Swiftly, I moved across the room, picked up the basket, and placed my box on top of the blanket. As I stepped through what I prayed would be my door to freedom, I wondered at the heaviness of the basket, but I did not want to waste a precious moment until I was far from this place. There had already been too many almosts for me to take another chance. A soft breeze caressed my face. “Welcome home,” it whispered.
God’s fourth grace!
I took my bearings. There was a small piece of lawn to cross and then what appeared to be a stone driveway. But those trees were still lurking at the extreme edges, hanging over the end of the driveway; some of their branches swept the sidewalks on the other side. At the moment, I feared those trees, with their grappling arms and roots, more than anything else!
I started running across the yard as quickly as I was able, for the basket was quite heavy, and Emelia’s cape was restricting my legs. I ran past the flowers ... past the statues ... onto the pebbled drive, ever gaining on the formidable trees just ahead. The breeze picked up, helping the trees to reach out their branches in the hopes of arresting me until either Basarab or Max came along to drag me back. I prayed they would fail at their task!
Then I heard the whimper from within the basket.
God’s fifth grace!
It was all I needed to give me the extra strength to push forward. Past the trees, I ran. A huge iron gate loomed behind the swinging branches. I sighed in relief. It would not impede my flight; it was open—my road to freedom was waiting for me! I kept running, running as far away from that house as I could ... past rows of houses ... blindly, to nowhere in particular! Just away!
By this time, the crying from the basket had become much louder, and I was weeping with it. Tears of relief and joy poured from my eyes. God had sent me a deliverer, and along with this gift was another gift, much more precious than I could have hoped for.
Fatigue finally overtook me. I slowed to a quick walk. I sat down under a large maple tree, opened the basket, and picked up my son. I cradled him to my heart. Emelia’s note was still nestled inside, under a small blanket. There would be time to read it later. For now, I just needed to hang on to this precious moment and drink in the air of an almost-forgotten world. Looking more closely, I realized I was sitting at the edge of a graveyard. West Street was in front of me, and the train track ran to my left. Street life had not yet awakened. At last, I was truly alone with my child.
I picked up the basket and walked into the cemetery. I needed to find a more secluded place to rest, and to feed Santan because I knew the city would be waking soon. When he finished his meal, he settled back to sleep in my arms. I was curious about the contents of the envelope. I laid Santan down, wrapping him in the blanket Aunt Emelia had provided. I picked up the envelope and opened it slowly. I was shocked when a large pile of one-hundred-dollar bills fell into my lap.
God’s sixth grace!
I counted them. Ten thousand dollars! Where would Emelia have obtained such a large sum? I picked up the letter and began to read aloud to the trees, to the gravestones—to my freedom.
My Dear Virginia:
By now, I pray that you are far from the place that entrapped you for so many months. If you are reading my letter, then you have attained your freedom, along with both of the gifts I have given you—your child and the money. Use the money wisely, for a fresh start in life.
Now, to answer your question of why I am helping you. I anticipated your curiosity. I was the one who was spying that day when you and Max were in such deep conversation over your possible escape. My heart, such as it is, went out to you. Even as I write this letter, I am not sure that what I am doing is a wise and sensible thing, but then again, maybe I am helping you because there is still a small part of me that is human. Maybe there was a piece of my soul that was not totally consumed in the crossover..
You see, Virginia, as I told you, I was once a lot like you—young, beautiful, and more curious than necessary. I fell into the trap of my own count, but unlike you, I never had quite the same desire to escape. Even after I realized exactly what kind of family I had married into, I was content to accept what fate had offered me, and as you already know, in time I became one of them. But it was different then: My count had chosen me for his bride.
After observing the scene in your room that day, I knew that you would never be allowed to become one of us, even if Attila and I were able to convince Basarab not to kill you. I was also pretty positive Teresa would never allow your life to be spared. Not that I can blame her; we all fight for what we desire, don’t we, Virginia?
Somehow, this inner strength that you possess, despite all they have put you through, stirred some sympathy in my heart. I felt I had to try to return a piece of the life that had been so maliciously snatched from you. And in doing so, I thought to include your son. A mother must never be separated from her son. This I know.
