Well, her father was well groomed, if nothing else. According to Victoria’s mother, her father had had a lot of strange habits. He rarely went out during the day. He spent a good deal of daylight hours sleeping. Her mother claimed he came alive at night and that he was quite talkative. Night was when he conducted most of his activities. She could remember her mother talking about her father’s nighttime life as if it were yesterday.
“Oh, Vicky, your father was a man of the night. We used to take walks in the park at night, go to fancy restaurants, count the stars and spend hours in deep conversation.”
Her mother always got a dreamy expression on her face when she started talking about him. It was almost like her mother went in a trance whenever she mentioned her father. She told her, her father was eccentric. Her mother had frequently caught him talking to himself. When she’d asked him who he was talking to, he always replied, “Nobody.” All things dark and Gothic fascinated him. He would check out dozens of books on vampires and other supernatural creatures from the all-night library. After he read the books, he would make comments like, “Why don’t they ever write about African vampires?” Her mother said once, after he’d finished one of the books, he’d even laughed and said, “These people don’t know what they’re talking about.”
A chill ran down Victoria’s spine and she straightened. She was also obsessed with vampires. Something about the legendary creatures of the night fascinated her. As a little girl, she terrified her second grade classmates by bringing in a life-like vampire doll for ‘show and tell.’ She’d spent a full week searching for the perfect doll and finally found one in an out-of-the-way shop specializing in Gothic culture. The doll was equipped with fangs and had fake blood coming out of its mouth. While her classmates had gawked repulsively, she discussed the origins, feeding habits, and living requirements of vampires. She’d always been in awe of the supernatural powers they were rumored to possess. Vampire movies or stories never frightened her. On the contrary, she found the whole enigma about the species exciting. She felt she could relate to them, but couldn’t put a finger on why.
As a teenager, she read a book a week about the creatures of the night. She couldn’t wait to finish one book to start another. She also loved the nightlife. She loved the way the moon and the stars shone in the sky. She loved inhaling the crisp night air in her lungs and feeling it against her skin.
Being in the sun didn’t bother her, but she preferred the moon’s rays. As a child, she remembered sitting on the porch at night and taking long walks in the woods by herself. She was a night person, just like her father. Heat flashed to her face. No. She may have a common interest in vampires, but the similarities ended there. She was nothing like him. Nothing.
Turning in her seat, she stared at the passing scenery. Buildings and cars flew by. She was determined to find her father, even if it appeared to be a wild goose chase. Maybe he could answer the questions she had kept trapped inside her for years. Questions such as: Why did she hate vegetables? Why did she have a preference for rare meat, like steak and roast beef? Why could she see everything clearly in her room at night, without the lights on? What was the strange mark on her neck?
She’d never divulged these secrets to her mother. To do so would have sent her mother over the deep end for sure. Her mother’s health was already failing, and she didn’t want to add to it. Besides she didn’t want her mother thinking her daughter was crazy. She already worried over the fact she didn’t have any friends throughout her school-age years. All her classmates had teased her about being “weird.” None of them shared any of her interests. No one was interested in vampires or walking through the neighborhood at night.
Because of this, she’d kept to herself a lot. She never came home with friends or had sleepovers. She was also never invited to any. Her mother said it wasn’t normal for a girl her age to have no friends and be alone all the time. But she had no desire to become friends with any of her schoolmates or neighbors. All her female classmates wanted to do was talk about each other and chase boys. The only friend she had was a boy named Ivan Wilson. They had been friends since elementary school. She met him in the park. They were chasing the same butterfly and collided with each other. After that initial meeting, they were inseparable.
Victoria tried to remember what her old friend looked like. Ivan was tall for his age. He had a smooth cinnamon complexion. His liquid brown eyes were piercingly intense. They were the kind of eyes that looked into your soul. Victoria could never stare into Ivan’s eyes for long.
