by RWK Clark
∞
DeSai returned to the manor before dark, leaving the rest of the extensive mess for his charges to clean up and rectify. He planned to get a bit of rest before venturing out with Marquis; he would need it.
“Did you find those naughty dogs?” Cecile looked cheerful, but her eyes were apprehensive. He knew she had looked and found nothing; she had to be concerned.
He nodded slowly. “Yes, but it is not good, my darling.”
“What is it, Cyril?”
He sat his wife down and then directed the children to prepare for bed. They immediately obeyed, and after they were out of earshot he sat across the table from Cecile and took her by the hand.
“The dogs were found on the north side of the property. All have been killed,” he began, cautiously.
Her eyes grew wide. “Killed? What do you mean, ‘killed’?”
DeSai chose his words wisely; he did not fancy frightening his wife. He told her they were all found together, and he credited the deed to bandits who may want to rob the property. He then told her the plan he and Marquis intended to execute that very night.
Cecile was not happy with the revelation of their scheme, but she did not argue. She kissed and embraced him with tears in her eyes. She worried for him, and he did not blame the girl, but he would not allow some criminals to take all they have, to threaten their happiness and livelihood any more than they already had.
Cyril made his way to their chambers and lay down on the bed, but he would get no sleep. He tossed and turned, the vision of the ravaged dogs very clear in his head. It had been a scene worse than any nightmare he had ever had.
He rose at when the moon was clear in the sky, and he dressed warmly, making sure to load his weapon and pack a small bag with other small items they may need: a knife and extra ammunition. He felt excitement at the thought of doing to the culprits what they had done to his dogs, and possibly what they wanted to do to him and his family.
He would have none of it.
Marquis was waiting outside for him in the wagon. He had brought along coffee for drinking, to help them stay alert during their patrols. He intended to do this every night until the savages were caught and punished; coffee would be needed.
They began at the vineyards. They left the wagon at the gate, as the vineyard area was only suited for walking, and they began to patrol the rows. It would be a daunting task; the vineyard was a massive place. They walked in silence, each man walking the row next to the other. They would not go out of earshot of each other in case one or the other encountered trouble.
They kept their ears open and their lanterns lit, but the vineyard proved clean; not even the sound of a breaking branch was heard during their search. It was time to take the wagon and patrol the rest of the land, beginning with the grounds around the manor, then they would patrol the perimeter. If all this turned up nothing they would begin the process again, and they would do this until they found the answers they were looking for. Cyril DeSai was a determined man.
As the wagon approached the manor both men quietly discussed where they should begin. As they passed the front of the house Marquis suddenly grabbed DeSai’s arm violently, and in response DeSai brought the wagon to an abrupt halt.
“Sir, the manor door is ajar…”
DeSai’s head jerked in response toward the front of the house. Yes, the door of the manor was indeed wide open. Dread filled his stomach as he tried to remember whether or not he had secured it; he was certain he had. The safety of his wife and children was paramount to him. He would not have neglected that one thing, not to mention the fact that he had a clear memory of doing so.
He looked at Marquis and brought a single finger to his lips, beckoning that they be still. Both men got off the wagon and took their weapons. They slowly and silently crept toward the front of the house, listening. There was no sound, either inside or out.
He leaned toward his manager and whispered, “I will go inside and have a look. You walk around the house and the main grounds, yes?” Marquis nodded and ventured into the darkness with his lantern.
DeSai crossed the door’s threshold and entered his home. Initially, he stood on the rug in the foyer and held the light out in front of him. Nothing at all looked out of place; everything was as it should be. He stealthily made his way to the dining and kitchen areas, but all was as it should be. Now he would look in on Cecile and the children.
He crept up the massive staircase which led to the sleeping quarters. The room which he and Cecile occupied was the master bedroom directly to the right at the top of the stairs; he would look in on her first.
He turned the knob, being very careful to keep quiet; he did not want to wake his wife and put her in a panic. He then held his lantern a small bit into the room, allowing just enough of the light in to get a view of their bed.
It was empty.
Now he flung the door all the way open. “Cecile? Cecile!” There was no response, only the wind blowing through the open window.
He frantically made his way around the room, but she was not there. She must be in with the children, as she probably didn’t want them to sleep alone that night. He sighed and made his way out of the room and down the hall to the next doorway, which was the room where both his son and daughter slept.
This door was wide open, and his heart skipped a beat. This should not be.
He entered, allowing the full light of the lantern to illuminate the interior. Within seconds he saw them. All three of them.
They lay on the floor atop the main rug which was the centerpiece of the room. Both children’s bodies had no head; their heads lay next to each of them respectively. Blood was everywhere.
It was then he realized that the figure between the two children was his beloved Cecile. Her throat had been cut so deeply that her head lay in a horrible, unnatural position. Her eyes were wide open, and a look of terror was spread over her face. She had died feeling petrifying fright and grief; it was all over her face.
