Requiem of Humanity

by Catherine Stovall

  The door closed softly and Matteo turned to her. He took several long strides and placed himself in front of her. Lips poised to kiss and arms open to offer her a comforting embrace, he leaned towards her. To his surprise, what he received was a respectful slap to the side of his face. Jenda liked the way it felt. The sting in her hand did not hurt her. Instead, it drove her to worse. She wanted to tear open his flesh. She wanted to punish him. She wanted to feed.

  Matteo was quick to snap back from the shock of the blow, and he put several feet between the two of them. He looked at her questioningly, which only angered her more. She felt vindictive and superior. “You look so wounded, Matteo, don’t be pathetic.”

  Her voice echoed in her own ears even as rationality fought to come through. This was Matteo—he had rescued her, and she loved him. Yet she still advanced on him. Her hands curled into lethal talons, her fangs were out, and they were biting into her lower lip. Each step forward brought her closer to him, but he did not back away. She wanted him to run. She wanted to chase him down like a scared rabbit.

  Finally, he spoke. He simply said her name, but it was enough to break the spell. Jenda stopped in her tracks. She lowered her gaze and wrapped her arms around her body. The hunger was a painful burning and her body shook. The knowledge of what had just taken place felt like a knife in her heart. “Matteo, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  The tears came in a rush of raw emotion. Matteo comforted her, wrapping her in his arms. Neither of them spoke for a long time. The fear and rage lingered around them like mist in the air. Her shame was a bitter taste in Jenda’s mouth. She hated the hunger now. It ripped through her body and poisoned her mind. She knew she would forever be a slave to the blood.

  Matteo broke away with a timid kiss to her forehead. He strode over to a small wooden cabinet that looked like a decorative piece of art. He opened the door and came up holding several bags of blood. “You are hungry; I should have thought this out better. I should have known the stress of the situation would burn through what we shared on the plane too quickly. It’s entirely my fault.”

  He didn’t give Jenda the chance to argue. He went to a set of large double doors and flung them open, revealing a bathroom the size of her bedroom at home. Jenda wanted to go with him so that she could marvel at the modern mixed with the historic beauty, but she couldn’t find the energy. She lay down on the bed, feeling it swaying softly beneath her as she waited. She heard the water running and thought it was a strange time for Matteo to be bathing, but again she didn’t have the energy to care.

  After about five minutes, he came back into the room and, from another artfully decorated cabinet, retrieved an ice bucket and a couple of glass mugs. Jenda was intrigued. She wondered what he was he up to. She only wished she didn’t feel so drained. She never thought being an immortal creature would be so difficult. She let her curiosity go as Matteo disappeared back into the bathroom.

  A noise from the other room made Jenda rise up to see Matteo coming out with his arms full. He brought the entire mess to the side of the bed, where he plopped a vase of lilies to the floor and sat his supplies down. The bucket was filled with steaming hot water, and several blood bags bobbed up and down inside. He tore a small hole in the top of the first one and filled the tall mug. He offered it to Jenda with a genuine smile. “It’s much better hot.”

  The smell hit her nose, and her throat felt as if the flames of hell were devouring her flesh. All manners forgotten, she did not have time to be concerned about appearances. Jenda tipped the mug up and drank glutinously. Her mind flashed dark and ugly thoughts for a moment until she felt the warmth of the blood hit the pit of her stomach. The sensation was unbelievably pleasurable. Both the heat and the fulfillment she felt from the thick liquid felt like heaven to her.

  Suddenly, all was right with the world. She lowered the mug and looked at Matteo sheepishly. He could see the hunger burning in her eyes and he filled the mug again. When she didn’t drink immediately, he placed his hand at the bottom and tilted it up towards her mouth. He poured himself some this time and they drank in silence. When Matteo was sure the beast inside her was calm, he spoke.

