Dhampir

By Robyn D. Swaim

Set during the late 1800s in the English Midlands, Dhampir is based on the gypsy legend that a male vampire could father children through a female mortal. The result produced a vampire hunter with all the extraordinary strength and abilities, but none of the vampire fathers weaknesses. Born without a father, and having lost his mother when he was five, Caine Griffith is now twenty-five. He is searching for clues to his life and unknown legacy, a legacy of terror, betrayal and revenge he never knew existed outside the safe confines of his home. During the reading of Caines mothers Last Will and Testament, a stack of diaries surfaces to turn his world upside down. He questions his very existence. Where did he come from? Who is his father? And what is the connection of all this to the mysterious stranger killing townspeople in the most brutal way possible? What will his mothers diaries tell him about his past, his legacy and the father he never knew? Will he survive to find the answers to these questions, or will he also succumb to the strangers violence before the mystery is solved?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 29, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462097661

Robyn D. Swaim

Born and raised in California, Swaim grew up reading, watching and loving everything related to vampires and horror. She currently resides in the Texas Panhandle with her husband and a menagerie of animals.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The English Midlands-September 1, 1895

Caine Griffith stared out his second floor bedroom window trying to remember anything about his mother. Even the word, from brief recollections of a long ago and far away childhood, seemed strange. Tall, handsome, with waist length, blue-black hair and green eyes, he could see no resemblance to her in appearance, though his Aunt often said she saw one. He felt like a foreigner in his own country and, in his own mind, no personal tie to her deeply disturbed him most of all. He never knew his father and, with nothing to guide him, felt he never would. The soft knock at his bedroom door pulled him from his thoughts.

Yes? Who’s there?

The butler opened the door and announced, Happy birthday Master Caine, sir.

Thank you.

The solicitor, Mr. Black, has arrived. Your Aunt and Uncle are expecting you in the study. Caine put on his jacket and followed the butler.

Downstairs, Clarice sat by the fire, while Phillip paced slowly. Mr. Black stood behind the desk, a pile of neatly bundled books and papers in front of him. When Caine entered, his aunt glanced in his direction, her eyes moist with tears. Uncle Phillip appeared lost in thought, but Caine noticed him staring at a small stack of papers in his hand.

Mr. Black approached, hand outstretched, "Good evenin’ Master

Caine, sir. He shook Caine’s hand and bowed. Good evening, Mr. Black. I’m sure you must be wondering why I’m here. As you know, it is the twenty-fifth anniversary of your birth. Your dear mother stipulated her Will be read today and you are to receive the first of your inheritance. It is in the form of a yearly stipend from a trust set aside after you were born."

Really?

Since the terms of her Will were quite specific, I am here to make sure they are carried out and, of course, have you sign the necessary paperwork. Mr. Black glanced at Caine’s uncle.

Phillip crossed the room and handed the papers to Caine, Here ye go, my boy! Looking at the first page, Caine noticed most of it was in legal terminology too difficult for anyone except a trained solicitor to comprehend. Mr. Black spoke again, We will go over this so you understand exactly how your mother wanted things handled, written in her own words.

"I, Mary Catherine Griffith, being of sound mind, do hereby make my last Will and Testament on this day of our Lord, September 1, 1875. This document is not to be read in its entirety until Caine’s twenty-fifth birthday except for parts pertaining to his care and upkeep during the years prior to that date.

I know, as I write this document, my death is imminent. I am providing my sister, Clarice, and her husband, Phillip Knowles, with a generous monthly allotment to care for Caine until he comes of age. If Caine does not reach his twenty-fifth birthday, all remaining sums in my account with Lockbridge and Associates shall be given to the church for poor and needy families.

On September 1, 1895, assuming Caine is still alive, my solicitor shall take my estate and divide my remaining funds and lands as follows:

To my sister. Clarice Knowles, I leave the sum of 200,000 Pounds Sterling and our mother’s jewelry.

