by Danae Ayusso
Luka made a face. “That’s complicated. Sacred ground, hollow ground, is to help something or another from Mother Nature and shit. I really don’t care or know. The cemetery was there and I was hoping it’d prevent anyone from finding your body. I love being the bearer of bad news, but if you thought that I had actually meant to do it, you are even more mentally impaired than I initially gave you credit for. It was the first place I found on my way home and it was an easy dumpsite.”
As much as I hated to say it, Luka was steadily climbing up my list of people I wanted dead faster than anyone else ever had, which was saying a lot since I wasn’t a mean person like that.
“Since where you buried me apparently didn’t matter,” I said, prompting him to continue.
“The vampire has to drain the human to the point of near death,” he said as if it were obvious. “The heart has to slow to nearly a stop. If it stops, you took too much and they die. If you don’t take enough, and the process doesn’t fully take, you create a strigoi.”
“And that’s bad,” I surmised.
“You think?”
“Actually… I don’t know,” I admitted and he rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” I groaned. “This isn’t my cup of tea, Jerk Face. Aliens and H.G. Wells, Sci-Fi and stuff like that is what I read and get into, not fantasy and urban fantasy.”
Luka stroked his chin. “Huh, you’re a really weird chick.”
“Gee thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” he assured me and I glared at him. “Strigoi are the troubled souls of the dead rising according to Romanian mythology. And that’s partially correct,” he admitted, as if the realization just hit him.
Total and complete blond.
“When you turn, or attempt to, or not attempt to in this case, someone into a vampire and something goes wrong, the end result isn’t a vampire crawling out of the grave. It’s a strigoi. They are pure evil, their souls are blackened, and every bit of humanity that they once had is devoured by the evil coursing through their systems. They are a walking darkness, a plague upon the world of immortals, and they have, more than once, nearly destroyed it. They are nasty bitches,” he assured me even though I wasn’t entirely agreeing with him at the moment, since he was keeping me hostage and was going to kill me and all. “Many of the ghost stories that you’ve heard about when a body count is involved, more often than not, it’s a strigoi breaking free from their restrictive bindings. Usually they only go after, the living undead as you called us, vampires,” he said, motioning towards himself, and I rolled my eyes. “They have phantasm and ghost qualities, only with vampire speed and strength. If a strigoi sinks their fangs into a vampire, the vampire is turned into a mindless, murderous, blood crazed, zombie… You have heard of those before, right?”
Add another date with my foot to his balls if I live through this.
“Sarcasm noted,” I sneered and he smiled wide. “So, just to be clear, I’m going to turn into a strigoi because you messed up?”
His smile fell. “Huh, I didn’t think about that,” he admitted.
My eyes widened. “If that isn’t the problem then why in the heck do you have to kill me?!” I demanded.
Yes, I was in complete agreement about killing me if I was on the verge of turning into a strigoi. That would suck hardcore. But if that wasn’t the case, why in the heck were they adamant on killing me?
Again, inquiring minds wanted to know and of course Luka wasn’t going to tell me, he never does.
“I need to think about this,” Luka said then got to his feet and strolled from the cell, leaving me shackled to the floor with only the flickering candle in the lantern to keep me company.
Sadly, the accumulative of the night’s uneventful, and extremely eventual, exploits faded to the back of my mind as an unimaginable burning and tearing sensation ripped through my body some time later.
My insides felt as if they were being set on fire yet frozen solid at the same time then submerged in a vat of acid to seal the deal. I screamed in agony as my body arched off the stone floor, only the top of my head and very tips of my toes supporting the unnaturally high, and extremely painful, arch before my body cracked and snapped, as if my spine decided that it wanted to go the other direction for some unholy reason, and the force slammed me back down to the floor. Feebly I clawed at the stone, desperately trying to pull myself away from the pain, but it followed like a demonic shadow I could never be free from.
Never had I experienced such pain, and it only reiterated that I wanted to die.
Like a fish out of water, I uncontrollably flopped on the floor, convulsed and screamed. It felt as if my skin had ripped away from the muscle tissue, and that my bones were being liquefied, the connective tissue had hardened and calcified, leaving a lump of unrecognizable Shawn chained to the floor.
Seconds felt like hours.
Hours like centuries.
And yet I was vividly conscious through all of it.
I prayed that the Goddess would hear me and allow the pain to cloud my mind in unconsciousness. Never had someone wanted to die more than I did at that moment, in those hours, as my body seemingly devoured itself.
Violently I shook, was dripping with sweat that was seemingly freezing to my skin before evaporating from the fire I was being burned alive with.
“What’s happening to me,” I stammered when I was assaulted with a new sense that wasn’t my own.
Dread and irritation, sexual frustration and unmistakable disdain flooded my mind, playfully wrapping around the pain…
As if I wasn’t in a bad enough mood already.
“You are dying,” Andrei said as if it were obvious.
“I couldn’t tell,” I spat through clenched teeth. “Kill me already!” I snarled before my back arched off of the floor again and I cried out in pain.
Somehow, I don’t know when, Andrei was suddenly next to me, sitting on the floor in the exact same spot his annoying little brother was in not more than four centuries ago.
