She Ran... COMPLETE
If you have a bit of time I'd really like you all to read this and give me some feedback. I know it's been a loooong wait but the completed story is now available.
She ran. She had been running for what felt like days through the strangely empty canyons made by the glass and steel towers around her. Still he kept up with her. The pain in her side and lungs was unbearable, but still she ran, her heart practically beating out of her chest.
“You can not outrun me you know, Cassandra,” he called, his smooth voice echoing in her head, “I will always find you.”
She didn’t dare answer him, for it was difficult enough to keep her breath running so hard. Then she heard it, the welcoming sound of traffic. She turned the corner and ran toward a convenience store on the next corner that was open.
“You look worn out, Miss, like you been running all night,” the clerk said as Cassandra entered the store. After catching her breath she asked if she could use the phone. The clerk, seeing that she was clearly distressed let her without question.
“Mitchell residence…can I help you…?” asked a sleepy voice on the other end of the phone.
“It’s Cassie. I didn’t know who else to call. There is someone chasing me and I need somewhere to go. Please Steven, I need your help.”
“Whoa there, slow down, Cass. Who’s chasing you? And where the hell are you?”
“I’m in a deli on the corner of South and Main. I know that your condo is near here, I really want to get off the street. I think I might be in danger.”
“Alright, stay there. I’ll be there in about ten minutes. If I’m not there by quarter after don’t panic, they were doing some work on the elevator in my building and I’m not sure if they finished after I got in yesterday afternoon…see you in a few”
“Ok I’ll wait here. Thanks Steve,” she said as she hung up the receiver. Cassandra checked her watch. 3:50 a.m. She had been running for at least 2 hours. How had she been running for so long and not run into anyone…? Not one lighted window. Or one open store… How had she come so far without encountering anyone?
“Do not worry, Highness. My men will have her by this evening and they will bring her straight to you,” the man said, his voice smooth as silk.
“You had better deliver her in person, alive, and unharmed, as soon as the sun sets, Trent. Unless you’d like to witness sunrise again,” The prince finished, in his thick Spanish accent. Trent had no love for the new prince of the city. He had worked to hard for this upstart braggart to come in and ruin his plans.
Steven was a man in his early thirties, tall, tan, good looking, and independently wealthy due to a huge inheritance from his mother’s parents. He entered the store with the aire of royalty.
“Good morning, Miss Steenwell. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” Steven said, the sleepiness that had been in his voice over the phone gone. Cassandra didn’t say anything, she just threw her arms around him and held him as if she would fall off the earth if she let go.
“What is it, Cass? What’s wrong?”
“I told you on the phone. Someone is after me.”
“Come on, let’s go to my condo. We’ll talk about it there.” With that said, they walked back up the street and into the building where Steven’s condo was.
Once inside the richly furnished, up-town home Cassandra told Steven of the man that had been chasing her earlier that evening.
“…and that’s when I found the convenience store and called you,” she finished.
“That’s quite an interesting story, a mysterious invitation to an otherwise deserted restaurant from an unknown man claiming to be…what was it?”
“An admirer interested in my work,” she said.
“So, does this admirer have a name or did he just get right down to chasing you through abandoned city streets?”
“He told me his name was Captain Sir Trent of Avon, of her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He certainly looked the part, with his very British, almost Victorian, suit and bowler hat, but something in my gut told me not to trust him and, as I said before, I sipped at a glass of club soda for about half an hour while he went on about how I ‘truly captured my subject’ and ‘never before had he read such inspiring work.’ I was unimpressed, not only because I thought all he wanted was to get me in bed, but because if my work is really that ‘inspiring’ why can’t I get it published.”
“I told you if you wanted it published I’d publish it, Cass. I think it’s good, just because some stuffed shirts don’t, doesn’t mean anything.”
“That’s not the point, Steve. I think that he realized that I thought he was full of shit, because all of a sudden it was like he changed completely, he told me that I should come with him to meet ‘someone important.’ That’s when I told him that I’d had enough club soda and thanked him for a lovely evening, but that I had to go. I got up to leave and he told me that I had to come with him. I told him to get lost and went to leave and…” she stopped then, looking off into space as if suddenly caught in a daydream.
“…And?” Steven pressed.
“Sorry,” she replied, snapping back into focus, “Trent, or whatever his name really was, tried to get me to go meet whoever it is that he wanted me to meet. I told him that I really had to go and I threw on my coat and ran for it.”
“And he ran after you?”
“More then that, he seemed…too fast. He kept getting ahead of me, chasing me back the way I’d come, back and forth. I thought that I was going to pass out I was running so hard. And then…I got away.”
“Wait? He was faster than you before and you got away?” Steven said, skeptically.
“Yeah I…well…I…I guess he let me go,” Cassandra realized.
Trent sat uncomfortably in the back of his car thinking of the events of the night. Why did I let her go? I could have easily caught her. Am I getting soft in my old age? I am just over five hundred… Perhaps I just felt a little sorry for her. She is the youngest member of my family. Yet I believe that she will come around. I think I will extend her another invitation…one that I know she will not refuse. He smiled to himself confidently and shifted to a comfortable position.
“Aaron. I have changed my mind. I would like to make one more stop before we go back home,” he smiled to his driver, “Take me to this address.” He handed a slip of paper to his driver.
“Sir, I’m not sure that we can get there and back before sunrise,” the driver told him.
“Nonsense. My business there will not take very long, and we still have almost three hours until sunrise,” Trent scoffed, “Besides, even if we do not make it back before first light, I have my shades here in the back, and you have nothing to fear from the sunlight.”
“Yes, Sir,” the driver complied, knowing that further argument could demote him severely.
The Limousine pulled smoothly into the driveway of 28 Harrington Avenue. The mailbox read ‘Steenwell.’ Trent got out of the car and approached the front door, as he did so a dog could be heard barking inside, and a light went on in one of the upstairs windows. A middle-aged man answered the door in his pajamas, a bathrobe wrapped around him and slippers on his feet. “Can I help you?” he asked in a slightly annoyed, slightly sleepy voice.
“Actually I believe you can,” Trent began, “Are you Walther Steenwell?”
“Yes,” the man replied.
