Night's Gift: Book One of the Night's Vampire Trilogy

by Mary M. Cushnie-mansour

  “Somehow, the secrets that Angelique had bequeathed to Atilla that day so long ago, when he had sought solace for his Mara, had been revealed to the general public. Too many were seeking us out to kill us by driving stakes through our hearts and then severing our heads. But, to be fair, too many of our kind had ravished the people, leaving many of them to roam the land like walking dead, inflicting death on others. There was no pattern; there was no discrimination. It all depended on the mood. People lay awake at night fearing when their turn would come and their lives become a living hell!

  “Actually, it was many of this new breed, the ones who were only half-crossed over, and who hadn’t been taught how to deal with their new lifestyle that terrorized the people more than our family members did, with the exception of a couple of them, if I am to be honest. I am not at liberty to say which family member has caused us the most pain over the years.”

  “Is it the one who is responsible for Elizabeth Bathory?”

  “Yes.”

  I was trying desperately to digest all of this new information Emelia was sharing with me. I had pictured Basarab as more of a warrior-type leader, at least that is the manner in which Max and Teresa had always portrayed him to me—a man who took what he wanted and answered to no one.

  “But was not Basarab a bit of a scoundrel himself?” I asked.

  “Not at first,” Emelia sighed. “But as time went by, his youthful ideals turned into a bloodbath. He began to think the only way our kind could survive was to force the people to fear us so much they would eventually leave us alone. Then we could return to a more quiet way of life. Many of us fled back into the caves in order to be safe. Ilias was six at the time, Basarab almost twenty—”

  “Did you not say,” I interrupted again, “that you had three children?”

  “Oh, yes; I gave birth to a girl when Ilias was three. She died before the end of her second week. It was then that Basarab came to his uncle and mentioned that maybe it was time to bring me fully into the fold.

  “Vacaresti discussed this with me, actually giving me a choice. He said I could grow old and die like all the other humans, or I could live for an eternity with him. It was really not a difficult decision for me to make. He was my husband, the father of my children, and I loved him dearly. And there was my son, who would need me forever, I thought at the time ... so here I am.” Emelia glanced out the window. The first rays of the sun were making their way through the trees. Santan began to whimper.

  Emelia stood up. “If you like, I shall return tonight to finish my story. I am tired now.”

  I looked at this woman standing before me. She had enlightened me so much, yet she was one of them. I knew I wanted to hear more. “I shall be waiting for you,” I confirmed my desire for her to return. “I definitely want to hear more about the count.”

  “Yes, yes.” As Emelia was leaving, she almost bumped into Max, who was bringing up my breakfast tray. “Excuse me, Max,” Emelia said as she slid past him.

  “Yes, Countess Emelia,” Max returned stiffly as he sidestepped and then entered my room. Was that a look of dislike I saw on his face?

  He set the breakfast tray on the table by my window, retrieved the evening tray, and left without speaking a word to me. In fact, he did not even look into the cradle to see his grandson as he had been accustomed to doing.

  “I shall bring Virginia her supper again tonight,” I overheard Emelia tell him from the hallway.

  “As you wish, Countess.”

  Once again, I was alone with my son.

  Basarab

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Emelia showed up, as promised, with my supper tray. “Max fixed you your favourite for tonight,” she mentioned as she opened the conversation.

  My nostrils twitched in anticipation as I sniffed the aroma of roast beef. “I wonder why he would go to the bother,” I said.

  “Why do you say that?” Emelia tilted her head questioningly.

  “Well, he seemed so distant and upset this morning, almost as though he resented the fact that you were here with me.”

  “You must understand Max,” Emelia said. “He really means no harm. His existence depends on how he is able to serve the count, and Teresa. I have noted a great change in Max since the last time I saw him. He is more tired than I have ever before seen him, even more so than when he fought for his Lilly’s life.”

  “Did you know Lilly?” I interrupted.

  “Yes.”

