotting two pips culminating in a crown on his shoulders, the young man’s face drained of blood. Once the lad realised why a colonel was getting his attention his complexion took on the colour of an overripe tomato. Someone’s about to get a tongue-lashing…

Marc walked off just as the sleeping sentry’s rank and name rang out throughout No Man’s Land. Like the banshee of myth and legend, even a man without sin would be jolted awake. He’ll learn…

“Or end up sinking in the mud,” Marc said aloud.

The soldiers were too busy watching the spectacle to pay him any heed. Marc preferred it that way, officers of his rank rarely made their rounds through the lines unless they were there to inspire troops who were destined to go over the top.

It was fortunate that most knew of him and those under his command. None of them knew what he did, but officially he worked with army intelligence. The best lies often contain a grain of truth.

Exactly fifteen minutes before the sun rose over the horizon, Marc reached his dugout. As expected, Private Lewis was the sentry on duty, but someone else was with him. After five more steps, he realised it was Signaller Heart who should have been manning the wireless. Instead, he’s having a cigarette.

“Sir,” Lewis said, after snapping his feet together and coming to attention.

Saluting so near the front lines was liable to get someone shot, and that was usually the recipient of the salute. However, Marc knew instinctively that Lewis was giving Heart a heads-up to get back to work. Too late to avoid me.

“Good morning,” Marc said. “Anything over the wireless?”

Signaller Heart went as stiff as a board, while cigarette smoke wafted from between his fingers at his side. It might have been funny had this not become routine.

“All communications logged, and we just completed our radio check with Zero, Sir,” Heart said.

Within the dugout, Marc picked up another heartbeat. Someone was seated at the wireless, listening to the static just in case. It only took him getting caught three times to have a stand-in.

“Excellent,” Marc said. “Who’s at the wireless?”

“Simmons, Sir,” Heart replied.

That was an interesting choice since they worked as the alternate night sentry and the unofficial cook for their group. While they were issued standard rations, the man was a natural-born scrounger. He employed these nefarious talents to add some literal spice and fresh herbs to their meals. All to make the rations easier to swallow. It’s times like these that I’m thankful for not being able to eat food.

“Interesting choice,” Marc said. “We better not lose him to your corps.”

There was an awkward silence, which Lewis broke by changing the subject. The men were constantly on their toes due to working so closely with a senior officer. Many worried that saying the wrong thing would set him off, but that would have taken a literal act of God to happen. He’s been on hiatus since I was turned.

It was said that people changed when they turned away from the light during the dark baptism. In his case, he ended up devoid of emotions. That rendered him a cold and calculating creature that wholly embraced reason. What they see is an act.

At one time the word act would have applied literally. His sire stuck by him even as his ability to love her died along with his body. To help him hide, she created a theatre company and forced him to act in their skits. Given time, he learned to embrace his role as le Marquis, but he always found channelling the persona to be draining.

“Any success tonight?” Lewis asked.

Marc smiled while reaching into his breast pocket. From within there were two pearly, white fangs, elongated and more appropriate for a wolf. However, these were from a fellow vampire.

“Two more for the collection,” Marc said, as Lewis pulled out a jam jar filled one-eighth of the way with vampiric ivory.

Both whistled, because that jar served as an ever-growing reminder that there were more dangerous things out there than the Huns.

“How many this week?” Lewis asked.

“Five so far,” Marc said, knowing there were two days to go before Sunday rolled around.

“I don’t know how you do it, Sir,” Heart said.

Everyone working for him knew what he was. The difference was they did not connect his nature to those he hunted. Just like they can’t see themselves when staring down the gun sights aimed at a Hun.

“War and I are… well… acquainted,” Marc said. “Although this is my first time fighting under the British Crown.”

Marc rarely shared details, but they knew to keep quiet. He slipped them some of his blood in a drink that opened their minds to him.

The man of war used it with Heart to call in a fire mission while out in the field. Marc also embedded instructions to ensure his nature never came up during these brief interactions.

That was why both their heads went back a few inches but said nothing. He could see curiosity in their eyes, but a tiny voice in the back of their heads urged them to keep quiet.

The other side used similar tactics. The difference was that Marc’s influence was minimal, the least he could do to function so close to the front without being outed. Whereas Drusilla and her allies used blood to enslave. I fully intend to release them when I no longer have a reason to be here.

“You’re not from Canada?” Lewis asked.

On the surface of it the Private’s question was a breach of his directives, but he knew it was genuine and most importantly general enough to not raise suspicion. Since no one else was within earshot, Marc leaned into his role as le Marquis.

“I’ve spent time in Paris,” Marc said, with a heavy, French accent.

He then repeated the statements for Venice, Brussels, Vienna, Berlin and Johannesburg. Each time he used an accent that mimicked how locals spoke in English.

Heart’s eyes grew noticeably in size while Lewis just guffawed. The former because he heard the Kraut accent, whereas Lewis was enjoying Marc’s show of levity.

The man of war was tempted to address the subject with Heart, but Lewis would deal with it later. The sentry might have been of a lower rank, but that would not stop him from pointing out that jar of teeth and what it meant to the war effort.

“Can you do a Russian accent, Sir?” Lewis asked.

What mattered was getting some rest. While Marc did not technically need to sleep, he craved time to unwind and disconnect from his theatrical persona. With that thought in mind, he bowed as though ending a show while wearing a smile.

“Nyet. I think it’s time to find my bunk,” Marc said to the sentry. “Anything planned for this morning, Signaller?”

The direct question shook Heart loose from his torpor. He blinked several times, paused, and eventually ran a hand through his greasy hair. It’s not like bathing is an option here.

“Nothing over the wireless, Sir,” Heart replied.

That did not mean there was nothing planned. Operational security often meant that such traffic was passed through covert channels to prevent interception. Still, increased troop movements, along with additional logistical requests for ammunition, shells, and medical supplies were often a prelude to action. It’s hard to hide the cost of doing business.

“Excellent,” Marc said. “Be sure to get to ground once your relief comes, Private.”

“Sir,” both said in unison, as Marc walked past them and ducked his head to avoid hitting the doorframe.

* * * *

For reasons of exposure, Marc’s bunk was in the far corner of the dugout. This space qualified as little more than a closet back home, but it was more than enough for him. At least it’s well away from direct light.

He hung up his service dress cap and tunic. While unnecessary, Marc loosened his tie and collar to create the effect of winding down. Once seated atop his bunk, he removed his boots and turned to stretch out.

While most of the men complained about their cots, Marc fit on his nicely. He also did not worry about cooties and other parasites because he was effectively a static corpse. The lack of blood flow and cool touch made him incompatible with the creatures feasting on humanity. Even most vampires want nothing to do with me.

Nor did he need to shave, but Marc had a straight razor, shaving brush and soap near his helmet filled with fresh water. This further created the illusion that he was human, along with spending several hours of the afternoon up and about within the confines of the headquarters.

He considered writing to Evelyn, his centuries-old charge, but he knew she was travelling. Besides, his letters were like his persona, all an act. It’ll take about three weeks before her letters get here.

What was not an act was the emptiness inside since they parted ways. Evelyn was no longer the terminally-ill whore he rescued from the bordello. She may have begun life on the worst-possible terms, but she has since soared to levels I never dared approach.

She had grown much in their centuries together, embracing academics and the arts with a focus on the latter. She could be bubbly and sophisticated, but there was also a shrewd, tactical thinker who executed plans that spanned decades.

What he missed was their mutual blood link. They often shared thoughts and emotions, and Marc missed the emotional anchor she proved to be. Without her, I’d have no soul.

While he would never be able to love her, the feeling was mutual. Evelyn quickly embraced her sapphic nature, leaving him to remain effectively sexless. The fire in his proverbial loins died out when he shed his mortal coil. Much to the chagrin of my sire.

That did not stop Evelyn from teasing him. An activity that worsened as she grew into her beauty. Marc was a product of a different era in which heavyset women, enhanced by a corset, were most coveted. A product of their breeding and wealth.

Evelyn was by comparison rail-thin, with a subtle, hourglass shape and small breasts. She never appealed to him personally but always made up for her shortcoming by leveraging that bubbly personality. She livens up any room because she’s fun to be with.

Now that women were trending towards thinner, Evelyn savoured this cultural shift. That’s why she teases me, reminding me that she’s now as beautiful inside and out.

While Marc was not sure that vampires could be beautiful on the inside, given their unlimited capacity for cruelty, that was a question for another time. He was a soldier and had no time to focus on philosophy, let alone the luxury of dwelling on their loved ones back home.

“I miss her,” Marc said, before closing his eyes and surrendering to Morpheus.

CHAPTER 3

NESTLED IN THE ROCKIES

A courtier in fine livery opened the pristine moulded white doors with gold trim. These led into the suite on the fourth floor of what would be known as The Grand. When he moved out of the way, a black-haired beauty with fair skin and piercing, green eyes walked calmly inside. She wore a formal gown and corset, along with a jacket as they had just arrived from the train station.

Behind her there was a younger woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. While a child of the Normans, she was brimming with blue blood, yet wearing the simple dress of a maid.

The lady stopped in the middle of the room and motioned for the maid to approach. They exchanged a few words while the courtier carried a grin reminiscent of a man whose testicles were gradually being squeezed in a vise.

“Is the lady displeased?” the courtier asked.

“She is,” the younger one said. “This room barely qualifies as furnished.”

The man tugged at his high collar prior to clearing his throat. All the while only the maid looked at him, because her mistress deemed him to be unimportant.

“This is the best room we have… for now,” the courtier said. “The hotel is still under—(construction.)”

“We are aware,” the maid said. “With that said, if my mistress were to discover that she was deceived…”

The rest was left unsaid, leaving plenty to the imagination. While the power behind that threat was at war, in his element, they saw no need to surrender that detail.

“Understood, my lady,” the courtier replied. “Permission—(to bring in your bags.)”

“Be quick about it,” the maid said, with the full authority of her mistress.

The courtier walked out into the hall. In seconds a long procession of roughly two-dozen staff walked in carrying bags followed by several pairs carrying steamer trunks. All of it was stacked neatly by the door. Each immediately retreated from sight before either of the women said a word.

With the last man done, the courtier lingered long enough to ensure there were no additional instructions. When it became clear they were ignoring him, he excused himself and closed the doors behind him.

This concluded the first of many training sessions. Maximus, the night concierge, felt it was best to work up the night staff to handle difficult clients. The kind of clientele who tended to decapitate waiters due to their tone.

* * * *

The maid opened the door and took a quick look towards both ends of the hallway. After confirming they were alone, she went back inside and barred the door.

“All clear, Evelyn,” Grace said.

While Grace barely looked old enough to be in her early teens, that was only true in appearance. This was true for most vampires, but no amount of makeup and clothing could permit her to blend in with adults.

“Pardon?” Evelyn asked in Parisian French.

While the tone was harsh, that cocked eyebrow and impish smile confirmed it was all an act. Nevertheless, Evelyn moved her lips to say ‘Sorry’ before slapping her maid hard across the face.

“M-m-my apologies, M-m-mistress!”

Evelyn cupped one of her ears, before using her hand to make an all-around signal. The maid nodded and reached for a bag.

“I will not tolerate any further lapses in etiquette, Grace,” Evelyn said. “Am I clear?”

“Y-y-yes, Mistress,” Grace replied.

From a hidden pocket built into the side of their travel bag, Grace pulled out a little, metallic cylinder and handed it to Evelyn. The lady took a sip of blood from a flask, and within a minute the device emitted a soft, blue glow.

“Be a dear and draw my bath,” Evelyn said.

Evelyn made her rounds through the room, the water closet, and the adjoining maid’s quarters. The colour remained consistent until she approached the bed. The device transitioned to a purple and evolved further into a bright red as she neared the nightstand.

It glowed brightest when Evelyn placed the wand beside the phone. She followed the line to the wall and disconnected the phone which caused the wand to revert to a soft blue.

“We need to be cautious when the blower is plugged in,” Evelyn said.

“So much for neutrality,” Grace retorted.

The Grand was meant to serve as a resort for vampires and other things that went bump in the night. It was meant as a haven for their kind when travelling through the Rockies.

The allure of The Grand was its neutral status. Vampires on both sides of the conflict were said to be safe within these walls. Having the telephone bugged says otherwise.

“I suspect every room is bugged,” Evelyn replied. “When The Grand finally opens, I think this wand will always glow red.”

She suspected that it fit someone’s loose definition of neutrality. No one has an advantage over another.

“Then why are we here?” Grace asked.

“The same reason Drusilla will send agents,” Evelyn said. “To find out what the other side is up to.”

“Is that why you accepted their offer?” Grace asked.

The lady was invited by Thelma, in administration, to commission a whole series of art pieces. Evelyn was a master painter and sculptor. This gave her the opportunity to create works that would catch the eyes of guests for decades.

“Of course not,” Evelyn said, before giggling. “First and foremost, I’m bored.”

“So why not have a bit of fun while he’s off to war?”

“Exactement,” Evelyn said. (Exactly.) “Besides, if it helps the cause…”

That kind of language was common throughout the land. Everyone was doing their part, including the women who gave up wearing corsets to divert that steel towards the war effort. I heard they built a dreadnought with what they saved from making corsets.

“Speaking of which,” Evelyn said. “We need to unpack. Please focus on the photography equipment.”

“Where will we set up the darkroom?”

Evelyn walked towards the door and flicked off the switch. The main lights went out plunging them into a world devoid of light. Vampires were perfectly able to see, but a human trapped in here would be blind. That’s a feature, like the soundproofing.

“So, anywhere?” Grace confirmed.

Evelyn giggled, before hugging the younger vampire. While unsaid, this was her way of apologising for embodying her role.

Grace was not done wearing that uniform, however. Given her youthful appearance, the young vampire could easily move throughout the bowels of the hotel unnoticed. There were entire sections of The Grand dedicated to the hotel and guest staff.

“The walk-in closet would be more discreet,” Evelyn said.

“True,” Grace said.

Even in the dark, Evelyn could see the blonde look around before sighing. Given how the war was progressing, this could easily be their home for the next couple of years.

“Not exactly Versailles,” Grace said, remembering her times visiting Louis XVI and walking along the Grand Canal.

Evelyn squeezed the young one’s hand. She sensed this ennui was not about the decor, but the situation itself. This was not the first time they were thrust into such a situation, but there was a difference. There’s an important element missing.

“I miss him too,” Evelyn said. “As for this room, we’ll make it our own. Besides, I’ve lived in worse, and I imagine your stay at the Bastille was less than pleasant.”

“That’s… putting it mildly,” Grace replied.

Grace went to one of the steamer trunks and lifted it by herself. Ten minutes ago, two men struggled to get it off the ground and were more than happy to be rid of it.

“What did you pack in here?” Grace asked, as the weight was enough to give even a vampire reason to pause.

Evelyn turned on the lights, and both flinched for the fraction of a second their eyes needed to adjust. For a moment she considered turning them off to avoid facing their reality. Given time, the four-poster bed and red, velvet furniture would be joined by art pieces of her making.

“Everything a gal needs to take pictures and produce prints,” Evelyn said.

“Why do you need to take so many?” Grace asked.

“You’ll see…”

CHAPTER 4

THE LETTER

Many believed that war was constant. A state where both sides faced off against the other while locked in a perpetual struggle for supremacy. That certainly was true at times, and Marc remembered fighting in decisive battles in his day.

However, men and equipment were finite resources. While Britain and Germany were industrial powerhouses, the raw materials needed to fuel the engine of war were scarce.

That meant the trenches were quiet for periods of time. Although the silence was interspersed by the occasional gunfire probing for weak points along the line.

This war was markedly different from those he fought earlier in life. Gone were soldiers wearing their nation’s colours, replaced mostly by bland dyes to better blend into the background. Save for the French and her colonies.

The advent of the machine gun marked the beginning of a particularly gruesome chapter. Such weapons were not elegant, but the devastation they wrought had a sobering effect on the rank and file. Previously, when he walked into battle, they did so as a well-oiled machine marching in perfect formation. Now, such antiquated manoeuvres guarantee a swift reaping from Death.

Instead, they dug trenches, lying in the filth and mud to hold an ever-shifting line. Every so often some general felt the time was right to send thousands of men over the top. Often the gain from all those lost souls was about a hundred feet. That we lost in the counterattack.

Modern artillery and chemical warfare were also new additions to combat. In his day, artillery was a direct-fire weapon, a way to mow down approaching troops and cavalry. Now, indirect fire could lay waste to an entire grid square on a general’s map. Indiscriminate weapons that further fill men’s hearts with terror.

The last two weeks had been uneventful and that included his outings. Zealous vampires also turned out to be a finite resource, as were ghouls. Although the latter crept out of the depths occupying the rear. There they dug up men and horses from the mud. Like any good soldier, we need to be adaptable.

There came the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Out of habit, Marc closed his eyes to prepare himself to take on the role of le Marquis.

After a deep breath, he opened his eyes while thinking on how combat was more honourable in his day. When he was alone, Marc quit breathing entirely, finding it tedious to maintain. That way I can spend my mental acuity on more pressing tasks.

Private Moreau marched smartly into his office. Like his room, this office was not much bigger than a closet with two wooden planks making up the surface of his desk. It was littered with files; most of which were from higher echelons.

There was also his trench pen, several ink tablets and pads of paper. The ability to write orders and correspondence in all weather conditions proved to be invaluable. If I miss a report, they might send someone to check up on us.

Of course, to maintain the act, he also had a canteen that was almost always empty along with a pack of cigarettes. While he did not personally smoke, he often lent a few to the men to further morale.

There came a knock at the door, he turned his head to confirm it was the Private and narrowed his eyes to appear as though he was being interrupted. All a part of the act.

“Sir,” Private Moreau said, while standing briefly at attention.

Over his shoulder he carried a messenger bag, which made him the most popular man along the line until the mail ran out. Without even realising, Marc felt a twinge of humanity as though anxious, but the void quickly suppressed the urge.

“What is it, Private?” Marc asked.

“Mail, Sir.”

Official correspondence was passed on by Signaller Heart, and most of it sat on his desk. This meant it was a letter from home and that could only mean… Evelyn.

Without prompting, the Private reached into his bag and pulled out a letter from the top of his bundle. It seemed the young lad assumed Marc should be the first to get his letter.

“Thank you,” Marc said, as he took the envelope from the Private’s hand. I swear I can smell vanilla.

“In the future, deliver any correspondence addressed to me last,” Marc said, and added something before the smile on the man’s face disappeared entirely. “I appreciate the gesture, but the men come first.”

“Yes, Sir,” Moreau replied, while lingering.

Marc was curious as to why the Private would not continue his appointed rounds but realised this was the first time he received a letter. He wants to know who would send a letter to someone like me.

“Anything else?” Marc asked.

“No, Sir.”

Again, he lingered, either waiting to be explicitly dismissed or for a chance to peek at the letter. To distract Moreau, Marc reached for his pack of cigarettes and offered him one.

The soldier grabbed one without question and was promptly dismissed. With a big grin on the lad’s face, the other men manning the headquarters were left to wonder if they missed some sort of miracle. Moreau might want to take up walking on water next.

After the private was finished delivering his letters to the men in the headquarters he ventured outside. Soon the dugout was filled with the sounds of tearing and crinkling paper. Marc used the opportunity to use his jackknife to slice open the envelope.

The knife itself was an all-metal variant which tended to rust if he was not diligent in applying oil. Marc often swore that rust formed right before his eyes..

The envelope did indeed smell of vanilla as beans fell from the opening. In a world filled with death and decay, the scent of that woman’s chosen fragrance was nearly enough to make him smile.

Instead, he paused and pictured those piercing-green eyes and trademark smile. The smile that promised so much if one surrendered to her. That happened ages ago… she just doesn’t know it yet.

On the inside, there was a letter wrapped around something more rigid. This was as expected, since they discussed care and packing beforehand, but he was nevertheless unprepared for what he would find.

He removed the two pages protecting the photographic print. There before his eyes was Evelyn, reclining provocatively on a velvet chaise lounge within a lavish interior. Her pose was bold, with crossed legs and arms reaching out into the air as though beckoning her lover.

“That means she’s safe,” Marc whispered.

Evelyn loved to tease, and this was her way of tormenting him from the other side of the Atlantic. Still, the more clothing she wore the greater the perceived risk.

While no one would ever be perfectly safe in a hotel filled with monsters, both Evelyn and Grace felt they were secure. However, the provocative pose and associated nudity were only part of the message she wished to convey.

The problem with elaborate cyphers and one-time pads was their obvious purpose. If the war department intercepted such letters, they would quickly learn that Marc was receiving encoded messages. We must assume my correspondence is being vetted.

Her provocative pose and outright nudity were primarily a distraction. Someone could stare and marvel at her beauty for hours and not realise there was more to this photograph than just an amuse-bouche for their arousal. (Appetiser.)

Marc had no trouble looking past the flesh and focusing on the details, which is why this agreed-upon code worked for them. For one, only two fingers were visible in the frame with the rest making up a fist.

There were also two candelabras visible. The left candelabra bore four candles, while the other held three. For a total of seven.

Such a detail was particularly easy to discount. In the background there was also a silk, dressing screen and hanging from it was a nightgown. The presence of which implied this shot was taken at night. Now, let’s focus on the clock.

The clock in the background was clearly visible and that was purposeful. In this case, the time was eighteen for the hour and ten for the minutes. Add the two numbers together and you get twenty-eight.

The two fingers now played a part in what came next. For the seven candles, the two fingers meant he would add two to the total. That makes the first interval based on nine.

Whereas the second number calculated from the time applied as a divisor. This brings us to fourteen.

With both intervals in place, Marc was free to focus on the letter itself:

My Dearest Marc,

I trust this letter finds you hale amidst command’s strain. I’ve landed safely, arrived at our retreat in the wilds, nestled within snowy peaks, and made my presence known amongst industrious souls here who cease not in their labours to craft this opulent haven with due contact established.

The air hums with pine’s sharp scent and creation’s thrill, a balm to my spirit. I await your return, mon colonel, to share a vintage worthy of your rank—none of that trench rot. Until then, keep sharp and steadfast; my heart remains yours unbroken.

Yours eternally,

Evelyn

P.S. Pour le moral des troupes, mon amour—pass the enclosed to your men; a glimpse of beauty may lift their weary hearts.

In case he was interrupted, Marc wrote the intervals on a pad. He figured they would give him a measure of privacy, but war was rarely predictable.

He wrote down the word matching the intervals.

Ninth: I’ve

Fourteenth: arrived

Eighteenth: made

Twenty-Seventh: cease

Twenty-Eighth: contact

The words in this order made no sense, but one had to remember that the intervals were in play. This meant a few were swapped. This effect would be more pronounced with longer messages.

When ordered properly the following message came to light:

I’ve arrived made contact cease.

The last word could be any synonym of STOP. It worked like a telegram and signalled the end of the message. Replacing the STOP with a period gave him the following:

I’ve arrived, made contact.

Here the picture again provided a valuable clue. In the background, there was his service cap hanging from a hook. That meant Evelyn made contact with their allies at the hotel.

Despite not breathing, Marc instinctively let out all the air from his lungs. While the picture confirmed much, the idea that their allies and Grace were there took weight off his shoulders.

“I just need to get through this war…”

CHAPTER 5

ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

He’s in his office,” the day sentry, Private Monaghan, said.

“Thank you, Private,” Murphy said. “I can find my way.”

Given how small most of these dugouts were, that was usually the case. Either way, when Marc was in his office it was to get noticed. People find it suspicious if you’re only up and about at night.

Before the Sergeant interrupted him, Marc wrote down the appropriate sequence onto his pad before putting it away. While the message was encoded, he had no desire to share the contents… or let someone know there’s something more to these letters.

Thirty-three seconds later, the Sergeant spotted what passed for an office and marched smartly up to the doorway. Marc turned around on his stool to get a better look at him.

The Sergeant was no more than thirty years old, which was comparatively rare outside of a war. While battlefield promotions were common nowadays, Marc knew from the man’s record that he earned those chevrons through talent and determination.

Murphy was clean-shaven, in shape and comparatively tall. That sandy, blond hair and blue eyes would disarm many, but Marc was not swayed by appearance. I live in a world of beautiful monsters.

“Sir,” Murphy said, as he knocked on the doorframe. Minus the door.

“Ah, Sergeant Murphy,” Marc said in a warm voice. “Have you considered my offer?”

“So, it was you?” Murphy confirmed.

The Sergeant was not the first man to suspect but one of the few to confirm. Many chose to ignore that disconnect in their minds and move on. He knows when to push back.

“It was,” Marc replied.

“You’re a colonel?”

“I am,” Marc replied, he saw where this was headed.

“You were a captain?” Murphy asked.

At least this question was headed down the right path. Private Lewis lacked the wherewithal to consider the disconnect. Marc had to lead the young lad to both the questions and the answers. That proved to be tedious.

“I’m what I need to be in a particular circumstance,” Marc said.

“Meaning, Sir?”

“How would you react if a colonel was wandering alone through No Man’s Land?”

Being a direct man, the Sergeant went to open his mouth but froze with it open a quarter of the way. As reason took over, he furrowed his brow, tilted his head to the side and took a deep breath.

“I see your point, Sir,” Murphy said.

Marc smiled because this Sergeant exhibited two valuable traits. The first being the ability to react quickly, while permitting reason to temper his actions.

He had no need for a hothead that ran straight into the fray. That archetype invariably got themselves killed and often took several men with them to their grave.

He wanted a man of reason who was also cool under pressure. Marc needed someone trustworthy to look after his men while also capable of leading them to victory. There are things out there that I can’t explain, even after four centuries.

“I’m glad, Sergeant,” Marc began. “Let me ask you a question. What did you see that night?”

His eyes opened wide and Murphy blinked several times. He must have expected Marc to fill in the blanks instead of a debrief. Even if my presence was suspect.

“I don’t know, Sir,” Murphy began. “I doubt they were men.”

The ability to be humble and admit to ignorance was another good sign. He had no need for a zealot that immediately yelled ‘heretic’ or ‘demon’ whenever they ran into the unknown.

There’s more to it than that. The Sergeant must have suspected that Marc was also not human.

“Would you include me—(in that category?)” Marc asked.

“Yes… Sir,” Murphy replied, while tensing his jaw muscles.

Marc smiled and enabled his fangs to protrude. The sight of those pearly whites led Murphy to take a sharp breath, but he did not react.

“You’re correct,” Marc said. “So why are you here?”

His gamble hinged on this one answer. This was one of the few times he wished he had the voice. Many of his kin could modulate their voices to command, to compel humans without resorting to more overt methods.

Evelyn mastered that skill early, but she preferred to use her natural charm and feminine wiles to get what she wanted. For Evelyn, it’s all about the challenge and the game. People seldom notice the supernatural when they’re legitimately disarmed.

Marc needed his blood power to ensure silence, doubly so, if Murphy chose to treat him like the monster, he was.

“I want to make sure no one ever ends up in a situation like I did.”

Overall, an excellent answer, and it took the Sergeant several heartbeats to say it out loud. This further highlighted his reason and temperance, making him invaluable as an adjutant.

“That’s part of the reason I’m here, Sergeant,” Marc said.

“A part, Sir?” Murphy asked.

“I provide intelligence that… is unavailable through regular channels. When I have the time, I venture out on hunts.”

The Sergeant smiled upon hearing that last part. Marc grinned because he knew then and there that he found the right man for the job.

“I plan to expand the latter,” Marc said.

“I want in, Sir.”

Marc pointed to a chair near the entrance. Private Moreau scrounged it for Marc, but he preferred the ability to turn around and look people in the eye. Besides, I’ll never develop joint aches or bad posture.

As Murphy stepped inside to sit down, his eyes locked onto something on the desk. It did not take much for Marc to guess. He’d have to be dead to miss it.

“Th-thank you,” Murphy said.

“I assure you the pleasure is mine, Sergeant,” Marc replied. “I want to establish a team of skilled soldiers that operate day and night.”

That part was not unexpected, since soldiers were on the line. The big difference was who the enemy was.

“You’ve seen for yourself what we’re up against,” Marc began. “Let the generals and their armies deal with the Huns.”

“No man can do what you did back there,” Murphy said.

“What I did?” Marc replied. “True, but men and women have been hunting monsters for millennia.”

At the mention of women, Murphy’s eyes returned to the photograph. It seemed that the Sergeant had no problem delving into the supernatural but was hesitant to ask about that nude picture on his desk.

“Women?” the Sergeant managed to say, after a two-second pause.

“Never underestimate the fairer sex,” Marc said. “I dare say that you wouldn’t stand a chance against a woman from the order of hunters.”

Murphy cocked a brow but did not otherwise betray himself. Humble over hubris.

“Then why not use them?” Murphy asked.

“An excellent question,” Marc replied. “Like me, hunters are a relative rarity.”

That was the truth, his channels indicated there were dozens of teams operating along the lines, but their success ratio was dismally low. I never understood how their order survived with their casualty rates.

“I want to apply military strategy and modern weaponry to eliminate the threat,” Marc began. “When our line leaps forward, we clear what’s left behind or overwhelm sites that serve as a refuge for creatures like ghouls.”

“Ghouls, Sir?”

“That vile creature with glowing eyes you dispatched.”

The reaction in Murphy’s face was readily apparent. The mere description was enough to send him back to that battlefield. Marc observed the man fighting against a shiver running down his spine.

“That glow is the threat,” Marc said. “Defensive in nature, but it can drain a man of their will to fight. If left too long in their state, a victim may even forget how to breathe.”

For Murphy, the last few pieces of the puzzle fell into place. He realised what happened to Corporal Roy and why Marc had given him specific, medical advice. I likely saved the lad from the firing squad.

Marc went into detail on how Murphy would recruit his men and train them in the use of advanced weaponry. Properly armed, they would overwhelm creatures like ghouls and dispatch them before they became a risk.

Every so often Murphy would sneak a peek at that picture. The man was trying to be discreet, but to a vampire even a momentary facial tic was plain as day. Marc figured it must have been out of character for a colonel to have such material on his desk. He’s probably right.

“Anyone back home?” Marc asked.

The sudden change in subject caught Murphy by surprise. The Sergeant even blushed as though ashamed of being discovered.

“I… was married for two years… she passed away… of consumption.”

“That’s a shame,” Marc said. “I’ve been where you are, but it was my mother.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Murphy said.

“There’s no better motivation to get back than knowing there’s someone back home waiting for you.”

To get everything out in the open, Marc reached for the photograph and handed it to Murphy. The man hesitated but took it with his shaking hands and secured it using his thumb and forefinger.

Seeing Evelyn in all her splendour made the battle-hardened Sergeant visibly uncomfortable. Marc made a note to include that detail in his correspondence to Evelyn. She’ll love it.

“She’s beautiful,” Murphy managed to say, after an audible gulp.

“Thank you,” Marc said. “She’s a courtesan.”

Sometimes it was easier to work with the truth. Even if I gloss over the specifics.

“Like the Mata Hari?” the Sergeant asked.

That was a reference to a particularly popular courtesan in Paris, one rumoured to be spying for Germany. Marc had seen her perform, and like Evelyn, she knew how to put on a titillating show.

“Something like that,” Marc said.

His answer appeared to appease the Sergeant’s mind. Still, there was a thought lingering in those eyes, and Marc found himself ill-equipped to reason out.

“You let her pose like that?”

Marc chuckled, before asking, “Ever tried to hold back the wind?”

There was a glow of recognition in the Sergeant’s eyes. It was clear that Murphy spent his fair share of time reading the Bible. Which might explain his reaction.

“Sir?”

“My Evelyn, like many women, is a force of nature. While a lady, her head is always swirling with ideas and emotions that dance like gusts across a still pond.”

Marc was counting himself lucky that he had not been up too long. Embracing le Marquis for this long was wearing him down.

“You might be able to grasp her for a moment or two, to contain her energy, but she’ll always slip through your fingers. You’ll end up in her wake, left with nothing more than a fading memory to cherish,” Marc added.

Murphy appeared to be deep in thought, but years of dogma would not be easily dispelled.

“You’re not concerned that someone will covet her and that she’ll leave you, Sir?” Murphy asked.

“I can no more control the hearts of men than I can control her,” Marc said. “However, I’m certain that no other man will ever find a place in her heart and that’s enough for me.”

“…Well, thank you for opening my eyes, Sir,” Murphy said, while handing him back the picture.

“Keep it,” Marc said.

“I can’t—(possibly accept this.)”

“You can,” Marc said. “Evelyn would love for you to have it. Besides, let it serve you as a reminder.”

“Being?”

Marc stood up from his stool and approached the Sergeant. He knew based on the ticking sound that there was something in his left breast pocket. Given the rarity of timepieces in the field, Marc deduced that it must have been important.

So, he took the photograph and opened Murphy’s right pocket. It contained a field notebook which he used to protect the picture. Marc then promptly buttoned the pocket and backed away.

“Let this picture remind you that you once felt the gentle breeze of a woman,” Marc said. “Cherish these memories, and you’ll find they’ll lead you back into the light.”

At that moment, Sergeant Murphy understood perfectly what the Colonel had to say.

CHAPTER 6

CONTACT

After nightfall, a group of twenty men crept across the bombed-out field that was once the front line. The allied troops recently made some gains, which shifted the lines farther east, leaving behind a feast for ghouls.

At the head was Warrant Officer Second Class Murphy, followed closely by his three sergeants. Their objective was the ruins of a church on the outskirts of what was once a thriving community.

Despite months of artillery strikes, several tombstones protruded from the ground as did one of the spires. A large, brass bell was partially buried by what were once the main doors.

Without prompting, a group of three broke off and ran towards nearby high ground. From there, they would provide fire support. Two of the men were from Indigenous tribes back home, men who grew up hunting and were deadly with their rifles at any distance. The Lance-Corporal leading them was raised on a farm and spent his summers picking off prairie dogs with his rifle to save the cattle from injury.

From experience, Murphy knew they would be in position in roughly three minutes, and the rest of the team would reach the church in five. Prior to that point, they reached an abandoned communications trench, so Murphy and two corporals approached with their trench guns drawn.

Since there was no apparent threat, Murphy dropped in and followed it to maintain cover. The first section followed single file until he went over the top and closed in on the church.

As they neared the fallen bell, Murphy motioned for Sergeant Ryan’s team to head inside. If their intelligence was correct, they would find a hatch leading into the catacombs. This was an ideal location for creatures feasting on the dead to congregate. The smell alone confirmed they were in the right place. Considering we are constantly surrounded by mud, shit, and blood, I’m shocked I can still smell.

The remainder formed an all-around, defensive perimeter and waited. Murphy pulled out his pocket watch and while the crescent moon made it a challenge to read, he noted when they arrived on station.

At this time of night sounds carried, and he picked up the constant mechanical ticking as though the watch was against his ear. In the background, he heard his men moving deeper into the church.

Murphy dispatched two more teams. These would circle the outer perimeter of the church and establish a position on the cemetery-facing side. After one minute, a hatch creaked as it was pulled open from within the church. Let’s flush them out.

He moved the remaining soldiers closer to the spire. This way they controlled the front and rear of the church, while giving them full view of potential exits without being in each other’s line of fire.

At the seven-minute mark, they heard distant gunfire. While everyone had a trench club and pistols, two also carried short shotguns known as trench guns for close-quarters fighting. The rest carried their standard-issue rifles with bayonets. That was a trench gun.

Everyone brought their weapons to the ready. Sure enough, someone spotted an orange glow in the distance. As soon as the source came into focus, a spotter fired off a shot and extinguished the light.

Two other shots rang out of the church. The fact it was a trench gun gave him reason to worry. There shouldn’t be anything within our perimeter.

Murphy clenched his jaw as screams came from the other side followed by more gunfire. This time from a pistol, and he realised that two of his sergeants were already looking at him. He motioned for them to circle to the rear, but just in case, he kept a team in place.

They approached along both sides of the church in a classic pincer manoeuvre, which increased the risk of a crossfire if they were careless. Murphy kept a brisk pace while ensuring the steps of the man behind him were audible. I don’t want to end up with a gap that leaves me or the others exposed.

When halfway there, a soldier was thrown clear from the cover and streaked past Murphy’s line of sight. He knew the man was dead before hitting the ground.

“Vampire,” Murphy said, over his shoulder and heard the word being passed down.

He distanced himself from the wall and circled around the corner with his trench gun leading the way. It did not take long for him to find the threat, a vampire hunched over and feasting on a rifleman. Where’s the third?

A good question but Murphy did not have the luxury of waiting for answers. He lined up the forward bead and pulled the trigger. The weapon roared to life sending a volley of buckshot at its target. Given his range it only grazed the vampire’s leg.

One…

The creature turned around so fast that Murphy wondered if there were two of them. He knew that spelled trouble, but Sergeant Simmons, approaching from the other side, fired off two rounds. The gunfire from both sides rallied the remaining men.

Vampires were unbelievably tough creatures. They were effectively dead, which meant a strike to the heart and lungs did not slow them down. They were also fast, capable of healing in seconds, and unnaturally strong.

