The blood dripped down onto his pale lips.

I parted them with my fingers and I watched anxiously as the droplets slid into his mouth and onto his tongue. When Harper didn't respond, I pressed my open wrist, squeezing the flesh to encourage the blood flow, but all I did was cause the blood to pool there in his mouth and the last thing I wanted to do was make him choke to death while he was unconscious. I turned his head and watched it seep uselessly out and run down his face, deftly wiping it away, before sagging back on the bed, feeling defeated.

I was thankful that Josiah had decided he couldn't bear to be in my presence when day break came and had told me to sleep in here, instead of his room. He was clearly sick of the sight of me and I wasn't sure I could cope with him a minute longer myself, yet sitting here now and knowing that every effort I made to revive Harper was pointless, I wasn't sure I wanted to be here either. Just looking at Harper made me realise how useless I was and how the longer he took to wake up, the higher the chance was that he might never wake at all. How long would it be before he became one of the nearly-dead and began haunting his own body in the desperate hope he wouldn't cross over and become imprisoned behind the dark gates of Purgatory?

A tiny snore from the corner made me glance up to look at Lucius' sleeping form, the blanket pulled up to his neck so only the back of his white-blonde head could be seen. With an exhausted sigh, I slipped down onto the floor, trying to make myself comfortable on the thin make-shift bed, eventually settling down on my side. Close by, Benjamin's journal lay on top of my jacket, having been thrown there earlier that morning after I had scoured the book over and over again, growing frustrated when it elicited nothing from the thin yellowing pages. Soon, the words just jumbled into a blurry mess and my tired eyes couldn't decide whether I was reading English or some weird alien language inscribed onto the paper and so, I had chucked the book to one side and collapsed onto the mattress next to Lucius.

The day had drifted by in a haze of broken, tormented slumber and I had awoken just before sunset, feeling more exhausted than I had before I had fallen asleep. And now the day was ending, just as it had started, with the book by my side, taunting me, daring me to pick it up and decipher the clues hidden inside.

Emitting a small growl, I turned to face the other way, watching the slight movement of Lucius' body as he breathed deeply in and out. 

All around me, I felt the walls closing in, the room growing smaller, the insistent pull of the book increasing with every second that I lay there. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew it was nothing but paper and ink, I would have thought it alive. A breathing, living creature with a heartbeat that seemed to resound in my head so loud that it could rival the choral voices of the underworld. And the more I tried to ignore it, the louder it got and the more the room seemed to shrink, crushing me from all sides until I felt I could not breathe from the pressure.

Groaning, I sat up, shifting my body so my back was resting against the wall and reaching over, I grabbed the book and held it on my lap. Running my fingers over the worn leather cover, I marvelled at how such a small book could feel so heavy, as if each page was made of lead, not paper. The string bindings were still undone from when I had discarded it earlier and I opened the journal carefully as if any sudden movement would cause the book to snap shut, taking the tips of my fingers with it.

My eyes drifted over Benjamin's neatly italicised writing, my fingers tracing over some of the words etched on the page, the faint smudges of ink that stained the thin paper.

The first entries in the journal, I had discovered quickly, had been concerned mostly with Benjamin's travels through the continent before that fateful day when he had met the priest and had ventured into the infected coastal town of Sozopol. All were interesting but fairly uneventful recordings, detailing the cities through which he passed, the people he had met along the way, the great sights and wonders of Europe seen through the eyes of a young doctor whose journey was energised by hope and vigour. I had no doubt that any eager historian would have lapped up his tales with a voracious hunger, because they were indeed an authentic account, full of rich description and intriguing detail, but they held little of interest for a person in search of an archangel. Even when Benjamin reached the borders of Transylvania, I had sat up a little straighter, expecting to discover echoes of Stoker and some sign of our vampire heritage, yet finding nothing but a very mundane tale of his travels with no mention of the undead, eerie castles or hair-raising journeys through perilous mountain roads.

Sozopol was the start of it all and that's where his diary entries grew sporadic as he battled to identify what ailed the town. Even after his transformation at the hands - or should that be the teeth - of Ezekiel Danzer, Benjamin still recorded in the journal, although, the accounts were often very short and incoherent, full of pain and psychological torment that he, a doctor, had become, of all things, a killer of men. Of course, those were the early days in his transition and the Benjamin I came to find in his later entries, was a different man entirely.

Beginning again at the start of his troubles when he had crossed the town's borders, I was soon lost in the words, determined not to miss a single detail, no matter how small or insignificant, when the sound of the great front door slamming shut reached my ears. The sound echoed down the corridor and broke through the hypnotic spell of the book making me look up sharply, listening intently and wondering whether I had imagined it. Curious to say the least, I put the book down and checking that Lucius was still sound asleep, I padded over to the bedroom door, inching it open and peering out.

