Vampire Sire

by J. R. Rain

  Back to the stone manor. Back to his lips on my throat. And not just his lips. No, I could feel his teeth, his fangs, deep into my neck, destroying the flesh, the arteries, perhaps even some of the bone, too. Deeply, he drank, and I was helpless. I was also in a great deal of pain, although I found I could not utter a word, nor even a moan. Neither could I move a muscle. I was his helpless a victim, although a victim I was not.

  I knew little of vampires, or why he fed from me so ravenously. Only I knew something was happening, something great and important—something life-altering and life-giving.

  No, I could not move a muscle, but tears of joy streamed down my face.

  And I smiled within...

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next few days were hell.

  The confusion, the pain, the hunger, the shift from mortal to immortal as the entirety of my soul settled into this bulky physical husk. Despite the changes within, some often quite painful, I still felt better than I had for the previous months and even years. No longer did I feel death was imminent. Quite the opposite. Now, I felt as if, yes, as if there was a chance I would make it through another week. And another week was all I asked. Just a few more days to find the Red Rider.

  But as I lay holed up in the home, near a shuttered window kept closed during the day, I began to suspect I was going to have more than one week. Or two weeks. As I felt the change come over me, as I hallucinated and shuddered and briefly fought the thing that I knew had gained access to me—the thing I saw lurking in my mind, watching me—I could feel my body growing stronger. I had been so weak, so close to death, that any improvement would have been pronounced. Indeed, even in those first few hours, it quickly became apparent that I had shifted from dying... to actually growing stronger. Each hour, stronger and stronger, even as I was left shuddering and sweating and naturally resisting the darkness that sought purchase within me.

  Perhaps I was more willing than some, and so my conversion was not as dramatic as others. I suspect yours had been confusing and terrible. How often I wanted to come to your side at the hospital and ease you through the transition, to explain to you what was happening and why. But I knew... ah, I knew you had gone through enough. And who was I, after all? Just your father from many lifetimes ago... a man you had no memory of. Who was I to comfort you, when, in fact, it had been I who had stolen heaven away from you?

  Perhaps I should have let you die in my arms that night, six years ago (well, six years, as of the writing of this letter). But how... could I? True, you would have been reborn again, and I would have found you again, I hope. I don’t always find you, Sam Moon, but I have learned to follow your soul’s imprint. It is no easy task and it took me decades to understand how to understand such energies. But where there is a will, there is a way. If I can teach you anything, let it be that. The Universe will bring you an answer, always. In this case, it brought to me a master’s master who taught me to go deeper within myself, so deep, in fact, that I stood outside myself, in a place where I could see the energies coming and going to the earth. The master’s master called this the Winter Wind, and I could see why. Mostly, I could see the new souls, eager for re-birth; I could also see the tired and beaten-down energies ready for the relief of death. It was here, in a state of deep meditation, that I observed your own re-birth, over and over. Including your birth into this present life.

  Those who live and die leave a celestial imprint. However, those who are immortal—that is, those who are permanently connected to the earth—are beyond my sight, and that’s a damn shame.

  But I am getting ahead of myself.

  In those early days of my transformation, I was taught much by my own vampire sire. First and foremost, despite the severity of my attack, he was a gentle man, one who had gained dominion over his own dark master by feasting only upon the animals, thus depriving his dark master of the nutrients it needed to take over him. I learned from him and kept my own monster at bay, all these years. Truth be known, my own dark master has long since grown quiet. I suspect he is in a state of stasis, awaiting the moment of my death to be free again and seek a more willing partner.

  Or not. Perhaps I have taken the fight out of him and he seeks only release. His release will not come, ever... unless, I, too, die.

  And so the weeks passed into months and I grew more comfortable in my new skin. I was shown tricks and techniques, all of which I have utilized to great effects... even while learning even more about my talents. I learned to teleport, which I hope I have passed on to you. As your sire, I have passed along some of my own talents. Bear in mind, you are the result of a heady mixture of talents, Samantha Moon: my own, your dark master’s, your latent witchy abilities, and, most prevalent, your own soul.

  As the months piled on, I was eager to set out in search of the Red Rider. I was a new man, after all. More powerful than I’d ever been before—or could ever imagine. My own sire was sad to see me leave, for I had provided him much company in our time together. My education consisted of learning of the dark masters, the other magical creatures of this world, of heaven and hell and the devil, of demons and angels and our place in the world. I would learn that this was my heaven, and to make the most of my time here. I was taught that once I died, I would be reabsorbed back into the Source of All That Is, but that it was nothing to fear. I believed him, and I still believe him. He was, after all, one of the original vampires.

  But, alas, it was time for me to leave the still-youngish-looking man, who, I would learn, was over a hundred years old. I was told that I looked like a healthy old man now. Healthy and vibrant and pale as could be. Vampirism doesn’t reverse age, I would learn, although it had given me new life and strength in abundance. Still, I was told I might just be one of the oldest-looking vampires in the world, and that gives me a chuckle. After all, someone has to be the oldest, right?