I did not get to finish all I wished to tell you about vampires trying to conceive their own children. The peoples of Transylvania were becoming more and more aware of the evil that was spreading throughout their land. Men began tracking down whoever they thought was one of the heinous creatures. They splashed holy water on our sacred earth. They stuck crosses in the ground around the coffins where we took our daily refuge. When they found us, they drove stakes through our hearts and then severed our heads. It was the time of the first great cleansing. Many of our dearest relatives were lost to us. And many of these were not the ones who were wreaking the havoc.
Fortunately, the leaders of the Order of the Dragons, the Dracula and Musat families, were still alive. They had hidden so deep in the mountains that none of the townspeople had been able to find them. They wished desperately to preserve their heritage. They implored Count Balenti Danesti to devise a concoction that would promote both blood and milk to come through a woman’s breast. This way, if an infant was conceived in the womb of a human, then the child would get the needed nourishment at birth that would seal him or her to the chosen destiny—or curse, whatever you wish to call it—of their fathers. That is the same drink Max served to you for months. It was also a derivative of the one the doctor had created for Mara.
However, once that was all in place, there were still problems. As I told you, two of my children were born very weak and died within their first month. I gave birth to one strong son, and as far as I know, he still lives somewhere in Transylvania. It has been years since I have seen him
As I mentioned to you before, we realized that women who had crossed over could bear children, but these children did not live long. Most vampire women, though, are barren. However, it did appear to be different for our men. Somehow, they were still able to give life, but it had to be with a human—thus the reason for my struggle to keep my babies alive. Vacaresti had been taking a few nips here and there; I was in limbo. Before the conception of my second son, because of his sorrow at the loss of our first child, my husband had pretty much left me alone—thus the child lived. Our third child died because Vacaresti had begun indulging again.
Santan is the first child that Basarab has been able to sire. He has made a few attempts, but they failed. At this point, it appears your son is going to grow to manhood. What I am trying to do, by giving him to you for a time, is to take away his father’s fate of eternal damnation! Over the years, that is what I have concluded our existence is. Hopefully, you will have the time to raise him as a human, so that he can live an ordinary life, as it is meant to be. He will not have to hide his face from the world. He will grow up, fall in love, and give you grandchildren. That is the way life is intended to be. Your son, unlike mine, may have the chance to live and die normally.
I have used the words, for a time because that, my dear Virginia, is all that you have. Beware, for the danger is not yet over. Basarab will be furious at what has been done here today and he will seek out his son. Maybe not right away, because he leaves for the old country with us today. But be assured the count will return for Santan! W
hen will depend on how long it takes to settle matters at home.
Use this time wisely. Try to mould Santan to be truly yours. Lift the evil veil from him, and immerse him with your goodness. Give him your strength, because it is power he will need when his father comes for him. You must warn him, when he is old enough to understand, who and what his father is. He will need to have knowledge of his adversary.
I say adversary because, with his time with you, and with the absence of his father’s influence, Santan will most likely take your side of things—at the beginning anyway. This will anger Basarab, but he will not desist in his attempts to reclaim Santan.
Do not fear for my fate, should it cross your mind to consider it. My position in this family will protect me. My husband, if I am found out, will chastise me, and I may fall slightly from grace for a short time, but I have my own ways to protect myself—I am one of them.
I must close now. Time draws short. May the God that I once knew protect you both!
Write me just once, to let me know where I may send you the money necessary to raise the child; a secured bank account would be best. Also, wherever you find to live, make sure it is as secluded as possible. Only you must bring up your son, for as you know, he is a special child. You must never—I repeat, never—leave him with strangers! You alone must be his guide, his teacher, his confidante—in essence, you must be his very life. Even your choice of friends should be extremely selective, and the fewer the better. Trust me in this matter. Be aware that he will be sensitive to the sun, so take great care as to which hours you expose him to the outdoors, especially at first. Hopefully, this sensitivity will diminish with time. My address is:
The Countess Emelia Musat
c/o-Miss-Adelaide Georgian
10 West Blvd.,
Kenora; Transylvania
Love,
Aunt Emelia
~
The letter slipped from my fingers and dropped to the grass. I wept, partly for my fate and partly for Aunt Emelia because of what she had dared to do for me. I gathered Santan into my arms, cuddled him for a moment, and then laid him gently in the basket. Picking it up, I began the journey down the road to my new life.