For the second time that day Cyril DeSai was sick. He vomited until there was no more to vomit, and then his stomach continued to heave painfully for a long time after. When he was finished he struggled to clear his thoughts and get his wits about him. What to do?
Finally a shred of clarity came: he had to get to Marquis! Something very, very bad was here…
He took his lantern and his firearm and ran out the bedroom door, and now he was not concerned about being still; there was simply no one left to wake.
“Marquis!” His footsteps pounded down the staircase and he ran to the foyer and out the door. “Marquis!”
His manager shouted back, “Sir!” and DeSai began to run to the sound of his voice, lantern bobbling back and forth before him, its light bouncing to and fro erratically.
He saw his charge’s lantern, and in seconds could clearly see the form of the man standing before him. He slowed to catch his breath and began to speak.
“Marquis, they have been murdered! All three!” He doubled over in an effort to catch his breath. “My family is dead!”
The manager began to respond as DeSai tried to breathe. “Dead, sir? What are you…?”Marquis’ voice went silent.
Cyril’s head jerked up. Marquis’ lantern lay on the ground, its light flickering dangerously. The manager was nowhere.
“Marquis?” He straightened himself out and tried to steady his breathing. He held his own lantern out and turned in a complete circle. “Marquis!”
Suddenly he heard the rushing of the wind around him, and it was accompanied by a sound very much like clean clothing blowing in the wind as it dried. He turned in circles quickly, trying to see anything, but there was nothing to see.
Then behind him something hit the ground hard. He turned and lit the area up with his light. It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming.
Marquis lay in a pile not five feet from him. Blood was pouring from a gaping wound on his neck. His eyes were open and he was looking at his master for h
elp. His mouth was moving, trying to form words, but no sound came out of his lips.
“Marquis!” He rushed over to his manager, and he could immediately see that Marquis would die, and that within seconds. Suddenly the man’s mouth stopped moving and his eyes went like glass; he was gone that fast.
DeSai’s mind began to swim, and he was overcome with vertigo. He dropped to his knees, the lantern hitting the ground beside him; it remained upright and lit. He placed both of his fists in the dirt before him to keep himself from completely fainting, and he forced his breaths to come more slowly. He must get his wits about him, he had to figure out what was happening. Was he dreaming, or was all of this real?
He looked up at Marquis lifeless body before him; indeed, this was very real. Now he sat back on his own haunches and opened his ears; whoever had just done this thing to his manager, whoever had killed his family and his dogs, was still here.
That was all it took. He stood to his feet, grabbing up his lantern as he went. Suddenly he felt much calmer. He would kill this thing and dispose of it properly, before it took his life and the lives of his other charges as well.
“Cyril, Cyril, why do you believe you have understanding which you do not have?”
The voice was very low, and it was very, very close. He jumped in his own skin and once again began to turn round and round, illuminating all he could with the powerless lantern.
“Who is it? Who are you?” He yelled this loudly, even though he knew they could hear him clearly. He wanted to instill fear in the person with the sound of his voice, but he could hear how badly it really shook. He was the one who was afraid.
“It is I, your NEW master…” Suddenly he was enveloped in an embrace from behind. He tried to turn his head to see who had hold of him, but just as he craned his neck he felt the sting there; he was being bitten by… something.
“AHHRRRG!” DeSai screamed loudly, and he tried to struggle against the arms which held him, but to no avail. Then, as quickly as they had grabbed him, the arms disappeared.
Now he fell to the ground entirely. He was cold, so cold. He trembled and shook, and a sound like roaring waves filled his ears. His entire body was wracked with pain, and then all of a sudden all was still once more.
“You will continue where I am forced to leave off,” the voice told him. His eyes were open, and he looked around as best he could without moving his head; he could not move it at all. But no one was within his line of vision; nothing and no one.
The words continued. “Finally, my years draw to an end, but I lived to continue the life with you. Now I will gladly lie down in surrender; the stake in my chest causes me an overwhelming pain. Carry on for me, Cyril. You are the ideal choice…”
The sound of flapping surrounded him, and suddenly the wind died. All was still once again. He lay on the ground shaking violently, and his vision had tinges of red around it. What had happened?
∞
Now DeSai snapped out of his haze yet again, and took notice of the inaugural festivities which were going on around him. He smiled with black joy; all of this was exactly what the voice had been talking about. It was what he had been striving for all these centuries, and he was accomplishing the mission. Soon, the whole world would be a part of his kingdom; it would all be his.
“President DeSai, it is time to give interviews to the press,” said a young man in a red tie, Martin Lamb. He had been assigned to handle the inevitable publicity which would result from the gaining of his new position. “This will be done here, but we will step inside to avoid all the chaos, sir. The members of the press are all inside and waiting on you.”
He looked up at the man and smiled, then stood. “Yes, Mr. Lamb. I’m ready.” He turned to Miranda. “I will return shortly. Enjoy the good time, my darling.” He then followed the man out of the room.