They’d spent countless afternoons and evenings collecting leaves, bugs, rocks, and whatever they found interesting. They often went for walks in the woods behind Victoria’s grandmother’s house. Victoria even told Ivan about her obsession with vampires. Instead of looking at her like she was a freak, he quietly and thoughtfully listened. From then on they spent hours talking about ghosts, vampires, and other supposedly scary things. Ivan always listened to her thoughts and never judged her. He was the yin to her yang. She was the chatterbox of the friendship, and Ivan was the listener. All she had to do was look into his eyes, and she found herself telling him about her hopes, dreams, and fears. Unfortunately, the friendship ended when she moved to another city. She thought about the last time she’d talked with Ivan.
It was late at night and they were sitting at their usual spot, underneath the pecan tree in her grandmother’s backyard. She was upset and crying over the fact she was moving. She didn’t want to leave Ivan or her grandmother. But her mother needed intensive treatment, so they had no choice.
“We’re leaving in the morning,” she told Ivan in a croaking voice.
“I know,” he answered in his usual unemotional tone.
“I’ll never forget you, Ivan,” Victoria whispered and squeezed his hand. “You always listened to my wild thoughts and fascinations.”
Ivan turned to face her, and she froze at the intensity of his stare. “I’ll always be with you, Victoria. Every time you look into the night sky and see the moon, know I’m looking at the same moon as you. We’ll both be thinking the same thing, thinking about each other.”
He grabbed her hands, staring even deeper into her eyes and continued in the same voice, husky with emotion.
“Victoria, no one is going to understand you or your fascination with vampires and ghosts like I am. So don’t waste your time telling anyone about them. You’re special and different, Victoria, and there’s nothing wrong with that. One day, you’ll meet people who will accept you as you are.” Ivan stood and dusted off his shorts.
“It’s time to go, Victoria.”
No other words were spoken until he said goodbye at her grandmother’s doorsteps.
She never saw Ivan again after that night. She also never saw eyes like his again until—her heart skipped a beat—the bum at the bus station! The eyes of the homeless old man were just as intense and just as piercing as Ivan’s had been. Victoria shook her head. Impossible. The beggar couldn’t have been Ivan. She would have recognized him.
Victoria ran a finger along the cold bus window. She’d never grown close to another guy after Ivan. Her lack of interest in men had alarmed her mother, who told her at least once a week to get her head out of books and go out and meet people, preferably men. Her mother claimed she wanted her daughter comfortably married before she died.
Victoria knew her mother wondered if her only child was a lesbian. She chuckled. She loved the idea of men and was happy to idolize them from afar. She’d even had several crushes in high school. They’d held her interest until she got close enough to talk to them. The guys looked much better with their mouths shut and most were missing something she couldn’t put her finger on. She sighed. Here she was twenty-four, alone and a virgin. Yes, she had dreams and aspirations like the next person, but because of her jerk of a father, she was all her mother had left. So instead of going to college, she’d stayed home with her mom. After all, it was her duty to comfort her mother during her last days.
If she didn’t, who would?
But all would have been different if her father had stayed in the picture. Since he selfishly hadn’t, her life hadn’t been easy. But no matter, everything would be fine once she solved the riddle of her father’s whereabouts and avenged her mother’s death. She could finally fulfill her dreams of becoming an interior decorator.
Searching the scenery as the bus rolled on, her eyes stopped on the sign WELCOME TO THE TARHEEL STATE—NORTH CAROLINA. In high spirits, she sat up in her seat, smiling. This was where she was supposed to be. She could feel it in her bones.
Something stabbed her. She screamed and her vision blurred. She grabbed the back of her neck. Oh, please, let it end. Then, as suddenly as it had come on, the excruciating pain vanished.
Several minutes passed before she dared move. She inched her neck one way, nothing, then the other, still nothing. She exhaled loudly, then scanned the bus. She was the object of everyone’s attention. They were all staring at her like she was a lunatic. One woman grabbed her son close, never taking her gaze from her. Averting her eyes, Victoria looked up front and noticed the bus driver glaring at her in the rear-view mirror.
“Hey, buster,” she wanted to cry. “Until you know what it feels like to have a knife shoved through your neck into your brain, I’d put your bug eyes right back into their sockets.”
