NIGHTWORLD

07: Lady of the House

Three Black Tongues sat lounging around the pier, two wolves and a deer. A small fire pit with smouldering coals laid to one side, and the three seemed to be mumbling amongst themselves as they passed around a small skin of wine. 

Ioana pointed out the wolf, nodding back at Frankie and Jaro. The dingo crept through the marshy underbrush, circling the three brigands. Fog blanketed the land like a veil, but still they had to be careful where they stepped – one wrong spot and the splash of foul marshwater would give them away. 

Ioana pointed to her lips, slowly mouthing; WAIT. FOR. THE. SIGNAL. 

Jaro nodded as she split off in the opposite direction. 

“Winter's coming," one of the Black Tongues coughed, staring up at the pale dawn sky. “Think the Lady'll keep us on?" 

“You'd best hope," replied the deer, sniffing. “I saw my brother get strung out. Without the blood…" He shook his head. 

Jaro rested his finger on the trigger of his rifle, only realising then he had no clue what the signal actually was. 

Shit. Shit. Surely it would be obvious? Unless they were waiting for him, right? Damn it, surely Frankie and Ioana would be in position by now? He craned his neck, trying to peer through the brush, seeing if he could catch a glimpse of the older fox. Nowhere to be seen. 

Was I the signal? He shifted his weight to get a better look, a twig cracking beneath one boot. Out at the embers, one of the Black Tongues froze, ears twitching as he looked towards Jaro's position. Oh, shit. 

“Hold on, did either of you hear–"

His words were cut short as Jaro squeezed the trigger, the blowback kicking into his shoulder as the gunshot went loud, his bullet catching the first wolf in the upper half of his skull. Blood sprayed into a mist as he stumbled, tumbling into the coals and sending embers and ash spewing into the air. 

“LUDWIG!" The deer cried, leaping in shock and practically jumping onto the silver-stake bayonet on Frankie's shotgun. 

“Damnit Jaro, why?!" Ioana cried, before diving forward as the wolf tried to bolt for the small rowboat they had moored to the pier. The Black Tongue made it three steps before the old fox spear-tackled him in the midsection, throwing them both to the ground in a tussle. Jaro rushed forward, but Ioana was quick, and had already buried her knife in the brigand's throat, blood draining over the rotten wood of the pier. 

She huffed, pausing a moment before lifting herself up off the twitching wolf. She glared at Jaro. “And the signal?" 

“I…" He shrugged.

“Doesn't matter now," Frankie said, pushing past and jerking her chin towards the centre of the lake. “Get a load of that." 

After making sure Kristian was secure back at what remained of Chevron's hut, Ioana had led them along the trail the Black Tongues had left behind. The muddy footprints, scuffed bark, and occasional tufts of fur had been a giveaway for the experienced fox. 

It had led the trio through a dry gap in the marsh, eventually spilling out to the small camp by the pier on the edge of a lake.

The water here was still, dead sludge and algae congealing across the top like a vile skin. Flies buzzed where the soil met the water, dotted white maggots squirming in the muck underfoot. It felt like the opposite of Cujac; in the hamlet the river had signified safety and life, whereas here it felt like a great trap, a tar pit of atrophy and rot just waiting to drag them under.

Jaro wrinkled his nose at the stench, following Frankie's stare to the ancient carcass left rotting in the centre of the lake.

“A place so foul even the dirt could not bear to uphold it," Ioana whispered beside him. 

Slumping half-buried in the water laid an ancient manor, its magnificent walls and tiled rooftops half-crumbled away to nothing. The foundations were completely submerged, withered creeper vines stretching like a deep infection throughout each wall and pillar, forced into cracks as it seemed to squeeze out what little life was left in the old building. Nearly all of the windows were either boarded up or caked in dust and mould, and on what Jaro guessed had once been the ground floor, a massive crooked archway led inside, the ground beneath it swallowed completely by the lake. 

“Certainly makes a statement, bloody hell," Frankie said, sliding a stick of gum into her mouth. 

“See any lookouts?" Jaro asked, closing one eye and trying to get a look at the manor's windows. It was as unmoving as a grave, but from that distance there was no way to tell how many could be lurking within.

“Not that I am seeing from here. It matters not," Ioana said. She coughed, kicking a small row boat the Black Tongues had left moored to the pier. “We have to row in." 

Jaro's stomach tightened at the thought of being so exposed, rocking back and forth with whatever creatures the lake played home to swarming beneath them. Ioana was right though, if there ever had been a path of solid ground leading to the manor, it was long gone now.

