Editor’s Note:

Welcome back to “If Morning Never Comes,” a serial adventure of gothic peril from

If this is your first time with this story, start at the beginning! - Episode One | In Which: We Meet the Ashley Family

If you got lost, visit the Table of Contents! - If Morning Never Comes

Charles slammed home the bolt to Stryker’s front door against the darkling sky. He checked each room. The shutters were closed, the curtains were drawn. He double-checked the window in the workshop. The boards seemed to be holding, but he noticed a nail starting to rise up at one end. He grabbed a hammer from the workbench and drove the reluctant iron back. He reached a hand to the top board and pulled on it hard once, then twice. Good. He took the lantern and Stryker’s long rifle and locked the door behind him. He tugged on each internal door one more time for good measure, then went into the library. He left that door open. He had tried locking it before, but he could not rest with it closed.

The fireplace had been emptied and cleaned earlier, the only light came from his single lantern. He sat in his chair where he could see the front hall through the doorway. He had pulled the table over weeks ago. On it lay the books he had intended to read, some food and drink, the blunderbuss and two other pistols, his saber, various knives, an enormous bouquet of garlic blossoms, ten sharp stakes and a hammer. The rifle lay across his knees. Every chink in the house was blocked, no way to tell if the sun had set. He checked his watch. 4:40. Any time, then. He sighed and tried to relax. Would he sleep tonight?

It had been almost a month since Herr Stryker left for London. He had received a letter confirming his arrival and an address where he could reach him. Although, Stryker had also reminded Charles to be discreet with what he sent and that there could be no assurance that he would always be home to receive it. That had been the last he had heard from him. Charles had written twice, but there had been no response.

Meanwhile, he had been at Stryker’s cottage alone. On his first day he made plans to keep up his physical training, catch up on his assigned reading, and devise a strategy to stop Raines and Clarke that he could present to Herr Stryker upon his return. He hoped he would have enough time to do it all and perhaps earn back some of the respect he had lost the night before. Stryker had been gone far longer than he had anticipated. But he had accomplished none of those things.

“Charles Ashley!”

The angry howl lingered in the air. Charles checked the rifle.

“Charles Ashley!”

It always started with the shouting. It sounded like he was in front of the house this time, on top of the hill.

“Is tonight the night, Charles? Is tonight the night we finish it?”

He was moving. Charles tried to keep an exact bead on his location.

“Where are you, you little rat? Still skulking?” A blow landed against one wall. Charles gripped the gun but did not flinch. “Is this what he taught you, Ash-rat? To cower and hide?” Mocking laughter.

Almost every night since Stryker had left, Edgar Raines had come to the house. At first he had tapped on the windows and whispered outside the door. Charles had immediately run for the rifle, but he could not get a clear shot at the vampire. Raines kept in constant motion, and was never in the direct sight line of any window for longer than a second or two. Charles had fired a few times, but to no effect. For the first time he fully appreciated what Herr Stryker had taught him. The vampire was impossibly fast.

Raines had grown bolder with each night. The whispers turned to howls, and soon he was throwing himself against the house. Each blow shook the cottage walls. Once, he had even broken the workshop window. Charles knew that he could not come in without an invitation, and Raines scrupulously avoided the bouquets of garlic he had hung about. But that did not made the attacks any less nerve-wracking.

“You think you’re some kind of hero, don’t you, boy?” Raines called now, slightly muffled – he was on the opposite side of the house. At least he did not know where he was. Charles knew better now than to keep the chimney smoking. “Is this the kind of hero my sister deserves, Charles? A cringing, sniveling...” the voice drifted beyond Charles’ earshot.

He waited. Was he gone? He could never tell. The first few nights, Raines had stayed from dark until dawn. Then he began to leave only to return when Charles had fallen asleep. Some nights he did not come at all. Those were the worst. Every day Charles waited to leave the house until the sun was high, and on rainy days he did not go out at all. He would assess the damage and make any repairs that seemed urgent with what little skill he possessed. He tried his best to keep the garlic fresh, but the supply was beginning to run low. He had sent for more, but none had come. He had little doubt the order had been intercepted. His horse had been frightened off the first night, and he was too afraid to leave without it. So every night it was back inside well before the sun began to set. He was exhausted, his nerves were shot, and there was nothing he could do.

