Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  Marek didn’t move. Instead, he reverted to the Mothertongue, asking in an undertone, “Wha is it?”

  “It contains tobacco, another product of the New World.” Karl-Josef explained in the same language. “That place has many wonders, it seems.”

  Not understanding what they were saying, Hilde frowned, looking as if she feared the Graf was going to keep the pipe.

  “This is from a state called Virginia, in North America.” He held out the pipe, gesturing with it. “Try it. The smoke helps you relax.”

  Something else we don’t know about. Marek reached for the pipe, then hesitated.

  “Is it an herb? You know our sensitivities.”

  “Nonsense. It didn’t bother me, did it?”

  Marek took the pipe. Copying the Graf’s action, he placed his lips around the pipe stem, inhaling deeply. The next moment, he was coughing and gasping as the smoke went down his throat and out his nose. He thrust it back into Hilde’s hand.

  “I see you need to be shown how it’s done.” She handed it back. “Don’t inhale so fast. Slowly, liebchen, slowly.”

  He did as she instructed, taking a deep breath and drawing the smoke into his lungs while her lips grazed across his cheek and around his earlobe.

  “Now, hold your breath.” She pulled the pipe from his hand.

  Putting her arms around his neck, she kissed him soundly, tongue invading his lips. Inhaling quickly, she stepped back, raised her head, and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling.

  “There,” she said, smiling. “Isn’t that better than merely sucking smoke out of a pipe?”

  Now that the smoky taste was gone from his mouth, Marek thought he might like to try it again, but when he reached for the pipe, Karl-Josef shook his head and pulled him away.

  “Later, if you want, but not right now.” He directed the sentence toward Hilde, who leaned languidly against the wall, the stem of the pipe gripped between her teeth. “There’s more to see.”

  They passed through rooms where card games were going on, some in deadly earnest, large sums of paper money and coins piled upon the centers of tables…rooms where other forms of gambling held sway…still others where lovely women, completely dressed, or not at all, danced or sang for their customers or simply got down to basics and draped themselves over sofas or chairs where they were mounted enthusiastically.

  The air got hazier as they progressed down the hallway. The smell of tobacco smoke and more acrid odors floated from behind closed doors. By the time they came to the end of the hall, Marek was blinking, his eyes burning, even the one covered by the patch. With his vision partly obscured by the leather strip, he found it difficult to see in the darkened corridor.

  “We won’t bother with those,” Karl-Josef decided as Marek reached for a door handle. He gestured to another open room where bright lights gleamed into the hallway and there was the sound of music and laughter. “Let’s go in here.”

  It was another card room, with more money on the tables, more naked women, more drunken men. Marek stumbled. He was dizzy, had been since they passed those doors with the odd fragrances. He also felt slightly numb.

  When someone wandered past, breeches unbuttoned, privates dangling freely, he didn’t even blink, only watched the fellow’s progress as he grabbed a passing whore and flung himself into a chair, pulling her onto his lap. With a giggling squeal, she began to buck against him.

  “Karl!”

  Marek spun, trying to find the owner of the voice.

  Wilhelm was seated at one of the tables, cards in his hand, a black stick between his teeth. He pulled it from his mouth, waving it about, sprinkling ashes from its glowing tip. “Wondered when you’d show up.”

  “Did you see Herr Schell home safely?” Marek asked, looking around. “I doubt this place would be much to his liking.”

  Wilhelm laughed. “The boy’s a good judge of character. Ja, I’m afraid our Oskar’s a confirmed family man. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, sleeps only with his wife.” He lowered his voice conspiratorily. “Also goes to church on Sundays.”

  That struck Marek as terribly funny. He laughed long and loud, and Wilhelm did also.

  “Corrupting the lad already, eh, Karl?”

  “Only a little, Willi,” the Graf replied. “Only a little.”

  Marek didn’t hear what else they said, because at that moment there was a tap on his shoulder. A little hand caught his chin, and turned him around. Hilde put her arms around his neck. She backed toward a nearby wall, pulling Marek with her.