He knew that the majority of journalists and reporters would belong to him already, but there would be those who were still members of the soon-extinct ‘normal’ society. It was for the benefit of these that the world continued to keep up appearances; not until the very last was enslaved would they all begin to live the way decent vampires should.
He walked up to the small stage and the microphone laden podium with the Presidential Seal on it. A hush fell over the room, and he took his place before all of the reporters who had packed in for this moment. He was on a cloud; he had arrived. It had been a very long road.
∞
After being bitten by the unseen stranger Cyril was not the same. He spent the remainder of that night pacing the vineyard and manor grounds. He visited the bodies of his wife and children, but things had changed in his body at a lightning pace. He ended up feasting on what fresh blood he could draw from them. He had been appalled at this, even as he did it, but he felt powerlessly driven, and he followed through.
Afterward he felt much stronger, and he proceeded out to where the body of Marquis was lying lifeless on the ground. He drained him, as well, and once he was finished with that he stood and looked around. It was funny how clearly he could see in the darkness.
He was a monster now, and he knew it with a certainty which he didn’t understand. He would come to understand it, but for now he simply accepted it. He would simply… survive, and that is what he did.
He listened to his gut, and the compulsions which now controlled him. In time he came to understand it: he was a vampire. He needed others like him, and it was up to him to create them. He needed a queen, but no other like Cecile would be found. This compulsion was something he pushed aside daily, until he could push it aside no more. It was the resulting acts, spurned by these two instincts, which caused him to settle here and there, making slaves and taking lives. It was these that caused him to run when the hunting always began, and it was instinct which had led him to his inner sanctum, the cave in the depths. The one before him had lived here as well, he knew this with certainty. Now the cave was his.
He would live forever, his body an empty black shell, but he would not do it alone. Over and over he would begin, and over and over he would fail.
But not this time.
∞
DeSai took notice of all the faces looking at him expectantly as he stood at the podium before them. He opened the conference by offering a speech which consisted of so many lies: how honored he was to accept the responsibilities given him; how proud he was to be able to serve the public. It poured like liquid silk from his lying lips.
He then welcomed questions, and just as he suspected, one of his very own began.
“President DeSai, when will you be relocating from Cliffside to take up residence here at the White House?”
He smiled his most impressive grin at the man, who was simply glowing at the fact that his Master stood at the podium before him. “I will be fully moved in by tomorrow, and am greatly looking forward to the change. Thank you.”
A woman stood next, another of his own. “Who will take over your Cliffside Winery responsibilities, sir?”
“I have chosen businessman Martin Steenway of Atomic Technologies. He is a brilliant businessman who has personal experience with winemaking; I have tasted his private products, and they impressed me to the point that I knew he was the best choice for the job,” said Cyril. “I am also confident that he will do things at Cliffside the way I would want them done.”
Now a woman in the rear of the crowd stood from her chair. She was not one of his, but she was quite beautiful; she certainly would be.
“Yes, dear. You in the back,” he said to her.
“President, are you also confident that your experience running a winery qualifies you to run a country?”
DeSai kept his dazzling smile plastered to his face. “What is your name, my dear?” Her slight accent told him she was not American, at least not by birth.
“Rasia Engres. I am with the Kiev ‘Post’. I hail from Ukraine, sir,” she replied, all business.
She was simply striking. She had red hair, fiery red, and it was
pulled back out of her face in a simple, yet formal, style. Her makeup was flawless, and the colorations of it set off her deep green eyes beautifully. She had the eyes of a cat.
DeSai blinked twice. “I am not only confident in my own abilities, Miss Engres, but I have full faith in the knowledge and abilities of my many advisors. This will be a team effort,” he lied.
The woman jotted something in a small notebook and then took her seat. He had not been able to tantalize her; was she simply too far from him? Her entire demeanor reflected a lack of interest in DeSai for anything other than business; this intrigued and thrilled him through and through.
“Mr. President…!” The voices all took off at once now, and flashes from cameras began to go haywire. He turned his attention to the task at hand, answering questions and keeping up appearances.
But Rasia Engres kept a firm grip on his mind.
Chapter 15
“Tell me, Mr. Lamb, who was the reporter seated near the back? The woman with the red hair?” DeSai and Lamb were on their way back to the party after the press conference.
Lamb slowed his pace. “She is not yet with us, sir.”
“But who is she?”
“She is a reporter who often frequents American government events such as this one. She is well known to others in the White House,” he replied. “If you would like more information I will check with your public relations team. I am fairly new to this, as you know. I mostly know of her from the television press conferences of the past. She has been around for a couple of years. That’s all I know.”
While DeSai couldn’t let thoughts of this woman take over on this night, he did indeed keep her in the front of his mind. He spent the rest of the evening going through the motions: dancing with Miranda and others, clinking glasses with the men, and showing off his finely-tuned personality at the right times.
But how had she dodged the bullet of his control thus far? The question plagued his thoughts all evening. He and Miranda stayed at the White House that night, and when they took to their room he was still obsessing to himself over the strange woman.