Their only chance was to keep firing until they ran out of ammunition, or it dropped dead. Therein lay the problem, sustained and continuous fire was a challenge for a section equipped with weapons with a limited ammunition capacity.

Nevertheless, Murphy pulled back on the fore-end to pump and fired off another round. All around him the men kept firing, and several rounds struck the creature through the chest, arm and legs.

Two…

Despite numerous strikes it was still standing upright, although noticeably sluggish. Murphy spotted those fangs and froze for a minute as the memory of what happened that fateful evening resurfaced. Not now!

He bit the inside of his cheek to refocus his thoughts and fired another round.

Three…

“Reload—(ing),” Private Willis said, before being silenced.

The vampire moved like a blur and tore out a chunk of the Private’s neck. Before anyone else could react, it latched on, feeding from those blood spurts.

The man was already dead, everyone knew that, but their morality led to hesitation. Murphy clenched his jaw and pumped back his weapon twice while holding down the trigger.

Four… Five…

Both shots tore through the Private’s back and struck the vampire. The effect was twofold; the first was obvious, preventing the creature from healing further. The second reason was purely about preventing the young lad from suffering. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for this.

This led the men to renew their fire and fortunately, Sergeant Ryan’s team joined the fray. The vampire was being assaulted from three directions, but it somehow remained upright.

The trouble was that reloading risked an attack and no one wanted to chance it. That was why the first weapon to go click without a bang was immediately noticed by everyone.

The creature turned its head towards the shooter. If not for the snipers, at least another man would have died. They must have moved to get a clear line of sight.

Instead, the vampire’s cheek and teeth blew out from within. But even that did little more than slow it down. With one round left, Murphy upped the ante.

He reached for his pouch and pulled out a pistol-like weapon with a large-gauge barrel. He slammed the breech shut, took aim and paused. When another shot from the ridge rang out and struck the vampire through the chest, Murphy fired.

The flare went off with a hiss and pop, moving in a slow, wide arc. The vampire was struck in the chest and a bright flash of white light left everyone blinded.

“Burn in hell,” Murphy cursed.

The white-phosphorus-fueled flames spread out over the body as though it was a pile of dry kindling. Within seconds the vampire was engulfed in fire and only then dropped to his knees. The heat radiating from the corpse was enough to dry out his eyes.

Murphy’s hands were shaking, with all that excess adrenaline needing an outlet. Still, he pulled himself together. We’re not out of the woods yet.

“Reload and fan out,” Murphy ordered. “Find Fitzpatrick.”

He looked over the scene only after loading another five shells. The ground near the Private was soaked in blood and ash. But all around him there were spent shells and cartridges. I’ve only seen this much brass at the shooting range.

“Found him, Sir,” Sergeant Simmons said.

The Sergeant was amongst the first Canadians to reach the front lines. The fact this man was pale and could only whisper his response said much about the grisly discovery.

Murphy closed his eyes and shook his head. A single vampire killed four of his men in the span of five minutes. We got lucky…

The only thing he knew for certain was that their Commanding Officer (CO) would need to be briefed. This was the first time they encountered the enemy behind their own lines. I bet this won’t be the last…

CHAPTER 7

MONTCALM’S SHADOW

Murphy was cold, wet, and most importantly exhausted. The fog rolled in as they secured the site and found another three ghouls in the final sweep. That left them with the grim task of dealing with their dead. They deserve a proper burial.

His mind-numbing fatigue was of no consequence when compared to reporting that they encountered a vampire behind allied lines. He left the cleanup in the hands of his sergeants and took two corporals with him back to headquarters. Travelling alone in a war zone was ill-advised.

From there it was a hard march, fighting against time to make sure they reached headquarters well before sunrise. While Marc could always be called upon, Murphy knew that pushing deep into the day strained the man considerably.

Within thirty minutes they approached the dugout, with Private Lewis securing the entrance. He dismissed his men, ordering them to get some food and rest. After taking a quick moment to make sure he was relatively presentable, Murphy approached the headquarters.

“Sorry, Sir,” Private Lewis said. “The Colonel is with someone.”

That was an interesting development. He peeked inside and spotted the distinctive, blue uniform. The presence of a French officer within their lines was, to put it mildly, surprising.

“How is she?” the French officer asked.

“She seems to be doing well,” Marc replied. “She’s enjoying the work and writes daily.”

Murphy watched the Colonel bring his canteen to his lips and take a sip. This came as a shock as he had never seen their CO eat or drink anything.

“You sound disappointed.”

“In her? Never,” Marc said. “More… concerned… that she doesn’t need me anymore.”

The French officer chuckled, and in that moment, Murphy realised the man was speaking as though he were a British officer. You’d think that was General Kitchener talking.

“Don’t tell me you grew a heart?”

“I’m offended you’d ever consider that a possibility,” Marc said, as though playing in some Shakespearean play. “She’s been my singular focus for centuries now.”

“Right,” the French officer said, before refilling both their canteens with what appeared to be a deep-red wine. “I’m sure—(sure she misses you too.)”

“Hold on,” Marc said.

* * * *

Marc knew it was Murphy standing outside the dugout and that Lewis passed on his instructions. However, when accounting for their mission and early arrival, Murphy must have something to say. He would not linger unless this was important.

“Private Lewis,” Marc said, loud enough for everyone in the headquarters to stop what they were doing. “Let the Warrant inside.”

His office was small, so his friend, Aelred, took the only chair inside. The man let out a sigh, which would have hinted at his age, but that failed to account for the fact he was seven centuries old.

Murphy showed up in thirteen seconds. Marc noted that his steps were long and his pace quick. I doubt that’s to convey good news.

“Sir,” Murphy said. “I need to report on our—(mission.)”

The Warrant stopped once he realised the French officer was a ginger. That was decidedly not a trait normally associated with the descendants of Molière.

“Murphy,” Marc said, after spotting the disconnect. “Meet Colonel Montcalm, my equivalent within the Republic’s military.”

Marc knew their equivalent could mean many things, but the glow in those eyes hinted that his second understood the nuances perfectly.

“As in General Montcalm?”

“Something like that,” Marc said. “That’s still a bit of a sore point for both of us.”

“You’re the one who serves alongside Wolfe’s descendants,” Aelred said.

“Not like Montcalm’s descendants are rising to the occasion,” Marc teased. “Aelred, meet Warrant Officer Second Class Murphy, he’s leading the team I told you about.”

Aelred shot Marc a cold stare, a flashback from their numerous chats in the past. The elder vampire might have agreed on the end state, but he was not thrilled about using combat soldiers to hunt down vampires. He doesn’t realise how easily humanity could wipe us off the map.

“I’ve heard good things about your team,” Aelred said. “Anything to report?”

Marc knew that this second would not answer that question until authorised to do so. The French might be allies, but there were plenty of secrets left between them. That’s a perfectly reasonable precaution.

“Go ahead, Warrant,” Marc said. “He knows what I know.”

There was hesitation in those eyes, but the man complied.

“We were attacked, and lost four men, Sir,” Murphy said.

“What attacked you?” Marc asked.

“A vampire, Sir,” Murphy said.

Aelred did not betray himself at all. Which was expected of those who mingled regularly with predators. To show a measure of empathy, Marc adopted an expression that mirrored his genuine surprise.

“Operating behind our lines, Warrant?” Aelred asked.

“They were,” Marc replied. “We went in to investigate a suspected nest of ghouls.”

“We hunted down nine, Sir,” Murphy said.

Marc smiled for a fraction of a second before returning to a neutral pose. That spoke well of their ability to clear areas of ghouls, but his kind was another matter entirely.

“Was he defending the nest?” Aelred asked.

This in itself was unheard of. While the other side did not mind using ghouls as fodder, they certainly did not cohabitate.

“No, Sir,” Murphy replied. “Snipers reported seeing a man approach from over the ridge.”

Unless a vampire was desperate to feed, they would never engage a heavily armed group of men. Unless they were expecting something else.

“Anything like this reported along your lines?” Marc asked.

Aelred took a sip from his canteen, which was his tried-and-true way of giving himself more time to respond. The news of a vampire operating with impunity away from the relative safety of their lines was concerning.

“I’ve heard of no such thing,” Aelred said. “Even with things heating up in Verdun, there’s been no influx of the supernatural.”

“I wonder if this is an effect of actively countering them,” Marc said.

Had his canteen not been filled already, Aelred would most certainly have taken the time to refill it. The elder decided to invert the argument instead of defending his choice to take on an advisory role.

“You mean kicking the hornet’s nest?” Aelred asked. “I don’t feel that applies either.”

“Then we are missing something,” Marc said.

It was obvious there was more to it, but Murphy was looking for action, not talk.

“Murphy,” Marc said. “I want a detailed report on my desk before lunch.”

Murphy stiffened upon hearing the order. He would comply but they both knew that was not enough. Nothing would bring their men back, and Marc would adjust their doctrine to reduce future casualties.

“After that, find Padre Taylor,” Marc said. “He may be able to give you some insight on how to protect the men.”

“Sir?” Murphy asked, clearly confused.

“You mean that old hunter?” Aelred asked.

“The man is thirty-four years old and a Jesuit priest,” Marc said. “I hardly consider that old.”

“For a hunter? He’s practically Methuselah,” Aelred said, before chuckling.

Marc and Aelred took a sip from their canteens. When done, they turned their attention to Murphy who was waiting patiently for answers or to be dismissed.

“Trust me, Warrant,” Marc said. “Our Captain Taylor has insight that I’ve never heard of.”

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy said.

“Anything else?” Marc asked.

“No, Sir.”

“Dismissed,” Marc said.

When Murphy was ten steps away from the office, the two colonels began speaking again.

“We are missing something,” Aelred said.

“We are, and I don’t like it one bit.”

CHAPTER 8

LOOSE LIPS

Evelyn paused, leaving her chisel and mallet on a rough-hewn table. In the corner of the room there was a phonograph, an older, crank-style model with a horn. This model was ideal considering that not every room was wired yet for electricity.

The needle was skipping against the edge, playing a few notes filled with hisses and pops before repeating again. She walked over casually and lifted the arm, bathing the room in silence.

“Time for a break,” Evelyn said.

She normally worked from a studio back home. To accommodate her, the staff allocated such a space. However, some pieces could not fit through the doors and had to be carved on site.

Doing so came with risks, but Evelyn had been carving for centuries. She was skilled enough to avoid making mistakes and mastered recovering from them if a mishap occurred. Either way, she enjoyed the challenge.

This room was still an empty shell, but it showed much promise even at this stage. It was two stories high, with a vaulted ceiling. The presence of voids implied that columns would be fitted later.

The walls were still slats of wood running horizontally and in parallel. The workers had yet to apply plaster, and she suspected that would happen once she was done.

While electric cabling protruded from openings in the walls and ceiling, none of it was connected. Evelyn was using several lanterns to chase away the darkness.

The air was thick with acrid smoke, which would have been a problem had she been human. Of course, her model was, but Evelyn took precautions to ensure she was fine. I only need to see her scrumptious body for the moment.

There was a large block of solid granite in the centre of this space. Most would expect the block to have been carted in before finishing the walls, but the opposite was true.

The lower three levels of the hotel were carved out of the side of a cliff. Instead of bringing in the block, it was left in place while they carved out the floor. In this case, this space served as a transition point between the regular hotel and the southern wing that primarily housed her kind.

Her bare feet were essentially standing on the cliff itself. She rather enjoyed the idea of creating a masterpiece from what was once the heart of this room.

The once solid block of granite was taking shape. Her project was ambitious and it would take her a while for the sculpture to reflect the model before her. This woman was utterly delectable, and she reminded herself to thank Grace when she returned. This one is blessed with both youth and lithe beauty.

Evelyn might have made the same claim, especially when considering her dark hair, piercing eyes and soft alabaster skin. Their differences were in their musculature.

Her model was no stranger to hard work, her arms and legs were toned, and those abs defined. She fits my image of a Greco-Roman goddess perfectly.

This worked wonderfully for this room dedicated to Artemis. The model was standing on one leg, pointing towards the ceiling with a bow. The pose was impossible for a model to hold for long. So, Evelyn had given her just enough blood to give her strength and maintain balance.

To deal with the toxic fumes from the lanterns, there was a wet cloth wrapped around her model’s face. Even now Evelyn could see how soot darkened the material. I wonder how they made it through winter when all they had were oil lanterns for light and fires for heat and cooking.

Blood bonds were a risky affair. Too little blood meant a lack of control, whereas too much enslaved the recipients. Marc was decidedly against the latter, and Evelyn came to the same conclusion herself decades ago.

Being faced by a pale reflection of the self was boring. She loved to woo her prey, to make them yearn for her affections, and only then did she indulge in their blood.

“I wonder why she was drugged?” Evelyn asked. “Then again, Grace never even gave me her name.”

If not for her muse, Evelyn might have questioned her maid directly. But for the moment, she wanted to make some headway on this piece.

“When I need her face, I’ll open the doors,” Evelyn said. “The workers can stare all they want.”

Evelyn always created in the nude, something she learned after destroying several expensive gowns and corsets. She enjoyed the freedom it gave her. Besides, as a vampire, minor nicks and cuts were a snap to deal with. To her it was better than dedicating hours of her time towards cleaning or sewing together a new gown. Besides, it drove Marc crazy which was icing on the cake.

At the table, she reached for a bottle of wine and poured some of it into a crystal goblet. It was redder than a normal vintage because it contained copious amounts of human blood.

She rarely indulged in blood wine, mainly because Marc did not handle it well. However, The Grand offered it freely and it permitted her to work longer hours before taking breaks.

Evelyn took a sip and moaned, a clear sign she was famished. She could control her hunger better than most, but even Evelyn could find herself in a state where all she thought about was feeding. Thankfully, I’m nowhere near that point.

She greedily finished her glass and was filling it when Grace walked in. That vampire was one of the few people who could evade detection until nearly upon her. Marc taught her well.

“Mistress,” Grace said, those eyes furrowed and her face neutral.

Vampires rarely showed their genuine emotions, especially women. While Marc could get away with being a dour, killing machine, women were expected to play the game better than the greatest queens in history. A single lapse can leave you in a second grave.

Grace knew the game well, so the choice to do away with restraint showed urgency. That did not mean Evelyn had to play along though.

“Ah, ma chère Grâce,” Evelyn said. (Ah, my dear Grace.) “Come and indulge in this wine.”

Grace looked like she wanted to challenge Evelyn but quickly adopted a smile and approached. The young vampire was no stranger to hiding her emotions, and for anyone with blue blood and born into the royal courts of Europe it was second nature.

The maid walked directly to Evelyn and they kissed each other on the cheeks. The motion was practised and precise, but it ironically did not involve any contact.

“I must thank you for finding this delectable specimen,” Evelyn said.

All the while Evelyn pulled out that strange cylinder. At first, it did nothing, but when Evelyn took a sip from a silver flask on her workbench it glowed.

“I live to serve my mistress,” Grace said.

“You shall be amply rewarded for your devotion.”

The wand did not change colour this time. That much was expected but given the fallout from the war, caution was warranted. To prevent eavesdropping, she wound up the turntable and placed the pin along the outer edge.

Soon the room was filled with the sound of Emma Calvé’s fiery Carmen aria. That voice never failed to stir up fond memories of the private show that Marc arranged for her. Emma had a passion and authenticity that was impossible for a fellow artist to ignore. After the third song, Marc excused himself, and before the diva finished her fourth, Evelyn was testing Emma’s vocal range through passionate lovemaking.

That was a night she would never forget. Emma likely would not either since she cancelled her remaining performances for the week due to fatigue. I should meet up with her again and see if she remembers me after thirty years.

Evelyn returned to the table and let her mask drop. Despite the blood, the long sessions and physical exertion were taking their toll. Evelyn’s eyes were half closed as was her smile, as though yearning for a good night’s rest.

“The kitchen,” Grace answered.

That was not what Grace came here to say, but her mistress did ask where the model came from. One that led the weary Evelyn to fully open her eyes.

“Quoi?” Evelyn said, without realising that she was speaking like the Nouvelle France colonists. (What?)

Grace giggled and Evelyn followed suit once she realised her slip. I think I’ll need to take a long break after this piece.

She looked at her statue before those eyes moved to the model and found her second wind. I’d hate to leave this project unfinished for too long.

“The kitchen,” Grace repeated to give her a moment to formulate a reply. “They keep live humans…”

When Evelyn agreed to come to The Grand, she knew it advertised itself as being a haven for their kind. It was also stated that humans were guests, as a way of hiding the true nature of their most cherished clientele. Wolves hiding amongst the sheep.

However, she did not count on the staff treating people like cattle. Evelyn fully expected the model to be one of the many staff needed to maintain a hotel of this size. I was not counting on her being someone’s main course.

That explained why they were building the world’s-largest hedge labyrinth on the valley floor below. It also shed light on their reason for maintaining the wild woods surrounding the manicured gardens. Drugged prey for the lazy hunter.

“I suddenly lost my appetite,” Evelyn said, before letting out a nervous burp.

“Mistress?” Grace asked.

“She’s not exactly my normal fare,” Evelyn said. “Judging by her calloused hands, I’d guess she’s a runaway, farm girl, looking for a better life.”

It was the true genius of building this hotel where it was. The Grand was far enough from the city to round up drifters and non-desirables without raising suspicions. I guess I was expecting them to empty out the prisons.

Evelyn would gladly drain a murderer dry or make an example of a rapist. She loved to create elaborate murder scenes that left investigators scarred for life. Given the strength and brutality needed to create such macabre tableaux, her heinous crimes were always attributed to a man.

That was one of her few indulgences, one that Marc rarely permitted. Still, even he had to admit that the streets were safer when the newspapers were filled with headlines of a killer on the loose.

“You can still give her a better life,” Grace said.

Evelyn cocked her head to the side and placed her index finger across her lips.

“She was meant for another guest who left on short notice.”

It was clear there was more to this story. Instead of interrupting, Evelyn further tilted her head to the side.

“They offered her to you as a bonus,” Grace said. “Something about the quality of your work.”

Evelyn’s eyes opened wide and she lunged at the younger vampire. Grace’s eyes practically popped out from her head due to the vampiric strength behind that hug.

“Ouff,” Grace said.

“Oh,” Evelyn said. “I forget my own strength.”

“I figure in a week or so the hotel’s gate will be active.”

Grace was implying their model could be shipped off at the earliest opportunity. I’m not sure that dropping her off in a big city after nearly being served as an appetiser would be setting her up for success.

“I’m not following,” Evelyn said.

Grace smiled, a mischievous, little smile that hinted at being a survivor of the royal court. She’s been buttering me up for this.

“You sometimes talk about starting a bordello,” Grace said.

The pieces fell into place and Evelyn now knew precisely where Grace was headed. It’s not a bordello per se.

Information was worth more than gold and the powerful loved beautiful things. If Evelyn was head over heels for this one, it was safe to assume that many men would covet her. I could make a fortune by selling her body by the hour.

She learned that lesson well as a courtesan in Paris. The madame certainly wore clothing and perfumes that were well above her station. Whereas I was lucky to have a hand-me-down dress to my name.

Evelyn had no wish to subjugate other women nor condemn them to her fate. Sex was only part of the equation because a moment of weakness could become a lifetime’s worth of leverage.

Whereas Drusilla and her ilk dominated through power and fear. Evelyn wanted to use that leverage for financial gain or intelligence.

With a prominent politician in their pocket, policies could be changed to weaken Drusilla’s influence. It was easier said than done, but that explained why her bordellos would not necessarily be staffed by whores.

They would live a lavish lifestyle, with the ability to rub elbows with the rich and influential. Security would keep a watchful eye and make an example of those who crossed the line. I was hoping to set the example myself…

“Who will head the operation?” Evelyn asked.

Evelyn and Grace were here for a reason and would remain for the duration of the war. Besides, the staff were beginning to see them as one of their own, and that meant more juicy secrets coming their way. Nothing yet that would help with the war effort, but we’re getting to know more about the key players on both sides of the conflict.

“I could peek in from time to time,” Grace admitted.

Evelyn had to admit that Grace was more than capable of looking over such an operation. The trouble was that the johns would never take her seriously due to her appearance. That would force her to resort to violence to ensure compliance. One did not sell flesh when people feared for their lives. Respect is what will get you far.

“Grace,” Evelyn began. “You’re a gem, but you know they will judge you by your age, and how that plays against you.”

Grace let out a long sigh and stared at her feet. Evelyn was not trying to be cruel, but the truth was getting to be a sore point. It can’t be easy for her.

“Start your operation here,” Grace said. “Recruit her, make her feel wanted. At least it gives her a way out.”

“Where would we get new recruits?” Evelyn asked, but also knew where this was going.

“The kitchen,” Grace said. “Although we may need to start paying for choice cuts.”

Money was not an issue, because Marc spent centuries in the selling and manufacturing of arms and munitions. The Great War was expanding their wealth faster than they could realistically absorb. I have no idea how he keeps track of all those dummy corporations he uses to hide our interests.

The idea had merit. From here they could ensure that some were saved and readied before they returned home. I’ll send word of our plan back home to secure a few properties.

“We’re lucky you’re on our side,” Evelyn said.

Grace was about to say something, but Evelyn’s mind dwelled on an unfinished thought.

“What happened to her… buyer?”

Grace smiled in a way that showcased just how proud she was of getting this tidbit of intelligence. In truth, there was more to it than she initially divulged.

“It seems that Drusilla sent an agent here to assess the progress of construction,” Grace said.

The fact that Drusilla always had agents hiding in the shadows, was one of her greatest strengths. They lived where the light did not shine, ever hidden, and struck from the shadows with impunity. That’s why we’re never far from one another.

“According to the staff, this one is apparently renowned for her cruelty,” Grace added.

Evelyn cocked a brow as that was hard to believe. Drusilla made Evelyn’s crime scenes appear amateurish. How sadistic does she have to be to be noticed by Drusilla?

“Did you get a name?”

“No,” Grace said. “Simply that she has steel-grey eyes and a cruel smile.”

That was not much to go on. So, there must have been more to these rumours.

“They said the woman left abruptly after hearing that her sister was located somewhere in France.”

That appeared to fit in with the news she got from Marc. He always replied with long and boring narratives filled with numbers. Those turned out to be references to words within a book. That’s why I dragged a library with me.

At least the man was not trying to sugarcoat the conflict. It was his way of telling Evelyn had grown enough to be trusted. Sometimes her chest tightened upon realising that she was here on her own… or the thrill of being able to unfurl my wings and fly.

“How does a vampire old enough to get noticed by Drusilla have a living sister.” Evelyn said.

“Drusilla usually uses her recruits as fodder,” Evelyn said. Even a great-granddaughter would surprise me.

“I know,” Grace said. “This last detail is what threw me.”

Evelyn was beginning to understand why propaganda posters continually reminded people to keep quiet. ‘Careless talk costs lives’ it said, but in this case, it worked in their favour.

“Which is?” Evelyn asked.

“The sister,” Grace began, “she’s a hunter…”

CHAPTER 9

VANTAGE POINT

It had been a month since Murphy and his men encountered a vampire behind enemy lines. It took two weeks to adjust their tactics, and another to train up the men.

The teams were now equipped with machine guns for sustained gunfire. While the additional weight reduced mobility, the ability to hold their own against a vampire was well worth the trade-off.

Murphy was relentless in running his men through drills and manoeuvres. By the time he was done, the men functioned like a well-oiled machine. The Warrant did a fantastic job of encouraging camaraderie without destroying their ability to act independently.

That was a hard lesson learned from clearing that nest. They now knew they needed to support their brothers in arms but they also had to deal with threats even as casualties piled up.

That was a trait found in Murphy, and Marc was thrilled his second fostered that trait within his men. Now, a team of twenty were travelling over ground, their silhouettes near impossible for humans to make out because they utilised the terrain for cover. As a vampire, he saw their outlines perfectly. What he lacked were the details, but he knew the men well enough to identify them.

They were a mile from their objective. Headed for the ruins of a small redoubt. These were earth fortifications with a small complement of structures above and below ground. A site they once used to store munitions for cannons to fight in a long-forgot war.

His side failed to account for the advent of indirect artillery fire. They learned their lesson under fire and had to evacuate under a hail of artillery. The casualties from their withdrawal were high, creating the perfect environment to invite ghouls to nest. There were numerous sightings within the area.

When the last man was out of sight, Marc stood up from his vantage point. He was once more adorning the rank of a captain and carried a sword just in case. Back when he served under le Roi, Marc learned to appreciate the curved, steel blade of a cavalry sword. A shape that was ideal for sending a rider off their mount.

He gripped his scabbard and ran towards his next vantage point. Marc was there when Murphy briefed the men, this permitted him to follow along in case someone tried to ruin a beautifully executed plan. If everything works out as intended, they’ll never know I was here.

He reached the water tower along the railway line and climbed up the ladder. He knew from aerial photography that it was intact. Impressive, considering how heavily this area was shelled.

From there he caught sight of Murphy and the forward edge of his group. By now, his team was effectively split into three, with the smallest contingent going for what remained of an old factory. The building was tall and sturdy, an excellent vantage point to provide cover fire.

The other two groups were approaching the redoubt. Craters and debris made the terrain treacherous, but the waning gibbous moon provided enough light, it might as well have been full noon.

Murphy wanted the attack to happen last night, but Marc delayed the mission without divulging why. Vampires were never out in the open during the full moon, not without a damn good reason.

Predictably, they were flanking their objective, enabling them to use enfilading fire if needed. That tactic worked well the last time they made contact.

“Now, if I was the enemy,” Marc whispered. “Where would I be hiding?”

Marc was not referring to the ghouls. The men were more than capable of eradicating dozens of them without a scratch. They were scavengers and not predatory by nature. They’re only dangerous if caught by surprise or cornered.

What bothered Marc about the last mission was the vampire running into the fray. Not every opponent he faced was a fanatic, some of them embraced reason. If we can learn, so can they.

On a hunch, he focused on an open area near the factory. In war, the high ground was coveted. That’s how General Wolfe suffered a humiliating defeat at Montmorency Falls. He must’ve had one hell of a chip on his shoulder to think he could overcome fire from an entrenched enemy while scaling a sheer, two-hundred-foot cliff.

Murphy knew to hold the high ground, which was why his snipers were providing covering fire from the factory roof. The mortar team was another innovation. If Murphy and his men had to withdraw, they would do so under the cover of high-explosive rounds. The infantry’s way of giving someone the finger.

He caught something moving from the corner of his eye. Below him someone was moving along the ground towards the sniper’s nest. The outline clearly showed the distinctive, spiked helmet. The lack of an audible heartbeat confirmed this was another vampire.

That also explained why they missed Marc. The Huns were expecting humans, not a vampiric opponent. If I was them…

The man of war scanned the horizon and noticed another two moving in from the ruins of the town. He knew he could not engage both groups before they made contact. So, he needed to alert the snipers and engage the most pressing threats.

He pulled out his revolver and fired twice. The first struck the Hun in the back, and the other made a loud clang as it pierced the helmet. The shot was about an inch too high, but it would slow him down.

Marc streaked across the terrain towards the pair of Huns, covering the two-hundred-and-twelve-yard distance in twenty-two seconds. The snipers were now engaging the man he shot. With any luck, a mortar or two will soon follow.

The remaining Krauts were waiting for him. Marc traded stealth and blood to reach them. This put him at a disadvantage because his kind had a limited reserve to draw from. If Marc expended too much, he risked surrendering to his base instincts to feed.

Vampires so afflicted were threats to friends and foes alike. They killed without thought, until their blood thirst was satiated. I’ve seen them mow down dozens without slowing down.

Marc drew his sabre which led both Huns to flash him a curious look. While swords were common among the officers, his blade was decidedly a Spanish pattern abandoned centuries ago. That only indicates how young these two are.

He kept his pistol drawn using his off hand. It was fortunate that he had the foresight to reload before intercepting his opponents. He expected a brief exchange of witty banter, but these two were stoic as soldiers on parade.

Seeing no need to drag this out, Marc began circling the two, forcing them to adopt a defensive posture. Eventually they split up, enabling them to strike from two directions at once.

In the background, there came the sound of muffled gunfire. It appeared that his team made contact within the redoubt and were engaging. Meanwhile, there came a loud plunk from the sniper’s position. That mortar might prove useful.

Marc approached the nearest opponent wielding a rifle with bayonet affixed. The combination gave them more reach but limited their mobility. Marc opened with a thrust, and followed through with a slash, to give him a measure of their reactions. The opponent turned out to be surprisingly adept with his weapon, deflecting the thrust handily and following through with a slash of his own.

The mortar made a loud thump as it hit the ground. Contact fuses sometimes failed to detonate in the mud. However, this one was fitted with a pyrotechnic delay.

One…

Marc made it easy for his opponent as the other hovered in the background just out of range. The man of war repeated his earlier combination to boost the man’s confidence.

Two…

He followed through with a slash which led the man to smirk. He thinks I’m inexperienced and predictable.

Three…

He slashed again, but this time followed through with a shot from his pistol. The gunshot corresponded with the sound of the high-explosive round going off.

The man took a .445 calibre round straight in the chest, which caused him to stumble. With the man dangerously exposed, Marc freed his first opponent of their head with a practised slash.

There came a rapid succession of steps from behind. Marc leveraged his momentum to roll out of the way just in time to evade the bayonet charge. However, the vampire was nowhere to be found, moving faster than the human eye could see.

His opponent did not account for the fact that Marc was also a vampire. As such, Marc could track and predict the movements accordingly. The trouble was that the man of war wished to avoid expending more blood.

In this case, Marc feigned fatigue and leveraged the inexperience exhibited earlier. Let them assume I’m a simpleton.

The man zoomed across his field of vision waiting for Marc’s gaze to reach him again before moving onto the next. With every iteration, the man moved in closer. Initially, his opponent remained beyond the range of Marc’s pistol, but hubris worked in his favour.

This time when Marc found him again, it prompted the Hun to run to the other side as though a blur. What this man did not expect was that Marc had already fired off a round, striking his opponent in the shoulder, which sent him into a spin. Before the attacker could recover, Marc fired two more rounds, with the second shot sending a spray of brain matter into the night.

Without hesitation, Marc walked up and severed the head clean from the body. To ensure they were never reunited, Marc kicked what remained of the head a good distance and ran for cover.

His three gunshots must have alerted the snipers to a threat. Upon spotting the corpse, they would immediately ask what they missed. That meant Murphy would dispatch someone to investigate. Someone will ask where I was tonight.

In a practised motion, Marc broke the breech of his weapon, let the spent casings fall to the ground and chambered fresh rounds. He slammed it shut and caught a deep guttural growl in the distance. It can’t be…

Had Marc been in touch with his emotions, he might have panicked. Contrary to Drusilla’s firmly held beliefs that vampires were superior to all, that was not entirely true. There were things out there that even vampires avoided. It’s why our kind keeps to the cities instead of roaming the countryside.

He never met a werewolf before, but others of his kind spoke of them as though they were the bogeyman. They were said to be tall, wolf-like creatures capable of standing on their hind legs. They were fast, immensely powerful, and could track his scent to the ends of the earth.

How it found him, or why it was active a day after a full moon was irrelevant. A werewolf could decimate his team, and Marc would not stand for it. There’s one small matter to attend to.

As the creature approached, Marc began moving perpendicularly to the werewolf. He focused on keeping just enough distance between them to lead it towards the ruins of the town. Farther away from my men.

That only infuriated the creature. Before he reached cover, there came a loud howl followed by a series of thumps that reminded him of a warhorse advancing at full gallop. Marc expended a bit of blood to get behind the relative safety of what remained of a brick building. Sensing he was at a disadvantage Marc backed away, facing the approaching threat racing over the crater-filled terrain.

“It’s not slowing down,” Marc muttered.

Next came the sound of the wall disintegrating as though struck by a train. Fearing the worst, he brought up his pistol to bear, just as the mortar, bricks, and dust gave way to the werewolf.

On its hind legs, this thing must have been at least nine feet tall, and the claws alone were six inches long. This was a creature that crawled out of humanity’s collective nightmare. The worst part? That’s not even a male.

Upon spotting Marc, it howled and clawed the ground leaving a huge gouge in the hard-packed road. Marc stood his ground, as chunks of debris landed at his feet. Seeing as hand-to-claw combat was out of the question, Marc decided to use what tools he had.

He took aim and fired three shots from his pistol. All three were hits to the centre of mass. I swear the rounds bounced right off.

“Right, this thing can tango with an enraged polar bear,” Marc said.

It howled again, and this time it sounded angry. Just because vampires were their natural prey, it did not mean Marc had to roll over and die. He dug in his feet and charged the creature.

Not to be outdone, the nine-foot-tall, killing machine did the same. It approached on all fours and launched dirt and rocks in its wake. Marc knew he had only one way out of this.

He emptied the remaining chambers of his pistol aiming for the head. With some luck he might have got an eye, instead he got more of the same. Can’t blame me for trying.

Marc remembered standing his ground against cavalry. He realised that a dozen warhorses and their riders galloping towards his position was nothing in comparison. Still, mass and speed could always be leveraged.

Before the werewolf took a swipe, Marc shifted out of the way and dropped to his knees. All that mass of muscles and claws passed by, he swiped his blade as hard as his vampiric strength allowed. The blade made a snick on contact, creating a deep slash that cut through muscle and tendons. That will slow her—

Not to be outdone, this werewolf turned out to be more agile than expected. A set of claws grazed his back, cutting through his uniform and into flesh. Marc tightened his jaw until his teeth strained, but he was not out of this fight. I’ve already beaten the odds.

To prevent another attack, Marc used up more of his blood to distance himself. By the time he turned, Marc was fifty-three paces away, staring down the creature with a bloodied paw. It had trouble keeping weight on its left leg, but that was not enough to end this fight.

“I wonder if it learned a lesson…”

That long and angry howl confirmed it had not. Although Marc was thankful there were no replies.

He holstered his pistol and pulled out another weapon. At this point, he knew that more exchanges like that would end up with him as a chew toy. Time to take a page from Murphy’s playbook.

He willed himself to stem the bleeding at his back and charged the creature. The werewolf did the same, looking more determined than ever to prove it was the apex predator.

This time Marc waited until the creature lunged at him before reacting. He took aim and fired the flare gun at that gaping maw. The illumination flare shot out with a pop, and by some miracle it went straight down the werewolf’s throat.

What appeared to be certain death moments ago, shifted in his favour. The werewolf immediately reached for its throat as though choking. Marc slid under the creature and quickly regained his footing a distance away from the threat.

Its need to breathe only served to feed the chemical fire. The pain must have been intense as it tried to claw its own throat to rid itself of the source. However, the intense heat and flame eventually forced the werewolf to its knees, before falling snout first onto the ground.

When everything settled, Marc realised the shooting had stopped entirely. In the distance, he heard a mass of footsteps converging on his position. Intent on making sure his men saw neither hide nor tail of him. Marc used his sabre to free the creature of its head.

The thing was positively huge, and an excellent trophy. Alas, the man of war was not interested in hanging this creature’s head on his mantel back home. Evelyn would kill me if I ever tried to decorate to our home.

Besides, there were rumours that werewolves reverted to their human form once the moon set. No matter, he had an idea and wanted to send a clear message to the enemy to further dissuade incursions across his lines.

“Besides,” Marc whispered. “It’ll give me something to write about.”

CHAPTER 10

BLUTSAUGER UND WERWÖLFE

Vampires like Drusilla created elaborate plans that spanned centuries. To make things worse, they often lashed out from the shadows. For a man forged in the fires of combat, that type of behaviour irked him.

Marc confronted his problems head-on. If an attempt to resolve conflict through dialogue failed, duels were known to settle the matter permanently. They may continue to haunt you afterwards.

What had triggered this surge remained a secret even to God. That woman could have faced him centuries ago, instead she sent Marc cannon fodder.

Marc knew from intelligence reports that the Krauts were holding a defensive position not far from their objective. Based on where he was and the terrain, he had plenty of time. I just need to pace myself before getting there.

“It’s time to give them a taste of their own medicine.”

He walked off casually towards the enemy with his latest prize dangling by its long fur. Blood continued to drip freely from what would have been the neck.

“They’re going to love me,” Marc said, as the head swung back and forth in unison with his steps.

* * * *

An hour later, Marc was drinking dry his sixth Hun. The numerous wounds caused by an officer’s pistol were healing, pushing out the projectiles before the skin healed entirely.

His uniform may have been in tatters, but he rarely felt this powerful. All told, he had taken out the combined headquarters and twenty-man defence force in less than fifteen minutes.

His first kill was by stealth alone, enabling him to heal completely from his prior engagement to restore his reserves. For the rest, he channelled his internal, vengeful spirit, men sent flying, heads torn right off their bodies, and some cleaved in half.

Marc had taken hits nevertheless, hence the five remaining kills. Each time he made sure the prey saw him approach, to fill their hearts with dread. His equivalent in rank for their army was the second to last victim. Marc was impressed; the man nearly reached a field phone to call in for support.

Anticipating the move, Marc severed the lines with a flick of his talons. He then used the wire to string the man up by his toes and bled him dry through a small incision. He watched the man’s fear give way to shock and eternal slumber. It’s better than he deserves.

