Night's Gift: Book One of the Night's Vampire Trilogy Read online

  Night’s Gift

  I began running down the stairs, taking some of them two at a time. I stumbled several times in my haste, but the railing saved me from tumbling to the bottom. I prayed that wherever these steps led, it would be better than where I had just been. I could smell the moisture from the walls. I could hear dripping water up ahead. All of a sudden, I felt a rush of fresh air. I could not believe my good fortune; I had actually managed to stumble on a way out! I wanted to shout for joy but did not dare for fear they would hear me.

  The stairs exited into a small courtyard. Rain poured down, drenching my body. Cool, cleansing rain it was, washing this place from my skin and my clothes. I lifted my face up to the night sky. I was free! The smell of freedom was so sensuous to my quivering nostrils that I...

  Something flew past my face and landed on the wall in front of me. I imagined I could see two tiny, bright red lights emanating from whatever it was. Could it be? No...I did not want to believe my eyes. I started to shake. It could not be! How was it possible? I had to find a way out of here...

  Also by Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour

  Poetry

  Life’s Roller Coaster

  Devastations of Mankind

  Shattered

  Memories

  Short Stories

  From the Heart

  Biographies

  A 20th Century Portia

  Novels

  Night’s Vampire Trilogy:

  Night’s Gift

  Night’s Children

  Night’s Return

  NIGHT’S GIFT

  Copyright © 2014 by Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour

  Copyright © 2011 by Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author through the website:

  www.marymcushniemansour.ca

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Ordering Information:

  Books may be ordered directly through the author’s website: www.marymcushniemansour.ca or through booksellers. Contact:

  Cavern of Dreams Publishing

  43 Kerr-Shaver Terrace

  Brantford, ON N3T 6H8

  1-519-770-7515

  Discounts are available for volume orders.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Cushnie-Mansour, Mary M., 1953-

  [Novels. Selections]

  Night’s vampire / Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour.

  (Night’s vampire trilogy )

  Contents: bk. 1 Night’s gift -- bk. 2. Night’s children -- bk.

  3. Night’s return.

  Issued in print, electronic and audio formats.

  ISBN 978-0-9868169-1-8 (bk. 1 : pbk.).--ISBN 978-0-9868169-2-5

  (bk. 1 : bound).--ISBN 978-0-9868169-5-6 (bk. 2 : pbk.).--

  ISBN 978-0-9868169-6-3 (bk. 2 : bound).--ISBN 978-0-9868169-9-4

  (bk. 3 : pbk.).--ISBN 978-1-927899-00-7 (bk. 3 : bound).--

  ISBN 978-0-9868169-3-2 (bk. 1 : epub).-ISBN 978-0-9868169-7-0

  (bk. 2 : epub).-ISBN 978-1-927899-02-1 (bk. 3 : epub).-

  ISBN 978-0-9868169-4-9 (bk. 1 : audiobook).-ISBN 978-0-9868169-8-7

  (bk. 2 : audiobook).-ISBN 978-1-927899-03-8 (bk. 3 : audiobook)

  I. Cushnie-Mansour, Mary M., 1953- . Night’s gift. II. Cushnie-Mansour, Mary M., 1953-. Night’s children. III. Cushnie-Mansour, Mary M., 1953-. Night’s return IV. Title.

  PS8605.U83N53 2013 C813’.6 C2013-905509-6

  C2013-905510-X

  C2013-905505-3

  TO ALL WHO BELIEVED IN MY DREAM

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks go out to my Content Editor, Bethany Jamieson, Brantford, ON Canada, for keeping me on track, and taking my red pen away from me when I overused it. Eventually, every great piece of writing just needs to get into the hands of the readers!

  Cover design by Terry Davis @ Ball Media, Brantford, ON Canada––Terry you did an amazing job!

  Wolf Spirit Cover Art was created and designed by Wolfhowl10 via Abdul Rahman at: downloadwallpaperhd.com. Thank you for allowing me to use this beautiful picture to help create such an awesome cover for Night’s Gift.

  Thanks to my husband, Ed, for his patience over the years as I pursued my dream.

  Thank you to friends who have supported me along the way: Judi Klinck and Joan Jenkins, for reading some of my first drafts and encouraging me to continue on with the story.

  Brenda Ann Wright, who encouraged me to publish Night’s Gift. George Hatton, for editing my manuscript, and looking at it with the eyes of a teacher.

  Lisa Mallette who offered some great editing suggestions.

  The members of the Brantford Writers’ Circle, for their continued support and encouragement.

  The Talos family has been wonderful throughout my journey. They have allowed me to use photos of their property, Wynarden, for my cover. Wynarden was built in 1864 by the Yates family. It has often been referred to over the years as Yates Castle. This house was the inspiration for the Night’s Vampire Trilogy.

  And last, but certainly not least, I would like to thank everyone who believed in me ... there are too many names to list here, but you all know who you are!