To her husband, Phillip Knowles, I leave an additional 100,000 Pounds Sterling and 500 acres of land near the river on my parent’s estate. This in addition to payment for their care of my son.

For my solicitor, for services rendered, I leave, as prearranged, a 10 percent fee of my holdings at the time of the reading of this Will.

To my son, Caine Griffith, I leave the bulk of my estate, all remaining monies and lands. The land he may do with as he pleases. The money is to be paid out of the fund set up by my solicitor. I have relayed my wishes and the solicitor has set them forth in a separate document. This document gives the precise value of my estate at the time my Will is read. Great care has been taken to insure Caine is well provided for after I am gone."

Mr. Black stopped and looked at Caine. Any questions thus far? No sir. Continue…please. Here is the page your mother refers to in her Will. Mr. Black handed him the remaining page and read aloud.

As a codicil, a summary of accounts regarding Mary Catherine Griffith’s lands, monies and entitlements. Caine glanced at it. There were monetary amounts listed with a grand total at the bottom. The figure was more money than he could imagine.

"Mother’s investments paid off very well. She was smart to leave ten percent to the solicitor. Mr. Black must have known, the more money they made, the more money he would inherit. He invested her funds wisely."

Mr. Black broke Caine’s inner thoughts. In the Will she sets forth the terms of inheritance. Shall I continue? By all means, please, sir.

As stated previously, all monies, lands and entitlements will pass over to my son, Caine Griffith, upon his twenty-fifth birthday. The money will be given in the form of a trust fund, monitored by my solicitor and carried forth by the terms set upon at the time of my death. My son is to receive 10 percent of the total worth paid out yearly. The funds remaining in the trust will continue earning a high rate of interest and should support Caine for the rest of his life. These may be drawn out in any way my son sees fit, but no more than ten percent of their total worth may be withdrawn in any one year. The anniversary date for this withdrawal is my son’s birthday.

Mr. Black stopped, "Do you have an idea how much that is, Master

Caine? No sir. Well, by my calculation, you should receive approximately 250,000

Pounds Sterling in this first installment. Of course, as the investment grows, the figure will go up. Your mother intended this trust to last a great many years."

I see. Caine realized he would be quite well off, even better than

Aunt Clarice and Uncle Phillip. Now, there is another page, a postscript of sorts. May I go on? Please!

Along with my wealth, I leave Caine a part of his inheritance he does not know exists; it is the legacy left by his father.

Clarice gasped and nearly fainted. Uncle Phillip grabbed her hand and muttered something under his breath. It sounded like Bastard! Caine never heard anyone discuss his father and assumed he died before Caine was born. There was no memory, except for a few vague things his mother said before she died. He decided they were the ravings of a dying woman or the poor memory of a child of five. After Mother’s death, no one mentioned his father again.

Shall I continue Caine?

Yes...please.

"I hereby bequeath my diaries and letters written in the year prior to and five years after my son’s birth. From these he will learn the secret of his father, the circumstances of his birth and the legacy he inherited.

Signed this day, Mary Catherine Griffith. September 1, 1875"

What does she mean, Mr. Black? My legacy and the circumstances of my birth? Waiting for a response he realized, Mother wrote her Will on my fifth birthday.

Uncle Phillip spoke first. Caine, you know we have always tried to treat you as the son we never had. Your Aunt Clarice loved your mother, her sister. They were devoted to each other. She took care of your mother when she was with child. Your father deserted her and was nowhere to be found. The scoundrel!! Mary was a lady, born and bred, in a family way, with no husband. It was scandalous , but we did our best to keep it quiet.

Clarice spoke up. Mary was quite weak through her entire time in waiting. When you were born we thought, even then, she might not make it, but somehow she survived, though she grew frail during the last year. She loved you so much, I think ‘twas will alone kept her alive so long.

Mr. Black added, Here are the diaries, Caine. He pointed to the bundle Caine had noticed on the desk when he entered the room. You may want to take them with you.

