Page 32 of Nocturne
31
LENA
P ain pulls me back to consciousness—dull, throbbing pain that radiates from my shoulders down through my limbs. I try to move, only to discover my wrists are secured above my head, metal cuffs digging into my skin.
My eyes flutter open to darkness, then gradually adjust to the dim light. I’m hanging from chains in what appears to be a warehouse—different from the one I’d visited with Callahan, larger and older, with high ceilings lost in shadows. The floor beneath me is concrete, stained dark with substances I don’t want to identify, and I’m suspended just high enough that my toes barely brush the surface.
Around me, dozens of candles flicker in a perfect circle, their flames casting eerie, dancing shadows across the walls. The air is thick with incense—something reverent that burns my nostrils and makes my head swim.
“She’s awake,” a woman’s voice says from somewhere beyond the circle of light.
I squint into the darkness, trying to locate the speaker. Three figures emerge from the shadows, each draped in flowing red robes with deep hoods. Their faces are obscured by ornate masks—a silver wolf, a golden sun, and a bone-white skull.
The skull mask steps forward, tilting its head as it studies me. Even without seeing the face behind it, I know immediately who it is.
“Lovely to finally meet your acquaintance, Ms. Reid,” Dmitri Ivanov says, his voice smooth and cultured despite the macabre disguise. “Not so sure you can say the same.”
I test my restraints, vampire strength surging through my muscles. The chains tighten but don’t break.
“Those are reinforced with blue silver from the Nordlinger RiesCrater,” Dmitri explains, circling me slowly. “Ancient metallurgy passed down through generations of our kind. Quite effective for containing even the strongest of us.”
“What do you want?” I demand, forcing strength into my voice despite the growing dread in my stomach.
The sun mask—Katya, I assume from her slender build—laughs, the sound echoing unnaturally in the cavernous space. “Isn’t it obvious? We want your blood.”
“AB negative,” Dmitri continues, completing the circle around me. “The rarest of human blood types, rarer still in a vampire. The final key to open the gateway to the Red Realm.”
The wolf mask—silent until now—steps forward, carrying a wooden box inlaid with silver. The figure is larger than the others, broad-shouldered and heavy-set.
“Dr. Goldman will be preparing you for the ritual,” Dmitri says, gesturing toward the wolf mask. “He’s quite skilled with the blade. A surgeon in his human life, before he joined our family. His scientific mind has been invaluable in perfecting our methods.”
Dr. Goldman sets the box on a small table that I hadn’t noticed before, just at the edge of the candlelight. He opens it with deliberate precision, removing objects one by one and arranging them in a neat row. The metallic gleam of surgical tools catches the candlelight, sending a chill through me.
“You’re insane,” I say, glaring at Dmitri. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it won’t work. Abe and the others will find me.”
“Dr. Van Helsing and Count Aminoff?” Dmitri chuckles, the sound hollow behind his skull mask. “I’m counting on it. By sunset, they’ll be here—too late to save you, but just in time to witness the opening of the gateway.”
“And what happens then?” I ask, trying to buy time, to gather information, anything that might help me survive this nightmare.
Dmitri spreads his arms wide, his red robe billowing around him like wings. “Then we return to the realm where our kind first walked. Where we need not hide, need not pretend to be less than we are.” He steps closer, the skull mask inches from my face. “This world is dying, Ms. Reid. Surely you’ve seen it. Humans destroying themselves with ever more ingenious methods. The war was just the beginning. The bombs they dropped on Japan? Child’s play compared to what’s coming.”
“So you’re leaving? Good riddance.”
He reaches up, hand striking faster than even my vampire senses can track, fingers closing around my throat. “Your insolence does you no credit,” he hisses. “You should be honored. Your sacrifice will save our species from extinction.”
“You keep saying ‘our species’ like we’re the same,” I manage through his grip. “We’re nothing alike.”
He releases me with a dismissive gesture. “All vampires are of one blood, regardless of which branches we claim. Even your precious Victor carries the same heritage in his veins.”
At the mention of Callahan, rage bubbles up inside me. “You manipulated him. Used him. Your own son.”
“I gave him life,” Dmitri corrects. “And I gave him purpose. More than the humans ever could with their petty morality and fleeting concerns.” He turns to Dr. Goldman. “Begin the preparations. We have limited time before sunset.”
Goldman nods silently, lifting the first item from his array of tools—a knife with a curved blade that glows with an unnatural blue light. The blade of mordernes, stolen from witches in the Old World. I have to wonder if it’s made from the same blue silver as the cuffs.
Katya moves to a phonograph I hadn’t noticed in the corner, setting a record on the turntable. Classical music fills the warehouse—Wagner, I think. My father listened to classical a lot. The bombastic orchestral piece forms a surreal backdrop to the horror unfolding before me.
“The ritual requires preparation,” Dmitri explains conversationally, as if discussing dinner plans rather than my impending mutilation. “The blood must be…activated, we’ve found. Pain is the catalyst. Fear is the accelerant.”
Goldman approaches, blue blade gleaming in his gloved hand. He pauses, waiting for further instruction.
