Zamani

by Angelic Rodgers

  “So, who trained you?”

  He smiled again, this time a shadow of bitterness crossing his face. “Your father. In a sense, you and I are siblings of a sort. He turned me because of years of faithful service to him. I hear a lot of secrets while serving coffee. People think that no one can hear them in a cafe. I also can procure a wide variety of luxuries easily, and he found it useful and convenient to stop here when he traveled by train.” He pointed to the cigarette case she had on the table. “I remember when he ordered that case, for instance.” The case was silver and on it was engraved a dragon, her family symbol. She’d never stopped to think about where it had come from. She’d never stopped to think about where any of the things in her childhood home had come from. Like her vampirism, things in her life had always just been there.

  Istvan became her first teacher in the world. She stayed with him for a few weeks, sleeping next to him as a sister and brother might sleep. She felt comfort in having him near, but neither of them felt romantic feelings toward each other. By watching him and by working in his cafe, she began to get her footing.

  Olivia learned much from Istvan, but what he could teach her was limited. She felt an easy companionship with him, and because they were kindred she’d enjoyed being in his bed and learning the basics of the outside world. Eventually, though, she longed to put more distance between herself and her father’s domain. She was truly free for the first time in her life: free from her father, from relationships, and from hunger. Istvan’s main value came from lessons he taught her about the mundane issues of life in the real world. She’d been sheltered and coddled, she realized, living with her father, and she had to learn to survive on her own without drawing attention to herself as she fed and gathered material wealth needed to sustain an acceptable lifestyle. The ledger that she saw him working in that first day was a good representation of his personality. He kept notes not only about the shop, but also about small kindnesses done for him by others, and he sought to repay those. He was as kind in his calculations as her father had been cruel. Olivia noted this; she was not as kind-hearted as Istvan, but she recognized the value in bartering favors.

  Istvan lacked the answers to the questions she kept turning over in her mind regarding the true nature of death. Istvan noticed quite quickly the three thin gold bands she wore on her ring finger. She was wiping down tables one night, and from his seat in the corner, he could see the light dancing off the bands as the candle flame caught them. Quietly, he said, “I didn’t realize you were married.”

  Her hand stopped in mid-swipe for just a second, disrupting the rhythm she’d built up as she moved from table to table. She barely flicked her eyes toward him, seeing a bit of a smile on his face, feeling like he might be teasing her. She went back to wiping the table and merely responded with an “mhmm.”

  When she’d finished with the tables, she joined him at his. He’d already poured her a glass of wine and knew she’d get around to telling him the story if he let her decide she was ready. As she sipped the wine, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Don’t tell me; he was some lovely artist type and you devoured him.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if she was an artist, really. She was quite lovely. They both were.”

  While she had told him before of turning Daniela, she’d not revealed their true relationship. She told him now that Daniela, originally meant to be her father’s new bride, truly loved her. Once their feelings were realized, the two women were separated. Daniela was sent home in hopes that the separation would weaken their affinity to the breaking point, but they had been too late in their attempts. Daniela had been turned. In the weeks that she was at her father’s she turned a young cousin of hers, Sasha, who had come to distract and entertain her.

  “Daniela’s family was understandably crushed by the whole affair. The fact that Daniela turned Sasha made it imperative that they contain the problem, and they arrived at my father’s home with both girls in tow, begging him to solve the problem. He took both girls in, and his solution was to hide the three of us.” She gave out a small chuckle. “To say he hid us is being generous. He imprisoned us. But, at least we were together.” She twirled the three bands on her hand, and then slid them off, placing them on the table in front of her as she continued. “That is, we were together until Van Helsing killed Daniela and Sasha. That’s why I wear their rings along with my own.”

  Istvan poured more wine for both of them. “I can relate to the loss; I’ve been careful to not turn any of my lovers for fear that eternity with one might turn things to hatred and bitterness. I chose my lot, and I would have to have a companion who likewise chose this path before I could consider turning her. Of course, it would be nice to think I could meet some nice woman already turned by someone else, wouldn’t it?” They both smiled at thought.