“Do you have a daughter? Cassandra?”
“Yes. Is something wrong?” Walther begged, “Is she in trouble?”
“No, no. Calm down,” Trent commanded, “I was just wondering if I could have a word with her.”
“She’s not here, she took a bus into the city last night and said that she might stay at a friend’s house if her meeting went too late.”
“Actually that is why I have come. You see, she left our meeting rather abruptly, and I was wondering if I could have another meeting with her tonight at my firm,” Trent said, producing a business card from his coat pocket, “You see, I am very interested in publishing her work. It is, I believe, truly forward thinking and may even win awards, possibly even the Nobel Prize. See that she is at the firm at 7:15 this evening, sharp.”
Walther’s face was alight with pride. He took the card and thanked Trent profusely. Even as the door slammed behind Trent he could hear Walther running up the stairs shouting for his wife to wake.
“You see, Aaron. You made all that fuss for nothing. I told you that I would not be long here,” Trent gloated as he situated himself in the back of the car.
“Sorry Sir, just trying to be helpful is all,” the driver responded.
“Yes well…take me to the Firm. I will spend the day there so that I may be able to expedite getting Miss Steenwell to his highness.”
“After the way he treated you, you are really going to give her to him?”
“No. I’m going to present her and the writ that his predecessor gave me allowing for me to take her as my newest progeny. She looks so much like my own daughter and I would never allow his Highness to have her.” He seemed to spit the word ‘highness’ with the utmost distaste. The rest of the ride was quiet, the only sounds those of the road and of the Vivaldi playing softly from the stereo.
Cassandra spent what remained of the night and the next morning at Steven’s condo sleeping on the pullout sofa. Her sleep, though, was restless and she was plagued by dreams of being chased through deserted streets. When she resolved herself to being awake it was 10:15, Steven was already awake and in the kitchen preparing, what smelled to be, French toast and bacon. Cassandra sleepily dragged herself into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Cass,” Steven greeted as she entered, “Coffee?”
“Yes please,” She replied.
“I thought I’d take the liberty of making you breakfast. I’ve always found that a good breakfast can help cleanse the mind. Especially when I haven’t slept well.”
“I slept fine.”
“So then your screaming was just for fun then?”
“ I was screaming?” She asked. Steven nodded. “It’s alright. I have had nightmares before that I screamed so much I was completely hoarse for a whole day. Tell me what you dreamt.”
“Well, I was running. I’m not sure where I was, just blank city streets, but I was running from someone…at first I thought it was Trent, but when I saw his face it was my father.”
Steven looked at her skeptically. “Your father was chasing you through abandoned city streets?”
“Yeah…I guess so,” she replied as she slowly sipped at her coffee.
It was then that her cell phone rang. It played a MIDI version of Mozart’s Symphony no. 40. Cassandra answered it quickly and was greeted by her father’s voice.
“Cassie?”
“Hi, Daddy,” she replied.
“I had a visit this morning from someone interested in publishing your work. He seemed very excited; said you’d win a Nobel Prize! He wanted you to meet him at his publishing firm at 7:00 this evening”
“Did he say what firm? Or for that matter who he was?”
“He gave me his card, hold on a second,” Cassandra could hear her father rummaging through his pockets, “It says here that it’s Avon and Trent Publishing at 623 East Avenue, in the city,” he trailed off, “Where are you?”
“I’m…at a friend’s house in the city,” She replied nervously.
“A friend, eh? You better not be at that rich brat, Steven’s house again.”
“So what if I am!?”
“I told you not to consort with him. He and his entire family are nothing but euro-trash, and should be sent back to the dumpsters that they crawled out of!”
“Steven is not euro-trash! Just because his mother happens to be the daughter of a Duke and Duchess doesn’t make him euro-trash. They were from the same part of England that your family is from, so if he’s trash then you are too!” With that she angrily punched the end button on her cell phone.
“I see that Walther is still upset that my family was better off then his,” Steven said smugly.
“I don’t need it from you too! You know you’re not better than anyone else just because you got money when your grandparents died!” Cassandra snapped, viciously.
“I’m sorry Cass, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“It’s ok,” Cassandra took a deep breath, “Apparently there is a publisher over on the east side that wants to publish my work. Avon and Trent, I think my dad said, right before he reverted to a six year old.”
“Sounds like you’ve finally gotten what you want. And I didn’t even have to do it for you,” Steven smiled, jokingly, “Did he say what the address is?”
“Yeah, but I don’t remember the numbers, it’s on East Ave though.
“When do you have to be there? I’ll drive you over if you’d like.”
“7:00 tonight…I didn’t think that publishing firms were open that late.”
“Maybe that’s the end of the day and whoever it is that’s interested figures that he won’t need a long meeting to convince you to let him print it,” Steven jested.
“I guess…at least I have my manuscript with me from my meeting with that lunatic last night.” She glanced into the living room where her attaché was sitting, her manuscript poking out the top.
Cassandra and Steven had a leisurely day. The sun was shining brightly, the birds calling to one another in the park. The river sparkling blue in the breeze. They had lunch at a little café overlooking the bay and laughed about their shared childhood and sneaking around under their respective parent’s noses. As the sun set over the water Steven suggested that they get a quick bite to eat before heading to the East Side of the city to find the printing firm.
“Mexican or Indian?” He was saying.
“I thought you said a quick bite! You know that we take two hours, at least, to go out for Indian.”
“Mexican it is,” He smiled, a gentle, if not mocking smile. She shoved him a little and he pulled her to him, cradling her under his arm.
“Sunset already, Aaron?” Trent asked as Aaron opened the door to the bedchambers of his master.
“Yes, mi’lord. 6:41 on the spot.”
“Bring me some breakfast, won’t you,” he said, yawning.
“Right away, sir. At once, Sir.” Aaron scurried out of the room and down the hall to where Trent’s breakfast was waiting, to fetch her for him.
“6:57. See I told you we’d find it in time, Cass.”
“I was hoping to have a second or two before I had to go in and meet this guy.”
“You do! You have about 140 seconds,” Steven mocked. Cassandra stuck her tongue out at him and made a sound. “Is my hair ok?” she said, frantically pulling down the sun visor to look at her reflection.
