Hunting the Hunter

Walter drove the Bentley up the long , graveled road, listening to the rough crackles of the stones under his tires. He could feel the growing alertness and anticipation that came with a new assignment, even one as unusual as this one. He was almost relieved to have business to take his mind off of personal matters.

Burford Priory was the home to The Society of the Salutation of our Lady. These were Anglican nuns who worked on the priory grounds and lived a life of religious contemplation. Frankly, Walter didn’t understand the whole hierarchy of the arrangement, but he could understand giving one’s life over to an ideal, so it didn’t trouble him much to have an assignment here.

The priory itself was an impressive structure that had once been a private manor house and the nuns had done themselves proud in maintaining the grounds. He could see the angular topiary of the garden from the car as he drove, and the building itself was clearly well-maintained, although a bit schizophrenic in its architecture – a bit of this century, a bit of that century.

He left his car in the drive outside the main door and took a case from the front seat with him as he went to meet the woman waiting for him at the door.

“Mr. Dornez?” She wore a traditional wimple and habit, which made him expect to see an older woman’s face peeking out of the severe headdress. Instead he saw a young woman who couldn’t have been even thirty, plump rather than austere, freckled and pink rather than the cloistered pale or sun-baked brown he’d been expecting.

He nodded and responded curtly, “Yes”, noting her glance for the fingerless gloves he wore and the case he carried in his left hand. It was the size of two briefcases held together, with its opening at the top where the handle was, rather than on the side.

“I’m supposed to take you to the Father James.” She turned to lead him inside before absently adding, “I’m Sister Emiliana.”

He should probably know whether her name meant anything, but Walter was willing to admit to being a bad churchgoer. He had more than mere faith, he had truest solidity of belief, so he didn’t always bother going to sit in a church. Of course, lately he had been thinking he needed to spend more time in church, and the unfamiliar chain and cross around his neck reminded him that Arthur thought so as well.

Arthur had certainly sent him to the right place, hadn’t he?

Walter followed Sister Emilliana with his mood set in a grim focus. There was work to be done, and he could set aside his mess of a personal life to do what he was born for.

She led him to a small parlor, decorated in late-19th century furniture that showed that while the nuns might have taken vows of poverty, they had not given up all sense of aesthetics. The couch and matching chairs were upholstered in a rich green velvet that, paired with the dark wood on the walls, gave the room an unexpectedly masculine feel for being in the midst of a convent.

Waiting for Walter in one of the chairs was a tired looking man in a black cassock. He rose when Sister Emilliana showed Walter in and stepped forward to offer his hand. “Mr. Dornez, I’m Father Anthony Wright, I’m relieved you could come so quickly.”

Walter took his hand and despite the man’s apparent fatigue, found his grip firm when they shook. Father Wright looked to be in his late 40s, his short brown hair peppered with gray. He wasn’t a tall man, barely coming up to Walter’s shoulder, and had a pronounced pot belly, but his gaze was sharp, and his brown eyes seemed to see more of Walter than most people ever saw. Considering the man was one of the Anglican Church’s few exorcists, Walter supposed that wasn’t surprising.

He took the other chair that the father offered him, setting the case at his feet. “Sir Hellsing gave me the file, but I have to admit this isn’t something I’m accustomed to handling. I’ve brought what you asked for and my orders are to offer you any assistance I can.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” Father Wright mused. “But to tell the truth, this has gone rather beyond my experience as well. That’s why I called on Sir Hellsing for his organization’s resources.”

He looked up at Sister Emilliana, who was still hovering in the doorway and gave her a tired smile. “Sister, would you bring another pot of coffee and something for Mr. Dornez to eat?”

She nodded and disappeared, apparently happy to have something to do. Father Wright looked apologetic. “I’d rather have tea, but coffee does a better job of keeping me awake. You may find you want it as well.”

Walter bent and opened the case at his feet, withdrawing the file Arthur had given him and a heavy book bound in grainy, dark gray leather with no visible title on its spine or cover. The file went on his lap, the book he held out to Father Wright. “Sir Hellsing’s orders are that this book must be in your hands or mine at all times. If you have to go to the toilet, you take it with you, if you sleep, you give it to me, if something happens to me, you are to hand-carry it to Hellsing and see it put directly into Sir Hellsing’s hands.”

The priest took the book and nodded grimly. Sir Hellsing was trusting him with the Liber Ivonis, and his precautions were sound with such a valuable and dangerous book of dark magic.

Walter wiped his hand on his pants after the book was out of his hands, though he was quite unaware of the action.

“What do you think to find in the book?” he asked.

“I have used up all the prayers, rituals, and wards that I know,” Father Wright said, while he stared down at the book in his hands. “Nothing has worked. Every tool against evil has failed me. I thought this would be a relatively straight-forward, if large-scale, exorcism, but nothing has gone as expected.”

Walter had read as much in the file, but these hastily-prepared dossiers rarely got all the details. “Father Wright, I would appreciate it if you would tell me everything you know about this incident. Start from the beginning and pretend I haven’t read the case file.”