  “Your eye is such a beautifl blue.” She brushed back a lock of hair, fallen over his right eye. “What happened to the other?”

  “I was a soldier.” He fell back on the excuse Karl-Josef suggested.

  “Oh. I won’t ask more.” She pursed her lips, making a little moue and looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “It’s a shame, though. Do you like opium?”

  Following the question about his eyes, this one didn’t make much sense. Her thoughts apparently had no order to them.

  “Or hashish?”

  “I could better answer if I knew what they were, Fräulein Hilde.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, let me show you.”

  When she kissed him, Marek, overwhelmed by his surroundings, returned it enthusiastically. She pressed one hand against his cock, fingers insistent. The noise and the odd odors, Hilde’s caresses, and his indulgence in coffee conspired to arouse him.

  With my body, but never my heart. The words spun in his brain. Lust, but not love.

  He pushed Hilde against the wall, lifting her off the floor so her feet dangled above the carpet. She swung her legs up, wrapping them around Marek’s waist. He kissed her again, tongue pressing into her mouth, and she caught at it with her lips, sucking softly.

  “Are you like Herr Graf?” She released him.

  “That’s a question with many answers. What do you mean?” He was more interested in mouthing her breasts and kneading the soft backside pressing itself into his hands than in talking about his uncle.

  “Are you a vampire, too?”

  Marek stiffened and nearly dropped her.

  He looked around. Karl-Josef was busy dealing cards, his cane propped against the table. Wilhelm was frowning at those he’d received. The others were either swilling beer or wine, doing as he wished to do to Hilde, or standing around watching someone else do those things.

  Her mouth had been close to his ear, so no one had heard. She turned him back to face her.

  “If you want my blood, I don’t mind. Herr Graf, when he used to frequent more often, always wanted a girl who tasted good. He said I was delicious.”

  She threw her head back, resting it against the wall, thrusting out her breasts so they touched Marek’s chest. Hilde’s hand encircled her right breast, holding the nipple between thumb and forefinger. She squeezed it and bit her lip, drawing in her breath with a little gasp.

  “He liked to suck it from here.” She looked up at him, blue eyes clouded with something he couldn’t name. “Wouldn’t you like to do that?”

  “Yes,” he told her, voice husky. He swallowed, kissing her again. “That, and more.”

  She turned her head, saying into his shoulder, “I’ve been smoking opium and hashish. I mixed it with the tobacco. If you drink from me, you’ll get the full dose of it. Not merely that little bit you inhaled.”

  Seizing her breasts in both hands, she offered them to Marek.

  “Do it, fill yourself with my blood, then fill me with your spill.”

  He wasn’t overcome enough to be that foolish. Marek drew back, releasing her. Hilde staggered as her feet hit the floor, then righted herself.

  “What is it?”

  “Fräulein Hilde, do you have...” He searched for the word. “…uh…kondom?”

  He thought she was going to laugh. Instead, she shook her head. “Oh, my big beauty, you don’t need that.”

  “Nein? Why is that?”

  The noise seemed to be getting
louder, more boisterous, the room much, much warmer. He wasn’t certain if it was happening or he simply imagined it. She leaned close, mouth against his ear.

  “I have a pessar.”

  “But you’re female.” Feeling stupid, and grateful Karl-Josef wasn’t a witness to his ignorance, he recoiled slightly, looking down at the bare, pale mound and seeing nothing that shouldn’t be there.

  “Nein, nein. A pessar.” Now she did laugh and muttered to herself, before explaining, “A female kondom.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  His expression said otherwise.

  “Ask your uncle.”

  Marek had no intention of doing any such thing. When he didn’t move, she gave a sharp little sigh.

  “Give me your hand.”

  Placing his right hand in hers, he scowled as she brought it between her legs, guiding his middle finger upward. He drew in a deep breath as it touched soft, wet warmth. She rotated his finger, forcing it further inside. It struck something not warm or soft, more of a...leathery… texture.

  Marek jerked his hand away.