Instead, she sank back into her seat, massaging her burning neck, totally embarrassed and confused. It had to be the damn triangle on her neck. Stupid. She shouldn’t have cried out. The tattoo appeared and burned every two to three months or so. She should have been prepared. She’d had it forever, from the night her menstrual cycle had started to when her cycle had finally ended. She had felt it burning then, and now the tattoo always burned the first day of her period. Since then, her period came every two and a half months and usually lasted two weeks. She and her mom were concerned about its irregularity, but the doctor had managed to calm their fears with an explanation about how every female’s body was different and had different cycles. Her cycle was fine. Since then, she just accepted her strange periods as part of her. However, the triangle on her neck was altogether different.
She sighed in relief as the bus rolled into the Tarheel State. Maybe now that she was finally in North Carolina she would find out why.
Chapter 4
Sarim sat in his office, allowing the silence to clear his thoughts. Khafil remained in the shadows, unseen and unheard. Lately his office was the only place he could find solitude from the chaotic world around him. He should have been thinking of his upcoming journey to the human world, where he was headed later tonight. Instead, his thoughts were on the monthly meeting he’d just dismissed. Tonight, several members of the lesser Taalib Duma tribes were vocalizing concerns about Sarim’s successor. “Who is he?” “Where is he?” and “When is he coming?” Those were just a few of the questions asked. Even though Khafil had warned him the questions were coming, he should have been prepared. Instead, he was deeply unsettled. He had no answers. He’d managed to dissuade his brothers by explaining he still had a few years left and there was no need for the pressing concern. This was true, but Sarim knew it was customary for his successor to be introduced to the tribe by now. The new ruler had to be trained and tested. The process could last up to five years. The only exception to this was if a Taalib Duma was impregnated with the successor. Then the current leader was kept until the successor was born and came of age.
Sarim prayed to the Darvan God that the scent wasn’t a figment of his imagination caused by stress. The humvansi had to help him. It also had to carry the Dalili Nakisisa.
“If the humvansi does not have the triangle symbol, all will indeed be lost.”
Knowing his protector awaited permission to speak, he nodded in Khafil’s direction. Khafil materialized out of the shadows.
“If the humanvansi is already in a family unit?” Khafil questioned.
“The possibility of their having a family or pursuing their dreams is inconsequential,” he snapped. “My legacy must be preserved, at all costs.”
“How are you going to make them come to a completely different world with you?” Khafil boldly interjected. “This person has lived as a human all their life and knows nothing of our ways.”
“For all I care, the person can be strung out on drugs or a prostitute.” He snickered before continuing. “If that is the case, there are ways to purify the body back to its original state.”
This trip was a matter of life or death to him. If he came back without the humvansi, and the council saw no heir or signs of one, he would be killed. There would be no need to wait until his rule came to an end.
Acknowledging the plot to kill him, his instincts told him the Imvura’s were masterminding it.
“Khafil, I am the last in my line of rulers. This a perfect time for my enemies to strike.”
Picking up a pen off his desk, he began rolling it around his fingers.
“I feel their hatred at the council meetings. I know their eyes watch my every move, patiently waiting to strike like a snake stalking a mouse.”
Sarim allowed his thoughts to land on his enemies. The Imvura, a rival tribe of African and Caucasian descent, were second in numbers and power. His tribe and the Imvuras had been bitter rivals for decades. Mainly because many felt the Imvuras were impure and didn’t belong in a sect of vampires descended from The Motherland, Africa. Sarim, as with most Taalib Duma’s, did not trust vampires not of African descent.
Generations ago, European vampires enslaved other African minority tribes and used the tribe’s women. This was how the Imvura tribe originated. Some of them even looked Caucasian, a fact unnerving many Taalib’s. The Imvura leader, Zanhoden, looked exactly like a Caucasian male. He had short blond hair and blue-green eyes. Strangely, his parents were both of African descent. Sarim chuckled. He had given Zanhoden the nickname “the devil’s prince.” Since most of his tribemen considered the Imvuras devils, the title seemed fitting.
