Dhampyr Journey

By E. G. Gaddess

In 1910 England, Edwin Harrington has a secret. More than one, truth be told. And they keep piling up. To keep things under wraps, he agrees to escort a relic back to Pressburg for his brother.
Hazel Butler has secrets, too. Not the least of which is lying to Edwin about who she is to escape the mad man following her.
Perhaps the biggest secret of all is what is inside the relic. Until it escapes, and starts killing and feeding off the passengers.
Edwin is at a loss for what to do; he's never fought such a creature before. Hazel has been bitten - and can be controlled by it - so she won't be much help.
Can Edwin determine the secret to destroying a vampyr - and to saving Hazel?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938215100

Book preview

anyway.

CHAPTER ONE

Warrick Manor, England, August 1909

Edwin

Edwin removed his silver-rimmed spectacles, scrubbed his eyes, and adjusted his body in the overstuffed armchair, recrossing his feet on the leather stool. The library at Warrick Manor was a lovely place to read—quiet, well lit, and stocked with books new and old. Frowning, he considered the black patent of his shoes; there was a scuff along the toe. His gray jacket was somewhere, tossed aside when he’d entered the library. He’d have to find it; his pipe, happily unused for two days now, was in the pocket.

Stretching, he rifled through the already-read pages of The Hound of the Baskervilles; he was well past the halfway mark. Edwin grinned. Robert had complained about the two weeks it had taken to finish the novel, and Edwin would be done by the end of the day, if not by lunch. He smiled, tucking a finger between the pages and tapping the spine on his thigh. Though Robert wouldn’t care, Edwin did. It was satisfying to do something better than the eldest.

Here, the smell of dust and ancient leather filled him, comforted him, and kept him away from the temptation of the pipe. He loved the library—the books arranged on shelves that stretched to the ceiling, the imposing oak table that spanned half the room, and the plush chairs made to settle down in to spend the day with a book.

Master Edwin?Greaves stood in the door of the library, hands rigid at his sides, beaked nose tilted neither up nor down.

Yes?Edwin stood from the chair and set the book on the seat, splayed open to keep his page.

Greaves held out an envelope, flap side up to reveal the gold wax seal of the Harrow School pressed to keep it closed.This arrived for you, sir.

Thank you.Edwin took the letter and turned away, pacing the room while he lifted the flap and extracted the neatly folded paper leaf.

Mr. Edwin Harrington,

We regret to inform you that due to the activities of Colin Bigsby, Alexander Whitecliffe, and Nathaniel Rutherford, and your close association with these gentlemen, we are asking that you not to return to Elmfield House and Harrow School for the upcoming semester. These activities are under review, the results of which may lead to actions to be taken against the students involved.

If you have any information regarding the aforementioned activities, or wish to appeal your involvement in them, please contact me via correspondence.

Regretfully,

Henry Davidson

Master, Elmfield House

Edwin licked dry lips and tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He took a breath, and another. He reread the letter.

He could not return to Harrow. It would be far easier to resist the lure of the pipe here at Warrick, away from Bigsby and his cronies, but how could he explain that he was not allowed to go? What would Father say? What would Robert say?

What if he was never allowed to return to Harrow?

He thought of the small room at the top of Elmfield House, tucked away in the quiet of the roofline, a haven from the bustle of fellow students studying and preparing for rugby.

Sir? Greaves still waited by the door.

Spinning, Edwin grasped the back of a chair to keep upright. Yes?

You also have a visitor, sir. Mr. Bigsby. He said he’s been here before and is a friend from Harrow.

Edwin smoothed the crumpled letter, refolded it, and pushed it into his vest pocket before turning to the shelves. He pulled out a large volume, uncaring of what it was, and laid it on the cool wood of the table, opening it and thumbing through. He’s at the door?

Aye, sir. Greaves frowned. He is quite adamant to speak with you.

Edwin sighed and pressed his fingers to his eye sockets, rubbing. A dull pounding began in his temples, fanning out across the back of his head. He could almost smell the smoky herb of the pipe, taste the acrid burn of it on his tongue.

I can tell him I found you away, sir, and ask him to return at another time.

No, Greaves. That is fine. Please see him in. Edwin looked at the intricate map of Europe that spanned the open pages of what turned out to be an atlas. I don’t particularly want him to return.

Very good, sir. Would you like me to ask Mrs. Williams for refreshments?

No, thank you, Greaves. Bringing tea would only encourage him to stay.

