Gifts for the Elders

The sky above Blackwood Manor was a ceiling of heavy clouds as the helicopter descended into the clearing. Ancient oaks clawed at the gray air surrounding stone walls, narrow windows, and stone gargoyles perched on every corner. No lights shone from within. No satellite dishes or power lines connected the estate to the modern world. The Covenant had rejected progress centuries ago, leaving the manor frozen in time.

The pilot kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward, hands locked on the controls. He had been paid handsomely not to ask questions.

They landed on a gravel pad behind the building. Sera stepped out first, her boots crunching on the stones. Angelo followed, carrying a duffel bag with a few changes of clothes and a burner phone. To the Covenant, he was the sacrificial lamb.

“Remember the plan,” Sera murmured.

“We don’t have a plan,” Angelo said. “We have a concept of a plan.”

“That’s more than most people have.”

An old servant in formal livery emerged from the shadow of the rear entrance. He inclined his head without a word and led them through dark, wood-floored corridors lit only by candles in iron sconces. Portraits of pale-faced ancestors followed their steps. The air smelled of wax and old blood.

They entered a grand hall where a fire roared in a massive hearth, casting dancing shadows over seven high-backed chairs arranged in a semicircle.

Sera studied the figures seated before them: a silver-haired woman in Victorian silk holding a teacup; a thin-smiling sadist whose tracking gaze made Sera’s skin crawl; a plump financier dripping in jeweled rings; a fanatic clutching an inverted rosary; a paranoid man sitting with his back pressed against the chair; a vain aristocrat checking his cravat in a hand mirror; and at the center, an elder with a calm, benevolent smile.

“Seraphina Delacroix,” the elder said, his voice warm and welcoming. “We have waited a long time for this night.”

“I am grateful for the honor, elder,” Sera said, bowing her head.

“And you have brought the sacrifice.”

At Sera’s gesture, two guards shoved Angelo forward. He kept his chin low and his shoulders slouched, playing the part of a terrified human.

The sadist leaned forward, inhaling deeply. “He smells of fear. Delicious.”

“He is not for you,” Sera said. “He is mine.”

“Of course,” the sadist smiled. “The chosen always keeps her first meal.”

The elder raised a hand to settle the room. “Patience. The ritual will come soon enough. But first, we have prepared a sacrifice of our own. A group of trespassers captured on our land will be drained tonight, before your ascension begins.”

Sera’s stomach tightened. The Covenant rarely fed, but an indulgence tonight would ruin her timing. “We should postpone their execution.”

The traditionalist narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“My ascension requires the Covenant to be at full strength,” Sera advocated. “If you feed now, you will be sated and lethargic, which will weaken the transformation process. I have waited my entire life for this, and I will not see it diminished for a premature meal.”

After a brief silence, the elder nodded in agreement. “She speaks wisdom. The trespassers can wait until after the ritual.”

“Now,” the elder continued, “there is another tradition to observe. The chosen one presents gifts of respect to the elders.”

“I have not forgotten,” Sera said. She signaled toward the corridor, and four hired porters carried in the first of the heavy containers.

The coffins were masterpieces of hidden technology disguised as classic mahogany burial vaults. Lined with dark velvet and etched with gold symbols, each bore the name of an elder.

The vampires rose to inspect them.

“Exquisite,” the vain aristocrat murmured, tracing the gold inlay with his pale fingers.

“Smooth, heavy hinges,” the traditionalist noted, testing the weight of a lid. “A mark of real craftsmanship.”

“Where did you acquire these?” the paranoid one asked, circling his assigned vault.

“A private artisan,” Sera replied. “He specializes in unique commissions.”

“The sun rises within the hour,” the elder said, stepping inside his mahogany box. “We shall rest.”

Sera Bowed. “May your sleep be long and undisturbed.”

She waited until the final mahogany lid clicked flush into place and the hall settled into suffocating silence. Stepping back toward the center of the room, she met Angelo’s gaze and drew the wireless transmitter from her coat. Disguised as an ordinary car fob, the device was connected to high-frequency relays inside each unit.

“Ready?” she whispered.

Angelo swallowed hard; his eyes fixed on the array of polished wood. “Ready.”

Sera pressed the remote trigger.

One second passed. Then two.

Nothing happened. The fire crackled in the hearth, throwing orange light across seven silent boxes. Angelo’s breath caught in his throat.

Then came a sharp, metallic clack as heavy electromagnetic bolts snapped shut inside every frame.

A high-pitched, electric whine rose from the concealed battery compartments beneath the velvet linings. High-intensity solar lamps flared to life within the sealed boxes, casting an eerie, white glow through the hairline seams of the lids. Compressed-air canisters discharged in a series of muffled pneumatic thuds, driving silver-tipped stakes through padding and flesh.

Gray smoke hissed from the silver filigree joints, bringing the smell of ozone and scorched pine. A low vibration rattled the brass handles on the sides of the coffins, followed by brief, deadened thuds against the interior lids.

And then, total stillness.

The electrical hum died down as the lamps drained their power packs. The only sound left in the grand hall was the whisper of grey ash settling inside the sealed boxes.

Sera held her breath for a full minute, her hand trembling slightly over the transmitter, before taking a cautious step forward. She unlatched the nearest lid and pulled it open.

Inside lay a mound of fine ash and a blackened wooden stake, resting in the center of scorched black velvet. She checked the rest; every coffin contained the same result. Angelo stood beside her.

“How did you get the coffins?” Sera examined the coffin.

“I called in a favor,” Angelo explained. “An old acquaintance named Elias.”

“Elias?”

“He deals in peculiar items. Didn’t even charge us upfront.”

Sera frowned. “Why not?”

Angelo shrugged. “Said his supplier wanted them field-tested.”

Sera stared at him. “You didn’t think that was suspicious?”

“I thought it was generous.”

Sera sighed. “Let’s find the prisoners.”

They descended to the stone cellars and located three terrified local villagers locked in a holding cell. Angelo picked the iron lock, and Sera pointed them toward the rear exit. “Run straight for the main road. Don’t stop.”

Once the villagers escaped into the night, Angelo gestured toward the iron door at the end of the lower hall. “The vault next. Before we clear out.”

Behind the heavy oak door lay the accumulated wealth of the Delacroix line: stacks of gold coins, gemstones, jewelry, and peculiar trinkets. Working quickly, they filled two heavy duffel bags with precious metals and high-value artifacts.

Unbeknownst to either of them, deep beneath the stone floor of the vault, a hidden sub-cellar remained untouched.

There, resting in the damp earth, lay an eighth coffin. It was rough-hewn and covered in centuries of dust.

The wooden lid shifted with a dry creak. A pale, clawed hand reached out into the dark.

Count Delacroix had awakened.