Never Show Fear

by Nicola Claire

  This is a trial. I am taking my first steps as a Nosferatin. I am young, but I am ready. My uncle had made sure of that. And Nero had picked up the mantle and continued what Papa’s brother had started.

  Nero and my uncle had been close for centuries. I had not realised how deep their friendship went. Or that the man my uncle worked with of an evening was not human like I thought me.

  But we are none of us human. In a world full of humanity.

  “Thank you,” I tell my uncle’s oldest friend. “But I am ready.”

  Ready for this. Ready for life to start. Ready for Auckland City.

  * * *

  I was five when I first met the vampire who killed my father’s brother. Even though I practised with the other young Nosferatins, I was having a special evening with my grandmother; my father’s mother. We were sitting in the garden at the palace, and she was reading to me from an old family book about pharaohs and warriors and the gods and such things.

  He walked across the small walled garden and stopped when he heard my grandmother say something in the Old Tongue. His eyes shone bright blue, which I thought at the time was like the sapphires in the King’s crown mentioned in the story.

  He said nothing, and then he was gone.

  My grandmother called him the son of Seth. It took several years for me to make sense of that and by then it was too late.

  I close my eyes and let the memory fade as I have let it fade every time it creeps up on me.

  The air smells different here. The sun is bright, but, somehow it is not the same brightness as in Egypt. St Helier’s Bay is by the sea. The palace had been in Old Cairo, near the Coptic. Closer to the Nile River. I miss the scent of the Hapy. But replacing it is the scent of the Pacific Ocean.

  I stand out on the balcony of the house I share with Lucinda. We are not alone in its confines; one of Michel’s vampires also stays with us. Erika is quick-witted and savvy with a sword; she’s been training Lucinda. She is a very skilled teacher.

  She is also evil. They all are. But we are nothing without the Dark to balance our Light. And evil is only truly evil if it acts on its desires.

  So far, Erika has not acted on her desires, so I leave things be.

  Plus, I like her. Evil or no, Erika Anders is funny.

  It is strange here, but I am beginning to love it. The city is more modern than Cairo and the people freer. I am awash in their vitality. The women, they walk the streets at night without a care. They are not frightened of vampires. They should be.

  Their greatest concern is a Norm misbehaving. Michel runs a tight city, but even he cannot control the humans who wish another human harm.

  I am beginning to think of this place as home. It has happened faster than I thought it would. But Lucinda is like a sister and Erika is always making me laugh and the vampires are just vampires; the same the world over.

  It helps that the Master of the City, Lucinda’s kindred Nosferatu, is from the Old World. He may not be Egyptian, but he reeks of power. And I was raised around power. It is comforting.

  The door opens at my back, and I scent Lucinda. Candied apples and sunshine, honey and Spring. We all have signature scents, but it is the feel of her aura that lets me know definitively that Lucinda is here and that she is worried.

  I do not envy my friend her lot in life. Her path is shrouded in danger and heavy in responsibility. I sometimes wonder how Lucinda, which means ‘Light’ I have since learned, can be so full of laughter; can be so happy.

  She’s not always happy. Like now, she is worried. The worry outweighs the happiness Lucinda is more often than not able to show me.

  Our lives are not for the fainthearted, my uncle told me. It takes a sharp stake and sharper mind to survive as a Nosferatin. Vampire hunters are thin on the ground.

  Except in Egypt.

  We have Nafrini and Nero to thank for that.

  I miss them. But I have Lucinda. I have a new family. I dismiss my kin from my heart and mind temporarily and concentrate on Lucinda.

  “Are you ready?” she asks.

  “Everyone seems to think I am not ready for things,” I tell her solemnly, “but I have waited my whole life for this. How can I not be ready?”

  “What, the entire nineteen years of your existence?”

  “I am almost twenty.”

  “Touché,” she says, beaming.

  I am pleased I have made her smile. Lately, Lucinda’s smiles have been lacking.

