As I plucked it, the disturbed dust and cobwebs encircled me, caking the inside of my throat. I hacked it away, but when I brushed across the cover, my fingertips revealed the silver lettering in the dark face. Draco Autem Nox: Prioris Testamenti, which directly translated to Dragon of the Night: First Testament.
Laying it out over the desk, I pried it open, finding several of the pages stuck together. Turning to the inside of the front cover, I found two elaborate depictions of some very infamous characters. The first was of Vlad Dracul, or Vlad the Impaler, ancient ruler of Romania and the second of Elizabeth Bathory of Hungary. Desperately, I pulled my notebook out from my coat pocket and spread it to the next empty page I could find. The quill pen was hot between my fingertips and I read and read until my eyes burned, and read some more. I had found what was perhaps the single, most important document I could have found, and I wondered if the others—the ones watching—knew it even existed. I had found what was to be considered the Vampire’s bible—or perhaps the bible of all of dark kind.
Within the pages of this mysterious text, I’d taken several things. First, there were creators, supposedly, of the Vampire kind. The two, Vlad and Elizabeth, are believed to be the mother and father and the highly worshipped saints of the people cursed. Within the first unit, the pages revealed the dismal details of both of their reigns; how ruthless they were and wasteful with the shed of human blood. The book also quoted Isaiah 34:13 through 15 and discussed a character brand new to me, yet at the same time, very familiar. Lilith, the woman believed in the old testament to be the first wife of Adam, but who left after refusing to be subservient to him. The depicted result was she then mated with an archangel, thereby creating night monsters, or as we know them, Vampires. There is also a list of eight creatures that stand as symbols for darkness and Lilith:
(12) Her nobles shall be no more, nor shall kings be proclaimed there; all her princes are gone. (13) Her castles shall be overgrown with thorns, her fortresses with thistles and briers. She shall become an abode for jackals and a haunt for ostriches. (14) Wildcats shall meet with desert beasts, satyrs shall call to one another. There shall the Lilith repose, and find for herself a place to rest. (15) There the hoot owl shall nest and lay eggs, hatch them out and gather them in her shadow; There shall the kites assemble, none shall be missing its mate. (16) Look in the book of the LORD and read: No one of these shall be lacking, For the mouth of the LORD has ordered it, and His spirit shall gather them there. (17) It is He who casts the lot for them, and with His hands He marks off their shares of her; They shall possess her forever, and dwell there from generation to generation.
- Isaiah 34
My mind spun. I read on about how the bloodline was allegedly passed down through the ages from this treacherous, and demonic woman: creatures shaped by the devil, in his image as God intended mortals. And what was more, these creatures of darkness maintained the ability to catch and actually transform those shaped by God, which made them all the more dangerous indeed. I salivated at the plethora of information, scribbling tirelessly, sometimes clutching the side of my neck when the strange burning would begin to ensue. There were a few moments when my vision became blurry, but then cleared again.
Reading on and on, I finally came to a passage toward the end of the book, which began to discuss the most ancient and powerful of the covens; a group of Vampires who were hand selected by Lilith herself. The Parliament. They ruled over all of dark kind. And I realized then, exactly who visited me that night in London. The man who had given me the parchment note was one who belonged to the Parliament, and probably none other than the leader himself.
The very last until of the book entitled, Illuminatio, were the pages most interesting to me. It held the information I really needed, and here it is—that which will inevitably save my wife and redeem the horrifying status of the Vampire kind: The light cannot exist without the darkness. And though Lilith is considered evil by all of mortal kind, the nature of the Vampire is not meant to be evil. Not meant to be hated. The sun cannot rise and set without the moon. We cannot grow without the suffering of winter. We cannot be reborn if we do not die. Bad must exist for good to be celebrated. Balance must exist in the world, and so without the darkness, the Regime can never truly reign supreme. This is why they fear the Vampire. This is why Vladislov wishes to conceal them, and possibly destroy them. They want only light, and only goodness to exist, but the truth is, that is impossible. And that is the secret. Fear and hatred. Fear of what the light, and also the mortals do not understand. For who really knows Lucifer as intimately as they know their lover? And who can say who is truly acting on evil intent, and who is acting on their will to live? In order to thrive over the entrapments of the Regime, all the darkness must do is find the power to continue to exist, and to not diminish in the face of day.
I glanced over my shoulder to find the nun peering at me from behind the door. I hadn’t even heard her open it. We regarded each other silently for a few, blinking moments before she said, “Did you find what you needed?”
Without a word, I nodded. I began to collect my notebook into my briefcase and she entered deeper into the room, her sandals quiet over the wooden floors.
“I know you are afraid to read what the letter says,” she said delicately. “I know you’re afraid to put your work into the hands of monsters. But you really must—”
“And how do I know you are not one of them, or working for them, or sent here to trick me into handing over this most valuable information?” I muttered, continuing to pack my things and adorn my coat.
She looked slightly insulted, her eyebrows furrowing over her glasses and then said, “No, my son. But I do believe I have a keen understanding of right and wrong. There are still many things out there that you do not know exist. There are still many secrets and souls who are in grave danger. And I was taught to believe if someone needs your help, and you’re in the position to help them, then you’d better.”