Greaves bowed stiffly, his fingers remaining aligned to his trousers’ seam, then straightened and pivoted, the moves coordinated and practiced.

Edwin watched him leave, head craned so that his neck ached, torso bent over the book. He continued to watch the door, waiting for it to open and admit Bigsby.

The door flew open to reveal the young man, shorter and squatter than Edwin, his hair still sandy, but already beginning to recede from his forehead.

Eddie! I was beginning to think you didn’t want to see me.Bigsby threw his boater hat and striped jacket on the armchair and loosened his tie.

I don’t. Edwin did not move from his position at the table, though he straightened from where he slouched over the book. Trembling fingers pinched the corner of the folded leaf and flipped it open to spread the map before him. He tensed, and pressed his hands to the table at either side of the tome. His heart beat heavy, hard, and fast.

Bigsby stopped, the smile frozen on his face, his hands dropped to his sides. What do you mean, man?

I don’t want to see you again.

Well, why the bugger not? Bigsby placed his hands on his hips, his cheeks turning a splotched red.

You know why. I think it is time to end our friendship. Edwin thought of the letter in his pocket. Hadn’t Bigsby received his own?

Friendship? Is friends all we are? Bigsby chuckled and sauntered forward, placing his own hands on the table and leaning forward, pushing his face toward Edwin. The smell of brandy and cigarillos barely covered the tinge of sick-sweet that clung to his clothes.

Evidently, Bigsby was still unaware of the situation at Harrow.

We are not even that, now. Edwin straightened, pushed away from the table, and fisted his hands. Please leave before I summon the footman to remove you.

Remove me? Bigsby threw back his head and laughed, the trill high and forced. You don’t mean that, Eddie.

Yes, I do.

Bigsby stared, his eyes narrowed, mouth a thin line across his face. What might your old man say if I were to tell him about our escapades at Harrow, eh?

He already knows the worst. The lie burned on Edwin’s tongue worse than the first drag of the pipe.

Does he? Bigsby looked up and down the length of Edwin.

Edwin gritted his teeth and held himself rigid beneath the leer. He does.

I don’t think you told him, Eddie. I don’t think you did at all. Bigsby held up his hands and stepped back. I’ll leave—for now. But don’t think this is over. You need me… and what I can provide.

Smirking, Bigsby pulled a small sack from his pocket and dangled it in front of Edwin, letting it sway back and forth, like a pendulum.

Edwin watched the bag for just a moment, taking a breath before meeting Bigsby’s taunting gaze. Get out.

Bigsby dropped the package on the table and turned, jerky and unsteady. He picked up his jacket and tossed it over his arm, ramming his hat onto his head. The open book fell to the floor, closing with a thunk. He sneered down at it, and then pointed a bloated finger at Edwin. You’ll see. You’ll need me, and I won’t be around for you.

He left, his footfalls echoing on the polished tile of the hall floor.

Edwin listened to them fade, his breathing heavy and loud, echoing in the sudden quiet. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to hold it and slowly exhale. Opening his fists, he pressed his palms to the cool oak table edge, trying to still their tremble.

What was he going to do about the letter?

"Are you well, Menino?"

Edwin opened his eyes and blinked to clear the gathering damp. Mama stood in the door, one hand hovering at her heart, her eyes dark with concern. She wore a pale green morning dress, trimmed with cream lace, her chestnut hair high and twisted atop her head.

Yes, Mama. I am well.

Greaves said you were entertaining a visitor? Mama grinned and tilted her head, sauntering into the room. I was hoping it was a young lady.

Edwin sighed and fingered the pages of the book. No, Mama. It was not a young lady. It was just a chap from Harrow. Dropped by to say hello before school started.

He didn’t stay long. Mama swept into the room, bringing warmth with her. Edwin could smell the rosewater she rinsed her hair with and the sunshine from her clothes where she’d taken her morning walk in the garden.

No. As I said, he just dropped in to say hello. Edwin leaned back over the atlas, running one finger along the blue line of a river, following it into the mountains of central Europe.

Mama looked at him, ducking her head to find his eyes with hers. "You are not telling me everything, meu puoco."

Edwin swallowed. He could not tell her. Not now. Not ever.

Mama… He let his voice trail off. What could he tell her, if not the truth?

She reached up and stroked warm fingers through his hair, tucking dark strands behind his ear.

Edwin felt the tears prink behind his eyes, and he blinked. I am afraid I am not a very good person.

What? Mama whispered, her fingers stilling at his temple. I do not believe that.