  “I struggle with the question of what there is after life, Olivia; I think everyone does. I did before I was turned and being turned makes the question all the more pressing. If we can sidestep death as we do, what does that mean? Does that mean death is not truly final?”

  Olivia slid the rings back on her finger. “I don’t know, Istvan. I hope to find out. When Van Helsing took them from me, they both thanked him. Daniela told him they would meet again, that it was not the end. I’ve turned that over and over in my mind. I’m haunted by it. If she’s right, then that has to mean she’s still out there somewhere. There must be a way to come back. And she helped him drive the stake. She welcomed death.” She stopped, too overcome by the memory to continue. They sat silent for the rest of the night, drinking wine and waiting for dawn.

  Chapter Twenty

  Istvan’s joke that it would be wonderful to find someone already turned whispered itself over and over in Olivia’s mind over the next few days. She was beginning to feel the need to move on, and she didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone. She also felt the need to repay all of the kindnesses he’d shown her.

  They hunted separately. There was a quiet agreement between them that they would not watch each other feed. It was too intimate to share. Perhaps if they had hunted together, Olivia never would have made the impulsive choice that ended their friendship.

  She had seen the woman before at the market where she sometimes did little errands for Istvan like buying flowers to decorate the tables. She’d also seen her in Istvan’s dreams as he slept beside her. The dreams were simple and sweet, but she could feel the desire he had for the woman simmering under the surface, even in his dream state. Once she’d realized that the woman in his dreams was living now and in the same village, she decided to help him gain what he desired.

  She approached the woman one morning at the market, sliding up alongside her as she looked over some eggs a vendor was selling. Olivia reached for an egg at the same time Zofia did, their hands brushing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Zofia apologized and looked up to meet Olivia’s eyes with her own. Olivia watched a slight blush creep up Zofia’s neck.

  “It was me, I’m afraid, who should apologize. I was in such a hurry that I was careless.” She moved her hand away from Zofia’s to offer it again in a handshake. “I don’t believe we’ve met, though I’ve seen you here before. I am Olivia.”

  Zofia took Olivia’s hand in her own, and as their palms touched, Olivia used the contact to reach out to Zofia’s mind. She found that Zofia had no romantic entanglements and no children.

  “My name is Zofia.”

  Olivia asked the vendor for a half dozen eggs. “As a way of apology, let me invite you to join me for a late breakfast.”

  The two finished their market shopping and Olivia led her to the café. She prepared a light breakfast of eggs and bread for the three of them. Istvan nodded to Zofia and gave her a little smile, and Olivia watched the two of them flirt across the room at each other. Even if she hadn’t been able to see inside Zofia’s mind she would have known that the attraction was mutual.

  The two women chatted as they
ate, and Olivia watched Istvan. He sat several tables over, picking at his plate, and pretending to ignore them, but she could tell he was paying attention in much the same way he had watched her the first time she’d come into the café.

  “Do you have family?” Olivia asked her, knowing already what her answer would be.

  Zofia nodded. “My father is still alive. I help care for him. I am mainly company for him. My mother died several years ago; she was never a strong woman.”

  When the meal was over, she and Zofia made plans to meet for a walk the next day. Olivia turned her attention toward readying the café for anyone who might stop in for lunch. Istvan brooded silently. Neither of them mentioned Zofia, and Olivia knew that he’d shut himself off to her. He couldn’t shut her out completely, though, when he was sleeping and the dreams of Zofia only intensified after her visit to the café.

  The grooming didn’t take long for Olivia; Zofia trusted her new friend, and by the week’s end, she was turned. Another week and she was in a desperate state and needed to feed. Olivia took her to Istvan.

