Dhampyr Heritage

By E. G. Gaddess

1909. Four years ago Christian died. Gideon was sent to Portugal - to be safe. Now, it is time to return home, to England - to face his family, Christian's family, and the truth of Christian's death. But Christian does not just haunt Gideon's memories, he's flesh and bone - and still 12 years old - a vampyr. And then, there is Zola, with her smile and strange words, whose guardian just may be the one responsible for Christian's current existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781938215018

Book preview

wall.

PROLOGUE

England, Summer 1903

"I have a secret friend." Christian whispered the words to Gideon. It was a late summer afternoon and the boys were under a pear tree, in the cool shade, enjoying the breeze. The shadows deepened the green of Christian’s eyes and made his blond hair appear darker.

What is a secret friend? Gideon asked, his own dark hair unchanged by the shade, his cool blue eyes still bright. Gideon looked down at his friend, along the straight line of his nose.

Gideon reached up, into the green branches of the tree and plucked two pears, handing one to Christian. Although Gideon was six months younger than his best friend, he was taller – and could more easily reach the hanging pears.

A friend that I can tell no one about. Christian sat and leaned back against the trunk.

Why not? Gideon sat next to his friend, crossing his legs and leaning forward on his elbows.

Because he told me not to.

Why are you telling me then?

"Because I tell you everything. You’re my best friend." Christian grinned at Gideon, biting into his pear.

Gideon loved the taste of these pears. Every summer, he could barely wait for them to ripen and be ready to eat.

Who is it? Gideon asked around his own mouthful of fruit, the juice dripping down over his chin and staining the front of his white linen shirt.

A man. A powerful man. He is going to share his power with me, and then I will share it with you. Christian chucked his core into the field, whipping his arm as hard as he could and watching where it landed.

What kind of power?

Christian shrugged. He is very fast and very strong. He can jump really high and he can run very fast.

Gideon lobbed his own core into the field, and both boys watched to see where it fell. It landed farther than Christian’s. Gideon grinned and elbowed his friend in the side, giggling. It was a game they always played; with the pears, with sticks, with snow mounded into balls in the winter.

Once I have some of his power, I will be able to throw my cores all the way across the field. Christian stuck his chin in the air at the boast.

Gideon was impressed, and wanted to have the power too. He had never seen anyone who could throw a core that far – not even Robert could do that. You’re going to share with me?

Christian grinned. Of course. We share everything.

When?

Tonight – at midnight - in this very spot. Christian lowered his voice and pointed to the ground; the shade of the pear tree was their favorite place to sit and talk and rest after running or riding all morning. Meet me here. Once I have the power, I will give half to you.

Agreed. Gideon agreed, looking forward to getting this power.

But you cannot tell anyone. And you cannot let him see you. I’m not supposed to tell anyone – no one at all! If he finds out, he will be very angry with me and he won’t give me any power.

The boys spit in their palms and shook on it, pinky fingers held out at an angle.

I will not tell. I swear.

CHAPTER ONE

Almada, Portugal, 1907

The pear mocked him.

Gideon sighed and ran a hand though his dark, rumpled hair. He’d fallen asleep, fully clothed, after eating dinner in his room. He’d been dreaming.

It was the pear’s fault. It was neatly sliced and arranged on a white china dessert plate. He could not eat it. He could not touch it. No matter how often Rosa served one to him, just the thought of biting into one could make him ill. The scent alone could make his stomach clench, turn the sweet juice to sour acid in his mouth.

Rosa had brought him dinner on a tray: fish, simmered in spicy broth with vegetables; thick slices of fragrant bread; and the dreaded pear.

He was not certain the reason he had been served dinner in his room. Dinner in his room was usually reserved for when he was ill, and for that first month after arriving in Almada, to his avo’s mansão, to be hidden.

Gideon had been descending the stairs, heading for the dining room, when his grandmother, Avó, had looked up from the foyer and told him his meal would be brought up to him.

That had been hours ago. Rosa had not come to retrieve his tray, and he was uncertain that he should take it down himself. He felt rather like a child, relegated to staying in his room, while the adults took care of important business downstairs.

