"Nay, he has not. But his body is safe," Jirí allowed, as he had every meeting since his first.
The others nodded. Most of them sensed as much. Jirí had filled in as the Moroi leader for decades and was well known amongst them.
Around the table were the leaders of each of the eight tribes. Or, in such as Jirí’s case, an old vampire chosen to fill in as the true leader turned to a life of sleep -- a half existence that plunged the soul into darkness and drove the need of the blood hunger from his body. The longer the old one slept, the less likely he was to arise.
Each tribe had their own origins, but they were ultimately descendents from the same true bloodline. Each carried their own keen abilities, excelling in a certain power. When they made more of themselves, they passed on the strong force to their benighted children.
The council leader, Theophania of the Vrykolatios, keeper of the island and of vampiric secrets, sat at what was acknowledged as the head of the circle, though in truth she was no more powerful than the other leaders. She lived an isolated existence, away from the influence of modern life, thriving on the old ways.
Her sister, Chara of the Vrykolakas tribe was at her side. Both sisters were dark and beautiful. Chara was more contemporary in her tastes with a revealing dress of thin black and lips painted the color of blood. Whereas her sister dressed as an ancient, showing large amounts of her skin beneath her metal bodice as she lounged lazily in her high backed chair.
Andrei of the Myertovjec was seated next to Chara. His flirtatious eyes and lust for living, though he was dead, made him a charming companion but highly unreliable. His kind often threw compulsive parties, feasting on whole families in a single night. Then there was Jirí in his appointed seat, next to Pietro of the Llugut. Pietro was the last of his line and refused to make more of his kind. He sat brooding in his silence, ignoring all but the torch as it caught his attention.
Amon, leader of the Impudula, watched carefully all those around him. His black skin shone almost gold as he threw out the presence of a God. It was only for the council that he left his homeland of Africa. He was placed next to Vishnu of the Rakshasa.
Vishnu still carried herself as the Indian princess she had been, her rich clothing wrapping around her slender body with silken grace. Her arms were adorned with bracelets, her hair parted in the middle to fall long about her shoulders in black waves, framing her wide almond-shaped eyes that watched with a dark gray beauty. And completing the circle, between Vishnu and Theophania, was Ragnhild.
Theophania raised her delicate fingers, her head falling back over the arm of her chair. One of the four doors burst open revealing a line of eight beautiful young women in white shrouds, each a human native of a vampire elder’s homeland.
The women walked dutifully to their designated master or mistress to stand by the sides of their chairs. Pulling back their sleeves, they held an arm out for the vampires to drink. Jirí saw the cloud over his girl’s eyes as she moved like puppet before him. Her dark Romanian skin shone with warm brilliance, and he could smell the purity of her blood as it flowed in her veins. Smiling, he leaned over and slowly bit into her wrist. The woman shivered but didn’t pull away as he took a taste of her.
The other leaders followed suit. Andrei bit into a supple Russian breast, his lusty laughter vibrating off her skin. Amon drank from the hand of his black Goddess, almost worshipping as he sucked against her flesh. Theophania and her sister both reached for a Greek neck below small delicate ears. Ragnhild, staring into the gaze of a blue-eyed, blonde-haired beauty, kissed his sacrifice before he too drank from her rounded breast. His woman gasped with passion at his lusty bite. Vishnu regally bent over, looking disinterested as she delicately bit into a slender dark arm. And Pietro merely looked at his woman in disinterest, not caring to take what was offered.
Licking her lips, Theophania muttered darkly, "You insult me, Pietro. Drink. My children found her special for you."
Pietro grunted. Taking the wrist of the Albanian, he punctured her skin quickly, swallowing three gulps of her blood before letting go.
"Ah," Theophania approved in her softly enunciated speech. Her eyes shone as red as the rest of them as the blood passed through her system. "Good, is she not?"
Pietro nodded curtly, waving the woman away from him.
"Leave now and rest," Theophania ordered. The women dropped their offered arms, their clothes falling straight as they walked solemnly from the chamber. Then, smiling, she said, "They are yours for as long as you stay here, my family. They are a gift from my tribe."