“Begin with the traditional markings,” Dmitri orders. “She should bear the same signs as the others.”
The knife moves toward me with dreadful precision, biting into my flesh with a searing arc. The mordernes slices through my shirt and the skin beneath, leaving a trail of agony and blood in its wake. I swallow down my scream, the sound staying in my throat, choking me.
Goldman works methodically, his hand steady and unhurried. He carves a symbol into my chest—a circle with intricate patterns radiating from its center. The pain is blinding, each cut sending shockwaves through my body, but he continues with merciless efficiency. My blood flows freely now, pooling on the concrete below and staining it a rich crimson.
I gasp for air, struggling to stay conscious as his blade etches more symbols across my arms and stomach. They shimmer an angry red against my pale skin, throbbing in time with the pounding in my head. Goldman’s expression remains hidden behind his mask, but I can feel his focus, his detached concentration as he creates his gruesome masterpiece.
“Remarkable,” Dmitri says, watching intently as he paces just beyond Goldman’s reach. “You truly are one of a kind.”
The words barely penetrate the haze of pain that engulfs me. I try to twist away from the knife, to summon any strength left in me to fight back, but the chains hold firm and my body refuses to obey.
“She’s losing consciousness,” Katya observes coolly from her place by the phonograph, the music still blaring like some macabre opera.
“That will not do,” Dmitri snaps. “Goldman?—”
“I’m aware,” Goldman interrupts calmly, stepping back momentarily to select another tool from his array. A syringe appears in his hand—a monstrous thing with a needle long enough to pierce bone—and he plunges it into my arm without hesitation.
A new fire spreads through me—whatever was in that syringe burns like acid in my veins. It sends a jolt of adrenaline through every nerve ending, forcing clarity back into my mind and amplifying the agony tenfold.
I thrash against my restraints, desperate for escape—or unconsciousness—but there is no reprieve. The ritual markings glow brighter as Goldman resumes his work with the blade.
I grit my teeth against the scream building in my throat, refusing to give them the satisfaction.
“Fascinating,” Dmitri observes from behind his skull mask. “Such control. Elizabeth screamed much earlier in the process. As did Jeanne French and poor Sylvia Winters.”
The names of the dead women hang in the air between us. I think of Elizabeth—vibrant, ambitious Betty—suffering this same fate at their hands. The thought fills me with renewed fury.
“You won’t get away with this,” I spit, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. “People will notice I’m missing. The police?—”
“The police?” Katya laughs again, the sound grating against my nerves. “Half of them are on Cohen’s payroll, and Cohen is on ours. The other half couldn’t find their own shadows at midday. Besides…” She gestures around the warehouse. “No one knows this place exists. It was condemned years ago, scheduled for demolition. The paperwork simply…disappeared.”
Goldman moves to my other side, blue blade ready for his next instructions.
“The sigil of the gateway next,” Dmitri directs. “Where it will be most visible when she’s suspended over the altar.”
Goldman nods, his mask a ghostly white in the flickering light. He grips my shirt, yanking it down my arms and leaving me bare-chested. The sudden exposure sends a fresh wave of humiliation through me, cutting deeper than any knife.
“Perfect,” Dmitri says, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now the real work can begin.”
Goldman’s blade flashes again, this time lower, carving a larger symbol into the flesh of my abdomen, then slashing across my breasts. My blood runs in rivulets down my legs, pooling beneath me like an obscene offering.
“Remove the rest,” Dmitri commands, his voice sharp as the blade that pierces me.
Katya steps forward, her golden mask glinting in the candlelight. She pulls roughly at my remaining clothes until they fall away, leaving me hanging naked and bleeding in front of them.
“The vulnerability suits you,” Katya taunts, stepping back to admire their handiwork. “Perhaps now you’ll start to understand your true place.”
The air is frigid against my skin, sharp with incense and iron. Every inch of me screams in protest—against the pain, against the shame of being so utterly exposed. The ritual markings burn brightly now, pulsing with each heartbeat.
Dmitri surveys me with undisguised pleasure. “You’ve exceeded our expectations,” he says. “Your blood sings with power.” He nods to Goldman. “Finish it.”
The masked surgeon moves behind me, and I brace for another assault from the knife—but it’s his hands that close around my waist this time, lifting me slightly to force my legs further apart. Agony explodes anew as he slashes at the top of my inner thigh, then down in the fleshy parts. The blue glow sears into my vision before fading to red.
I hang limply from the chains, silver burning into my wrists again. Goldman’s clever fingers have made ribbons of my skin; every nerve is on fire.
Dmitri circles me again, admiring Goldman’s handiwork. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “The markings are perfect. Just like the ancient texts described.”
“Why me?” I manage through the haze of pain. “There must be other vampires who…who…”
“Few and far between,” Dmitri says. “And none with your…particular qualities.” He reaches out, running a finger along my cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “You’re special, Ms. Reid. You have spirit. True pure spirit. It’s just as rare as your blood.”
“You were a happy accident,” Katya says. “Best friends with Short, part of Cohen’s crew and we didn’t even know it.”
“Once you were on our radar, we took you to the mansion and my darling Katya tasted your blood type,” Dmitri says, pressing his fingers together. “Everything aligned.”