  The café was closed. Istvan sat in his favorite chair in his living quarters, drinking wine and reading a book. He’d fed earlier in the evening and was surprised when Olivia entered with Zofia in tow. He hadn’t seen her since the morning that Olivia brought her in for breakfast, and now he barely recognized her as the same woman. She was pale and he could smell her starvation and desperation. He also could sense her hatred for Olivia.

  “I’ve brought you a gift.”

  As they stood before him, he watched Zofia’s face. Even through the haze of hunger, she realized his true identity—that he was also turned. She cried out in frustration and anger, too dazed to speak in words.

  “What have you done? Why do you bring her here?” He walked up to Zofia and put his hand on her cheek, the coolness of her skin repulsing him. She met his gaze and he could see she was in pain. She was weak, and he had no choice but to help her feed. Her hunger was the only suffering he could help her with. He stormed out in search of one of the nearby donors and brought them back to her.

  Olivia merely waited until he was satisfied that Zofia was taken care of. Once she’d fed, she was far more subdued; the hunger had been so great that it exhausted her and made her docile. Istvan made sure she was comfortable in his bed before he returned to the main room and confronted Olivia.

  “Why, Olivia?”

  “She’s yours. You wanted a wife, someone already turned. I merely did the dirty work for you.”

  “It was not your place.”

  “Why not? She will serve as a companion to you; I’m leaving soon, and the two of you obviously desired each other. It seemed a perfect arrangement. It’s a thank you gift, Istvan.”

  He shook his head. “I should have known that you didn’t understand. I desired her because she reminded me of someone I used to know—a living woman, not one of us. Can’t you see that by turning her you changed her? What was desirable in her is gone. Likewise, she despises you now, and she will fear me because I am that part of herself she now hates.”

  Olivia shrugged. “She’ll come to see that things are what they are. Just as you grew to accept your new life, so will she. Accept her as the gift she was meant to be.” She walked past him to where she’d gathered her things before going to fetch Zofia. “It is time I left; I had no intention of staying beyond tonight, as you can see from my preparations.”

  And with that, she left Istvan to repair the damage she’d left behind as best he could.

  As she thought back to those weeks with Istvan and how kind he was to her, she realized that it was her turn to teach Christophe; her plan had been to discard him if necessary, but she now realized that if she didn’t teach him, he’d seek out someone who would. Zofia was a formidable opponent and a very good teacher; if Christophe sought her help, he might be lost to Olivia forever.

  And if she lost Christophe, she’d lose the one lead she had on the secret of Marie Laveau.

  Chapter Twenty One

  The conflict with Istvan over Zofia was the push she needed to move on. She’d made a plan to go first to England to learn what she could of Mina and Jonathan Harker. She’d not told Istvan much about them, only that they had helped Van Helsing track her father down. She had lots of miles to cover and much to learn. In the months that she traveled before getting to Mina and releasing Renfield she met many mystics, lunatics, and charlatans, all ready to tell her the secrets of the afterlife.

  Yet she felt the question more complex with each attempt to answer it. Perhaps that is why the story of Marie Laveau’s passing called to her. She wondered what she would feel in the wake of such a powerful figure being gone and released back into the ether. What she’d found, though, was that for Marie, it wasn’t death at all. Marie found a way other than vampirism to sidestep death. And Olivia wanted to learn from her.

  The ritual at the lake convinced Olivia Marie was no charlatan. The crowd responded in a way that made it clear she was the Marie they all knew; somehow she had defeated death. Olivia was unable to approach her that night. The ritual circle, invisible to the eye, was too strong for any of the uninitiated or uninvited to cross. She had wondered about the public nature of the spectacle before they’d arrived at the site, halfway fearing she was wasting her time. When she arrived, however, she could sense the power used to prepare the spot well before any of the onlookers arrived. Just as Mina had been protected within the circle Van Helsing prepared for her, the dancers and drummers were protected by an invisible wall. She’d watched in fascination as observers had unconsciously avoided the edge of the circle. She wondered if they felt the same physical resistance that she felt emanating from the area.