To further make this a spectacle, Marc stripped clothing and flesh from the body. Only the face was intact, leaving those telltale scars from past duels visible for identification. He also hammered nails into the skull so the cap would remain perfectly in place until they discovered him.

Marc stretched out the man’s skin and nailed it to the wall. His intent was to use it like a macabre blackboard. With a dowel torn from a wooden chair, dipped in blood he wrote a message on the skin.

Dies ist unser größtes Erbarmen

The letters were large and clearly legible, so reinforcements would get the message. In turn, Command would find it daunting to hide what transpired here.

“This is our greatest mercy,” Marc translated.

He wanted the Krauts to believe that several were responsible for this and did so without raising the alarm. This act would resonate throughout their lines and with luck be reported to Drusilla. They’ll think twice before sending me more fodder.

However, a careful investigator could easily deduce the wounds were from one person. Luckily for him, Marc brought something to disguise the narrative.

In the corner of the headquarters, he picked up the werewolf head. By leveraging his strength, Marc put those massive jaws to use.

He used them to tear flesh from bone, leaving distinctive bite marks on the bodies. He also used his talons to slash some of his victims in a way to mimic a werewolf. I got a firsthand demonstration of it tonight.

All told, Marc had been here for thirty-three minutes. Plenty of time left to finish demonstrating his mercy to the enemy. He went to the back of their headquarters, which by wild coincidence was where Signaller Heart and his radio were located at his own headquarters. You’d think we were following the same guidebook.

The soldier’s breath was shallow and ragged but yelled through the gag as soon as Marc’s precisely timed steps approached. There was terror in those eyes and if Marc had any empathy, he might have experienced remorse for what he was about to do. My ghosts have been silent for centuries.

He looked at the radio controls and figured out how to operate the microphone. The next part was easy; he used his talons to cut away the gag.

Keeping a man gagged for so long meant the man coughed and sputtered while gasping for air. After a long and strained breath, the operator yelled, “Hilfe—” (Help!)

Marc had other plans. He dug a talon into the signaller’s forehead cutting through skin and muscle until it scraped against bone. As he widened the gash, the scream was loud enough for God himself to hear. He’s stayed away from my affairs before, why start now?

With another slash, he severed the man’s vocal cords. It was time for Marc to pass on his own message, even as the soldier struggled as though his life depended on it. His life was forfeit the moment he crossed my path.

“Dies ist unser größtes Erbarmen,” Marc said in flawless High German.

With that said, Marc depressed the button to end the transmission. Within seconds, confused voices from out of the ether reached out to the dead for answers. Those who stumble onto this site, will wish they were never born.

To satiate his hunger, Marc bit into the man, draining most of his blood. He left the rest for effect, and drove the German signaller’s head into the radio, spreading blood and brain matter over the equipment. Even in death, he shall deliver my message.

He picked up the werewolf’s head and disappeared into the night. Marc knew the way and given the fresh blood coursing through his veins, he would have no trouble getting back to his dugout in time.

This was Marc’s declaration of war. Until now he had been a gentleman soldier, but his opponent showed no interest in reciprocating. Now, he turned the tables, which would either bring their conflict to a head or send them scurrying into the shadows.

“Either way,” Marc said. “I’ll be waiting.”

CHAPTER 11

FIRE AND MILK

Evelyn walked up the circular, marble staircase leading to the Grand Hall. The main reception area was still in tatters. The promised, panoramic windows that would provide a breathtaking view of the valley and mountains were little more than half-welded steel, wood planked covers, and tarps. At least it keeps the wind and rain out.

The front desk was missing entirely. In its place there was a large shipping crate. Since the hotel was not officially open, there was nothing more than a blower, in case someone needed assistance. At least they had an operator on duty. I’d love to meet Mavis; they say she’s very good with her hands…

On either side of her were the east and west wings. The view was mostly an ad hoc collection of tarps, scaffolding and construction materials. The many clubs, lounges, and restaurants were still in the design stage.

The notable exception was a piano bar and lounge adjacent to the kitchens. The lounge was given priority because the human staff and guests needed a place to eat. The Grand would never stoop so low as to have a cafeteria or a mess hall.

For the most part, the lounge was nearly complete. There was a hardwood-and-brass bar along the far wall, but the selection was sorely lacking. At the centre, there was a raised stage occupying the middle of this space with a concert-level grand piano. A shame that they haven’t hired a pianist or a singer.

Nevertheless, music hung in the air, giving the space some well-deserved life. Evelyn made the recommendation early on to use a phonograph in the interim to create a welcoming atmosphere.

The lounge was nearly empty, and that was sadly expected. Very few humans were needed to run The Grand at this juncture.

At the bar, she spotted a man in a black-and-white uniform. Despite the smile on his face most patrons avoided him. This was Cecil, the hotel’s fixer, the one who often worked in the shadows to ensure everything ran smoothly.

He looked as though he had never seen the light of day, which was most likely true for a vampire. His hair was greasy, a trait that was nearly unheard of for their kind.

That explained why the few who used the lounge were spread throughout. They approached the bar to order drinks or food. Otherwise, they avoided Cecil as though he had the plague… that started after word spread of his true role around the hotel.

Evelyn had a different opinion on the matter. The man may have looked like a dime-store-undertaker, but he also knew everything that went on.

“Bonsoir,” Evelyn said, as she sat on a stool near the man.

“Good evening,” Cecil said.

The man smiled, but she had seen warmer smiles from the mugshots of hardened criminals. At least he’s trying.

“Avoid working in the east wing for the next week or so,” Cecil said.

Evelyn was slowly making her way through The Grand, decorating rooms as inspiration struck. Occasionally there were mechanical issues plaguing the lighting and ventilation, but those rarely hindered her progress.

“I’m hesitant to ask why,” Evelyn said, before flashing a smile.

“Let’s say some of the dearly departed from a massacre fifty years ago are making their rounds.”

“Vraiment?” Evelyn asked. (Really?) “I gather they aren’t being sociable?”

“I think the three, dead workers we found would attest to that… So, what will it be tonight?” Cecil asked.

“Let’s start with some giggle water, while I peruse the bill of fare,” Evelyn said.

Part of her role here was to assist the vampiric staff in learning the latest lingo. The primary goal of The Grand was to hide among the sheep and that was a challenge for staff that sounded as though they were embalmed before the reign of Queen Victoria.

Cecil smirked and passed the menu to her. It varied little, but that would change once they had legitimate guests.

“Coming right up,” Cecil said.

Evelyn scanned the menu. Even though she had practically memorised it by now, one entry still caught her eye. She smiled and decided to break new ground.

“There you go,” Cecil said, while sliding over a glass of champagne.

Evelyn noticed the coaster had a note on it. She peeked at its contents as only a vampire could. For a fraction of a second, her head appeared in two places at once. She raised a brow once the weight of those words settled in her mind.

Cecil nodded to confirm what she read. The message left her perplexed but nevertheless she looked forward to seeing how this evening played out.

Georgians were an independent party on the international stage. They possessed advanced technology coveted by every major player, including vampires and hunters. The Grand itself was impossible to safeguard without the Georgian Gargoyles keeping a vigil along the wall separating the hotel and its guests from the werewolf-infested wilds.

A Georgian being here was not unusual. They were sure to exploit the nature of this hotel to perform all manner of diabolical experiments. Vampires aren’t the only inhuman guests this hotel welcomes with open arms.

She assumed that all manner of men tried to approach the red-haired lass and got nowhere. If they were informing Evelyn of the Georgian presence, then the powers that be were willing to see if this fiery-haired agent was receptive to advances from the fairer sex… For all I know, they aren’t even human.

This time Evelyn used a compact mirror from her clutch purse to get a better look. As she powdered her nose, her green eyes remained fixed on the woman with a milky complexion.

“What is she drinking?” Evelyn asked.

“Special request for her continued cooperation,” Cecil said. “Ward’s Orange Crush.”

He brought up a bottle from behind the counter. It looked like a beer bottle with a longer neck, clear glass and a ribbed design. Evelyn smirked at the sight of the pattern but chose not to comment on that feature nor any potential applications.

The liquid was orange, reminiscent of real fruit juice. She guessed there was more to it than that and would likely try it by the end of the night. Depending how things go…

“No alcohol?” Evelyn confirmed.

“None,” Cecil said.

“It’d be easier for me to pluck the moon from out of the sky…”

Cecil chuckled and it almost sounded authentic. Evelyn flashed her trademark smile before taking a deep breath.

“Have you decided, Miss?” Cecil asked.

“Breast of capon à l’impératrice,” Evelyn answered. “Unless I’m back at the bar, have it sent to her table.”

“Very good, Miss,” Cecil said. “Good luck.”

That last part is what she assumed the men said before going over the top. Marc did not delve into the minutiae of battles, because he wanted to shield her from the cold reality of war. He should have tried his hand at being raised in a bordello.

Between the newspaper and her other sources, she had a pretty good idea of the horrors the men faced. These battles were merciless with the dead numbered in the thousands. Whereas the wounded came in at nearly three times that amount. That’s just for four days of fighting.

It was reasonable to shield someone of her physical age from the horrors of war. In fact, she met several ladies at The Grand who showed no interest at all of what went on in Europe. Other than the latest fashion trends.

However, Evelyn was far older than she appeared. Besides, female vampires set the bar high for brutality. For that, Drusilla is the undisputed queen.

Evelyn emptied her glass in several, large gulps. The alcohol had no effect on her, but it helped physiologically. The mind makes it real.

She twirled around on the stool and used the opportunity to get a better look. Had this been three centuries ago, she might have gasped. The supposed Georgian was a nearly flawless rendition of a Scottish lass.

Her hair was as red as fire while her bare skin was milky white. Everything was in the right place and perfectly shaped as though sculpted. The lass had plentiful bosoms, large hips, and an exaggerated hourglass shape.

This one was everything that Evelyn was not, which could end up being a stumbling block. The vampire spent centuries hating everything about herself. The fact that every man in life rejected her did little to help with self-esteem. This century’s doing wonders for my ego.

All those details were visible even through her clothes. The dress was utilitarian, and clearly very little thought had gone into her appearance. The things I could do with her hair.

Evelyn grabbed her clutch and walked towards the exit. As she passed the lass Evelyn dug her heel into the plush carpeting, applying just enough strength to snap it off. The snap rang out clearly throughout the lounge.

“Merde,” Evelyn swore. (Shit!)

Evelyn was quite graceful, courtesy of countless dance lessons. To sell the deception, she feigned a stumble and grabbed the table’s edge to steady herself.

The redhead’s eyes went from what appeared to be a notebook and moved on to the dark-haired beauty. The face transitioned from focus, to annoyance, before settling on surprise. All of it was quick and honest. Whatever she was doing it had been her world until I walked by.

“Is everything alright?” the Georgian asked.

Evelyn took a moment to remove her broken shoe and followed through with the other. This carpeting is surprisingly plush.

“Oui,” Evelyn replied, after sending a puff of air to blow a stray strand of hair out of the way. (Yes.) “Have I disturbed you?”

If there was one thing vampires excelled at, it was lying. Evelyn also had the added advantage of being able to quicken her breathing and heart rate to add realism.

The Georgian looked down at her notebook and groaned. Moments ago, she had been focused on it to the exclusion of everything else, now it seemed that she had little interest in it.

“It’s not(thing)—quite understandable,” the Georgian replied.

Evelyn smiled as only she could. It was a smile that promised the world if only one surrendered to her entirely. It first surfaced in her life as a courtesan and she improved upon it through centuries of practice and confidence.

The vampire angled her head to the side and cocked the opposing eyebrow for effect.

“Not quite understandable?” Evelyn asked. “If I offended you in—(any way.)”

Those big, blue eyes increased in size exponentially. Evelyn knew to exploit such an opening, as an effective way to throw the Georgian off.

“No,” the Georgian exclaimed. “I meant that I sympathise.”

Evelyn’s eyes glowed while remaining locked on those beautiful, blue peepers.

“Why must we suffer for our beauty?” Evelyn whined.

The Georgian huffed, as this was clearly a sore point for the lass. Evelyn had to be careful here, but was ready to pivot if this went nowhere.

“We both know the reason,” the Georgian replied.

Evelyn giggled, every sound rolling off her tongue as though it was a musical note. It must have been infectious as the lass began to laugh.

As soon as Evelyn began to make a M sound the other joined in.

“Men!” they answered in unison.

That led to a further round of laughter that brought tears to their eyes. This gave Evelyn the opportunity to transition to the next part of her plan.

“Say,” Evelyn said, after biting her lower lip. “Have you eaten?”

On the table there were two bottles of that orange soft drink. The first was empty and the second appeared to be full, but humidity no longer clung to the surface.

“No,” the Georgian replied. “Weren’t you leaving?”

“That… bartender gives me the heebie-jeebies…” Evelyn said. “If I were with you, we could fend off the fellas and enjoy a meal.”

“He’s a dark one…” the Georgian said. “I’m game, miss?”

“Chartres, but please call me Evelyn,” she replied. “Who do I have the pleasure of sharing a meal with?”

“Breanna,” the Georgian replied.

“Quite a fitting name,” Evelyn shot back, before sitting opposite her target.

Even the hint of a compliment made those cheeks flush with blood. I wonder if she’s aware that we share the same tastes.

“You’re a regular?” Breanna asked, after regaining a semblance of composure.

“Hmmm,” Evelyn said. “Three months now. How did you know?”

“You can’t dress like that and be a maid,” Breanna observed.

Evelyn smirked, enjoying the tiny tells that were giving her a clearer picture of who Breanna was. How that notebook was work related and that she welcomed the distraction. Breanna appeared to be bored, yearning for something, but had no time for what was normally drawn to her.

The Georgian also had an eye for detail. Evelyn even suspected that Breanna already knew her name from passing conversations. I think it’s safe to assume that blood or using the voice will have no effect.

Male vampires would have tried to slip the woman a drop or two of blood. Others would modulate their voice in an attempt to nudge or outright control the recipient.

That was why Evelyn was speaking normally and avoiding any tells that hinted at her vampiric nature. This was one of the few times that breathing and having a pulse gave her an edge.

“I’m the resident artist,” Evelyn said, while motioning to Cecil that she wanted a menu brought over. “I paint, sculpt, and even work with bronze.”

“You?” Breanna took a sharp breath once she realised her tone. “Sorry, I was expecting someone with muscles, and… overalls.”

“You forgot to add a dick swinging between their legs.”

“What have you done so far?” Breanna asked while trying to keep her cheeks from turning the colour of an overripe tomato. She’s positively scrumptious when she’s being herself.

“The statue of Artemis? The tall and lithe beauty holding a bow pointed towards the sky.”

Those eyes appeared to bulge while her lips puckered. Breanna’s face was refreshingly emotive, and this was one of the reasons why she formed bonds with her prey. You rarely have an idea what our kind is thinking.

“That was you?” Breanna asked. “I passed it on the way to my lab(oratory)—room.”

That suite bordered the restricted area of The Grand and the wing open to the general public. They chose this goddess for a reason; it detailed the purpose of the room. Other than drinking to excess and orgies.

“I’m glad it caught your eye,” Evelyn said.

There was a suggestive smile on the vampire’s lips which persisted even as Cecil approached quietly and left the bill of fare on the table.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Breanna asked while appearing to be visibly warm.

“Aphrodite,” Evelyn said, after a gasp, sounding as though she was waking up from a dream.

“I don’t follow.”

“You’d be perfect for her!”

Breanna’s jaw figuratively dropped to the table. Evelyn imagined it splintering the wood as it slammed into the surface.

“M-m-m-me?” Breanna asked.

“Bien sûr,” Evelyn said. (Of course.) “You’d be perfect, but before we begin, I’d have to get to know you…”

Evelyn knew she was pushing hard, but the potential was there. As a precaution, she opted to slow things down and already had a reason for doing so.

“Why’s that?”

“The Mona Lisa,” Evelyn replied, while purposefully leaving it vague. To encourage Breanna to engage.

“That’s a painting?”

Evelyn giggled, with those piercing, green eyes positively glowing. She had no idea what a Georgian would know, and that response saved her some explanation.

“It’s considered a masterpiece by Leonardo da Vinci. The model has a suggestive smile, and there’s something in those eyes the casual onlooker can’t quite place. It gives her a sense of mystery, forcing the viewer to speculate which further pulls them into the work.”

Evelyn often struggled to get that level of mystery in her works. Aelred had a flawless technique, reproducing a person so perfectly on canvas that she swore it left an imprint of the soul.

Still, she often felt her works did not breathe life or speak to the viewer like the Mona Lisa did. If this worked, then Evelyn would change how she recruited models. Rapport over beauty.

“Go on,” Breanna said, as though hanging on every word.

“The truth is likely mundane,” Evelyn began. “Only the artist and the one who posed will ever know what happened that day. It could have been indigestion or someone who was truly in awe at being so close to the master.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I want to recreate that feeling for a viewer,” Evelyn said. “When you and I look at that statue, we’ll know something that’ll elude others for millennia.”

Breanna took in another sharp breath and did not resume breathing for several seconds. Once her mind regained control of her faculties, the lass grabbed the menu to fan herself.

“Good gravy, is it me, or is it hot in here?” Breanna asked.

“Does that mean you’re interested?”

Breanna grabbed her Orange Crush and took a few sips before smirking. She motioned to Cecil for another and Evelyn motioned for the same.

It was a risk, but her own passion had got away from her. Evelyn hoped to be rewarded for her authenticity, and that her muse would say yes. The fun we would have.

“Why don’t we start with some drinks?” Breanna asked.

Evelyn followed through with a playful pout, those eyes on the verge of tears, as though she were stabbed through the heart. It was the giggle that sold it, hinting that the vampire was being playful.

“There’s no better way to get to know someone,” Evelyn said.

“Yes… exactly,” Breanna said nervously.

Evelyn adopted a smile reminiscent of a cat who just ate the canary. She won’t know what hit her.

CHAPTER 12

ON THE SUBJECT OF APEX PREDATORS

I made it with time to spare,” Marc said, while walking through the trenches on his way to the dugout.

Soldiers reacted, especially those behind him who caught sight of the blood-stained claw marks and smooth flesh of his back. While their eyes initially focused on that, the massive and bloody, wolf-like head drew their attention shortly thereafter. The sight of it would surely keep their tongues wagging for the rest of the war.

“There’s no way a wolf is that big,” someone said.

That line or something similar was the recurring theme. Even when whispered, his vampiric senses heard every word.

“Since when do they send officers into combat?” a snot-nosed private asked his sergeant.

Marc turned around upon hearing that and flashed a warm smile. He brought the bloody head forward dangling from its thick fur. The sight of that open maw immediately made the private’s eyes go wide.

“Would you rather be dealing with this, Private?” Marc asked.

“No, Sir,” the private said, after clearing a proverbial frog from his throat.

When Marc turned towards his dugout, he heard the sergeant slap the private upside the head. The rest of that exchange was colourful, a poignant lesson on reserving comments until officers were well out of earshot.

Five-hundred-and-sixty-three paces later he was in sight of his headquarters. Private Lewis was at the entrance… and so’s Signaller Heart.

The latter had also become routine, coming out after radio checks for a quick smoke before retreating back inside. Still, Heart’s presence would most likely complicate matters. Sure enough, when Lewis steadied up, Heart responded by letting his jaw hang loosely. He might have lost it if it wasn’t attached.

The look on Lewis’ face changed in slow motion until it matched that of his fellow soldier. Marc was nearly always impeccable in dress, even when he ventured out into No Man’s Land. Tonight, his uniform was covered in mud and blood. It was riddled with bullet holes and several tears in the fabric from slashes. Just wait until they get a look at my back.

“You look like one of the targets at the range,” Lewis said. “Sir.”

The delay in adding the ‘Sir’ was likely unintentional. Everyone who saw him was taken aback. It helped cut through the tension and if Marc played his role as le Marquis right, this should hopefully be a short exchange.

“I was certainly in someone’s sights,” Marc replied, before pausing to mimic Lewis. “Private.”

Marc placed the werewolf’s head atop a stack of crates. They used them to distribute rations to those serving along the line. The head was so big that it nearly rolled off.

“A wolf?” Lewis asked.

“That’s not a wolf,” Heart replied.

The way his voice trailed off hinted the man had a good idea of how big wolves were.

“The Signaller is correct,” Marc replied.

“What is it then?” Lewis asked.

“A reminder that man is not at the top of the food chain…” Marc began. “…nor am I.”

Both men gasped. They had seen him return with a handful of vampire fangs. In those situations, he did little more than brush some dust off his shoulders. In this case, Marc was more appropriately dressed for someone on the losing end of a fight with a pit bull.

“What—(is that?)” Heart asked.

“The stuff of nightmares and I’ll leave it at that,” Marc said. “Do you have a pair of pliers on you, Signaller?”

As a signaller, Heart often carried pliers and a knife to fix the leads to the field phones, or the wireless. On cue, the man pulled out a pair from his pocket and handed it to him. I’m surprised he didn’t make a joke about officers and tools.

Marc used the pliers to remove the upper fangs and dropped them into the jam jar. Even among all those pearly whites, these stood out amongst the others. These are about the size of my index finger.

He handed the pliers back and asked, “Anything to report?”

Heart looked at the grisly trophy before taking a deep breath. Lewis was more interested in Marc, and those eyes registered concern. Sometimes they forget what I am.

“Just an increase in radio traffic from the German lines,” Heart said. “Headquarters put the sector on alert just in case.”

That was telling and a reasonable precaution. While he could direct the signaller to ignore the increased activity, Marc wanted his involvement to remain a secret. I’m sure the French will catch wind of this and send Aelred for a visit.

Admittedly, he was not looking forward to that encounter. Although, the fact that Murphy was in his office was more concerning. It did not take the greatest detective in history to figure out where Marc was last night. Even Lestrade would have found his man by now.

“How long has the Warrant been waiting?” Marc asked.

Lewis furrowed his brow before tilting his head to the side. Marc maintained a warm smile waiting for the answer. Despite knowing what he was, a lot more about his nature had just reached the surface of their conscious minds.

“Not long, Sir,” Heart said. “He arrived when I finished my radio check.”

“Thank you,” Marc said. “Be sure to get some rest.”

“Yes, Sir,” they said in unison, as Marc walked on through.

* * * *

“You weren’t waiting long, Warrant?” Marc asked as he walked into his office.

Without waiting for a reply, Marc removed his sword belt before swapping coats. It did much to improve his overall appearance as the replacement was at least clean. I’ll need a replacement uniform for future outings.

“…about ten minutes,” Murphy answered.

Marc sat on his stool and turned to face his Warrant. His second was still dressed as though he was about to go over the top. He must have come straight here from the redoubt.

“Someone put you through the wringer,” Murphy said.

“If that’s true, then I’d be a lot cleaner,” Marc countered. “Also a fair bit thinner.”

Marc’s mind was looping through dozens of scenarios where such a situation played out. So much so that it forced him to focus on something else. He thought back to the memory of a musical concerto to excise this proverbial demon.

“Did you know there would be a surprise waiting for us?” Murphy asked.

“Honestly?” Marc said. “No.”

The next series of questions were obvious, but he knew this had to play out naturally. Marc might have hoped for a rapid exchange, but it was hard to explain away the two additional vampires… or that werewolf.

“Why were you there?” Murphy asked.

“I wanted to see if your first encounter with a vampire was purely by happenstance.”

“That would have been too easy,” Murphy stated.

“How true.”

The next series of back and forth revolved around confirming the details. How many bodies Marc left behind and others to confirm Murphy’s suspicions on how the evening unfolded.

This granted him a great deal of insight into Murphy and the meticulous mind behind the man. On the outside, his second appeared calm, cool, and collected but his restless legs and fast speech implied a high degree of anxiety. He’s also dancing around the subject.

“What was that thing?” Murphy finally asked.

Marc could have played dumb, but saw no point in doing so. There was no gain in alienating his second and risking deteriorating relations with his men.

“That’s why I didn’t send you out on a full moon,” Marc said.

He let his Warrant Officer mull it over, a man who was initially unsure of how this answer applied. It was not until he considered the moon itself that those eyes came aglow.

“Werewolf?” Murphy asked.

“That’s what we call them when they aren’t busy tearing us to shreds,” Marc replied.

“Why—(was it out there?)”

“I have no idea,” Marc said. “We typically avoid the wilds, especially at full moon.”

“You fear them?” Murphy asked.

The tone in that question implied Murphy was confirming the impossible.

“Had it been fear,” Marc began. “I would have cut and run, leaving you and the men to handle it.”

That would have ended horribly for everyone involved. Marc might have superior speed compared to a werewolf, but only for limited amounts of time. It would have run me down.

“You know, Sir,” Murphy said. “You’re the only commander I served under who seems to genuinely care about his men.”

That was quite a compliment, but Marc still had to tread lightly.

“I started out as a basic private,” Marc began. “I worked my way up to sergeant. After that, I took leave to claim my title upon my father’s death.”

This was the most he ever said to anyone about his early life. Even Evelyn had little idea about his past. The truth was Marc had no desire to burden anyone with his truth.

“I returned to war as a lieutenant and worked my way to captain,” Marc said. “We were assigned to a small garrison defending a French town along the border with Spain.”

“That explains your sharp drill and how you handle your blade.”

“These were the formative points of my teens and early life as an adult. I was raised by soldiers, learned to be one fighting for king and country,” Marc added. “Until one day we were told to prepare for an attack that we were expected to lose.”

“Should?” Murphy said. “Like those they send over that wall?”

Marc’s nose crinkled as though he were about to sneeze. In truth, he was trying to tie together two disparate thoughts.

“I attend the evening briefings, and I will attest that your commanders have no such intent,” Marc said. “Some line officers might see it as glorious to waste a thousand men for nothing. Truthfully, they are just trying to find a way out of this stalemate.”

Murphy snapped his tongue as though not quite buying what Marc was saying. The man of war could certainly understand why.

“So, you were the former?”

“Worse,” Marc said curtly.

“How?”

“Le Roi decided we should be sacrificed to give his cousin a victory before they signed an armistice.”

Murphy’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Soldiers were like pieces on a chessboard and sacrifices were all part of the game.

“You won?” Murphy asked.

“We did,” Marc said. “We won the day by leveraging the land against a numerically superior force composed of infantry and heavy cavalry.”

“That must have been a bloody battle,” Murphy said.

“We lost a lot of good men that day,” Marc said. “A mortar blast knocked me unconscious.”

“I sense a ‘but’ in your story,” Murphy said.

“Perceptive,” Marc replied. “They ordered us to disband, and the conflict was relegated to a notation in the history books. If you look up the battle in question, you’ll find it’s recorded as a French loss.”

That betrayal was why he left France behind for decades. It also explained why he did not wear a French uniform. While the kings in France were long dead, that did not lessen the bitter taste in his mouth. That’s why I try not to think about it.

“I, for one am thankful that you look after your men,” Murphy said. “Had it not been for your hunch, we might all be dead.”

“You’ll never need to thank me,” Marc said. “Nor should the men ever be told.”

“Why shouldn’t they see the best of you?”

That was a good question, one that required Marc to provide further insight into his own motivations.

“Because I’ll never win this war. It’s men like you that’ll eventually break this logjam and drive us towards victory.”

“So, you don’t want to fight?”

That question was a bit extreme and may have shown a short-sighted interpretation of his words. Marc opted to be blunt.

“I plan to fight until the end and only then will I return to my Evelyn,” Marc said. “However, there are no guarantees in life. I could have missed my shot and ended up in a werewolf’s stool sample. I could just as likely end up on the wrong side of an artillery barrage.”

“I think I understand, Sir,” Murphy replied. “You want the men to believe they have a chance.”

“Because they do,” Marc said.

The man of war leaned in closer to Murphy. This part needed to be highlighted.

“As of tonight,” Marc said. “I want the three Sergeants to lead full detachments. My aim is to have men deploy as a combined force or used individually as detachments when needed.”

His second instinctively knew where this was coming from. It would make his men more resilient in cases of heavy losses, but most importantly, they could take on larger threats.

While they were halfway through their conversation, Private Lewis came into the dugout holding a burlap sack. Marc knew from the blood-stained bottom what it was, although the bulge was smaller than expected.

“Sir,” Private Lewis said.

Military protocol demanded that the senior officer be addressed first, even though Lewis was speaking to the Warrant. Even Marc found that military traditions had quirks that were difficult to follow.

“What is it, Private Lewis?” Murphy asked.

“Here,” Lewis said. “Take a look, Sir.”

Murphy looked inside the outstretched bag and recoiled almost immediately. Marc knew his second had not seen the head.

“Sir,” Murphy said. “There’s the head of a woman in there.”

“We didn’t even touch it,” Lewis said. “Monaghan—Private Monaghan noticed her during our handover.”

Marc took the bag and looked inside. It was clearly what they claimed. The long, brown hair, soft skin, and lips all made that clear. However, there were several scars visible, including a particularly vicious one along the neck that had yet to heal. That must be from her attempt to dislodge the flare.

“So, the rumours were true,” Marc said. “I was told that werewolves revert to their human form after sunrise… even after death.”

That meant there was a naked and headless body of a woman out there. That was sure to raise a lot of questions if found by the wrong people. Fortunately, he had a way to deal with this.

“How’s that even possible?” Lewis asked, before realising his lapse and added, “Sir?”

“How am I possible?” Marc asked. “After a while, you accept that not everything can be explained by reason or science.”

There was a slow but noticeable sign of understanding in the Private’s eyes. It was like running through a movie reel by hand, but at least that ensured his orders were followed.

“Warrant,” Marc said. “Ensure that Private Monaghan does not speak about this to anyone. I trust that Private Lewis already understands this?”

“Sir,” they said in unison.

“Private Lewis,” Marc added. “Deliver this to Padre Taylor.”

“Warrant,” Marc finished. “Make sure the body finds its way discreetly to Captain Taylor as well. He’ll know how to deal with this. Werewolf or not, that woman deserves a proper burial.”

“Sir,” they repeated in unison.

Murphy grabbed the bag and took Lewis by the shoulder to escort him out. While Marc had given clear directions, the Warrant would ensure his orders were carried out.

“Leave the details to the sergeants and warrants,” Marc said, to remind himself.

CHAPTER 13

DEBRIEF

What were you thinking?” Aelred asked.

Marc looked down at a canteen filled with blood wine. The asymmetrical shape of the container created eddies and flows that he found oddly soothing. That question was very much on point given the intelligence reports coming from the French and British lines.

“It was time for action,” Marc replied.

“Setting the entire German army on high alert for the foreseeable future doesn’t make it any easier for us.”

That meant the Western Front would be relatively quiet for a while. This was not a bad thing, because it gave them the opportunity to expand and secure the rear. It means my men will live to see another day.

Marc took a sip of blood wine and concealed a shudder. It was impossible for him to have human food or drink, even vampiric drinks like this were hard to stomach. Aelred often brought a batch with a far higher blood content that he could stomach. Not today… He must be pissed.

“Fear will weaken their lines,” Marc said. “With a few more attacks like that, we could break their morale entirely.”

“That sounds like something Drusilla would say,” Aelred said.

The elder was obviously annoyed because he was not keeping the canteens topped up. They used to spend the night drinking bottle after bottle while working through plans.

“There are no saints on the battlefield,” Marc said. “Besides, they’re deploying large numbers and I’m tired of being reactive.”

“Wait…” Aelred said, after taking several gulps from his canteen. “You think this will draw her out into the open?”

“Who knows?” Marc said. “Nothing else has worked.”

That was the truth, since no one living or dead understood Drusilla nor her motivations. The woman was known to execute plans that took centuries to bear fruit. In the same vein, she was notorious for going into homicidal rages for being slighted. She was living proof that one should beware a woman scorned.

“If she was predictable, none of us would be here,” Aelred said.

“Susanna would likely still be with us,” Marc added.

The mere mention of that name brought back a slew of memories. Susanna was a Venetian courtesan who bested him in a sword fight. What followed next was a whirlwind of passion and sex that he never believed possible… until I was turned and the void consumed my psyche.

While he remembered the experience of truly desiring a woman, the emotional elements were swallowed up by the void. Every memory was like a film reel taken out of context with no sound or feeling behind it. Like biting into an apple and discovering it’s filled with sand.

“She was something else,” Aelred said. “I still can’t understand why she kept you around.”

The lack of emotion made it impossible for him to love her in any capacity. Unsurprisingly, that changed the nature of their relationship entirely. To help him adjust, she roped him into a theatre troupe, and thus le Marquis was born. It was a persona he used to this day… a bit dry but it gets the job done.

“You probably feel the same way about Evelyn,” Marc said.

Aelred chuckled and Marc might have laughed, but he did not want to make those lingering in the dugout curious. With the Germans on high alert, the French and British lines had done the same. Tension was high but so far manifested mostly through stray gunfire… but at least no one will risk sending their men over the wall.

“She’s a saint if you ask me,” Aelred said.

“You haven’t seen her darker side,” Marc countered.

Instead of delving into that particular topic, Aelred took another couple of sips. He only sees that bubbly personality and a woman who shares his passion for the arts.

“How is she?” Aelred asked.

Marc reached for the letter and picture on his desk. He handed both to his counterpart, who read the letter first before those blue eyes moved to the picture.

“Personally, I always found her too thin,” Aelred said, in a clinical manner. “Before the war, clients were clamouring for more paintings of women with her build.”

“Evelyn often talks about how much she enjoys this shift in beauty standards.”

Evelyn had the unfortunate reputation of being rejected by every man in her life. For once, men would kill to have her. Whereas I’ll kill for her.

“She exudes confidence,” Aelred said. “Men who are so inclined respond positively to that. Besides, that smile has always been her main draw.”

“You forgot the eyes,” Marc said.

“Like staring into a pair of matching emeralds?” Aelred asked. “Hard to forget, but a black-and-white photograph will never do them justice.”

While Aelred was not ‘so inclined,’ he nevertheless spent a great deal of time studying the women he painted. Aelred knew the messages were encoded, but he could not figure out how they did it. It helped that this letter was outwardly benign, even if the picture was anything but.

“She’s awfully brazen with her nudity,” Aelred commented, before trying to give back the photo.

Marc shot up his hand to stop him.

“Keep it,” Marc said. “I’m sure she’d love it if you made another portrait of her.”

“It would certainly sell,” Aelred began. “I’d make a fortune on the prints alone.”

“As long as you send her a copy,” Marc said.

“How is she?” Aelred repeated.

Marc leaned back against his desk to prop up his elbows. It looked positively out of place for Colonel DesPlaines, but it was true to form for le Marquis.

“She’s doing well… spends most of her time painting or carving pieces for The Grand,” Marc said.

“In between getting us some juicy intelligence from the staff?”

“You mean like one of Drusilla’s agents having a sister who’s serving along the front lines?”

That was a bit of a tease, all to gain some insight into how much Aelred picked up from his channels. While his counterpart did comment on the brazen nudity, Evelyn was being comparatively modest in this shot. Sure, she wore a silk robe, but it was open.

The reason for this change was the presence of Drusilla’s agents at The Grand. However, her exposure signalled that the danger was low or fleeting. Deciphering her letter turned out to be a revelation and it might even explain the surge.

“What’s so special about this sister?” Aelred asked.

“She’s a hunter.”

Aelred spat out the contents of his drink all over the dirt floor. Marc could not help but smile, because he too might have done the same. Ah, to be afflicted by emotions.

Despite not needing to breathe, Aelred had a coughing fit until the irritation in his lungs cleared. Marc watched on, amused, because that confirmed this was new intelligence.

“Family reunions must be interesting for those two,” Aelred said, before chuckling. “So, you—(don’t suppose this has something to do with the increased activity along your line.)”

“I do,” Marc said. “It also explains why they were going after my men.”

He suspected his counterpart would not immediately make the connection. However, while Marc had no idea how to find this hunter, he did have a way of monitoring local, hunter activity. How would they know they were dealing with soldiers instead of hunters?

“That’s an awful lot of resources,” Aelred said.

“It is,” Marc said. “It’s also attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

“Meaning?”

Marc was ready for this part. He pulled out a long fang from his pocket and tossed it to his counterpart. Aelred looked at it, but clearly did not realise what creature once wore such pearly whites.

“What’s this from?” Aelred asked, confused as it was clearly too big to be from a vampire.

“A bitch werewolf,” Marc said, with a straight face.

It took a lot for an elder like Aelred to show a physical response to something. However, in that moment Marc observed Aelred grow whiter by about two shades. This makes him look more like the corpse he is.

“You didn’t—(kill a werewolf)” Aelred finally managed to say.

“I did.”

“How?”

“I administered an oral dose of white phosphorus,” Marc said. “It died of indigestion…”

CHAPTER 14

HUNTERS AND SAPPERS

Marc stood atop a ridge, overlooking their front lines. He heard the guns going off behind him. In the distance, there were bright flashes of light, followed by a roaring thunder several seconds later. The Krauts won’t be getting a good night’s sleep tonight.

The fury from their artillery was purposeful tonight. It was their way of ensuring there were no incursions. All because they received reports of unusual activity near their old lines.