“I thought vampires had an aversion to water?" Jaro asked, frowning as he watched Frankie cut the rowboat free. “Seems odd for one to put their lair in the middle of a lake."

“Water's still," the dingo said, cutting Ioana off. “It's running water they can't stand. Can't touch it, or cross it without a proper bridge in place. Place like this is perfect, shows off how powerful the bitch is – like she's managed to defeat one of their oldest enemies." 

“I don't love it," Jaro added, as Ioana climbed unsteadily down into the boat. “If this goes badly, we've got nowhere to run. You wanna try swimming away?"

“Who knows what lives down there," Ioana said, scowling at the lake. “We touch that water, we die." 

“This whole thing was your bloody idea, mate," Frankie added, gesturing for him to join them. “C'mon, we ain't here to fuck spiders – so get in the damn boat." Jaro inhaled sharply, glancing back the way they'd come. He'd told Kristian to wait two nights, and if the marten heard nothing, to radio for help and make his way back to Cujac. 

Hopefully it doesn't come to that. 

“Look," Frankie continued, “I've killed plenty of these leeches. More than any other mortal on Earth, that's my record – you can ask Koch. You were a soldier, Jaro, you know the drill. We get in there and you two stick to my shoulder like a bad rash, we sweep the lair out-to-in. When we find the nest, we get the drop on her and burn the bitch. Vampires are ambush predators, they thrive in confusion and separation, a head-on attack will surprise her and try to push her deeper. We need to pin her down, and when she tries to run that's when we press our advantage."

“As long as we have the daylight, there is always somewhere to run," Ioana said firmly. Jaro tried not to think about the heavy cloud cover gathering above them, awkwardly lowering himself into the tiny rowboat, squeezing himself and his rifle in between Frankie and Ioana. The dingo pushed them off with an oar, rowing methodically towards the looming manor, which seemed to only grow in size the closer they drew. 

It was silent on the water. The only sound was the soft splash of Frankie's oars dipping in, and the faint buzzing of flies. It was so quiet Jaro wanted to scream, though it felt if he did the whole world would split in two. 

“That place is comin' down around her ears," Frankie whispered. “Must be absolute strife gettin' maintenance out this far."

Jaro kept his mouth shut, as he tried to remind himself of his own arguments; they needed a way to fight back against the Cortège, and only Chevron could help give it to them. Not to mention the creature in there – the one the Black Tongues had called The Lady – wouldn't be expecting an outright attack on her lair. They could take her by surprise, and end the fight before it began.

Unless we missed her lookouts. 

“Do not let her separate us," Ioana explained. “Whatever happens, we must stick close together. This Lady, she will know we are weaker alone."

“Yeah, yeah," Jaro muttered. Make the choice that scares you. Boz would be happy, because this scared the shit out of him. He racked the slide on his rifle, lightly tapping the silver stakes tied to his hip for reassurance. 

“In we go then fellas," Frankie murmured, as they slowly drifted through the large archway at the front. 

Jaro felt a chill as they left the light, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness enveloping them. They were now drifting through what must have once been an incredibly ostentatious lobby, adorned with gold and sodden red velvet, the entire room now resting at an uncomfortable tilt, most of the flooring hidden beneath the opaque waters. The only life left was that of the insects, feeding off whatever fetid scraps the Lady left them. 

“This is an evil place," Ioana said, making a religious sign with her paws. 

“Time to exorcise it then, hey?" Frankie chuckled beneath her breath, pushing the boat as far up against the lobby stairs as she could. “The power of Christ compels you… and all that." 

“Your Gods have no power here," Ioana replied, climbing from the small boat.

Jaro followed suit, sticking close to Frankie as they made their way up the flight of squishing steps to the first floor, testing every footfall before he trusted it to take his weight. 

“Careful where you step," he whispered. “This place is a wreck."

“It's also bloody massive," Frankie replied. “Y'ever been in an old colonial place like this before? They're rat nests. Could be she's not even here right now." 

“Oh, it's here," Ioana added, grip tightening on her crossbow. “Can you not feel it in your blood? It's here… and it will nest deep, as far from the sun as it can go."

Jaro nodded. He could feel it. An oppressive weight, the predator glare of something far older and more powerful than himself weighing on his mind. He'd felt the same that night in his father's basement, a threat closing in. 

Frankie was right though, the manor was a maze, and the three kept their cluster tight as they cleared the long corridors, poking their guns into the abandoned rooms and mentally ticking them off, splashing torchlight wherever they could.