Thank you, sir! Caine remembered Mother was always writing. No matter where they were, picnic or buggy ride, she had her journal.

Now, if all interested parties will sign, I’ll be on my way. I’ve heard there’s a party for you tonight, Caine.

Yes, Mr. Black. Caine signed and passed the pen to Uncle Phillip. Everything completed, Mr. Black left and Caine went upstairs to change for the party.

CHAPTER ONE

Later the same night

After the festivities, Caine returned to his room. A long time ago it was his mother’s room. He reminisced on his brief memories of her seated at the desk. The diaries Mr. Black gave him were where he left them, tied together with one of her pink ribbons.

Caine picked each one up. The years were written on the covers-1869 through 1875. Letters and scraps of paper, some used as bookmarks, stuck out at intervals. He took the stack, placed it on the night stand, and got ready for bed. Between the cool sheets, the ribbon removed, he opened the cover of the first one. A key lay inside, but not knowing what it was for, he left it where it was. There was an inscription.

For my son, Caine, and the day when he knows his destiny. Love, Mother-September 1, 1875. Caine glanced up and thought, It was written just a few days before she died. Placing the ribbon in back, he turned the page.

***

"January 1869 Week One: The new year begins...what glorious promise it holds. Father said he will allow me to attend private school in the city next year. I cannot wait. Not many girls my age are allowed the luxury of furthering their education or so I am told. However, Father always indulges me…probably because I am the youngest-his baby. He said, ‘One day, you must be able to manage this manor and the surrounding grounds now that your sister is married.’ I certainly hope this new school will prepare me.

Week Two: It snowed today…enough to allow me to stay home and play after it stopped falling. Tonight, Father and Mother went for a ride in the sleigh. Upon their return, they told me of the neighboring farm they visited-Manor’s Gate…while there they met the new Lord of the Manor. Mother was quite taken with him, however Father did not seem impressed. I feel a natural curiosity about this new Lord. From everything Mother told me, he sounds quite dashing and handsome.

We heard some disturbing news today. One of our servant’s children disappeared. No one knows where…some say he ran away. I cannot imagine running away from my home.

Week Three: Good News! Mother says there is to be a gala ball held at Manor’s Gate. She says the new Lord wants to meet the neighboring townsfolk and landowners. It is being held the week before Easter. I cannot wait! My curiosity is simply killing me! Oh, what a horrible choice of words! Another child disappeared. It is so sad.

Week Four/Five: I cannot believe January is almost over. Where did the month go? Everyone is talking about the ball and the new Lord at Manor’s Gate. I have not seen him myself, but I heard the other young women in town talking about him. However, they haven’t seen him either. Apparently his servants do all his shopping, even personal items. Another child disappeared. Mother and Father are more protective and

I have been told not to go out alone under any circumstances.

February, 1869

Week One: Winter is upon us at last. January promised a hint of snow, however, February delivered it. The drifts are so deep in some parts, the roads are impassable. Mother is having dresses made for us. Hers is a bright emerald green taffeta with leg o’mutton sleeves, however, mine is pure perfection. It is white with an overskirt of pale pink lace and an empire waistline tied with matching ribbon. The sleeves are daringly short and the neckline plunges. Mother wanted mine to have a high neckline, but I begged her to allow it as it is the style for young ladies. Finally, she relented. Now the dress is cut and the seamstress has started sewing it together.

Once again, another child disappeared and the local townsfolk are getting very restless.

Week Two: I’ve gone in for a fitting of my dress. The seamstress is having problems with the neckline. Mother does not want it to show too much and I am balking about showing too little.

Another child vanished and it is most distressing. Our servant’s child’s body was found in a shallow grave covered with moss and heather. I overheard the servants discussing the local shepherd who discovered it last week while tending his sheep out on the moors. I know nothing else. They stopped talking when I entered the kitchen.