  “What was she like? Was she as beautiful as Max told me she was?”

  “So beautiful that Teresa pales in comparison. And her spirit, at first, was gentle and loving. I remember the first time I saw her, my breath caught in my throat. I also remember thinking that Max would never be able to keep her because Basarab, by then, had changed so much—” Emelia stopped and drew in a sharp breath.

  “How had he changed, Aunt Emelia?” I pushed for more.

  Emelia set the tray on the table. Her lips remained in a thin line. She sauntered over to Santan’s cradle and peeked in. That is a question I may have to ask again, I thought to myself.

  “He will sleep for awhile,” I stated, coming up to her and placing my arm around her shoulders. “Please tell me more; I need to understand the man to whom I have just given a son.”

  Emelia heaved a sigh, walked back to the table, and sat in her chair. “There is so much to tell,” she began, “so much to tell.”

  “Start with the moment you crossed over,” I suggested.

  “Yes ... yes ... the moment I crossed over. Evdochia came to me with a crimson gown made from the finest velvet—”

  I put my hand out and touched Emelia on the arm. I had forgotten about Stephen and Evdochia. “Where are Stephen and Evdochia?” I asked. “I assumed they would have been here for the birth.”

  Emelia wrung her hands nervously before answering. “They had to stay behind. We had to have someone we could trust to attend to matters until our return. Stephen has always been responsible in that way. Now, to continue with my story ... Evdochia poured me a bath and filled the waters with creamy bubbles of milk. She scrubbed my body with pumice, until my skin shone a healthy pink. She helped me from the bath, patted me dry with a soft towel, and then slipped the gown over my head. The cool silkiness of the satiny side of the velvet soothed my freshly scrubbed skin. She took a brush and untangled my lengthy strands of hair, smoothing it to a silky shine against the velvet material. She spun me around and smiled at the results before her.

  “You are ready,” she informed me. “I wish I had your beauty.”

  I interrupted Emelia. “Describe how you looked to me, please, Auntie.”

  Emelia got a faraway look in her eyes. Tears crowded the corners, fighting for a chance to be the first released. “I was beautiful, Virginia, as you already know from my previous story. I was so tiny that Vacaresti could encircle my waist with his hands. My hair swept the floor, and it shone like gold in the days when the sun had been allowed to touch it. It was so thick that, when braided, it was as strong as any man’s rope. It was quite similar to your colour, but not quite as red.

  “My eyelashes were long, dark, and curly; my eyes were a piercing green—sea eyes, some would say when they visited my father’s home. The old women used to tell my father that I had a wandering spirit; they could see it in my eyes.

  “My skin was porcelain, unblemished, and soft to the touch. I was the envy of my sisters and of all the girls who were courted by my brothers. When I was very young, I had basked in my superior looks, but as each of my sisters married and began to have children, I started to curse the beauty that had been bestowed upon me. Therefore, it was no wonder my father saw Vacaresti as my salvation—I did, as well!”

  I studied the woman in front of me. If I looked close, I could see some semblance of the beauty she spoke of, but her body had changed. I think Vacaresti would have a most difficult time encircling her waist with his hands now. She was still tiny, but not as petite as she had once been. Her
hair had been cropped short and curled, and it did not shine gold; it was more of a dull blond. Her skin was not quite the colour of porcelain, and there were a few darker areas that clouded the youthful perfection that she had spoken of.

  But the eyes were still green—sea green—a piercing kaleidoscope of greens that did not allow intruders to see beyond their surface. I wondered what was really behind them!

  Emelia laughed when she noticed me staring at her. “Hard to believe, isn’t it Virginia?”

  “Your eyes are still a stunning green, Aunt Emelia, and you have a beautiful soul, I might add.”

  “I have no soul.” Emelia stood up abruptly, walked to the other window, and stared out into the darkness. “Something, no matter what you think you are feeling for me right now, you would be wise to remember, my dear,” she added.