Many of the rooms were smeared with old blood, or littered with dusty skeletons. Some were decorated like murals or treasury rooms, rusting baubles of silver and bronze piled up in no particular order. 

Still, it was the empty ones that unsettled Jaro the most. Untouched rooms with crumbled beds and shattered walls, the plaster flaking off to expose the woodwork behind, pieces of iron and steel poking free from the floor. He soured as they discovered an old nursery – a wilted bassinet in the middle, nothing remaining but the iron frame, the walls faded from a previously playful and vibrant colour. Jaro lost track of time, it felt like they simply wandered in circles for hours on end, every pale and withered room blending into the next. Dining halls, servant quarters, bedrooms, and bathrooms, grand or modest – in the end they all decayed the same. 

“Hey," Frankie whispered, breaking the tense silence that had been with them for some time, “take a look down here." She jerked her chin forward, moving down a narrow hall to a set of double doors which were still somehow intact. They didn't open easy, and had to be pried apart, but as they were split Jaro's jaw fell. 

The stench hit them first.

Rot. Decay. It wafted over them like a pungent wave, kicking the air from Jaro's lungs. If the lake had been bad, this was unbearable. His gorge rose in his throat, stomach pinching as it threatened to revolt. 

“This is what they do," Franke muttered, stepping inside the room. 

It might have been a ballroom once. High ceilings, a stage, clumped decorations. It was spacious, with hardwood floors and tall, boarded up windows. Whenever this had been a person's home, if ever, it would have been beautiful. 

Now it was a feeding room. 

Bones were piled up along one wall, some with old bits of flesh still sticking along their length. They must have come from dozens upon dozens of bodies. Blood caked it all, the floors, the walls, every piece of equipment or furniture was spattered with it. Skulls of all sizes and species were discarded, old and young, small and large. The vampire didn't discriminate.

To another side, long rows of rusted cages rested, slumped figures sitting inside. Nearly all were dead, sizable chunks missing from their neck and body. Those that were still drawing breath did it in agonising gasps, their fingers twitching, their heads lolling. Chains littered the ground, stained from use. 

The feeling of pain was palpable, and Jaro had to quell the sour anger rising in his gut. 

“She's running low," Frankie said, turning about in place, trying to take it all in. “Nearing winter and no fresh meat… if I were a Black Tongue I'd be gettin' worried right about now." 

“Perhaps she hopes her gift will be earning her a place in Dracula's castle," Ioana added. “Not planning to stay much longer."

Jaro didn't know what to say. He'd seen the blood pouring through the Godhead's Lament, but with everything happening back then he hadn't really connected where it came from. This place, once a place filled with laughter and music… it was a mass grave.

“They're a plague," he whispered beneath his breath. “They have to be destroyed, every single one." 

“Chevron!" 

Jaro and Frankie whirled at the cry, hurrying to follow after Ioana, who was running over to a tall cage shoved nearer the stage. 

The older fox slid to her knees, crossbow discarded as she seized the bars of the cell. “Chevron? Oh, please, wise mother, can you hear me?" 

Frankie shone her torch into the cage. An ageing goat was huddled within, a tattered cloak drawn about her. Blinking lethargically, she raised her head, staring out with milky white eyes. It was impossible to tell the extent of her injuries, though Jaro saw traces of bruises and lacerations running up her arms and neck. 

The Lady may have demanded Chevron be brought alive, but that didn't mean the Black Tongues were gentle.

“I-Ioana? Is that you, my child?" The goat asked, her voice cracked and squeaking. “Why… she got you too?" 

“No, no, Chevron," Ioana replied, a smile of relief breaking across her face. “We're here to save you. We're going to get you out." 

“Where's the key?" Frankie asked, trying the lock to no avail. “Chevron, have you seen where the key is?"

Ioana smacked Frankie's shoulder. “She is blind." 

“Right, shit." The dingo scowled. “Have you heard where the key is?" 

“She has it…" Chevron croaked, rocking in place. Blood was crusted around her mouth and nose, a swollen purple bruise distorting one of her eyes. “The Lady of the House, she has it all…" 

“Where is she?" Jaro asked. “The Lady. Is she here now?" 

“She never leaves… You should run…" Chevron whispered, voice trembling. For a moment Jaro thought the aged goat wouldn't know, but eventually she moved, turning back to the stage and pointing with one knobbled finger. “In there."

“We're coming back, wise mother," Ioana promised, reaching through the bars and squeezing the frail druid's paw. “Stay strong, and we will leave together." 