“Right.” The priest shook his head to himself and set the book down on the table in front of them. “As though you knew nothing.”

He stood up and walked to the window to look out at the manicured lawn. “It almost looks like some sort of sickness among the sisters here. It started with Sister Catherine three months ago. She couldn’t be roused for Matins. She was taken to hospital and no amount of testing could find any reason why she wasn’t waking. After two months, Mother Superior had her brought back here where her sisters could care of her.”

Walter nodded. This was in the case file. It was hardly anything that would make him think that an exorcist would be called in, or Hellsing for that matter.

“Then another sister fell ill. Sister Anne had been mentioning strange dreams to some of the other sisters. Dreams in which she saw Sister Catherine. Sister Anne said she always seemed so happy, she was with a man who was handsome and charming, and who wooed her like a princess. Sister Anne admitted that it made her so jealous it even affected her mood outside the dream. She grew withdrawn and irritable for days until suddenly her mood changed. When asked, she said her dreams had changed and now she had a dream suitor of her own. Two days later she didn’t wake for Matins.”

Sister Emilliana interrupted then, bringing a tray with coffee and sandwiches. She reached out to move the Liber Ivonis but Walter was up and snatching it away before she could lay a hand on it. It truly was a dangerous book and he took Sir Arthur’s admonitions about its safekeeping seriously.

She cast a reproachful look at him for his rudeness and set the tray down with a hard clink of silver and china. “Will there be anything else, Father?” she pointedly asked the priest, ignoring Walter.

“No, go on, Sister, I know you have your hands full,” Father Wright said while he came to pour himself a cup of coffee and one for Walter without asking him. “I’ll find you if there is anything else.”

Walter took the coffee and added both cream and sugar to make the harsh brew more palatable. He had always been a tea man, but if it was hot and someone else had made it, he wasn’t going to turn it away.

Sister Emilliana took her leave with a last baleful look for Walter and Father Wright picked up the thread of the story.

“After Sister Anne it was like dominos falling, one after another. Most of the sisters reported some kind of strange dreams, of handsome men, of angels, even of Jesus, and within a day or two, they had succumbed. Now we have twenty-three sleeping nuns, including the Mother Superior. Sister Emilliana is the last of her order who is still awake. Even the two men I brought with me have fallen in the last two nights. They also reported having dreams, though they were of women of surpassing beauty, and not of men or angels. I haven’t slept in three days, Mr. Dornez, and I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

“I don’t understand,” Walter said. “Were the dreams enough to call for an exorcist? Or was there anything else?”

Father Wright took a moment to take a long swallow from his cup of coffee, grimacing when he apparently burned his mouth. “Oh yes, it wasn’t just the dreams and sleeping nuns that called me and my assistants. We came a week ago because of what the sisters were saying and how they were saying it. A week ago the sisters all sat up in their beds and said, ‘Only the Angel of Death can save me’ then laid back down without another word or sign of waking. They still say it. Once a night they sit up and repeat their message. I have seen it and it is as eerie as sight as any I have seen in my life as an exorcist.”

Walter froze with a sandwich halfway to his mouth and then set it back on the plate. “Father Wright,” he said slowly, “Do you know what I am called?”

The priest nodded. “I have heard. If you can help the sisters and my assistants, then I will take help even from an Angel of Death.”

Walter looked down at the cup of coffee in his hand and took a long, bitter swallow. “Tell me what I can do and I’ll do it, but my expertise lies with things I can kill.”

Father Wright picked up the Liber Ivonis and looked down at the unembellished cover. His lips moved in a silent prayer before he opened the book and started to leaf through pages illuminated with drawings of horrors few human minds could encompass. He stopped on a page of a being that appeared to be eating both a screaming woman and itself at the same time. He stared for a moment before closing the cover.

“I have never read this book before. I had hoped, for the sake of my soul, that I would never have to, but there are supposed to be wards and bindings that might help us in our fight. Perhaps even one that will bring our invisible predator to a place where the Angel of Death can do his duty.”

•••

“We can’t trust him!” Richard nearly shouted, drawing frowns from some of the men around the long oval table. He slapped a folder down on the table and a photograph of Christian Wallace slid out on the gleaming wood.

“Walter Dornez has been a loyal servant of the Crown for many years,” Sir Islands admonished. “He has risked life and soul more times than I care to count. We have ample reason to trust him. Your Mr. Wallace is – was – an unknown quantity. If Dornez says Wallace was conspiring with a vampire, I believe him.”

At the far end of the table Arthur nodded, showing his approval for Islands’ words.

Richard’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a smile that was pure aggression. “You believe a man who is admittedly consorting with two vampires? My father would never have allowed such a thing.”

Arthur slammed a hand down on the table and shot to his feet. “Enough!” He glared down the table at his brother. “Our father chose me to lead Hellsing because he trusted me to do what was best for the people of England instead of following a personal agenda. And I trust Walter Dornez with my life.”

Richard faced down his younger brother with the members of the full Round Table between them and sneered. “Even our father sometimes made mistakes.”

Between them some of the knights frowned.

Others nodded.