“You look fine, Cass. Now go in there and knock ‘em dead!” He smiled broadly. “You want me to wait for you or should I go home and have you call me when you’re done?”
“Would you mind waiting?”
“Not at all.” With that said she leaped from the car and dashed into the building. Steven picked up the receiver of his car phone and dialed seven digits.
“Avon and Trent Publications, this is Sylvia. How may I direct your call?”
“This is Mr. Brekenridge.”
“Hold one moment, sir.” The receptionist spluttered as she hit the button to transfer the call. It rang only once and a smooth English accent greeted Steven as it was answered.
“Sir Trent of Avon speaking.”
“She’s here do you want me to stay?” Steven asked, his tone icy.
“No. Go home. I’ll let you know when you are needed again Steven.”
“Have a good night, my lord,” Steven said as he started his car and hung up the phone. He had only gotten a block when his phone rang.
“Steven Brekenridge.”
“Where is she?” A thickly accented voice demanded.
“She is with that cur, Trent. Just where you wanted her to be, Your Highness.”
Cassandra walked through the doors of Avon and Trent Publications with more than a little trepidation. The lobby was sterile, to say the least, a huge concrete room that echoed with each step she took toward a desk with a woman in her mid to late forties sitting behind it typing nonstop on a computer.
“Hello,” She began, trembling slightly due to the cold sterility of the room.
“Good evening,” The receptionist said looking up and stopping the only sound in the room by ceasing her relentless typing, “Cassandra Steenwell?”
“Yes, I am she.”
“Second door on the right and up the stairs. The editor’s office is at the end of the hall.” And with that she returned to typing on her computer as though Cassandra had never disturbed her.
The walls of the hallway were white pained cinderblock, like a hospital or school. The first door on the right in the short corridor had a plaque that read "Red Volge," Cassandra recognized it as an edgy, politically charged magazine with heavy socialist views. She thought it odd that a publishing company that would print that would also print her work. As she reached the top of the stairs, she met what could only be described as a completely different building. The floor of the open vestibule was clearly hand hewn solid oak parquet tiles, with an authentic Persian rug over the center of the rectangular space. The wood paneled walls glimmered with just the right amount of polish and shine, the vaulted cathedral ceiling was adorned with a star map showing the southern summer sky as seen from Avon, England. There were antique couches and high-backed chairs along the wall. As she took in the room the light flickered for a moment. It was then that she realized that the entire room was lit with gas lights. She couldn't help but take her time feasting her eyes on the room as she walked across the thick red, green and gold carpet showing a heraldic coat of arms. Eventually she made her way to the other end of the room where she was met by an arched, guilt and carved, oak double door with a plaque next to it that read, "Editor in Chief."
Cassandra took a few deep breaths to steady herself before pressing the thumb-latch on the door and pulling it open, she found it odd that she had to pull the door to open it. As the office came into view she was again amazed by the lavishness of this publishing company's offices. The walls, where they weren't covered in shelves of antique books, had odd trinkets and knickknacks from around the world, a Chinese dragon statue, a Japanese rice paper painting, some sort of tribal mask from Africa, a Native-American feathered headdress, and above the stone fireplace hung a sword. Ancient, ornate, beautiful, and deadly. The fuller ran the length of the silvered, steel blade save the hilt, where there were words written in what appeared to be Latin, but were in an archaic form of the alphabet, in gold. The quillion were wide and flat, slightly curved, and had clearly caught many blades in their lifetime, they too were covered in the same archaic Latin. The grip of the sword was clearly the newest part, recently wrapped with black leather and held in place with silver wire. The pommel of the sword was in the shape of a lion's head with it's mouth open, emeralds for eyes and Ivory for teeth, every detail was taken in. This was clearly a masterpiece work and would be easily worth millions to the right collector. She sat on the carved wooden chair in front of the desk expecting it to be uncomfortable because it had no cushion, but was pleasantly surprised that it seemed to be carved to fit her and was actually quite comfortable. The other, smaller door in the room opened to reveal Captain Sir Trent of Avon.
Cassandra leapt to her feet and to the double doors in a flash, where she slammed into the heavy doors and crumpled to the ground as if she had thrown herself at a brick wall.
"Are you really going to run again, Cassandra?" Trent's cool voice slid into the air around her. She was fairly sure that she had dislocated or broken her shoulder, because the pain from it was blinding, but she didn't care. Cassandra knew that she had to get out of this room and away from this man as fast as she could, her only chance was the smaller door, left open wide by the man now holding her captive. She stood to run through the door, but as she did so, she jolted her shoulder, sending a fresh wave of crippling pain racing through her body and she began to fall again, only this time Captain Sir Trent of Avon, moving much faster then any man should be able to, moved from behind his desk to her side and caught her. He set Cassandra in the wooden chair that she had sat in to wait for him, her head spinning from the pain of her injured shoulder. He then put his hands on her shoulder, slowly, delicately, he moved his hands until they were wrapped in a slightly awkward position around her shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Cassandra begged as he shifted her slightly in the chair.
"This is going to hurt...a tremendous amount, bite this," he said as he handed her a leather strap, she didn't care where he had gotten it from, the pain was such that crushing something in her teeth might actually make her feel better. She bit into the leather and he shifted his hands and her shoulder and there was an audible crunch. Cassandra screamed in agony and passed out from the pain.
“Avon and Trent Publications, this is Sylvia. How may I direct your call?”
"Captain Sir Trent of Avon por favor," a heavily accented voice demanded coldly.
"Whom shall I say is calling, sir?"
The ice in his voice shattered into a demanding rage. "Ahora! Put your Master on this infernal device or I will personally tear you in half!"
"Please hold." Unphased by the rude caller Sylvia casually pushed a button on her phone and then resumed typing.