“No you won't," Chevron replied, shaking her head. “Oh, no you won't. Nobody leaves the Big House." 

“Times change," Jaro added, pulling Ioana away. 

The trio left Chevron shivering in her cage, surrounded by the half-drained bodies and bones, the stench of water mixed with that of death overpowering. 

The steps leading to the stage creaked and groaned as the group put their weight on them, passing up onto the spongy hardwood of the platform.

Frankie led them through, opening a gap in the flaking curtains with the barrel of her gun, leading them into the backstage. With their torches switched off, it was nearly pitch dark beyond the veil, silhouettes and shadowed husks lurking in the gloom. In the distance, Jaro saw the faintest signs of light, a brief flicker, a slightly warmer hue. Something, though he couldn't be certain what was causing it.

As they stepped further into the heart of darkness, Jaro heard something trilling faintly in the air. A new sound, one he would never have expected.

“Music," Frankie whispered, glancing back at them. Her eyes were yellow pinpricks in the gloom. “She's playing the piano." 

She was right, Jaro realised. There was a build to it, light tones followed by deep notes, a sombre rhythm. They began to creep further in, moving past the empty dressers and faceless mannequins. The statues were dressed in outdated garish outfits – mouldy frocks and withered coats. Many were defaced, with huge slashes across their feature-barren faces, the socket where eyes might sit torn out. One or two of the silhouettes Jaro spied had been eroded away, like ice melting in the sun. 

“What is that?" He asked, as they drew closer and closer to the back of the room. The piano only grew louder, playing a piece he didn't recognise, couldn't recognise. It was hauntingly beautiful, conjuring mindscapes of dancing ladies and bowing lords.

But there was grief to it as well, a melancholy tinge, like someone pining for a day long passed. 

At the end of the room, the desks and dressers had been pushed aside to create an open space, an unlit chandelier hanging high above them all. The tall, boxy piano was braced against the far wall, two dim oil lanterns flickered at either side. It was a grand thing with deep, resonant notes playing, the intonation of the song echoing through the rich maplewood body.

A slender figure sat playing with their back to the group, a tattered gown adorning her brilliant teal scales. Jaro watched as long claws danced effortlessly across the notes, playing this way then that, up then down, joy flowing into sorrow. He couldn't deny the talent. 

Jaro squeezed the grip on his gun, but still he felt frozen in place, unsure what to do next. Surely the vampire knew they were there. Why isn't she attacking?

“There is little room for beauty… in Dracula's Empire…" The snake finally hissed, turning her head to regard them across one shoulder. She drew each word out theatrically, emphasising the syllables and consonants, dragging the esses. “Welcome to the Big House, interlopers." 

She was a pit viper of blindingly vibrant colour, with the strong teal of her head and shoulders giving way to lighter blues and whites on the inside of her neck. A dual-lidded scarlet eye blinked slowly at them, her expression betraying no traces of fear.

“Dost thou appreciate my sssong?" She hissed, forked tongue darting between her fangs, tasting the air. As her thin mouth pried apart to speak, Jaro spied a twin pair of fangs flashing within, four in total – one for the viper, one for the vampire. Each one of her words was shadowed by an overflow of scratching mental whispers, like rats that gnawed away at the inside of Jaro's skull. 

The Lady tilted her head, regarding them further. “For 'tis my lament, mine requiem, a song for all those who seek to live their days…" She paused. “...deliciously. Prithee, tell the Lady now why thoust have come, and perhaps we may strike a bargain. My bloodlust is satiated, and I hath no wish to see thee hurt." 

“They know nothing but lies," Ioana said. “Don't believe a word she speaks."

“If thou insistsss on pain, I shall deliver it gladly…"

“Do you see the key?" Frankie muttered, shifting her gun in her paws.

Continuing to play with one claw, the snake lifted a small rung of jingling keys, a sly grin breaking across her face. “This key, dearest one? Poor Chevron, always so forgotten by her fellow mortals, remembered only ever when they wanted something… what a pleasant surprise she'll make for our Dread Emperor."

“She'll make no such thing!" Ioana cried. “Chevron leaves with us. Give us the key, and we will allow you to continue existing."

The snake returned to her piano, the musical flourish rising, the cell keys suddenly vanished within her dress. “Pray tell, do thine ears deceive? Is that Ioana, of Cujac?"

“You don't know me, witchspawn," the old fox growled, brandishing her crossbow. “But you shall know my contempt." 

“I heard thee watched your own Father die, all because of a few lies…" The snake laughed. “I heard thee begged Lord Romulus not to do it. Will you beg me to spare your life?" 

