“I will grab another bottle of wine,” I offered.
Quite cozy in her favorite chair, spinning tales of New York, raising me, and generally things she had witnessed over the many years, Rena bantered on. I returned and poured out three full glasses.
“Nicholas, if I drink much more you will have to carry me to bed.”
I knew this to be untrue. Rena could drain a barrel on the proper occasion, and never let on. “Aunt Rena, I need to talk to you.”
“Isn’t that what we have been doing?” Her trademark smile, known throughout the neighborhood, offered reassurance that all would be just fine.
Sam and I were sitting very close, holding hands tightly, as I embarked on my mission of discovery. “I need some answers, things I know only you can tell me.”
“And so, please go on.”
“Why am I sixty years old, yet only look half my age? Why have I been shot in the head and lived? Why do I cast no reflection in the mirror?” True, I knew the answer to the last question, but I was nervous and as such, the multitude of questions spilled out. Obviously, if she knew the answer to any of the questions, the rest would logically fall into place.
“Is this true?” Rena asked with deep concern. “You cast no reflection?”
“Yes, and I cannot tolerate daylight and … I have developed an unnatural drinking habit as well.”
Rena dipped her head in shame. Her jovial disposition instantly disappeared. “Nicholas, you are drinking blood?”
I nodded my head as Sam clenched my hand even tighter.
“Was this why you asked me to leave the garlic out of tonight’s dinner?”
“Yes.”
“And Samantha?”
“No, she is not like me.”
“So the curse of the Nosferatu has found you after all,” Rena said sadly. “We tried so hard.”
“We?” I asked sharply.
“Your father and I.”
“You and my father? All of my life, there has been some secret agenda you felt it should not be shared with me?”
“How much Romanian history do you know?”
“Oh, this can’t be good. Vampires and Romanian history.” Sarcasm laced my reply. I had never felt anger toward this woman until this moment. Learning she and the father I never knew had conspired to keep some dark secret from me ignited an indefinable ire.
“Shhh,” Sam insisted. “This would be another one of those times to be quiet, listen, and try not to be a smart-ass. I am sorry, Aunt Rena, Nick has not been himself lately.”
“It is all right dear. What I am about to reveal, I swore an oath to never divulge. Your father was to send for you when it was time. He was to be the one to educate you. But I fear your father was killed many years ago. No one has ever sought you out.”
Looking intently, Sam and I waited for the story to continue.
“Do you know the history of Vlad Tepes, known to the world as Vlad the Impaler or more commonly, Count Dracula?”
“Just the popular tales, which really is not much.” I answered. Sam shook her head no.
“Although he was cruel and sadistic, contrary to legend, he was not the vampire of legend. A great warrior and prince, but he was very much flesh and blood. In his early years he practiced in the ways of paganism, but later in life, he converted to Catholicism, to marry Countess Ilona Szilagy, cousin to Matthias Curvinush, King of Hungary. By way of his marriage to the Countess, King Matthias appointed Vlad to the throne of Wallachia. Countess Ilona bore Vlad two sons, Vazul and Vlad II,” Aunt Rena said.
“There is no public historical documentation of Vazul’s life, other than the recording of his birth. To my knowledge, I have the only written account of Vazul’s life that exists.” Rena rocked forward, creating momentum to help boost her from the sunken recliner. Effortlessly, she located the weathered volume from the massive bookcase that mantled an entire wall of her apartment and handed it to Sam.
“The accounts in this journal were written by my ancestors, and handed down through generations. It was our duty to attend to the royal family of Wallachia. I have been in possession of this book since 1948.”
“Vazul Dracula was born under a dark curse. Unable to escape the pagan ways of his father’s past, some believed his affliction to be a pagan curse in retaliation for his father’s conversion to Christianity. Others believed the source was from God, in retaliation for the sins of Vazul’s father,” she said. “In the great wars, Vlad Tepes, while defending Wallachia from Muslim invaders, began his ritualistic consumption of his victim’s blood. Whichever the truth, the malice of Vazul was evident from his earliest days.”