Cassandra could feel the soft velvet cushions under her before she opened her eyes and took in the room around her. Red, Green and Gold. Everything in the room save her blue silk blouse and slacks. She was lying on a chez lounge near a fireplace, her shoulder was immobilized and actually quite comfortable, considering it had been recently dislocated and fixed in a matter of five minutes. She became suddenly aware of the moon shining in trough the window across from her. she slowly lifted herself to her feet and walked over toward the window. As she reached out and pushed aside the thin curtain the moon suddenly went dark, as did the room. A kind of tangible darkness, terrifying and choking, as if all air and light were being drawn from the world. Cassandra stifled her first instincts and clutched the heavy draperies around her in a manner that would hide her if something could see through the unnatural darkness. It was then that she heard the clash of steel from behind her, somewhere far through the darkness, and yet closer. Then as suddenly as it appeared, the darkness lifted.
Trent, wielding the sword from above his fireplace, was locked in a duel with a man in a burgundy and black suit, wielding a heavy rapier, similarly ornate and ancient to Trent's sword. They danced around each other and both parried every blow sent their way, each somehow faster than the other until the blows were moving almost faster then it appeared the swords could possibly move and their clashing sounded almost like a constant ringing. The door to the hallway burst open and another man entered and fired his gun at the dueling men. The newcomer missed with both shots and the man in the burgundy and black suit reached up with his left hand and a tentacle of coalesced darkness whipped across the room out of his hand and wrapped itself around the shooter's head, twisting it violently before throwing the dead man at Trent.
The shadow wielder laughed a cold, mirthless laugh, and turned his attention onto Cassandra, slowly advancing on her as Trent was pinned under his dead would-be rescuer.
"Muchas gracias. You have done all of the work for me, Pig-dog. Now I will have her for my own!" the shadow wielder was suddenly right in front of Cassandra. He grabbed her and said,"hold onto me if you want to survive this." The world of light then vanished and all that was left were dark tunnels of shadow, which he started dragging her through. The last sound she heard as she was pulled into the darkness was Trent calling out her name in desperate horror.
When light and air returned, Cassandra found herself being thrown into the back of a limo. The interior was burgundy and black velvet and the windows were tinted to the point that they didn't let any light through at all. Her captor then climbed into the vehicle and sat across from her with his back to the driver.
"You are injured!?" he asked, incredulous. Cassandra stared at him, taking in his once ruggedly handsome face, scarred from war, sunken and lifeless, no joy had crossed this face in a very long time.
"You do not speak? Habla Espanol? No? Parle vou francois? Sprakkenziduech?" He sighed heavily and sat for a moment in silence. "Perhaps an introduction is in order, I know who you are, but you could not possibly know who I am.
I was Don Antonio de Zuniga, Lord Captain of foot under King Phillip of Espania," he bowed as graciously as anyone can while sitting, "I am now simply Antonio de Zuniga, Ruler of this city. I control the police, the fire departments, most of the shipping, and the Mayor is my slave. You can not run from me. You cannot hide from me. And you will not disobey me. You were a fool to mistrust Trent...although you both fell into my trap as I knew you would, and for this I owe you my thanks. I had wondered if that perro would actually bring you to me, but when he did not last night I knew that he would try to turn you himself and I wanted nothing of that." He stopped and looked at her for a moment, she felt as though he was looking right into her soul and found his joyless, darkened eyes terrifying. "You are, of course, Cassandra Elizabeth Steenwell. Daughter of Walther and Muriel Steenwell. Valedictorian of your high school class, Salutatorian at Cornell for your bachelorette in European History, and as I understand you are taking a year off before you return to your education to seek out your doctorate in "Supersticious Lore of Europe and the world" I believe you wrote on your application." He paused for a moment to relish the discomfort clearly registering on Cassandra's face. "I did forget also, you are the youngest descendant of Captain Sir Trent of Avon, one of the most decorated naval captains in all of England's history, for bravery at the battle of Cadiz, for slaughtering Spanish and Italians with wanton fury, and for securing the trade routes across the Atlantic to New Amsterdam and Boston during this time that these colonies were still in their infancy. I have hated him from the day I first saw his face almost four hundred years ago."
Cassandra sat in stunned silence as she took all of this in. More than once she opened her mouth to speak and found that there were no words. She just sat there, clutching her bag to her chest and wondering if she was going to die. Antonio was deathly still, his only movement countering the gentle movement of the limosine as it meandered across the city. Finally she was able to speak.
"So you are going to kill me?" It was less a question and more a statement.
"I suppose technically. Si."
"Why? What have I done to deserve death?"
"Have you not wondered what happened to your professor after you showed him your first draft of your thesis? Or the other publishers you sent manuscripts to?" He was clearly amused by her discomfort. "Your work is muy bueno. You have no idea how close you have come, on several occasions, to exposing us to the mortal world." Her complection lost all color as she realized what he was saying. "All of your research. All of your weeks in tiny mountain villages collecting lore. Trenchfoot in Moldova. Your fever in northern Italia." He paused for a moment. "You have been followed the entire time. Every step. Every flight. Every moment."
"So...you are telling me...You...and Trent...you're," She trailed off, unable to voice the word.
"Blood drinkers? Monsters of the night? Vampyr?"
Her face became, if possible, paler as she spoke, "so you are going to kill me now and hide my work. You are going to continue pulling the wool over the eyes of the world. Continue slaughtering innocent people to serve whatever twisted games you play. And all of that time that you were trailing me will be for naught."
"Did I say that I was following you? No I meant to say that you were being watched. One of my trusted associates was with you."
Now she was becoming angry and color started returning to her face. "You're mad! No one was with me that would associate with you! In fact the only person with me the whole time was..."
The car came to a stop and the door opened, Steven, dressed in a black suit with a black shirt and tie and a red carnation in his lapel, offered his hand to her. She leapt from the car and threw her arms around him, only this time he did not react. Then it all came crashing down. She took a few steps back from him, stammering her words, "You...you lied to me. You said you loved me and you wouldn't let anything happen to me. You said that you'd publish my paper. I trusted you!" She then began crying hysterically and crumpled to the ground.
What happened next can only be described as an explosion of movement. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, three people appeared including Trent. Blades flashed and guns roared as a fourth, this one hideously ugly, scooped Cassandra and her bag up and dove for the shadows. All he said was 'keep quiet and you'll live' and that's all he had to say. Cassandra knew now that the time and effort she had spent over the past few years was not in vain. She knew now that vampires were real. She knew now that no one would ever believe her. She was alone. A mortal with knowledge more dangerous than a nuclear warhead.