Edwin turned his head, brown eyes meeting brown. He shook his head. It is true, Mama. I am not like Gideon, or even Robert.

I would not expect you to be. Mama’s fingers resumed their stroking. "Ah, Menino. I was worried when you went away. You were always my little loner, nose stuck in a book, secreted away so no one would bother you. Only Gideon could pull you away from your stories."

Mama hugged him, her arms circling him around his waist. She tucked her head into his shoulder, holding him tight to her. You know you can tell me anything.

Yes, Mama. Edwin knew it was not true. If Mama knew the truth, if Father knew, they would turn him away. This was not like Gideon’s secret. Gideon’s secret had really been Christian’s secret, and you could not expect a man to tell another man’s secret.

But this secret was nothing like that. Gideon had been protecting Christian, or thought he was anyway. And that was a forgivable secret.

Edwin’s secret protected no one but himself.

CHAPTER TWO

Dinner was raucous, but then it usually was. Every evening meal at Warrick, Father and Robert argued politics, Mama and Isabel—recently joined by Robert’s new wife, Emily—gushed about the latest fashions, and Edwin suffered a bombardment of questions about school. Now, with Gideon home, he shared the brunt of the questioning, as well as disgust for the political and fashion discourse.

Observing his family, Edwin sat quiet in his chair, pipe and cannabis herbs safely stowed in a drawer in his rooms.

I swear I am scarred for life. Isabel huffed and puffed herself up in her chair. She was petite, like Mama, and wore her golden-brown locks back from her face, but falling in loose curls down to the middle of her back, a yellow chiffon scarf tied loosely around her neck, covering fading scars. All I wanted was a bit of chocolate. But what did I get? Robert and Emily locked in one of their trysts!

You are hardly scarred. Robert spoke down, but his long nose and sharp chin pointed toward the ceiling. Cool grey eyes stared at Isabel.

I am I tell you. Every time I close my eyes, I am greeted by the scene of you and Emily half-dressed and draped over the cider barrel.

Emily looked dour, her heart-shaped face pinched, and her bright golden curls quivering. We were hardly half-dressed, Isabel. You are exaggerating.

Robert smiled at Emily from across the table, his face softening, his eyes growing glassy.

Edwin thought the look made him look more like Father, than Mama. Robert was the only child that truly shared the features of both their parents.

Emily blushed at the look from Robert and ducked her head, batting her lashes and peeking up at her new husband.

I saw more bare skin than at the beach at Brighton. Isabel took a spoonful of potato soup, licking her lips after. You should be ashamed.

Why? Robert set his fork on the edge of his plate and waved his hand. We’re married.

Then stay in your rooms, where you can partake of such activities in private, without subjecting the rest of us to them.

Emily glanced to her right, where Avó sat quietly, sipping the soup. She spoke in a whisper. We cannot. Your grandmother will not let us alone in the mornings.

Isabel shot a nasty look at Avó and took another spoonful of soup.

Avó smirked, looking quite satisfied with herself.

Edwin watched, spooning his own soup into his mouth in rhythmic order. It would not do to dawdle. He liked the potato soup, laced with leeks, butter, and cream. If Mama finished first, he would be unable to finish his bowl.

Gideon glanced at Mama. Perhaps, Robert, you should try appropriating Father’s study before he gets there.

Edwin winced.

Father glared.

Mama blushed. No one has ever walked in on us. She wore a gown of deep purple, formal for the evening meal, her hair cascading in ringlets from a crown of braids wrapped around her head at her temples.

Gideon grinned and winked at Edwin.

Edwin spooned up his last bit of soup.

Zola rapped Gideon’s hand with her spoon, glancing from Mama to Father to Avó. You should not say such about your parents. It is disrespectful.

But true. Gideon took the spoon from Zola and held it away from her.

Zola glared.

Gideon, give Zola back her spoon. Mama’s fingers tapped the table.

He gave the spoon back to Zola with a smile.

You are hrozný. Zola took the spoon and continued to eat her soup.

He’s the most haroznee of the whole bunch, Isabel agreed, nodding hard enough to make her curls bounce.

Gideon widened his eyes. I thought that was Robert and Emily?

Isabel shrugged. They seem to have an excuse. What say you about that?

Gideon laughed.

Robert sighed and resumed eating.

Mama put down her spoon and looked the length of the table.

Father set his own spoon aside and signaled to the servers to remove the course.