“Ignore her Ioana," Jaro insisted. “We're here for the key, that's all." 

The Lady tsked, digging her claws into a deep, biting final note. “You… like all ssslaves… are here to serve." She rose gracefully, body and dress seemingly endless as she curved upwards, standing well over seven feet tall. “Leave thisss place, churlish slaves, and leave with your lives…" 

The vampire dashed, snuffing the lamplight as she vanished into the shadows. Jaro and Frankie fired immediately, their bullets shredding her piano and missing the creature completely.

“You found your way in, sweet silent ones," came the snake's voice, hissing from all around them. HE could hear her scurrying, crawling amongst the tables and mannequins. “But thoust may find escape a step more elussssive." 

Jaro spun, putting his back to Frankie as they plumbed the shadows with torchlight, blinking furiously as he tried to adjust to the sudden change. In the darkness and panic, it was impossible to tell if the silhouettes were moving. Was it the Lady, or just another faceless statue?

“Ioana, you're there?" Jaro cried, not wanting to turn his flashlight away.

“Yes, stay strong Jaro!"  

“Come and fight us, you bitch!" Frankie bellowed. 

Something cracked to their right and the three whirled, Ioana's crossbow twanging as a bolt went smashing into an empty mirror. 

Suddenly the Lady was upon them from behind, casting a shadow even without any light. Ioana spun and was instantly batted aside, the snake's great claw slashing across Jaro's back and sending him crashing to the ground. 

He rolled as Frankie spun, lancing her silver-bayonet deep into the vampire's gut, squeezing the trigger as she did so. The fiery spray of her shotgun was blinding in the blackness of the backstage, and the snake flew backwards with a pained hiss, ichor gore splattering across the room. 

Jaro took Ioana's paw, the fox hefting him to his feet.

“She bleeds, she fucking dies," Frankie spat. 

“Avarice… Sanction… Blood…  Augury… So many Lords in our Emperor's Court…" The snake called, whispering, always whispering. Jaro wanted to claw at his head, to get those thoughts out; they ate at him like maggots. “Why not a Lord of Grace or Beauty?" 

The snake reappeared, scurrying across the ground on all fours, jaw pulling back to reveal the four long, venomous fangs. Jaro kicked at her head as she came snapping down, firing into her face, black blood spraying as she slashed wildly at him with her claws. Where the razor-sharp nails caught his legs flesh was instantly shredded, the fabric of his trousers breaking like paper, his skin and fur not doing much better. The wounds were light, but even so the constant lacerations stung deeply. 

“GET CLEAR! GET CLEAR!" Frankie screamed, trying to get a shot on the vampire.

“I c-can't!" Jaro shouted back, kicking madly, panic starting to squeeze his resolve. 

“The Lord of Diversion?!" The Lady snarled, spittle flying. “Lord of Sssongs!?" 

Twang and another crossbow bolt was buried deep in her neck, mercifully diverting her attention once again. She raised one claw towards Ioana and Frankie fired, shredding the terribly beautiful scales on the Lady's forearm. The vampire made a deep, unholy call, like a great sucking of air, before flicking her head forward and spitting towards the dingo.

“FRANKIE!" Jaro cried, trying to get his bearings, trying to create space and finding chairs and mannequins tumbling underfoot as the Lady vanished once again into the shadows. 

The globule of murky phlegm soared in a slow arc, clipping Frankie's side as she struggled to turn away. Where it brushed her backpack steam instantly began to rise, and Frankie danced away, tearing at the straps on her shoulders. 

“Fuck, she got me! Shegotmedamnitfuck!" She snarled, furiously ripping the pack free and tossing it on the floor.

The three stared in horror as the acid dissolved completely through the bag, melting it away and eating right into the floor. 

“Did any touch you?" Jaro asked, seizing Frankie's shoulder and checking her over. He spied a few red welts and singed fur, but thankfully nothing too substantial.

“Only spittles I think," she replied, breathing in great laboured gasps. 

“Interlopers! Thee cannot remain dry forever…" The Lady shrieked out at them, her voice curling around the room, circling as any predator would. “Prithee thou would hear my choir sing, oh… the majesty!" 

Jaro heard a metallic crunch overhead, and then Frankie was screaming. 

“MOVE!" The dingo crashed into him, throwing him aside as the great chandelier came crashing to the ground, exploding through the floorboards and sending both itself and several mannequins tumbling down into the watery depths below. 

“NOW SING!" The Lady screeched, her voice like nails on a chalkboard.