The vampires nodded in appreciation. They licked their lips of any blood, which was little. Theophania waved her regal hand so that the door closed quietly behind the women.
Jirí waited in silence for the issue that was to come. He didn’t have to wait long. Amon turned to him, his eyes narrowing, as he said, "What of the human woman? Are the claims true?"
"Yea," Jirí answered. This caused a murmur to fall over the stone-set hall. Not waiting to be prompted, he said, "But it is naught to worry over. It is only the young ones who cannot read her thoughts."
"They cannot read themselves," the charming Andrei spat.
"Their blood is too diluted. They reproduce themselves too freely," Vishnu added quietly in disgust.
"She must be dhampir," Theophania stated in confusion. "There is no record of her in our scrolls."
"Who was her vampire father?" Chara spat. She hated the half-human, half-vampire creatures the male of her species sometimes begot. "He will be punished for lying with a mortal woman and not reporting the child’s birth."
"She does not have the smell of a dhampir," Jirí answered. "She is purely mortal."
Amon frowned. Matter-of-factly, he asked, "Can she be controlled?"
"Nay, but I left the woman to Servaes. He is loyal. He will kill her if he does not turn her," Jirí stated with confidence. "He already has laid claim to her as his."
"What is her name?" Vishnu asked.
"Hathor," Jirí turned his gaze to the vampiress.
"Like the Egyptian Goddess," Amon murmured. "Does it mean anything?"
"I do not believe so," Theophania said. Out of all of them, she knew the history best. "It is merely a coincidence."
"Servaes?" Ragnhild mused. "I have heard of this one. He does not create others like him -- much like you, eh Pietro!"
The vampires laughed, all but the brooding Pietro who only lifted his silent eyes long enough to glare at Ragnhild. Ragnhild didn’t care. He was threatened by nothing.
"Can this vampire be trusted, Jirí?" Theophania inquired in her soft voice. She smiled at the dark vampire she addressed, her sultry gaze ever inviting.
"Yea," Jirí answered without hesitation. "He is my son. I know him."
"He is then your responsibility," Amon said. "You should go back to him and this Hathor. This council can meet again when you return."
"You should kill the woman if Servaes has not turned her to be with him. We cannot risk such an enemy. Who knows what powers her lines will produce if we do not stop it now," Chara said.
"No," Andrei put forth. "Bring her to us if she has not turned. I should like to sample this woman who has all the young ones scared."
"Yes," Ragnhild put in, "let us all sample her."
"It is decided as such," Theophania said. "You will all be my guests as we await Jirí’s return. Jirí, you will rest today. The dawn is near. Tomorrow you will go."
The council stood. Jirí nodded his acceptance. He hid his thoughts from the others, as he turned to walk from the chamber to the old coffin that awaited him.
Jirí had heard the cries of Hathor’s heart, waking him whilst he slept. He could feel the ache in Servaes as he hid from her. Servaes hadn’t acted. If his son refused to do so soon, Jirí would have no choice but to kill the woman for him. Either that or she would be a feast for the council, for he had no wish to turn the girl himself.
* * * *
London
Hathor lifted her weary head up from the table. Black circles smudged the bottom of her eyes. The morning light blinded her, as it streamed into the kitchen. Swiping at the moisture, which never really left her troubled gaze, she stared blindly out the window into the tops of gently rustling trees. She watched the play of light, trying to convince herself that she would never miss it.
She waited all night for Servaes to come to her. Her body sang and hummed with fiery longing. Her heart still beat, albeit barely. The organ was broken. She even went so far as to fall asleep on her balcony waiting for sunrise. Only when the song of birds squawked noisily overhead, did she get up to stiffly crawl through the early morning rays to crash tiredly on her bedroom floor.
Hearing the front door swing open, Hathor jolted up in alarm. Her breath in her throat, she crept silently to the front hall, only to fall into a near swoon with her relief.
"Georgie!" Hathor gasped. "What are you doing back so soon?"