Week Three: I won! Mother finally relented to the neckline I wanted. She admitted I am finally becoming a grown woman and time is too short now to change it or start a new dress. The dress is very daring, I’m surprised she finally gave her approval. I will be practically bare above the shoulders.

Another child’s body was found in a culvert outside town. I overheard the servants say something about a large loss of blood, but didn’t catch any more of their conversation. I heard Father coming down the back stairs and didn’t want to be caught hiding in the closet outside the kitchen door.

Week Four/Five: The seamstress notified Mother we may come in for our final fitting next week. I cannot wait. I haven’t seen the dress since it was held together with pins and turned wrong side out. Both Mother and I will ride with Father when he goes in for his weekly game at the pub.

I walked in on a heated discussion among the servants this afternoon. Before they knew I was there I overheard one of them say there is something strange with regard to the new Lord. She said she talked to one of the servants from Manor’s Gate who told her none of them ever see the new Lord during the day and he sleeps in a locked room with the blinds drawn. From the way she talked they sounded frightened and suspicious. I cannot imagine why.

March, 1869

Week One: Only two more weeks until the ball. Mother and I had our final fitting. Mother’s dress is beautiful, but mine is breathtaking! The seamstress added small seed pearls to the bodice and hem of the lace overskirt. I cannot wait for Easter week to arrive!

More gossip and strange talk about the new Lord. I listen, but do not believe what I hear. I am sure most of it has to be superstition and old wives tales! One good thing, there were no disappearances this week. The only unfortunate thing-none were found.

Week Two: Next week is the ball. My dress was delivered and I have tried it on. It is breathtaking! Mother and I went shopping for accessories and found shoes and a bag to match. I will wear the coat I received as a gift for Christmas. It is white rabbit and looks lovely with the dress.

I overheard Mother shushing the servants. I have a feeling they were discussing the Lord at Manor’s Gate again. Things settled down last week when there were no disappearances, but alas, it was not to last. The Wilson’s twin daughters vanished from right under their nurse’s nose. I heard she was fired for it.

Week Three: At last, the ball is near! I am so excited I can barely contain my enthusiasm. I have been so busy this week with school exams I have not been able to write in my journal until today and the ball is tonight! I only have a few minutes before I must get ready. Everyone is in a festive mood and most of the past’s problems are a fading memory. Things have once again settled down in the village. Mother is calling me. I must go. Will write more later..."

***

Caine placed the book on the night stand and rubbed his weary eyes. His mother’s account did not start again for two weeks.

CHAPTER TWO

Aunt Clarice knocked. Caine? Are you up yet?

Yes, I’m awake. Caine answered in a sleepy voice, punctuating his sentence with a yawn. It’s nearly eleven o’clock. Do you want breakfast? Could you have something sent up please? All right dear. I’ll have one of the servants bring you a tray. Her footsteps faded in the hall as Caine fluffed the pillows, glancing at the diary on the night table. He picked it up, positioned himself comfortably against the pillows, and opened it to where he left off. The latest entries were noticeably longer.

***

"April, 1869

Week Two/Three: So much has happened I’m not sure where to begin. Two weeks have passed since the gala ball at Manor’s Gate. This is the first chance I’ve had to write since then. The end of school and exams kept me busy and Mother has been finding things for me to do. Since the ball, she’s been keeping a wary eye on me by teaching me to cross stitch. I have repeatedly tried to explain my actions, but she doesn’t seem to listen. The time flew quickly, but the ball seems like yesterday.

I decided to enter what happened all together than put them in their rightful entry. I hope it will be less confusing and I’ll remember everything.

On the night of the ball, our coach came round shortly after dusk and the three of us-Mother, Father and I-entered for our journey. Manor’s Gate is located on the other side of the valley from our estate. It takes approximately an hour to get there. Mother insisted we not arrive too early or appear too anxious. On the way, Mother did all the talking and Father listened, nodding at appropriate moments. Even though lost in thought for most of the trip, from time to time I saw Father’s unfaltering patience. As I watched the two of them, I wondered about the evening ahead.