  INTRODUCTION

  Dear Reader:

  I am relating this story to you through my eyes ... for it is only my eyes that are capable of seeing into hearts that did not exist; my eyes that can weep for that which was lost; my eyes that are capable of showing any emotion beyond nothingness. It is only my pen that would dare to tell such a story—for those I resided with for a time would not want such secrets to be known.

  This is a story that must be told. It is a story that, as you read it, you might believe was written as a Hollywood movie script. It is a story that you’d never dream you would actually ever live. It is my story—a part of my life that can never be erased from my memory—which will live on for eternity. For eternity itself has sealed it within its pages.

  Despite all that he could not do for me, I shall be forever grateful to Max for the scraps of paper he provided me with during my sojourn at the house. I have gathered together the scattering of scribbles I was able to write, and I have managed to decipher the majority of my words. However, many of my pages were written beneath a torrent of tears, smearing a great many of the letters into unintelligible scratching. As a result, some of my story has been recreated, a little at a time, from whatever memories I have managed not to suffocate.

  I believe it is all here—the love, the hate, the lies, the deceptions, the pain, and the sorrow. There was no hearty laughter where I have just come from, for there were none truly alive, save I. And even though there were moments when I laughed with him as we talked and bantered issues past and present, his laughter was never truly authentic. Mine was, but at this moment I cannot bring genuine laughter to surface after what happened to me inside that house.

  Are you one who loves to take a risk? Are you willing to turn the pages and discover the truths about my life? Then read on. I will share my momen
ts with you in the hope that I might save at least one person from becoming immersed in such evil as I was. Before becoming overly curious about what appears to be an abandoned building, you might think twice. Before you risk a look beyond any window sill, read my story!

  —Virginia

  Mystery House

  Chapter One

  The day had been solemn and drab—much like my mood. Storm clouds had threatened to disperse their anger upon the earth. Thunder had rumbled in the distance. Flashes of lightning had lit the far horizons. Yet, with all the impending warnings, not a drop of rain had fallen on Brantford. I had procrastinated long enough for my evening walk, and I was restless, even though the hour was late. I would take an umbrella with me, just in case. Such was the night I had chosen to check out the mysterious mansion at the end of Buffalo Street ...

  I had only been in the city of Brantford for six months. I had yearned desperately for a small-city atmosphere in order to slow down after the fast-paced life that had devoured me in Toronto. I was tired of big-city lights, big-city noise, big-city dirt, big-city violence—and, most of all, big-city men! However, I could not possibly leave all my conveniences behind. I knew I could never survive in some backwoods town where most modern luxuries would be too inconveniently located or, worse yet, non-existent. In my opinion, those types of places were only meant for weekend getaways, not permanent residences. As a result, Brantford, with its population of 91,000 people, appeared to be the answer to my prayer.

  Thanks to my former employer, I was fortunate to obtain a position with a law firm on Wellington Street. One of the partners was a friend of my boss. Maybe he owed him a favour—no matter, really; it was none of my business. I ended up with a decent job and was given the opportunity to settle into an obscure lifestyle. I appreciated Lady Luck looking out for me.

  My mother must have had some sort of sixth sense into my future. She had always warned me about my looks, saying that good looks were the downfall of most girls. “Get your education the right way,” she had said. “Use your brains; don’t give something out to receive good marks.” She used to go on and on endlessly, hoping to implant some of her ideals into my head. I used to consider her old-fashioned, but the reality of it was that she had been raised quite strictly, and she had adhered to her upbringing right up to the day she died. I cannot remember a week going by in which my mother did not attend Mass at least four times.

  With Mother’s words of concern echoing in the back of my mind, I always went to considerable lengths to detract from my natural beauty. I wound my long red hair into a bun every day and wore the most conservative wardrobe I could find ... greys and blacks, colours that would help me fade into the shadows. I wore straight-cut skirts and modest blouses, clothing that would not be given a second glance. I even steered clear of wearing makeup and noticeable jewellery.

  Well, I guess I should be truthful here and admit there was a time in my life that I did not totally heed my mother’s advice. It was the “John time.” John was the main reason I had escaped to Brantford. My time with him had been justification enough for wanting no intrusions into the secluded little world I was trying to create for myself. He had treated me like a princess at first, and then he just left me for greener fields.

  I met John the first day I began working for Mr. Carverson, who was a partner in a large law firm in Toronto. I was fresh out of secretarial college and had been sent over by an employment agency to fill in for the regular girl who was on maternity leave. For the first few weeks, I worked at the reception desk. A senior legal secretary spent a few hours with me each day, showing me the ropes on how to be Mr. Carverson’s personal assistant. It was sure a lot different from college!

  When John walked into the office, my heart went pitter-patter—you know the way a heart does when you see someone intensely extraordinary! He looked as though he were lost. He had the most desperate look on his face—a perfectly formed face it was, too, with tanned skin contrasting sharply against bleach-blond hair. He was a girl’s dream just waiting to be realized!

  “I need a lawyer!” he demanded. He stopped and stared at me for a second or two. His piercing blue eyes were sparkling—reading my dream! “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful red hair and shining blue eyes?” He reached over and touched the severe bun at the top of my head. “Ever thought of letting this down, pretty lady?”