  I am unsure what exactly awaits me in Wellington City, but I know it is a place I could make my own, time willing. I first must convince the Master of that City to accept me. But there is bad blood between this master vampire and Lucinda. Not enough for her to disallow my moving there. But enough to make her worry.

  “Lucinda,” I say. “I am ready.”

  “You were born ready, Amisi,” she says in that natural way of hers. “I don’t doubt it.”

  I smile. Lucinda is always supportive. I try to be supportive of her in return.

  “We shall paint the town red, no?” I say.

  “Just as long as it’s not blood red.”

  I laugh. She joins me. For a moment, her worries leave her, and I am pleased. Making Lucinda happy is a small task, but one I undertake willingly. Nero entrusted me to this Nosferatin’s care. What he did not realise he was doing at the time was entrusting Lucinda’s happiness to me.

  Nero loves Lucinda. Lucinda loves him, too. But theirs is not a love that will ever meet. One is full of the passion of the heart; the other is only sisterly.

  At night, I have wanted what Lucinda throws away so carelessly. But to blame Lucinda for Nero’s heartache would be wrong. Lucinda is in love with her kindred vampire. Even Nero would not harm such a connection.

  And theirs is a Bond worthy of admiration. I wonder if I will ever be fortunate enough to have such a thing.

  It is not lost on me that I will find undoubtedly my kindred vampire in Wellington City. I do not yet know who he or she will be. Will she be like Nafrini; regal and graceful and majestic? Or will he be like Michel; authoritative, dominant, commanding?

  Of one thing I am certain, whoever they will be, they will be powerful. I am the daughter of a prince, after all — prince among Nosferatin.

  A prince whose brother was felled by an ancient vampire who was not even rogue.

  I push the unwanted thought away. Today, I meet the Master of my City. Lucinda and Nero have both said this is temporary. I do not need to stay if Wellington is not to my liking. The unsaid being, if the Master of the City is not to my liking.

  But I am Egyptian. I am a hunter. I am Nosferatin royalty. I do not bend easily.

  We leave for the airport, then, and board Michel’s private jet. We have security. Michel is not able to accompany his kindred as the Master of Wellington is newly appointed, and entering his domain would be tantamount to a declaration of war between them. So, he has sent powerful vampires he trusts to escort his most prized treasure.

  Erika, I am used to, and although her aura speaks of strange things, it is Jett I am wary of. The vampire is full of potential, and he does not try to hide it. His appearance is not pleasing, and his power prickles like heat, but he would protect Lucinda, and by extension me, from anything.

  I am not unaccustomed to such beings. But private jets are small, and my stake sings to me.

  We land a short time later. The flight is quickly consumed by our admiration of Michel’s unexpected gift to his kindred; a beautiful, gem-encrusted dancing dragon necklace. She wears it now. A meaningful gift from an ancient vampire. It reeks of power, but I do not think any other onboard the plane is aware of it. Michel Durand is a sneaky vampire.

  But who among them isn’t?

  I say nothing. It is not for me to pass judgement or to - how do they say it? - rain on Michel’s parade.

  The small distraction only lasts as long as the flight, however. The closer we get to the Master of Wellington City’s domain, the more agitated Lucinda is. She ha
s not told me why she and this vampire have a history. I do not need to know specifics, though, to know the history is confusing to my friend. Her aura is a mixture of yellows and blues, clashing colours that can mean only one thing.

  Bewilderment. Lucinda cares for this vampire, but she does not wish to.

  Her heart belongs to another. Love is never a simple thing.

  This city, my city now I tell myself, is bustling and full of life. If Auckland is the grand dame of New Zealand cities, Wellington is the feisty younger sibling.

  I like it. It speaks to me. These are the Norms I will protect. Here are the vampires I will keep in check.

  If the master lets me.

  I fidget in my seat and then realise what I am doing and stop it. I inhale deeply, scenting Lucinda and Erika and the stranger signature scent of Jett. All four of us in one vehicle is almost too much. Even the vampires are tense.