  I kept silent. I must have struck a sensitive chord with the mention of a soul. I should have known better. How thoughtless of me to mention she had a soul, when she had been just about to disclose to me how she had lost hers!

  I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder. “Come, Auntie. Come, sit down and tell me how it happened. I am so sorry.”

  “Tsk tsk, Virginia, you are still of this world. You have no idea of how our minds work or what we had to do to survive. You have no idea of whom, or what, we really are!”

  I waited for her next comment, not wanting to push further. I agreed with Emelia that I only had a general idea of what the family had been through. Emelia turned slowly and returned to the table.

  “Where was I now? Yes ... Evdochia had just finished preparing me for my initiation into their world. All I can really tell you is this—even though it was a horrible feeling, at the same time it was exciting. It is against our creed for me to describe to you, or any other mortal, the actual particulars of becoming a proper chosen vampire.”

  “Was Basarab there?” I asked.

  “Of course. Actually, if it were not for Basarab, Vacaresti would have killed me—not intentionally, of course, but with passion and desire. That is the main reason that I aged as I am now. What happened that night could not be entirely erased. Once again I owed my life to my nephew.”

  Emelia paused again and looked away. “They ought to pay for what they did to him!” she continued, changing the subject, focusing on telling me about her beloved nephew. There was a hint of anger in her voice. “He was a fine young man. Difficult to read at times, though, as a severe moodiness had begun to replace the youthful rationalism he had once displayed.

  “His proposal for a peaceful existence with mankind was becoming warped as I mentioned yesterday. Those cursed Gypsies would not let the people forget what we were—especially the old one, Tanyasin. She was responsible, as you know from the diary, for cursing Basarab with the leadership of his people. I also believe she was the one responsible for informing the people of Angelique’s lightening of our curse—a green light as you might say in today’s world, for men to seek us out and destroy us. I am sure it gave Tanyasin enormous pleasure to see our kind live in constant fear for our lives. Still does.”

  “She, too, still lives?”

  “I believe so. Anyway, she was angry when she found out what Angelique had done. The last thing I heard of our saviour was that she had been cast out of her tribe and had been forced into seclusion. The other Gypsy women were too afraid of Tanyasin to stand with Angelique. Some say her spirit wanders the mountain caves and helps our people when they are in trouble. Who knows? Maybe she even crossed over and became one of us.

  “In some ways, though, her lightening of the curse actually has caused us many problems over the centuries. But she is not to be blamed; she had no idea of the colossal evilness that would grow from both curse and blessing ...

  “Anyway, back to Basarab; he more than lived up to his role of leader. He was powerful and fair, and never once did he take his designated position for granted amongst his own kind. He held us together and kept the peace when some would—how should I say it?—become a bit too rambunctious out in the real world.

  “He insisted we take our nourishment from animals and that we leave the farmers and the villagers alone. If we did that, he could see no reason why anyone would want to hunt us down and destroy us.

  “However, as I said, Tanyasin had worked more of her evil. Every time there was an unusual death, she would stir hatred against us into the hearts and minds of people. The caves became our only refuge. We were driven from our homes, hunted like dogs, and slaughtered without reason.

  “As a result, many decided they’d had enough of Basarab’s gentle ways, and that is when the first real scourge began. Blood was shed on both sides, but we left them with many undead—something that has haunted us over the centuries. With so many to contend with, and with Basarab so angry and frustrated with both worlds, we began to lose control. And there was still the one who had taken control over the rogues we had all created—we were constantly at odds with him—still are.

  “Because of all this, Basarab decided it would be best to keep our race as pure as possible. We had concluded that a woman who was totally crossed-over could bear children, but the children did not live long. That is why I never attempted to have any more children after I crossed over. Basarab deduced that the males should mate with human women. That has not been overly successful either, but there are a few out there who have succeeded. These are the vampires who usually hail to a higher standard of morality and are more protective of our ways. I believe that your child will be another success story for us. He is the picture of health and strength.”