Edwin smiled behind his hand, watching his disgruntled siblings. Gideon hadn’t been able to finish his soup, nor had Isabel and Robert. Though, Avó and Zola didn’t seem to mind its removal.

The second course was shepherd’s pie. Mrs. Williams had been intrigued by the spices that Avó requested be added to her food, and had asked for recipes. The old woman had been experimenting with dinner ever since. From eggs spiced with cumin and peppers, to bread laced with cinnamon and ginger, every meal had something special added since Avó’s arrival.

Father took a sniff but ate it. As did Robert and Emily, though Emily took dainty bites with a sip of water between each.

Gideon dug in with relish. I’m afraid I shan’t be enjoying the culinary fare of Mrs. Williams much longer.

What? Mama dropped her fork, quickly picking it up again when Father froze with his own utensil halfway to his mouth.

There has been a request from the Victoria and Albert to remove the sarcophagus loaned by Herr Mann.

What has that to do with you? Avó looked up from her plate, her narrowed gaze resting on Zola’s downturned face.

Zola cannot do it; she is still in mourning and dealing with Herr Mann’s British holdings. She cannot possibly be expected to take such a journey right now. Gideon’s stare challenged his grandmother’s, and her gaze dropped to her plate.

Perhaps this should be discussed later. Father watched Mama’s white-knuckled grip on her spoon.

Why wait? Gideon frowned, clutching his own fork.

Edwin took a deep breath and opened his mouth to offer a suggestion, but was not given the opportunity to speak.

You cannot possibly consider leaving so soon. You only just got home. Mama’s voice cracked, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

Gideon is not going anywhere. Father declared from the head of the table, following his words with a deep drag of red wine.

Zola nodded. She wasn’t eating.

Father…

Gideon. I have made my decision.

Gideon pursed his lips and threw his napkin to the table. Father took another sip of wine, and Mama played with her fork—a very unladylike trait that would have anyone else enduring a long and sharp lecture.

No one dared speak.

I’ll go. Edwin’s words fell hard into the silence.

You can’t go. You’re going to Harrow. Robert snorted and took a bite of beef, then choked when the spices hit his tongue. His sip from his wine glass was just a tad desperate.

Actually, I don’t think I’ll be going to Harrow this semester. And since I won’t be there, it makes sense that I escort the relic for Zola. Edwin shifted higher in his chair, straightening his back.

Robert sputtered his wine. "You can’t not go to Harrow!"

Robert, I believe this is a discussion for Edwin and myself. Father’s low voice reduced Robert’s sputters to a clearing of his throat. Edwin?

Edwin considered his options. He didn’t want to explain his reasons in front of everyone—he wasn’t sure he could tell Father. He knew he couldn’t possibly tell Mama.

I do not intend to return to Harrow this semester. Dr. Davidson has approved me to take this semester off, to take a break in my studies as it were. Edwin spoke carefully, so as not to choke on the words leaving his mouth.

Robert snorted again, but did not speak after a long glare from Father.

Very well. I will allow you to act as escort in place of Gideon. However, Father took another bite of beef, followed by a quick swallow of wine, you will come home immediately after.

Yes, sir.

Reggie!

Angelica, please. It is only to Pressburg and back. I'm sure everything will be fine.

Mama pursed her lips but continued eating, slowly.

Gideon, tell me more about his letter. Father set his fork against his plate.

Reviews for Dhampyr Journey

[llyramoon · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Dhampyr Journey takes place towards the end of the first book, Dhamphyr Heritage. As such, I would highly recommend reading book one first.I really enjoyed the first book and was looking forward to reading the second installment of this world. This world involves a unique family and their dealings with vampyrs during the early 1900's. What I enjoyed about the first book, told through the perspective of the youngest son, was the mystery surrounding the deaths of family and friends and then the later revelation that vampyrs are to blame for these deaths. This second installment is from the middle son's perspective and his introduction to dealing with vampyrs.While I really enjoyed the first book, this second book was somewhat different. I can't say I didn't enjoy it, because I did. But what I loved about the first book was missing in this book. The mystery just wasn't as intense and, to me, that was the exciting force behind the first book. But take that criticism aside, this book did delve more into the family intricacies, more depth to the types of vampyrs and it was interesting learning about another member of this family. You also get a better understanding of Christian, the 'good' vampyr family friend and are introduced to a new female love interest (whom I enjoyed reading about).All in all a decent read and I would recommend this series to those that like traditional vampire tales, especially those that take place at the turn of the century.Some drug use and gory violence