A cacophony of snarling growls began to rise up, alongside the sound of splashing and flailing. Jaro heard scratching and biting, and his stomach turned as the rotting fish smell met his nose. 

“Flares, Frankie–fuck, FLARES!" He said, backing up as the dingo cracked one. He did a head-check left and right, but the Lady could be anywhere, there was nowhere to run.

Red light exploded all around them as the flare caught, the brilliant scarlet hue drenching the room as the shadows danced about the mannequins and dress mirrors. 

The chandelier had left a gaping hole in the centre of the room, below which lapped the foul water of the lake. Scurrying free now was a dozen or more half-scaled thralls; not dissimilar to those they'd seen in Dracula's castle, only this time sporting large, fleshy gills on the sides of their necks, their noses slit shut like a fish. Some were once mammals, but their fur had long rotted away, instead replaced by patchwork gills and scarring. There were dozens of the horrible anglermen, with half-webbed paws, drooling lips, and distended jaws. 

Jaro didn't hesitate – he instantly opened fire. 

With Kadir, they'd been unarmed and guessing in the fight with the thralls. Here they were ready for them, and for the Lady's slaves it was a slaughter. Green and yellow blood sprayed like mucus across the wood and fell into the water, as body after scaled body of the enthralled anglermen was sent tumbling back down into the muddied depths. 

But there were too many, no matter how fast the three killed the Lady could best them by sheer force of numbers. 

“Back, get back!" Jaro cried, retreating deeper into the backstage area. 

“Where is she?" Frankie asked, whirling in place.

“Don't let them separate us!" Ioana cried, even as the anglermen began to get between them, screaming and snapping as they wormed into any open space. They sounded like infants, whining in agony, high pitched and in pain from the light and dry air. Jaro pitied them. 

Everything has a mother, but even she couldn't bear to see you this way. 

Despite Ioana's warnings Jaro was cut off, choosing to fall back even further as the anglermen continued to swarm from the water. Jaro dropped one, then another, then a third. They died easy but there were always two more for every one he stopped. 

“Ioana? Frankie?! Are you there?!" he shouted, forced back more and more. Frankie had dropped her flare somewhere, painting the backstage walls with the bizarre shapes and shadows, the glow slowly retracting the deeper Jaro was forced. 

Checking over one shoulder, he darted down a side passageway, occasionally pausing to fire back at the gnashing horde, pushing deeper into the Big House. 

“Such melodies…" Came the sing-song voice of the Lady, though if it was coming from inside his own head Jaro couldn't tell. “Songs of strife and sssuffering…"

He toppled a bookshelf to try and slow the anglermen, sprinting now as the panic truly caught up with him, crashing through doors while trying to keep his eyes peeled for any signs of movement ahead. He could feel their breath behind him, and hear the grinding of teeth. He went left, right, then left again, bursting through another door and knocking over a stack of pots and pans, the metal clanging painfully loud as it went bouncing around the room.

A kitchen? An ancient one, if so. Rusted metal and empty coolrooms – the vampire had no need of a hot meal. Spinning in place, Jaro turned to the door he'd just come through, searching for a way to block it. He settled on a long metal table, dragging it across and wedging it into the narrow gap, pinning the door shut. 

Less than a second later the anglermen crashed into the barred door, snarling and hissing through the gap, their disgusting webbed fingers worming through the slit and clawing at him mindlessly.

Jaro tried to catch his breath, blowing air from his pursed lips. He reloaded his rifle, before turning to face the larger kitchen. It was difficult to hold a map of the Big House in his head, but did his best to try and construct something half usable. He had gone left from the piano, he thought. Then circled up and around, through a back warren of small halls and passageways. Everything here was connected, this couldn't be a dead end – there must be a way back through to Ioana and Frankie. 

If they were still alive, that was.

Another trap, he thought, kicking himself. Stupid to think they could get the drop on a psychic hunter. Ambush the ambusher? It felt naive now, she'd known they were coming the second they stepped off the boat.

Putting that from his mind, Jaro began to move forward, keeping his rifle up. The kitchen floor was riddled with holes, and although he couldn't see in the dark down there, he could hear the faint sloshing of water. He shivered, imagining the anglermen when they found out they could just swim back to him. 

As he pushed deeper, the relative peace began to unsettle him further, it felt as if the Big House was showing him the eye of the storm, before everything got so much worse. It felt like a beast, like he was walking in the great living halls of some monster eager to devour them. For what it was worth, the manor had settled somewhat now, and as he shuffled through all he could hear was the odd creak around him, the slight scratching in the walls – or was that coming from him? 