-End Part 1: The Chase-
-stay tuned for Part 2: Out of The Dark-
She ran. She had been running for what felt like days through the strangely empty canyons made by the glass and steel towers around her. Still he kept up with her. The pain in her side and lungs was unbearable, but still she ran, her heart practically beating out of her chest.
“You can not outrun me you know, Cassandra,” he called, his smooth voice echoing in her head, “I will always find you.”
She didn’t dare answer him, for it was difficult enough to keep her breath running so hard. Then she heard it, the welcoming sound of traffic. She turned the corner and ran toward a convenience store on the next corner that was open.
“You look worn out, Miss, like you been running all night,” the clerk said as Cassandra entered the store. After catching her breath she asked if she could use the phone. The clerk, seeing that she was clearly distressed let her without question.
“Mitchell residence…can I help you…?” asked a sleepy voice on the other end of the phone.
“It’s Cassie. I didn’t know who else to call. There is someone chasing me and I need somewhere to go. Please Steven, I need your help.”
“Whoa there, slow down, Cass. Who’s chasing you? And where the hell are you?”
“I’m in a deli on the corner of South and Main. I know that your condo is near here, I really want to get off the street. I think I might be in danger.”
“Alright, stay there. I’ll be there in about ten minutes. If I’m not there by quarter after don’t panic, they were doing some work on the elevator in my building and I’m not sure if they finished after I got in yesterday afternoon…see you in a few”
“Ok I’ll wait here. Thanks Steve,” she said as she hung up the receiver. Cassandra checked her watch. 3:50 a.m. She had been running for at least 2 hours. How had she been running for so long and not run into anyone…? Not one lighted window. Or one open store… How had she come so far without encountering anyone?
“Do not worry, Highness. My men will have her by this evening and they will bring her straight to you,” the man said, his voice smooth as silk.
“You had better deliver her in person, alive, and unharmed, as soon as the sun sets, Trent. Unless you’d like to witness sunrise again,” The prince finished, in his thick Spanish accent. Trent had no love for the new prince of the city. He had worked to hard for this upstart braggart to come in and ruin his plans.
Steven was a man in his early thirties, tall, tan, good looking, and independently wealthy due to a huge inheritance from his mother’s parents. He entered the store with the aire of royalty.
“Good morning, Miss Steenwell. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” Steven said, the sleepiness that had been in his voice over the phone gone. Cassandra didn’t say anything, she just threw her arms around him and held him as if she would fall off the earth if she let go.
“What is it, Cass? What’s wrong?”
“I told you on the phone. Someone is after me.”
“Come on, let’s go to my condo. We’ll talk about it there.” With that said, they walked back up the street and into the building where Steven’s condo was.
Once inside the richly furnished, up-town home Cassandra told Steven of the man that had been chasing her earlier that evening.
“…and that’s when I found the convenience store and called you,” she finished.
“That’s quite an interesting story, a mysterious invitation to an otherwise deserted restaurant from an unknown man claiming to be…what was it?”
“An admirer interested in my work,” she said.
“So, does this admirer have a name or did he just get right down to chasing you through abandoned city streets?”
“He told me his name was Captain Sir Trent of Avon, of her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He certainly looked the part, with his very British, almost Victorian, suit and bowler hat, but something in my gut told me not to trust him and, as I said before, I sipped at a glass of club soda for about half an hour while he went on about how I ‘truly captured my subject’ and ‘never before had he read such inspiring work.’ I was unimpressed, not only because I thought all he wanted was to get me in bed, but because if my work is really that ‘inspiring’ why can’t I get it published.”
“I told you if you wanted it published I’d publish it, Cass. I think it’s good, just because some stuffed shirts don’t, doesn’t mean anything.”
“That’s not the point, Steve. I think that he realized that I thought he was full of shit, because all of a sudden it was like he changed completely, he told me that I should come with him to meet ‘someone important.’ That’s when I told him that I’d had enough club soda and thanked him for a lovely evening, but that I had to go. I got up to leave and he told me that I had to come with him. I told him to get lost and went to leave and…” she stopped then, looking off into space as if suddenly caught in a daydream.
“…And?” Steven pressed.
“Sorry,” she replied, snapping back into focus, “Trent, or whatever his name really was, tried to get me to go meet whoever it is that he wanted me to meet. I told him that I really had to go and I threw on my coat and ran for it.”
“And he ran after you?”
“More then that, he seemed…too fast. He kept getting ahead of me, chasing me back the way I’d come, back and forth. I thought that I was going to pass out I was running so hard. And then…I got away.”
“Wait? He was faster than you before and you got away?” Steven said, skeptically.
“Yeah I…well…I…I guess he let me go,” Cassandra realized.
Trent sat uncomfortably in the back of his car thinking of the events of the night. Why did I let her go? I could have easily caught her. Am I getting soft in my old age? I am just over five hundred… Perhaps I just felt a little sorry for her. She is the youngest member of my family. Yet I believe that she will come around. I think I will extend her another invitation…one that I know she will not refuse. He smiled to himself confidently and shifted to a comfortable position.
“Aaron. I have changed my mind. I would like to make one more stop before we go back home,” he smiled to his driver, “Take me to this address.” He handed a slip of paper to his driver.
“Sir, I’m not sure that we can get there and back before sunrise,” the driver told him.
“Nonsense. My business there will not take very long, and we still have almost three hours until sunrise,” Trent scoffed, “Besides, even if we do not make it back before first light, I have my shades here in the back, and you have nothing to fear from the sunlight.”
“Yes, Sir,” the driver complied, knowing that further argument could demote him severely.
The Limousine pulled smoothly into the driveway of 28 Harrington Avenue. The mailbox read ‘Steenwell.’ Trent got out of the car and approached the front door, as he did so a dog could be heard barking inside, and a light went on in one of the upstairs windows. A middle-aged man answered the door in his pajamas, a bathrobe wrapped around him and slippers on his feet. “Can I help you?” he asked in a slightly annoyed, slightly sleepy voice.
“Actually I believe you can,” Trent began, “Are you Walther Steenwell?”
“Yes,” the man replied.
“Do you have a daughter? Cassandra?”
“Yes. Is something wrong?” Walther begged, “Is she in trouble?”