“Each sacrifice serves a purpose in opening the gateway,” Katya says. “Elizabeth represented the Vessel—the physical anchor. Sylvia Winters was the Eye—enhancing our perception of the veil between worlds. Jeanne French was the Heart—strengthening our connection to the life force itself.”
“And me?”
“You, my dear, are the Gatekeeper.” Dmitri’s voice takes on an almost reverent quality. “The final key that unlocks the door to our old world. Your blood, when spilled at sunset over the sacred altar, will tear open the veil between realms. And because you’re not human, there’s a chance the gate will stay open. We will go in but of course others may find themselves coming out. I did hear that Skarde wanted to take over the world at one point and make humans obsolete. I say, don’t bother. Humans will get rid of themselves in time. But he is a mad king. Perhaps we’ll be rewarded for giving him the opportunity.”
Dr. Goldman returns to his table of horrors, replacing the blue knife and selecting another implement—a small, ornate silver cup with strange symbols etched around its rim.
“We’ll need a sample,” Dmitri explains as Goldman hands the cup to him, “to prepare the altar. Just a taste of what’s to come.”
Goldman then takes the knife and stabs it into my belly button, twisting and twisting, deeper and deeper until I’m vomiting from the pain.
“Finally, she feels something,” Katya says.
But I more than feel something. All I feel is deep-rooted vicious agony that spreads from my belly, causing me to scream so loud the windows rattle. Then I’m left choking on bile, covered in my own sick.
They continue as before. Goldman collects my blood as it flows from my stomach and into the silver cup, while Dmitri continues his monologue, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.
“You know, I’ve watched this world deteriorate for centuries,” he says, pacing the edge of the candlelit circle. “I was there when the French Revolution painted the streets of Paris red with blood. I watched Napoleon’s grand army freeze in the Russian winter. I witnessed the industrial revolution blacken the skies of London, and I stood in the trenches of the Great War as men slaughtered each other by the millions.”
He pauses, turning to face me directly. “And for what? What has humanity accomplished with all its striving? They create machines of ever more efficient destruction. They divide themselves by arbitrary borders and skin colors, finding endless reasons to hate and kill one another.”
“As opposed to vampires?” I challenge, mustering my remaining strength. “You’re torturing me for a blood ritual. Don’t pretend you have the moral high ground.”
“The difference,” Dmitri says, his voice hardening, “is that we acknowledge our nature. We don’t hide behind pretty words like ‘progress’ and ‘civilization’ while committing atrocities. We are predators. We do what predators do.”
“Not all of us,” I counter. “Some of us choose differently.”
“Ah yes, the Van Helsing philosophy. Peaceful coexistence.” He makes the words sound like a curse. “How has that worked for our kind over the centuries? Hunted, persecuted, driven into shadows. Forced to conceal our true nature, to pretend to be something less than what we are.”
Goldman returns to Dmitri’s side, offering the cup of my blood. Dmitri takes it, lifting it in a mock toast.
“To the new world that awaits,” he says, then passes the cup to Katya without drinking.
She accepts it reverently, hands trembling slightly with excitement. “It’s almost time,” she says, her voice hushed. “The sun will set within the hour.”
“Prepare the transport,” Dmitri orders. “We move to the final location as planned.”
Goldman nods silently, beginning to pack away his instruments with the same methodical precision he’s shown throughout this nightmare, like this is just routine. Katya moves to the perimeter of the room, extinguishing candles one by one until only a few remain lit.
I hang from my chains, fighting to stay conscious despite the blood loss and pain. I need to remain aware, to look for any opportunity, any weakness in their plan. Callahan will come for me—I know this with bone-deep certainty. But if he does, they’ll be waiting.
“You won’t win,” I tell Dmitri, my voice little more than a whisper now. “Whatever you think is waiting on the other side of your gateway…it won’t be what you expect.”
He leans in close, the skull mask inches from my face. “That, my dear, is where you’re wrong. We know what that world was like, before we were ejected. A world without sun to burn us, without humans to hunt us. A paradise for our kind.”
“Sounds like hell to me.”
His laugh is cold and empty. “Then perhaps that’s what you deserve. As for me and mine—we’re going home.” He straightens, addressing Goldman and Katya. “Sedate her for transport. We can’t have her making a scene at the Observatory.”
The Observatory. So that’s where they’re taking me. The information burns in my mind, a small victory in this sea of defeat.
As Goldman approaches with a syringe filled with amber liquid, I gather my remaining strength for one last act of defiance.
“Callahan will never forgive you for it,” I say, meeting Dmitri’s gaze through his mask. “Not for killing me or how you used him to kill Elizabeth Short. And he’ll never join you. Your son is lost to you forever.”
For the first time, Dmitri seems genuinely affected by my words. His body stiffens, head tilting as if considering me anew.
“We shall see,” he says finally, voice tight. “Blood calls to blood, Ms. Reid. And tonight, when the veil thins and the gateway opens, we’ll discover whose call is stronger—yours or mine.”
The needle pierces my neck, and darkness rushes in from all sides.