  “Jenda, what happened earlier? What caused you to act that way?” His voice was a soft murmur in her ear as they lay cuddled on the enormous bed. She turned towards him, sitting up a bit so that she could see him clearly. She could plainly see the hurt and confusion in his eyes, and, though she didn’t want to admit it, she saw the glint of fear.

  “I was angry. Angry because you hurt me, you dragged me behind you like a naughty puppy or a rag doll. You had no right to do that! I kept seeing those symbols on the doors that look like the ones outside and it kept reminding me of that pain. I knew I shouldn’t hurt you, but…” She stopped, unable to continue. She didn’t want to speak the words.

  “No, don’t stop. We should have no secrets, and I plan to tell you my own soon. Please, tell me. I cannot help you if I do not know what it is that’s happening.” The pleading sweetness in his voice was enough.

  “I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to feel ten times the pain you caused me. I saw the worst images. I felt the worst hunger. I honestly hated you for one pure instant. I wanted to stop. I was fighting it even as I came closer to you. I just don’t understand what’s happening to me.” She fell silent. No more tears to cry. Nothing but the feeling that she was falling out of control.

  Matteo pulled her down to him. “My sweet Jenda. Everything will be okay. Hunger often draws out the worst in the very young, and perhaps there is something more. I will try to explain it. I will try to make up for all the things I have done to bring you into this state of being, and for the pain. Please, my darling dear, please forgive me.”

  Matteo’s composure slipped. He did not weep, but Jenda could see the single rose-tinted droplet coursing down his face as the muscles in his jaw clenched. She could not fathom the unbearable things he must tell her that would make this strong and old vampire shed a tear.

  Her body was plush and heated from the blood and he pulled her to him more securely. He took comfort in knowing that he could hold her for this moment, because by the end of the night he may not be so lucky. She may turn from him forever and seek out an eternity without him. Worse if the prophecy was fulfilled she may destine them all to their place in hell. He wanted to tell her now of all the things he knew, but he knew he must wait for Soborgne. He would tell them together.

  As if thinking of her name brought her into reality, the door opened and a rather irritated Soborgne strode into the room. She eyed the scene cynically and purred in a voice that didn’t quite sound like the girl Jenda had known for so many years. “Hmmm…am I interrupting your little bed picnic? Please, excuse me. I just woke up in a casket, the most wicked man practically undressed me with his eyes, and then I was hauled a hundred miles through this damn castle to find you two playing house.”

  Her friend’s words shocked Jenda, and she grew wary of the dangerous lilt to the girl’s voice. “Soborgne, we couldn’t come find you. We were having a few troubles of our own. We knew you would be okay. Did you like the coffin? I hated it, but Matteo insisted you wouldn’t mind.” Jenda knew she was babbling, but Soborgne was making her extremely nervous.

  Without a word to answer Jenda, Soborgne strode past them and to the bucket, where a bag still lay floating in the tepid water. She picked it up, tore the top off, and drained it swiftly. Matteo watched her closely. Soborgne’s skin was already paling in comparison to Jenda’s. He knew if he were to reach out and touch her that it would be harder and more durable. Her eyes flashed small glints of red and black now. The hunger was so strong it must have been gnawing at her guts.

  “Is there anymore of the Bag ‘o’ Meals, or must I go find that charming young man who brought me here and have a snack?” She laughed a little as she said it, but somehow neither Matteo nor Jenda could really believe she was joking.

  Matteo walked to the hidden fridge and produced a cou
ple more bags. He carelessly flipped them across the room to Soborgne. “If you want them warm, there is the bucket and there’s hot water in the bathroom. I won’t do favors for a lady who doesn’t want to act like one.”

  His words sounded clipped, and he stared at her as if he didn’t know her at all. Soborgne in turn looked as if she could have slapped him hard enough to loosen some screws in his brain. Not liking where the situation was heading, Jenda knew she would have to do something to curb their tempers. She could feel their emotions building into a dark haze that swirled like storm clouds before a tornado. Darkness, anger, resentment, fear, and territorial animal instinct filled the room.

