One night, he left his tent to find his child bride, who had disappeared in the shadows. He told his men of his search and went on foot into the wilderness, lost amidst the darkness of a starless sky. He still had not returned by the following morning, but two nights later, in the light of the full moon, he came back to his troops, changed and more vicious and as white as a ghost. He resisted the blood of his men, for he needed them for battle, but his enemies saw no mercy. And though no one knows what happened to him in the wilderness, some believe he saw his child bride feed on another and went mad, forcing her to turn him out of jealousy. That he would become unconquerable was an afterthought. The myth claims that once he was transfigured he destroyed his child bride since she was never seen again. But this I know to be a lie for reasons not worth explaining here.
Some claim that the high numbers of death during the black plague can be attributed to Toktomer’s family of vampires. He had rallied the Houses of Dracul and Bazaraab to feast on the blood of the healthy in droves, as they ransacked towns and villages, fields and tracks across Europe, targeting children and men, intending to amass greater power. Many of us steered clear of their destructive path, though our livelihood was never threatened since it was impossible for them to consume our entire source of sustenance. In the end, man rose strong to outlive that plague, and though the record books estimate the Black Death wiped out a third of the population, I presume Toktomer and the Houses of Dracul and Bazaraab killed at least a quarter of those.
We left the smell of the burned flesh and stole through the fields where the scent of the bloodless masked all others. “Wait,” Veronica said. “I hear something.”
We turned our ears to the wind to better hear the faint hum of frequency that rippled on the air. I recognized the tune of the impaler and assumed he too would be warned of our approach. We doubled our pace and when we reached the cathedral, I sent Stephen and Veronica down through the passageway to safety. “I won’t leave you,” Stephen said.
“You must lock the hatch,” I said. “I will be in soon.”
“How?”
“I will find another way.” I had no time to dispute and pushed him down into the opening. I sealed the door myself from the outside and waited to hear him lock it. From there, I crept the quarter mile to the rear of the cathedral. The swarms were gone but a shadowy figure was perched on the roof and disappeared when I approached. Vlad’s frequency vibrated with a dull hum until it faded and I was alone again.
As I clung to the brick of the rear wall, I made my way to the east side of the cathedral, peeking around the corner to find an empty yard. Not even one lone bloodless wandered past the walls. I clawed my way along the side, beneath the stained glass windows, to the front courtyard, where again I spied nothing. But the air was no longer silent, for the low rumble of feeding bloodless echoed in the darkness. As I rounded the corner, I anticipated the swarm, one much greater than I had ever seen, feasting on a carcass. The flesh hypnotized them, as they tore it apart and pulverized everything including the bones. I did not need to see what caused their frenzy, for I knew it was the newly drained body of Marco.
Later. — Jean was forced to give up Marco when Vlad found his way into the cathedral. “Je n’ai rien pu faire,” he said.
“And the girl?”
“À l’abri.”
She was safe. He sent Vlad on his way, satisfied with the man. Jean heard the frequency too, knowing his maker was here. For several nights, he had anticipated his arrival, sensing its coming as I had. “I would not have left if you had confirmed my suspicions,” I said.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I zought zat I could ’andle ’im on my own. It was more important for you to go.”
“Are you sure he is gone?”
“’E took all zat ’e zought we ’ad.”
“Our only donor,” I said.
Vlad had come in through a hatch in one of the spires on the roof. We had left them unlocked, thinking the bloodless could never climb up. He came alone, telling Jean he had witnessed most of his clan succumb to blood starvation. Toktomer was gone, he said. Like Byron, he had given in to malnutrition, and given up. Often the case with vampires who consumed gluttonously, they suffered greatest with a scarcity of blood. Jean pitied Vlad, waning as he was under the fast. He told his progeny he had scoured high and low for food but had little success securing human blood. Jean appeased his maker, inviting him to stay for a little nourishment. I had taught him the importance of hospitality, but regret it now. He tried to satisfy his maker with a small vial of Marco’s blood, but when the impaler tasted it, he went mad.
“I didn’t know,” Jean said. “I couldn’t let ’im suffer.”
“No,” I said. “Instead we shall all suffer.”
Vlad’s appeal was a ruse. He hid his true strength from Jean, for he had more than enough force to throw his progeny out of the way and seize Marco. Elizabeth could not help since she had rushed to the girl’s side to keep her hidden while the villain robbed our store. Vlad tore the chamber door off its hinges and threw himself on our donor, sucking him dry in record time. Jean watched in horror, as his maker drained the source we had held so dear.
“Why did he leave?” I asked.
“Il n’a rien dit.” He did not say.
He took Marco’s body with him when he made his escape through the hatch in the spire, flashing his bloody fangs at Jean before greeting the darkness awaiting him.
“He used the body as a diversion,” I said.