Rubbing his chin, Sarim visualized Zanhoden’s face.
“I feel the Imvuras are behind the attempts on my life.”
Khafil raised an eyebrow. “Any of the tribes would want your position to land with them. Why do you suspect the Imvuras?”
“Their leader, Zanhoden is as ruthless as they come. I can’t prove it, but I know he wants the position of Abu more so than any other Taalib Duma. I can feel it in his stare.”
Khafil remained silent, waiting for Sarim to continue.
“As the leader of the Imvuras, he has the same powers as me. Over the years we’ve had conflicts many times, almost to the point of battle.”
“How will you prove it is the Imvura behind your plagues?” Khafil inquired.
“Until they reveal their true agenda, I can’t prove it was them. I will be patient. My family’s legacy rests firmly on my shoulders. I can make no mistakes in this matter.”
“I agree you must be very careful. To accuse another tribe of treason is a most serious charge.”
Sarim nodded.
“More importantly, I can’t enter the inner world after my death and face my ancestors if the Chair of Drumhani is no longer in the Soga tribe.”
The chair belonged only to the ruling family. Only the Abu sat in it. Legend said the chair enhances the Abu’s powers. By mankind’s standards, the Chair of Drumhani, made of gold, steel and platinum, was priceless. The chair was commissioned for the first Abu of Sarim’s tribe.
“I will be beheaded on the spot and tortured for eternity if the Sogas lost it because of my inability to rule effectively.”
Rubbing his temples, he thought back to the meeting he had just left, mentally reviewing the many conversations.
As if sensing his Abu was about to say something important, Khafil watched his face closely.
“What is it, Abu?”
“Today at the meeting, Zanhoden and his tribe didn’t utter a word during the barrage of questions. He just watched.”
Sar
im had closed the meeting by saying he would be leaving for possibly a month or longer. When he returned, he would have news of his heir. After the bruising he got from the council, this would shut them up, at least temporarily. He knew he only had one chance to solidify his family’s heritage.
Looking at the clock on the wall, he stretched. There were two hours before he was to partake on his journey. Sarim needed to relieve some stress. He rubbed his teeth along his fangs. They were rather dull. He hadn’t been on a secret hunt in over a month. Taalib Dumas snuck out and went on their own hunts even though it was against the “hunting” rules. Sarim turned a blind eye to it. A good hunt was exactly what he needed. Lately, other things were overwhelming his mind and senses. Yes, it was exactly what he needed. He had to be refreshed and focused for his journey’s itinerary.
“I hear 22nd and Main is flowing rather heavily,” Khafil cited.
“Perfect,” Sarim stated as they both started to dematerialize. “I’m rather thirsty.”
Zanhoden frowned. For the last hour he was contemplating where his dear Abu was really going. He and his men didn’t buy the “looking for another resting place” nonsense Sarim had hissed out during the meeting. However, Zanhoden would not speak on it publicly. If he did, it would look like pettiness on his part and it wouldn’t be taken seriously. It was a well-known fact that he and Sarim despised one another. Zanhoden’s tribe, the Imvura, had enough to deal with. He didn’t need to add to it by questioning the truthfulness of the Abu’s upcoming whereabouts.
Leaning his back against the balcony wall, he smiled. He would soon find out exactly where Sarim was heading. He had an inside source.
Leaning his lithe, six-foot-two frame against the wall of the dark entrance chamber of the Vrandar Zormir, Khafil allowed his guard to drop. The entire resting area lay underground, right beneath Varlancia headquarters. The underground area equaled the size of two football fields, side-by-side, large enough to house all the Taalib Dumas who chose to rest peacefully in its confines. A fact most Taalib Dumas appreciated, considering humans had an uncanny ability to “accidentally” discover Taalib Dumas’ resting places. The unfortunate creatures were never able to tell their world what they’d discovered. Any human who inadvertently discovered a resting area of a Taalib Duma had to be killed.
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