I stopped moving. The stern look in her soft, blue eyes suggested her sincerity. I nodded. “I’m not ready to open the letter yet, sister. But when I do, I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to do what is right.”
Chapter Eight
Dark Secrets
“A thing such as magic is an endless frontier of question, knowledge, secret, and truth. Even the light at times seems dangerous and thorny, but we proceed.”
~Maldimor Foulhorn, a Phaser and scholar
It was months later I finally felt I was able and ready to open the mysterious Vampire’s parchment letter. I journeyed through cities and countries, on trains and in carriages. I spoke to many a creature. I took many a note, filling the pages of my book. And all the while, the strange letter from the strange man was burning a hole in my pocket. But I needed his warnings. I did not open it, until I felt my work was done, though in truth, the knowledge was never-ending.
It must have been damned near eight months later I finally sat down, alone with my thoughts, and the continuingly worsening pain at the side of my throat. I thought back to the man in the tavern near Mae’s Massage Parlor. The scar he had at the side of this neck. Mine was beginning to look like his—red and inflamed.
With my nearly filled journal and in the company of dust and loneliness in a dingy inn room, my mind and stomach turned in an old motel room by the sea. The foghorns blared early in the morning paired with the dinging of the bells, signaling the arrivals of the fish boats. It was there I tracked a most interesting creature—one I hadn’t heard much about before, but fleetingly in casual conversation with a rogue Phaser. Most of my friends had become the disguised people of the Occult, but I digress.
There, by the docks, the Phaser had told me of creatures who possessed the voices of angels, though the flesh of something most sinister. “You’d do well to keep away from the waters, lad,” he warned. Late at night, as I was closest to dreaming, I could hear the ethereal sounds of women singing among the crashing waves. Sirens, he called them. Devili
sh beings who fed on the flesh of mortals. They live hidden deep within the tides. It had been a few weeks since I’d made any sort of breakthrough with the truths about the Regime, the Vampires, and what would eventually come to pass. In the absence of any revelations, I decided to go ahead and investigate these rare and dangerous creatures. For perhaps, they might lead me to another piece of the puzzle. Or so was my logic.
I was sitting with silence on the flimsy decaying mattress. I’d just come up from the bar, and my liver was doused in gin. It was just enough to take away some of my fears about finally going down to the docks to explore. But before my courage was completely mustered, I recalled the lingering letter. Pulling it from my coat pocket, it felt just as real and dangerous in my hands as it did the night I received it. I turned it over and over again, recalling the words spoken to me by the cursed man. I realized, perhaps in a drunken stupor, that everybody who was mortal died. Everybody had their time. Eventually, mine would come also. And so I decided finally, it was the time to open and read the letter:
Dearest Mortal Friend,
Firstly, we, the Elders of the Parliament wish to congratulate you for becoming the only mortal in Occult history to be considered a friend and respected colleague of the divinely damned. We also wish to thank you for your efforts to bring forth the ugliness of the day to light, and to rid our world of oppression by being unafraid to pursue the truth.
It has come to our attention a dear member of your family has recently joined our ranks, and we wish to assure you due to your valiant efforts, your wife will be protected with our finest care. She will be hidden from the Regime and the wretched genocide that they will impend unto our world in the decades to come. You have our word.
We recognize your mortality will provide you with some limitations, and while you still breathe, we would like to respectively request your studies and findings with the intention to publish as an official, informative text of the Occult and of the Order of the Parliament. For you see, it is rare members of our kind will heed the word and warning of one such as yourself. Your words will reach more, and help more, if they are placed in our capable claws. To those who misunderstand us, your studies will provide certain enlightenment, and perhaps, help bring forth peace and understanding.
Once again, we thank you with the utmost sincerity. Upon completion, you may seek a trusted ally to help with the delivery.
With the best of intentions,
Cicero Dell’Orta
Parliament Liege
The Parliament. In all my time researching, seeking answers, speaking to the strangest of creatures, I’d heard only bits and pieces of the secret society who hid from the Regime. They thrived under the earth. They kept their location a secret. There existed an opposite equal to the Regime. As they ruled the light, the Parliament did so rule the dark. And what of their steep request? Did they really believe I would just give it all up so easily into the hands of beings I’d never met?
This only brought about more research to be done—only brought about more answers. The Parliament. Cicero Dell’Orta. But who would have the answers to my questions? Who would introduce me to the oldest, and perhaps most dangerous Vampires on this Earth? And would I publish my work for all to read?
Chapter Nine
The Parliament
“I do vow on my blood I am of the living-deceased and of the fatally cursed.”
~ Parliament incantation
I was in Paris at the time I realized there were only a few pages left in my leather-bound journal of secrets I’d been keeping, a crude work that to me, seemed invaluable. I think I’d read Cicero’s letter nearly a thousand times, mulling the words over again, flipping back to my notes, and then reading the letter once more. It was one particularly warm, summer eve when I realized…if I wanted to discover the gears of what made such a secret society tick, I would have to visit the place for myself.