She continued, “The child was hidden away, far from the prying eyes of a nation eager to have a prince unite the provinces into one strong, secure nation. As the years passed, it became clear that Vazul’s cruelty far exceeded that of his fathers. Consumed with a thirst for power and blood, in a remote village in Transylvania, he created a secret society in the shadows of darkness. With the passing of his father, and several years later his brother, any hopes of containing Vazul’s empire faded.”
“The Order of the Dragon, a secret society, of which Vazul’s brother, Vlad II, and his father were members, took on the task of reeling in Vazul’s reign of terror. Truly, the sins of Vlad Tepes paled in comparison to Vazul’s.” Aunt Rena recited the history as if she were reading from a well-rehearsed script.
Continuing with the tale, she appeared to tense. “Rumors spread of the evil residing in the mountains of Transylvania, until a small militia of men, recruited by the Order of the Dragon, sought out Vazul and his cult. Knowledgeable in the ways of dealing with evil, they began to destroy the followers of Vazul.”
She went on, “Vazul escaped the onslaught in 1640, and fled to Germany. There, in exile, a transformation began to occur. Feeding only out of necessity on nomadic travelers, he settled in a remote village in the Black Forest. Upon meeting a band of Romanian gypsies in 1669, he took one, Ileanna Kerlápoly, as his wife. Out of that union Levente Dracula was born.”
“Vazul returned to Romania, alone, in 1695, in an attempt to regain control of the scattered vampire population, and take his rightful place as their prince. Believing if he could seize power over the murderous cult, he would gain favor with the Order of the Dragon, and eventually reclaim his family’s right to the throne of Romania, a position he solely desired for his son Levente.” Aunt Rena paused long enough to sip her wine.
Gingerly setting her glass down, she continued. “In 1701, although it was never clear who was responsible for his death, Vazul perished. With guidance from his mother, Count Levente grew into a strong and influential man. Taking up Vazul’s quest to re-conquer the homeland of his forefathers, in 1732 he returned to Transylvania. Forging an alliance with the Order of the Dragon, he set about, not to destroy, but to convert his race into a peaceful tribe, capable of cohabiting with man. But not all were swayed to a peaceful existence with man. There were those who sought to wipe out the weaker race.”
“The Count waged a private war that lasted almost two hundred years. Through the historical turmoil that existed in Romania, through both World Wars, Count Levente continued with his quest. After World War II, a new battle was waged. Communism spread throughout Eastern Europe, this fervor, unlike any invasion witnessed in the past. The Communists realized the threat of resistance any surviving members of the royal family presented. A secret genocide erupted in many eastern European nations. Any member of royal lineage, any person with a claim to the throne, was exterminated,” she recounted.
“In 1946, Levente retreated to Germany, back to the region of his birth. He traveled with a small group of vampires, loyal to his cause, with intentions of building a resistance to the suppressive Communist regime, which had quickly spread throughout his homeland. Once safely in refuge in Hundsberg, Austria, The Order of the Dragon arranged a marriage to Elisabeta Dragomire of Transylvania and in 1948, she gave birth to Neculai Dracula.” Acknowledging the name Nec
ulai brought a gleam to her eye, as if a burden had been lifted.
“The Communist Party had learned of Levente’s existence, and made his assassination a top priority. He was tracked into Germany, where the first attempt on his life occurred. Tragically, many of Levente’s loyal followers perished in the failed assassination. Levente and Elisabeta, desperate for Neculai’s survival, made immediate arrangements for their son’s secret exile to America,” she said.
“I was honored to be chosen for the duty of ensuring the infant’s safety as he grew into adulthood. In order to protect Neculai, I was ordered to never disclose the origins of his family to him, until I was absolutely sure his safety was no longer an issue, or until the time you were old enough to understand the consequences of your family lineage.”
