by H. T. Night
“None, Papa…she is Basque too,” I said, not sure what I could say to make him feel better about my situation. My father is not one to be won over by a lot of ‘Don’t worry…I’ll be fine!’ statements. ‘Empty promises’, is what he calls that sort of thing. But it was the best assurance I could possibly offer. What else could I say or do? Maybe one more promise. One harder to keep. “Alright, I swear not to leave the dorm at all—not unless a fire threatens to burn the place down!” I laughed, hoping this would help.
“You make sure you don’t leave,” he said, focused on getting me to commit to do what I promised. “They do have security guards watching your dormitory, right?”
“Yes, Papa, they do.” Sort of a lie here, since they come and go at different times throughout each day. So it is possible to be vulnerable…if it was some crazed killer out there someplace. Something I preferred not to think long upon.
“The Goizane girl looks a lot like you, so what if her killer sees you? He might come after you then.”
“And what if it’s not some guy doing this?” I replied, set on easing the deepening worry I heard in his voice. “It could be a crazy, jealous girl just as well. What if this girl Irma messed around with some other girl’s man?”
“It’s not the Basque way,” he said, his tone saddened, as if he seriously considered my point. “The old ways have changed for many of us…but if I know Stefan as well as I used to when we hung out together long ago, that’s not the way he would raise his daughter….”
He grew silent, and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t bother to let him know he had a lot to learn about how daughters act when not in the presence of their fathers. I did hurt inside for how much he worried for my welfare. He knew I could take care of myself, and he trusted my choice to attend Tennessee for college. But I guess the stakes had changed with a murderer on the loose—one who brought tremendous violence against a girl who reminded my father of me. And worse yet…one whose family he knew personally.
“Your Grandma told me to tell you to be especially careful these days,” he added, perhaps to break the awkward silence. “She says you are one of the last ‘special ones’, so you should know you mean the world to all of us.”
“Of course Grandma thinks so.” I blurted out, hoping I didn’t sound disrespectful. “I know you all love me, and you mean the world to me too.”
Again, more silence, and then I heard a low sigh on his end.
“Txema…your Grandmother means that literally,” he told me, his tone still serious, but softer. As if he were searching for the correct words. “I’m not sure how to explain this without sounding corny. I wish I didn’t have to tell you the story over the phone. But after what has happened, there is no putting it off. So, I need you to believe me now, honey. Just please listen closely. You are destined for great things, which we’ve always told you anyway—you are so talented, so wonderful. The perfect daughter…. but, I didn’t realize the birthmark meant anything, other than ‘old wives tales’ and legends from the old country. That was until she called me this afternoon.”
“What did she tell you?” I asked, hoping I sounded nonchalant, though my heart had quickened. I pictured two small streams of blood trickling down my neck, and the angry redness that swiftly disappeared, leaving no trace of any trauma.
“Well…it’s supposed to mean ‘royalty’, as the ancient Basque rulers bore this mark,” he explained. “It changed down through the centuries to where only females had the mark on them, and only a few girls have it at any one time. Mother says each generation produces a handful of females around the world with the birthmark—hard to track since we are spread out everywhere. That’s why she called when she heard about the murder today. She decided this couldn’t wait until your next trip home. And she thought it best if it came from me. She’s pretty upset.”
“I don’t understand,” I told him. Really, this would be heavy and confusing stuff for anyone to handle, I’m sure. “What does the murder have to do with the birthmark?”
“Ah, maybe I shouldn’t have told you in this manner,” he said, his tone one of regret, and I could tell he was ready to forget the matter for now.
“No, Papa…please tell me,” I persisted.
That’s one thing I hate…mysteries, especially those where I’m left hanging on for more clues. I hate movies, books, and TV shows that end on painful cliffhangers. Whoever writes that shit should be hung by their thumbs so they can never use them on a computer keyboard or typewriter ever again!
