Michael Belmont and the Heir of Van Helsing (The Adventures of Michael Belmont) (11 page)

Mark raised his eyebrows, looking at Declan expectantly.
 
“What have
you
got to say about all this?”

“I know it all sounds like something out of a cheap horror movie,” he said, shaking his head.
 
“I wish that were the case.
 
This is where the evidence is pointing.”

“So what exactly does all this all have to do with us?” Rachel broke in with an irritated voice.
 
“You said that you didn’t come for the coffee, but I know you didn’t come to tell campfire stories either.”

“Rachel!” Mark said with a frown.
 
He was a little surprised at his wife’s tone.

“It’s quite all right,” Mrs. Stoker said gently.
 
“I understand your concern, my dear.
 
After everything this family has been through lately I can’t blame you for being defensive.
 
I know you don’t want to see your loved ones dragged into danger again, but I assure you I want nothing more from your husband than information.”

Rachel’s expression changed from anger to guilt, and her eyes got watery.
 
“I’m sorry,” she said weakly.
 
“You’re right.
 
I guess I’ve been a little on-edge lately, given all the things we’ve gone through.
 
I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

Mrs. Stoker smiled warmly, and then turned to Mr. Belmont.
 
“Since Declan told me you may be able to help, I’ve been so anxious to speak with you.
 
Tell me, dear, that sword you spoke of…were you able to learn anything about its fate?”

“Perhaps,” he said flatly.
 
“But first, why don’t you tell me what
you
know about the sword, and why you’re interested in it.”

“I think I like this friend of yours, Declan,” Dorothy told him with a wry smile.

Mrs. Stoker took a long draught of her coffee and set down the cup.
 
She folded her arms in her lap, cleared her throat, and turned her nose into the air.

“My grandfather, Bram Stoker, was known to his friends as a theater manager and writer.
 
But most of those friends would never have guessed his true calling.
 
His love of history and a fascination with folklore led him into discovering things in this world that most people simply shut their eyes to.
 
His research and knowledge of paranormal phenomenon eventually led him into fellowship with a company of like-minded men, one of whom was named Dr. Abraham Van Helsing.

Dr. Van Helsing was a true peer of my grandfather in the knowledge of fighting evil, and there weren’t many.
 
They often collaborated when great forces of evil arose.
 
One such instance occurred when Dr. Van Helsing learned of the atrocities being committed by the vampire- Count Dracula.

Dracula was actually Vlad the Third, also known as Vlad Tepes, or Vlad the Impaler.
 
He was born in 1431, and was presumably killed by a group of men led by Van Helsing in 1893.”

“But that would make him….” Liam said, attempting to count in his head.
 
Michael thought steam might begin shooting out any second.
 
“That would make him really old,” he concluded.

Mrs. Stoker nodded.
 
“Four hundred and sixty two years old.”
 
She looked around at her listeners, expecting some kind of protest.

Michael smiled, laughing on the inside.
 
Little did she know that only last year they’d all met a man who was several
thousand
years old.
 
I wonder what she’d have to say about that
, he thought.

She cleared her throat again before proceeding.
 
“As I was saying, my grandfather offered his assistance in the fight against Dracula.
 
He was able to learn of a mythical sword that would defeat the great monster once and for all.”

“A sword?” asked Michael’s mother.
 
“I thought vampires could be killed by running a wooden stake through their heart.”

“Yes,” agreed the old woman.
 
“Most can.
 
Or with a cross, or holy water.
 
But Dracula had grown so powerful, so evil, that although those very things had been used against him on several occasions, he always came back from the grave.
 
He seemed to be drawing his power from some unknown source.
 
Something in the castle perhaps.
 
For some reason, my grandfather’s papers are surprisingly vague in these matters, but from all the information I’ve been able to piece together, here’s what we know for sure.
 
My grandfather was able to provide Van Helsing with the sword to defeat Dracula, after which time the weapon was hidden.
 
My grandfather from that time on referred to the blade as the Sword of Van Helsing.”

Mr. MacDonald sat up in his chair.
 
“We think that perhaps Bram Stoker purposefully left out a lot of information.
 
He wanted to protect the sword.
 
He wanted to keep its location safe and prevent anyone else from uncovering Dracula’s evil secrets.”

“So what makes you think Dracula might have returned again?” Michael’s father asked.
 
“What are these rumors you mentioned?”

Mrs. Stoker pointed her finger into the air.
 
“There have been notable increases in vampiric infestations across Europe.
 
That alone is fairly interesting, but intelligence reports have come in showing a high level of activity around Dracula’s Castle.
 
Our hunters have taken care of most of the vampires, but so far have been unable to ascertain the true reason behind the increase in activity.”

“Alright,” Michael’s father said, crossing his arms.
 
“So why’s the sword of Van Helsing so important?
 
Why are you searching for it?
 
If Van Helsing used it to defeat Dracula last time and he’s come back again, maybe it’s not the weapon you need.”

Mr. MacDonald frowned.
 
“The thing is, Mark, we
aren’t
the ones searching for the sword- not really.
 
We just want to make sure it’s safe.”

“It’s the vampires that have been looking,” broke in Mrs. Stoker.
 
“They’ve been searching relentlessly for the thing- leaving a trail of blood and destruction behind them the whole way.
 
If the sword is something
they
want, it’s definitely not something we want them to have.”

Michael shuddered.
 