While that was not unusual, reports of a smell that defied comprehension caught his attention. Given they were in No Man’s Land, such a scent was often a potent clue. Ghouls.

Two detachments were assembled at what appeared to be the entrance. Given the sheer potency of the stench, his men wore gas masks.

The loss of peripheral vision was preferable than being attacked while they evacuated the contents of their stomachs. That’s also why they are always in groups of three, to mitigate the risks.

The man of war felt he was missing something. Ghouls were known for their tunnels, but a large, underground complex of this size was unprecedented. Give them a hammer and they’ll try to cave your head in with it.

Murphy looked over his shoulder at the silhouette against the night sky. Marc waved his signs for the attack to begin.

His second went in with Apples detachment in the first wave. Five minutes later, Butter detachment followed, leaving a smaller contingent to provide security and a manning pool.

They were committing a force of sixty men to the endeavour. If Marc was right, that might just be enough. Still, that was based on little more than conjecture. We’ve never seen ghoul activity of this intensity.

It surprised him how much combat evolved since he first marched in formation into war. If the advent of aerial surveillance and trench warfare proved anything, it was that humankind never passed up an opportunity to kill their fellow man more efficiently.

This was ironically the ideal war for a vampire. In the past, men met on a battlefield and were either defeated or left as the victors. All of it was done under the glory of the sun, where those like him could not follow.

Now, there was night combat, ideal for his kind. They huddled together in trenches and remained in place for months at a time. When they finally break through, I’ll have to stay behind.

At the nine-minute mark, there came the muffled pops of small arms fire. Marc always hated the waiting. As a captain in the French army, being forced to send his men into the line of fire was a torment. It was a thousandfold worse when he knew they might not make it back.

As expected, the initial confrontation was brief. But that was soon followed by another and another. Interactions were far more frequent than previous clearance operations. This led Marc to form a picture of a massive complex full of ghouls.

“Aerial photography of the area shows no structures within a kilometre,” Marc whispered.

That detail was the reason he was concerned. A nest of this size implied that ghouls themselves could adapt. The idea of carrion eaters becoming a credible threat was a sobering thought. We just have—

A runner ran out from the tunnel and passed on a message. Moments later another two came out at a slower pace. One was Corporal Mills, who was helping Private Mackenzie out of the tunnel.

The latter was pale, and his breathing erratic. Marc spotted the tourniquet around his leg. The visible bone through the uniform was a clear sign of a negative encounter with a ghoul.

Infections from ghouls were often fatal, and Marc guessed the leg was already lost. Worse if that tourniquet wasn’t applied in time.

A fresh team of three were sent into the complex. All the while gunfire continued to erupt sporadically, enough to draw the attention of a roving patrol.

Marc came down from his perch and approached his men. A sentry nearly panicked and brought up his weapon intending to fire. Sergeant Leblanc realised what was going on and intervened. That might have ruined a perfectly good uniform.

“Sergeant,” Marc said, as he passed by and tipped his service cap.

“Sir,” Leblanc said. “The Warrant reports they found their way into an old mine. The enemy is putting up light resistance.”

It helped to avoid naming the creature they were hunting. Using ‘enemy’ did not draw unwanted attention. Whereas using terms like ‘ghoul’ or ‘vampire’ bent the ear of any eavesdropper.

The fact they entered a ghoul-infested mine certainly explained what was going on. Intelligence claimed the nearby town was a mining, industrial complex. The former, especially when abandoned, left little trace of its existence.

“I’m surprised their artillery didn’t create a sinkhole,” Marc said, dismissing the statement as the random thoughts of an officer.

“Yes, Sir,” Leblanc said.

As the patrol approached, they spotted an officer in their ranks and promptly altered course.

Some officers believed they had to manage every element of the mission. For Marc, such a method inevitably led to burnout.

Fewer officers believed in delegation and empowering their men. Marc believed in the latter, and that those holding the King’s commission should be content to keep to their domains. The caveat was that he should be there to prop up a tent moments before it collapsed. All because it went to shit.

Either way, the patrol had no desire to determine the type of officer he was, or risk drawing the ire of someone with a huge chip on their shoulder. They probably get more than enough of that with their unit.

* * * *

At the thirty-three-minute mark, a runner exited and requested more ammunition. Those keeping watch on the entrance collected what they could, while another soldier was dispatched to bring in more from their lines.

Gunfire remained sporadic, and so far, Private Lavoie was the only other casualty. The man ended up buried in rubble when part of the tunnel collapsed. Fortunately, his team pulled him out quickly.

Based on the distortions in the sound of gunfire, they were clearing out branches of the main line. I’m picking up reverberations and echoes.

Twenty-three minutes later, more ammunition arrived and word was sent in. This began a managed rotation of men. Three men would come up from below to resupply while a fresh team relieved them.

Unsurprisingly, small arms fire increased in intensity. Now that there was no need to conserve ammunition, Murphy must have ordered a push into new areas of the mine.

This went on for sixty-three minutes until word came down to send for Padre Taylor and for Marc to make his way down.

He suspected their proximity to their own lines would complicate matters. When dealing with an old church or an abandoned fortification they often used charges to deny further use of the area. This generally coincided with a raid on the Huns to camouflage their activities. People are going to notice this one.

So, Marc unholstered his pistol and went inside. The men at the entrance were clearly confused by his lack of mask or flashlight. It’s easy to forget as one grows accustomed to my presence.

One-hundred-and-thirteen paces in, he came across the first flare. The bright, red light gave the earthen tunnel a hellish glow, which was fitting for a place filled with ghouls.

Over time the tunnel narrowed, until he transitioned into what appeared to be a layer of shale. Marc passed another three flares and broke through the ceiling of the mine. The rubble served well as a makeshift ramp, though one still needed to be careful.

The level of precision and craftsmanship for the supports meant this complex was built by humans. In the distance there was gunfire, but he knew the men at the entrance were blissfully unaware. Just how far does this network extend?

Between the support beams he saw what appeared to be coal. The deposits here were sparse and of low quality. This was a grade often used by poorer households to keep from freezing to death in cities. Probably explains why they abandoned this site.

Nearer to him he heard some men pacing, keeping watch on the main exit. The men themselves were effectively in the dark, but their silhouettes showed up against the flare’s glow. Like cresting over a hill in combat.

All around them there were mounds of gangly bodies. As the advance teams flushed out ghouls, they must have run straight here. Ghouls had a distinctive silhouette, did not wear gas masks, or carry flashlights.

“Where is he?” Murphy mumbled.

“Right behind you,” Marc said calmly.

Despite the calm voice almost every man turned around with weapons drawn. Marc remained where he was, letting the dull light visually identify him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re too quiet…Sir?” Murphy asked.

“My wife actually,” Marc replied in a neutral tone that somehow sold the line.

After the chuckles died down, it was time to get down to business.

“You’ve been busy,” Marc remarked, after counting twenty-one dead ghouls.

His vampiric vision only showed the outlines of ghouls. That was enough for him to notice one moving its arm as it slowly tried to drag itself to safety.

Marc took aim and fired, sending a splatter of black ooze and brain matter onto the ground. The arm settled, but it was the gunshot that caught everyone else by surprise.

“I recommend headshots next time,” Marc said. “They may not be the brightest of creatures, but many animals know how to play dead.”

Murphy nodded in response. Meanwhile, the others quickly stiffened up before turning their eyes back at the three branches of the tunnel.

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy added. “These tunnels are infested, and we have yet to find another exit.”

“Nothing at all?” Marc asked. “What about ventilation shafts?”

“The main shaft collapsed recently. There are signs that someone was trying to dig themselves out… As for shafts, we found some vertical openings, but they’re too small for us to use safely.”

Marc could not see the man through the mask. In fact, if not for the ranks on their uniforms, Marc might have needed to guess who this was. Still, there was something about the way it was said.

“You found something?” Marc asked.

Murphy nodded and appeared to take a moment to compose himself. Chances were that his second was mulling over what to say. He wanted the message to be clear and concise, not as part of a nervous burst.

“Vertical shafts, Sir,” Murphy said. “Most have piles of bodies and bones beneath.”

That explained why this nest was so large. A couple of ghouls could head out and drag in the dead. That also explains their call for the Padre.

“Fresh?” Marc asked.

Marc hated asking, but he had to know. This would also give him insight into the size of this complex.

“A few dead Krauts, there’s little left of them but bones. I found belt buckles from the regiment that made the initial push towards our new lines,” Murphy said, before taking a break. “Some… fresh ones… appear to be from our lines. Those they sent over the top last week.”

In the distance, there was a stray burst of gunfire, the first he had heard since talking with his second. I think we made a dent in their numbers today.

Based on Murphy’s statements, this mine must have extended under the entire hill. The ghouls would collect bodies from the area and bring them here. You can feed a large colony without arousing suspicions.

There was little strategic value in this mine if one assumed a linear progression to the war. However, the Germans had their share of brilliant commanders.

In the event of a strategic withdrawal, these tunnels could be used to shift the tide of war back in their favour. The entrance we used is behind our former lines.

“I commend you all for valour in clearing out this nest,” Marc said.

While serious, he was not about to write up a commendation. Doing so would draw unnecessary attention to what they were doing. That meant he needed to channel le Marquis and get creative.

“Thank you, Sir,” Murphy said.

“Once you’ve cleared the nest, keep a security detail at the entrance and send in periodic patrols.”

That meant they had to burn the ghouls, leaving no traces of these creatures before the burial details arrived. I know that part doesn’t need to be said.

“Sir,” Murphy said.

“I’ll head back to the entrance,” Marc said. “When Captain Taylor arrives, I’ll escort him in. In the meantime, I’ll coordinate with HOLDFAST to send a small team.”

“Sir?” Murphy asked.

That was the codeword used over voice channels to request engineering assets. In this case, Marc wanted sappers to assess its viability.

“I strongly believe in planning for the worst and hoping for the best,” Marc said. “I’ll explain once we’re in a more relaxed setting.”

Marc did not need to enlighten his second, but he also knew that doing so ensured they followed through… even in the event of my death…

The man of war paused for three seconds realising that he missed something.

“I’ll also signal for Charlie to come in and relieve you,” Marc said.

Murphy had taken Apples and Butter with him, which meant there was a fresh detachment to ease the pressure. Given that this operation was winding down it made sense.

Marc caught several men sighing. While they endured because it was expected of them, the fact Marc considered their needs ensured they would continue doing so.

“Thank you, Sir,” Murphy said.

This might have been Murphy’s goal all along. Marc made a note to remind the Warrant that he did not need to breathe and might not realise the air was stale. I think they tend to forget…

“Anything else?” Marc asked.

“Nothing for the moment.”

With that, Marc turned around and took measured steps back to the surface.

CHAPTER 15

DOUBLE TAKE

They were done clearing the mine by the time the sky took on hues of red. Marc could not risk a visit to the hospital, so he sent Murphy to check on the wounded.

To kill the time, Marc cut open an envelope from The Grand. While Evelyn wrote daily, there were frequent disruptions in delivery. I received three of them today.

The scent of vanilla never failed to remind him of her. He closed his eyes and took in the aroma which instantly put him at ease. It was an effect he could never quantify… or admit to.

As per her wishes, he passed on her photographs to the men. It did not take long for the men to find reasons to linger near the headquarters during mail calls. Evelyn found it flattering, whereas Marc discovered he was happy to be disconnected from his emotions.

The man of war opened the letter and removed the photo. Had he been afflicted by the malady called life, Marc’s heart might have stopped entirely. There was almost no bare flesh visible… The next step up from this outfit involves a widow’s veil.

He closed his eyes to think it over. Based on the postmark, Evelyn sent another two letters after this one. If she were in danger, there would have only been one.

While hesitant, he brought the image closer to get a better look. Evelyn was indeed fully clothed in a long, black, flowing evening gown, a single, white glove, and shoes. The other glove was found in the background, draped over the privacy screen.

“That’s one of her favourite outfits,” Marc whispered.

Her lipstick and cupid’s bow were clear as day as well as her eyeshadow. He often found her doing her makeup like this when getting ready for a night out on the town. While clothes normally hinted at danger, that was not always true.

Now that his reasoned mind had taken over, he focused on the details. The biggest discrepancy was the presence of another model, which was a detail they never discussed.

She was about the same height as Evelyn but with a large bust and hips. Since the photograph was black and white, he could not tell if she was a blonde or a redhead.

The two women could not contrast each other more. However, a deep-seated distrust immediately seeped into his mind. The other model’s body type reminded him of his first serious relationship in his life. Émilie ended up betraying him in the worst possible way, and he still had to deal with the repercussions today. For that she tainted an entire line of descendants.

That exaggerated hourglass shape was very familiar, and at one time he found uplifting. I’m not even sure le Marquis could manage that feat now.

Key details of the model were blurry, namely the breasts, face and arms. The same was true for Evelyn’s ungloved hand that ended between the woman’s legs.

Given the amount of time a camera needed to take such a picture, Marc figured Evelyn was doing a lot more than posing. There must be a reason for taking this shot.

This time the clock was set to one and there was one visible finger. That left the nine candles as his only guide. This was an alternate encoding method that focused on the phonetics of words.

Their normal code permitted lengthy messages to be passed along. This one focused more on a single word or a brief sentence.

The letter was as follows:

My Dearest Marc,

My latest painting, a tender landscape, blooms with gentle hues. Soft hills rise, kissed by dawn’s first embrace, glowing eternal.

I weave light’s dance, each stroke offering peace. Misty vales curl, their beauty a quiet revel, alive. My canvas holds nature’s heart, a true gift. Golden rays blend, twilight’s blush a delicate craft, inspiring joy.

I long for your thoughts, my love, adoring this vision. Our home awaits its frame, a noble grace. Please, come see its charm, my heart’s splendour. This art, my pride, seeks your kind gaze, timeless and true.

I await your words, my love, offering eternal devotion. Our walls shall glow, a quiet peace.

Yours forever,

Evelyn

After circling the applicable words, he came up with the following:

9th: Gentle

18th: Embrace

27th: Offering

36th: Revel

45th: Gift

54th: Inspiring

63rd: Adoring

72nd: Noble

81st: Splendour

90th: Timeless

99th: Offering

108th: Peace

He quickly worked out the interval and came up with the following:

GEORGIAN STOP

More precisely, it was:

GEORGIAN.

The use of that name was almost as surprising as seeing Evelyn clothed. Although the lack of nudity was more out of fear for her safety.

Georgians were an enigmatic group that sold their advanced technology indiscriminately. They did not choose sides, they were interested solely in their pound of flesh, ranging from cold, hard currency to looking the other way while certain aligned persons disappeared. That last part was why Marc wondered if their technology was worth the price.

Their kind were responsible for the gate network that transported vampires from Paris to New York in seconds. They also created defences and illusions that kept humans out of sensitive locations.

The Grand itself was a marvel of Georgian technology, including the gargoyles that secured the perimeter. These were large automatons that could single-handedly deal with the werewolf scourge.

The hotel itself was said to be hidden from the naked eye. Somehow humans could only catch a glimpse of it through their peripheral vision. A trick of the eye.

In exchange, vampires, hunters, and artefacts went missing. No reason was ever given, but Marc was leery of Faustian deals. I’d sooner trust Lucifer than I would a Georgian.

“I missed something,” Marc said, after looking at the picture another time.

After more scrutiny, he realised the picture was mirrored. Marc had been around Evelyn long enough to tell which side of her was facing him. A telltale mole was all he needed, but the privacy screen was also on the other side of the frame. She must have modified the plates, because the clock reads normally.

This meant he should treat the visual cues as though they were their opposite. A fully clothed Evelyn meant she was safe and a naked Georgian was in danger.

That meant Evelyn compromised a Georgian agent. The fact it was a woman, was by itself most perplexing. Every known agent until now was male. That’s why Evelyn carried some of their blood in a flask, which enabled her to activate their technology… as long as she takes a sip beforehand.

Evelyn was showcasing the power she held over their agent. Likely attacking the problem from an angle that no one else considered. She’s certainly a creative thinker.

Marc permitted himself to smile, like a father beaming with pride as their child came home with a prize. It took thirty-three seconds for the emotion to fade out entirely, returning him to his neutral state. For a moment, I felt human.

“I have another two letters to go,” Marc said.

By now, the men were neatly formed up outside the dugout. For a second, he considered turning this into a daily lottery to save them all from this spectacle.

As though Fortuna were smiling down on him, Murphy arrived and dispersed the men. He then mumbled something before entering. After a quick pause, his second walked straight to Marc’s office.

“Sir,” Murphy said.

Marc put down the letters but left the one picture out in the open.

“Warrant,” Marc said.

His second peeked at the picture and smirked.

“She roped in someone new?” Murphy asked.

“The maid, I think,” Marc lied. “I suspect she wanted to throw me off.”

Murphy whistled, and the man of war noted the level of candour. It took him long enough to relax.

“So that’s what the wife of a senior officer looks like with clothes on,” Murphy teased.

Marc smirked, but such comments would never bother him. Still, the levity might be a way to avoid delving into his reasons for being here.

“Anything to report?” Marc pressed.

This was the equivalent of lancing the boil to get it over with. He trusted that Murphy understood his motivations for doing away with the pleasantries.

“Mackenzie lost his leg,” Murphy said. “The prognosis is grim.”

That much was expected. Marc might be able to help, but not while the sun claimed dominion over these lands.

“Give it time,” Marc said. “He may pull through yet. What about Lavoie?”

“Broken ribs, fractured skull, and heavy bruising,” Murphy said. “The doctors think he’ll be laid up for a while…”

There was something else.

“What else?”

Murphy’s jaw muscles bulged.

“He complains of headaches. Says that his ears are ringing and sees angels everywhere.”

This was not the first time such words were used. Marc also experienced visual hallucinations after surviving a mortar blast. Murphy is closer to God than I ever was.

“You might see things too if someone cracked your skull open,” Marc said.

The tone was casual, because he had no wish to push against Murphy’s faith.

“You, Sir?” Murphy asked.

“A shockwave from a mortar threw me off my feet,” Marc said. “It took me weeks to recover.”

That appeared to satiate the man, and for that Marc was thankful. He hoped that by showing his mortality, Murphy would see him as being more human.

“You’re lucky,” Murphy said.

“I know,” Marc said. “They found little of the Spanish cavalry colonel. He was no more than a step or two closer to the blast.”

Murphy cringed at that image. Marc may have been a bit too nonchalant, especially since it was true.

“You actually faced down cavalry?”

Marc chuckled. When phrased that way it sounded foolhardy. We never planned on seeing the sunrise again.

“Overall, not as scary as artillery loaded with grapeshot,” Marc lied. Now’s a good time to change the subject.

“I would like to visit the men after sunset,” Marc added.

“I think they’ll appreciate it, Sir,” Murphy said.

“Find me fifteen minutes after sundown and we’ll head out together.”

The Warrant snapped his feet together and checked his arms.

“Sir,” Murphy said, before stepping away.

At last, Marc was left to deal with the letters in relative peace. I’ll need a nap after I decode and burn these letters.

CHAPTER 16

BLOOD AND SUTURES

Murphy showed up with the punctuality of a watchmaker’s son. He dropped by Marc’s office and from there they ventured out behind their lines.

Given the heightened tensions, major offensives were non-existent and by extension, casualties were light. Many were wounded by stray gunfire, or getting caught in the open during an artillery strike. The majority of injuries in a lull were mundane, sprained ankles from uneven terrain, or complications from living in the squalor of the trenches.

They passed by a soldier who was struggling, so Marc walked up alongside him and relieved the man of his rifle. The young corporal nearly fainted when he realised who was lending him a hand.

Marc simply smiled and made a symbol as though pressing down on something. He wanted the soldier to slow down and take it easy. I know from experience how fragile the human body is.

Murphy looked on from the background, with one of his one-sided smirks. The man of war had no idea what he meant by that, but it could not have been all that bad.

While Marc could have helped the soldier walk, he knew that pride was a factor. Better to arrive on their own two feet in pain than suffer through the humiliation of being carried in.

The aid station was a mess, a mix of helmets, weapons, boots, and torn uniforms were all strewn about. The canvas tent was torn in several places with some parts flapping in the gentle breeze. Even Marc noticed the stench of death and was surprised there were no ghouls lurking about. Then again, they have plenty of dead to pick out from the mud.

A short distance away, there were fourteen soldiers lined up on stretchers. Alas, those men would never stand up again, let alone fight another day. Given a recent push, they must have run out of blankets, as only a third were covered.

The men at this station were visibly fatigued, bordering on both physical and mental exhaustion. Yet they did their duty and even rushed to assist the corporal.

The staff here experienced the war second-hand and there was nothing they could do to alter its course. At least a soldier with a weapon in his hands has the illusion of being in control of their fate.

Marc handed the weapon to someone from the same regiment and carried on. Murphy caught up, and they walked on in silence.

Three-hundred-and-twelve paces later they reached an ambulance. These vehicles came in as close as they dared, but the mud and ever-changing terrain made it a challenge. This one was stopped on what remained of an old road, so the wire wheels maintained traction.

They helped the driver load the men on stretchers in exchange for a ride to the casualty clearing station farther up. While Marc could have walked, he preferred to maximise his time on station.

According to Murphy, the ambulances would have no trouble bringing them back, as they were usually empty. They always have more wounded and dead to ferry back.

* * * *

After twenty-three minutes of being jostled around inside the cab of the truck they arrived at a complex composed of white, canvas tents and wooden huts with curved roofs. Among this gypsy army settlement, there were also repurposed buildings.

While it was relatively quiet along the Western Front, soldiers were lined up waiting to be triaged. A few nurses walked up and down the line searching for those who could not afford to wait.

Their blue-and-white uniforms were in stark contrast to those his men wore. For someone wounded, the soothing voice of a woman, that nun-like headdress and white apron might easily conjure the image of an angel. Sounds a lot more appropriate than ‘Bluebirds.’

Marc chuckled but did not say anything. Murphy had already given him a general layout, so he walked along the boardwalk towards the ward.

“We can’t be more than ten miles from the front lines,” Marc said. “This feels like we’re thousands of miles away.”

“I know what you mean, Sir,” Murphy said. “Had this been summer there would have been flowers growing along the roadside.”

From an operational standpoint, planting trees and flowers was wasteful. From a humanitarian point of view, this meant everything to the wounded. Soldiers would see flowers blooming and they instantly knew they were no longer in combat.

Marc suspected it was also a way for the staff to avoid facing the horrors of this war at every turn. Anything that made this conflict tolerable for those entrusted with saving the lives of the men was worth the investment.

He paused halfway to their destination and turned his head to the side in a slow and deliberate manner. They were standing by a ward where the sign clearly showed it was for officers only.

There was significantly less activity here than in the other wards he passed. The idea of separating officers from the men made sense for the messes. It gave the men a way to vent about their commanders in relative safety. That doesn’t apply here.

“Am I dreaming, Warrant?” Marc asked.

“No, Sir,” Murphy replied. “I was told by the nurse that they even have a dedicated staff.”

“What a bloody waste of resources.”

“No argument from me,” Murphy said, while leaving out that they also had train cars reserved for them as well. “You didn’t know?”

Marc shrugged his shoulders while taking a moment to stitch together a believable reply. Out here his nature was not a matter to be discussed.

“I’ve never been sick a day in my life,” Marc boasted.

“…that explains it.”

They went on until they found the correct ward. Murphy raced on ahead without a word and ducked inside. Marc realised that an overzealous soldier or nurse might react to his presence. The last thing anyone needs is someone calling the room to attention.

When the door opened, Marc walked in as though nothing happened. The men were located along the edges, the beds packed in so tight that they were no more than three feet apart.

The middle was empty, but Marc imagined that the space would quickly fill with stretchers in an offensive. The men were piled up anywhere there was room, waiting until someone could attend to them. I’d rather face Death on the battlefield than have him creep up while waiting to recover.

The back wall had two, large flags, one for the unit and the other for the King they fought for. A few nurses were there, filling in entries in the logs, or sorting through the medications.

At his side, there was a small desk with a nurse seated behind it. While he considered all the men to be young, including Murphy, the sight of this nurse made him think of Evelyn.

This one had brown hair and eyes, but the twinkle was gone. This woman had seen far too much death in her life and none of it was recent. It took an old soldier like him to recognise the trauma hiding behind that smile.

“Can I help you?” the nurse asked at a near whisper.

The customary ‘Sir’ had been dropped, and he was thankful for it. That meant the men could focus on rest and recuperation.

He replied in kind, “I’m here to see Private Mackenzie and Lavoie.”

Both names were pronounced properly in their mother tongues, with no identifying accent. When he wanted to, Marc could sound more British, but he was amongst his countrymen here.

The nurse raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. He wondered how many other commanders made their rounds to check on their men. I’m not sure I’d like the answer.

She pointed to the right, near a small group of men. Several of the cots were empty, which in hindsight made his question moot. Still, he suspected she would have made a scene had he simply walked in.

“Thank you, Lieutenant?” Marc asked, since none of the nursing sisters wore nametapes.

“Stone,” the nurse replied. It certainly suits her demeanour.

He nodded politely and Murphy fell to his side once more as he made his way towards the men. The first they came across was Mackenzie who was not aware they were even here.

The man was covered in a sheen of sweat, mumbling to himself. While bandaged, Marc imagined that the veins above the stump of what used to be his leg were turning black. Over time, the infection would creep up until it reached his heart. Not even God can intervene by that point.

Beside his bed, there was an empty glass. That gave him an idea, but first and foremost discretion was called for.

“Nurse,” Marc called out quietly to the back row.

On his second call, a younger nurse turned to acknowledge him. He held the glass in his hand and motioned to Mackenzie.

She understood his request and went to the back and grabbed a stainless-steel pitcher. The first thing he noticed about her was how those eyes matched the grey steel of the pitcher.

Unlike Lieutenant Stone, this one had a glow in her eyes and a mischievous grin. Marc instinctively knew that she would have been a handful as a soldier, someone who would drive a seasoned sergeant up the wall.

Instead, she reminded him of the bubbly side of Evelyn. A woman with a thirst for life that would never be extinguished. Hopefully, that remains true throughout this war.

As she approached, he sliced open his index finger using a talon on his thumb and smeared a drop of his blood into the bottom of the glass. It was all sleight of hand enhanced by vampiric speed.

“Here you go,” the Lieutenant said. “I’m not sure he’ll drink.”

“Having a tough time?” Marc asked.

“We are administering sulpha,” the nursing sister said. “He’s not responding.”

That came as no surprise because this was not an infection. Ghouls in his mind were not of nature, and neither was his ailment.

He filled the glass halfway while leveraging his blood bond to rouse the soldier awake. Even that had little effect, but the soldier managed to open his eyes momentarily.

Marc propped up the soldier and brought the glass to Mackenzie’s lips. The first bit of water wet his lips, cooling the feverish man. As though by instinct, Mackenzie reacted like a man who walked out of the desert after forty days.

He drank greedily, and Marc helped him back down. With any luck, his own blood would be able to fend off the infection. With sufficient distance and time my control will wane entirely, but the blood will not allow other influences.

“You’ve,” the Second Lieutenant began. “You’ve done this before?”

“…in an earlier conflict. I was part of a garrison that took casualties. There was no one else, so we took turns looking after the men.”

Earlier was a relative term in his mind. It did help to explain his skill, even if the rank implied otherwise.

“You should have been a nurse,” the Second Lieutenant said, with a grin.

“Perhaps,” Marc began. “I doubt that uniform works on me.”

Murphy coughed, clearly caught off guard by Marc channelling Le Marquis. Still, this playful banter between them was not flirtatious. She’s testing me.

“I’d love to see it,” the Second Lieutenant countered.

“Alas,” Marc said. “Duty calls. Still, if you bring one next Thursday around two in the afternoon you might get your wish. We’re putting on a talent show, assuming the front stays quiet.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Marc said. “Murphy here has the voice of an angel. We could even do a song and dance.”

Murphy was so confused by this exchange that he did little more than nod. Smart man.

“We should check on Lavoie,” Murphy said, after a lull in the banter.

“Excellent idea, Warrant,” Marc replied.

The man of war walked right past the nursing sister. The instinctual urge to move out of the way increased noticeably with proximity. I’ll need to be on my best behaviour.

When they arrived at the bunk, they found Private Lavoie was also unconscious. The man was heavily bandaged with a few spots of red peeking through the white cloth.

Based on a vial by his bedside, they were keeping the Private sedated. Being jittery and seeing things everywhere was not a great recipe for healing.

Marc took the Private’s hand and squeezed. The contact was enough to pass on instructions. However, directions had to be simple because verbosity risked unexpected side effects.

“Forget the last two weeks,” Marc whispered, in a way that only a vampire could comprehend.

When done he made the sign of the cross and stood up. As he was backing away through the narrow aisle, he felt the urge to flee. Marc carried on, as any visible reaction might confirm his supernatural nature to an observant individual, like a hunter.

As expected, the Second Lieutenant ran into him hard, forcing him to take a few steps forward while narrowly avoiding Lavoie. The reaction was purposeful, but he made it look genuine.

“Apologies,” the Lieutenant said, when Marc turned around.

“I was being careless,” Marc countered. “Do you have a name?”

“Name?” the Lieutenant asked.

“I’ll have Murphy add it to the programme as a guest.”

While Marc smiled, hers faded. The idea of a nurse walking through the trenches of the Western Front would have been akin to a convict being escorted to the gallows. They’d eat her alive…

“Clara,” she said. “Clara Grey.”

“A beautiful name,” Marc said. “Very fitting, considering your eyes.”

He bowed, literally, before heading for the exit. Unexpectedly. he managed to stumble onto a hunter and wondered if this was the one Drusilla was looking for.

Since they tended to hunt in pairs, he guessed the other was nearby. Without a second thought, he devised a plan to keep an eye on them. If Drusilla wanted to find a hunter, then Marc needed to know what those here were up to. It might be enough to flush her out and give me a chance to settle an old score.

He passed by the front desk and noted the captain’s intense stare. Thankfully, he was not here for a thorough physical examination.

“Good evening,” Marc said, before going through the door.

* * * *

“What was that about?” Murphy asked.

A very poignant question, one that could not be answered there and then. They can’t hear me after three-hundred paces.

He flashed one index finger until they distanced themselves from the ward and crossed the road just to make sure. Marc wanted to confirm visually they were alone before answering, besides, the hearts he could hear were faint.

“Remember when I spoke about hunters?” Marc asked.

“Can’t be,” Murphy replied. “They’re practically children.”

“Don’t let their youthful appearances fool you,” Marc said. “Either one could handily best you in combat.”

Marc saw the doubt in those eyes, but the Warrant also knew to trust his judgement. Especially when it comes to the supernatural.

“Do you think they know?” Murphy asked.

“They suspected, given the lateness of the hour. Still, I think I passed their test.”

“Which is?”

“Hunters are creatures of faith,” Marc began. “Like clergy, monks, and sisters. Our kind reacts to faith, but older ones like me can ignore our instincts.”

“You mean holding a cross works?”

Marc chuckled, because that was one piece of disinformation they loved to perpetuate.

“The cross is nothing per se,” Marc replied. “Sanctified items are more of a concern, as is holy water. We react more to the faithful than the trinkets they carry.”

“Why doesn’t my faith affect you?” Murphy asked.

Marc looked at the Warrant for a second while his jaw muscles pulsated. However, the man of war did not respond, waiting for the answer to come out naturally.

“…right,” Murphy said.

“I’ll say this, no man who started life as a soldier will ever become Pope.”

They walked in silence for three minutes as his second mulled over the words. It’s not easy to realise how much war takes from you.

“So that’s why—(she ran into you),” Murphy asked, when he decided to return to the subject at hand.

“She ran into me?” Marc confirmed. “That’s my theory.”

“Why did you invite her?”

“To throw her off, and for now it appears to have worked,” Marc began. “Besides, we both know that a young woman like that would never dare get so close to the front lines…”

CHAPTER 17

ACORN AND STARLIGHT

Upon returning to his dugout, Marc sent word that he wanted to see Aelred. The fact that this was his first time making such a request would speak to the urgency.

The next step was more obvious, but Marc needed to wait. Murphy was an excellent soldier, but being up all day and night had taken its toll. Marc ordered Murphy to go to ground, leaving him to catch up on his paperwork.

This included opening Evelyn’s latest letter. The scent of vanilla was almost a tease considering how long he left it unopened. He noticed that the men stopped hanging around the headquarters when reading his mail no longer coincided with delivery.

He cut open the letter and looked inside, this time showing a shot of Evelyn in the nude. Her photography was getting more artistic of late, as though she were fine-tuning the balance between art and message.

He jotted down the intervals and began to decode the lengthy letter. The Grand appeared to be more routine and creative than a battlefield. The difference is, I know where the enemy is.

That was the crux of the problem, Evelyn was surrounded by vampires. A group that was never truly themselves in public. They're always trying to claw their way up the social ladder.

Marc was in his element, and while it was chaotic most times, at least his enemies wore uniforms and functioned within a framework of rules. Most were just doing their duty. Meanwhile, those who instigated this conflict were nowhere to be found. A truth that has been known from time immemorial.

Evelyn mentioned before that she had been given a free lunch. That alone got his attention as The Grand was run by vampires, who had no inclination towards generosity.

She had been talking about variations of this plan for decades. He saw the value in what she proposed, since the political leverage alone would pay dividends for decades. I was hesitant to take my hands off the tiller.

A part of him feared it would unleash her darker side. Marc spent decades instructing her, making her one of the best-educated women of her day.

Only after she picked up a thirst for learning, did he permit her to pursue her interests in art. It paid off. He left her alone in a generalist studio and watched her grow into an artist of renown. While Aelred may have given her pointers, it was Evelyn’s zeal that got her where she was today.

He loved watching her grow, and worried that such an endeavour would lead to a downward spiral. Unlike Drusilla, she’s a fusion of emotion and reason.

While he did not know Drusilla’s origins, no one did, Marc assumed she was not always cruel and vengeful. That type of darkness took centuries to bear fruit. That woman would give Nemesis a run for her money.

That explained why he had no objections to letting Evelyn run with the plan now. After all, she was given the opportunity to inflict unconscionable pain and torment on a random woman and chose instead to save her.

That did not mean Evelyn would not go dark, no one could start out life as she did and end up a ray of perpetual sunshine. Still, she exhibited genuine compassion, empathy, and could still mingle in vampiric society. She’s truly a force to be reckoned with.

After reading the fourteenth page, Marc decoded the last of the message. Due to the encoding, it was sometimes a challenge to be concise and detailed, but he got the gist of it.

It seemed some things were moved or went missing when her special project was left alone. Evelyn even noted how the normally lethargic woman would begin moving about their chambers as soon as Evelyn and Grace left.

“What should I do?” Marc read aloud the last four words.

Marc smiled, because this confirmed the young vampire still needed him. Evelyn was not asking for him to empathise or lecture her. Instead, she laid out the charges and was looking for his cold and logical judgement.

“She already knows,” Marc whispered.

What she needed was a nudge to make the hard choice. One where she learns from this mistake and moves on.

Marc pulled out ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ from the bottom of his barrack box. He never used this one before, but the situation called for it.

After forty-three minutes, he encoded the message in his letter and made two other copies. Accounting for his need for precision and consistency, each was effectively the same message. However, they all had a mistake in them.

That alone served as a clue, the three copies would not immediately raise flags, but it conveyed a message. Marc was telling Evelyn that their codes were compromised and to switch cyphers.

The prose in that novel made it easy to highlight new visual cues to focus on. The mistakes were purposeful, as only Evelyn knew what to look for.

Lastly, a brief code was introduced at the end. While they needed to change how they communicated, it was more important for him to answer Evelyn.

“Let her die with dignity,” Marc whispered.

The poor woman was likely being manipulated by another vampire. It was a shame to think that this girl left the relative safety of her farm, one full of hopes and dreams and ended up a pawn.

A spark that was extinguished before they ever reached their twenties. To be fair, that was happening far too much here. Many of the men will end up as nothing more than names on some ledger.

* * * *

“Good morning, Sir,” Murphy said.

Marc turned around on his stool. He chuckled at the sight of his second rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There was also stubble on his face. He’s planning to shave after we chat.

His ability to tell where the sun was confirmed this was no longer morning. Which meant Murphy followed his orders to the letter.

“You mean afternoon,” Marc corrected.

Murphy’s eyes widened temporarily and he pulled out his pocket watch. When he realised what time it was, he removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair.

“I apologise, I never sleep in this long,” Murphy said.

“I know,” Marc said. “I instructed the men to let you sleep.”

“That was not—(necessary, Sir.)”

“It wasn’t,” Marc confirmed. “That’s beside the point.”

Marc was not about to give his second a long-winded speech about looking out for his men. Murphy knew this better than anyone. We forget to take care of ourselves as we focus on others.

“Thank you?” Murphy asked, showing his confusion. “What was that last night?”

“Two hunters trying to confirm if I was a threat,” Marc repeated.

“I mean about your replies,” Murphy said. “You’re a married man.”

This was one of the few times when Marc and his second diverged on morality. The trouble was in the nuances that Murphy was not aware of.