“She says they are all dying. From what she has heard from our family back in France, the girls with the mark are not surviving.” His voice choked up. “There are now just three that she knows of. Two of your cousins that are still living in the Pyrenees and… you.”
The world began to swim around me, which made it really hard to remain cheerful on the phone. Maybe too many strange things happening in my life in such a short period of time would now take its toll.
After telling my father again that I loved him, and to send my love to Momma, my brothers, and my grandmother, I hung up the phone. I wanted to know more…much more. But I let my father off the hook and chose instead to let what he said sink in. Soon after hanging up, Tyreen sauntered back into our room with the announcement that dinner was on its way. I prayed she didn’t sense the insincerity behind my frozen smile. I wasn’t about to let her know that my world had just been rocked even harder—hard enough to where my pragmatic mind now splintered. How was I to know I was still blissfully ignorant? I had only been told a very small portion of the whole story.
Chapter 5
“Hello… Hel-lo!”
I awoke with a start. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dorm room’s dimness. I could make out the faint outlines of my desk and the TV that still bore a faint glow from when it had last been turned off. Tyreen often took awhile to fall asleep, and would watch late night talk shows or VH1 videos until well after midnight—usually outlasting me by an hour. Me? I can sleep through almost anything.
“Huh? Who’s in here?” I asked, a little surprised by the shrillness in my voice. Nothing like an immediate ‘white flag’ when I could least afford one. Somebody was in my room…close by. A male, with a rich Spanish accent.
Luckily, or so I hoped anyway, I brought a small penlight to bed with me. That and my Tazer, which I had hidden beneath my pillow. A vulnerable sleeping girl couldn’t be too careful with a vicious murderer on the loose in Knoxville. The fact our room’s thick curtains were drawn tight for Tyreen to rest undisturbed by Massey Hall’s security lights made such precautions even more necessary.
“Shh-h-h-h!” my visitor responded, moving closer to my ear. I grabbed the pen light and turned it on. A miniature halogen illuminated the ceiling directly above my bed. I believe I mentioned my bed is the top bunk, and I can easily touch the ceiling with my hands, though it wouldn’t have seemed like a wise move right then. I instinctively shrunk back, pulling my covers up to my neck.
Two faces studied me, one at the foot of my bed and the other less than six inches from my face. The iridescent green eyes and pale features near my feet announced Garvan’s presence, and unlike last evening he smiled warmly. That knowledge could have eased my tension, if not for the unfamiliar face so close to mine, wearing an ornery grin. Like Garvan, this other ashen face belonged to another male, one as stunningly handsome as Mr. de Sang. But his slicked-back hair and features were darker, with a little curl hanging down onto his forehead, sort of like Michael Jackson. This one’s eyes were a brilliant blue—bluer than any eyes I’d ever seen.
“Txema, it is good to officially meet you…finally!” the owner of this other face exclaimed, revealing fangs more pronounced than Garvan’s slender incisors. He seemed to find amusement in my fearful-though-enraptured expression, and threw his head back in an uproarious fit of laughter.
It was my turn to shush him, and I did so harshly.
“Be quiet or you’ll wake up Tyreen!” I scolded hi
m, brazenly ignoring the fact that these two had a distinct advantage over me in my bedclothes. “If that happens, you’ll be in a serious world of shit, and then everyone on this floor will be up and going crazy on you!”
Realizing the likelihood that these guys really were vampires, I hoped it was true they could read minds—if only briefly—to where this creature of the night pictured my mental image of sixty angry bitches pummeling his ass. He definitely caught something from either my thoughts or, more likely, my perturbed expression, as he chuckled while studying me. For a moment, his eyes turned a deeper shade of cobalt.
“Let me go check on your friend,” he said playfully. This one’s accent was even more genteel than Garvan’s. Like he had spent much of his earthly existence managing an island plantation in the Caribbean. His face disappeared and I heard Tyreen’s bedcovers rustle. My pulse immediately quickened as I worried what he might do to her.