The corridor beyond was deserted, save for the dust and peeling plaster. Slipping through the gap in the door, fearing to open it any wider in case the tortured hinges shrieked in pain and woke the boy, I walked the length of the corridor towards the entrance. The temperature cooled the closer I got and I could smell the unmistakable odour of petrol fumes and fried chicken from the takeaway joint nearby hanging in the air and knew I hadn't imagined it at all.

"Josiah?" I called out but was met with nothing but silence inside and the sound of the street outside, muffled by the big wooden door.

Continuing down to the chapel, I pushed through the double doors and scanned the room, find it just as empty as the corridor had been and Josiah nowhere to be seen. I tried the kitchenette and the bathroom and ended up standing in the open doorway of his darkened room, detecting the scent of candle smoke in the air, freshly extinguished and I knew I hadn't been mistaken. Josiah had gone out. Maybe his dislike of me had grown so much he couldn't bear to be around when I woke up, but whatever the reason for his departure, I felt my legs moving before I even had time to register where I was heading.

Grabbing a lit candle from one of the window sills as I passed along the corridor, slipping past the room where Lucius and Harper slumbered, I quickly rounded the corner, spying the wall of junk that barricaded my path. Stepping over the fallen obstacles, I soon found myself standing just where I had discovered Lucius earlier, my face peering up into the gloom, just as he had.

Stepping forward, I raised the candle to light the tower stairwell, feeling instantly foolish because I hadn't brought the candle along to light the way at all. I knew that my eyes would soon adjust to the dark but for some reason, I had needed the light anyway. The warmth from the tiny flame brought me some small sense of comfort and looking up the staircase, I needed every damn bit of comfort I could get. Lucius' words raged round and round inside my head, squawking and shrieking like some kind of Poe raven as it pecked insistently at my skull bone, warning me not to go any further, but I knew I had to. Something waited at the top of those stairs and even if it was Death himself, I was damned certain I intended to find out.

Treading gingerly on the first step to test whether it was strong enough to take my weight, I winced as it groaned in protest but it held nevertheless and so I carried on, testing each one first before continuing. It wasn't until I reached the second flight that I noticed something on the steps and was immediately glad that I had brought the candle. My vampire sight was good, there was no doubt about that, but without the extra light I wouldn't have seen the footprints in the dust, marking a clear trail. Bending down to examine them, I recognised them immediately.

Josiah-sized footprints.

This section of the building might have been out of bounds for Lucius and me, but it clearly wasn't out of bounds for the seer and suddenly his warnings about the dangerous areas of the building took on a whole new meaning. What if the tower wasn't dangerous at all? What if, for some reason, he just didn't want us here? With a smile and mouthing a silent fuck-you to Josiah, I took the steps faster than I had before, following the path of his footprints as they left echoes in the dust until I found myself standing at the base of the final flight of steps.

At the top, a door barred the way and through the slight gap all around the closed door, there oozed a warm, red light and the heady smell of incense and burning wood wafted down, enveloping me in a whispery embrace. It was a smell that reminded me of nestling inside on cold winter nights, drinking hot chocolate in front of an open fire and being thankful that the harsh winter air had been locked outside. It was harmonious and inviting and yet standing there, looking at that door, I wasn't so sure I wanted to open it. I wasn't so sure that I wanted to see what lay beyond it. The smell and the light seemed so at odds with the cold atmosphere of the rest of the building that it unnerved me. It didn't seem right somehow, this strange warmly lit room hidden at the top of a tower where I had been forbade to go and yet the longer I waited there, the more I felt convinced that someone was also waiting behind that door. I could almost imagine them there, their ear pressed against the wood, listening intently for my footsteps. Could they hear my breathing? Could they hear my vampire heart slowly beating out its death-march?

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm my nerves, I steadily, slowly, approached the door and reached out to grab the tarnished wrought iron knob.

It didn't turn. I hissed out a curse and tried again but to no avail. The door was locked.

Running my fingers over the gnarled wood, I leant forward and pressed my ear against it, my eyes widening when I heard the faint sound of music from within. The music was rich, soulful and scratchy, as if played on vinyl, rather than some modern day MP3 or CD. The tune carried softly through the crack around the door and I found myself transfixed by the sound, unable to wrench myself away, even though the raven continued to peck furiously at me. I was so hypnotised by the music that I didn't realise the bird was beating its wings against the inside of my skull and that its squawk was bordering on a scream.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?"