“No, no. Calm down,” Trent commanded, “I was just wondering if I could have a word with her.”
“She’s not here, she took a bus into the city last night and said that she might stay at a friend’s house if her meeting went too late.”
“Actually that is why I have come. You see, she left our meeting rather abruptly, and I was wondering if I could have another meeting with her tonight at my firm,” Trent said, producing a business card from his coat pocket, “You see, I am very interested in publishing her work. It is, I believe, truly forward thinking and may even win awards, possibly even the Nobel Prize. See that she is at the firm at 7:15 this evening, sharp.”
Walther’s face was alight with pride. He took the card and thanked Trent profusely. Even as the door slammed behind Trent he could hear Walther running up the stairs shouting for his wife to wake.
“You see, Aaron. You made all that fuss for nothing. I told you that I would not be long here,” Trent gloated as he situated himself in the back of the car.
“Sorry Sir, just trying to be helpful is all,” the driver responded.
“Yes well…take me to the Firm. I will spend the day there so that I may be able to expedite getting Miss Steenwell to his highness.”
“After the way he treated you, you are really going to give her to him?”
“No. I’m going to present her and the writ that his predecessor gave me allowing for me to take her as my newest progeny. She looks so much like my own daughter and I would never allow his Highness to have her.” He seemed to spit the word ‘highness’ with the utmost distaste. The rest of the ride was quiet, the only sounds those of the road and of the Vivaldi playing softly from the stereo.
Cassandra spent what remained of the night and the next morning at Steven’s condo sleeping on the pullout sofa. Her sleep, though, was restless and she was plagued by dreams of being chased through deserted streets. When she resolved herself to being awake it was 10:15, Steven was already awake and in the kitchen preparing, what smelled to be, French toast and bacon. Cassandra sleepily dragged herself into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Cass,” Steven greeted as she entered, “Coffee?”
“Yes please,” She replied.
“I thought I’d take the liberty of making you breakfast. I’ve always found that a good breakfast can help cleanse the mind. Especially when I haven’t slept well.”
“I slept fine.”
“So then your screaming was just for fun then?”
“ I was screaming?” She asked. Steven nodded. “It’s alright. I have had nightmares before that I screamed so much I was completely hoarse for a whole day. Tell me what you dreamt.”
“Well, I was running. I’m not sure where I was, just blank city streets, but I was running from someone…at first I thought it was Trent, but when I saw his face it was my father.”
Steven looked at her skeptically. “Your father was chasing you through abandoned city streets?”
“Yeah…I guess so,” she replied as she slowly sipped at her coffee.
It was then that her cell phone rang. It played a MIDI version of Mozart’s Symphony no. 40. Cassandra answered it quickly and was greeted by her father’s voice.
“Cassie?”
“Hi, Daddy,” she replied.
“I had a visit this morning from someone interested in publishing your work. He seemed very excited; said you’d win a Nobel Prize! He wanted you to meet him at his publishing firm at 7:00 this evening”
“Did he say what firm? Or for that matter who he was?”
“He gave me his card, hold on a second,” Cassandra could hear her father rummaging through his pockets, “It says here that it’s Avon and Trent Publishing at 623 East Avenue, in the city,” he trailed off, “Where are you?”
“I’m…at a friend’s house in the city,” She replied nervously.
“A friend, eh? You better not be at that rich brat, Steven’s house again.”
“So what if I am!?”
“I told you not to consort with him. He and his entire family are nothing but euro-trash, and should be sent back to the dumpsters that they crawled out of!”
“Steven is not euro-trash! Just because his mother happens to be the daughter of a Duke and Duchess doesn’t make him euro-trash. They were from the same part of England that your family is from, so if he’s trash then you are too!” With that she angrily punched the end button on her cell phone.
“I see that Walther is still upset that my family was better off then his,” Steven said smugly.
“I don’t need it from you too! You know you’re not better than anyone else just because you got money when your grandparents died!” Cassandra snapped, viciously.
“I’m sorry Cass, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“It’s ok,” Cassandra took a deep breath, “Apparently there is a publisher over on the east side that wants to publish my work. Avon and Trent, I think my dad said, right before he reverted to a six year old.”
“Sounds like you’ve finally gotten what you want. And I didn’t even have to do it for you,” Steven smiled, jokingly, “Did he say what the address is?”
“Yeah, but I don’t remember the numbers, it’s on East Ave though.
“When do you have to be there? I’ll drive you over if you’d like.”
“7:00 tonight…I didn’t think that publishing firms were open that late.”
“Maybe that’s the end of the day and whoever it is that’s interested figures that he won’t need a long meeting to convince you to let him print it,” Steven jested.
“I guess…at least I have my manuscript with me from my meeting with that lunatic last night.” She glanced into the living room where her attaché was sitting, her manuscript poking out the top.
Cassandra and Steven had a leisurely day. The sun was shining brightly, the birds calling to one another in the park. The river sparkling blue in the breeze. They had lunch at a little café overlooking the bay and laughed about their shared childhood and sneaking around under their respective parent’s noses. As the sun set over the water Steven suggested that they get a quick bite to eat before heading to the East Side of the city to find the printing firm.
“Mexican or Indian?” He was saying.
“I thought you said a quick bite! You know that we take two hours, at least, to go out for Indian.”
“Mexican it is,” He smiled, a gentle, if not mocking smile. She shoved him a little and he pulled her to him, cradling her under his arm.
“Sunset already, Aaron?” Trent asked as Aaron opened the door to the bedchambers of his master.
“Yes, mi’lord. 6:41 on the spot.”
“Bring me some breakfast, won’t you,” he said, yawning.
“Right away, sir. At once, Sir.” Aaron scurried out of the room and down the hall to where Trent’s breakfast was waiting, to fetch her for him.
“6:57. See I told you we’d find it in time, Cass.”
“I was hoping to have a second or two before I had to go in and meet this guy.”
“You do! You have about 140 seconds,” Steven mocked. Cassandra stuck her tongue out at him and made a sound. “Is my hair ok?” she said, frantically pulling down the sun visor to look at her reflection.