“Please tell me I am misunderstanding you,” I began, “you just insinuated I am Neculai, son of Levente, grandson of Vazul Dracula, great grandson of Vlad the Impaler. The original Dracula.”
“Yes, you are correct.” With a gleam in her eye and tone of pride, Rena appeared relieved, as if a burden had been lifted.
“That means he’s a prince?” Sam asked, mouth agape, awaiting Rena’s response.
“Yes, Neculai Dracula is heir to the throne of Romania.” Rena turned to me. “It was your father’s expectation, his dream, you would not inherit the full consequences of the curse without the consumption of blood, and one day would stake your rightful claim to the throne.”
“Whoa. I do not think I could just waltz into Romania, announce I am Nick Dracula, and expect they would bow down crying, ‘Welcome home, we have been waiting for you!’”
“You would be surprised by just how many people would do exactly that. There are many who have waited. The old ways were not forsaken by all.”
Sam just stared at me. I stared back. I opened my mouth to speak. With this new bombshell, I felt an apology was in order. Wordless, my lips moved.
“Shut up,” Sam ordered.
Aunt Rena looked at Sam, amused with her spirit. “She is like your mother in more than one way.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, wondering if I even wanted to hear any more revelations to this amazing and virtually inconceivable tale.
Rena opened the tattered book and flipped the pages toward the end. “This is your mother,” she explained, handing over the open book.
The deafening silence lasted for about thirty seconds.
“Oh shit,” I moaned, as I examined the faded black and white photograph attached to the page. If Samantha had a twin, this would be her. “If this does not completely ice the cake of lunacy.”
Sam studied the photograph. “I am most definitely not your mother,” she declared defiantly. “I know my parents, I have seen pictures of my childhood, and I have never been anywhere near Romania for that matter.”
“Thank you honey, for quickly dispatching my newly unexpected incestuous fears.” My smile remained anxious as the lump gradually dropped from my throat. I stared at the faded image of a mother long lost, never known, sadness filling my heart. “I can see why you could not take your eyes off Samantha.”
“It is true, I was shocked, when I first laid eyes on her. For a moment, I was sure you were about to tell me your mother had found you.” Rena paused briefly allowing the silence to gather our thoughts. “Tell me Nicholas, how long have you been a vampire? How did you come into the darkness?”
“That is what I was hoping you could help me with. It happened about a week ago, but to the best of my knowledge, I was never bitten. I thought you had to be bitten, and then drink the blood of your creator to become a vampire.”
“Please go on.”
Rena completely glossed over my interest in the how, and gestured for more with her hands. “I was in New Orleans, looking to rebuke a local vampire legend.” Instantly Rena’s expression shifted, as if she knew the answer. “The only problem: the legend was no myth, the vampires were real.”
“You went to the Ursuline Convent?”
“You know about the Convent?” Just when I thought the revelations of the evening could not get any more bizarre, another bombshell detonated.
“It is where your father exiled two of his own.” Rena paused; the weight of what was to follow was apparently a bitter memory. “Angelique and Monique.”
“Oh, this can’t be good.” Sam leaned in closer, perching on the edge of the couch, if possible, more anxious than I to hear the ensuing tale.
“In 1792, your father married his first wife, Évike Szekeres, a Hungarian countess, in an attempt to win an alliance with his northern neighbors, and thus solidify his efforts to win back the throne. But while continuing his crusade, he met with a small band of nomadic vampires. This is where he met Angelique. They fell deeply in love. I believe if not for the arranged marriage to Évike, your father and Angelique would have wed. Angelique’s cousin Monique was eager for Angelique to ascend to power, and upon their return to Romania, set out to bring Évike’s life to an end. The attempt on Évike nearly brought about a war, thus bringing the marriage to an end. After Monique’s failure to kill the Countess, she and Angelique were banished to America. Victor Tepes, your father’s cousin, was to deliver the outcasts to America, where if they could prove they could abide within the laws your father set down, they could return in two hundred years. If they were unable to refrain from the ways of evil, Victor was to destroy them.” Aunt Rena reached for her glass, but did not drink.