Unfortunately, there was a delay. No sooner had we turned onto the main road outside our estate, where the heaviest woods grow, when we encountered a large group of men by the side of the road. They hailed us down and Father had the driver stop. He told us to wait in the coach. I watched him cross the road. It was already dark, but the light from the full moon on the last snowfall beneath the trees created a glow. Father kept his voice low as he talked with them. They looked nervously at the coach and pointed to the woods, obviously upset about something. I wasn’t aware of the reason until a smaller group emerged from the trees. One of them carried something in his arms."

***

The knock at the door made Caine jump. Yes? It’s your breakfast, sir! Please leave it by the door. I will get it in a minute!

Yes, sir.

Placing the book with the others, he got out of bed, opened the door and pulled the tray through, then placed it on the bed. He pulled up the covers and poured a cup of tea. After a sip, he set the cup down and picked up a piece of fried bread. Hurriedly he finished, dressed, grabbed the diary and went downstairs to the study. There was no answer to his knock on the door, so he opened it and looked around. Empty. The roaring fire made the room feel cozy and inviting. He seated himself in the large wing chair nearest it, opened the book and continued.

***

"April, 1869 (cont.)

Week Two/Three: Covered with a blanket, it was too large to be an animal. One of the men wept loudly and I strained to hear what the others discussed, however, they all spoke in hushed whispers. One of them offered the distraught man a handkerchief. I saw them take the bundle to a wagon up the road. As they placed it in the wagon bed, a corner of the blanket fell open. I stifled a gasp when I saw the arm, pale and small, like a child. Fortunately, Mother was busy watching Father and didn’t notice. The men quickly covered the exposed arm and moved away from the wagon. As I waited, I wondered who was underneath and, worse yet, what happened to them.

Finally, Mother called Father, asking if we could be on our way. He stepped over to the coach and whispered in her ear. Whatever he told her, it must have been serious, because her face paled and she gasped. I asked what was wrong and was told, ‘Be quiet. This doesn’t concern you.’ Finally, one of the men stepped over and told Father there was nothing more he could do and to go on to the ball. Nodding, he entered the coach and told the driver to take us to Manor’s Gate. As we pulled away, the men turned back to console the one crying. They tried to conceal their fear. I wanted to ask what happened, but I knew it would do no good. Until we turned onto Manor Gate’s main drive, the trip was made in silence.

We saw the lights and heard music long before we reached the house. I grew excited again and Mother seemed to relax. Even Father looked a little less tense as we pulled in front and the coach stopped. The driver opened our door and Father got out, helping Mother down, and then me. We went to the door and rang the bell. A servant opened it and bid us enter. As we did, I got my first glimpse of the interior-crystal chandeliers, dark red damask curtains, floors of black and white marble squares, walls paneled in dark wood and, not far from the entry, a huge, curved, ornately carved staircase. The servants took our wraps and showed us into the grand ballroom.

It was full. Everyone from miles around must have been there! Some I recognized and some I did not. I nodded to those I knew and smiled at the rest. Music from musicians at the end of the room drifted to greet me. Across from them, tables full of every kind of food and more with punch bowls brimming. Mother whispered to me about people she saw-someone’s apparel and other idle gossip. I nodded in response as I had seen Father do in the coach. She seemed unaware I paid no attention to her frivolous chatter. I was too busy looking for his Lordship to listen to what she had to say.

With our delay, nearly everyone arrived before us. The one…the only one not there, seemed to be someone fitting the description of the Lord of the Manor. Of course, I had never seen him, however I overheard Mother discussing him with our seamstress. So, I had a good idea what to look for. Even as prone to exaggeration as Mother was, I saw nothing to compare with her vivid description.

My attention to my surroundings ended when one of the servants stepped into the room and the music stopped. When everyone looked his way,