That’s how long it felt as if I was down there, but most likely it was only hours.
“Why are you so content with dying?” Andrei asked when I stopped screaming.
I started sobbing.
“Look at me,” he said, forcing me by the chin to look at him. His eyes moved over my face many times before his thumbs caressed under each of my eyes, wiping away my tears, or possibly my running mascara. “Look at me.”
When my eyes finally focused on his, tears instantly started flooding mine again.
“Why are you so content with dying?” he whispered, his eyes locked on mine.
“Because this fricking hurts!” I yelled before I cried out as my shoulders popped loudly, the unmistakable sound of bone grating against bone would have turned my stomach if I was coherent enough to even register it.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” Andrei dryly agreed.
I went from screaming in pain to screaming in frustration and I reached for him with bloody fingers but the chains pulled tight only a fraction of an inch from his neck.
He nodded his approval but I wasn’t sure what he was approving of since I was just about to strangle him.
“Your body is consuming itself as the venom races through your system,” he explained. “It takes time for the venom to fully mature in the system before it attacks, that way the body cannot fight back. The toxins are rapidly changing you on a molecular level, one your body was never designed to house.” He grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look at him again. “Once it has run its course you will awaken as the embodiment of evil, and then, and only then, will my pernicious брат get his way and I will be commissioned with killing you. And that, Solnyshka, I cannot permit to happen.”
“What?” I choked.
Suddenly Andrei was on top of me, his mouth on the unblemished side of my neck and I screamed when the unmistakable feel of sharp fangs piercing skin flooded me.
Feebly I slapped and punched at him but he was hungry, agenda-filled, un
moving stone.
Andrei pulled me up into him, his hold on the back of my neck nearly as painful as the acid eating away at my entrails. Like a many centurial old vampire—imagine that—he drank from me.
I fought and tried pushing him away, kicking and punching.
It was of little use.
Andrei answered my fight with his unimaginable strength, pulling me into him even more, his hold on my neck increasing, and his imbibed savagery never slowed as his mouth expertly milked the wounds, nearly bleeding me dry. His heightened hearing listened to my heart, silently counting each weakened beat, careful not to drain me completely…
I wish he would have.
What little strength I had left was pulled from me with each long pull of blood Andrei took from me, and my hands fell limply against his chest…
I welcomed the end.
There was no bright light, only darkness that shrouded everything but the demonic dark angel holding me tight to his body, his tongue lapping up the slowly flowing crimson life force that once coursed through my weakened body.
When Andrei pulled away from my neck he shivered, licking the blood from his lips, and a primal growl rolled from his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure.
Suddenly his after school special, teach his little brother a lesson, plan that Shawn was the pawn in was the last thing on his mind.
Draining me completely was his only concern.
Annoying vampire.
Once his body stopped shivering with anticipation and hungry desire, Andrei looked down at me, his eyes moving over my face many times. “You will be dead in mere minutes,” he informed me in a whisper, as if I didn’t know, “unless you drink.”
I wanted to tell him off, but my mouth wouldn’t move and was stuck slightly ajar; I had never been that exhausted in my life.
Andrei brought his wrist to his mouth and sank his teeth into the smooth flesh. He showed me the inside of his wrist and the four puncture wounds, but most importantly, the dark red blood flowing from each.
“If you do not drink you will die, Solnyshka,” he explained, bringing his wrist to my mouth and I used the last of my strength to turn away from him. He grabbed my face with his free hand and forced my mouth open. “If you die you are no good to me. If you turn into a strigoi, you are no good to me. If you tell Luka, or anyone for that matter, that I did this, I will kill you,” he warned in a tone so dark and menacing that it scares me even now thinking about it.
But being the stubborn creature that I had suddenly found myself to be, I refused to drink his blood—that was just nasty—and spit it back out as quickly as it found its way into my mouth.
Irritated, he pulled my face into his. “Luka left you here to die, to be turned into the very demons that forced us here, because it would force my hand,” he sneered, his thick Russian accent flaring. “Luka left, ran, so I would be forced to deal with his mistake, again. If you turn into a strigoi you are no longer his problem, you are mine, and that would be counterproductive to say the least. You will drink and you will be reborn… It is time. I am tired of waiting,” he snarled before slamming his fist into my kidney and I screamed out in pain.
I didn’t want to help him teach his stupid, annoying little brother a lesson.
I didn’t want to be used as a pawn to bring down the annoying troublesome vampire.
But as usual with everything in my life, I wasn’t being given a choice.
Without missing a beat, Andrei covered my mouth with his bleeding wrist and clenched and released his fist to milk the wounds. Unable to pull away from him or spit out the foul, ambrosial nectar flowing down my throat, I drank.
Once again I found myself in a cemetery.
Only this one I knew all too well.
The polished cherry oak stained casket was covered in a spray consisting of dark hellebores, purple aconitum, coral colored nerium oleander, boughs of red abrus precatorius and green Manchineel, deep red Palm of Christ, white and purple Calotropis, white flowering hemlock, and purple striped leaves from water hemlock.