His mind replayed the fight with the Lady. It had taken less than a minute in total, but it felt like they'd battled for hours. It had moved so fast. Impossibly fast. Frankie's silver stake had certainly hurt it, but the vampire was still clearly far from dead. How were they supposed to stop something like that? The bullets did little but slow her down. 

The guns tire them out, and then the stakes finish them off. That's what Isla had told him the best way to kill them was. 

As he moved out the kitchen and into another long, distended hallway, Jaro was careful to avoid the many potholes littering the warped flooring. 

Careful now, he reminded himself, boots struggling for grip on the mossy slopes.

He'd made it nearly halfway when there was a sudden splash, the Lady exploding up from the water, shattering the wood around them as she slammed into him with the force of a truck. 

They crashed into a wall and Jaro grunted as the plaster cracked beneath him, the Lady's mouth open as she lunged for his throat. Brandishing his gun like a shield Jaro jammed it sideways into her jaw, holding her back like he was lifting a set of weights.

“Thoust… will… siiiiiing…" she hissed around the rifle, struggling to close her jaw around the steel, his muscles burning from the force of her. The pink folds of her oesophagus clenched towards him, forked tongue flicking about madly, the four fangs lining the roof of her mouth twitching fervently.

Jaro's back dug deeper into the crumbling wall, and he raised his leg, kicking furiously at her, trying anything to break free. Finally his knee connected with the place Frankie had stabbed her, and the snake mewled, deflating slightly. Jaro shoved her off him, abandoning his rifle as he went scrambling down the hallway. 

He looked back and saw the acid from her mouth dripping over the gun, melting it in two as she bit through with one final snap.

He drew his pistol in one paw, wielding a silver-tipped stake in the other, firing back at her wildly. The bullets shredded her ruinous scales, black ichor blossoming out across her dress as she first started to walk, then broke into a run after him, eyes wide and ravenous. 

He fired back, and the snake dove forward, crashing headfirst through an open hole in the floor and splashing into the flooded lower levels. Jaro turned back forward as she reappeared to block his escape, her ballgown sopping wet and stained with gore, her whole body trembling with rage as she showed him her teeth. 

He raised the pistol and squeezed off three shots, each one landing in her midsection but none of them with any stopping power. 

“I will bring such beauty to Dracula's Empire!" She hissed, striding forward. “Chevron is miiiine, and thoust shalt NOT TAKE HER FROM MEEE!" She howled the last word, diving left as Jaro went right, slamming the door behind him as he ran back towards where he thought the backstage was. 

The Lady of the House shredded the rotten wood of the door like it was wrapping paper, chasing after him like a rabid dog, snarling and foaming. A predator with tunnel vision for nothing but its prey. 

Spying the traces of flickering red light through a curtain ahead, Jaro pushed on, floundering through the fabric and returning to the backstage compartment. The Lady's piano laid empty, the slime-riddled anglermen corpses littering the floor. 

“Jaro!" Frankie cried, lowering her gun and sighing with relief, Ioana beside her and both of them drenched in guts. 

“She's behind me!" Jaro shouted, bolting for the hole in the floor left from the vampire's chandelier, leaping over it and tumbling over on the other side. He hit the ground and rolled as the Lady burst through the curtains, acid and venom spraying from her jaw, her slitted crimson eyes peeled wide for the hunt.

“EYES!" Frankie screamed, hurling a small canister to the ceiling. Jaro squeezed his shut as the flashbang went off, ears popping painfully as the room was filled with a burning white hot light – so much so he could see the outline of the mannequins surrounding him even through his eyelids. 

After a half-count he opened his eyes, scanning the room. Ioana was blinking through the dusty particles and had her paws out fumbling blindly, but Frankie met his gaze and nodded firmly. 

“Stay low Ioana," Frankie whispered.

The Lady stood dazed before her piano, shivering with fury, her doubled eye-lids blinking in confusion. 

“Thoust will find such wicked ends…" She snarled, swiping her claws through the air. “I will spend weeks draining the blood from thee, and hang thine weeping corpse from my ceiling like a drape!"

Jaro raised his pistol, firing round after round into the snake's body. Frankie had lost her shotgun, and was doing the same with her own sidearm on the other side of the room. Blood sprayed from the vampire as she copped the slugs, the bullets shredding her body. Although she remained standing, it was clear she was hurting. She was hunched over, still blinking rapidly, pupils flailing as they struggled to focus. 