Georgia eyed her niece, as she placed her bags on the floor. Hathor’s blue eyes were sunken and puffy. Her nose was red. Instantly, she knew the girl had been crying. Turning to close the door, the old woman said wryly, "It’s good to see you too, dear."
"I’m sorry," Hathor said, going to her aunt to give her a hug. "How was your trip? Is everyone all right?"
"Ah, Doris came back early, couldn’t stand to be away from Joseph. The illness seems to be playing harder on her than him." Georgia watched as Hathor lifted her bags for her. "Just leave them, dear. Come. Let us go have a cup of coffee. Joseph drinks nothing but tea."
Hathor laughed. In that preference she and her aunt were the same. Sniffing, she nodded, following to the kitchen. Already, she had a mug on the table. As Georgia sat, she got her a cup.
"So what is the matter?" Georgia asked, as Hathor sat down. "You look as if you’ve cried your eyes out of your head."
At the words, Hathor’s eyes began to tear again. She dashed at the moisture in frustration.
"Is it as bad as all that?" Georgia inquired softly. She reached her old, weathered hands across the table to touch her niece. Holding the young palms in her own, she asked, "Servaes?"
"Yes." Hathor sniffed, fighting the urge to cry harder. "He left me."
"I see," Georgia answered. But she could tell there was more to it than that. Patiently she waited.
"I love him," Hathor blurted. "And we can’t be together -- ever."
"Is he married?"
"I wish he were," Hathor moaned. "I could handle it if he were married."
"I see." Georgia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Is he a vampire then?"
"What?" Hathor shot in amazement. "How … I mean --"
"Why would an old woman like me believe in such a thing?" Georgia broke in. She smiled knowingly. "Because I have never had proof that such does not exist. It is foolish to believe that we are the only creatures God has made. And I do know that such phenomena can occur. My mother was very sensitive to such things. She spoke often with the dead. I even saw her a few times after she died."
"But, you never said --"
"What would I say about it? It was as natural as a tree growing or a bird flying. Besides, people do not want to hear of such things these days. They like to believe that they are it. Science and technology is what comforts them." Georgia’s eyes shone bright with understanding. "So, if you say he is a vampire, than he is one."
"He is," Hathor answered, amazed that her aunt would accept so easily. She had been so sure the older woman would have had her committed for such conversation. "I know he is. And I have seen others. They wanted me dead, and he saved me."
If Georgia was shocked she never showed it. "All right, now that we have established what he is, tell me why you can’t be with him."
"He’s a vampire," Hathor stated, as if those single words could describe everything she felt. "He feeds on humans, drinks our blood. But it’s not just that. There is loneliness in him so extreme it pains me to feel it. This is crazy."
"Is there a way for him to become human again?"
Hathor shook her head. "I would have to become like him. I would have to give up everything."
"And?" the old woman prompted, as she watched the young girl’s agony. "You don’t want to?"
"I want to, but…." Hathor’s eyes shone bright with confusion. "You remember that man Franklin, with the kiddy porn that disappeared? Well, that was Servaes. He killed that man and took the child back to her mother. I danced with him that same night in the garden. He told me he had Franklin, a bad man, for supper. I thought it was a strange vampire joke to make me laugh. But then, the next day at the parlor … and there are others, so many others. He showed them to me, he let me see what he had done. The first night I saw him he had a woman on stage that had drowned her five children and blamed it on a maid."
"What, Mrs. Lerrington? That was just on the news. They said she killed herself because she went crazy after losing her children. They found her body in the Thames." Georgia shook her head. "You mean she killed her poor babes?"
Hathor gulped and nodded. She placed a balled fist before her lips to keep from crying. The sound of the children’s tears still echoed in her head--haunting her.
"Then I say she got what she deserved. Good for him," Georgia announced. "Go to him if you love him. Be with him."
"But the killings, the blood!" Hathor exclaimed, apprehensive.