“So these vampires, they want to get the sword to give to Dracula, or if he hasn’t come back they want to use it to try and bring him back?”

“It certainly appears so Mikey,” Declan nodded.
 
He looked back at Mark.
 
“To tell you the truth, we aren’t entirely sure what their plans are for the sword.
 
That’s why any information you have might help us out.
 
If we are able to send a team to recover it, then the Guild can keep it safe.
 
But if the sword falls into the wrong hands, who knows what evil could come of it.”

Michael’s father nodded.
 
“I understand.
 
And I want you both to know that there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Mrs. Stoker eyed him suspiciously.
 
“Why do you say that, Mr. Belmont?”

“Because the sword is safe.
 
I have it.”

They all stared at him in disbelief as he casually drank his coffee.

“Oh, very well then, I suppose I’m going to have to show it to you,” he said in a feigned irritated voice, and winked at Michael as he got up.
 
“Someone make sure all the curtains are drawn by the time I get back.”
 
He stopped at the door to look over his shoulder at Rachel.
 
“I could use another shot of coffee, dear, if you don’t mind.”

Michael jumped up to follow him.
 
He had a mind to see exactly where his father might have hidden such a sword, but his mother glared a warning at him.
 
“Back in that chair right NOW, Mister!”
 
Her eyes locked with his before she disappeared into the kitchen to get some more coffee.

“Did
you
know he might have the sword?” Mrs. Stoker asked Mr. MacDonald.
 
She smiled excitedly.

“I knew it was possible, but I didn’t want to say anything because the chance was so slim.
 
Mark Belmont is quite the treasure hunter.
 
Once he sets his mind on acquiring something, he usually gets it.”

The old woman just sat there looking at him suspiciously, scratching her chin.
 
“I hope this isn’t some kind of a joke.
 
Do you know how many people have gone looking for that sword since Van Helsing hid it?”

Michael watched Abigail as she went around the living room, re-checking all the windows to make sure the drapes were securely drawn.
 
He chuckled and shook his head at Liam when she went outside to check if she could see in from the yard.

Michael leaned over to Liam.
 
“Hey, what’s this Guild your dad mentioned a minute ago?
 
Is that the group Finnegan belongs to or something?”

Liam nodded.
 
“Yup.
 
I pestered the old bloke about it until he came clean.
 
They call themselves the Nodens Guild.
 
They’re a society of monster hunters with members all across the British Isles.
 
That’s about all I could get out of him though.”

“Is your dad a member too?”

“No, but Mrs. Stoker is.
 
Shamus McGinty was too.
 
My da just helps them out from time to time.”

After a few minutes, Michael’s father came back in with a long object wrapped up in a dark blue cloth.
 
He sat down on the floor and rolled it out as everyone gathered around.
 
There was the sword, sheathed in a leather scabbard.
 
He drew it out, and laid it down before them.

It was a simple weapon, but quite beautiful.
 
The double-edged blade was long and straight, and sharp- Michael could see that.
 
The golden grip was large enough to fit both hands of an adult man, and then some. The pommel at the bottom contained some sort of clear, polished blue stone.
 
Michael reached down to touch it, and the stone glowed softly, as did his ring.

His fingers met the golden hilt, and that’s when everything disappeared in a flash.

Michael suddenly found himself standing upon a parapet wall, facing a tall castle tower.
 
In front of him stood a tall blonde man dressed in white, and as his head began to clear, he realized that this was someone he recognized.

But whose memories had he jumped into?
 
Was it Anubis?
 
He couldn’t tell what his host was thinking
.
 
It’s happening again
, he thought to himself.
 
It’s like my encounter with the girl when I touched my mom’s amulet.
 
I can see and feel everything, but I don’t know what this person is thinking
.
 
It was an odd sensation, being trapped inside someone’s head without having any control or being able to speak.

The man in white had just handed him something, and he looked down to inspect it.
 
It was the very same sword his father had brought out just a few moments ago.

“Thank you, Uriel," he found himself saying in another man’s voice.
 
“You do me much honor by entrusting me with such a mighty gift.”

“You are a brave and loyal man George.
 
You have proven yourself to be a mighty, yet humble warrior.
 
But you have also drawn the attention of powerful foes, enemies of all mankind.
 
This blade will help you in your quest.”

George examined the sword once again.
 
The jewel infixed in the pommel glowed with a soft blue light.
 
It was the same light Michael had seen in the Staff of Anubis, his mother’s amulet, and his own ring.

George looked up at Uriel, who wore a solemn, yet friendly grin.
 
“This sword was forged in celestial light.
 
It will banish the fallen ones into the prison that has been prepared for them.
 
Do you remember everything we discussed about the gateway to Tartarus?”

George nodded.

Uriel continued.
 
“Be warned my friend, although this is a powerful weapon, it does not make you invulnerable.
 
My brother Zuriel will stop at nothing to interfere with our work, but by wielding this sword you will become much more powerful.”

“I understand.”

“Good.
 
I have one more gift to give you, another weapon, but it is not yet finished.
 
Once completed, it will be invaluable in helping you capture your adversaries.”

“Lord knows I have plenty of those out there.”
 
George sheathed the sword, holding his hand on the hilt as he turned to look off over the parapet wall.
 
A dense snow-covered forest was spread out before him, and a chilling wind blew through the air.
 
He breathed it in slowly before reaching up to rub his hands together.
 
The vision faded.

The living room spun around him for several moments before Michael was able to focus on the worried faces of the people standing over him.