“Victor had sent word of the subsequent imprisonment of Angelique and Monique in the Convent. Victor was to wait in New Orleans, until the two hundred years had passed, then he was to free the estranged pair. There were no other communications from Victor after 1891. It was presumed he perished.” Rena sipped her wine, suddenly disheartened for no apparent reason.
“I freed them.” I said with a grimace. “I do not know where Angelique went, but I killed Monique. She was a murderer and had to die.” The blood filled images of Monique’s death replayed like a high-definition movie.
“Then you served the will of your father, for she did not walk in the ways he set before her.”
“I am relatively sure, before I killed her, I might have ingested some of Monique’s blood. I was told it was a method used to control the will of the strong minded.”
“Apparently, as you already possessed the genetics of the undead, all that was lacking was for you to consume the blood of a vampire.”
Lucky me. Had I been Chuck, I would still be mortal. Albeit, with almost certainty, I would also be dead. My thoughts strayed back to Isabelle. “Tell me, how is it I was even born? I have never heard of vampires having children.”
“Not a soul knows why two vampires are unable to reproduce. But like your father, your grandfather mated with a mortal. And out of that union, your father was born. And despite all of the legends, your great grandfather, Vlad, was mortal. The curse began with Vazul. Your mother was very much mortal when you were born. It was only after your birth that your father agreed to make her as one.”
Sam huffed softly. “Well, sounds like your father knew how to honor the woman who loved him.”
“Of all things your father desired for you, a life free of the curse was his greatest wish. It was your parents’ belief, if you never consumed blood, you would not suffer the full effects of the vampire’s curse. Through your childhood, everything they had hoped for became a reality. As you aged over time, it became evident only certain aspects of your father’s immortality had been passed on.”
“Then I ran into Monique.” In spite of the belief my grandiose fuck-up could not possibly increase any more in magnitude, now all those years of planning, dreams for which my father died to protect, were ruined.
“So, if I am understanding you correctly, Monique, the woman who tried to murder Levente’s first wife, over two hundred years ago, was responsible for turning Nick into a vampire?” Sam surmised.
“It would appear to be so,” Rena agreed.
“And you bel
ieve Levente and Elisabeta were eventually killed by the Communists.”
Rena’s heartbreak could not be concealed. “Sadly, it is what I believe.”
I stared at the bookcase, dumbfounded by the odd twist of fate. I knew Daniel would derive some spiritual satisfaction from these absurd circumstances. I killed the woman who attempted to murder my father’s wife, but she cleared the path for him to eventually marry my mother. The same woman my father banished, committed the one vile act he desperately desired to avoid. And what about Angelique? On several occasions she referenced our intertwined fate. Could she have somehow known or sensed who I was? Was this the reason for her sparing my life?
I flipped through the pages of the book in silence. Sam looked on. I retraced the pages to the picture of my mother, running my fingers across the photograph, needing to feel her flesh. How unbelievably amazing it was, Sam’s resemblance to my mother. And of all women to fall in love with. Turning the pages backwards, for the first time, I stared into my father’s eyes. I felt his presence, his strength. I closed the book.
“I need to digest all of this. Do you mind if I borrow the book?” I gripped the bound leather bindings tightly. “I will bring it back in a night or two.”
“That is fine, but please bear in mind, this is a historical account of your family’s history, through the eyes of my ancestors. It bears a certain prejudice, from a perspective that is not always flattering to your family.”
“I understand.” I lightly slapped my hand on Sam’s thigh. “Are you ready to go … Mom?”
Sam stood, teetering for a moment. “Thank you so much for the fantastic meal,” Sam said. “Nick was right, you’re a fantastic cook.”
“You’re welcome, Samantha, I look forward to seeing you for many more suppers.”
“Me too.” Embraced by my aunt with a full tilt, Romanian bear hug, Sam peeked over Rena’s shoulder with a strained expression.
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