  Or that could be because Lucinda is close to panicking.

  She carries herself well, though, despite her lack of formal training. What Lucinda lacks in education she more than makes up for with her attitude. It is the thought of a second that allows her to glaze the vampire on the door to the bar we have arrived at. A talent that not many Nosferatin can claim.

  Lucinda is powerful and special. It is her uniqueness that calls to me and not her strength. I feel only sadness that she will carry such a burden. Power begets power. That is why her kindred is Michel Durand. He is perhaps the most powerful vampire outside of Nafrini that I have ever met. And I have met many.

  We walk through the door to the nightclub, and for a second, I am stunned by its clichéd appearance. Vampires are not out of the coffin, but this vampire flouts his soulless being for all to see.

  “I didn’t know places like this existed,” I say to no one in particular.

  Red velvet seats and leather-clad waiters. Bare chests and exposed thighs. The club is called Desire de Sang. I think that should have given me an inkling of what to expect. But I had not expected this.

  Erika and Lucinda laugh at my reaction, but Jett remains on high alert. He is uncomfortable here. His aura is blue. The blue of attentiveness mixed with the red of battle. He is ready to fight our way out of here if it is required.

  There are Norms as well as vampires in the building. Intermingling. This is not done in Egypt. We survive by keeping a low profile even if we, of Nafrini’s line, live in a palace on the banks of the River Nile.

  But I am not a princess here; I am a vampire hunter. I let a little of my Light out, as Lucinda is doing, to warn those vampires present that we are here. It is the thought of a moment and perfectly natural.

  But none pay attention to us. It is strangely disconcerting.

  “Why haven’t they noticed us?” Lucinda asks quietly, parroting my thoughts.

  Erika offers up a smile full of pride. “One of Jett's skills is masking,” she says. "He's masking us from them, all they sense is a group of humans.”

  Erika and Jett’s scents are intertwined. It is not a secret they are dating.

  Lucinda, however, is not impressed with this development. Perhaps she was not aware Jett could do such a thing. Our Light display was for nothing, but her next words convince me it is not so much our wasted show of Light - which is a natural part of being a Nosferatin - that she is concerned with, but other things.

  “So, I didn't need to glaze the guy at the door then?”

  Jett shrugs his massive shoulders. “It's a team effort, isn't it?”

  “Don't do me any favours, eh?” Lucinda mutters.

  I cannot blame her. Glazing is unnatural. Even if it is a useful talent.

  I glance around the room, feeling the weight of my stake in my jacket pocket. I do not feel the Pull, but I am on edge. As is Lucinda. As we all are, I realise. Even Erika, who lounges in her seat as if she hasn’t a care in the world, is tapping her fingers on her jeans. A steady rhythm that I almost recognise. Jett is silent and still, ready to pounce.

  The music is blaring, so I don’t hear the door at the back of the room open. But I immediately sense his power.

  My eyes are drawn to the vampire who has entered the clubroom floor, and all I can see is his aura for a moment. So complex. So mesmerising.

  And then I see something else.

  I sit up.

  “What's wrong?” Lucinda asks.

  “He wears a Nosferatin Sigillum,” I say, looking for the vampire hunter who has laid claim to my territory.

  I am not afraid to fight for what is mine, but I feel an inexplicable rage that this vampire, who can only be the Master of Wellington City, is already claimed.

  I had not thought to claim the Master of the City as mine, but I cannot deny the visceral urge to do so.

  He is stunning.

  “Yeah,” Lucinda says, sounding chagrinned. “It's mine.”

  My head just about flies off my neck as I turn to face her.

  “Why would you give him your Sigillum and not Michel?” I am appalled.

  She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her aura flashing a multitude of disquieting colours.

  “He tricked me, all right,” she says. “I had no idea I could even mark someone, and he tricked me into doing it.”

  And everything changes.

  My city. My new home. The place I have decided to call mine for all eternity. Is run by a vampire such as he.