  The key was, I didn’t feel old. I felt powerful and ready to take on the world. Or, in the least, to find the Red Rider. To find him and kill him. Whatever the hell he was. Then again, I wasn’t entirely sure what the hell I was either.

  And so I set off again, a changed man, a vampire, but always, first, a father.

  A father hell-bent on revenge.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I looked up from the scroll, knowing there were but a few paragraphs left.

  I used my phone and coffee mug as weights to keep the thing from rolling back into itself, and sat back and rubbed my eyes. Truth was, my eyes felt perfect. Never had they felt better. For that matter, never had all of me felt better, either. No aches and pains. No kinks or flare-ups. Just a perfectly functioning system, all thanks to dark magicks... and my own soul.

  Lots was going on in this five-foot-three-inch frame.

  I’m not a fast reader and a half hour or more had passed. I had paused often and reflected and re-read scenes, soaking them in, acknowledging them, and working through them emotionally.

  Those re-born throughout time would, of course, have many fathers. That should be of no surprise. That one of my fathers had given up heaven to find my killer was new to me, and a bit overwhelming, too. Certainly, I had no memory of the life of which he spoke. It was, what, 400 years ago? In Europe, no less.

  He’d heard me scream and went running after me, only to discover the horse, rider and me had disappeared into thin air.

  He’d searched for me for months after, only to find my discarded body in a pit of other such discarded bodies. I could not imagine the filth of that pit, the stink, the horror of finding your own child atop it. He had not gone into detail about the exact condition of my body, but I suspected, based on his other choice words, that he had found me partially consumed. Or perhaps more than partially. Maybe damn near completely. But he had known it was me, and had buried me, and then, he had spent the rest of his human life hunting for the “elusive” Red Rider, a name he had given the man based on the cloak he had worn.

  And when he had finally come to the end of his existence, he had sought
out what he believed to be a vampire. And as death approached, he was re-born again as a vampire, only to continue his search... up to just a few years ago. That was when, of course, Rand the Vampire Hunter had ended my father’s search for justice.

  Of course, I use the word “father” liberally here. Perhaps even loosely. I am taking a dead vampire’s word that this was all true. That he had been taught by a master’s master to seek me out in the heavens, and that he had watched over me, life after life, protecting me down through the ages. That he had, in fact, turned me only to save me.

  “I need a drink,” I whispered.

  Although alcohol had no effect on me, I poured a glass of wine anyway and returned to my study, sipping it, enjoying what I could from it, since my taste buds were mostly dead. Still, I caught a hint of the stuff, and that was enough. Or, rather, it had to be enough.

  I moved aside my placeholder phone and pressed the rolled parchment flat, and resumed reading...

  ***

  I would spend many centuries looking for this animal.

  Always, I was a step behind, or a mile behind, or months behind. Rarely did I even catch sight of him, but always did I see the destruction he caused in his wake. The distraught families, the wailing mothers, the villages all looking for a missing girl, not realizing she was not only long gone, but that she was, perhaps even at that moment, being consumed by he who once called himself a priest, but was now so very far from God that he might as well have been the devil’s right-hand man.

  Maybe he was.

  How did he do it? I would learn through many inquiries and my own deduction that the bastard was able to hone in on the most magical. Those with latent abilities, or budding abilities, were of no interest to him; at least, not in this lifetime. Later, as their magic blossomed, so, too, did their chances of befalling a fate worse than death.

  Over the centuries, I would learn more about him. I would discover that he knew I was on to him, and he took extra precautions to throw me off his trails. Sadly, I never knew when he would strike next, and always, I was too late. Never was I able to save those he stalked, for I never knew who might be his next victim.

  That is, until I had heard of a girl locked away in a dungeon, a girl the locals had proclaimed to be a real witch, and a nasty one at that. After all, who else was to blame for the pestilence and plague, the disease and sickness, the foul weather and ruined crops? A witch, of course. Personally, I always thought witches had better things to do than to summon bad weather or chicken pox. After all, I’d seen you at work, dear one. I had witnessed firsthand your sweet and beautiful connection to the world around you. Never could I imagine you bringing hellfire upon the crops of your neighbors, even if they had it coming to them.

  Then again, perhaps I was spoiled by you.

  And so I sought out this witch; after all, if she was as powerful as I believed, surely she would be of interest to the Red Rider.

  By now, I had spent many decades being what I am, and it was without incident that I located her in prison, subdued the guards with a few simple suggestions, and snapped open her lock. Immediately, I could see I was dealing with the real deal. She sat upon a nearby bench, surrounded by rats and mice and insects, all of which swarmed over her, through her clothing and hair, and up and down her arms and legs, all while she giggled and spoke to them, ignoring me completely.

  When she finally acknowledged me, I was immediately struck by the power of her gaze. A gaze that reminded me so much of your own. Penetrating, calculating and wise. But that was where the similarities ended. First, she was no girl, easily going on thirty. Next, she was tall and robust, sporting thick arms and squarish hands. Her neck and jowls shook and her ruddy skin radiated health and vitality. Her brown hair was long and straight, and I was instantly smitten.