The Saint James was lovely that time of year. It was throbbing with the life of the rich and well-to-do. I felt very out of place, but was grateful all the same to those who worked to keep me comfortable. It did not come without a price, however. I knew exactly what they wanted in exchange for the luxury, and I gripped it in my fist. The bellhop who had shown me to my room was a tad peculiar, I’d noticed. As he carried my bags, I glanced over at his pallid skin and the way he kept his eyes angled down at the floor as he walked.
“So, have you worked here long?” I asked, lifting my eyebrow.
I was not surprised, nor offended when he didn’t answer me. I knew what he was and why he was there. He was different than the chap in London, this one with blond hair and a more boyish quality. He left me at my door and said simply, “Let me know when you are ready.” And he turned and retreated at a human pace back down the elegantly dressed corridor with fine carpet, crystal chandeliers and large, ornate mirrors.
I knew I had to find the same bellhop again. Clearly, he was not the usual employee of the establishment, but rather one who worked for the Parliament, and they were waiting. Somehow, they’d known the minute I’d broken the letter’s seal. And somehow, they knew I’d be ready.
I dashed from my room to the main lobby of the hotel, which was bustling and alive with the sound of a band in the dining room and wealthy patrons carrying on in the foyers and sitting areas. I asked the concierge where I might find the young bellhop with the blond hair, however no one seemed to know whom I was referring to. I looked through the halls of the first floor, the dining rooms, and even the common toilets, but he seemed to be nowhere—a figment of my imaginings.
It wasn’t until I reached the gardens outside when I found him, wallowing over the corpse of an elderly countess in the deep shadows of a rose bush.
He looked up at me with blood surrounding his lips and dripping off the point of his chin. His eyes were awash in a demonic black, and with his gaping lips, there was a cobra’s hiss on the air. My skin prickled.
“I’m ready,” I gulped.
He stood from the dead woman, eyes never leaving mine. I knew he expected me to run away screaming. I did not. I stood steadfast, my jaw clenched, in spite of my pounding heart. He didn’t say anything, but rather held his hand out. I guessed it was for me to hand over my studies—my journal. I did not.
“Under one condition,” I began. “I want to be the one to personally hand it to Cicero. He’s the one who’s asked me for it, after all. It is only polite I see he gets it.”
“An impossibility,” he sneered and hissed like a wild cat, crouching and ready to kill me.
But I didn’t waver. “I must insist. In his letter, he states I am a friend of the Parliament and of the Vampire kind. I don’t mind the perils. I will tell no one of what I see. If I’m truly a friend, like the letter states, then I should be welcomed.”
He glared at me a few moments more before finally nodding. He straightened and I watched his eyes shift from black to blue. A bit calmer than before, he said, “Follow me.”
I did. And the journey to the Dark City was a long one. We took trains. We rode in carriages drawn by horses infused with the dark gift. We traveled only in the night, and by means no mortal would ever know about. Due to a promise I made to the Parliament, I cannot disclose within these notes the whereabouts of the Parliament or how we got there, but the experience was one of the most terrifying thrills of my journey. It was an underworld. It was hell. And it was lavish.
It took many nights, but at long last I was surrounded by the marble walls of their capitol, in the grand hall and among the most prestigious of the cursed kind. I felt in my bones I’d accomplished something no other mortal would ever live to tell about.
The blond Vampire (I’d learned his name was Alek) ushered me through the winding halls, only very dimply lit by scattered candelabras and wall sconces. I could not stop my gawking at the elaborate, ancient carvings in the walls, dotted by precious stones.
Once we had entered the grand, double doors of the main hall, the crude stone floors vanished underneat
h black marble so polished and glassy, I could see myself reflected back at me. We were greeted by the Elders—males and females dressed in the most elegant clothing I’d ever seen, and all in varying shades of blues, blacks, silvers, and purples. They seemed to be dressed in the finest fashions, straight from Paris, with dazzling buttons and intricate lace. I was even surprised to find the elegant feast of exotic fruits, meats, and breads laid out over tables of pure sterling. And it was all prepared for me. I couldn’t imagine what any of the rest of them would have done with such food.
Cicero made his way through the clusters of the marvelous creatures who resembled humans, but were things much more sinister. He was the most impressive of them all, and I recognized him instantly from the first time I’d met him on the shiny street in London.
“Alistair,” he extended a claw to shake my hand. “What a pleasure it is you’ve decided to grace us with your…warmth.” He flashed a grin that contrasted the olive undertones of his ashen flesh.
“You hand delivered your request. Traveled all the way to London. I only wanted to be as personal as you were.” I shook his hand firmly, though the strength of my grip could never compare to his. I continued to eye him, curiously. I didn’t miss it when his frosty gaze flashed down to the scar at the side of my neck.
“I see you’ve taken your studies rather seriously,” he said.
“I have. What does it mean?”
He released my hand. “It is Law One at its finest. The secret we all wish to keep. If any of us ever decide to leave our victims alive, the dark venom will destroy you from the inside out. You die slowly. Painfully, I imagine, too.” He rubbed his index claw over his lower lip. “I did warn you, Alistair, did I not? I told you you would die.”
The Anatomy of Vampires: Volume 1 Page 7