Darkhold: Chapter 2 by Ian L

 

Drawing by Ian

2

Vlad

24 hours before

 

The rest of the day I was strutting around as if I was the best in the world (which I am by the way if you haven’t noticed). I had ticked off Hecta. In the old days we had to use human spies and unreliable sources, but partly due to the industrial revolution it was now much easier to spy. We practically knew each others habits and hobbies. For instance I knew Hecta knew that I brushed my teeth only once every week. I had found a video camera planted in the bathroom. How he got it there I don’t know. I am very old, a couple thousand years, and am from northwestern Europe. Near Norway and Finland. My name is Vlad, which was given to be my an old fishermen who almost had a heart attack when he saw me. Poor man, he may not have died from a heart attack, but he killed himself the day after. This was presumably  because of the guise I was using when he saw me. All I am trying to say is that that is the first name I was given so that is the name I use.

I was sitting in a meditative posture. My eyes snapped open as I detected movement behind me. It was nothing. Then again I really thought something had been behind me. Hmmmph. There was only the sound of the fan whirring gently in the background and the crickets chirping as I got up and walked over to the table. It was an old table. Probably the most valuable artifact left in the house. Of course I had had much more valuable possessions. Unfortunately I had lost most of them in the Great Chicago fire of 1871. I had lived in Chicago back then. I live in Boston now. It was very annoying and I suspected that Hecta’s hands were not clean. Again I heard a noise and I whipped around. This time I saw the source. There was a young man with a black mask and black clothing standing in the door frame. He winced and opened his mouth. I walked towards him and looked the man in his eyes.

“What is your name?” I asked him. I stared at him. Suddenly he broke and blurted out in a torrent of words,

“My name is Quinn McMurphy” He had a slight Irish accent that gave his ancestry away almost immediately. Plus his name…

“An Irish man I see,” I told him.

“How did you know?” He asked sarcastically. I smiled. I could play that game with him all day. I don’t know, I genuinely like people who are sarcastic when they are nervous. They remind me of myself.

I still didn’t answer

“I will ask the questions here,” I told him in a cold voice. He nodded, obviously scared. I had him now. “First question,” I cleared my throat, “What are you doing here?”

“Well—” He glanced at me cautiously. I nodded for him to go on. “There was this man,” He told me.

“Who was this man”?” I asked him.

“Well, he was hooded, so I couldn’t tell,” That made me annoyed. How bad a liar was this guy. Personally I knew how to lie very well.

Nobody wears cloaks and hoods anymore!” I yelled at him exasperated. Well, except for me. Again, he winced. Such a bad liar. At least I thought he was lying. It was all together possible he was telling the truth.

“He made me swear though. Not to tell anyone who he was” That stopped me. It seamed that this impostor had a sense of honor. But why would he keep his oath when his life was on the line. He seemed to read my mind.

“My wife and kids’ lives are at stake,” Quinn continued.

“What are you here for though?” I questioned.

“The Dagger of Darkhold,” the man answered.