Marc motioned for the man to sit down. This would take a while, so they might as well get comfortable.

“That was me playing a part,” Marc said. “As though I were an actor in a play.”

Had Marc been truly honest, he might have mentioned that le Marquis was always a part of his repertoire. Murphy appeared to trust him, but the man of war suspected that might change if he saw through the mask.

“So, you weren’t flirting?” Murphy confirmed.

“No more than she was.”

That last part led Murphy to furrow his brow. The man of war guessed that both sides played their roles too well.

Marc asked Signaller Heart to bring them some tea. This needs more explanation than I hoped.

“I don’t understand, Sir.”

“Hunters operate a lot like my kind does,” Marc said. “They use flirtation and innuendo to gain favour. Either to gain an asset or close-in on their prey.”

“You don’t?”

“It never suited my… personality,” Marc said. “I prefer being direct and actively avoid such games.”

Marc often visited bordellos when he was a young vampire. He paid to be with them for the night, took what he needed to satiate his appetite. Moments later, he left them contented, with the rest of the evening to sleep it off.

On the edge of No Man’s Land, he primarily made do with blood wine or drained a careless sentry dry. This further perpetuated the myth that a powerful group was terrorising the Krauts.

Heart brought a cup of tea in a canteen for Murphy. Hunger was just around the corner, so this would keep the beast at bay.

“Thank you, Signaller,” Marc said. “That will be all.”

As the Signaller left, Marc focused his attention on his second. Knowing vampires existed was one thing, having firsthand knowledge of their cruelty another. Delving too far into how much of a monster he was would be a bridge too far.

“Do you fear them?” Murphy asked.

“For an old warhorse like me?” Marc confirmed. “They’re no threat to me, for a younger more grounded vampire, they are an existential threat.”

Grounded in this case meant human. Not that their humanity was a weakness, Evelyn was a sign of that. The difference was that vampires needed to learn that anyone they interacted with was a potential threat.

Murphy took a sip of tea and grimaced. It must have been on the stovetop so long that it might as well have been coffee. Still, this luxury was a rare treat for those serving along the line.

“Strong,” Murphy said, before coughing.

Marc might have said something, but he knew that the Warrant would address it in his own way. Officers were at the end of the line for discipline, and by extension should not be actively managing minor affairs like this.

“Sorry,” Murphy said, after another cough. “We aren’t done with those two?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it a risk to deal with them?”

That was putting it mildly. Overt action against them was akin to bathing in cow’s blood and kissing a bear on the snout.

“Quite right,” Marc said. “However, their presence lines up with an intelligence briefing I got from the French. I want you to select four men who we won’t miss to—(to keep an eye on them and report back.)”

“Sorry, Sir, but I won’t do that.”

Marc smiled, showcasing his predatory nature. It had no effect on Murphy, which is why the man of war saw this bout of disobedience as a positive step.

“Please, enlighten me,” Marc said.

Murphy took another sip, grimaced, and gave up. He put the canteen down by a small box and leaned forward.

“I don’t want to reward poor performance,” Murphy said. “Two will be selected from their detachments. They can check up on the men, and it gives them plenty of reason to be in the ward.”

That was rather insightful. While it was temporary, no one would question them.

“Brilliant. What about the other two?” Marc asked.

Murphy leaned back seeing as there was no need to assert himself.

“We ask for volunteers and select from those who do. I’ll select two who are performing while showing signs of fatigue.”

Again, an inspired call. A reward for letting Murphy sleep in, a plan that would enhance group cohesion.

“Work on that,” Marc said. “In the meantime, I’ll coordinate with their CO to provide some able-bodied men to help out.”

While unusual, he doubted anyone would say no to the extra help. He just needed to make sure that none of the men fell hopelessly in love with those two.

While he hated the idea of controlling through blood, in this case it was vital. A slip of the tongue and I’ll have hunters converging on me.

“Sounds good, Sir,” Murphy said.

“Anything else?”

“Nothing, Sir,”

“Very good, carry on,” Marc said, before adopting a grin. “Don’t forget to show the Signaller your appreciation for your tea.”

“Oh, that was the first item on my list.”

CHAPTER 18

CARRIED BY SIX

Murphy stormed in just as Aelred was about to sit. The man looked as though he had seen a ghost, which did little to set Marc’s mind at ease. His heart is racing.

“Sir,” Murphy said, with a quiver in his voice. “You’ll want to see this.”

Without question, Marc got up from his stool and looked at his French counterpart.

“He’ll want to see this as well,” Murphy said.

“Are you up for this, old man?” Marc asked.

Aelred chuckled as he straightened up. As though by instinct, they both pulled out their service weapons.

Marc also grabbed his sabre, seeing as he had never seen his second so spooked. We may as well be prepared.

“Where to?” Marc asked.

“About three miles out, northwest,” Murphy answered.

The position certainly helped clarify the situation.

“That’s where we sent Butter?” Marc confirmed.

Murphy nodded, the strain along his jawline was a sign that he was doing his best to maintain composure. Losing it in here would send shockwaves throughout my lines.

“Butter?” Aelred asked.

“My detachments are named after the phonetic letters in our alphabet. A for Apples, B for Butter and C for Charlie.”

He supposed the French had their own way of naming their units. Still, his hunting teams were unique to the Western Front, because Aelred operated strictly as an intelligence asset.

They walked along the communications trench towards the main lines. It was not until they reached the main trench that he saw three men from Apples.

There was the distinct scent of lubricant on their weapons, but no trace of gunpowder. They haven’t fired a single round.

Yet their boots were caked in red mud as were their knees. This must be a particularly bloody scene.

“You three,” Murphy said. “With me.”

“Belay that,” Marc said. “Have them prepare witness statements.”

Marc rarely overruled the Warrant, but dragging three soldiers on the verge of panic back into the fray would not do them any good.

“Sir?”

Marc pointed to himself and then Aelred to indicate they had no need for a security detail.

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy said. “You heard the Colonel, off you go.”

The three privates sighed in relief, and each said, “Sir,” before heading towards the headquarters.

Marc smiled at his second, then looked over his shoulder. They had the time to get there and back, but a walk back would be hurried. Unless we up the pace.

“You up for a brisk march?” Marc asked.

Aelred smirked and mumbled something to himself. Neither Marc nor Murphy had any idea what he said because that language died out centuries ago.

“Let’s go,” Marc said, before using his vampiric strength to jump over the wall.

* * * *

“Any survivors?” Marc asked, as he approached Sergeant Ryan.

The Sergeant shot a curious look at Aelred. The presence of a French Colonel was well outside the norm.

He then noticed Murphy catching up, and the man was clearly out of breath. Meanwhile, both officers looked right as rain, as though getting here had been like taking a stroll through the park.

“None, so far, Sir,” Ryan said.

Marc could tell that their search was thorough. There were tracks everywhere, with bodies overturned to check for signs of life. At least most of the bodies were in one piece.

Some of the men were torn to shreds. The wounds were animalistic and very much indicated a frenzied vampire. The moon being in the first quarter and the narrowness of the claw marks served to confirm his guess.

“They weren’t caught unprepared,” Marc said.

“Sir?” Murphy and Ryan both asked.

Marc pointed to the mounds of spent casings. A significant amount of ammunition had been expended, with a pattern showing the men were organised in a half-circle. Exactly like we taught them.

Fifty-six paces away there was another pile, but this one still had a body. Marc turned back to face Aelred and whispered something. Neither of the men heard a thing, but the French officer melted into the darkness.

Both soldiers looked at each other, questioning how that was even possible. Marc rarely made use of such parlour tricks, as it went against his nature. Aelred had no such qualms and was a master at blending into the night.

He approached the body and confirmed it was a dead, vampire Hun. The body was riddled with bullets, leading to several, large entry wounds throughout. These might not slow down a vampire, but the buckshot that severed his spine was the nail in his coffin.

Out of an overabundance of caution, Marc unsheathed his sabre and cut the vampire’s head clean off. He then tossed the head away to ensure the body and head would never again be reunited. His throw was strong enough that no man saw where it landed.

“When we’re done clearing the scene,” Marc said. “I want the body burned and the bones crushed.”

“Sir,” Ryan said. “He hasn’t moved an inch.”

“Nor would I if I were him,” Marc said. “I’ve seen vampires reconnect their heads when given the chance.”

“That’s…” Murphy said.

“Exactly,” Marc replied. “That’s why I never take any chances.”

He had an idea of what happened. The men were attacked by two vampires, and Butter engaged them successfully. The difference was that one of the vampires played dead and attacked after the men let their guard down. That’s not what we taught them.

The proof was in the aftermath; there were several cigarettes strewn about. One was still holding a flask with the contents soaked up by the mud. Even surrounded by so much death the scent of alcohol, a strong spirit, was easy to make out.

“What about the objective?” Marc asked.

“Sir, we secured the site and found three, dead ghouls,” Ryan replied.

This meant they were intercepted like the attack on the redoubt. The difference was that he was not around to deal with the complications.

“What about the fire support team?” Murphy asked.

An excellent question, since their standard operating procedure was to fire a salvo of mortars to clear the area. It was a form of area denial. If no man was left to fight, then that team would make sure nothing made it out alive.

“Dead,” Ryan said, after wiping a tear from the corner of his left eye.

Murphy moved in closer to console the Sergeant. The man had recently been promoted from this group. I hear they were particularly tight-knit.

Had Marc been on the offensive, he would have gone for the fire support team. From there he would be free to pick off the men one by one. The evidence corroborated the chain of events, but he would confirm prior to leaving.

The animalistic quality of the wounds implied this was a vampire driven into a frenzy. The initial stages were the worst, leading to a slew of mangled dead, with barely a drop consumed. Only after the body count mounted did they regain their senses. That was evidenced farther out; several men were dead with their bodies intact, but their skin was blue despite shedding their mortal coils recently. Exsanguinated.

“Over here!” Aelred called out.

Marc went over while Murphy remained to support the Sergeant. All of the men were spooked, reminded that the threat of things that went bump in the night was real.

At the periphery of the massacre, there was a stack of bodies. Each man was drained entirely, but there was also the faint sound of a heartbeat.

“You hear it too?” Aelred asked.

“What are the chances?”

“…low.”

They moved the top, three bodies out of the way. All that remained was Corporal Morin, whose breathing was practically non-existent. His heartbeat was so faint that even a vampire could miss it. Sure, his kind could get sloppy, but Marc guessed otherwise. When feeding, Marc knew full well how strong the heart was pumping. That’s how I avoid killing them.

When Marc drained a man, he sensed the heart falter before stopping entirely. Morin should be dead by now.

The vampires were quiet, and purposefully so. Marc checked the body before distancing himself until the heartbeat could no longer be heard. Aelred followed suit with a good idea on where this was headed.

“The telltale detail was blood around the lips, as though it had been smeared on,” Marc whispered.

He looked up at Aelred who nodded grimly. Marc had several courses of action available. The first was to simply kill Morin. Better to be carried by six…

The second was to have him recover at a hospital and be sent back home. If his hunch was correct this would make him a time bomb…then tried by twelve.

The third option was the riskiest for his men. It required them to act as though everything was normal. The joys of command.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Aelred asked in a whisper.

“You remember that proposal you made six months back?”

There was a quick pause while Aelred thought over all their discussions since the war began. There were a lot but one in particular stood out.

“You mean about fighting fire with fire?”

“Precisely,” Marc answered. “How soon can you get them prepped for me?”

“You can’t—(be serious.)”

One look from Marc told the elder vampire everything he needed to know. This was an escalation in this supernatural war. They prepared soldiers to hunt ghouls and vampires, and Drusilla responded by ambushing these specialised teams.

Six months ago, Marc considered the concept too risky. Tonight, the man of war realised that he could not be everywhere at once.

“I can do what I wish with them?” Marc asked.

“It’s that or death.”

“How long?” Marc repeated.

“Give me three days… say why did you request a visit?”

Marc grinned. After this massacre, Marc nearly forgot why he wanted to see Aelred.

“Evelyn has a Georgian in her pocket,” Marc said.

Aelred’s eyes opened wide, but he did not respond. Since he had a satisfactory answer, Marc transitioned to a run while approaching Murphy and Ryan.

“Morin!” Marc exclaimed. “He’s alive…”

CHAPTER 19

WAR MEASURES

By the third day, they promoted Lance Corporal Sullivan to lead the newly formed Duff detachment. Marc insisted that Butter remain unused to honour the fallen. May we never see Edward be used.

The lad showed great promise with Apples and was at the top of Murphy’s list of candidates. It would take weeks to recruit new members into their ranks and train them. Murphy is confident this will work.

Marc was more cynical, believing that recruitment was easy in the past because of their high survival rate. Losing a full detachment in a single night is sure to dampen enthusiasm.

During the day Marc received a message from the French lines that preparations were complete. So, Marc briefed Murphy who would act in his stead during his absence. It took some convincing to get Command to accept my plan.

It was his first time leaving their lines. The men saw leave infrequently, and his policies mirrored those of the other commanders along the line. He had no desire to receive comments from higher command on his relaxed leave policies. It’s hard to hide once you get noticed.

His first step was the casualty clearing station. There he met with Mackenzie, who was nearly well enough to be transferred to hospital in England. After a full recovery he’ll be discharged and sent back home… minus a leg.

The soldier appeared to be happy to see him, and they chatted for twenty-two minutes. After which, Marc excused himself to catch the train. It was fortunate that the two hunters were not around to complicate matters.

It seemed they transferred Private Lavoie two days prior for further observation. Marc knew full well this was code for a psychiatric assessment.

The soldier’s miraculous recovery was noticed by medical staff, who wanted to ensure he was stable enough to return to combat. I wonder how much less of a toll it would be on the soldiers if they simply forgot the war ever happened.

He hopped on the train used primarily to evacuate casualties. But this car was also available for ambulatory officers like him. He kept busy by working on reports and other administrative tasks that he brought with him in a messenger bag.

Marc spent nearly a century in Paris over the span of his life. He had never seen the City of Lights plunged into darkness. Even during his earliest memories, there would have been candles and firelight within homes, businesses, and oil lamps in the streets with an army of lamplighters.

As a vampire, he had no trouble making his way towards a Metro station that appeared to be under construction. From here, it was little more than an open pit surrounded by a perimeter fence.

He walked on through the fence on the west side, which yielded a view of a recently constructed stairwell. His eyes were soon assaulted by electric light, something the Georgian illusion somehow masked from those outside.

Despite the place being hidden from the random passerby, Marc spotted at least three guards wearing Gendarme uniforms. He assumed there were more, but he passed by without concern. Meanwhile, the vampiric security eyed his uniform warily. You’d think that we weren’t allies.

He followed the directions Aelred passed on to reach the spartan platform. The tunnel itself was empty, with no indication of when the tracks would be laid.

After orienting himself, he pushed through a tarp curtain to find himself in what was to be the men’s water closet. The walls were bare save for wooden slats, and some piping sticking out from the walls and floor.

At the centre, there was a silver object that resembled a doorway with rounded corners. This was nothing new for Marc, as vampire gates were relatively common. It was a device that permitted him to travel instantly from Paris to New York.

However, this one differed in function and was freely provided by the Georgians. The condition was that this enigmatic group would get the first choice of those sent to this destination. Nothing curious about that…

Once within ten feet of the gate, it glowed. Marc understood that this gate solely responded to vampires. After a second, Marc had a view of the other side. This too was eerily familiar, at least for anyone who grew up around garrisons and fortifications.

Without hesitation, he walked into the doorway and popped out the other end.

* * * *

“No trouble?” Aelred asked.

Marc turned around and spotted his friend standing within a large, stone archway leading out of a courtyard. Marc looked up and realised there was a roof over the structure. That makes things easier.

From his vantage point, he saw three levels, each with a walkway and large openings permitting natural light to filter through. The doors on this level were all evenly spaced, and he assumed this was the same for the remaining two decks. The military favours predictability over creativity.

All around him he could hear the water lapping against the exterior walls. There was also the distinct scent of brine in the air. He never mentioned this facility being an island.

The idea had merit. While vampires did not need to breathe, a remote island almost guaranteed that the sun would get to them before they reached safety.

He walked over to Aelred and hugged the man. This was one of the rare opportunities they had to shed their military personas.

“Quite a find,” Marc said.

“It is,” Aelred said. “They decommissioned this facility about a year before the war broke out. Since it served as a prison, we felt it was the perfect place to implement certain clauses of the war measures directive.”

Shortly after hostilities broke out, intelligence reports revealed that the German side allied themselves with agents of Drusilla and were using vampires openly. Their side, who purposefully sought to keep their existence from the public, had to pivot. It doesn’t help that they are mostly pacifists.

Marc was a rarity, and the sole vampire willing to lead a counteroffensive. As a man of war, Marc was no stranger to conflict, but he preferred to work with humans instead of other vampires.

The results showed promise or did until he lost Butter detachment. This forced him to adapt and reconsider using vampires to enhance his group.

The war measures led to a relaxation of existing regulations related to conduct. Normally, when a vampire was exposed or risked the exposure of their kind they were hunted down and killed. On occasion, the presence of these rogues were leaked to hunters. This gives them a false impression of their success rate and hides our true numbers.

During the war, every city loyal to their cause sent its prisoners here. Until now they had been waiting for a purpose, but Marc was about to change that.

“How many?” Marc asked.

“Thirty-seven,” Aelred said.

With that amount he could lead a charge against the German lines and change the tides of war. Alas, in doing so, he risked subjugating his kind. The last thing mankind needs is an indiscriminate thinking weapon.

“You can have them come out now,” Marc said.

Vampires could be quiet, but he knew full well there were close to a dozen on this level alone. The sounds were minute, but even shifting their weight onto another foot made sounds as the leather sole compressed or flexed to accommodate the change.

“Come on out, Janus,” Aelred said.

Twelve vampires with carbines walked out of the shadows, each from one of the darkened rooms. Unsurprisingly, they all wore the blue, French uniforms like Aelred did. This naturally meant that Marc stuck out like a sore thumb.

Another Colonel appeared a second later with his pistol trained on him. Marc was rather surprised that they were treating him as a security risk.

“You really think I’m an agent for Drusilla?”

Just mentioning that name had a visible effect on Janus. In response, the jailer closed his eyes to regain his composure. This left Marc to wonder how Janus ended up heading this facility.

“We know what you did in Venice,” Janus said.

Janus was referring to an event that happened centuries ago. One of Drusilla’s agents attempted to kill his sire and Marc reacted poorly. He killed the vampire in a brutal fashion along with several patrons of the cabaret.

He spent three days and nights buried in the mud of a Venetian canal, before boarding a ship for parts unknown. To his knowledge, Aelred managed to convince the Venetian Council that Drusilla’s agent was at fault.

Since Aelred appeared poised to strike, it was clear this matter was not discussed beforehand. This might end up being a memorable night.

“What are—(doing?)” Aelred asked.

“Even if that were true,” Marc said. “I’ve dispatched ninety-three vampires since I arrived in theatre. Before that, I was credited with one-hundred-and-thirty-two kills, all of which were Drusilla’s agents.”

Marc let that number sink in. The man of war had not been idle as a vampire and was frequently employed to do things these bleeding hearts and artists found reprehensible.

Whatever Janus had been before the war, he was not a soldier. I'd guess a brilliant lawyer, someone who sees the law as sacrosanct.

“What about the reports from the German lines of a vampire attack?” Janus asked.

Aelred was not backing down, but Marc was not fazed. Carbines were a threat, but he doubted anyone here had the combat experience to be effective.

“The same who harbour vampires in their lines?” Marc asked. “They invited my involvement and suffered for their hubris.”

Aelred took a step forward, further putting himself between Marc and Janus. This irked Marc as Janus was his first objective. Cut off the head…

“I think Marc has done more than enough to redeem himself in the eyes of our society,” Aelred said. “Certainly, more than your inmates.”

“That’s besides—(the point.)” Janus said, ever the pragmatist.

“Fine,” Marc said. “You’ll need to take over at No Man’s Land and do my dirty work… Have any of you been in combat?”

He knew the answer just by the way these men were holding their weapons. Even green troops know better.

“Have you ever seen life extinguished from the eyes of a man solely because he wears the colours of their country?” Marc asked.

No answer came, because they had none. Most who opposed Drusilla were artists, scholars, and creatives. The irony was that he belonged more with Drusilla, but his sense of morality survived even death.

“Besides,” Marc said, with a grin. “They reported Blutsauger und Werwölfe.”

He purposefully used the German wording. The latter word made several vampires turn pale. Few talked openly about the apex predators who hunted vampires with ease.

Certainly, no one lived to tell the tale if they ever came across one. And yet somehow Marc had left credible traces of one passing through the German lines.

“That’s impossible,” Janus said.

“Clearly not,” Marc said.

“I saw the fangs,” Aelred confirmed.

“You didn’t,” Janus countered.

“I did,” Marc said. “Which one of you here thinks they are remotely qualified to judge me?”

There was silence, and in the end Janus lowered his weapon.

“I thought so,” Marc said. “Now, before we begin, I want to see their records…”

CHAPTER 20

BEYOND THE VEIL

Grace made her way through the corridors and passageways reserved for the staff. The Grand catered to an exclusive clientele with peculiar tastes. Some were known to take their business elsewhere if they had to tread on the same ground as the help.

The way ahead was entirely devoid of light due to an accident in the generator room. It was said that workers were burnt to a crisp, but Grace was not about to ask around for gory details.

The lack of lighting was fine for her and other vampires. At most, she needed to wait a moment for her eyes to adjust when someone walked by with a lantern or the occasional flashlight.

She walked past the kitchens and heard whimpering on the other side of the door. Normally, the hotel’s ventilation concealed such sounds, even from the discerning ears of a vampire. Without any power, she could hear a pin drop. Try not to think of it…

Five minutes later, she was in the southern wing of the hotel. Located deep under tonnes of rock, these suites were primarily designed to accommodate vampires. The lack of sunlight was guaranteed and as a bonus the rooms were said to be soundproofed. That last part proved to be a bit of a misnomer. A retired naval gunner may have trouble eavesdropping…

This is why she knew for certain that she and Evelyn were, for the most part, the only guests. Occasionally there were transient guests, but they were rarely here for more than one night. The Grand was still officially under construction, which meant people were only here when necessary. Brought in for specific tasks and hightail it out of here the next day.

She supposed that would change when the myriad of clubs, restaurants, and amenities were opened. When that happened, vampires and their prey would be able to drown in the excess.

She doubted The Grand would be able to hide every accident. After all, not every vampire cared about leaving no trace of their passage behind. Even Evelyn loved to make a mess from time to time. At least she ensured the killings appeared to be the work of someone who looked the part.

While their side was said to avoid detection at all costs, there was a lot of leeway in how these guidelines were interpreted. Violent deaths and suicides were still the leading causes of death for humans. That meant vampires could hide within the statistical noise. The difference is that Drusilla and her ilk don’t care to hide.

That meant more work for her in reconnaissance, sabotage, and assassination. Grace had the added benefit of being dismissed out of hand due to her physical age. Oddly enough, it turned out that the uniform of a maid opened more doors for her now than it did when she lived as a comtesse. There are rooms and complexes in The Grand that I can’t even fathom a use for.

So far Grace was not required for tasks beyond security and intelligence. This left her to her own devices to explore and determine the viability of The Grand as a haven. Cecil certainly seemed to have a handle on cleaning up the messes guests and staff left behind. However, Maximus, the night concierge, was far too invested in ensuring the rich, powerful, and connected got away with literal murder. There’s politics wherever you go.

That was why Grace was surprised when she turned the corner and heard someone crying. That’s Evelyn…

Her mistress did not shed her mask for something trivial. Vampires, especially women, had to conceal their true emotions most of the time. So, this had to be something big, but was not something like Marc being killed in action. The walls would be shaking if that happened.

She thought over their daily affairs and came up with nothing. Evelyn often stated that her art projects were moving along, and the staff were very accommodating. Her mistress was also quite happy to have found a muse in that Georgian. While Breanna was fun, Evelyn likened it to playing with her food.

“Oh, no…” Grace whispered.

To confirm a grim hunch, she passed by the door leading to her quarters. There were no sounds from within, not even a heartbeat. As she passed by Evelyn’s door, there was only one solid heartbeat within.

“…the mail,” Grace added.

Barring any delays from the train, the post was delivered promptly at two in the afternoon. Normally Grace picked up the letters as part of her rounds, but Evelyn took over the burden a week ago. She’s been waiting for a reply.

Evelyn rarely mentioned it, but mail delivery sometimes felt like waiting for the river to freeze over just to get to the other side. After her mistress sent a letter to Marc requesting advice, they took steps to isolate the runaway. She was mostly confined to the maid’s room, while Grace and Evelyn shared the same quarters.

While there was plenty of space for them, the situation was a bit like being in limbo. Whoever was pulling the strings in the background must have suspected they knew, but they did not care enough to sever the link. That just added more weight on Evelyn’s shoulder. She was close to dealing with the situation herself without confirmation.

“Time to face this,” Grace whispered.

She took out her key and unlocked the door. Grace cautiously opened the door slowly to confirm she was not going to set foot into a slaughterhouse. Instead, she found the room dimly lit by a single candle.

Grace opened the door all the way. The place was almost as she left it, save for dinner for two and a bottle of red wine that was nearly empty. At the desk, she spotted the open letter. While Grace had no idea how they encoded their messages, the pile of books and loose sheets of paper indicated that Evelyn had done the hard part.

She closed the door, locked it, and walked past the desk. Grace noticed in plain text Marc’s answer: Let her die with dignity.

While that direction was far more lenient than expected, it explained the meal, and the fact that Evelyn was in her bed with the runaway. They had taken to calling her that. We had no way of knowing her name.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said softly.

Evelyn would have known that she entered the room, and vampires did not easily let their guard down. Still, she hoped those words would get her mistress to open up.

“She… she asked me to,” Evelyn said.

“Asked you to?”

That made no sense to Grace. Whoever blood-bound her would not willingly remove the gag. Most would stop her heart to silence them before they divulged anything.

Evelyn wiped her eyes and sniffled while she pushed herself up. Until now, Evelyn had been cuddling a corpse, the scent of decay hung in the air. The poor girl is smiling…

When the sheet slipped off, Evelyn’s bare chest was revealed, painting a clearer picture of Evelyn’s interpretation of his directive.

“I-I wanted it to be as painless as possible,” Evelyn said. “Then it came to me that what worked for Breanna might work for her.”

Grace was still a bit uncertain about the process Evelyn used to get that Georgian to talk. Her mistress described it as pushing a woman to the brink of ecstasy and keeping her there. She claimed that it effectively broke through the mind’s defences.

“It worked…” Evelyn said. “Her entire personality changed. You could hear the fear and desperation in her voice.”

All vampires were linked by blood to an extent. Sponsors were expected to do it to those they brought forward for approval. This ensured candidates never divulged anything about the ritual.

Marc and Evelyn were rare in having a two-way link, which created a bond unlike any she ever witnessed. Still, Grace could only imagine the horror of losing control of her mind and body to a foreign influence. A violation of the worst order.

She sat on the bed and aligned herself to have a better look at her mistress. Evelyn’s mask was slipping back into place, but she continued to struggle with making sense of all those thoughts and emotions.

“She told me her name,” Evelyn said. “Mary Anderson.”

Evelyn normally had this musical way of pronouncing words. It was as though she were singing all the time, but this time there was pain bleeding through, and an underlying wail.

The sight of tears filling those emerald-green eyes, and that voice filled with lament nearly made her lose it. Grace needed to keep it together long enough to find out what happened.

It seemed that Evelyn also learned where the girl was from. Their initial guess was not too far off, a small farming community farther east of here.

The difference was that she eloped and they were headed to a nearby mining town. The couple ended up in a small-town hotel, low on coin, but they still managed to get a room for the night. They couldn’t believe their luck until they woke up bound and gagged.

The rest of the story was more chaotic, likely brought on by a mix of mental anguish and blood programming. All the girl remembered were steel-grey eyes and a passionate kiss.

After that, it was a dark presence, repressing her thoughts to create the perfect lure for someone like Evelyn. Mary claimed she tried to warn them, but the dark presence further suppressed her mind.

Two weeks ago, she even tried to kill herself but could not fight against the controlling presence. That explains the mess we found in the water closet.

The last two things Mary said were requests. The first of which was that she desperately wanted this nightmare to end. The second that her remains be brought home for a proper burial.

Evelyn then pulled away the sheet, revealing a large pool of blood around Mary’s body. There was a single, neat slash across the back of her leg. With such a precise incision, she would have bled out in minutes. The wound was purposeful but was not generally attributable to suicide. That ensures a Christian burial.

“You didn’t drain her?” Grace asked. That means she found peace in death.

“Non,” Evelyn said. (No.) “I could not risk her contaminated blood spreading to me.”

Grace honestly had no idea if such a scenario was possible. But for a girl to wish death even when surrounded by those who were willing to take care of her… I hope that I never meet this steel-grey-eyed woman in the flesh.

“I… understand,” Grace said.

Evelyn managed a weak smile and sniffled to further clear her nose. Before she could move off the bed a fresh wave of anguish washed over her.

She fell into Grace’s arms and wept. By this point, even the younger vampire had lost her composure.

“Grace,” Evelyn said, after a solid five minutes of crying. “I want to honour her request.”

“I know,” Grace said.

“I-I’m also starting to hate this place.”

At that moment, Grace had to admit she felt the same way.

CHAPTER 21

VOLUNTEERS

While vampires liked to claim they were superior, they were at the bottom of the barrel when it came to record-keeping. In the military, Marc could tell a lot about a soldier from their file. It was all there from their training and qualifications, education, and positions held. Assuming their superiors are being honest.

Vampires had none of that, and their ageless appearance did not help matters. The names they provided at the time of arrest, along with the nature of their crimes, were all he had to work with. The former was next to useless assuming these men lied about who they were.

Marc filtered out anyone involved in a rampage or who showed a penchant for exposing their true nature. The former was all about keeping his men alive, while the latter went hand-in-hand with their ability to follow orders.

The next step was to confirm their language acuity. Anyone lacking a solid grasp of English was immediately removed from the list. It’ll be hard enough to integrate them as it is.

Those who spoke French were identified. While Aelred showed no interest, there might come a time when the situation forced his hand.

The same went with numbers, while he had twelve candidates, Marc preferred half that number. Two could be integrated into each detachment, and six would be far more manageable. These are all high-functioning predators.

Once certain of his selection, Marc had Janus parade the men on the third-deck platform. That separated them from the staff and remaining inmates.

Above them was the wooden roof. Based on the scent of fresh wood and traces of sawdust along the walls, this was a recent addition. The heat from the sun beaming against the surface made his cheeks warm. While it did not bother him, two of the vampires were clearly uncomfortable with being so exposed. That doesn’t bode well for them.

They stood in an awkward line, a few even appeared to be uninterested, while the general vibe leaned towards curiosity. Every single one was dishevelled, and any competent Sergeant or Warrant would have torn a strip off their backs.

That could be changed, but first he needed to determine their suitability.

“Thoughts?” Marc asked Aelred.

“I’m not even sure I’d take one on as an apprentice painter.”

Marc smirked and turned back towards the men. He approached until he was within fifteen paces and halted precisely in the middle of this gaggle. He looked everyone in the eye, at least those that dared to look up.

“I’m Colonel Marc DesPlaines,” he began. “I’ve been fighting along the Western Front for the past seven months.”

A man snickered, and Marc shot him an icy stare. The appearance of the man of war in his true form was enough for half to stiffen up.

“Our enemy has weaponized vampires, seeking an advantage. I have been countering their attempts since I arrived in theatre.”

A few who originally appeared bored were now focused on him. He doubted it was his rousing speech but was instead a matter of getting a cold dose of reality. Oh how far the war has devolved.

“Know this,” Marc began. “The enemy has used artillery, chlorine gas, and now vampires against us. Yet we endured and held the line. However, I feel it’s time we took the war to them.”

Marc already had, but no one needed to know that.

“While this may be your opportunity to sharpen your claws, know that No Man’s Land is not forgiving. There are far worse things out there than artillery and vampires.”

He gave them sixty-five seconds to consider his words. By this point, everyone had eyes on him.

He approached the one on his left and looked him in the eye.

“Name?” Marc asked.

“Pinkley.”

“Questions?”

“None.”

He repeated the process for the others. Next there were Jefferson, Gilpin, Lever, Tavoularis, and Sawyer.

“Name?” Marc asked.

There came no response, so he turned to look at Janus.

“Maggott, Sir,” Janus replied.

Marc smiled but did not laugh.

“Enough said,” Marc said.

There were a few chuckles, but a glare silenced them instantly.

“Questions?”

“Why?”

Now that was at least a change from the status quo.

“Why what?” Marc asked.

“Why fight for them?” Maggott asked.

“Other than doing what’s right?” Marc asked.

“You feel this is right?”

This could easily devolve into a Möbius strip of questions filled with proverbial landmines. This type of topic was often brought up once the gentlemen retired to the smoking room. The same could not be said for the battlefield.

“Like it or not, war was declared and entire nations have mobilised to answer the call,” Marc began. “We could sit back and watch vampires subjugate Europe or we could meet them in battle. I’d rather die fighting than be subjugated by Drusilla and her ilk.”

He left it at that and counted down from ten before moving on to the rest. He did the same for Wladislaw, Jiminez, Franko, Bravos, and finally…

“Posey,” the man answered. “Like the flower.”

“You certainly took the proverbial wind out of my sails,” Marc said.

“You would not have been the first to go there.”

This man had a chip on his shoulder. If he read him right, he was not the type to back down from a fight. Marc wondered if Posey could channel those impulses away from his fellow soldiers and focus on the enemy.

“Is that how you ended up here?” Marc asked.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve seen it before,” Marc said. “You’re more hot-blooded than a Spanish mare in heat. Here’s some advice, stand tall and ignore their taunts. You’re only bruising your fists to make yourself feel better.”

The man shot him a curious glance. It was probably the first time that someone pointed out the futility of his self-destructive tactic.

Marc went back to the centre and turned around to examine the candidates. It might have been wiser to deploy the morally insane. At least he could unleash them on the enemy camp and watch the Krauts die en masse. No one cared if the next Jack the Ripper died in No Man’s Land while killing Krauts. They might even pin a medal on his chest.

Still, the aim was to help his soldiers deal with any threats they encountered. Having a vampire or two per detachment would guarantee an edge. You can’t integrate a mass murderer with the men.

“One last point. Every soldier under my command, myself included, has volunteered for combat. I’ll only consider you for inclusion if you step—(forward.)”

Without being asked, seven men stepped forward. While two actually took a step back. He was now left with Franko, Bravos, Posey, Lever, Sawyer, Gilpin and Jefferson. More than I expected.

Marc turned to look at Janus before asking, “When was the last time the men were fed?”

“Nine this evening,” Janus replied.

“For those of you who stepped forward,” Marc began. “You will be expected to work with soldiers. I will not tolerate lapses in discipline due to hunger. To ensure this, none of you will receive a ration for three days.”

Vampires preferred to feed daily, all to reduce their chances of killing from a single feeding. In a place like No Man’s Land feedings were not cultured nor scheduled.

“Anyone wish to withdraw?” Marc asked.

No one took a step back and Marc smiled.

“The first step towards a pardon,” Marc said.

“What’s the last step?” Franko asked.

“Surviving out there until the end of this war…”

“Is that all?” Posey confirmed.

“Isn’t that enough?” Sawyer challenged.

The exchange was more telling than possibly intended. This brief back and forth showed that some of them could be motivated to form bonds. They also found their voices…

CHAPTER 22

RANK AND FILE

Marc left before the sun had set on his first day and returned to his unit shortly before dawn. Marc was then informed of an overzealous commander volunteering three of his men to go over the top during a recent push. Only one made it back alive, and it would take him months to recover in a hospital before they sent him home.

To thank the commander for taking liberties with his men, Marc visited him in the night and left the man with a serious case of anaemia. This went on for eight days until the commander collapsed while getting orders from the general about an incoming offensive. The general summarily relieved him of his duties and ordered him to undergo medical evaluation.

The Duff detachment was starting to take shape within a week of his return. The bulk of the ranks were filled, and Murphy was genuinely impressed by how well Sergeant Sullivan adjusted to his role and responsibilities.

Meanwhile, Corporal Morin was recovering much faster than anyone expected. This further lent credence to Marc’s hunch. One does not simply jump out of bed on the second day after nearly being exsanguinated. Medical staff must have found it peculiar as well, which explained why they were keeping him for further observation. Hopefully, they wouldn’t question the unusually fast recoveries by those in my unit.

By the third day, Marc was back at the holding facility along with Sergeant Moore and Lance Corporal Delany. The presence of humans was noted, but Aelred had already explained the need for their presence. Still, the guards had to keep a sharp eye on them as the candidates underwent training.

While he hoped for six candidates to make it through this first step, he ended up with five. One almost went feral, and the other remained catatonic. Joseph Franko, Louis Posey, Henri Lever, Georges Sawyer, and Paul Gilpin were all that remained.