It rankled. He was nearly sixteen. When Robert had turned sixteen, he’d already been treated like an adult for years.

Now, it was after midnight and Gideon was awake, staring at the pear. He listened, holding his breath; something was in the jardim. It sounded like it was struggling, much like an animal caught in a snare.

Frowning, Gideon rose to look out the window; he could see nothing in the near blackness. But he could hear something. No, not hear – sense. His spine tingled and his stomach clenched, not unlike how it responded to the pear.

He grabbed his lamp, lighting the oil easily with a match. He donned the trousers and shirt lain out for the morning, and slipped into his shoes. Holding the lamp high, he moved to the stairs, preparing to descend and check on whatever was in the garden.

Gideon heard soft footsteps below and paused. It was odd for Avó to have visitors so late at night. The household had been abed for a couple of hours already. Had someone broken into the house? Perhaps that is what he had heard from the jardim?

But… perhaps not. The footsteps were greeted by soft whispering that sounded very much like Avó’s voice, hushed and low. He heard more footsteps, one set heavier with hard soled shoes, the other still light. Gideon heard the dull click of a door closing.

Removing his shoes and dangling them from one hand, Gideon continued down and listened at the bottom. He heard faint murmuring from Avó’s study. Gideon walked in stocking feet to the closed door and pressed his ear to the polished wood.

All has been done.

You are certain, Miguel?

Yes, Morena. I saw to it myself.

Gideon leaned back from the door, shaking his head. He had never heard Miguel use Avó’s first name before. He leaned back toward the door.

…in the jardim.

How? The thorns…the hawthorn…

Gideon heard a deep sigh. I know. But he had been given access. Perhaps-

"Sim, that must be it."

Gideon could hear the rustle of skirts, and imagined Avó pacing before the wide limestone fireplace. Gideon had often been left sitting in one of the linen armchairs, watching the sway of her skirts while she decided his fate on some matter or another.

It is dangerous here now, Morena.

There was silence; Gideon could no longer hear the rustle of skirts.

It is still safer.

You are certain of it? Gideon heard another deep sigh. He was having trouble imagining these sounds coming from Miguel; he had never heard the man sigh in such a manner. They prefer the warmer climes. You know this to be true.

Even Miguel’s manner of speech was odd. Perhaps there was another man in the study? But the voice… Gideon would swear on his Mama’s Bible that it belonged to Miguel. And there had been just the two sets of footsteps.

It is true. They do.

Gideon frowned. They?

He leaned back from the door, preparing to knock, one hand on the knob to open it when he stopped.

Oh. They.

Gideon swallowed hard and held in an involuntary whimper. He was no longer a child. He was a man of fifteen – almost sixteen. He could not allow himself to become frightened. Not now. Not if one of them was here.

Footsteps moved toward the door. Hard soled shoes clicked against the tile floor.

Gideon stepped back, catching one shoe that started to drop from his hand. Turning, he sprinted on silent feet down the hall, skidded at the stairs, grabbed the newel post to stop from crashing into the wall. He continued up the stairs, then squatted low to peer through the top rails.

It was Miguel. The light from the lamps set the man’s gaunt cheeks in sharp relief and made evident a day’s growth of graying beard. Smoke wafted upward from the thin cigarillo in his fingers.

Where is it?

Still in the jardim.

It must be moved.

Morena, the dawn will take care of it.

No. I cannot risk Gideon seeing it. He would not understand. I do not want him thinking about the past. Not yet.

He is not a child, Morena. Not anymore. You must see that.

Avó did not answer, but she turned her back to Miguel and paced away.

Miguel sighed, his chest heaving with the sound. You will write to his mother?

I always write to his mother.

But you will tell her?

I will tell her.

And his father?

That is for Angelica to decide, not me.

You do not want him to know. It was not really a question.

Avó turned; Gideon ducked back.

Morena!

Do not wake him!

Then answer me!

I do not know if his father will believe me.

Stop telling lies, Gideon. Tell Father the truth! Tell him what really happened!

