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The corpse was still warm. A woman. Slumped across the snow like a broken doll, her sallow wrists fell limply over her chest in an uncanny imitation of prayer. The corpse's head lolled on her shoulders, creating the impression that those clouded, unseeing eyes gazed ahead into the overcast curtain of cloud cloaking the sunshine. The woman must have been striking when a pulse pounded through her frozen heart, churning the blood that slowly turned to ice in her veins, but even in death, she was beautiful. Frost had crystallized over her once-emerald eyes, decorating her long dark eyelashes with captured snowflakes and tinted her lips a frigid blue, as if she had been tasting blueberries. Her hair was permeated with a layer of icy crystals.
An elderly woman wept beside the body. Cradling the corpse to her shrivelled body, quivering her violin-bow shoulders as she tenderly cupped the victim's lifeless cheeks. Broken whimpers escaped the old woman's lips as she brushed back the victim's flaxen hair, expelling the traces of frozen earth that had started to claim her child.
Van Helsing observed the scene with that same restrained, careful judgement that had shaped his reputation as a monster-hunter: there had been a murder here, that much was obvious, yet it was impossible to know whether or not the culprit had been man or beast.
Carl was shuddering with apprehension, "Vampires?"
"It's hard to say," Van Helsing replied, "Not until we examine the body."
The friar paled.
Marseille had not uttered a word to van Helsing since their discussion during the carriage ride - not when they had been waylaid by a horde of disgruntled villagers, nor when they had been escorted to a courtyard to await the village commander. It was a silence that seemed unlikely to be broken except for the use of distracted, pensive gestures or monosyllabic responses. The woman stared at the body with a guarded expression of intensity that reminded him so prominently of the scholars at the Vatican: her perplexing thunderstorm eyes and the casual way she nibbled on her bottom lip in concentration.
Van Helsing questioned his decision to bring the young woman to the scene of slaughter - she might still have been delicate or emotional. He was about to suggest that she go and find an open room at the tavern where they could spend the night when she spoke.
"Puncture marks," Marseille decided. "There will be other signs, but that's the easiest way to determine if it was a vampire. Vampires are often sloppy: they leave a bloody mess."
Van Helsing nodded in agreement.
The friar was not so impressed and was flickering his neck from the woman to the hunter so frantically he looked like a skittish dog.
"Oh no! Rid yourself of that look!" Carl sputtered, gaping at his partners as if they had gone completely mad, "It's not like we can just approach the woman and demand to see the body! It's no good using reckless bravado when it's not needed - and, besides the point, it's insensitive. A woman's just been murdered for God's sake!"
Wrapping her arms against her chest, Marseille shot him a look," We have no other option, Carl. Either we commit a faux pas or someone else dies. It shouldn't be difficult to appraise the corpse." She thought, "We just need the proper acumen."
As if she had been struck by some instantaneous compulsion, the woman squared her shoulders and started to pass through the murmuring crowds. The villagers did not bother to disguise their suspicion as she strode to the spread-eagled corpse and the weeping woman, who did not even glance up when she arrived.
"That woman terrifies me," Carl whispered conspiratorially.
The woman transformed before their very eyes: her confident stride slowed to a timid pace, the whisperings of her footprints resounding as she approached the elderly woman. The haggard woman jerked at Marseille's touch when she reached out for her wrinkled hand. Keeping a respectful distance, she kneeled across from the trembling elder. Van Helsing could not keep his eyes from her as she spoke to the woman. Marseille's eyes broadened sympathetically and her lips trembled, whether from the bitter wind or from her distraction he was not sure.
The old woman's face contorted as emotions flickered over her aged face: undeniable dismay, sadness and even a morose acceptance. As if it shredded her soul to ribbons, the elderly woman gently slid the corpse back onto the ice and staggered to her feet. Marseille waited for a moment while the woman hobbled away, glancing up at van Helsing and Carl with the slightest sliver of a smile on her face as she waved them over.
"I cannot believe you just did that!" Carl sounded either awed or repulsed, "You have the luck of the Devil."
Marseille shrugged, "If anyone should ask, there's a bad case of bat-transmitted rabies going around." She stifled a laugh on the back of her hand, "I have a weakness for dramatic irony."
Carl looked uncomfortable as the three of them stooped over the body; Marseille's hands were gentle and efficient as she combed the ice out of the woman's hair, muttering a silent prayer as she slipped her fingers under the cadaver's chin. She was holding her breath as she tilted the corpse's head to the side, exposing the neck.
"There it is," The friar sighed in relief, "No vampires."
Van Helsing did not look as convinced. The flesh of the corpse's neck was remarkably unblemished by vampire fangs. No puncture wounds.
"This is not good," Marseille muttered grimly.
"What do you mean?" Carl questioned, confused. "There aren't any puncture marks on the neck - and that's exactly where the main blood source is, isn't it? The jugular vein?"
Marseille frowned, "The carotid artery actually, but yes. It makes no logical sense that a hungry vampire would neglect the throat," She paused hesitantly, "Except..."
The attention was drawn lower on the corpse's body as Marseille shifted closer to the feet. With a tentative frown on her face, she reached out towards the lip of the dead woman's dress and gradually lifted the material. The stench of iron in the air was almost unbearable and a slushy river of blood and ice oozed from the corpse's leg.
"Except," Marseille shuddered in discomfort, "You see that cut on her inner leg? It could be anything - to the unpracticed eye - because it's so small. But that's the opening to the femoral vein - one of the greatest blood highways in the human body. Just one knick there and the entire body's drained of blood."
"He's toying with his victims," Van Helsing's voice was a low rumble, "Letting them bleed to death just for his amusement."
"This isn't his work," Marseille replied, biting her lip in contemplation, "This isn't his trademark killing - this is the work of his brides. I don't understand it," She breathed, "What purpose does this serve? They didn't use this girl for blood. Why leave her body here, out in the open?"
"To send a message."
There was a sharp, metallic click that jostled into place and Marseille glanced up, staring into the loaded tip of a crossbow. The woman sucked in a breath as van Helsing tensed, his own fingers already hooking around his gun when the unmistakable hiss of several other armed crossbows chirped like crickets.
They were surrounded.
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Virgin Sacrifice - Van Helsing Fanfiction
Fanfiction"He was a shadow-man: his entire being seemed to be only of haze as if he was crafted from the first fog. The light caught on the ridge of a strong jaw, highlighted a sliver of a pale, high-placed cheekbone that hung in the darkness like a half-moon...
