“Do not fear me.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m startled.” She wiped her hand over her face and sighed. “Sorry to disappoint. Any other day of the week, and I probably would’ve been more impressed.”

The voice laughed again. Or rather, the corpse laughed. “I do think I like you very much, little beauty.”

Standing against the wall was an ornate coffin. Made of glass and black-varnished wood, it was covered in silver detailing in complex patterns. The lid was removed, leaving its contents on full display.

The body of a man, dried and mummified like it hadn’t rotted but that all moisture had fled, was chained inside the coffin. Tarnished silver links, etched with writing that she didn’t recognize, pinned him there.

The chains ran through holes in the sides of the coffin, wrapping around the back before crossing over his chest once more. And holding them all together was a sword. The blade had been slid through the links, pinning them together, the pommel and the cross-guard hovering over where his heart was. Or should be. She wasn’t sure.

His hands, shriveled to nothing more than claws, with long, pointed nails, were crossed over his chest in the repose of the dead. He wore tattered, yellowed clothing that had once been rich colors of blue and purple but were now faded and eaten by moths. Long, straight, black hair hung down along sunken features. His eyes were closed, and his lower jaw dangled loosely by one joint by his neck.

She couldn’t help but stare. His skin was pale, almost ashen white. But that wasn’t why. It was the teeth she could see, protruding from his upper jaw, through the torn remnants of what had been his lips.

Fangs.

The thing had fangs.

“If your name is Dracula, I’m turning around right the fuck now.” She pointed at the door behind her.

The creature laughed. Once more psychically talking to her without needing to move a jaw that clearly didn’t work anymore. And he laughed hard. It was an honest, mirthful sound. It lacked any of the malice or inherent evil she’d have expected from something that looked like him.

“No, no,” he said as his laughter trailed off. There was real amusement in his voice. And perhaps a little affection. Weird. “I am not he. But your eyes do not deceive you, and neither shall I. I am a vampire, little beauty. One of great power.”

“And you want me to free you, I take it?” She pointed at the sword that was holding the silver chains together.

“Yes, indeed.”

Maggie sighed. “Look. Let me level with you, all right? I’m having a shit day. I’m having a shit week. Hell, it seems I’ve only been having a shit life since all this stupidity started. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place—or rather, a necromancer and a bunch of zealot priests. I think both parties mean well, but I don’t know who to trust. I just found my dad—as a goddamn gold-plated skeleton—and I had to—I had to—” She broke off, unable to get the sight of his golden skull turning to dust beneath the hammer she had wielded.

“You showed him great mercy. You showed him love. His suffering was beyond reckoning, little beauty…do not weep for him. Weep for your loss and your own tragedy. If I still had eyes, I think I would join you.” His closed eyes opened then, revealing empty sockets behind them.

Maggie repressed a shudder and folded her arms over her chest again. “What’s your name?”

“Radu.”

“Just Radu?”

“I was disowned.”

She huffed a laugh. “Marguerite. I go by Maggie.”

“Just Maggie?” The playful lilt to his voice had returned.

“I don’t remember my past, and the skeleton said he didn’t remember who he was.”

“He did once. I have been here nigh half a millennia, my little beautiful Maggie. I heard him screaming for so many years before he went silent as so many here have done. He was King Henri of Valois. That would make you…Marguerite Valard, since it seems your parentage was not by law.”

“You heard, huh?” She glanced away, not liking how much the vampiric corpse knew about her.

“I hear all that transpires within these walls.”

Marguerite Valard. She had a last name. Finally, she knew who she was. Now she just had to figure out what she was and why she was like this. But there was no reason to be rude. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You are quite welcome.”

“I’m still not sure I’m going to let you go, though.”

Tags: Kathryn Ann Kingsley Memento Mori Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net