Voracious - Alice Henderson [57]
Madeline flipped ahead, skipping several entries. Noah had been getting used to the idea of a creature like this for more than two centuries. It was his life now, hunting Stefan, a daily routine. Madeline’s mind still reeled at the thought of other creatures sharing her world. She’d always loved the thought of magic, and as a child had read every book on fairies, dragons, and mythological beings that she could abscond away into her room. But none of that had prepared her for the absolute knowledge that such a thing could exist. And Stefan was no mischievous fairy or griffin with gleaming wings. He was a killer—an intelligent, relentless killer—and a kind of beast too dark for the books that had thrilled her as a child. Stefan was a monster that belonged in forgotten volumes, heavy with age and sealed with a rusting lock. Dark records of hideous creatures described and then hidden away for none to find, as if the sealing of the tome could seal in the beast’s power.
She found another entry and resumed.
June 15, 1765
Copenhagen, Denmark
I can scarcely believe it. I have actually caught up with the brute. I followed a rash of killings leading to Copenhagen over the last two years. Four murders in all, all of people with exceptional talent.
A poet here is to be honored by King Frederick V of Denmark, and reports have been in the local and larger gazettes. This is just the sort of opportunity to which the creature would be attracted.
I have started following the poet myself, studying his friends, hoping the creature will reveal himself. I have decided upon a particular friend who watches the poet with a hungry gleam in his eye and who looked quite startled when I strode by him one day.
I have introduced myself into the poet’s circle. Once again my aristocratic status has its advantages. My only doubt is that perhaps I have the wrong fellow. Doubts visit me in the small hours of the night … I wonder if the poet is indeed next, and if his friend Jesper is indeed the creature in disguise.
What if I am planning on killing an innocent man?
Though I have tracked the killer tirelessly over the last two years and get little sleep, racked with worry, I do not feel the worse for it. In fact, I feel more energized than ever before. I fear I do indeed have the same malady that afflicted Ffyllon, though such a fantastic malady I could never have hoped for. To feel so powerful, youthful, to be able to heal quickly. It is a miracle, though perhaps a dark one.
June 17, 1765
Copenhagen, Denmark
A terrible thing has happened! I can scarcely write it down. Damn my hesitation. Jesper was indeed the villain, posing as the poet’s friend. Jesper invited the poet to the opera, where he had purchased a box for the evening.
I followed, repeatedly checking the box nervously during the course of the opera. I saw the creature make its move, dragging the poet down below the lip of the box. I leapt up from my seat and ran to the box, where the creature was already feasting upon the poor man’s throat. The unfortunate fellow had not even time to cry out.
I dashed into the box and grabbed Stefan, who had shifted into what I have come to think of as his true form: a shadow of a thing, all black with no features save a pair of red saucer eyes and a mouth full of vile teeth.
As I rushed forth, hand inside my waistcoat to produce the weapon, the creature met my rush, lifted me up effortlessly over the lip of the box, and flung me down.
I crashed painfully into the seats below, injuring several operagoers. A commotion stirred up, the orchestra and singers still attempting to proceed with the performance in spite of it. One woman I had landed on screamed, and I struggled to right myself.
In the end, by the time I had returned to the box, the poet was gone, leaving a bloody trail. I can only assume Stefan