The Van Helsing Legacy: We Shall Not Sleep [SAMPLE]

TWO

December, 1919

The jangle of the telephone woke me at about four o'clock. I peeled my face reluctantly out of the fold of the book that had become my pillow and waited to see whether or not it would ring again. It did.

The lights in the hall clicked on, and Chessie's puffy face appeared at the door of the study. During daylight hours, she was the very picture of feminine perfection, as though she'd been painstakingly snipped out of a fashion paper and magicked to life. In a few hours, her skin would be creamy smooth, cheeks naturally blushing, dark hair flawlessly arrayed in a dangerously modern bob, not a wrinkle to be discovered in her stylish flannels. In a few hours. At four o'clock in the morning, her eyelids had stolen the rosy hue of her cheeks, and all the wrinkles that never saw the light of day seemed to have been stored up in the pillow-creases fanning across the right side of her face. She had gone to bed with her short hair damp, and half of it stood straight up, making her look like a startled frilled lizard.

'Wa,' she said.

I did notice that she wasn't heading for the 'phone.

I took full advantage of her ignorance of the Dutch language and muttered a few choice phrases at her as I prised myself out of my chair, my back crackling in protest, and pushed past her to the hall table. The receiver was cold. Colder than the carpeted floor, certainly. I had never been the sort to receive premonitions, but perhaps that was one. It was a trunk call.

'Halloa?' I muttered peevishly into the receiver.

'Meg? Is that you?'

The voice coming through the earpiece was tired and strained and thick with tears. It was female. I shook myself a little further awake and pressed the earpiece closer. 'Yes, who is this?'

'Oh, thank God. Meg, I'm terribly sorry, I know it's late...'

'Early, actually,' I corrected, squinting at the clock beside the telephone. 'Who is this?'

'It's Clare. Oh, Meg, I understand if you can't, but could you come?'

'What, right now? I'm in Oxford.' She had to have known that, of course, in order to place the call, but I felt she could use reminding.

'If you could. I wouldn't ask it of you, only Quincey...'

Clare dissolved into sobs. I felt Chessie at my elbow and glanced over to see her eyebrows pulled into a question. I held up a finger.

'Clare, what happened to Quincey? Is he all right?'

Chessie met my eyes and widened hers meaningfully.

'I don't know!' Clare wailed. 'I don't know! He went out for a smoke last night and never came back.'

'Clare, darling, we're on our way, but isn't there someone closer? Someone who could come immediately? And have you talked to the police?' I waved a hand at Chessie, shooing her back toward her room, hoping she was awake enough to understand that she was to go dress and possibly pack.

'They said...' Her voice caught again, and for a moment, I was afraid she would not be able to get it out, but she mastered herself. 'They said... They said a b-big woman like me shouldn't be surprised if her husband...' She was not able to get it out, after all, but I got the gist.

'Good God. Good God, Clare, I hope you got the policeman's number. That can't go unreported. But look, you keep trying. See if you can get a constable with some professionalism. And see if you can reach Doctor Seward, and...' The last thing I ever wanted to have to do was tell a mother her son was missing, but it would have to be done sooner or later. 'And Mrs Harker, if you haven't already. Chess and I will be there as soon as we can.'