  “And that prevents…?”

  “Die kinder. Ja.” She nodded, reaching between them to unbutton his trousers. “So now, we can fuck and you have a little drink and we’ll both enjoy it.”

  A sudden spate of laughter behind them made Marek hesitated.

  “The others will see. I can’t take your blood here.”

  “I didn’t take you for a shy one.” Shrugging, she took him by the hand. “Come with me.”

  She led him to a curtained alcove. He barely waited for the drape to fall into place, just bent his head, and took her nipple in his mouth, fangs dropping and driving into it in one swift movement. He’d never had them release so quickly. He inhaled, letting her blood fill his mouth.

  Hilde gave a sharp, high moan, and climbed his body, legs clinging to his hips. He braced both hands against the wall as he pushed himself into her.

  Behind them, the curtain was flung upward.

  “Hey, the new boy’s plugging Hilde. Come on.”

  Crowding into the little room, they gathered around, and the counting began. Bets were placed, money changed hands while Karl-Josef and Wilhelm and those at the table shrugged at the young ones’ idea of entertainment and went on with their game.

  When Marek raised his head from Hilde’s breast, mouth smeared red, gasping out his climax, someone shouted, “Victory! Pay up, gents.”

  He collected his winnings from the others.

  They dragged Marek away, trousers still opened, privates damp and quivering, to a chair at another of the tables where a new card game was started. Hastily, he tried to cover his mouth with his hand, wiping away the red smears.

  “Don’t worry.” Hilde’s voice was soft in his ear. “Everyone in this room is like you. By the end of the night, they’ll all have a sip of the bright red with their wine and ale.”

  She kissed him on the mouth, licking away the blood. A mug was thrust into his hand.

  Hilde tried to sit on his lap, as did another whore. There was a brief scratch-and-hit before each perched on a knee, reclining against him. One kissed his ear while the other nibbled her way down his neck to the edge of his shirt that had somehow been dragged out of his trousers, his stock pulled loose and hanging around his shoulders like a shawl.

  Someone placed one of the thin black sticks in his other hand, calling it a cigarito. Marek took a tentative pull on the tightly-wrapped tobacco, coughed, and set it down on a small saucer supplied for that purpose as he picked up the cards dealt him. He won the first hand, gathered in his winnings and laughed out loud at his good fortune.

  There was another deal, and another win.

  The night dissolved into an endless series of card hands and white bosoms, sparkling wine and smoke and glitter...

  * * *

  …stacks of gold coins, mugs of ale, a woman’s laughter.

  “Oh, my head…” With a groan, Marek rolled over, burrowing against the pillow, mumbling into its softness, “Where am I?”

  “Home.”

  Raising his head enough to peer over the coverlet tucked around his ears, he saw Karl-Josef standing by the bed holding two glasses of wine.

  “Here.” The Graf placed one on the bedside table. “Hair of the dog. This’ll help your headache.”

  Taking the other glass, he walked to the fireside chair and sat down. Putting his feet on the little footstool, he leaned back, sipping contentedly. He didn’t look any the worse for that night’s adventure.

  Marek reached for the glass. The movement sent pain shooting from one temple to the other, and he dropped his hand, wincing as even that seemed to hurt. With another groan, he rolled onto his back, the wine untouched.

  “Gods, what happened?” He’d never felt like this before, certainly not after his intrare party at school nor during the twins’ banchet.

  “Don’t you remember?” The Graf lowered his wine glass.

  Marek would’ve shaken his head, but he was certain that might make it hurt more.

  With a slight hesitation, Karl-Josef went on, “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you.”

  “Gods, uncle.” Marek sat up, then collapsed back onto the bed as the movement made his temples pound. “What did I do last night?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Winning at cards.”

  He’d won several hands, smoked a couple of those cigaritos. They’d switched from wine to ale. Then Wilhelm ordered something called champagne. Pretty, pale, bubbly stuff.

  An explosion of memory burst into his brain. White skin, sweat dripping onto pale breasts, himself panting heavily, the taste of blood.