Gideon closed his eyes and sat back on the hard wooden floor, taking deep breaths through his mouth. Robert’s words hurtled though time and collided with the memories from his earlier dream. Gideon’s mind ran from them. He did not want the memories now. He never wanted them.

Gideon decided he did not want to be found eavesdropping; he stood and made his way down the hall.

He slipped into his bedroom and closed the door, slowing it as much as he could to keep it from making sound.

Was one of them in the jardim?

Gideon dropped his shoes by the bed and went to his window.

He pushed the thin drapes aside and peered out into the darkness. He could see nothing below, just as he had been unable to see anything earlier. The moon did not give enough light; its crescent glow only faint in the sky, it peeked forlornly around the deepness of a cloud.

Gideon knew that the jardim, with its blue-and-gold-tiled fountain of São Jorge in its center, was surrounded by stout thorny rose bushes. Those wild rose bushes encircled the house and trailed over the boundary wall of hawthorn and limestone. In the far corner, a cross-shaped headstone and flat stone slab marked the tomb of his grandfather – his avô. Gideon was named after the man who had died before he was born.

The jardim was beautiful in the daylight, mysterious and eerie in the night. In the day, the moss glowed green in the sun, the bright tiles gleaming like hidden gems in their midst. In the day, Avó would take afternoon tea at the wrought iron table, eyes closed, whispering to the man in the tomb in the corner, while Miguel stood sentinel at the gate that led to the narrow alley to the street.

Beyond the jardim was the sea, teal and frothy with foam. In winter, in the day, Gideon could look clear across the Tagus to Lisbon, with its ships and spires. In winter, at night, Gideon could sit at his window and listen to the water pound against the limestone coast. If he opened his window, sometimes, he could feel the spray of it against his cheek and taste the salt upon his tongue.

Taking a breath, Gideon closed his eyes. Wind rustled leaves and he thought he could still hear something struggling on the ground. Perhaps, he could only sense the movement, but it was enough for him to know that something was truly there.

Sighing, Gideon opened his eyes. Light, a flickering gold, moved jerkily along the wall, and caught his attention. It must be Miguel with a lamp, preparing to move whatever it was that Avó wanted gone.

Gideon listened. He heard it. Perhaps a grunt and huff, perhaps a squeal or moan.

A second lamplight moved in the darkness, then a third. Gideon wondered who belonged to those lamps, but could wonder only a moment. Miguel had reached his target. The circle of light fell on the face of Mr. Wilson-Smythe, the tutor Gideon’s father had sent from England.

For the past two years, the man had been teaching Gideon Mathematics and the Classics, Natural Science and History. He was short and thin, his sparse fair hair combed over once pale skin, now pink from the sun, on the top of his head. He was timid, always bowing to Avó and keeping his distance from Miguel.

Now, the man sneered up at Miguel and bared his teeth, but did not move from the ground. Something held him down.

Then the other lights met the first, melding together, spreading, and Gideon could see. Mr. Wilson-Smythe was staked to the ground, spikes of wood driven into his hands and feet, with a larger one through his chest.

There was no blood. Blood would glisten in the light, spreading its oozy black on the ground. Like it had when…

Gideon chased the thought - the memory - away. There was no way… but perhaps…

No!

The men were too far away for Gideon to hear them speaking, but he imagined they must be. He could see Miguel gesture to the two unknown lamp carriers, and the two dark figures nodded.

One figure held its lamp high and spread the light as far as he could. Gideon could see the tutor struggle against the spikes and gnash his teeth in every direction, his hair wild on his head. What Gideon could make out of his clothing – his brown trousers and open vest - was ragged and dirty, and stains - large dark spots – covered the front of his shirt.

The other man set his lamp on the ground. Miguel pulled something from his coat.

Gideon leaned against the glass pane. The tutor freed one hand and pulled the stake from his chest. He flung it aside, imbedding it in a tree. The force of it shook the tree, and made its limbs and leaves quiver. The other stakes joined the first, the tutor’s movements a blur.