“The stakes," Frankie insisted, dropping her gun and brandishing two stakes. “Stick the bitch!" 

She and Jaro rushed around either side of the chandelier-hole, crying out. The vampire sensed them coming and hissed back, and seizing her piano by her side. Screaming with rage she dragged it out, twisting like a discus thrower and launching the large piano at the dingo. Frankie dove to the side as the piano soared, the side of it just narrowly clipping her hip and throwing her off balance. 

“FRANKIE!" Jaro cried, momentarily distracted as the huge piano exploded through a dressing mirror, smashing down through the weak floorboards to the side. 

But there was no time. The vampire was on him again, snapping at his neck, fangs flashing as spittle sprayed outward. She was impossibly strong, and Jaro's back cried out in protest as he was rammed against a chest of drawers, furniture tumbling as the Lady dragged him down, crushing him beneath her weight. 

“PATHETIC WOLF SCUM!" She wailed, four fangs lashing forward and sinking deep into his shoulder, pain blossoming as they dug deep. Jaro convulsed as an agonising heat spread deep through his shoulders and arms, the tingling pain digging its claws in his spine. 

“Fuck–" He grunted, teeth bared. “–off me!" He shook off her grip, seizing the stake and ramming it deep into her side. The snake flinched violently, but her fangs remained deep in Jaro's shoulder. His paws shoved between them, squeezing down on the slippery scales of her neck. The muscles in his arm burned in agony as he shoved, feeling the fangs jolt from their place as he began to push. 

The Lady began to hiss and fight, squirming against Jaro's resistance. 

“Hooowwwww…." She hissed into his shoulder, eyes bulging as he forced her back inch by inch. “Mortal sssstrength?!"

With a final huff he shoved, tearing the snake's fangs from his shoulder with a pained howl, crimson blood spraying free from his wound. 

“SLAVES SHALL SSSSERVE!" The Lady screamed at him. “SERVE MEEE!" 

Frankie reappeared then, tackling the snake from behind, working one paw tight around the vampire's neck, as her other drove a stake viciously down into the crown of her skull. Jaro heard an audible crack as bone was splintered, and Frankie yanked her off Jaro, kicking free as the Lady fell to the ground, convulsing violently. 

Frankie offered a paw and helped Jaro to his feet, nudging the still-seizing creature with her boot as she gave him a half-hearted smile. “She wants to be served? Yeah, maybe on a fucking platter, huh?"  

“Yeah…" Jaro replied, still heaving as he tried to suck more oxygen into his lungs, the pain in his shoulder throbbing furiously. His fingers and toes were tingling with numbness, and he wondered briefly if viper or vampire venom was worse.

“You okay, wolfie?" Frankie asked, brow furrowing as she peered to look at him. 

Jaro nodded, turning away sheepishly. “Fine, yeah. Just… hurts. But I'v'e done this part before."

“Is… is she dead?" Ioana called out to them, hunkered in a corner, still blinking through a daze. 

“I dunno," Jaro called back, looking down at the twitchy vampire. “I think so."

Blood was still pouring from her head, and although she looked weak, the snake still tried to raise herself up, baring her fangs meekly towards. She wasn't really trying to fight, only staring back blankly as Jaro glared down. 

“Her mind's long gone," Frankie explained. “This is just vampire instinct."

Jaro nodded. The parasite, flailing for life.

He raised the stake, hesitating. “If we leave her like this, will she die?" 

“Nah, stake the cunt. In the heart, or she'll be back. Bastards always come back." 

Jaro nodded, already he could see some of the wounds in her face beginning to slowly knit back together. 

Everything has a mother, right? He thought, wondering what his father would think. 

But not you, at least not anymore. 

And with that he dropped to one knee and slammed the stake down into her chest, crushing it through her ribs and spearing her heart. 

The snake froze, chest heaving upwards. Her eyes went wide and she began to shake, steam rising. A pained cry emanated from her throat, and as her body began to vibrate, it began to melt away into ash, the same way Jaro's gun had, dissolving into the floor as her ballgown fell flat like a deflated balloon. Her figure shrunk and sunk inwards, dying the same way a tarantula would. Finally, when most of the colour and shape of her once brilliant form was gone, she went still, the little ashy remains of her figure calcifying in a shrivelled husk.

He collapsed, squeezing the wound on his shoulder. 

Second time's the charm. 

“She's fucking dead," he gasped, panting. 

“They never go down easy mate," Frankie added, staring down at him. She blew air from her cheeks triumphantly, holding up the keys the Lady had dangled at them earlier. “But neither do we."