  She knew me for what I was before I could think of what to say. I merely nodded, acknowledging her knowing observation, and she shrugged and smiled and turned back to her swarming friends. She smiled at them and said, “Go home, my friends,” and in a blink, her creepy-crawly companions were gone in a scurry of feet, tails, and crackling exoskeletal armor.

  She stood and I think I might have involuntarily stepped forward, so powerful was the force of my attraction. There was something unseen but felt around her, and I knew that this woman could not be contained by these bars. No, she had been waiting for me. We stood staring at one another, a witch and a vampire, while the guards slept contentedly outside, and it was of great relief that I saw in her eye a similar yearning, and we came forward together, as one, embraced and locked lips for an unknowable amount of time. And that is all I will say of our physical attraction. You are my child, after all, even if several hundred years removed.

  Our whirlwind romance began, which was a much-needed reprieve and greatly appreciated. I’d been alone for so long, child. So very long. Her name was Millie, and we were a powerful force, indeed. She took up my cause, helping to search for Red Rider, even offering herself as bait, but never did he show in her lifetime, although we continuously found evidence of his destruction.

  She would die in my arms a half-century later, and I miss her every day of my life. Never would I find love again, but I am okay with that, Sam. I had your mother, I had you, and I had Millie. A man should be so lucky.

  I suspected Millie’s power was both a beacon and a warning to avoid. She was, after all, a very, very powerful witch. Unfortunately, not even her magicks could find the man, let alone capture him. But I would learn much in our time. I would learn that he feared fully matured witches. His preference was for the young and mostly helpless. He avoided people at all costs, and seemed uncannily adept at detecting traps.

  And so I continued my search, alone.

  ***

  Like my own sire, I refused the blood of man, and kept my own dark master weak and forgotten.

  Ultimately, I suspect I was not of much use to the dark masters’ grand plan. After all, I had my own agenda and had little use of their own silly war. Yes, I’d heard much about it from my own sire, and also from others of my kind that I’d happened upon, including the various were-beasts. Yes, I did say various. Perhaps you have been made aware by now that our world is inhabited by many such magical creatures, all of whom are the result of the dark masters’ dark influence. No, there was no rift in time and space. There was no opening from our world into the next. The creatures in our word are abominations, Sam, plain and simple. We are an abomination, too. We are the result of carefully calculated dark magic, magic so strong as to yank our souls from heaven, and “permanently” encase them here. I put permanently in quotes for good reason. That said, with luck—and with a lack of enemies—yes, some of us might see the end of days of this planet. Some of us might even see the sun extinguish and the earth grow cold. Some, not all. Very few, in fact.

  And so the years piled on. As did the decades and centuries. Never did I feed upon a living human. Even when I turned you, I did not feed on you. No... I fed you. With my own blood.

  Needless to say, I have made no progress in my hunt for the Red Rider. I know he is here in America, and has been for the past hundred years, hence my own presence. There is a new wave of witchcraft sweeping the land, and I know why. It is, quite literally, thanks to him. He’d extinguished so many magical lives that it took many generations for the magic to re-establish itself, so to speak, to take hold again, to grow again, to flourish again. It might also explain why I had not seen nor heard of him for nearly seventy years. I suspect he’d gone underground, dormant. Perhaps he was in a sort of hibernation mode. In fact, I had truly thought him dead; that is, until the disappearances started again. And they started back in the 1930s. Parents, do you want to know what happened to your children? More than likely, some of them expressed some form of magic. Perhaps even a lot of magic. Perhaps you laughed it off. Perhaps you ignored it. Or perhaps you were afraid of it. But with each charm, each incantation, each expression of magic, your child drew the Red Rider closer.

&nb
sp; And then, your children were gone. Just like that. He appeared, snatched them away, and disappeared again, all while whole communities searched for evidence of them, only to find nothing. Want to know where to look? Look deep in the local caves. There, you will find your missing children, partially consumed, like you, dear Samantha.

  I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But look no further than him. He is often the culprit.

  Which brings me to almost the present.

  You hadn’t been re-born in many decades, and I was worried about that, too. Where do you go between lives, you might ask? Ah, I’ve seen a glimpse of that, too, in my meditative place there in the heavens, where I can see the comings and goings of all souls. A nice trick, really. If I survive the hunter’s attack, perhaps I will destroy this letter and explain all to you in person, including many of the tricks I have learned. There is a world of pure energy, Sam, although you wouldn’t see it as energy once in it. Indeed, it wouldn’t look very different than the physical world. But it is there, and it is very, very different. I have seen only glimpses of it, but it is enough to know that I have given up something very beautiful indeed in my search for the Red Rider. Likewise, I have stolen it from you as well. I feel the pang of regret every day, even though I know in my heart I saved you from certain death. Perhaps I should have let you move on into the afterlife, to be re-born again, stronger than ever. Perhaps. But I also knew that the stronger you were, the more likely you would have attracted the Red Rider, and the vicious cycle would have started all over again. Then again, perhaps I would have captured the Red Rider by then. Perhaps.