Gideon had no time to shout a warning.

Miguel was thrown back against the wall. The impact rent the air with an ominous crack, and Miguel landed in a limp heap, slouched against it. The second man was grabbed by his throat. The man struggled and pulled at the hand that held him.

Mr. Wilson-Smythe rose from the ground, holding the man high with one hand. The deep clouds moved away. The thin moon bestowed what little light it could to force the dark shadows to recede, and Gideon could see the tutor’s bared teeth. Longer, sharper, they seemed to jut from his jaw, his lips deep red and pulled back.

Miguel rose from the fence and staggered forward.

But the man with the light backed away.

Stay! Do not move. Keep the light on him! Miguel dug through his pocket and searched over the ground.

There was a growl and the tutor’s teeth tore into the throat of the struggling man.

And then, there was blood, lots of blood. It spattered across the ground, the deep, shining black Gideon had expected earlier. It ran down the front of the man’s shirt, down the arm of the tutor where he still held him. The man’s body was limp

The other man dropped his lamp and ran. The light from the lamp flickered briefly, and then sputtered into darkness.

It was harder to see with only Miguel’s lamp. It rested on the ground and Gideon thought Miguel threw something at the tutor.

He had, and it made the tutor howl and drop the now-limp body. The tutor writhed but a moment then turned and ran, leaping over the jardim’s wall. Miguel made to follow but fell to the ground, his hands to his head.

Gideon rushed to his bedroom door. He was at the top of the stairs when Avó caught him by the back of his shirt.

Go back to your room.

Her voice was quiet, steady. Gideon thought his heart was beating louder.

But…Miguel…in the jardim… Gideon gasped and pulled against her hand.

Return to your room. She pulled him back and passed him.

Gideon stood in the upper hall and watched Avó descend the stairs. She held her skirts high, kept her back straight. Though he did not return to his room, neither did Gideon follow her.

CHAPTER TWO

Miguel huddled in the entry; Avó knelt beside him, the silver in her hair glinting in the lamplight. Even with Miguel slouching, Avó only reached the man’s shoulder. Gideon watched from the top of the stairs, hidden once more, listening again.

Sergio did not make it; but his body has been properly disposed. Miguel still clutched his head with one shaking hand. Blood ran down his arm and soaked into the white cloth Avó held against it. I do not know where Petro went; he ran.

Mr. Wilson-Smythe?

He escaped. Miguel’s voice was rough between panting breaths.

This is not good. Avó tended to his arm, dabbing the cloth at it.

My arm? Or that the tutor escaped?

Both. Avó pulled back from where Miguel sat. A large black bag sat on the floor next to her. I am afraid that your arm might get infected. She pulled a small, stoppered brown jar from the bag. This will sting.

Miguel nodded and stiffened, then whimpered when the liquid hit the wound.

There. Avó replaced the stopper, and set the bottle next to the bag.

That…was not…a sting…Morena.

Avó said nothing, but pulled gauze from the bag to wrap around his arm. The liquid from the bottle turned the gauze brown; the remaining blood stained it red.

What do we do now?

We wait. And prepare.

You must tell Gideon.

He does not need to know.

Miguel sighed and shifted. Morena, you are not being fair to him. He is no longer the child who came here four years ago.

You will not tell him. Avó pulled tight on the gauze.

Miguel winced.

No. Miguel sighed again and leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed, his nose pinched. I will not tell him.

Gideon sat a moment and watched the pair below.

Miguel remained slumped against the soft peach of the wall. Avó checked for additional wounds.

Neither spoke again.

Gideon crept away from the stairs. Careful to keep to the shadows, he pressed himself against the wall. At his room, he pushed open the door and entered.

For just a moment, he sat back against the door, feeling very much the child who had arrived in Lisbon two years ago. It had been Miguel who met him at the docks, carried his trunk, and led him to the small boat that had taken them across the Tagus to Almada, to his avó’s mansão.

His avó had nodded down at him and told Rosa to show him to this room.