  “No one,” I say, struggling to remain calm, “no one should ever be forced to give their Sigillum without consent. That is despicable.”

  I look at the vampire in question again. He is gliding across the room toward us. His hair is dark, his shoulders broad, his back straight, his eyes are a silver grey that flash platinum when they look at Lucinda, and then the colours of the rainbow when her Sigillum flares to life around them. If it were not for Lucinda’s mark, the scar that mars his perfect face would be more noticeable. It trails from his right eyebrow, over his temple, to his cheek.

  Vampires heal most wounds. Unless they are doused in silver. Or earned when their hearts still beat.

  This vampire is old and powerful and seductive.

  No wonder Lucinda was worried.

  I sympathise with my friend, even as I drill imaginary silver stakes into his silver eyes.

  A pity. Those eyes are worth keeping.

  “Easy, chica. You can do this,” Erika suddenly whispers to Lucinda, waking me from a dream.

  I suck in air as Jett stands and positions himself at Lucinda’s back; a clearer message he could not send the enemy. But my gaze has a life of its own and is drawn back to the master vampire. I cannot help it.

  He is stunning.

  He makes our table, and the rest of the room is forgotten. Or shrouded by Jett’s masking abilities; I am too discombobulated to work that out. He bends down and lifts Lucinda’s limp hand from her lap, kissing the back of it softly.

  Some of the old vampires are stuck in their former ways, but this is not the motion of an ancient who can’t keep up with the times. This is a game.

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Ma cherie,” he says in a deep, masculine voice that slides down my throat like liquid chocolate, “you have entered my city unannounced. I should punish you, should I not?”

  I am proud of my friend; she smiles sweetly at him and pulls her hand free. Something eases in my chest when their contact is broken. I do not like it, so I must force myself not to move when so close to a predator such as he.

  “You were expecting me, Gregor,” she says. “I am merely a day early and considering your last phone call, I would have thought you'd take my early arrival as a sign of my commitment to the task.”

  They speak for several seconds in which I am unable to follow the conversation. He is taller than I realised. Taller than me. His aura dances in the strobe lights of the nightclub; reds and greens and something that speaks to me.

  I know this man. Or at least, I recognise his aura. But I do not know the vampire before me. I am confused and distra
cted and nearly miss him moving.

  He stands up, and I ready myself to draw a stake. He glances around the table, acknowledging Erika with a barely perceptible nod of his head and offering a hard glare at Jett.

  And then his eyes land on me.

  For the second time tonight, everything changes.

  I want to run to him. I want to run from him. I want to laugh out loud and bathe in his attention. I have never been looked at by another as this vampire looks at me. It scares me. It thrills me. I narrow my eyes and level a glare at this beautiful creature.

  His aura reaches out and touches mine.

  “Gregor Morel this is Amisi Minyawi from Cairo,” Lucinda says.

  And finally, I am in recognisable territory.

  I stand, fist my hand across my heart and bow my head. A vampire greeting I have been raised to give and one I lean on now to settle my heartbeat. I am Nosferatin. I show no fear.

  “Greetings from Nafrini Al-Suyuti, Master of Cairo City,” I say, lending truth to the words I have been raised to deliver upon meeting a Master of a City. “She sends her thanks to you, Master, for your hospitality to one of her kind, as do I.”

  I stand upright again and note his hand is hanging in the air between us as if he had reached out at some stage to touch me, assist me. I raise my eyes to his face and pull on everything my uncle has taught me. Everything Nero has drilled into me. Everything Nafrini has warned me I should do to keep the monsters at bay.

  He stills before me; this vampire that steals all sound and sense and threatens everything. Then he smiles a smile that is full of wicked intent.

  It makes it easier. And harder. To stand before him and give him nothing in return.

  And then he says, “Two for the price one, how fortuitous.”

  And suddenly, I am myself again.

  I pull the mask of the Nosferatin to me, the cloak of our goddess Nut around me, and let my Light shine from within.

  He sees it. He sees me. He doesn’t show it. Not to anyone but to me.