  “Hey, come on you two. Knock it off!” She’d meant to sound stern and motherly, but it came out as such a powerful command that Jenda caught herself off guard. As soon as she heard her own voice, her eyes grew wide and a look of pure shock crossed her face. Matteo and Soborgne both turned to face her, caught by surprise. The three of them stood in quiet shock until Soborgne started to laugh.

  “Oh my God, Ducky! You just got all badass on me.” She laughed shamelessly now, the fire gone from her eyes. “I’m sorry, guys. I guess I get a little cranky when I am hungry.” Soborgne tossed her hair and flippantly added, “Though you two were pretty comfy there.”

  Matteo moved to resume his position on the bed, watching Soborgne cautiously, though he assured her of his forgiveness, and that he too was sorry. He didn’t take his eyes off the two girls as they scurried around fixing Soborgne’s dinner. He heard the exchanged exclamations over the events that had taken place since they spoke on the plane.

  His mind filled with doubts and questions. The two girls had been friends all their lives. How could he ever prepare them for the battle that may ensue? How could he tell them that if they lost the war that they may have to fight each other? He knew it was time to tell them. If both knew their part in the plan, in the scheme of things, maybe together they could save the world.

  3

  The sadness in him made Jenda want to heal all the wounds that his heart must bear. She sat quietly while he talked, taking in his words and hurting alongside him. No matter what, she knew she would love him. Something inside her told her that they were meant to be. A whisper from somewhere deep inside reassured her, despite all odds, that she and Matteo were destined. When Matteo began to speak, the voice in her head quieted. His eyes clouded over with memory and his voice sounded far away.

  I was born in the time of kings, queens, lords, ladies, and noblemen. I played in the shadow of the castle belonging to the Casoli, an old and powerful family. I cannot remember many things from when I was young. So many years have passed. I can remember my mother and my father. I remember the place where I slept, just a small room with a small straw bed. I remember little things mostly, like how I used to love when my father would place me on his shoulders and walk down the street.

  We were happy and we lived well enough. I was both studious and strong. I did well at my lessons and worked hard beside my father in the afternoons. He was a blacksmith, and I often acted as his farrier. I loved horses, and others said I had a special way with them. People came from other towns just to have my father and me shoe their horses. We also constructed tools, swords, gates, banisters, chandeliers, and other household items. My father was an artist in his craft and I admired and emmulated everything he did.

  The local nobility and other royalty who passed through on their way to the castle occasionally visited my father’s forge. My father took great pride in these visits, and his work was flawless. The local gentry respected my father and paid him handsomely for his masterful creations. Unfortunately, my father’s popularity amongst the powerful is what brought this curse upon me.

  I can’t remember what month it was, if I ever knew. I can tell you the intense heat of summer had already passed but the frigid cold of winter was yet to come. I was then just barely a man. I had turned eighteen the previous spring. The night was cool and I lay in my little room staring out the single window up at the starry night. I was scared half out of my mind by a banging on the door to our home.

  My father’s gruff voice sounded before I could pull on my pants. I ran to his side in fear of trouble. To my astonishment, a young boy stood in our doorway. He was speaking softly to my father and held his hat in his hand. The boy was telling my father his horse threw a shoe and could no longer pull the carriage any further. Judging by his dress, I knew he must be one of the young gents that drove the carriages to and from the castle. I often saw them passing and generally got along well with the drivers during their brief stops.

  I finished dressing quickly and my father and I headed down the short path to the forge. There, in front, stood the most lavish carriage I ever saw. Shining under the pale moon, it was pearl in color, with golden trim. The horses were magnificent animals and their shining black coats were well groomed. I knew anyone traveling in such splendor must be wealthier than my imagination could fathom. Unlike my father, the noble men of our area made me nervous, and I quickly set to work in order to avoid contact.