Those gathered were dressed in black and dabbing their eyes.
If they knew anything about us and our beliefs they would have been dressed in white.
Some were shaking their heads saying it was too soon, they were too young, and it should have been the other one.
Yes, it should have been.
Of course, as cliché as possible, it was raining.
Isn’t that always how the story goes?
Rain at a funeral and hordes of mourners that honestly didn’t care about the one being lowered in the ground and could barely remember their name?
The cemetery was as simplistic as it was small. There were no notable graves or anyone of importance buried there. A couple of local war heroes that died the first time their boots hit the ground overseas and a few teens that died from sheer stupidity that put them behind the wheel after a few too many drinks.
Funerals were nothing new to me.
Nearly every person I had ever loved was buried and seemingly forgotten…
If it weren’t for their ghosts haunting me, for fighting and struggling to keep every memory and token of them I can just to keep their memories alive, they would have been completely forgotten.
Just as I would be forgotten.
When the casket was lowered into the grave, the hand around mine tightened, stealing my attention.
I looked to the side and my eyes widened.
The man standing there was the last person I expected to see again, but it was the only person I expected to see at the same time. His tall, once slender frame was again broad as it had been in his competing days, hair was in unruly curls that hung to his jaw; the black looked so much darker next to the streaks of white in the front. His complexion was darker than it was when I saw him last, making him look like the pure blooded Italian that he was.
“Vanni?” I whispered.
Giovanni looked down at me and smiled. “Shawny,” he said, pulling our hands to his lips and softly kissed my knuckles.
“Vanni!” I stammered before throwing myself at him and hugged him tight. “I’ve missed you so much, Polpetto!”
He chuckled and hugged me tight. “I’ve missed you too, Passerotta. And don’t call me meatball, I hate it when you call me meatball.”
I giggled. “Polpetto. Polpetto. Polpetto!”
“Stubborn brat,” he huffed, hugging me even tighter and rested his chin on the top of my head like he used to do when he was alive.
For the first time in years, I felt safe again. Being in my big brother’s protective embrace, holding me tight, it felt right. He always protected me from the world that was seemingly trying to take me from it.
“Is this my funeral?” I asked, looking around.
None of those wearing black would have bothered coming to my funeral, and there were none wearing white.
Giovanni softly snorted. “Don’t be silly, Shawny. This is mine,” he reminded me.
I looked from his sparkling eyes to the gravestone and instantly started crying.
In the Goddess’ arms our beloved now rests. Taken but not gone.
Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio
Giovanni Zuan Salvatori, age 18
“No, no, no,” I stammered.
Tenderly he rubbed his hand up and down my back.
“Shh, Passerotta,” he whispered against my hair. “I promised I’d never let anything happen to you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was bitten by a stupid vampire.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” he informed me so I smacked him and he softly smacked me back. “That was beyond my control, but it’s something I’ll look into as much as possible.”
I groaned in frustration. “Will I ever be able to get rid of you?” I asked.
A beautiful smile filled his face. “No. You’re my baby sister. It’s my job to protect you, even if it’s from the grave. You will be safe, I swear it. You have to wake up now, Passero
tta.”
Stubborn, I shook my head and held onto him as tight as I could.
“I don’t want to go back there,” I stammered. “I want to stay here with you!”
Giovanni nodded his understanding before kissing the top of my head again. “Shawny, I’m dead. My world of darkness is no place for you. It’s no place for the light.”
Stubborn, I shook my head. “Only because of light in the darkness can there be shadows,” I argued.
He smiled. “Yes, I know, Stubborn Ass. You have to wake up now, Passerotta.”
Again, I shook my head, looking away from him and my eyes widened.
Standing back in the crowd was someone that shouldn’t have been there, that I know wasn’t there before.
“You don’t have a choice. Wake up!” Giovanni yelled.
My eyes shot open and my breathing labored. My eyes darted from side to side and all around, trying to orientate myself, but it was impossible to see through the veil of tears flooding my eyes.
The burning, acidic searing had faded to warmth and tingling electrical impulses that went from annoying to tolerable and easily ignored. The cold, hard stone floor had somehow turned into a feathery cloud that I was floating upon. The pain in my body, especially my neck, was nothing more than a distant memory from an obvious overdosing on Ben and Jerry’s and the induced head-trip that apparently followed.
Oh how I wished that was true.
My head was clear, for what felt like, the first in my life.
There was no ringing in my ears. Instead everything was crystal clear; that should have been a telltale sign that something was seriously wrong, but I was too content in the ridiculously soft, high thread count bedding, to even question it.
Eventually the last of the tears rolled down the sides of my face, clearing my vision, and I instantly focused on the white gossamer draped over my face.
“Are you sure I’m not dead, Polpetto, because this is part of a pagan burial ritual,” I complained, pulling the gossamer from my face.
When I did, my irritation was instantly replaced by confusion.
Above me was an unfamiliar twenty-five foot high open beamed ceiling. The dark mahogany beams spanned the width of the large room, and each slightly darkened grain of wood captured my interest in the most peculiar way. They appeared to be rivers of molten chocolate cutting through a smooth sea of mahogany.