Aelred tried to convince him to keep John Bravos, the one who was comatose. Marc declined because he needed vampires who could handle the strain and be trusted not to kill those they fought with.

Once more he had the men lined up, still wearing the clothes they had been brought in with. That was the first point Marc would address before moving forward.

“Good evening,” Marc began. “You’ve proved that you’re not a risk to those serving along the front lines. Now we need you to look and act the part.”

“You expect us to serve among them?” Posey asked.

The tone in his voice implied curiosity, while the blank look on the faces of a few others made it clear that several in the group were confused. Marc saw no harm in confirming what was expected of them.

“Training a force large enough to rid the battlefield of ghouls and vampires requires significant resources,” Marc answered. “Since it’s normally expected of us, there’s also a need to hide within the ranks. Fortunately, this leaves us with a sizable defence force to ensure our survival during the day.”

“That’s why you brought these two?” Sawyer asked.

Marc grinned. These vampires were much closer to the grave than he was, and it showed by how easily they betrayed their thoughts. Marc had to admit that it was refreshing to find someone who could see the pattern and follow it to a logical conclusion.

“Precisely,” Marc said. “I’ve trained soldiers to take on threats such as ghouls. While they are quite successful at clearing out nests, vampires are more of a… challenge.”

He suspected that would get their attention and it worked. Sawyer realised that Marc was not referring to failures, but measurable success in humans facing off against vampires.

“They… they successfully took on a vampire?” Franko asked.

“My group has two confirmed kills,” Marc said.

“That’s better than the hunters,” Sawyer commented.

“We don’t train zealots who hunt in small numbers,” Marc said. “Our detachments are composed of twenty soldiers, equipped with shotguns, machine guns, mortars, and rifles.”

“Why do you even need us?” Franko asked.

Sawyer gave Franko the side-eye. While that might imply it was a stupid question, Marc believed it was more a case of wanting to hear it said out loud.

“Physically, we are gifted with enhanced strength, speed, and a natural ability to heal ourselves,” Marc said. “The margin of error needed to successfully engage a single vampire is narrow, but for two it’s razor-thin.”

“You need us to… augment these teams?” Sawyer asked.

“In part,” Marc said. “When operating with a detachment, you’ll be a force multiplier that’ll ensure mission success.”

Marc looked at Posey, the man who spent most of his life fighting. I wonder what he’ll have to say.

“When not otherwise attached?” Franko asked.

“I plan on sending teams to disrupt the enemy lines.”

“What do you mean by disrupt?” Posey asked.

Marc smiled before answering, “Use your imagination.”

Posey chuckled and said, “I’m liking where this is going.”

Marc raised his hand and cleared his throat to focus on the men. They quit their chatter and settled. The group was visibly more interested in what was being proposed.

“That’s the goal,” Marc said. “Now, you will need to be trained to act and behave as a soldier. That’s why I brought Sergeant Moore and Lance Corporal Delany. They will be your instructors. Two, good soldiers who will teach you drill, weapons handling, and proper military bearing.”

This time there was no chatter at all. Now that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, they were willing to put up with whatever was needed. As long as they see the reward, we won’t have a problem.

“Get to know them. They are representative of the soldiers you’ll find in my group,” Marc said. “While you will be free to unleash your true potential in German lines, you must first learn to blend in.”

“What about sleeping accommodations?” Sawyer asked.

That was an excellent question. While vampires could not be fully integrated, they did need to play the part.

“A dugout is being prepared for you along with others who oversee operations at night,” Marc said. “It’ll provide ample shelter from the sun and give you several reasons to sleep the day away.”

“One question,” this was the first time Lever spoke.

“Go ahead,” Marc said.

“When do we start?”

The rank and file collectively smiled. Before the Great War began, these men would have been put down. Soon they would learn to channel their darker impulses to avoid the gallows. I hope discipline and a common cause will keep them in line after the war.

“Tonight,” Marc said. “Sergeant Sullivan takes over as of now. He speaks for me in all matters. Understood?”

“Meaning?” Franko asked.

“He means that if we don’t play nice with the Sergeant and Corporal, then our good Colonel or the guards will remind us.”

“Precisely,” Marc said.

“Oh…” Franko and Posey said in unison.

CHAPTER 23

ON THE PRECIPICE

Marc sat at his desk with an open envelope in hand. He pulled out the letter and freed the picture wrapped within.

As expected, it was another nude of Evelyn. If we keep this up for too long, I may not recognise her when she shows up at the train station fully clothed…

This time she wore a black veil. He looked at the date on the letter and postmark to make the connection.

It was a challenge to have meaningful discourse through the post. The time required to get a reply could easily range from six to nine weeks. That explained why three weeks after Private Morin was found alive, Marc received a letter using the new codes.

That was confirmed by the changes in the background and setting. Instead of candelabras, there was a bookshelf, which contained tomes that could be adjusted as needed. The critical element missing from these photographs was the colour, but Marc knew those by heart.

Certain elements remained the same, the presence of an allied or German officer’s hat. Unsurprisingly, Evelyn was making use of the allied cap, sitting atop her desk. Her nudity still served as an effective distraction and an easy way to account for her relative safety.

The clock still served a purpose, but the interpretation of it changed. The minutes made up one interval, followed by the number of blue and red books. Whereas the hour hand applied as a divider.

Marc pulled out a pad and his trench pen. He opened the letter and found the familiar, flowery prose which rarely deviated from Victorian norms. Evelyn loved to write about her art and enjoyed the challenge of wielding her extensive vocabulary as a weapon. Without her love for the thesaurus, we could never manage these complex messages.

He quickly did the calculations and found out there were three intervals. Since the document was straight-forward, he assumed her actual message would be short and sweet.

He began circling the appropriate words just as Murphy approached the dugout. His steps were precise and calm, which meant this was a cordial visit.

“Sir,” Private Monaghan said from his post. Someone is coming for a visit.

“Private,” Murphy said, and went inside.

The trouble with being a vampire was that Marc’s whereabouts were limited during the day. It means I can’t get a moment’s peace.

“Sir,” Murphy said at the door.

Marc turned around momentarily and smiled.

“Come on in, Warrant,” Marc said.

He turned back and grabbed the letter along with a book. Murphy sat on the chair and sighed. I wonder if he wants to hide for a bit.

“Anything to report?” Marc asked, while working out more of the intervals.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Murphy said.

That was a rather surprising statement considering that Private Morin was back within their lines and integrating with Duff. This coincided curiously with a sharp drop in activity along the Western Front. If we don’t gain ground soon, this place will start to feel like home.

His new recruits also showed up last night. So far only the headquarters staff were briefed. That meant they knew who and what their new bunkmates were. This avoids asking unnecessary questions before they could get acclimatised.

“What do you qualify as out of the ordinary with a vampire commanding officer who runs a unit that hunts down monsters?” Marc asked.

Murphy watched as Marc circled another two words. On the third, he crossed out the second.

“You make a good point, Sir,” Murphy admitted. “I’ve never seen you cross out.”

“You’ll be seeing it more often for now,” Marc replied.

This cypher was designed to have collisions. When two intervals hit on the same word, Marc swapped them out from there on in. Evelyn was probably swearing up a storm when she wrote this letter.

He smiled at the thought, because it reminded him of Evelyn swearing in those musical tones. It evoked the image of a siren luring sailors towards the rocky shore. She’d probably slap me for the thought alone.

“New code then,” Murphy said. “Everything is alright back home?”

“So far?” Marc confirmed. “Yes. Just a healthy dose of paranoia.”

“That sounds like us now,” Murphy observed.

The difference was that Murphy and Marc knew they had a probable security breach in their midst. With every piece in place, it was high time they put this theory to the test.

“How do you feel about it?” Marc asked, while circling another couple of words.

“He feels fine to me,” Murphy said. “Nothing that would stick out for someone who nearly died.”

“What if he hadn’t nearly died?”

Murphy’s eyes opened, as though unprepared for the question. In truth, the command of men was mainly instinctual, and explaining a gut feeling often proved challenging.

“He forgot to call me ‘Sir’ a couple of times,” Murphy said. “Had it been anyone else, I’d have given him a tongue lashing.”

“Have the men said anything?”

Marc insisted that no one else be briefed on their suspicions. If anyone picked up on something being off, it had to be organic. Had they known, Morin would have sensed the difference immediately.

“Similar lapses in discipline,” Murphy replied. “Those who knew him best claim he’s quiet and aloof.”

That was why they could not simply judge the man. Morin could be behaving erratically because of his near-death experience.

Murphy was no longer the same man who had gone off to war, hopeful that this would be a quick victory. His closest friends would attest that he changed and might even use the same descriptors to explain the differences once he got home.

“Any comments from the day’s watch about their roommates?” Marc asked.

“Nothing much, Lewis said they looked the part.”

That was the intention, as anything else would arouse suspicions.

“Why not officers?” Murphy asked.

That was one question Marc did not anticipate. It was his turn to open his eyes wide, while using the opportunity to circle the last few words to think over what he had to say.

“This… is your war,” Marc said.

Murphy cocked a brow, not sure what to make of that statement.

Marc raised a hand to plead for a few moments.

“This is a war between nations and supported by governments that were elected by the people,” Marc said.

“So why are you here?” Murphy asked, and there was a bite to his tone.

“Let me finish,” Marc said. “I’m here because the enemy seeks to leverage this conflict for their own dark purpose. Otherwise, I would have given Europe a wide berth and let this conflict play out.”

“That implies you think little of us,” Murphy challenged.

“Quite the opposite,” Marc said. “Evelyn and I have watched humans grow and she loves nothing more than to be among those who truly seize the day, living their lives to the fullest.”

The fact that such people were effectively the polar opposite of him was clearly something that should have bothered him. However, the void was like the rising tide washing away footprints left on the beach.

“That’s why I recruited you and others like you. That’s why I’ve been giving you more control over the day-to-day operations. I’m empowering you so you won’t need my kind to meddle in your affairs.”

There was hesitation in those eyes, but Murphy sighed. The camaraderie they built up over the months must have settled his mind.

“So, they aren’t officers,” Murphy said. “Because sergeants and lance corporals run the detachments?”

“Now you get it,” Marc said. “I dare say that if vampires stop being a threat, my own involvement will drop significantly.”

There came a pause. Marc could tell that the Warrant understood and realised they might reach a point where Marc was no longer watching over them.

“Oh, I’m here for the duration,” Marc clarified. “Unless this war makes it impossible for me to support. Such as rapid gains in territory that prevent me from keeping up with the advance, or high-intensity combat both day and night.”

“Imagine,” Murphy said as though distant. “A war that never sleeps.”

Marc could imagine it, as they were nearly there. The only thing that saved them was this stalemate that neither side could break.

“Sobering thought,” Marc replied.

He added up all the words. Evelyn’s message was rather poignant and fitting the theme of her shot: I gave her the time of her life, and she begged me to kill her. Life is often cruel.

A pity that despite their great distance, Evelyn still managed to experience the bitterness of this war.

“Are we still on for H-hour?” Murphy asked.

Marc nodded, before reaching for a candle on his desk. He burned the letter and with it all evidence of the message.

“Yes,” Marc said. “I did a reconnaissance of the site last night. The resistance will be light to negligible. Overall, a good way to put Duff through its paces.”

Murphy nodded, but that was not exactly what was asked.

“Don’t worry, I advised SHELLDRAKE to be ready. If they catch sight of that illumination mortar going off, they will fire for effect.”

Marc did not particularly revel in the thought of ordering artillery fire on their position. However, if Drusilla was planning an ambush, this would be their endgame. The one where no one wins…

CHAPTER 24

AMBUSH

Their objective was in the ruins of a town square. The once pristine cobbled streets were now a collection of craters and rubble piled up to form defensive positions.

Marc was atop a walkway surrounding the remnants of a clock tower. A blast left part of the roof exposed, and most of the clock’s mechanism was a combination of twisted metal and slag.

The wind had a bite to it this evening and the ground was frosted over. While the men complained about the cold, he knew they were also happy that the muddy terrain was frozen. A few have said they fear the mud will one day drag them to their graves.

Just ahead, Duff was working its way through the streets using the terrain for cover. Their objective was a ruined church, specifically the subterranean crypts beneath it. Marc was more than happy to have the ghouls evicted.

From his position, he noted that not a single roof was intact. Many buildings were standing only because a couple of brick walls were still standing. This was the most horrific aspect of this war, how death and destruction had spread to the cities.

Despite the battle for this town ending months ago, there was still the subtle scent of burnt wood. In the distance, he spotted Private Morin moving along with his team. Judging solely from his soldiering, Marc would conclude the man was not compromised. If it were me, I’d let him run through a couple of missions normally to sell the deception.

Marc had, in fact used such tools with Evelyn. He used it to make her forget entire conversations they had when she was human. Such measures were expected for vampires, and in some ways necessary. For the most part, the tools I avail myself of are benign.

The one controlling Morin or Evelyn’s runaway was far more insidious. They effectively suppressed the personality of the individual. If I ever find out who…

“An ideal spot for an ambush,” Murphy whispered.

His second in command was correct. Their sightlines were limited on every side because this was once a city. This was why Murphy whispered those words, because vampires had great hearing… and he doesn’t want to spark a panic.

He could tell that Murphy was not worried based on his resting heart rate. The stream of fog that came out with every breath was why Marc needed to be careful with winter stepping onto the stage.

Marc simply nodded, watching as two teams broke off from their detachment. The others took up positions at the four corners of the church. The advance team, with Morin, was no longer in sight.

From the west, at the edge of town, he made out two, humanoid shapes approaching Duff. They were fast and quiet, a real threat unlike the ghouls within that crypt. Marc snapped his fingers and pointed at the advancing enemy. Those distinctive, spiked helmets make it easy to tell friends from foes.

Murphy made the sign for two and Marc nodded. The man of war then peeked over both sides of the balcony.

Two more were approaching from the north and guessed it would be the same from the south. Murphy confirmed the latter, before pointing towards the position where Sergeant Sullivan left his support team.

That was six, confirmed combatants, all vampires. Had I been their commander, I’d—

Before getting into position, Marc and Murphy picked up handfuls of loose mortar and bricks and spread them over the stairs. Right behind him, he caught a sound reminiscent of sandpaper rubbing against stone.

It was not much, but to him it may as well have been an incensed mob with torches and pitchforks. He turned around quicker than the eye could see, making it seem as though there were two of him.

Murphy reacted visibly to Marc doing so, but in slow motion. By the time his second realised what was going on Marc fired two rounds.

The first one struck the lead vampire in the shoulder, while the second ended up with a hole through his neck. That left two more vampires at the entrance.

He squeezed off another two rounds before ducking around the corner. He was not sure, but judging from the German obscenities at least one round found its mark. No one seems to be complaining about my shots being about an inch too high.

Murphy fired off a white flare. It lit up the path along its trajectory, travelling in a high arc before burning out. We don’t want to bring down artillery on our position… yet.

Three minutes…

The signal was enough to alert Duff. Simultaneously, a rope was dropped from above, just as a mass of burning pitch was dropped onto the balcony’s entrance. The flares that followed six seconds later engulfed the entryway in flames.

Marc unsheathed his sword, with two rounds chambered. He held his position, relying on his hearing to confirm they were not trying to flank him.

“Clear,” Murphy called out, while taking the rope up with him.

This signalled the next phase of their response. Three snipers began firing at the approaching Huns. The opposition were clearly not prepared for an armed resistance.

One vampire was struck in the shoulder which would slow him down. Still, they peppered their targets with gunfire without sacrificing accuracy. They just need to hinder their advance.

Marc peeked around the corner and spotted the husks of two, burning vampires. Three seconds later he caught a distinctive, high-pitched twang of a tripwire breaking off from the hatch leading into the clockwork mechanism.

The men secured it with chains, but Marc added this additional precaution. This caused a grenade he had altered to detonate with a significantly shortened fuse. Before it even hit the ground, the grenade went off, filling the area with shrapnel and fire.

Marc smiled, while calmly reloading his weapon prior to holstering it. He grabbed a rope leading off the balcony and used it to get to the ground level.

Before reaching the ground, footsteps were heard. He let go, found his footing and ended up facing another three vampires.

“Drei jejen eener… Mach det vier,” the lead man said, while another man exited the stairwell. (Three against one… make that four.)

Marc’s face remained neutral even as he pulled his revolver from its holster. Four vampires might be a threat, but this was hardly formal German.

These were street kids and looked the part. Marc guessed Drusilla was turning gang members and sending them off as fodder. If I turned just ten of my men, we could decimate a division.

He kept his face neutral, careful to maintain a standoff without getting himself cornered. That gave them the perception that he was worried, but that soon changed.

Two minutes…

Silent as a predator ought to be, Sawyer approached them from the rear with his rifle at the ready. When Marc nodded, Sawyer fired a shot at point-blank range sending a spray of brain matter and bone into the air.

Whereas Marc fired two shots at the talker. The first hit true, right in the middle of his eyebrow while the second penetrated nearer to the base of the skull.

Both moved in near synchrony, Marc attacking with his sabre while Sawyer did so with a combination of rifle fire and bayonet charges.

Piercing the heart was not generally fatal for vampires. However, it could freeze the victim for a period, especially if recently turned. Sawyer’s target never had a chance to move… again.

Marc dodged a swipe of claws, cutting through the fabric of his tunic along his sword arm. He used this opportunity to slice and free his opponent of his head. Just like that we have the numerical advantage.

Sawyer twisted his rifle to free the bayonet from the victim. Now both circled the remaining Hun, who was teetering on the edge of panic. That might have made him more dangerous, but Marc learned how this game was played long ago.

He dipped his sword arm as though the slash had been effective. His opponent smiled, as if someone injected a concentrated dose of courage straight into his veins.

When the Kraut tried to leverage his advantage, Marc hit the man with the hilt of his sabre. It was enough to stun him, giving Sawyer the chance to finish him off with a combination of bayonet charge and gunfire.

One minute…

All the while Duff was actively engaging several targets. There was heavy, machine-gun fire intermixed with trench guns. Given the number of vampires Marc spotted before contact, he half-expected things to quiet down.

Instead, a Hun slipped through the debris of an alley hoping to escape the hail of gunfire. Gilpin caught up, lunged at him with vampiric speed, and tore the man’s chest open using his claws. That’s going to leave a mark…

“I’ll go clockwise,” Marc said, without waiting for acknowledgement.

Sawyer must have understood as he went the opposite direction. The aim was clear, seek and destroy the stragglers.

Upon reaching cover, he replaced the spent rounds in his revolver, snapped it back into place and waited. Gunfire was loud but readily filtered out by a disciplined mind. That was a curse for a young vampire because they were easily overwhelmed by external stimuli, forcing them to master this skill. Otherwise, a bullet will cure them of it.

He heard the faint heartbeats of Murphy’s support team, and several from Duff. That was not what he was looking for.

To his left, near the outskirts of town there came more boots striking hard-packed ground. He spotted another eight vampires, none of whom were from his side.

Marc had to delay, but he also needed to play it smart. The man of war holstered his revolver, sheathed his sword and grabbed two grenades. They were shaped like a small pineapple fitted with a metal spoon and pin.

He saw an old coat hook on the wall and smiled. From the hook both grenades were left dangling from their pins. Ready, he took out his service weapon.

He waited from inside the home, the blown-out wall gave him an ideal view of the street. These vampires appeared to be smarter, because they were not running into the fray. They also kept their spacing and moved in as though advancing on an objective. I’d guess that these were soldiers not too long ago.

When directly ahead of him, Marc positioned himself as though in a duel. This would minimise his profile in case of return fire.

Without hesitation, he fired every chambered round, in rapid succession. The two lead Huns dropped like rag dolls, and another three visibly stumbled. I just knocked on their front door.

“Now, it’s time to repay the favour,” Marc said.

The men reacted as expected. They turned towards the threat with their weapons at the ready. Upon spotting their lone adversary, the men advanced on him two by two.

Zero…

Marc sacrificed some blood to reach the wall at speed. He counted down from three after holstering his pistol. On the count of zero, he grabbed the grenades and pulled down hard enough to tear off the pins.

With time against him, Marc pushed himself as fast as his vampiric body could handle. He launched himself through the shattered window. Just as gravity asserted itself there came a blast from the other side of the wall.

This was not his first time under fire. The man of war rolled as he landed and found his footing quickly. No one was firing, so he reloaded at the expense of blood, before turning the corner leading back to the street.

Two vampires caught sight of him, but hesitated. This was the first sign that the situation shifted in his favour. The tide came rolling in as additional, machine gun fire joined the fray.

Apples were now on station, and Marc suspected that Charlie was not far behind. These detachments left their lines twenty minutes after Duff. They proceeded to hold their position roughly three-hundred yards away within an abandoned trench line. Once they saw the light, it was a race against time.

Marc ran towards the vampires who were now being riddled with bullets. To ease the threat, he raced past them as though a blur, shooting them both in the head. One more was visible, but Apples had them well in hand.

The growing symphony of gunfire confirmed that Charlie was now involved. He caught sight of Posey and Lever as he approached the church.

Their tactics were interesting but nonetheless effective. They approached from where Duff was mounting heavy resistance. As soon as the men reloaded, they closed the distance and engaged.

Gunfire from all detachments dropped off as Marc got within pistol range. The man of war sighed audibly but refused to lower his guard.

They had sent Apple and Charlie on patrol several times before tonight without any opposition. Tonight, with Morin amongst them, Duff was attacked by over a dozen vampires.

“I think this serves to confirm we have a mole,” Marc said. “Time to find the lad.”

CHAPTER 25

GOING TO GROUND

When the last shot rang out into the night, their numbers came to nine dead, twelve wounded, and one missing in action. Apples and Charlie suffered light casualties, whereas Duff took the brunt of it. Two were shot by Morin, presumably when the ambush began. He used the opportunity to slip away in the ensuing chaos.

This further confirmed that Morin was the mole. Marc missed the escape tunnel leading to the outskirts of the ruined town, and it was reasonable to assume the site had been chosen. That explained how he found the concealed and narrow tunnel that led to freedom. There are coincidences and there’s this.

As a precaution, Marc sent the vampires individually to sweep the area. Vampires could cover a great deal of territory in less time. Still, an hour before sunrise, his men returned to the dugout empty-handed and promptly slipped into their bunks. It’s rare that a human evades a determined group of vampires.

A few were too young to remain awake during the day. Vampires instinctively sought refuge before sunrise, and many had an instinctual fear of fire. Some never get over their fear of the latter.

That was why their dugouts were designed with expansion in mind. If their position was overrun, Marc and his men would dig themselves into the soft earth and remain there until nightfall. When the sun sets, we can deal with the enemy, figure out where our lines are, and find our way back.

Marc arrived fifteen minutes before sunrise. By then the wounded were evacuated, the bodies recovered, and his men were on their way back. Despite the comparatively heavy losses the mood was light. Most realised how much worse this could have been without the additional assistance.

Murphy arrived at headquarters twenty-two minutes after sunrise. Unlike his men, the Warrant appeared as though he took a detour through a meat grinder. The long face, droopy eyes, and slow movements were all too familiar. Marc knew that look and had seen it reflected in the mirror many times.

“I don’t know how you do it, Sir,” Murphy said, at the entrance.

Marc pivoted on his stool to get a better look. The Warrant’s breathing and heartbeat were steady, but a tad low. He’s running on fumes.

“This is not my first war,” Marc said.

While he could anticipate follow-on questions, Marc realised that Murphy needed to talk through this. If that was anything Evelyn taught him, it was that people sometimes needed an outlet. What they don’t need is a tailor-made solution designed for someone else.

“That I get,” Murphy replied. “I’m just not sure how you can stand there and watch.”

The experience he had in life was watching his men delay the advancing Spaniards by popping out of their hiding spots. He remembered his chest tightening as the cavalry broke off to pursue and knew there was nothing he could do to intervene. In a way, he was thankful that the void stripped him of the associated emotions… My memories may as well be a collection of stills.

“The simple truth of the matter is,” Marc paused while thinking of the right words. “I do it because I must.”

“That’s not really comforting.”

Marc motioned for his second to sit down. He then asked Signaller Heart to fetch some tea. Had I been my actual age, I’d have a kink in my neck from looking up all the time.

“No, it is not,” Marc agreed. “While wars would cease if our leaders settled their differences through duels, they preferred sending their soldiers instead. I do know that ordering men into battle with no direction, plan, or organisation ensures a swift death.”

He remembered that much when his garrison was ambushed. He saw proof of this when the officer and sergeants fell in the first volley. We only managed to make it out alive because a few of us rallied and took the war to them.

“I’ve seen that myself,” Murphy said. “It doesn’t make it easier.”

Marc wished that he could wave a hand and make all this inhumanity go away. The truth of the matter is that the man of war had no real emotion to speak of. That did not preclude him from believing that unnecessarily sacrificing men was wrong.

“It doesn’t…” Marc began. “… that’s not a bad thing.”

Signaller Heart arrived with a canteen full of tea, just in time to watch Murphy blink several times before those eyes grew noticeably.

“Thank you,” Murphy said, before taking a sip.

The Signaller nodded and walked away. Heart was cautious after tasting the Warrant’s wrath for making a particularly vile cup.

“How so?” Murphy asked.

While Marc expected the question, he was still mulling over his response. It was fortunate that they were lobbing artillery shells at the Germans. They naturally counted the time it took for the associated sounds of the blasts to reach them to get an idea of the target.

“Reminding the Krauts we are still here,” Marc quipped.

There was bound to be a response, which meant his men would get little rest today.

“It bothers you because you care,” Marc said. “That means you’ll move heaven and earth to get your men home.”

Such a reply was begging for follow-on questions. Marc was not sure if Murphy wanted to dive into that topic.

“But they still die,” Murphy said.

“Men always die,” Marc countered. “The difference is, you’ll never put them needlessly at risk.”

Even Marc questioned whether those words would have an effect. This last operation was costly and there was blood on his hands. I could’ve killed Morin, but all those vampires would have cropped up at another time.

Murphy took a sip, closed his eyes, and sighed. Marc saw the man’s entire body relax, as the heat from the tea progressed down his throat. Sometimes one just needs to be reminded of what we are fighting for.

“Better?” Marc asked.

“Marginally,” Murphy said, before taking another sip. “At least it’s warm.”

“Shall we have Heart flogged?”

Murphy produced a mischievous little smile. For a moment, Marc wondered just how close the Warrant was to agreeing. I think he wanted a distraction.

Marc turned around momentarily and focused on a letter he was writing to Evelyn. He read over the words and could scarcely remember them. You’d think I wrote this over a decade ago.

He then spotted a stack of reports, some from headquarters, while others were from his men at the casualty clearing station. Things have been quiet so far with the hunters, despite a marked increase in activity on our end.

When he turned around to order Murphy to go to ground, he realised his second was already asleep. His Warrant was under a great deal of strain; all the men were. Marc smiled, set the canteen aside, and quietly walked out.

“I should follow my own orders,” Marc whispered.

CHAPTER 26

VAN HELSING’S SHADOW

Marc figured this situation would go one of two ways after their victory. The first being a sharp drop in activity. This was the least likely scenario, since Drusilla was not known for poor planning… or backing down.

The most likely outcome was increased activity to reduce his group’s effectiveness by attrition. This option turned out to be the correct one, and Marc observed a significant uptick in enemy contacts along the Western Front. Even their guns love to point out they have plenty of ammunition.

He was sitting on his stool, looking at the latest intelligence on the hunters. Just beside it there was another letter from Evelyn with a picture of her wearing a very revealing slip. She’s concerned about a sudden and rushed expansion in the southern wing.

Evelyn had proven herself to be quite intuitive. Why would The Grand divert significant resources to readying the southern wing of the hotel?

His sire, Susanna, who ran a successful cabaret-style club in Venice, always prioritised her customers. She would never divert resources from areas that generated revenue without good reason. It would be like focusing on the kitchen, instead of barracks, weapons, and soldiers.

The fact that Evelyn no longer felt safe at The Grand was a cause for concern. That’s why his eyes lingered on the letter, even after re-reading it for a third time. He needed to remind himself that Evelyn could look after herself… Grace also has her back.

He let out all the air from his lungs and left it at that. Marc picked up the reports on the hunters’ activities and perused their contents. The intelligence was sparse as the pair appeared to be focused on their nursing duties. It was ingenious really as it allowed them to hide in plain sight.

A couple of weeks prior, Marc got lucky. One of his men noticed the pair leaving late at night. Marc arranged for a morning reconnaissance plane to fly over that direction. The pilot spotted two soldiers approaching an abandoned farmhouse.

Marc went there the next evening after receiving confirmation the pair were in for the night. He found everything a hunter needed to disguise themselves. They had two sets of uniforms, with appropriate ranks, and an arsenal that almost made him envious.

What impressed Marc was their choice to venture out in No Man’s Land dressed as Junior officers. That gave them enough authority to deter a patrol, but not enough to draw suspicion. It’s the same reason why I head out as a captain.

It also provided a reasonable explanation for his men being attacked. They were targeting anyone who hunted things that went bump in the night. None were smart enough to see that hunters hunt in pairs, not as a platoon.

The increase in activity was mirrored by more outings by the girls. They went out three times this week, which made sense with the sharp increase in activity. If Drusilla really wanted them found, then the pressure would ease off. How I effectively counter this problem is another matter.

The situation must have been dire for the hunters, as Padre Taylor reported that his former order approached him to rejoin. The Padre turned them down, finding that he preferred ‘saving souls’ over ‘killing things for simply not being human.’

That was a common element on both sides of the conflict. Vampires were just as quick to eliminate threats as hunters were, even if their goals aligned. The enemy of thy enemy is just as likely to stake you through the heart…

Marc had no wish to form a formal alliance, but he realised long ago that hunters were ideal for ridding the world of feral vampires. It soon became a policy among like-minded vampires to ignore hunters unless they were specifically targeted. This tactic hid their true numbers, and it sent them towards threats like Drusilla. You never know, one might get lucky enough to take Drusilla out one day.

After the last surveillance report, Marc focused on assigning his vampires. They had been operating within Marc’s group for three weeks, either as part of a detachment or going behind the German lines. The latter gave him the opportunity to assess the men directly while sowing chaos amongst their enemies.

What struck him as off was that they had yet to encounter another vampire during their raids. This worried him, because that could mean they were not originating from enemy lines. This also highlighted how their rear was dangerously exposed. Why would Drusilla ignore such a tactical weakness?

According to Aelred, the French and Spanish gates were secured and fortified. This meant Drusilla’s forces could not use them to cross into No Man’s Land. The only logical conclusion was they possessed dedicated gates, much like the one Marc used to reach the prison.

The thought alone made his head spin. If their enemy had the ability to field large amounts of troops and equipment behind friendly lines. They could have taken all of France by now.

“So why haven’t they?” Marc whispered to himself.

The answer was obvious if not palatable. Drusilla was not interested in this war. Instead, she was using it to screen her true intent, which still eluded him. That means Aelred and I have been entirely focused on the wrong campaign.

“No matter,” Marc said.

It was time to assign the vampires. He felt three should be permanently attached to detachments. That way the sergeants could integrate them fully within their men.

Two were obvious candidates since Lever and Gilpin both expressed a desire to do so. While neither minded combat, they preferred to stay away from the wanton slaughter that prevailed during Marc’s raids. He honestly could not blame them, because the violence was gratuitous. Which is rather the point.

The third choice was also clear-cut. Franko tended to seek insight on their objectives. This irked personalities like Sawyer which led to frequent negative interactions. However, Sergeant Sullivan showed an uncanny ability to deal with such behaviour. As they get to know each other the questions will give way to trust.

Posey was more of a problem, the man spent most of his existence being antagonistic. He was hard to control in a raid, and even harder to integrate with the men. Wanton disregard for the chain of command was poison to any military unit.

How to deal with Posey took the longest for Marc to decide. He wished to avoid creating the perception that the man was being ostracised. That would only worsen the animosity, besides vampires were a finite resource. He’d only find his way back to the prison or end up dead.

The solution came to him tangentially. It was the scent of brewing tea wafting into his corner of the dugout that served as a catalyst for his inspiration. Signaller Heart was effectively operating as a one-man show. He even had his cot next to the radio to respond, even in the dead of night.

Marc would instruct Heart to train Posey on the use of the wireless. In case of a raid, Marc could have him relieved to augment their forces, otherwise, keeping a vampire at the headquarters would strengthen their defences. The added flexibility meant this was a net benefit.

“At least that’s taken care of,” Marc said.

As for Sawyer, the solution clear-cut. That soldier stood above the others. He was capable of integrating into existing detachments but could also conduct raids independently. It was the latter that impressed him the most, as it permitted them to strike terror in the German lines by hitting multiple points simultaneously.

Had Sawyer been able to work with more challenging personalities like Franko, the allies might have expanded their operations into a second group. Instead, that left Marc with a solid soldier who could lead in limited circumstances. I’m fine with that.

Hence the plan was to have Sawyer float around as needed. The man would be primarily raiding German lines, which freed Marc to focus on the bigger picture. That was hard enough considering the stack of paperwork. I’d been sitting on the surveillance of the hunters for far too long.

To be honest, he read letters from Evelyn before anything else. His mind was always put at ease once he knew for certain that she was safe. Either way, Marc found reports often meant little the moment they reached his desk. I see war as art over science.

“I should probably get some sleep,” Marc said.

Marc went to stand up, but caught something from the corner of his eye. It was a sheet of paper near the chair his guests used. The sight of which was odd, since almost everything that touched the ground was quickly stained by the mud and dirt. It couldn’t have been here for long.

He picked it up and took a look. Based on the top paragraph, this was an addendum from his surveillance team. The sheet must have fallen out as he freed the file from his stack.

According to this note, the hunters received orders. Past reports indicated a strong correlation between receiving orders and operating that night. This would make it the fourth time this week.

He made a note to have someone watch over the farmhouse. From there they might learn where the hunters were headed. At least, I could inform the men to steer clear of them.

However, Fate had a way of intervening. In the background he heard the rapid footsteps of a soldier running towards his dugout. This was followed by a hurried exchange with the sentry, before being allowed inside. To make things easier on the soldier, Marc was waiting at the entrance to his office.

“Report, Corporal,” Marc said.

“Sir,” the runner said. “Message from the French lines.”

Marc grabbed the envelope, which contained a telegram. If it was from Aelred, the message was further encrypted using a one-time pad, which only they had copies to.

“Thank you, Corporal,” Marc said. “Why don’t you sit down, catch your breath, and have some tea?”

Both Heart and the runner quirked a brow. Apparently, I’m still an oddity amongst the officers.

“Thank you, Sir?” the runner questioned.

Marc tore through the envelope and found an encrypted message on the telegram:

R N T M R T P D Z Q P N G S P E H Z V D I Q W X C L O A M A B U E N C M A M B Y S Q E O F D G H C N P Z V B K Y P L Y G C D M A D V W R S H I L A Y U R X A P G G V B X L G P E U I C S H L P J X V J M U I P

Marc slipped into his office and pulled out a book with leather binding. Interspersed between the pages were large blocks of text filled with what appeared to be gibberish. Marc and Aelred had two copies bound before deploying to the Western Front. The fact it looked like any other book in Marc’s collection was purposeful.

While they typically moved through sequentially, there were additional checks permitting him to skip over the codes if needed. The first five characters of the block also served as an identifier. They then appended those characters to the encoded text.

Marc used R N T M R to confirm the key was correct.

Q Y J H I E C G R L N T O N P F I E V Y I G H H V

P M G Z U J C R T I S H O C A L I A X S Z Q Z E W

V M Z G G U L H G R Y G K X L N Y Y Q Y I N B O J

F M U K S G C X K H L N E H K U L L L M B R C P T

Z H W J S F J M P L E T J P H I P K N W S W G J D

H D G Z U W S F F X D X I P U Q K M N P S P F V C

B X G J N A C D N N X A T I V F X T M C O S M A O

F M B B C K U Y F L S Z R D F O H H D H O D P A G

K L U K Y B G W B D E Z N D O O Q E W Z F X J U U

B T X L U Q C P C O L R X F C G K L E I B O N L D

S H J C P H R Y I O M C N C D E I F E Q Q Z A Z V

B S L V D K E H Z D I Z R X B C W I I C S X S U D

N F U K I W M V R W L P T F J R Z H X G O X G S G

L A Y T L A O W A Q C J L F O B F O Z L F S L S W

A T R H Z V H I P R F U I D N Z E D D P D K A D W

V U M H J J E M X O F Z J E C L Y E V L A T N K Q

H E N X U L D J N A N X M C Q O B L L K C N Y G E

U W L E I B W W Y G B T K X A C R P B M J W R O N

P J Y R N R O U F B I C P J V R B V D P K S K O R

D W D N I R W A Y S S O Y J H X S V K Q M R J U F

T Q O N A H Y U J M E S J U B R L B I H A N F R N

L H A D O C A P B R P N G E P C J Y M S J V A D D

J E D J F V O O H H N L V N H R E C Y B A X N U I

O G R W J O W R K U M I C M D X P A R Q W R X J M

E D H E D Y F K S W U Y P A Q L P O O R R N T M R

Since the identifier matched, Marc moved on with the next step. While repetitive, this was comparatively simpler than the code he used with Evelyn. Marc simply had to convert the letters to numbers with A starting at zero. This applied to both the encrypted message and the key.