This room, with its light furniture and cream walls, had slowly become his room. He had added his books to the desk and his cloak to the hook behind the door. This room was at the back of the house, where it was quiet, its windows looking over the large jardim and fonte. He had stayed in this room for entire days at first, afraid to come out. Rosa had brought him his meals on a tray and pampered him like an invalid.

But the jardim had beckoned, sunny and warm and full of places to explore, and he had ventured out.

Gideon sighed and stepped across the room, letting his body fall across the bed, burying his face in a pillow. There was no longer anything struggling in the jardim, but his body stayed tense, restless. His mind would not settle.

Gideon sighed and closed his eyes, wrestled with his bed sheets and turned over. He left his lamp lit; its light created dark shadows that stretched across the room. It did not matter; better a few shadows than full dark.

Gideon swallowed. It had been years since he left a lamp lit at night.

Exhaustion crept upon him. It stilled his muscles and numbed his mind, and Gideon slept.

###

The moon was out, full and round and white. It bathed the world in shimmery pale light where it could make its way to the earth and cast long gray shadows where it could not.

Gideon watched his friend Christian and a tall, dark-cloaked man. The moonlight did not touch the man; the long shadows reached out its arms and engulfed him in their darkness. They entered the glen from the far end, nearest the main road. The usual sound of birds and rodents ceased, and though Gideon noticed the silence, he thought nothing of it.

Christian led the man to the pear tree. The moonlight lit Christian’s face, making his blond hair silver. The man spoke, the words too low for Gideon to hear, and Christian pulled his collar open and down, stretching his neck up toward the man. It seemed a practiced move, and Gideon wondered if Christian had done it before. Christian smiled up at the man, unblinking.

The man attacked Christian, biting and tearing into his throat. Blood poured to the ground and Christian screamed, fighting the man, kicking and pushing and scratching at him.

The man was stronger than Christian and held him still. Gideon heard the snap of bone and saw Christian’s arm bend at an odd angle. Christian went limp in the man’s arms and the man became almost gentle in his touch. He stroked over Christian, over his hair, over his back, down his arms, and lower, fondling. He cradled the limp body and buried his face in its neck.

Gideon could not move; his feet felt like they had grown roots deep down into the ground. He curled his fingers into the earth, felt its coolness against his skin, felt that coolness spread up his arms and through the rest of his body. He shivered.

Though his knees ached from crouching, Gideon felt the cramping as from a distance. The pain meant nothing. He stopped breathing; what if the man heard him? What if he could see in the dark, and through leaves and branches and trunks?

The man dropped Christian’s body to the ground and gyrated and swayed under the moon. He ran his hands over his body and threw his arms to the sky. Gideon could hear laughing – a hard,

Reviews for Dhampyr Heritage

[blackhippiechick · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It was a really interesting book. The main character is trying to figure out what really happened to his mentor, while trying to protect himself.

[llyramoon · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a well written 'old school' vampire tale. If you enjoy turn of the century, historical fiction that also has vampires then you will highly enjoy this novel. Highly recommend!*Received as a LT member giveaway*

[sylliu_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An excellent addition to vampire lore. Set in the 1900s, this YA story of a teenage boy who must battle a vampire while trying to figure out his own past and connections to vampires is fun, literate, atmospheric, and reminds me of the original Dracula by Bram Stoker. I like how Dhampyr Heritage's author assumes her readers are intelligent and that the story does not rely on cheap romantic love triangles to provide a satisfying story.

[mhanover10 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I received this book as a first reads winner. I enjoyed this book. Wasn't sure if I would. The writing kept you interested in the plot and the characters. Very good descriptions. It was different having vampires (vampyrs) portrayed as pure evil. With the way vampires are shown on TV in Vampire Diaries and True Blood you think they can be your friends. But in this book you can not look away from them, you need to be on guard at all times.

I enjoyed the characters and the internal struggle Gideon dealt with. It made me cringe and want to yell "don't go outside" whenever he would venture outside at night. This was enjoyable and I would recommended it. It is a young adult novel which I didn't realize until I read other reviews. Didn't feel like one but since the main character is 15, makes sense.