  In the days following the ritual as she entertained herself with Lisette Olivia considered trying to reach out to Marie. She felt unprepared and too unfamiliar with her surroundings, though, to risk it. The city was still reeling from the supposed death of their powerful queen. Too many on the inner circle would command Marie’s attention as she sought to reinvent herself and retain her power. Olivia knew that to approach her would likely lead to more complications than either of them would welcome. And, it was evident to her she needed to learn a great deal about Voodoo and the source of Marie’s power before she could attempt to bargain with her or seek teaching from her. She decided to return to New York and sort things out first. Lisette would be a good connection in New Orleans, she decided.

  And for 131 years, that’s what she did; she waited and she learned all she could. She returned to New Orleans and lived in different areas of the city from time to time, but she never stayed long.

  But the answers still eluded her, and she knew that she had to go to the source if she was to make any headway. She’d started to dream of New Orleans, of fancy carnival balls where she was dancing with Daniela. She’d dreamt of the house on Thalia, too, before she and Lisette looked at it together and made a handsome offer to the realtor, meeting the asking price without haggling or hesitation. She wasn’t sure what was different now, but she knew that it was time for her to start looking for Daniela in earnest. She told Lisette that night she showed up in New Orleans on Lisette’s front stoop that the dreams had drawn her there. She didn’t care if the dreams really meant nothing. She had to try.

  Of course, she hadn’t counted on Wren.

  Olivia took to wandering the Quarter at night after she finally settled there. She loved watching the city transform from the bustling daytime city of normal business activities in corner cafes and shops to the raucous nightlife that drew hoards of frat boys and their older counterparts who were in town for the latest convention out to play. The sense of lawlessness, though an illusion, was not only a draw for the partygoers, but she also had to admit it was a draw for her as well. The Quarter constantly renewed itself. The owners or managers might be locals, but the fresh faces greeting customers into clubs and bars were more often just moving through.

  Olivia first caught sight of Wren one ev
ening as she sat in front of St. Louis Cathedral, enjoying a smoke. Jackson Square during the day was too much for her. The crowds of people and the din of the street performers and card readers were overwhelming. When the sun went down, though, the Square smoldered with the leftover energy of the day, and it was pleasant for her. As she sat looking up at the cathedral, Wren and Sienna were on their way to work and stopped for a quick kiss in the same narrow alleyway where Olivia had saved Lisette that night. The tenderness between them caught her attention, and she decided to have a little fun by getting acquainted with them.

  Wren worked as a stripper. Olivia always had a soft spot for women who were in distress. After all, she’d come to Lisette’s aid, and over the years she liked to think she had rescued many women from similar fates. Olivia could sense Wren’s power; it was the raw and bold confidence that drew her in and enthralled her as Wren worked her magic on stage. Olivia had never before met a non-vampire with her level of confidence and strength. Olivia saw her as a challenge. She wanted to see what it would take to break her.

  Wren was fairly unbreakable. Wren certainly made mistakes, but Olivia had only herself to blame for Wren’s rash behavior. At the same time she pursued Wren, she also pursued Alex, Wren’s former girlfriend. Her goal was to get closer to Liz. She’d miscalculated Wren’s residual feelings for Alex, and Wren assumed Alex was the true target. Wren was so in love with Alex that she couldn’t see past her. Olivia also hadn’t counted on Wren’s determination and desire to please her. Had she trained Wren rather than merely treating her as a plaything, perhaps she could have prevented Wren’s pursuit of Alex and thus prevented her death. And Liz would still be in New Orleans where she could get to her.

  Olivia hadn’t seen Wren since the night it happened. She’d found them in the corner of the bedroom Alex shared with Liz, blood smears all over Wren’s face and hands. Wren was drunk on Alex’s blood, the blood of the one girl she’d loved perhaps even more than she loved Olivia.