Marc kept the alphabet and corresponding number in a notepad to speed things along. While on the face of it seemed silly, he sometimes found his mind dulled when playing le Marquis for too long. From there he would do the following letter by letter.

Cyphertext: T (Value: 19)

- Key: Q (Value: 16)

- Subtraction: 19−16=3

- Resulting Letter: D

Cyphertext: T (Value: 15)

- Key: Y (Value: 24)

- Subtraction: 15−24=−9

- Modular Adjustment: −9+26=17

- Resulting Letter: R

Cyphertext: D (Value: 3)

- Key: J (Value: 9)

- Subtraction: 3−9=−6

- Modular Adjustment: −6+26=20

- Resulting Letter: U

This gave him the following result when done:

D R U S I L L A B E R O L I N O D I S C E D I T E T C O M I T A T U M S U U M S E C U M D U C I T M I T T E A B I C I T E D E O S A L I E N O S Q U I I N V O B I S S U N T E T C O R D A V E S T R A D O M I N O D E D I T E

Next Marc had to bring back the punctuation and spacing.

Drusilla Berolino discedit et comitatum suum secum ducit. Mitte. Abicite deos alienos qui in vobis sunt et corda vestra Domino dedite.

Truth be told, Marc could have stopped at Mitte since that was the Latin word for stop. Aelred always added a random quote to conceal the length of the message. Honestly, Marc enjoyed gaining insight into what his counterpart considered random.

Lastly, he translated the message to English.

Drusilla is leaving Berlin and took her entourage with her. STOP. Throw away the foreign gods that are among you and yield your hearts to the Lord.

This news changed things. Given that he knew Drusilla was looking for a hunter, and that the pair were headed out tonight, Marc now felt it was warranted to shadow them personally. Drusilla had not moved from Berlin since the war began, indicating that whatever was going to happen, it was big. If I send my men, they will probably end up dead.

Marc stood up and left his office to find the runner still there. By then the young lad had a bit more colour in his cheeks, but still looked as though he was about to collapse.

“No reply necessary,” Marc said.

He then looked at his radio operator.

“Signaller Heart,” Marc said. “Make sure Private Sawyer gets a shake thirty minutes before sunset.”

“Any message to pass on, Sir?” Heart asked.

“Simply tell him that we are going out on a stroll and to make sure he’s well-armed.”

Sawyer was smart enough to understand. With that in mind, he needed to get word to Evelyn, but the message might not get to her in time.

“I won’t get much sleep today,” Marc said, before ducking back into his office.

CHAPTER 27

IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW

Marc looked through a pair of binoculars at the abandoned farmhouse. While he could see perfectly in the dark, great distances remained a challenge.

Right beside him was Sawyer who had his rifle at the ready. Marc had to hand it to the hunters, this place was so isolated that he only picked up two, faint heartbeats.

“What are they up to?” Sawyer asked, in a whisper that only another vampire could hear.

“Changing,” Marc said.

“Can I look?” Sawyer asked.

Marc shot the man an icy stare and returned his focus to the nurses. They had everything needed to pass as a young male officer, including the wrappings to flatten their chests.

The older one was dressed as a lieutenant whereas the one he flirted with was dressed as a second lieutenant. Overall, the ranks made sense as it reflected their internal rank structure.

“Looey and second looey,” Marc said, mimicking the soldiers.

“Why officers?” Sawyer asked.

It was peculiar for Sawyer to ask questions, so Marc assumed it was the result of boredom.

“Soldiers roaming these lands will be questioned as to their purpose and destination,” Marc said. “Junior officers are ignored by soldiers and most officers.”

“So that’s why you’re always a captain,” Sawyer remarked.

“Partly,” Marc replied. “I earned the rank of Captain.”

“Wasn’t that during the last big war?”

That was a veiled attempt at trying to gain more insight into Marc’s past. Sawyer never delved into the details normally, and that suited him just fine.

“A lot longer than that,” Marc said. “The keyword is earned.”

The candlelight went out in the farmhouse, and both went quiet. There was a bitter chill to the air, which is why the two, young men exiting the house wore their greatcoats.

In contrast, Sawyer and himself were wearing their regular uniforms. The cold doesn’t bother the dead.

The hunters did a quick, all-around check before settling on a bearing. Marc mulled over the potential objectives within walking distance.

If they stayed on course, they would eventually reach a bombed-out hamlet. The logical destination, for a hunter, would be a church, or some sort of subterranean structure. That’s the type of objective we would go for.

The area in between was a particularly treacherous stretch of land, one that served as No Man’s Land for months. That meant shell craters, unexploded munitions, barbed wire, trenches and other obstacles.

“At least the mud won’t be a problem for long,” Marc said. “During a cold snap, the mud freezes solid.”

“Shall—(we follow?)” Sawyer asked.

Marc was already on his feet, with the intent of keeping a safe distance between them.

“Never mind,” Sawyer said.

* * * *

As expected, the terrain was treacherous. For the first one-and-a-quarter mile, the ground was nothing but mud. Treading through the soft terrain created a suction that forced them to tread carefully or risk losing a boot. With every step, the nurses brought more of the battlefield with them. This forced them to scrape off a few layers just to get some spring back in their steps.

Marc used the opportunity to do the same. The difference was he was more experienced and naturally avoided the worst terrain.

Thirty-two minutes later, they reached a series of trenches which concealed the hunters’ advance. Marc noted how much these trenches deteriorated without constant care.

The trenches forced Marc and Sawyer to follow on either side while remaining roughly one-hundred paces away. At this distance, the disguised nurses heartbeats were clear enough to provide a general direction without giving the vampires away. Otherwise, we might lose them.

It began to snow when the girls left the network of trenches. Both Edith and Clara shivered as they headed for their objective. Marc used this change in weather to back away from the hunters, since the snow made it easier for him to track them. That way I can further reduce the risk of being discovered.

They eventually spotted the shattered spires of the church in the distance. From here, the symbols of faith and sanctuary looked more like the toothy grin of a ghoul. I wonder what they see in their case.

Marc maintained a two-hundred-pace standoff as the nurses crept across the terrain. Sometimes the girls even crawled on all fours. Marc had to admire their dedication, many of his men would only do so when under fire. The fear of being shot is what motivates them.

It was eerily quiet; there was no gun, mortar, or artillery fire in the distance. The wind was calm, so the snow fell lazily to the ground slowly transforming this burned-out landscape into a winter wonderland.

The girls took up position behind what remained of a stone fence along the perimeter. Marc noted they had plenty of cover while waiting. Why are they even here?

Marc and Sawyer took up position inside of what appeared to be a root cellar. The scent of mould and spent cordite was certainly a unique combination. Without thought they blocked out that distraction entirely; all they had to do was stop breathing. I wonder if Hades smells of decay and brimstone.

Thirty-three minutes later, two, distinct shadows broke through the falling snow from the east. As they gained detail, it turned out to be a sharply dressed couple.

Marc had no idea who the man was, but Drusilla was obvious. Even when the woman was smiling, she looked every bit like the predator she was. It obviously worked well for her, because she was rarely turned down. Although with the piles of bodies she leaves in her wake…

It took all he had not to engage her, but reason reminded him that their weapons were ineffective at this range. Either way, hunters were not granted an audience with Drusilla. The reason for this meeting has yet to be answered.

As this couple reached the church spire, they paused to scan the area. By this time, the girls were covered in snow and well hidden behind the stone wall. While they seemed unaware of the girls’ presence, Drusilla was curiously impatient.

Hunters were quite disciplined, more so than any soldier he ever met. They were known for their ability to maintain a steady heart rate to mask their emotional state. It’s rather effective in luring in younger vampires.

The youngest hunter’s heart rate jumped momentarily for six seconds. When she released the clasp for her holster, he realised this one was aware of the threat… She recognised Drusilla. How?

Just like that, several pieces of the puzzle slammed into place. Drusilla had been looking for someone, and it turned out to be the youngest one. How a hunter survived an encounter with Drusilla and lived to tell the tale was one that Marc would dearly love to hear. The fact that Drusilla still holds a grudge more so.

There was a silent exchange between the two hunters. It ended with a blip in the senior hunter’s heartbeat. Now, they both know the danger they are in.

As a precaution, Marc asked for Sawyer to pass on his rifle. He confirmed a round was chambered and laid it at his side. When all hell breaks loose, I’ll need to react quickly.

At minute eighteen, Drusilla appeared to be at her wit’s end. The blonde vampire scowled and lashed out at her male companion. The latter appeared to know her well enough to cower. Drusilla never could stand being challenged.

In the distance, he picked up the sounds of artillery. Had he looked behind him, Marc might have caught the bright flashes, but that mattered little. At least this gives me more options to act without detection.

At minute fifty-seven, the snow stopped just as suddenly as it began. The higher atmospheric ceiling created the illusion the artillery moved their guns, but the timings were the same.

Just as the last snowflake fell to the ground, there was a bright flash originating from the heavens. A column of light formed in front of the couple and from that spot someone appeared on the scene.

The light was bright enough to leave Marc temporarily blinded. Eventually, the purple veil gave way to a man wearing a stylish, bespoke suit.

This newcomer’s appearance was disturbing. Not that he was ugly, in fact, Marc would attest he was the opposite. The man was perfectly symmetrical in a way that did not exist in nature, but was the norm for Georgians.

“You’re late,” Drusilla said.

“Perhaps you were early?” the Georgian countered.

Marc was surprised that Drusilla let that pass. Whoever this Georgian was, he had enough sway to force her to play nice. I’ve never seen her so easily declawed.

“Is the delivery here?” the Georgian asked.

He noticed that Drusilla’s eyes shifted towards the girls hiding place. Meanwhile, Clara slowly and cautiously pulled out her pistol. There’s no way that one will go down without a fight.

“Yes. It seems our mole has drawn them here,” the woman said.

Whoever this mole was, it was not Private Morin. The Private never had the authority or knowledge to dispatch hunters. We are looking at someone far higher up the food chain.

“The deal was for one of each,” the Georgian said.

Drusilla’s lackey suddenly appeared nervous. This whole situation was looking more and more like a setup. Alas, only Drusilla and this Georgian knew the details.

“They came as a pair,” Drusilla said nonchalantly. “I held up my end of the bargain. So, give me what I want!”

“You’ve only held up part of the bargain,” the Georgian said.

The man pulled out a silver cylinder from his coat pocket, which expanded into a full-sized staff. Georgians and their infamous gadgets.

When the Georgian raised his staff into the air, Clara took aim and fired seven rounds at him. The man crumpled up before his image dissipated in a blast of shimmering light.

Where that man once stood, there was an ashen-grey creature with long, thin fingers and an oversized head. Its eyes were the most chilling element, large, black, and mirror-like. There was no hint of emotion visible in those eyes, simply a dark reflection of the world beyond them. I’m not sure there was ever a more apt representation of my void…

Marc was admittedly in awe or was until the void forced him back on track. This implied the perfection in a Georgian’s appearance was entirely an illusion. I’ve seen all manner of beasts and have yet to come across anything like this.

Clara pressed down on the ejector to release the magazine and promptly loaded a fresh one. As the spent mag hit the ground, so did the Georgian’s body. Drusilla’s partner looked over the scene utterly in shock. Did she turn this idiot last night?

“So where is she?” Edith asked.

Marc grabbed the rifle and aligned himself with the hunters. A loose clump of clay conveniently steadied his weapon.

“You!” Drusilla shrieked.

Drusilla’s partner did not hesitate. The coward ran into the darkness surrounding this devastated land. That’s the first smart thing he’s done yet.

Marc looked through the iron sights and focused on Drusilla. He followed her as she grabbed Edith and launched her into the air. It was a feat of strength, but not speed.

He focused momentarily on Clara and noticed that she was raising the pistol towards her left ear. Now Drusilla was moving like a blur, at least for a human. He followed the movement and anticipated the end point.

The youngest must have guessed where Drusilla would strike and angled the barrel just right before depressing the trigger. This is not the first time this one tangled with Drusilla.

The hunter might have got lucky. However, Fortuna was a fickle goddess, so he planned to intercede on her behalf.

“What…” Sawyer whispered.

The words would reach Marc one sluggish fragment at a time, as though reality itself had slowed to a crawl around him. He aimed an inch lower than he normally would, led the target and squeezed the trigger just before his sights reached the hunter’s head. The first shots were nearly in sync, creating a flash from both muzzles before the combined gunfire rang out in the night.

“…are…”

The first shot from Clara’s pistol was a miss. However, his shot was true, striking Drusilla an inch above her ear and leaving a large exit hole on the other side.

“…you…”

Clara’s second round struck Drusilla as though caught in a crossfire, while the third missed.

“…doing?” Sawyer finished.

The blast must have left Clara temporarily deafened, but that did little to attenuate the shriek of pain Drusilla made. How does she manage with so much of her head missing?

Clara turned around while keeping her pistol trained on Drusilla. That distinctive blood poured from the open wounds and landed on the snow. The thick, red liquid did not melt the snow nor did steam rise in the cold air, instead it coagulated and gained cohesion. The blood showcased Drusilla’s strength of will, forcing it to return to its host. Whatever she’s going to do, she better be quick about it.

Clara unloaded a full magazine into Drusilla’s head until the slide locked fully to the rear. She stood there for a moment to observe but saw no movement. The threat is minimised… for now.

When there came an artillery blast, he quickly chambered a fresh round.

“What needed to be done,” Marc said, while keeping his sights trained on Drusilla.

Clara ran towards her partner and found her unconscious but no worse for the wear. After taking a minute to catch her bearings, the young hunter lifted her elder onto her shoulders and carried her deeper into the church.

Six minutes later, Clara exited without her greatcoat. The woman was visibly chilled, but Marc knew these hunters. Comfort and even their lives were secondary to the objective. She just put half my men to shame.

The hunter returned to the site of the altercation. The body of the Georgian was gone. How did I miss that?

“Did you see what happened to the Georgian?”

“What…” Sawyer said. “He was there a moment ago.”

In fact, there was no sign that anyone was ever there.

The hunter spotted a set of footprints that led deeper into what was once No Man’s Land. Without any hint of hesitation, she ran off in pursuit.

“What do we do now?” Sawyer asked.

There was something in that tone that was off, but Marc had trouble placing it. Evelyn would read him like an open book.

“For now,” Marc said. “We wait.”

CHAPTER 28

DIVERGENT PATHS

Marc waited until Clara’s heartbeat was too distant to pick up. If a predator like him was picking up a rat’s heartbeat at one-hundred paces, then Clara would not hear them at all.

Marc got up and handed the rifle back to Sawyer before working his way to Drusilla’s body. The scene reminded him of a slaughterhouse, with all that blood splatter covering the snow. The most telling detail was the head, or what was left of it given the massive trauma. Clara’s a crack shot.

The blood of a vampire was not like that of a human. It yielded to the will of its master, and even now there were signs of it gaining cohesion.

The hunter must have known that severing the head was the only effective method. It’s best to separate the head from the body or render the skull to ash.

Clara must have prioritised the other vampire. He could see her logic, but in his mind the one that got away was weak and inconsequential. Whereas Drusilla was the impetus driving the supernatural element of this war.

Still, it was time to finish the job. For a vampire severing a head was no—

At that moment, Marc realised that his body and mind were no longer linked. Through sheer force of will he looked down and saw the tip of a bayonet protruding through his chest.

Without the fine motor control, Marc fell to his knees and leaned just enough to reach a natural balance point. While his body struggled to determine what happened, a name kept echoing throughout his mind. Sawyer.

“There’s no way I’m going to let you kill Drusilla, Sir,” Sawyer said.

The clues were all there for his mind to pick up. Still an important question remained. Why now? He had plenty of opportunities to defect or betray us before.

“Why?” Marc managed to ask.

A stake through the heart was not deadly, but it left a vampire stunned. It took a while for a body to push out the stake or for the mind to work around the damage. The problem was that this left the victim vulnerable… unless they’re exceedingly powerful.

“It’s nothing personal,” Sawyer said. “I rather enjoyed our arrangement, and I know that you’d be true to your word.”

This development also confirmed that Sawyer was not the mole. The man was a thinker, showing an innate ability to strategize. He thinks he’ll be rewarded handsomely for saving her.

“Drusilla is connected and powerful,” Sawyer went on. “If I save her life and deliver your head. She’ll grant my freedom and give me plenty of leeway.”

Knowing Drusilla as he did, the opposite was the most likely outcome. Anyone who betrayed so easily could not be trusted. She’ll tear him to pieces or destroy his mind and use him as a weapon.

“Don’t worry,” Sawyer said. “You’ll get a quick death. I can’t say the same for that choice piece of meat you call E—”

When Marc had been human, he often compared his emotional state to standing behind the helm of a sailing ship. To one side there was sunlight, full of promise and hope.

“…V…”

To the other there was a tempest, a storm the likes of which few ever witnessed, and fewer lived to tell the tale. That’s where his rage resided, and as a master mariner he did his best to steer clear of it.

“…E…”

However, his course was almost always under a perpetual strip of grey clouds. He was neither happy nor enraged, mostly a neutral state that naturally suited his tendency to reason.

“…L…”

After being changed the sun was gone, and the cloudy strip had narrowed significantly. The tempest took up what his emotions surrendered. He called it the void, but diving in did not consume what remained of him, it unleashed a blinding rage he kept bottled up for centuries.

“…Y…”

Marc’s vision went red, with the beast within now fully at the helm. Without the frailties of the human mind to keep him bound, he dug through his own chest and pulled the bayonet free.

“…N…”

Marc spun around quicker than a startled cat. Those predatory eyes, devoid of reason, locked onto Sawyer. The younger vampire realised in that moment how badly he misjudged the situation.

The soldier already had his rifle trained on Marc. It went click as he squeezed the trigger. Sawyer’s questioning of his actions earlier had given Marc a reason to be cautious. The man of war gave him a rifle with no round chambered, and the magazine was loosened to misfeed a round.

As Sawyer went to pull back the bolt, Marc went on the offensive. Whereas the rational mind would conserve blood to ensure control, no such restrictions were in effect.

His hands, with fully formed talons, took a swipe. Sawyer anticipated the attack and tried to dodge, but his attempt to reload slowed him down.

Marc grabbed onto the barrel but made no attempt to yank it from Sawyer’s hands. Instead, he pushed and drove the butt of the rifle straight into Sawyer’s chest, pushing him off balance.

As Sawyer stumbled back, Marc’s first set of talons dug into the chest. This was followed by his other hand and repeated at a fantastical rate. By the time his vision cleared, there was little left of Sawyer’s chest.

Marc was not done; he reached into the chest cavity and wrapped his hands around a distinctive collection of bones. With a vicious tug he pulled the spine free from the body, taking the head with it. Had there been anyone else around, he would have wielded it like a club.

Instead, the relative silence of the scene ebbed the tide of his rage, bringing his rational mind back under control. Marc looked down at his bloody trophy and smiled.

“You saw an opportunity, and you paid for it.”

Remembering where he was, he turned around towards the splotch of red snow. Somehow, Drusilla must have healed enough to make a run for it.

That served as a clue as to how old and powerful she was. Marc, in that state, would have gone feral immediately, but she had enough blood to realise there was a threat nearby and slipped away into the night.

“I don’t have long,” Marc said.

In the distance, there was one heart beating, strong and true. Edith was still in the church, which gave him an option. One I’d rather not use.

He tossed Sawyer’s spine and skull as far away as he could. Given how little time he had before sunrise, Marc was certain there was no hope of recovery. A pile of ash at sunrise.

He then headed for the church, just as the activity along the allied lines spiked. His reserves were low, but a pint would be enough to help him get back to his lines.

“I’ll be cutting it close,” Marc said. “But what is life without risk?”

CHAPTER 29

COLLAPSE

Marc rarely ran, but the sun did not forgive those who turned away from the light. As Marc approached the allied lines, he realised that the gunfire comprised of Allied and German weaponry.

He cursed himself for not bringing his sabre, but swords and their hilts worked against stealth. Instead, his fingers formed into talons knowing full well that they would be put to good use.

At three-hundred paces, the sound of allied weapons’ fire dropped. High-pitched whistles reached his ears, a sign that the regiments along the line were sounding a withdrawal. This can’t be good.

Marc did not stop; he pushed on as though a blur and dropped into the trench. He was immediately faced by two, enemy soldiers operating as a fire team. Marc decapitated the first without hesitation and latched onto the second dragging him into the mud by using his body weight.

He drained the soldier dry within a couple of minutes. The blood was enough to heal him from Sawyer’s wound. This one was just the start, as his reserves were still low. At least I can afford to pay attention to the details.

The first detail, the fallen allied soldiers in sight showed signs of an animal attack. Since Marc’s rampage had just begun, he assumed that Drusilla had preceded him.

Marc headed up the trench that eventually connected to his. Behind him there was a group of soldiers running up to the trenches. Those he encountered must have been part of the first wave.

Stealth was no longer a concern. He ran along the trench, cutting down any enemy he came across. One got lucky, and sent a rifle round through his chest, so Marc drained him to heal up while his partner looked on in horror. The latter he killed by tearing out his throat to ensure he did not raise the alarm. The initial shock would have worn off.

Determined to get to his dugout in time, Marc pushed onwards until he reached the intersection where his communications trench began. Ahead, there were scores of dead soldiers. He recognised them instantly, and by the looks of things Apples was caught off guard.

The rarity of German soldiers confused him, until it dawned on him. The Huns were exploiting an opportunity, not taking part in some grand plan.

His hunch was confirmed when Marc came across Lever. The slash marks were vicious, which meant he must have put up one hell of a fight. Fortunately, he was healing but not fast enough to turn the tide.

Marc kneeled by Lever and offered his wrist. He hesitated for a moment but bit into the flesh and drew some blood to heal.

“Thanks,” Lever said meekly. “Looks like you met up with that woman.”

“No, this was Sawyer’s doing.”

The silence between them spoke volumes.

“Get to ground,” Marc said.

“I can—(help),” Lever insisted.

“Not like this, you can’t,” Marc replied. “Go deep and I’ll find you this evening.”

The soldier’s fingers transformed into talons which he promptly used to burrow deep into the soft ground. By the time Marc was outside his headquarters, Lever would be at least a metre underground.

It was instinctual for their kind to hide when the sun neared. Lever must have been old enough to fight the urge, but not old enough to fend off an ancient vampire like Drusilla.

He encountered a stray Hun which he drained before moving on. The fallen from Apples eventually gave way to those from Charlie, but in smaller numbers. She nearly decimated my lines.

That should have conjured up an extreme, emotional reaction. One that even he could not suppress, but with the sun threatening to peek over the horizon his survival instincts had taken centre stage.

When he reached his dugout, the area was almost deserted. There were comparatively few, but one stood out.

“Bitch!” Marc swore.

Without care, he moved like a blur right up to the headquarters. Right beside the main entrance was Murphy, with a serious slash across his leg, along with several spent cartridges from his trench gun. His second was impossibly pale and those lips had a blue tinge to them. He knew from the lack of audible heartbeat that Murphy bled out.

The man of war kneeled and noticed he had two objects in his hands. The first of which was his father’s watch, which was ticking on reliably even now.

The second was a bloodied picture. It was frayed along the edges, a sign that it had been with him a while. Curious, Marc picked it up expecting it to be one of Murphy’s wife.

Instead, it was the picture of Evelyn. The bloodied thumbprint and splatter from coughing did nothing to mar the significance of that shot.

Marc closed the Warrant’s eyes, before taking the picture and watch. Neither were his property, but Marc would make sure they returned to their previous owners.

“War never fails to take the best of us,” Marc said.

There was some movement from the vampire’s dugout. A second later, Gilpin’s face popped out.

“You made it, Sir,” Gilpin said, with a visible limp. He can’t fully heal.

Behind him four men appeared, and their visible injuries were minor. Still, it was clear that few were spared from her wrath.

“What are you doing here?” Marc asked.

“I don’t have a choice,” Gilpin said. “We were going to wait—(until nightfall to make our move.)”

“For you? Absolutely,” Marc said. “Signaller Heart, get inside the headquarters with anyone else who’s able-bodied. Secure the books in my trunk and withdraw to our old position.”

“Sir?” Heart asked.

Marc did not have the time to go into detail, but the chain of command was clearly broken.

“We have been ordered to withdraw,” Marc said, inferring that order from the whistles he heard earlier, “Gather up anyone still alive and get them out of here. You also need to take the books and if you can, take our Warrant. Clear?”

Everyone turned to look at Murphy. Marc knew there was little they could do for the others given the time. The Germans would not delay for long before sending in the bulk of their forces to secure the line.

Heart tagged two men from headquarters and headed inside. Whereas the remaining, able-bodied men fanned out to find other survivors.

After nine minutes, Heart and ten men went over the top heading back towards friendly lines. In that time, Marc and Gilpin rigged up several booby traps using grenades and wire.

As ordered, Gilpin dug into the earth, settling in for the day. Marc went inside his command post and readied himself for a confrontation. While waiting, he kept busy by packing up his things. It did not matter if the duffle bag survived what came next, because it kept his mind centred. He focused on the background noises, waiting for any sign of approaching soldiers.

He had just crammed his duffle bag under his desk, when several, strong heartbeats converged on his position. The direction was not from the allied lines, and the orders were in a hushed German. Come one, come all, experience the chill touch of the grave.

He already had his sabre and pistol at the ready. As soon as the first soldier popped his head to peek inside. The man crumpled up and was dead before hitting the ground. Still, an inch too high…

Outside, it sounded as though someone had kicked the hornet’s nest. Several men converged, and he dropped two more foolish enough to believe they had strength in numbers.

The leaders must have got wise because they tossed in a grenade. It was spherical with large, pre-fragmented sections of iron. He could hear the fuse hissing, but he grabbed it with vampiric speed and lobbed it back at them. It exploded in midair behind the Huns, presumably wounding at least one.

Marc never planned on holding this position for long. Eventually, the Germans would pull back and order an artillery strike. That would dramatically reduce my chances for survival.

So, he fired off the three remaining rounds from his service revolver and dug into the dirt. Under normal circumstances he considered such behaviour to be beneath him, literally. In this case, survival was more important than pride. Today, I’ll sleep like the corpse I am.

It took another twenty-two minutes for the Germans to rush his position. Marc heard every sound of their advance, even as one reached out for some orders he left behind. That wire under tension snapped and set off four grenades planted at the base of the support columns.

The blast filled the place with shrapnel. Seconds later, it was the cave-in that finished the job.

“Two objectives met,” Marc said. “Delay and deny.”

CHAPTER 30

THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR

Evelyn was back at the piano bar at The Grand. She noted the curious absence of Breanna, and her heart immediately sank. That fiery redhead was one of the few reasons why her stay at this hotel was tolerable.

The Georgian might have been the enemy, but she was fun to be with once she surrendered to her desires. A harmless bit of debauchery never harmed anyone.

Without an obvious dining partner, Evelyn walked up to the bar and took her usual stool near Cecil. She rarely sat there anymore, but nevertheless always made sure to say hello.

“What will it be?” Cecil asked.

Evelyn was not in the mood to play the game. Her session this morning had gone mostly nowhere, ending up with three, wasted canvases. I really need to find some inspiration.

This was the longest stretch of creativity Evelyn had ever undertaken. At home, she created in bursts, but here she had to create a unique piece almost daily. It would take me three more years at the pace I’m going.

She beamed her warmest smile and put a finger against her lips as though pondering the fate of the world. That created enough of a delay to come up with a response.

“Why don’t you surprise me?” Evelyn asked, in those musical tones.

Cecil smiled, and while creepy, it almost looked sincere. Evelyn was never sure how to interpret that, then again that was true for most of her kind.

“I’ll see what I can come up with,” Cecil said, before reaching back for something.

After about a minute, Cecil returned with a sparkling drink served in a cocktail glass. Evelyn closed her eyes and let the fragrances invade her nose.

“What’s in it?” Evelyn asked genuinely curious.

“Gin, champagne, lemon juice and maple syrup to sweeten,” Cecil said.

Evelyn took a sip and smiled. Cecil was warming up to the idea of serving human clientele. So, he experimented with Evelyn, to see what worked, given that few others could tolerate human drinks.

“You added a twist I see,” Evelyn said, since maple syrup was not normally in cocktails. “What is it called?”

“La Soixante Quinze,” Cecil said. (The seventy-five.)

That was an odd name, and the Parisian accent behind that voice was off-putting. Cecil had never spoken French before.

“Vraiment?” Evelyn asked. (Really?) “In honour of?”

“French artillery,” Cecil said. “They say that they are wreaking havoc on the German lines.”

Evelyn shot him a curious glance. Cecil and the staff never mentioned the war or even spoke of what went on beyond these walls. That’s how they claim to be neutral.

“Why the maple syrup then?” Evelyn asked.

The more they delved into this topic, the more she suspected there was a reason for this change.

Cecil smiled before answering, “In honour of our host’s contributions to the war.”

Evelyn’s blood would have gone ice-cold had she been human. Her heart even stopped for a fraction of a second before the autonomous functions asserted themselves.

Without realising it, she looked back to where Breanna normally sat. She sighed and returned to face Cecil.

“She won’t be in today,” Cecil said in his normal tone.

“She’s not feeling well?” Evelyn asked.

There was no reason why Cecil would know. However, it was clear that the hotel’s fixer was pushing the boundaries of subtext.

“She’s fine,” Cecil said. “A recent… development… required her to be elsewhere.”

While cryptic, she could tie the loose threads together. The mention of French artillery with a maple syrup flavouring. The fact that Breanna had to leave on short notice. This doesn’t paint a cheerful portrait.

“Why are you telling me this?” Evelyn asked, while maintaining a perfectly calm demeanour.

“You’ve been nice to me,” Cecil said flatly. “Besides, it’s bad for business when someone’s mess lands in our lap.”

That was the key piece of information she was missing. The Grand needed to appear neutral, and someone involved in the conflict was coming here. One that required readying the southern wing of the hotel.

“Mon cher,” Evelyn said. (My dear.) “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman to me.”

“Oh,” Cecil said. “I almost forgot. She left you a note before leaving.”

Evelyn tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter. The writing was unmistakably Breanna’s, due to a precision that made Evelyn wonder if she had a printing press in her laboratory.

The message was short and simple. Breanna was by nature a woman of science and had little time for pleasantries. I needed to corrupt her just to loosen up.

It confirmed things that Cecil was saying. It also stated that the gate network would be disrupted globally save for the portals at The Grand and at Evelyn’s home city. According to this, I don’t have long.

“Looks like I will be checking out,” Evelyn said. “What’s your policy on a damage deposit?”

“As long as the walls are still standing,” Cecil said, while leaning forward. “I’ll handle the cleanup.”

Evelyn giggled, because the shortened timelines meant their room would be a raging inferno within the hour. Evelyn and Grace would leave with little more than the clothes on their backs.

“I owe you one, mon cher,” Evelyn said. (My dear.)

She then finished the cocktail in several loud gulps and slammed the glass back onto the bar. Evelyn smacked her lips and was about to jump off the stool but thought of something.

“Your drink gave me an idea,” Evelyn said. “Try some of that Orange Crush with some vodka, triple sec, and crushed ice. You might even want to add some mint garnish for that zing.”

The hotel’s fixer nodded. Who would ever think the man would have a soft spot for someone who was nice to him?

“I’ll be sure to try that the next time you’re visiting The Grand,” Cecil said.

“Merci,” Evelyn said. (Thank you.)

She hopped off the stool and walked with a heavy sway in her hips. Before crossing the threshold, she looked over her shoulder and could have sworn that Cecil had that half-smile. Is he smitten?

Of course, being the good vampire meant that face was quickly erased. They both knew they had a lot of prep to do. For Evelyn, her first order of business was finding Grace.

“Time to exercise the better part of valour,” Evelyn said.

Despite the growing threat to her life, she smiled. Within a couple of hours, she would be back home. While Marc would not be there, being back in familiar territory would do her a world of good.

“Allons-y!” she exclaimed. (Let’s go.)

CHAPTER 31

SUNDAY TOAST

Marc stood at the entrance to his office, minus the stool and chair. Instead, crates were used, which suited him just fine. It’s better than sitting in the mud.

In front of him there were about twenty-five soldiers gaggling before him. Every single one had a canteen filled with a ration of champagne. Having the French as allies has its advantages.

His was filled with blood wine, since no one wanted to deal with the mess that invariably occurred when he consumed regular food. I can barely stomach the blood wine as it is.

All the men were smiling, and some were even shaking with excitement. It was the eyes that gave away the weariness, along with that spark that came to men on the verge of a celebration.

“Room!” Warrant Sullivan ordered.

Every soldier went stiff as a board, and one ended up wearing his drink. The once boisterous crowd was now silent as stone angels in a cemetery.

Promoting Sullivan made sense. It turned out that it was Warrant Murphy who realised what was going on and took action. Reports state Murphy fired three rounds from his trench gun before Drusilla got to him. That’s impressive considering how fast our kind can move.

This permitted Sullivan to ready Duff. Drusilla ran into a full detachment of men armed to the teeth. A group specifically trained to deal with threats like her.

After several bursts of machine-gun fire, Drusilla retreated. Sergeant Sullivan gave chase and broke off only after a withdrawal was ordered.

“At ease,” Marc said. “Thank you, Warrant.”

With every man visibly relaxed, he cleared his throat momentarily and began with the obvious.

“It’s been a long month,” Marc began.

All told, they ended up with thirty-seven dead, two among them were vampires. Apple and Charlie were for the most part decimated. Of those who survived, nine required hospitalisations followed by weeks of recovery. Six are scheduled to be sent home.

There came a few mumbles of agreement, along with a quip about the obviousness of that statement.

“We took an awful beating,” Marc said. “Some regiments never recover from the walloping we got.”

It took three days for Marc to have somewhere to spend the day above ground. While the allies withdrew to their previous trenches, they had to expand the trench network to account for a surge in soldiers.

They built a new communications trench and dugout. The lack of building materials complicated matters. Until his men were done, every vampire had to dig in each morning. Coffins would certainly get noticed.

The room was quiet, including that private who was renowned for his rapier-like wit. As judged by their long faces, fatigue was the common denominator, so Marc would not drag this out.

“We lost a lot of good men,” Marc added. “There’s no one in this room who hasn’t felt the sting of loss, or… expect them… to walk through our doors.”

For a split-second Marc thought he saw Murphy at the threshold to the dugout. The ever-vigilant void asserted itself, causing that brief glimpse of emotion to fade into the ether. He sighed in disappointment, because he knew that even Murphy would become another still image in his picture-book memory.

Enemy activity along the line increased significantly after their advance. He suspected their commanders wanted to maintain momentum, but the Allies held the line.

What did not escalate in lockstep with enemy activity was the supernatural. Reports of vampires and ghoul activity plummeted, and no such threat ever developed along the French lines. Drusilla was never interested in the land, simply in the opportunity the conflict provided.

In many ways learning that his suspicions were true made it worse. All of his efforts to draw her out had been for naught. I wasn’t even worthy of her attention.

“We did what we always do, we persevered and put up the good fight.”

Between the vampire raids and using his men to augment the defensive lines, the Krauts lost their resolve. Both sides returned to the same tired stalemate, but it was better than falling back to Paris.

“So here we are, a new headquarters and a war to win.”

“That and regular mail delivery!” Signaller Heart yelled.

The men broke out into a roar of laughter. Sullivan shot the man an icy stare, but that was all part of the plan. Marc asked the Signaller to interject some levity in case he was getting too melancholic.

Regular mail delivery was a welcome change of pace. At least he knew Evelyn was home safe. The letters were different now because they were no longer encoded. They are much more personal now.

Still, she sent a photo or two with every release for morale. These were more artistic in nature but nonetheless packed plenty of heat. She’s a legend to those serving along the line.

“So very true,” Marc said. “You’re always the first to get in line.”

“I deliver the mail!” Heart countered.

“You were at the front of the line when we asked for volunteers.”

The men laughed again at the riposte. Marc was admittedly exhausted from having to play his role as le Marquis for so long. Still, if his men could carry on, then so would he. Laughter even brightens up the place.

He waited for the crowd to simmer down before continuing.

“I have a few announcements to make,” Marc said.

The room went silent as a tomb, which turned out to be an unfortunate analogy.

“I managed to sell a plan to Command,” Marc began.

A few faces in the room went pale. When officers came up with a plan, it normally involved scores of soldiers going over the top and walking towards Death.

“Nothing that you might expect,” Marc added. “Some of you may remember clearing out that ghoul-infested mine. Well, it’s packed with twenty tons of high explosives.”

Some of the men were not quite making the connection. That required Marc to walk them through it.

“As some of you are aware there’s a particularly entrenched group of Huns sitting on top of that hill.”

More of them went pale. Get to the point.

“So, in a couple of hours, they will detonate the explosives.”

There were a few gasps, and several sets of eyes widened. They are starting to see where I am headed.