  When I heard the muffled sounds of the passengers exiting the carriage, my curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to see the man who rode in such luxury. To my surprise, it was not a man who exited—it was two women. Beautiful in their finery and unruffled from their travels, they looked as if they were fresh from the latest opera. The older of the two noticed my interest and smiled sweetly at me. The simplistic gesture made my head swim and I quickly set back to work.

  Traveling at night in such luxury and with only a boy as an escort was dangerous. I hoped the women would choose to join my mother in the house, but they fearlessly insisted on stretching their legs about the front of the forge. As I approached the horse with the faulty shoe, I came face to face with Lady Celeste. For a moment in time my heart ceased to beat, my lungs no longer strived for air, and my eyes went blind except for her.

  I couldn’t help but engage her in conversation. She was the most beautiful girl. I knew under any other circumstances the rules of society did not allow the son of a blacksmith to be in the company of a lady. I took the opportunity and, as bashful as I was, I bid her a good evening. When she turned her smile on me, I thought I would perish from the sheer joy of her acknowledgement.

  At first, I thought her hair was black, but as she moved beneath the torchlight I saw a sheer blue veil lightly shrouded her head. Beneath the fabric, I could see it was a deep brown with a tinge of copper. Her eyes were so large and dark they instantly reminded me of a young and helpless foal. Her smile shone in the night like a beacon of hope to my young and inexperienced soul.

  The dress she wore was of pure Parisian style. It hung off her shoulders, leaving the delicate ivory skin exposed to the night air. Each time she laughed or spoke, it was in a breathless manner that made her bosom quiver beneath the tight bodice. She was not thin, for a girl of her age—she had a vixen’s physique that gave her a woman’s sheen. I was so lost in her I nearly got myself kicked by one of the horses.

  During our conversation, I learned she was niece to the Baron Casoli. She and her mother had come to live in the castle. Her father—a baron himself—passed away and her mother wished to retire to the country to mourn. I wanted to hope we could be friends, because I dared not hope for more. I was a commoner and she was a lady. To ask for friendship alone could be an insult to nobility. I didn’t have to take that risk—Celeste did it for me. She leaned towards me in a conspiratorial manner and whispered, “I wish to see you again, meet me tomorrow night near the castle walls. I will find you.”

  Leaving me astounded, she removed herself from my presence and retired to the inside of the carriage. I finished shooing the horse and went to my father’s side. I trembled inside. If her mother ever knew her unescorted daughter meant to meet me in the dark, I could be imprisoned, or worse. Yet, the risk did not compare to the things my mind conjured.

  My father spoke to the baroness a moment longer before she placed s
everal coins into his hand. I couldn’t tell how much it was, but I knew at a glimpse it was far more than the cost of a single shoe. My father tried to refuse, but the baroness quieted him immediately.

  “Dear Sir, do not think I have rendered you a charity. I have paid you not just for your service, but your duress of having to work at this hour. Perhaps your young man can use some of the gold to purchase a suitable wardrobe to go gallivanting with my daughter tomorrow night.”

  To my astonishment and my father’s disapproval, the woman gave me such a wink I thought I might faint. My father turned to me questioningly as the livery boy drove the carriage off into the night. I quickly told him of the invitation I had received and my fears the mother would have me thrown in the gallows. My father chuckled and told me not to worry. The baroness was a wise woman, and if she approved so greatly, I would meet Lady Celeste the following evening. Thus began Celeste’s and my friendship.

  In the beginning, I secretly wanted to be more than just friends, but night after night we met and things changed. I learned Celeste would leave in the spring to return to her husband. She wept furiously at the unfairness of the arrangement and expressed her deepest fears. Always, she hid her tears behind a handkerchief so I could not see them. I found it curious and genteel that a woman would not allow her friend to see her grief.

  Celeste saw marriage and the relationships between men and women as tainted things. She wanted nothing to do with love or intimacy. I felt her pain, and I knew she would never open her heart to any man, not even me. I was to be her playmate, her confidant, but never her lover. From that moment on, she was the sister I never had before.