I knew why Vlad left; he was no match for me and a confrontation would surely finish him. My strength will outmatch his any day, starving or not. I am older than he, older than Toktomer and the Houses of Dracul and Bazaraab, and such primacy counts for something in our world. We hold to no hierarchy or seniority, but the sanctity of one as old as I is undeniable. It may sound foolish that we keep tradition, even as we face the possibility of extinction, but we cannot be faulted for our sentimentality. We are fiercely nostalgic creatures, though never to be taken for mawkish ones.
Vlad is no threat now, but difficulty will arise when several vampires know about the girl. If she is the last blood source for us all, she may surely be torn to pieces.
8 October. — We are desperate. The girl grows weaker by the day. We are out of options and have to push on. I regret to abandon the last place I held Byron. He had made the cathedral his home, a final laboratory among hallowed walls. He would grieve our parting too, but it is dangerous to stay. We can no longer make runs into town without endangering both those who remain and those who go. Vlad’s diversion beckoned the bloodless to the cathedral, as a church bell calls its faithful to the altar. Our walls will not keep them out forever. Minor tremors rattle the stained glass windows each day, and soon an earthquake will shake the foundation, cracking open our fortification.
I have spent the last two nights planning our escape, and have almost worked it out but struggle with how to mask the girl’s scent. Nothing seems to do. Even cloaking her in our clothes, our scent, is weak at best. I have to find a way to get her through the field and dell, all the way to the shore of the river without detection. Once we reach the water, the stream will carry us out to sea, where I am certain we can keep her safe. I have given the others instructions, and assured them we will leave tomorrow at dusk.
Later. — When I went to see the girl about our plans to leave, I told her of her stepfather’s death. She had not seen him since we separated them, but seemed to appreciate the privacy. “Marco saved me,” she had said to Byron. “I’m grateful for that, but he isn’t the most honest man, if you know what I mean.” Byron confessed that he did. “And he wasn’t much of a father.” My beloved reassured her she was safe, and expected me to carry out the task of keeping the man from the girl.
She was asleep when I entered her chamber, a tantalizing vision lying on the bed. I fantasized about seizing her and penetrating her neck; her tan skin, exposed at the round of her shoulder, begged to be touched. The blood pulsed
beneath, urging me to taste it. I gazed on her, sucking in her saccharine aroma with each inhale and exhale she took. She is more trouble than I care to admit—but I have shaken off the temptation. It may seem out of character for an old vampire like me to resist such a savory morsel, but actually it is beneath me not to. My long years have granted me a willpower well beyond any other, and I am resilient to desire.
I floated to her side and sat on her bed, whispering her name. She was deep asleep and so I allowed my fingertips to touch the crown of her head, brushing her skin ever so lightly before drawing a line across her forehead with my thumb. Delectable creature that she is, my fangs still dropped—they have a mind of their own—and my points pierced my bottom lip, arousing me. I closed my eyes and thought of Byron. Was I really taken with this girl or did I simply desire her because my beloved had admired her so? Perhaps I wanted her because she was one of the last human beings on earth. I really could not tell. When she stirred a little and let out a long exaggerated sigh, I pulled my hand away.
“Why did you stop?” Her voice was faint.
“I am sorry,” I said. “I was merely trying to wake you.”
She left her head on the pillow and looked up at me with sleepy eyes. “I’m awake now.”
“I can see that.” She smiled at me but my moment of weakness had passed. “I have news that I fear might upset you,” I said.
She sat up and looked at me with wide eyes. “You’re not leaving me are you?”
She was so vulnerable, like a wounded animal, and I wondered if she would not be better off as a vampire. “No,” I said. “We are not leaving you.” She exhaled. “But your stepfather is gone.”
She pursed her lips and turned away. “Did he upset you?”
Her question surprised me; it meant she assumed we had harmed him. “No,” I said. “He was rather useful to us.”
“Did the creepers get in?” Her voice cracked.
“We have not been breached.” I tried to deal with her as Byron would, but I was not as compassionate as he was. “We have to take you somewhere more safe,” I said. “We have to find food too.” I told her of our plans and assured her I would let her know when I had worked out the details for her. I told her it was imperative she stay in her room for the time being, as I did not want anyone—or anything—to catch a whiff of her scent.
“I’ll stay here,” she said. “But please don’t forget me.”
She was terrified—I could practically smell her fear. For a brief moment—very brief—I wanted to send one of the others in to sit with her, but my sympathy passed and I got up to go. As I reached for the door, she made the offer I loathed to refuse.
“You can have my blood if you need it,” she said.
She knows our secret—I am certain of it now.
9 October. — The girl proved easy enough to transport, and we have my beloved to thank for that. An entry in his notes gave me the solution I needed. Sometime in the early stages of his experimentation, he had discovered that the bloodless were unable to detect particular scents. They were acutely aware of the smell of living flesh, but they seemed indifferent to the smell of the vampire. The attacks they made on us were random. They could not have cared for Maxine the night they surrounded her, but probably sensed the humans inside the trattoria. Byron’s note read:
Test Subject 56 – incapable of detecting the burning from the candle wax – I held a piece of flesh just out of reach – she clambered to get to it – she fell off the table – her reaction was as expected – the lit camphor oil was different – she did not smell the flesh doused in oil – same reaction with incense, spice, lavender, etc. etc. – no reaction to aromatic perfumes. Conclusion: olfactory organs are limited – human flesh reaction – human flesh covered in perfume no reaction. Must try opiates next!