“While this blast won’t necessarily change the course of this war, I guarantee that we’ll change the local topography. They won’t know what hit them!”

The men cheered, many for the simple fact that they were not directly involved.

“I’ve been told it will make the ground shake,” Marc said. “Lucky for us we have something to take the edge off tonight!”

More cheering, and most abstained from taking a sip from their canteen. The ones who did were reminded of the second point.

“The second announcement hits closer to home,” Marc said. “Many of you have had a chance to welcome Warrant Sullivan as my second. Some of you were also looking forward to seeing a new sergeant or two in our ranks.”

Marc paused, and let all the air out of his lungs before taking a deep breath. It was all for show, but effective.

“Because of the sharp drop in activity, we’ll maintain our current numbers. Good men are needed elsewhere, but rest assured I’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure we stay together.”

It was a hard decision for Marc to make, but the right one. With the external threat mostly gone, it made no sense to pull men from the line to hunt and destroy the occasional thing that went bump in the night.

The look on their faces was trending towards sombre. Many hoped they would be promoted as they formed new detachments. Some feared that so many idle men would get noticed. Marc would find a way to have them contribute without ending up as cannon fodder.

“Lastly, I’d like to take a moment to think about our fallen brothers,” Marc went on. “While many of us would rather spend a lifetime in the mud than be on the deck of a warship, our seagoing brethren have a fitting toast they use on Sundays.”

It was clear that few of them had any clue what he was talking about. Marc smiled and raised his canteen high in the air.

“The squids would say, ‘To absent friends and those at sea.’ Instead, I’ll say: To absent friends and those on the line.”

“To absent friends!” the men repeated.

They each took a swig from their canteen. Marc did little more than wet his lips, because he was in no mood to celebrate. The soldiers went quiet and Marc kept track of the time until two minutes passed.

“Thank you,” Marc said, before retreating to his office.

In the background, Sullivan reminded the men to keep quiet about the announcements and threatened to charge anyone found to be drunk and disorderly.

Aelred certainly came through when he asked for several cases of champagne. It was hardly expected or normal, but for a couple of hours his men were given a brief glimpse of what it was to be away from this wretched war.

Franko and Gilpin approached from the outer edges of the headquarters and walked into his office.

“Quite the speech,” Franko said. “Short and sweet.”

“I find we seldom remember speeches, let alone lengthy ones,” Marc said.

“Very true,” Franko said. “All set?”

The detonation was set to occur tonight; Marc would personally remind the Krauts that there were worse things out there than artillery. At H-hour they would run into the fray and clean up whatever remained.

The brass planned to use this moment to rally the troops. The success of this mission was their burden, one Marc was happy to take on. After that, I’ll fade into the background.

“All set,” Marc said, pointing to his sabre, pistol, and captain’s coat.

“Meet you outside in an hour,” Franko said.

It appeared that every vampire instinctively knew this night was for the living. We had our time; let them enjoy theirs, even if it proves fleeting.

CHAPTER 32

HOMECOMING

Marc looked out the window of his crammed train car. It was pitch black outside because of the new moon, but he saw the familiar sights on the outskirts of home. The train car was quiet, save for a few soldiers snoring up a storm. The somniferous clickety-clack of the wheels were effective for everyone, save for him.

Even now the memories were fading, filling his gallery of memories with more stills. Marc had to admit he had seen more than his fair share of blood, broken men, and death to last him several lifetimes. He was luckier than most, many never made it out of those blood-soaked fields. The void will make sure I never truly feel the trauma.

He thought back to those last three years fighting, specifically the moment he noticed the slow and gradual shift to victory. For most military commanders, such an operation would have brought forth medals, accolades and a promotion. For an old warhorse like him, none of that mattered.

Command never explained why but they detonated the explosives in the mines two minutes after midnight. The raid officially took place on Monday instead of the day of the Lord. None of his men were surprised the mission was a complete success.

German soldiers throughout the Western Front were said to have panicked thinking it was an earthquake. Even some Parisians were startled awake by the rumbling caused by the blast. In Marc’s mind, this reset the board after Drusilla decimated their ranks.

This also marked the moment Marc took on an advisory role, much like Aelred had done throughout the war. The man of war knew that if he continued down this path, they would end up with regiments of vampires on both sides struggling for dominance.

Hence, he melted into the shadows and watched as the war carried on unhindered by the presence of those who died long ago. It was not a case of no longer needed, but more of a fact that the war transitioned into the human tragedy it was always destined to be.

Even the hunters were rarely heard from again, which confirmed the reports he had on the sharp drop in supernatural threats. While he never found out who the mole was Drusilla spoke about, the fact that the Commanding Officer of the casualty clearing station disappeared around the same time as two Bluebirds were rotated out was telling. That Clara is a force of nature.

His men were seldom deployed. They mostly dealt with ghoul sightings and in one case, a werewolf. Werewolves may have been apex predators, but against sustained fire from a dozen, heavily armed men, the encounter lasted at most ten minutes. It might have been different had there been more than one, but his men kept on firing until the eighteen-foot creature quit twitching.

For what it was worth, he was proud of their achievements, at least as much as the void permitted him to experience. In spite of their losses, they successfully dispatched hundreds of creatures that had no business being there. It made it easier for their brothers in arms to break the stalemate using a combination of improved tactics, rolling artillery, and a lot more men. Many who never again saw the familiar shores of home, or hugged their loved ones.

“Was it worth it?” Evelyn asked in his mind.

For years she had been absent from his thoughts. Initially, it was a hole in his very being that no amount of work and duty could fill. Her letters turned out to be both a boon and a curse. They simultaneously soothed his mind by knowing she was safe, but reminded him of the connection that was lost.

After years of carrying on without her, she was back in his mind. The ability to sense her emotions and thoughts turned out to be jarring. It was not a bad thing really, more like returning home after years of absence and forgetting a knick-knack that he once cherished.

“Only time will tell,” Marc replied. “I fear we opened Pandora’s box.”

“How so?”

This war was conducted on an industrial scale, and in doing so unleashed devastation that he never believed possible. Battles used to be comparatively benign. They would meet on the field of battle, and the verdict was often rendered by the end of the day. There was elegance in its simplicity.

Entire settlements were erased from the map. Where soldiers fought in the streets, and civilians were caught in the middle. While people often said that the Great War was ‘the war to end all wars,’ he remained sceptical that this was actually true. Human nature does not change course so readily.

“Men have been waging wars since the dawn of time,” Marc began. “Now they found a way to kill themselves as fast as the factories can make the bullets.”

Not that vampires were better. For all he knew, Drusilla had something to do with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. According to Aelred, she sought to disrupt hunter operations in the region to gain access to one of their gates. For her petty need for revenge, over ten million soldiers paid the ultimate price.

“I just arrived at the train station,” Evelyn said. “Before you ask, yes I’m wearing something appropriate… unless you look up my skirt…”

Marc did not answer, although he did smile for a fraction of a second. This type of banter between them was typical, a sign that Evelyn intended to return to the status quo. Going back to how things were… like nothing has changed.

Well, that was not entirely true. Marc was done with directing her life as he had done for centuries. He was once focused on giving her the tools she needed to function without him. Her time at The Grand demonstrated that and more.

It was his turn to fade into the shadows and enable her aspirations. God knows that this world could use more people with empathy and compassion… but someone who’s not afraid to kill if necessary.

“Are you far out?” Evelyn asked.

Marc had no easy way of knowing. Still, he peeked out the window and spotted the outline of a small town with distinctive church spires looming over the settlement. There were a lot of churches along the tracks, but some were more distinctive than others.

“I’d say about ten minutes from the bridge,” Marc replied.

While Evelyn was probably outwardly calm and demure, he sensed the excitement building up. As usual, her emotions sought an outlet. It was hard to imagine anyone, especially someone with so much potential looking forward to being reunited with a relic like him.

“Are any of your men with you?” Evelyn asked.

He lived in what had been a recruitment hub for his region. However, many from his group were from smaller communities and disembarked along the way. Six men remained, and for five of them this was also their final stop.

“Five in all,” Marc answered.

He was curious but not enough to dig for an answer. She’ll tell me if it matters.

“So, should I be expecting a kiss?” Evelyn asked.

That statement caught him off guard. He admittedly had not planned on doing so.

“What do you mean?” Marc asked.

“You’re about to find yourself in the arms of the woman who has been waiting four years for you. The one who has been sending you nudes to remind you just how much she loves you. The one you claim to be your wife.”

Valid points but he was still not following her logic.

“Are you purposefully being obtuse?” Evelyn questioned.

Sometimes it was better to admit ignorance to lessen his torment.

“Please, enlighten me,” Marc surrendered.

Evelyn could giggle even in his mind. The difference was that those musical tones came from every direction at once. While it could be disorienting, it also came across as mocking.

“Mon cher,” Evelyn said. “The newspapers are plastered with stories of couples being reunited, many even feature pictures of such couples embracing.”

“And?”

“Your men will either see a beautiful woman throw herself at you with the intent to kiss,” Evelyn began. “Or they will see you fall on your face and get a good laugh out of it.”

The train reached the bridge and slowed down accordingly. The change in motion was enough to rouse several from their slumber. In turn, they shook others to say their destination was near.

Now he was following her logic, but that only made sense if Evelyn pushed the matter. Otherwise, the men would continue to see him as the cold and detached officer he was.

Then it dawned on him the reason why this came up. She’s good.

“You want to do it for the theatrics.” Marc commented.

“Of course,” Evelyn said. “Why shouldn’t I indulge in a good spectacle?”

Marc could have made several arguments to nip this in the bud, but it would have been easier to single-handedly win the war. I had more control over my life when I was back in that dugout.

“Must we kiss?” Marc asked.

Evelyn giggled, which by itself was an answer.

“It won’t look authentic otherwise,” Evelyn said. “Don’t worry, I’ll play my part as long as you play yours. I’ll even kick a leg up in the air for effect.”

This was not their first kiss, nor would it be their last. Their cover often required him to play his part, which meant embracing his le Marquis persona. If she only knew where I learned that.

He suspected that Susanna and Evelyn would have got along splendidly. They were both artistic, beautiful, and deadly beyond measure.

“Got it,” Marc said. “Should I drop my duffle bag before we embrace?”

“Of course,” Evelyn said. “We only break contact once your men start getting uncomfortable.”

After they crossed the bridge, the city lights began to flood the inside of the train cabin. It was bizarre to see a city alight again, especially one that never had lighting restrictions in the first place.

He watched the streets streak by, until the track curved towards the station. According to Evelyn, there was a fire in 1915 which forced them to redesign the roof. I’m sure that’s not the only thing that changed.

“Which car are you in?” Evelyn asked.

Marc permitted himself to smirk. This was one of the few variables he had a measure of control over.

“That’s for me to know,” Marc replied.

“No fair!”

Sure, Evelyn wanted to make a show of it, having her search for him would be far more accurate. A minor protest for being roped into this.

After about a minute, Evelyn broke the silence, “I can see the lights!”

Her tone matched the wave of anxiety and excitement he picked up from Evelyn. If they wanted to, they could fully open their link, but neither was comfortable with the full brunt of the other’s state of being.

Marc was easily overwhelmed by Evelyn’s emotional state. He could handle it in small doses, and even enjoyed doing so. It’s like basking in the sun, with a full breeze blowing over my face.

Evelyn did not enjoy finding herself in the proximity of the void, and claimed she found the experience draining. To be fair, she was the only person alive who could stand to be near him in his natural state. She will tease me for being too ‘me’ though.

The train slowed noticeably and applied brakes until it came to a stop. The squeal was subtle and loud, more than enough to rouse anyone who slept through the increased activity.

When the train came to a complete stop, he grabbed his duffle bag from between his legs and stood up. The man beside him backed up and slammed into him.

“Sorry,” a Corporal said. “…Sir!”

“Relax,” Marc said calmly. “It happens.”

The man must have forgotten he was there. The fact the man accosted a colonel certainly helped him to wake up. Based on his heart rate, you’d think he just finished a ten-mile forced march.

“Is this home for you?” Marc asked.

“No, Sir,” the Corporal said. “Farther west, but I need to transfer trains.”

“Tonight?” Marc asked.

As far as he knew this was the last train for the night.

“Tomorrow, Sir,” the Corporal said.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

There was a look of surprise, some of which was likely due to Marc being relatable.

“No, Sir,” the corporal said. “I was hoping to see if they—(have a bunk to spare at the local barracks.)

Marc pulled out his field notepad and pen. He scribbled something onto a sheet of paper and handed it to the Corporal.

“Go to this address and tell them that Evelyn sent you,” he said. “They’ll put you up for the night.”

“Sir?” the Corporal asked.

A few more of his men were doing the same. So, the place had availability.

Evelyn had gone through with her plan to open her bordello. Tonight, the staff knew to be on their best behaviour. He also realised that the men would clue in what kind of place it was. Boys will be boys.

“My wife invested in a hotel,” Marc lied. “Think of it as a thank you for your contribution.”

The man smiled and nodded. The idea of sleeping in a real bed with electric light and amenities like running water was an easy sell.

“Thank you,” the Corporal said.

As people started to clear the aisle, the Corporal stepped out. It was only once he took several steps that he realised that the Colonel never mentioned his name.

Marc had already slipped through the back heading for that exit. This conversation served a purpose. His way of delaying his departure, allowing most of the men to clear the train. Even now the platform was abuzz with activity.

Plenty of wives and sweethearts had already done their bit. He looked about, spotting Evelyn in a conservative outfit, hopping about to see if he was inside.

He cleared his throat and she turned to face him. She went from apprehensive to a huge smile. Evelyn then raised her arms into the air and ran towards him.

“Marc!” Evelyn exclaimed, sounding like a child who woke up to a tree full of presents on Christmas.

Marc left some space and dropped his bag just in time to grab Evelyn.

The green-eyed beauty hit him with enough force that they ended up twirling around as though in a dance. Once they settled, he looked into those green eyes, as she grabbed his cheeks and pulled him in.

True to his word the kiss was deep and passionate. She even brought up her leg, while her heart beat strong and true.

When they broke away, Marc pretended to be out of breath, while Evelyn giggled and rubbed away some of her lipstick from his face. He noted that she wore eyeshadow to make her look sultrier. Ever the performer.

In the background, five men were lollygagging every one of them focused on the couple. Evelyn cocked her head to the side before turning back to Marc.

“You’re a bit of a celebrity along the line,” Marc said. “The men used to line up for a chance to have one of your photos.”

Evelyn flashed that trademark smile of hers, the one that promised so much if one simply surrendered to her. She turned towards his men and hiked up her skirt to show off her bare knee.

“Merci, Messieurs,” Evelyn said. (Thank you, Sirs.) “Your contribution deserves much more than a peek. Alas, I already have mon Marc.”

To sell her part, she kissed Marc on the cheek before blowing them a kiss. Many of the men were clearly smitten. One went to reach for something inside his pocket, but Warrant Sullivan shook his head. A shame, Evelyn would have loved the opportunity to sign one.

Sullivan sent the rest off and approached the couple. He gave Marc a sharp salute, forcing Marc to react in response.

“Thank you for the rooms, Sir,” Sullivan said. “We also want to thank you for getting us through this war.”

The emphasis was meant to highlight how the statement applied to the both of them.

Sullivan then looked into those emerald-green eyes and paused for a moment. It was one thing to see Evelyn in all her glory in a picture, it was another to see her in the flesh.

“Madame, we all agreed that you’re more beautiful in person than we imagined,” Sullivan said.

Evelyn gasped and her entire face lit up. She turned momentarily to Marc, who nodded. With his blessing, she kissed Sullivan several times on the cheeks before landing a quick peck on his lips.

“You’re an angel,” Evelyn said. “Marc, why didn’t you tell me your men were so charming?”

Everyone laughed until silence filled in the space between them. Sullivan took the opportunity to bow out and rejoin his men lingering farther out.

“Oh,” Marc said. “I have something for you.”

“Pour moi?” Evelyn asked. (For me?)

Marc reached into his pocket and took out his field pad. Inside was a picture, the one he gave to Murphy.

Evelyn took the blood-stained picture, furrowed her brow.

“That belonged to one of the best men I ever had the pleasure of serving with,” Marc said. “He died with that picture in his hands; you were his symbol of hope.”

Evelyn’s eyes watered along the edges and she hugged him. Marc mirrored her movements and held her in his arms for a solid three minutes.

When Evelyn pulled away, she wiped the tears away using a handkerchief which smudged a bit of her eyeshadow.

“Merci,” Evelyn said. (Thank you.) “I’ll cherish this.”

He grabbed his duffle bag and opened his other arm. Evelyn locked her arm in with his and they walked off towards their domicile. I’m finally home.

EPILOGUE

THE WATCHMAKER

Marc walked along the deserted, cobbled city streets. It was early evening and given the hour most of the businesses in this quarter were closed.

With winter at hand, he wore a dark suit and a heavy jacket. At this time of year, he needed to be careful, since he exhibited no signs of breathing. Lucky for me there’s no one to ask the question.

He looked at the numbers on the buildings and found the right one. Ahead there was a glass door and display window with gold lettering, both of which were covered in literal frost. While still technically fall, the chill of winter was in the air.

At the door there was a sign that said ‘Closed,’ but Marc checked the handle. Since it turned without resistance, the door opened.

A tiny, silver bell chimed brightly to announce his arrival. The store was sparsely lit, all to deter potential visitors. That did not bother Marc who made out the merchandise just fine.

“We’re closed,” a man said, from the back room.

Marc did not back away, instead he remained in place. He removed his gloves and unbuttoned his heavy jacket.

“I believe you were expecting me,” Marc replied. “We spoke on the telephone earlier?”

A series of footsteps originating from deep within the back were heard. With every step they grew sharper until a man came into sight.

This was an older gentleman, and Marc guessed he was in his late forties. He had grey hair, sharp features, piercing blue eyes, further enlarged by those spectacles.

The man wore a shirt with bands on his arms to adjust the length of the cuff. The high collar fit in with the fashion as did his dark tie, suspenders and pantaloons. The outlier was the leather apron. Marc noted the man’s hands were not calloused. Whatever work he did, it was not hard labour, and those tools confirmed that finesse was required for his work.

“That was you?”

The man looked at Marc from head to toe to size him up. He must have quickly deduced that someone like Marc did not normally venture into this neighbourhood.

“That was me,” Marc said. “Thank you for staying open to accommodate my schedule.”

“I never turn away a customer,” the man said. “You never mentioned a name.”

“Marc,” he replied.

“Samuel,” the man replied.

Marc approached the counter and shook hands. The man had a surprisingly powerful grip, but Marc was not interested in turning this into some sort of strength competition.

“So, what brings you here?” Samuel asked.

“Two things,” Marc said.

He left his gloves on the wooden counter, opened his jacket just enough and pulled out a long, leather wallet. From within he produced a black-and-white banknote featuring Queen Mary. Without saying a word, Marc dropped the fifty-dollar note on the counter and tapped it three times.

“This is for your time,” Marc said.

Samuel cocked his head, curled one side of his mouth, and furrowed his brow. The change in heart rate further confirmed this display was genuine.

“I-I don’t follow,” Samuel said.

“You could be at home enjoying your evening,” Marc said. “Your time is worth something and this is my compensation for granting me an indulgence.”

There was a pause, clearly the man was not quite following why they were meeting. That’s mostly my fault.

“You see,” Marc added. “I’m not here to buy, but to return.”

“You bought something from me before?”

Marc smiled, channelling le Marquis to make it seem warm. This chat won’t remain friendly much longer if I don’t get to the point.

“Not precisely,” Marc replied.

He then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small box which he placed atop the note. It was made of intricately carved oak with brass hinges and fittings. Without waiting for a slew of questions, Marc opened it up to show a shiny, silver pocket watch, surrounded by purple fabric. Initially, there was confusion, until Samuel realised what he was looking at.

“How did you get this?”

“We served together,” Marc said. “He died holding that watch in his hands. It took quite a beating over the course of that year.”

The watch in question could have been sold at any high-end shop.

“You had it repaired?” Samuel asked.

“I did it myself, actually,” Marc replied. “I took it apart, cleaned it, replaced a few, worn-out gears and the spring. Buffed the silver and replaced the glass.”

“You’re a watchmaker?”

“No,” Marc said. “I took my time and learned how the mechanism worked. You could say that it appealed to my meticulous nature.”

The fact that it took him a little over two years to complete was irrelevant. It helped me to adjust to my advisory role.

Marc suspected what the next question would be. Although he often failed to account for the emotional element of the one guessing.

“Why?” Samuel asked.

“Because a simple letter was not enough,” Marc said.

“Letter—you were his commanding officer?”

“I was,” Marc said. “I could not have hoped for a better soldier under me. Still, words often fall short in such matters, at least when compared to action.”

“So, you restored it?”

That much was obvious, but the motivations were still evading Samuel.

“War changes you,” Marc said. “While I can attest that he was a good man until the end. I felt it would be best to remember him as the son who went off to war instead of the man who never made it back.”

“You know,” Samuel said. “I served in the Boer War.”

“Then you understand what I’m saying?”

Both men smiled awkwardly. Some things did not need to be said aloud to be understood.

“Thank you,” Samuel said.

“No need to thank me,” Marc replied. “Really.”

The silence between them lingered. Eventually, Marc realised there was nothing more to add.

The man of war buttoned up his coat and grabbed his gloves. He went to turn around but thought of something.

“Would you be interested in doing some custom work for me?”

Samuel’s head snapped back a couple of inches. We’re right back to where we started.

“Surely there are more reputable—(watchmakers who could accommodate your request.)”

Marc raised his hand to stop the man. I by far prefer engaging the services of a humble man over one egotistical and pompous.

“I’ve seen your work,” Marc said. “You have much to be proud about. Interested?”

“Of course,” Samuel replied.

“Excellent,” Marc said. “I’ll have my wife reach out to you about a design.”

He turned around and added while on his way out, “I expect you’ll hear from her by the end of the week.”

BIOGRAPHY OF BACKGROUND CHARACTERS

Every novel by Evelyn Chartres is part of an interconnected universe. While some stories stand alone, recurring characters and places are sometimes mentioned to tap into the rich, cohesive tapestry of this literary world. This section lists characters who shaped the narrative through their influence on the main cast but do not take an active part in the story.

These biographies provide valuable backstory for new readers and serve as a refresher for those familiar with the series.

ADA

Ada, the eldest Grey sister, stayed in the company town and married a young miner. When a cave-in claimed his life, she was left destitute and turned to prostitution to survive. Her gravestone claims she died a year later from a breech birth, but the truth is darker.

Drusilla, a vengeful vampire thwarted by Ada’s sister, Clara Grey, sought Ada out. Offering power and purpose, Drusilla turned Ada into a vampire. Over decades, she wove a web of lies, convincing Ada that her youngest sister, Clara, had stolen her valour to ruin her life. Consumed by resentment, Ada embraced her new existence, becoming Drusilla’s loyal disciple.

After Drusilla’s death in the Roaring Twenties, Ada vanished. She resurfaced when Clara, now an angel, returned to Earth. The vengeful Ada seized control of Drusilla’s empire and channelled its resources into a relentless campaign of revenge against her sister. Their conflict culminated in a showdown at The Grand, which left the storied hotel in ruins.

Clara, unable to kill her sister, walked away from the conflict. Ada’s fate is unclear.

DRUSILLA

Drusilla was a Roman citizen born during Emperor Diocletian’s reign. As daughter of a prominent senator, her comfortable life collapsed when a slight against Hera sparked the wrath of a mob.

She was saved by a runaway Christian’s sacrifice, which in turn led to a secret conversion. Drusilla joined the Tower, a group set on purging Rome of pagan gods and vampires. As a founder, she devoted herself to the cause but was overlooked for leadership in favour of who would become the Reverend Mother Augustine. Intense jealousy and learning that the Tower was founded on lies shattered her faith. She left the order.

Turning away from the light, Drusilla became a vampire, known for beauty and cruelty. Over centuries, she sought to destroy the Tower, seeing it as a barrier to dominating all lesser creatures. In the Roaring Twenties, she succeeded in isolating the Tower but was hunted down by a hunter who gave up their life in the process.

EDITH STONE

Despite the tragic loss of a close friend and fellow acolyte of the Tower, Edith Stone excelled in her studies. She earned prestigious appointments and became a senior member of Les Filles de Jeanne d’Arc.

During the Great War, Edith hunted alongside Clara and confronted a surge of ghouls spawned by the conflict’s mass casualties. In their first year as partners, they were lured into a trap set by the vampire Drusilla. While Clara’s quick thinking saved them, Edith had to face the consequences. The Reverend Mother demoted her for the mission’s failure. Humiliated, Edith vanished entirely from the many eyes of the Tower.

By the Roaring Twenties, a disillusioned Edith resurfaced, aligned with a group of women resisting their government’s religious oppression. Her lover ended up being brutally murdered by Drusilla.

Days later, Clara showed up to investigate the Tower’s isolation. Their reunion was short-lived, leaving the state of their relationship unresolved. Soon after, Edith was captured and tortured by government forces. She escaped in a blaze of vengeance, leaving a trail of bodies that earned her a place in local lore as a wrathful spirit.

Edith’s death remains shrouded in mystery. In an alternate reality, she slays Drusilla and ascends to heaven. Eighty years later, Clara and Edith share one final encounter, where Edith sacrifices herself for the sake of humanity.

MARIE GRÂCE DE FOIX

Marie Grâce de Foix, better known as Grace, is a former French countess who escaped the Bastille during the French Revolution. In New France, under Evelyn’s guidance, she was turned into a vampire. Over time, Grace became Evelyn’s most trusted agent, switching between roles as assassin, spy, or saviour as needed.

Once a countess of stature, Grace’s appearance, fixed at thirteen, clashes with a modern world’s view of teenagers. Instead of being bitter, she leans into her youth, posing as a moody teen while using her blood-bound parents to maintain her cover.

ABOUT EVELYN CHARTRES

Evelyn Chartres is the nom de plume for a self-published, Canadian author. The writer of eleven gothic, fantasy novels, Evelyn released her debut novel, The Portrait, in 2016, and her latest, Man at War, in 2026.

A fan of the phrase ‘live to eat’, Evelyn shares her recipes on evelynchartres.com. These recipes have a loose focus on French-Canadian cuisine, which feature deep-dish meat pies, seafood, and desserts that are rarely seen outside of La Belle Province.

Evelyn is currently living in Ottawa, Ontario, and is busy laying the foundations for her next book, The Spy Who Loved Me.

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ALSO, FROM EVELYN CHARTRES

The following novels are presented in chronological order within the broader timeline of my literary universe. With the exception of The Van Helsing Resurgence, each book is written to stand alone, allowing you to explore the series in any order you choose. Recurring characters and events provide additional context and depth, but each title can be enjoyed individually.

MAN OF WAR

“While good intentions pave the road to hell, jumping off comes with a price.”

For centuries, Marc has served as Evelyn’s unwavering protector—a vampire of shadow—unfeeling, fiercely loyal, and a force to be reckoned with. But what of the man?

Man of War unravels the first century of Marc’s life. It traces his origins as an impetuous French Viscount who finds refuge in service to the king and country. Watch as he wages war against the world, those beyond the grave, and with himself. Focus on the women who forged his very being.

Set against the backdrop of seventeenth-century Europe, this dark fantasy immerses the reader in a rich historical, linguistic, and cultural tale. Before reading on, consider: While good intentions pave the road to hell, jumping off comes with a price.

THE VAN HELSING PARADOX

“A gal has to look out for herself, after all.”

Clara Grey’s parents once said that the world was a dark and dangerous place. There was more truth than fiction in those words. There were things that lurked in the shadows which defied the laws of nature: perversions that fed on the dead, terrorised the living, or escaped the chill touch of the grave.

Clara is a member of the Tower, a religious order of hunters who work outside the confines of the Church. As keepers of the arcane, her order takes an active role in countering such threats. Alas, the life of a hunter can be short, and many go missing before they are ready to serve. So, what does it take to succeed against all odds?

Explore Clara’s origin, a child born before the dawn of the twentieth century. Witness her rigorous education, how she faces adversity, and fights in the Great War to become the derringer-wielding flapper she is.

Throughout her tale, keep in mind: No matter the threat, a gal has to look out for herself, after all.

THE GRAND

“Even things that go bump in the night need a place to unwind.”

You will find The Grand nestled atop a cliff that overlooks a cursed valley. Surrounded by foreboding mountains, this ritzy, French, palatial-style hotel is a place where a roaring party’s success is measured by its body count. This hotel does not cater to the rich or famous. Instead, its staff and facilities serve a clientele with a more discerning palate.

The Grand is a collection of gothic, fantasy stories with an overarching storyline that incorporates supernatural themes. The Roaring Twenties serves as a rich historical, linguistic, and cultural backdrop.

Centred on the victims, each story brings a unique perspective to the hotel, the staff, and their esteemed guests. At The Grand, it is best to remember: Even things that go bump in the night need a place to unwind.

THE PORTRAIT

“A vision from the past becomes a writer’s deadly obsession.”

The Portrait is a Gothic fantasy about Victoria Frost, an author who develops an unhealthy obsession for her character. As events unfold, her infatuation sours, forcing Victoria to question her sanity. Is she simply slipping into madness, or is there something else at play?

The Portrait features a mixture of contemporary and historical scenes brought forward as Victoria explores the world of her muse. Using both prose and art, every scene yields a new piece of the puzzle, providing insights into the origins of her character’s portrait and its featured model.

Discover how a vision from the past becomes a writer’s deadly obsession.

THE VAN HELSING RESURGENCE

“While the Roaring Twenties are long gone, a heroine’s work is never done.”

Clara Grey was a hunter and part of a secret organisation known only as the Tower. During the Roaring Twenties, she sacrificed herself to destroy a powerful vampire. As a reward, she joined the ranks of Heaven’s army, and for ninety years, Clara yearned to take an active role in the mortal realm.

In an attempt to alter the course of history, scientists trigger an experiment with devastating results. The effects are felt not only on Earth, but in other realms as well.

Clara and an echo from her past are sent to Earth to investigate the case of a stolen soul. For this transgression, Heaven could go to war, but they chose to send Clara—and Edith. They fall to Earth, focused on their mission.

Both had been isolated from the mortal realm for generations. In their lifetimes, monsters were on the decline, but learn how much the modern world has changed. While navigating this alien land, will they adapt to their surroundings to fulfil their mission? Or be swallowed up by the evil that lurks in the shadows?

Before reading on, be sure to remember: While the Roaring Twenties are long gone, a heroine’s work is never done.

THE VAN HELSING INCURSION

“Hunting things that go bump in the night is child’s play when compared to juggling relationships.”

During the Roaring Twenties, Clara Grey hunted things that went bump in the night. On her last mission, she paid the ultimate price to rid the world of a powerful foe. As a reward, she ascended to Heaven and joined its ranks as an angel.

Ninety years after her death, Clara fell to Earth, intent on saving a soul. While successful, killing an old god in self-defence barred her from returning to Heaven. Lost in the modern world, Clara was forced to seek unlikely allies to navigate through these uncertain times.

Four months later, Clara has settled in with Elizabeth, a young woman she saved shortly after descending to Earth. For a gal who had sworn off anything that hinted at normalcy, Clara learns that being average takes more effort than she suspected.

Alas, repercussions from choices made on that fateful mission have not been idle. Her enemies trigger a chain of events that force our fated femme fatale to act. Is Clara prepared to deal with the fallout? Will her allies come to her aid? Or must she stand on her own?

Before reading on, be sure to consider: Hunting things that go bump in the night is child’s play when compared to juggling relationships.

DARK HEARTS

“She may look like the Little Red Riding Hood, but she really is the wolf!”

Julia is a werewolf who turned against her pack and saved an innocent life. As a reward for her good deed, she ends up in prison, but thrives while others like her waste away.

On the eve of a full moon, an unknown benefactor arranges for Julia’s release. Faced with the prospect of returning to the city that nearly killed her, she opts to disappear into the surrounding woods.

This is the opportunity she needs to find herself and reconnect with the wild. As her past resurfaces, the supernatural and dark elements within humanity take notice of her.

Before reading on, be sure to consider: She may look like the Little Red Riding Hood, but she really is the wolf.

THE VAN HELSING IMPETUS

“She may have failed at being normal, but she’s still a force to be reckoned with.”

Clara Grey is a fallen angel, one who tried her hand at having a normal life. That experiment came to an abrupt end when werewolves kidnapped her gal. While victorious, tales from that fateful night became the stuff of legend. Now known as ‘the Valkyrie,’ she is a wanted fugitive.

She has been on the lam for months, using a nondescript persona to evade the authorities. All the while, Clara is tormented by voices from a goddess that she thought long dead.

Clara has never faced an enemy that can strike from the shadows, forcing her to align herself with the things she hunted in life. Even with an army at her back, does she have what it takes to defeat her foe?

Before reading on, be sure to consider: She may have failed at being normal, but she’s still a force to be reckoned with.

THE VAN HELSING CONJECTURE

“In the hunt for closure, even an angel may lose their way.”

Clara Grey was a hunter forged by faith, an angel cast out of Heaven, and a goddess haunted by voices of the vanquished. She exists in a world fraught with peril, where every shadow hides something that goes bump in the night.

Once a legend among the ranks of a secret order of hunters, Clara finds herself adrift. She thirsts for closure until a fleeting echo from the Roaring Twenties reveals a potential path back.

Allied with creatures she once hunted, Clara must venture out alone to reach the order that defined her. But as divine foes and her pasts intersect, will she find an army to reclaim the night or end up in a graveyard?

Before you turn the page, heed this: In the hunt for closure, even an angel may lose their way.

While part of a series, The Van Helsing Conjecture stands on its own, inviting new readers into a dark, fantasy saga of hunters, angels, and perilous nights, with no prior tales required.

HIGH WATER MARK

“When humanity has been driven into the sea, what lurks above the waves?”

Anna is a humanoid mermaid who spends her days with the local timekeeper until a podmate comes to her with a proposal. They hatch a plan to head out into the watery ruins of humanity in search of lost technology and materials. For a young mermaid living in the dregs of society, the promise of riches from such a find is just too good to pass up.

Armed with nothing more than an old map and some rusty road signs to follow, they are soon reminded that adventure often brings forth more than its fair share of rough waters. Her friend gets captured, leaving Anna alone in a world where mermaids are nowhere near the top of the food chain.

Follow Anna as she makes landfall and learns why her ancestors abandoned the surface. Lost in a world that is perpetually covered in a thick fog, Anna must navigate through what remains above the high-water mark. What will she find? An ally? A foe? Or will she find nothing but death and destruction?

Before reading on, be sure to consider: With humanity driven into the sea, what lurks above the waves?

LICENCE

Man at War is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to reality are purely coincidental.

All images and text herein are copyrighted:

Man at War

Copyright © 2026 by

Evelyn Chartres (Nom de plume)

theportraitofawoman@gmail.com

All rights reserved.

Amazon Kindle — First Edition

Cover art by Amy Queau

http://qcoverdesign.com

Proofreading provided by the Hyper-Speller

https://www.wordrefiner.com

Table of Contents

FRONT PAGE

ABOUT MAN AT WAR

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

NOTE ON BACKGROUND CHARACTERS

MAN AT WAR

CHAPTER 1 - THE WESTERN FRONT

CHAPTER 2 - IN THE TRENCHES

CHAPTER 3 - NESTLED IN THE ROCKIES

CHAPTER 4 - THE LETTER

CHAPTER 5 - ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

CHAPTER 6 - CONTACT

CHAPTER 7 - MONTCALM’S SHADOW

CHAPTER 8 - LOOSE LIPS

CHAPTER 9 - VANTAGE POINT

CHAPTER 10 - BLUTSAUGER UND WERWÖLFE

CHAPTER 11 - FIRE AND MILK

CHAPTER 12 - ON THE SUBJECT OF APEX PREDATORS

CHAPTER 13 - DEBRIEF

CHAPTER 14 - HUNTERS AND SAPPERS

CHAPTER 15 - DOUBLE TAKE

CHAPTER 16 - BLOOD AND SUTURES

CHAPTER 17 - ACORN AND STARLIGHT

CHAPTER 18 - CARRIED BY SIX

CHAPTER 19 - WAR MEASURES

CHAPTER 20 - BEYOND THE VEIL

CHAPTER 21 - VOLUNTEERS

CHAPTER 22 - RANK AND FILE

CHAPTER 23 - ON THE PRECIPICE

CHAPTER 24 - AMBUSH

CHAPTER 25 - GOING TO GROUND

CHAPTER 26 - VAN HELSING’S SHADOW

CHAPTER 27 - IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW

CHAPTER 28 - DIVERGENT PATHS

CHAPTER 29 - COLLAPSE

CHAPTER 30 - THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR

CHAPTER 31 - SUNDAY TOAST

CHAPTER 32 - HOMECOMING

EPILOGUE - THE WATCHMAKER

BIOGRAPHY OF BACKGROUND CHARACTERS

ABOUT EVELYN CHARTRES

ALSO FROM EVELYN CHARTRES

LICENCE