“You look fine, Cass. Now go in there and knock ‘em dead!” He smiled broadly. “You want me to wait for you or should I go home and have you call me when you’re done?”
“Would you mind waiting?”
“Not at all.” With that said she leaped from the car and dashed into the building. Steven picked up the receiver of his car phone and dialed seven digits.
“Avon and Trent Publications, this is Sylvia. How may I direct your call?”
“This is Mr. Brekenridge.”
“Hold one moment, sir.” The receptionist spluttered as she hit the button to transfer the call. It rang only once and a smooth English accent greeted Steven as it was answered.
“Sir Trent of Avon speaking.”
“She’s here do you want me to stay?” Steven asked, his tone icy.
“No. Go home. I’ll let you know when you are needed again Steven.”
“Have a good night, my lord,” Steven said as he started his car and hung up the phone. He had only gotten a block when his phone rang.
“Steven Brekenridge.”
“Where is she?” A thickly accented voice demanded.
“She is with that cur, Trent. Just where you wanted her to be, Your Highness.”
Cassandra walked through the doors of Avon and Trent Publications with more than a little trepidation. The lobby was sterile, to say the least, a huge concrete room that echoed with each step she took toward a desk with a woman in her mid to late forties sitting behind it typing nonstop on a computer.
“Hello,” She began, trembling slightly due to the cold sterility of the room.
“Good evening,” The receptionist said looking up and stopping the only sound in the room by ceasing her relentless typing, “Cassandra Steenwell?”
“Yes, I am she.”
“Second door on the right and up the stairs. The editor’s office is at the end of the hall.” And with that she returned to typing on her computer as though Cassandra had never disturbed her.
The walls of the hallway were white pained cinderblock, like a hospital or school. The first door on the right in the short corridor had a plaque that read "Red Volge," Cassandra recognized it as an edgy, politically charged magazine with heavy socialist views. She thought it odd that a publishing company that would print that would also print her work. As she reached the top of the stairs, she met what could only be described as a completely different building. The floor of the open vestibule was clearly hand hewn solid oak parquet tiles, with an authentic Persian rug over the center of the rectangular space. The wood paneled walls glimmered with just the right amount of polish and shine, the vaulted cathedral ceiling was adorned with a star map showing the southern summer sky as seen from Avon, England. There were antique couches and high-backed chairs along the wall. As she took in the room the light flickered for a moment. It was then that she realized that the entire room was lit with gas lights. She couldn't help but take her time feasting her eyes on the room as she walked across the thick red, green and gold carpet showing a heraldic coat of arms. Eventually she made her way to the other end of the room where she was met by an arched, guilt and carved, oak double door with a plaque next to it that read, "Editor in Chief."
Cassandra took a few deep breaths to steady herself before pressing the thumb-latch on the door and pulling it open, she found it odd that she had to pull the door to open it. As the office came into view she was again amazed by the lavishness of this publishing company's offices. The walls, where they weren't covered in shelves of antique books, had odd trinkets and knickknacks from around the world, a Chinese dragon statue, a Japanese rice paper painting, some sort of tribal mask from Africa, a Native-American feathered headdress, and above the stone fireplace hung a sword. Ancient, ornate, beautiful, and deadly. The fuller ran the length of the silvered, steel blade save the hilt, where there were words written in what appeared to be Latin, but were in an archaic form of the alphabet, in gold. The quillion were wide and flat, slightly curved, and had clearly caught many blades in their lifetime, they too were covered in the same archaic Latin. The grip of the sword was clearly the newest part, recently wrapped with black leather and held in place with silver wire. The pommel of the sword was in the shape of a lion's head with it's mouth open, emeralds for eyes and Ivory for teeth, every detail was taken in. This was clearly a masterpiece work and would be easily worth millions to the right collector. She sat on the carved wooden chair in front of the desk expecting it to be uncomfortable because it had no cushion, but was pleasantly surprised that it seemed to be carved to fit her and was actually quite comfortable. The other, smaller door in the room opened to reveal Captain Sir Trent of Avon.
Cassandra leapt to her feet and to the double doors in a flash, where she slammed into the heavy doors and crumpled to the ground as if she had thrown herself at a brick wall.
"Are you really going to run again, Cassandra?" Trent's cool voice slid into the air around her. She was fairly sure that she had dislocated or broken her shoulder, because the pain from it was blinding, but she didn't care. Cassandra knew that she had to get out of this room and away from this man as fast as she could, her only chance was the smaller door, left open wide by the man now holding her captive. She stood to run through the door, but as she did so, she jolted her shoulder, sending a fresh wave of crippling pain racing through her body and she began to fall again, only this time Captain Sir Trent of Avon, moving much faster then any man should be able to, moved from behind his desk to her side and caught her. He set Cassandra in the wooden chair that she had sat in to wait for him, her head spinning from the pain of her injured shoulder. He then put his hands on her shoulder, slowly, delicately, he moved his hands until they were wrapped in a slightly awkward position around her shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Cassandra begged as he shifted her slightly in the chair.
"This is going to hurt...a tremendous amount, bite this," he said as he handed her a leather strap, she didn't care where he had gotten it from, the pain was such that crushing something in her teeth might actually make her feel better. She bit into the leather and he shifted his hands and her shoulder and there was an audible crunch. Cassandra screamed in agony and passed out from the pain.
“Avon and Trent Publications, this is Sylvia. How may I direct your call?”
"Captain Sir Trent of Avon por favor," a heavily accented voice demanded coldly.
"Whom shall I say is calling, sir?"
The ice in his voice shattered into a demanding rage. "Ahora! Put your Master on this infernal device or I will personally tear you in half!"
"Please hold." Unphased by the rude caller Sylvia casually pushed a button on her phone and then resumed typing.
Cassandra could feel the soft velvet cushions under her before she opened her eyes and took in the room around her. Red, Green and Gold. Everything in the room save her blue silk blouse and slacks. She was lying on a chez lounge near a fireplace, her shoulder was immobilized and actually quite comfortable, considering it had been recently dislocated and fixed in a matter of five minutes. She became suddenly aware of the moon shining in trough the window across from her. she slowly lifted herself to her feet and walked over toward the window. As she reached out and pushed aside the thin curtain the moon suddenly went dark, as did the room. A kind of tangible darkness, terrifying and choking, as if all air and light were being drawn from the world. Cassandra stifled her first instincts and clutched the heavy draperies around her in a manner that would hide her if something could see through the unnatural darkness. It was then that she heard the clash of steel from behind her, somewhere far through the darkness, and yet closer. Then as suddenly as it appeared, the darkness lifted.