With this, my sweet Byron, you have given me the answer to getting the girl out of the cathedral undetected.
When I explained it to her, she was surprisingly cooperative. The baptismal ritual was unpleasant, to be sure. Veronica and Elizabeth brought me all the incense oils they could find and we filled a wash basin. The girl covered her hair, her face, her arms, her legs, every bit of skin with the perfume, and then we dressed her in an oil-drenched garment. The smell was repellent to us since we could barely detect the human scent beneath all the perfume.
I paid my respects to Byron’s ashes, sealing the sarcophagus forever. I packed his notebooks and put on the overcoat he wore the last time I saw him. My heart was heavy, but I turned my focus to the journey ahead—and the clan, my clan, I was desperate to keep safe.
With all the supplies we could gather, we left the cathedral in a weaker state than when we had arrived. The girl was nestled between me and Jean, as Stephen led us through the passage to the exit. Before he untied the chain from the portal, he listened at the opening for howls, and when he heard none, we proceeded out the hatch.
The earth’s full satellite greeted us, as we rose up from the ground. Despite the light of the moon, the field was as dark as ink, but we moved easily through the wilderness. I glanced back at the cathedral only once, and then let it disappear from view forever. Byron’s last kiss remained with me, though, as I welcomed the cool air on my skin.
Our first test came at the edge of the dale. The field had been empty, but when we reached the valley, we ran into a swarm too big to skirt.
“Qu’est-ce qu’on fait?” Elizabeth clung to Jean and Veronica linked her arm through Stephen’s.
“We move quickly,” I said. “Together.” I picked up the girl and carried her in my arms. She remained as still as a stone, as the clan folded in around us, and we wove through the valley as a tight-knit cluster. Stephen and Jean held out their blades, slashing at the ones that came within reach. The bloodless swarmed loosely but our smell evaded them and I silently thanked my beloved for providing the solution that made the girl invisible.
The water’s edge was a short jaunt from the dale, and I anticipated the boat, if not hoped one would be waiting. That was the only detail I was unable to plan. We had seen boats tied to a dock several months ago but I could not know if they would still be there. I had a back-up plan, but nothing as solid as floating down the river in a vessel. I thanked my beloved Byron again when I saw the small, double-masted sailboat greet us at the shore. Stephen and Veronica went on first, and when they confirmed the boat was empty, the rest of us boarded. Jean set us on the course I had mapped out for him. Never one to refuse commandeering his own ship, he is our captain. Many years ago, he sailed with the Spanish Armada, working his way up from master’s mate to midshipman on one of their warships. He probably fed his way up the ranks to commander of the São Cristóbel, but I cannot say for sure. That particular vessel had seen the most casualties during the attack on the British.
I set the girl up in one of the two cabins below. She was tired from the travel and I insisted she rest while we set out to sea. “Thank you for bringing me,” she said, rubbing her belly, as she sat on the edge of the berth.
“How are you feeling?” I had to think about her welfare and could no longer dismiss her human needs.
“I’m a little hungry,” she said. I avoided looking at her directly. Despite the perfume, she still proved alluring. “You must be too,” she said.
“We all have sacrifices to make.” I searched the bag of supplies and found the last of the dried apricots, handing them to her without ceremony. “This should help a little,” I said.
She took the tin of fruit and turned it over in her hands. She sighed softly and placed it at her side, and then with a coolness that mimicked my own, she pulled up her sleeve and bared the inside of her arm, holding it out for me. “I don’t mind,” she said. “You have to feed too.”
I will admit the offer tempted me, and it took every ounce of willpower to keep my fangs from dropping. I reached for her arm and pulled her sleeve back down. “It is safer if none of us taste you,” I said. There was no point in masking our conversation anymor
e. She knew what I was, what we all were, and she was fearless. “If we do,” I said. “None of us will survive.”
She sighed again, but this time more passionately. “Will you make me like you?”
I did not need to voice my refusal; she knew she was only useful as long as she remained human.
“I’m … afraid of becoming … one of them,” she said.
It was as if those were her only two choices. “Why can you not simply remain human?” I asked.
“There’s no more place in this world for humans,” she said.
“Then we shall all be lost, my dear.” The term of endearment rolled off my tongue as if it had always been mine. But I merely impersonated Byron, stealing what little compassion I could from him.
When I left the girl, she was asleep. Her moment of weakness worries me. If any of the others witness her vulnerability, her generosity, they will not be able to resist as I have.
10 October. — In 1588 on the waters of the North Sea, Jean saw a Siren.
The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1) Page 5