The deep low rumble of his voice made me flinch out of my daze and I flipped around, pressing my back up against the door as I spotted the imposing figure of Josiah standing just a few steps below me. I tensed but didn't answer, unsure I could speak without letting my voice tremble.

He wrinkled his face into a disgusted sneer. "You know, even without my skills of foresight, I would have bet some serious money on you sneaking up here. I'm not sure whether to be disappointed at how sadly predictable you are or proud of myself for knowing you wouldn't be able to do as you were told."

"Well, I'm sure you can congratulate yourself later when you're alone in that disgusting hovel you call a bedroom." I sniped back, my voice barely more than a shaky whisper, not through fear now, but through a pure, undiluted anger at his words.

He laughed then, but his face still emanated an indifferent coldness. "Oh I will," he said. "And I'll think of you as I do it. Hey, maybe I'll even get you to help me out? You are mine, after all. My house, my rules and all that."

"I'll stick a knife in your belly before I even let you touch me," I growled.

"Got to be honest," he shrugged. "I was thinking more of you touching me, but now you've said it...."

"Pig!" I spat and began to walk down the steps.

He deftly stepped up one, barring my path. I noticed in one hand he held a small cooler bag. The other he held out to prevent me from getting past. "Woah, woah,"he chuckled. "Where are you going?"

"Get out of my way, Josiah." We were close now and even on the lower step, he still held a clear height advantage.

"You mean to tell me, you've come all this way just to turn on your heels and run now, little cat?" His mouth twisted up into an amused smirk. "Come on, kitty kitty, I know you're just dying to find out what's behind that door." With that, he pushed by me and I shrank back against the wall to let him past and I remained there as if I was fused to the graffiti-covered plaster, watching with wide eyes as he took a key from his pocket and pushed it into the keyhole.

At the click of the lock, he turned the handle and pushed at the door until the soft light from within crept out onto the stairwell, casting its reddened hue onto the seer's face, giving him a devilish mask.

"After you, my lady," he said mockingly, stepping back and beckoning me to approach.

I stepped up to the door, shooting him one last wary look as I passed through the doorway, feeling the music reach out with invisible hands and tugging me forwards into the room.

I was immediately struck by how different it was to the rest of the house and was reminded of how Lucius' room had been in such contrast to the rest of the asylum. Of course, this room had no Buzz Lightyear decorations, bookcases overflowing with children's books or toys scattered about the floor. But it was a room where you wanted to protect someone from the cold, wicked reality that lay outside their door. It was a room where you pretended monsters didn't exist. It was a room that smelt of cosy winter nights and fairy tales.

It was a room where secrets lived.

Red voile hung in reams from the ceiling to the floor, gathering at the base, draping over thick, expensive-looking rugs. A richly lacquered mahogany dresser sat to one side of the room, its mirror covered by a large velvet cloth and on the top of the dresser, all laid out neatly was a vintage hairbrush, cosmetic brushes and palette and bottles of perfume of all shapes and sizes. A fire crackled in the hearth to the left of the door and I was struck by just how very warm it was, the heat of the flames radiating out through the tower room.

I pushed one wall of voile out of my way, only to be confronted by another and another and through the thin net, I could make out a large structure ahead of me. I glanced to my right, spotting the sourcing of the music, not just a record player as I had thought, but a gramophone in beautiful condition, its needle slowly scratching across the surface of the record.

Another voile gone and I found myself with just one more between myself and whatever secret lived here in this strange room with its intricate vintage feel and strange luxurious fixtures.

With a trembling hand, I touched the edge of the voile and slowly pulled it to one side.

I don't even know why I gasped as I beheld the sight in front of me because I think I had known all along what I would find. Even when Lucius had stood at the bottom of the stairwell and uttered that word, I think I had known the kind of death that awaited me here and it wasn't the kind that would see me plummeting down into the dark, rotting basement of the chapel, and yet I felt like I was falling all the same.

Sitting in the middle of a four-poster bed, surrounded by plump, plush cushions, her legs stretched out in front of her, chains trailing to the cuffs that encircled both of her wrists and securing her to the headboard, was a woman. She sat with her head bowed, her long, smooth brown hair hanging down over one side of her beautiful face and as she looked up, she smiled at me, slowly, languidly, a smile that sent a chill rippling through me despite the heat of the room. With a toss of her head, she flicked the hair back from her face and there it was.

The face I had hoped I would never see. The face twisted and disfigured in the name of Harper Cain.

There was always two seers, you see. Always.

"Caelan," I whispered.