Trent, wielding the sword from above his fireplace, was locked in a duel with a man in a burgundy and black suit, wielding a heavy rapier, similarly ornate and ancient to Trent's sword. They danced around each other and both parried every blow sent their way, each somehow faster than the other until the blows were moving almost faster then it appeared the swords could possibly move and their clashing sounded almost like a constant ringing. The door to the hallway burst open and another man entered and fired his gun at the dueling men. The newcomer missed with both shots and the man in the burgundy and black suit reached up with his left hand and a tentacle of coalesced darkness whipped across the room out of his hand and wrapped itself around the shooter's head, twisting it violently before throwing the dead man at Trent.
The shadow wielder laughed a cold, mirthless laugh, and turned his attention onto Cassandra, slowly advancing on her as Trent was pinned under his dead would-be rescuer.
"Muchas gracias. You have done all of the work for me, Pig-dog. Now I will have her for my own!" the shadow wielder was suddenly right in front of Cassandra. He grabbed her and said,"hold onto me if you want to survive this." The world of light then vanished and all that was left were dark tunnels of shadow, which he started dragging her through. The last sound she heard as she was pulled into the darkness was Trent calling out her name in desperate horror.
When light and air returned, Cassandra found herself being thrown into the back of a limo. The interior was burgundy and black velvet and the windows were tinted to the point that they didn't let any light through at all. Her captor then climbed into the vehicle and sat across from her with his back to the driver.
"You are injured!?" he asked, incredulous. Cassandra stared at him, taking in his once ruggedly handsome face, scarred from war, sunken and lifeless, no joy had crossed this face in a very long time.
"You do not speak? Habla Espanol? No? Parle vou francois? Sprakkenziduech?" He sighed heavily and sat for a moment in silence. "Perhaps an introduction is in order, I know who you are, but you could not possibly know who I am.
I was Don Antonio de Zuniga, Lord Captain of foot under King Phillip of Espania," he bowed as graciously as anyone can while sitting, "I am now simply Antonio de Zuniga, Ruler of this city. I control the police, the fire departments, most of the shipping, and the Mayor is my slave. You can not run from me. You cannot hide from me. And you will not disobey me. You were a fool to mistrust Trent...although you both fell into my trap as I knew you would, and for this I owe you my thanks. I had wondered if that perro would actually bring you to me, but when he did not last night I knew that he would try to turn you himself and I wanted nothing of that." He stopped and looked at her for a moment, she felt as though he was looking right into her soul and found his joyless, darkened eyes terrifying. "You are, of course, Cassandra Elizabeth Steenwell. Daughter of Walther and Muriel Steenwell. Valedictorian of your high school class, Salutatorian at Cornell for your bachelorette in European History, and as I understand you are taking a year off before you return to your education to seek out your doctorate in "Supersticious Lore of Europe and the world" I believe you wrote on your application." He paused for a moment to relish the discomfort clearly registering on Cassandra's face. "I did forget also, you are the youngest descendant of Captain Sir Trent of Avon, one of the most decorated naval captains in all of England's history, for bravery at the battle of Cadiz, for slaughtering Spanish and Italians with wanton fury, and for securing the trade routes across the Atlantic to New Amsterdam and Boston during this time that these colonies were still in their infancy. I have hated him from the day I first saw his face almost four hundred years ago."
Cassandra sat in stunned silence as she took all of this in. More than once she opened her mouth to speak and found that there were no words. She just sat there, clutching her bag to her chest and wondering if she was going to die. Antonio was deathly still, his only movement countering the gentle movement of the limosine as it meandered across the city. Finally she was able to speak.
"So you are going to kill me?" It was less a question and more a statement.
"I suppose technically. Si."
"Why? What have I done to deserve death?"
"Have you not wondered what happened to your professor after you showed him your first draft of your thesis? Or the other publishers you sent manuscripts to?" He was clearly amused by her discomfort. "Your work is muy bueno. You have no idea how close you have come, on several occasions, to exposing us to the mortal world." Her complection lost all color as she realized what he was saying. "All of your research. All of your weeks in tiny mountain villages collecting lore. Trenchfoot in Moldova. Your fever in northern Italia." He paused for a moment. "You have been followed the entire time. Every step. Every flight. Every moment."
"So...you are telling me...You...and Trent...you're," She trailed off, unable to voice the word.
"Blood drinkers? Monsters of the night? Vampyr?"
Her face became, if possible, paler as she spoke, "so you are going to kill me now and hide my work. You are going to continue pulling the wool over the eyes of the world. Continue slaughtering innocent people to serve whatever twisted games you play. And all of that time that you were trailing me will be for naught."
"Did I say that I was following you? No I meant to say that you were being watched. One of my trusted associates was with you."
Now she was becoming angry and color started returning to her face. "You're mad! No one was with me that would associate with you! In fact the only person with me the whole time was..."
The car came to a stop and the door opened, Steven, dressed in a black suit with a black shirt and tie and a red carnation in his lapel, offered his hand to her. She leapt from the car and threw her arms around him, only this time he did not react. Then it all came crashing down. She took a few steps back from him, stammering her words, "You...you lied to me. You said you loved me and you wouldn't let anything happen to me. You said that you'd publish my paper. I trusted you!" She then began crying hysterically and crumpled to the ground.
What happened next can only be described as an explosion of movement. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, three people appeared including Trent. Blades flashed and guns roared as a fourth, this one hideously ugly, scooped Cassandra and her bag up and dove for the shadows. All he said was 'keep quiet and you'll live' and that's all he had to say. Cassandra knew now that the time and effort she had spent over the past few years was not in vain. She knew now that vampires were real. She knew now that no one would ever believe her. She was alone. A mortal with knowledge more dangerous than a nuclear warhead.
-End Part 1: The Chase-
-stay tuned for Part 2: Out of The Dark-