  “What if the females of your kind were to mate with a human male? Would that have worked?” I queried.

  “Basarab would not allow that. There was no explanation as to why, but I feel it has something to do with us being the weaker sex. In our society, the males rule supreme. It would not be tolerated if our women were to step outside the family circle. We are their possessions.” Emelia smiled.

  “To continue about Basarab, there were many years during this era that Vacaresti and I did not see Basarab. His father stayed with us in the safety of the caves, but our leader would not bow to the masses. I presumed Basarab had found something that worked for him, though, for he settled in an area where there was little known about our kind. He made a name for himself as a hard, but fair, landlord. It was during this time that Max came to live with Basarab.”

  I decided to interrupt Emelia again. “But I thought he was horrible even then—”

  “I guess that depends on your definition of horrible,” Emelia cut me off. “Do not misunderstand me, Virginia; the count was no saint. He was a fearsome figure, and he used this fact to manipulate all around him. All of the innocent, noble ideals he had once tried to instil in us were gone. They had been replaced by a need to survive. He did what he had to do! As did we all!”

  Emelia settled back in her chair and folded her arms. I noticed the lightening of the room and felt sad that she would be leaving me again. Santan whimpered from his cradle. Emelia stood up and brought my son to me. “Feed your child, Virginia; he is hungry.”

  I went to my bed, settled back onto some pillows, and put him to my breast. Emelia walked to the door and stood there for a few seconds, a strange smile on her lips as she watched me. I wondered what she was thinking; I wondered what she was really all about. I smiled back to her, hoping that maybe she was just smiling at me.

  Emelia’s features did not change. They were like a picture—like all the women in the portraits in the dining room—frozen in time!

  Knife Twists Deeper

  Chapter Twenty-four

  My eyes opened to greet the full morning sun streaming in through the windows. Even though I had been ordered to always keep the curtains drawn while the child was with me, I did not stop to consider that this was strange. Santan must still be sleeping, and I was happy at how considerate he was being to finally allow his mommy to get a bit of extra rest. I must have fallen asleep while he was nur
sing, and Aunt Emelia probably had put him in the cradle.

  Emelia’s story had exhausted me. I remembered my last vision of her, standing in the doorway, smiling weirdly. So how could she have laid Santan in the cradle if she had already left? I shivered. I turned my gaze to where the cradle should be. Horror dealt me a blow in my stomach. It was gone! I panicked. Fear drove me from my bed and over to the door. I shook the handle, trying desperately to open it.

  Oh God! Where was my baby? Had Emelia said she was going to put him to bed? I could not remember! Had I been so exhausted that I had not stayed awake long enough ... no... no... Clear your mind! It had to have been me who had lain Santan in his bed! Of course—Emelia had left while he was still feeding. Could she have returned, after I fell asleep, and taken him? But why? Why would she want to do that? She had appeared so kind, so concerned for my welfare. She had even rebuked Teresa for her rash behaviour toward me!

  I fastened the buttons on my gown. I scrutinized my room. Everything to do with Santan had been removed! Everything—his bed, his clothing, his bath things. There was not a trace left in the room to confirm that a child had ever been there!

  I began pounding on the door with my fists. I screamed hysterically, but my voice just ricocheted off the wooden door, echoing through the emptiness of the room where I stood.

  “Max! Max! Someone! Let me out of here! Max! Where are you? Where is my baby?”

  I continued pounding on the door until my strength was totally drained. I slid down to the floor and covered my face with my shaking hands. Uncontrollable sobs overtook my body. Why were they doing this to me? Why could they not just let me take my baby and leave? What had I ever done to them to deserve such a torture? Why the constant charade, the constant changing of my position?

  I felt a tingling in my breasts. The milk—the blood—whatever it was I was creating within my body was letting down. But there was no baby. I did not bother to try to suppress the flow. Soon my gown was saturated with the reddish liquid.