  “Please.” Marek didn’t dare raise his voice. “Tell me I didn’t do the things I think I remember doing.”

  He put his hands to his head, rubbing his temples. At least that didn’t cause any pain anywhere.

  “I’m afraid you did. We had to carry you home. Waldfrid, the twins, and I.”

  “Vlad and Andrei were there?”

  “We certainly were.” The bedchamber door opened and the twins came in, slamming it behind them.

  Marek winced again.

  “Brother, you astonish us,” Vlad said.

  He took a deep breath. “Tell me what happened between the card game and your carrying me here.”

  “Before or after you danced naked on the table top?” Vlad asked. He dropped onto the foot of the bed, ignoring his older brother’s sharp inhalation. Going around to the other side, Andrei perched on the footboard.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Afraid so,” Vlad went on. “That was after you took a couple more puffs from that blond’s pipe. What was in it, anyway? Then you decided to plumb those four whores.”

  “Four?”

  “My boy, I must say I’m proud of you.” Karl-Josef suppressed a smile. “I’ve managed three at once in my day, but never four. You have my eternal admiration and envy.” He shook his head. “Ah, the energy of the young.”

  “I suppose after a performance like that my night was abruptly over?” Marek asked hopefully.

  “Never suppose, brother,” Vlad admonished.

  “There’s more?” He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. “Go on. Give me something else to be ashamed of.”

  “Why be ashamed?” Andrei wanted to know. “Gods, Marek, you’ve the admiration of everyone at the Inferno.”

  “Somehow that’s a dubious honor.” Marek closed his eyes and waited to hear the rest.

  “That’s about all,” his brother went on. “You collected your winnings, then climbed onto the table, pulled a glass of wine from someone’s hand, downed it, and danced a little jig to celebrate. I never knew your privates could bounce so rhythmically.”

  “How much much wine did I have before I did that?” Marek’s tone held a hint of suspicion.

  “Oh,” Andrei looked to Vlad for confirmation,
“I don’t know...nine goblets?”

  “Liar. I’ve never had that much to drink in my life. I remember downing a glass of wine, two tankards of ale, and a glass of champagne, and I’ve a feeling that’s all I drank.” Marek shook his head in spite of the throbbing it caused. He gave each twin an angry stare. “I’d never do such things. You made that up.”

  “Damn it, Andri.” Vlad glared at his twin. “I told you not to include that bit about dancing on the table. We had him until that point.”

  “Remind me again how I ever thought you two had grown up.”

  “Oh, Brother, if you could’ve seen your face.” Vlad burst into laughter, falling onto his back on the bed while Andrei swing on the bedpost, snickering.

  “Gods, you can’t even be boisterous in your cups. You’re a total failure as a rake.”

  “Definitely,” Vlad agreed. “You did win at cards, though. That part was true, but then you fell facedown onto the table as if you’d been cold-cocked. It was most embarrassing...for us.”

  “Pity you’re too big for me to lock in your rooms.” Marek refused to see any levity in what was being said.

  Another image shot into his mind. A young man’s face, wild red hair escaping from its riband.

  “Uncle, that red-haired boy…”

  “Hans-Claud?” Karl-Josef looked concerned, clearing his throat. “I suppose I should speak to you about that, Marek. That was definitely unusual.”

  “Yes,” Vlad agreed. “That surprised us, also.”

  “The madam said it was rather extraordinary,” Andrei added.

  “What happened?” Marek gave them a sarcastic snarl. “Did I kiss him?”

  “Hardly. You offered him employment.”

  “I offered him a job? Doing what?” He stared at the Graf.

  “Being your man, apparently.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Seems the lad sold himself to someone hung like a bull, and when he realized it and tried to back out, his customer wouldn’t have it. You waded in, told the oaf to pick on someone his own size, and beat him senseless. Gods, I’d like to enter you in a bare knuckles contest, lad. Then you told Hans-Claud there were better ways to make a living, and hired him to be your manservant.”