"God save us from the likes of Franklin and that woman. And maybe he is. Did you ever think of that? There is purpose in your love for Servaes. God does not create love without purpose. There is purpose in everything, though we might not see it. Go to him. Go to Servaes. And if he can’t join you, join him. Maybe your purpose is to end his loneliness. Maybe that is the role God has chosen for you. His heart has to be good if you love it. And I know yours is." Georgia stood slowly, crossing over to the window. Her motions were strained as she rubbed her hands together. When Hathor didn’t speak, she whispered, "Man’s punishments are not always fair when it comes to crimes. The bad seeds are not always convicted. And, the richer the man, the better his chances are of getting off. Maybe this is God’s way of evening the odds."
"But he has already left me. He didn’t come back last night, and he left me a note telling me not to follow him. He said to forget him, that he was dead to me." Hathor’s tears again trailed over her cheeks like sparkling diamonds.
"Vampire or human, a man is a man. And men have pride aplenty. My guess is that he saw your reaction to his life and --"
"You’re right, Georgie," Hathor broke in, smiling timidly for the first time in days. Hope glistened in her tears. "But how do I find him? He won’t be at the club again. I know he left there."
"Go to the areas he is most likely to be. Call to him with your heart. He will hear it and come to you." Georgia smiled, praying she was right. It was a dangerous thing her niece would do. But there was danger in everything worth having. Georgia could see the love Hathor had for her vampire lover.
"What time is it?" Hathor questioned, ready to run out the door in search for Servaes.
"Not even noon. Now, why don’t you go clean yourself up? You don’t want to go to him looking like you’ve just come from a funeral."
"Yes, you’re right," Hathor babbled in distraction. Her mind raced with plans, ideas, what she would say to him when she saw him -- if she saw him.
I must find him! Hathor thought, as she ran from the kitchen. Her heart overflowed with joy. Georgia was right. The only thing that mattered was their love. I will find him. It is meant to be. I love him. And somewhere deep inside I know he loves me, too.
* * * *
Servaes opened his dark eyes to stare grimly at the top of his coffin. His body didn’t move. He could feel the earliness of the day, knowing that he had just laid down to his rest. Again, the sound that disturbed him whispered over his prone body.
Servaes, it called in a sweet voice that only brought him torture. The whispers wouldn’t stop, until he didn’t know if
she called to him or his memories haunted him. Servaes. Servaes. Servaes.
He knew Hathor waited for him. He watched her all night on her balcony -- searching for him. He hadn’t gone to her, even when she leaned over the railing, feeling his nearness. She called to him, reached out into the darkness for him. He held back, swearing to himself that this was the last time he would go to her, promising his body that he would no longer feel anything for her. His body cursed him for a liar, for every fiber in his being ached to possess her again. The smell of her was branded on his skin, the taste of her swirled like a healing draught in his blood.
Every time he thought to weaken and fly into her willing arms, he held back, forcing the memory of her abhorrence forth. She didn’t want what he was, and it wouldn’t be fair for him to force it on her. She deserved a life with a family and children and grandchildren. These were things he would never give her.
Servaes would have left London to run away from her, but stayed only so he could convince Jirí she was harmless. Once he secured his maker’s word that Hathor would be safe, he would go.
Paris, he thought, back to my homeland to see how it has changed. Mayhap to the chateau I once owned, now falling to ruin. Mayhap there I will be able to purge myself of the life we will never have.
Closing his eyes and his heart, he used all his power to block out the sound of her call. The sound grew faint, until it disappeared to leave him in silence, Servaes, Servaes, come back, no, Servaes….
Chapter Seventeen
The fall wind turned bitter and cold, stinging across the quiet London back streets. Hathor ran past the blur of pavement and signs, lampposts, and the cloudy sparkles of moonlight that occasionally peeked in on the dark byways. She clutched her long jacket over her pounding heart, willing her feet onward. Her breath came out in white puffs of air, causing her lips to chap.
She ignored the breathless pain in her lungs as they gasped for air. Her eyes darted to the alleyways and side paths, looking for any creature that might be of the world of the undead. The paths were eerily empty. It was as if the entire city slept.
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