I breathed deeply the air of freedom. I wanted to make the best of every moment I had to share with my son before the count came to claim him. I was sure, deep down that Aunt Emelia was right; she had only been able to lend me Santan for a small space of time in the eternity of his life. I knew the day would come when the Count Basarab Musat would return to claim him. And I would have to be ready!
My footsteps hastened down the road. One night of thoughtless inquisitiveness had changed the course of my entire life. But at least my horizons were brighter now than they had been a few hours earlier.
I was free. Santan was mine. For now.
Epilogue
Ihad no way of knowing that Max had watched, from my bedroom window, my flight across the lawn and out the gate.
I had no way of knowing the wrath that befell the household that night, when the count discovered that not only had I escaped, but I had taken his son with me.
I had no way of knowing how Max was suspected of assisting me, and how the count was ready to rain his fury down on him. I was not there to see Emelia step in and reason with her nephew without admitting her part in my flight.
I had no way of knowing that Teresa was pleased when she found me gone—that secretly she did not care anything about the child her husband so badly wanted.
I had no way of knowing that it was the count’s father who had reasoned with him, telling his son there was time enough later to find us—the more pressing matter was to get home and deal with the problems there.
I had no way of knowing. Neither did I worry—for the only thing that I could think of was finding a place far from that house, somewhere secluded from prying eyes, where I could raise Santan as my son.
~
My steps took me as far as the Red-D-Mix factory by the railway tracks on Henry Street. A long, narrow laneway beside the entrance to the factory had a sign pointing inward that read, Apartment for Rent. I gazed up the lane, but I could not see a house—just trees. I turned and began walking toward them. The trees I had just come through had held me prisoner; maybe these would help protect me.
Other books in the
NIGHT’S VAMPIRE SERIES
Night’s Children – Book Two
Night’s Return – Book Three
Author Page
Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour was born on November 15, 1953, in Stoney Creek, Ontario, Canada. She is a freelance creative writer who now resides in Brantford, Ontario, with her husband, Ed, and her cat, Princess.
In March 2006, Mary completed a freelance journalism course at the University of Waterloo, Ontario, after which she wrote freelance articles and a fictional short story column for The Brantford Expositor. During this time, Mary also published four poetry anthologies, a collection of short stories, and two biographies. From 2010 to 2013, Mary wrote the Night’s Vampire Trilogy, releasing the first book in the trilogy, Night’s Gift in 2011, the second book, Night’s Children in 2012, and the third book, Night’s Return in 2013. She also writes a blog, Writer on the Run.
In 2014, Mary will be working on a mystery series— murder, mayhem, and an oversized cat called Toby who loves to solve crimes. Watch for the first in the series, Are You Listening to Me coming your way soon.
To check out Mary’s books and blog, social media links, and to sign up for her newsletter, please take a moment and visit her website at www.marymcushniemansour.ca
Table of Contents
Night’s Gift
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
INTRODUCTION
Chapter One Mystery House
Chapter Two Her
Chapter Three First Meeting
Chapter Four Him
Chapter Five Story from the Past
Chapter Six Night to Remember
Chapter Seven The Bargain
Chapter Eight Family History
Chapter Nine Seal of Blood
Chapter Ten Curse of Blood
Chapter Eleven Lightening the Curse
Chapter Twelve Settling In
Chapter Thirteen Revelations
Chapter Fourteen Sixth Month
Chapter Fifteeen Outsiders
Chapter Sixteen Time Draws Near
Chapter Seventeen Meeting the Family
Chapter Eighteen The Birth
Chapter Nineteen Woman Scorned
Chapter Twenty Unexpected Offer
Chapter Twenty-one The Upset
Chapter Twenty-two Emelia’s Story
Chapter Twenty-three Basarab
Chapter Twenty-four Knife Twists Deeper
Chapter Twenty-five The Ceremony
Chapter Twenty-six Wings of Hell
Chapter Twenty-seven The Gift
Epilouge
Author Page
Night's Gift: Book One of the Night's Vampire Trilogy Page 29