He reached for a glass of water. The coffee was long gone. He tried to swallow calmly. As he replaced the cup his eyes fell on a half-finished letter. He grabbed a book on naval battle tactics instead, hoping to keep his mind far from his present situation. He shifted in his seat but found himself re-reading the same paragraph over and over.

He had not written to Jenny since the ball at Raines Manor, and he had not heard from her either. The standoff with the vampire had distracted him from his relationship, and it was not until long after he should have that he realized the correspondence had stopped. He and Herr Stryker never got much mail anyway, but Jenny’s letters had always been regular. He began to write her an explanation but could not bring himself to finish it.

He suspected the mail had been stopped by Mr. Raines or Mr. Clarke, but there was also the possibility that Miss Tarrant was angry with him. Of course, he had no way of knowing the real reason, but the thought of Jenny sitting smugly in her drawing room, trying to punish him into an apology with her silence dug under his skin. He had done nothing wrong that night, and she had been irrational and insensitive. So the apologetic letter sat unfinished and unsent. She should be apologizing to him, anyway – he refused to play some silly game. And while he knew that she was completely unaware of the threat he was under, it still rankled him that she could be so selfish as to add to the pressure he was already under.

But he did miss her. When his good sense managed to cast a beam through the storm clouds of his brooding, he knew he still cared for her. Sometimes he thought of leaving at dawn to make a break for her house. But those moments passed quickly. He had other things to think about.

He sat up with a jolt at a sudden crash directly above his head. He dropped to one knee and aimed the rifle up. Edgar Raines’ deep-throated cackle pierced through the ceiling.

“Here I am, little rabbit! Did you think I was gone? Ha!”

Footsteps stalked across the roof in heavy boots.

“I am always watching you, Charles. I can see through you – she can see through you, too.”

Charles tried sit down. “He can’t come in. He can’t come in unless I invite him.”

“Oh yes, I know all about your little adventure in my tower, boy.” The voice moved back in his direction, “Do you really think you can take her from me, Charles? You think I would let her go?”

Suddenly Edgar Raines’ voice bellowed down the chimney: “She is mine, Charles! Do you hear? Can you hear me, boy?”

Charles had blocked the chimney earlier that day, but apparently not as well as he ought. He stood and paced as the screams of the monster echoed around the room. He eyed the arsenal on the table. He could hardly understand it himself, but part of him wanted to throw open the door and have it out with the vampire right now. He could not take it anymore. He could not abide the days and nights of fitful sleep, or the enforced solitude, or the way Edgar spoke about Amelia. Charles strode out into the front hall and looked hard at the door. It would be so easy – one way or another, it could be all over tonight.

It was the voice of Georg Stryker in his head that kept him from doing it. He may resent the old man’s caution, but he had been right that night. He would be no hero for throwing his life away needlessly. What kind of man would he be if he could be broken by threats alone? While Mr. Raines was no one to be underestimated, he had no power over Charles except what he chose to give. He howled and taunted because he could do nothing else. If he could get at him, he would have done so already. At least he was here instead of Ashwood. Charles sighed. He could endure a few unpleasant nights.

He made his way back to the library and leaned the rifle against the table. He sat down. Raines had given up shrieking down the chimney. There was nothing to do except wait for Herr Stryker to return. His own safety aside, he felt awful for the way he had spoken to his teacher after their confrontation with Vicar Clarke. He still did not agree with him on their strategy, but that did not matter to him now. He just wanted the old hunter back.

With a sound like a shot from a cannon, the front door shook under a sudden smash. Charles grabbed the gun and ran to the hall. He raised it to the door. The smallest space now opened between the top left corner and the frame. The wood had splintered in a few places, a large crack starting near the top. Charles cocked the rifle.

“Sleep if you can, my love. You can’t keep me out forever.”

Charles opened fire and hit the doorframe in a spray of chalk and plaster. A loud, mad laugh burst through the crack in the door, then receded across the moor at an incredible speed.

Charles exhaled and sat back. He let the long rifle clatter to the floor, barrel still smoking. The door was a disaster. Herr Stryker would have his hide. He mentally ran through everything he would need to fix it. He doubted Raines would be back tonight, but he knew he should start immediately. He was not as tired as he normally would have been anyway. The nightly vigils had forced him to sleep during the day. He chuckled to himself. It seemed he and Edgar Raines were both nocturnal now. He pushed himself up with a hand to fetch the tools.