  He was fulfilling my dream. You might be familiar with the vision—where the prince lets down the hair of the simple maiden, and she becomes the most beautiful princess in the world. Yes, that’s the one!

  I fell instantly in love; well, that is what I thought it was at the time. I swallowed my blush. “How may I help you... uh ...?”

  “John,” he assisted. “John Tanner, at your service, miss. I do hope it is miss,” he added with a mischievous smile.

  “Mr. Tanner,” I needed to remember to be professional, so chose to ignore the miss reference. “What kind of lawyer do you need?”

  “Lawyer? Oh that was just pretence to get in here and meet you.” John had the cutest smile. “Your red hair was shining so brightly through the window that I had to come in and see who it was that had such a crown of gloriousness.” John perched himself on my desk, crossed his legs, and stared straight into my eyes.

  The dream was overcoming my common sense. “Mr. Tanner, please, I have work to do. This is my first day on the job. In fact, this is my first job since graduating from college, and I would like to keep it.”

  John jumped off my desk. “Oh, excuse me, miss ... I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Miss Manser,” I answered politely.

  “Is there a first name to go with that?” The eyebrows rose seductively.

  “Virginia.”

  “Well, Virginia, what time is lunch?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Good! I will pick you up at twelve.”

  Before I had a chance to protest, John was out the door. He returned sharply at 12:00, and our whirlwind romance began. I saw John regularly; in fact, after only a month of romancing, John moved in with me. My mother would have been horrified at such behaviour from her daughter!

  “Hey, Virginia, baby,” he had said one day after a long session of making love, “you know how I’m in between jobs at the moment? Well, I can’t really afford my apartment right now, and since I am over at your place most of the time, do you think maybe I could ...” John threw me his puppy look.

  I smiled naively. “Of course,” I answered, for I still tingled when he touched me, and I was still living in my dream world.

  Everything in my life appeared to be falling into place. I had done so well at the firm that Mr. Carverson had kept me on after his regular girl had decided to stay home with her baby. I had enrolled in some night courses in order to expand my knowledge of the law, with the hope of one day becoming a paralegal.

  John, as you might have guessed by now, never did find another job. In fact, there were many moments when I wanted to ask him if he’d even tried, but for some reason I never opened my mouth. I just continued to support both of us. I figured it was okay because every night when I came home from work the apartment was spotless, the laundry was done, and the greatest meals were laid out on the table. Life was good. I was in love. The dream continued.

  The months turned into a year and a half. John never mentioned marriage, and I was too scared, or maybe I was just too busy to bother bringing up the subject. My job was going well, and I had been given several raises. Overall, at the time, I would have said life could not get much better, despite the fact that John was not working. Of course, there were moments when I thought to myself that if he’d had a job we could have afforded to buy a house.

  Then came the bomb! I had been naturally blessed with robust health, never taking time off work, but on one particular day, I felt extremely ill. I asked Mr. Carverson if I could leave early, and he said it was no problem. There have been fleeting moments when I have wished he had told me I couldn�
�t, that he needed some document finished, or needed me to file some paper at the courthouse, but that was not the card life dealt me. I headed home to my apartment, to the love of my life, to my dream world.

  Crash! There was John, cosily tucked into bed with a blond bimbo! I did not bother to ask her name—Dream Shatterer is how I think of her. I ordered John to pack his bags and get out, and then I sat down and cried. I tried to piece my life back together, but I just could not seem to manage. Finally, I asked Mr. Carverson for a temporary leave of absence.

  “I think I know what you need,” he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. “A change of landscape.”

  I thought, at first, he was going to send me to some little out-of-the-way cottage on a deserted island to heal for awhile; that would have been ideal. But I guess what he offered me was something much better.

  “A lawyer friend of mine, in Brantford, is in need of a skilled legal secretary. In fact, he just called the other day and asked me if I knew of anyone. I can give him a call right now if you like, and see if the position has been filled.” Mr. Carverson waited patiently for my answer.

  “You can always come back here if you don’t like it,” he prodded. “I will keep your position open for six months. How does that sound? Brantford is a small city, and it might do you good to get out of Toronto. You really are not a big-city gal,” Mr. Carverson stated, a fatherly tone to his voice.

  I sat for a few more moments, contemplating the offer. It was one I knew I should not refuse because the reality of my life was that I could not afford to be without a paycheque. I knew I had to close the book on this dream-turned-nightmare before I could get on with my life.

  ~

  I located a small, secluded, one-bedroom apartment in the upper back part of an old house on Broad Street. Since it was summer, and I did not reside too far from the downtown core where I was employed, I decided to walk to work every day. There was no sense wasting money on a car. I had planned to save money to continue furthering my education, but it was something I had neglected after John had cheated on me. Even though my aspirations were leading me in the direction of becoming a paralegal, I was also toying with the possibility of studying criminal psychology and profiling. People interested me, especially their behaviours.