“Hello…Hel-lo Ms. Tyreen!” The vampire’s voice boomed powerfully from beneath my bed.
“What in the hell have you done to her!” I demanded, when she didn’t stir. Before I drew another breath, he was back in my face. The faint smell of ginger filled my nostrils.
“Nothing…relax,” he replied, wearing another Cheshire Cat grin. “Just a little ‘tap’ to ensure she does not awaken while we visit with you, dearest Txema!”
“Is that what you did to me last night?” I didn’t try to hide my irritation, focusing on Garvan, who frowned and looked away when I shot him an angry look. “Do you always treat new acquaintances like this?”
“No!” Garvan replied, his tone indignant. His face drew close to mine as he suddenly appeared in front of me. I gasped despite a warm musky scent, hinting of cinnamon, wafting toward me. “You gave me no choice!”
The blue-eyed one pulled him aside, whispering something sternly in a strange dialect that was neither French nor Spanish. Garvan looked over at me again, silently mouthing ‘sorry’.
“Who are you, anyway?” I asked, scooting back against the wall our bunk beds lean up against. I kept my fingers on the Tazer beneath my pillow, trying to remember how to turn the damn thing on without actually seeing the switch. “And what do you want with me?”
“My name is Armando Iocura,” he replied, glancing at the pillow. His smile widened. “I am one of five emissaries who have traveled across the Atlantic just to see you! We are here to make sure your pretty little neck stays pristine and whole.”
He paused, as if waiting for me to respond in some way. But all I could think of was Irma Goizane with her throat torn out.
“Not so pretty an image, is it? Yes, it is most unfortunate that others have also traveled across the ocean, although their more primitive senses lack the keenness to define exactly what they are searching for,” said Armando, removing all doubt that he could read my thoughts. I was at a definite disadvantage, as if the vampires’ other preternatural traits hadn’t already confirmed that fact. “They don’t possess our heightened sense of smell, nor our lucent intuition.”
He proudly tapped his long sharp fingernails against his head to emphasize this point, the manicured tips glistening in my flashlight’s glow.
“They must have some special senses to make it here, if they’re the ones who killed Irma Goizane,” I said, hoping to learn more about the ‘others’. Other what? I also sent a silent prayer heavenward that my visitors were truly the good ones.
“The others knew beforehand that one of your kind resides in America,” said Garvan, his long locks shielding his gaze, making his previously easy-to-read expression hard to see.
He threw back his head and shook it, the hair falling away from his face to reveal his handsome features clearly. His mouth formed a slight smile as he studied me. Armando looked over at him and nodded.
“The reasons as to why this is so is not important,” he continued, after releasing a low sigh. “What is imperative is that no harm comes to you, as I told you last night.”
“So, you two are real live vampires, am I correct?” I asked, though it seemed quite obvious. Their grooming and manners suggested they were more prone to vanity than most vamps I’ve pictured from novels—definitely not kin to Stoker’s Dracula. But, without anything else to go by they sure seemed like the ‘real deal’ nonetheless. “You are immortal beings?”
God, it felt really weird to say that…it sounded so absurd coming out of my mouth.
“Well, I’m not sure that ‘live’ is the right word to define us. We are not pale enough for you…no? Do you know anyone else who can effortlessly float above your bed while carrying on such a pleasant conversation?”
Armando motioned to Garvan as they both rose toward the ceiling.
I suddenly realized they had been drifting like this during our entire conversation. Up until that moment I had assumed they were standing on my floor. I half-expected the two of them to be dressed like Bela Lugosi, with black tuxes and white shirts beneath full-length capes. Both wore jeans and flannel shirts—pale-faced lumberjacks with sleek features that could put them both on Madison Avenue for some Calvin Klein advertisement.
“But to answer your question, yes we are vampires,” Armando continued, while his and Garvan’s heads bobbed just below the ceiling. Garvan moved closer to him, allowing me to hold my flashlight in one spot instead of alternating back and forth between them.
“So, it’s a bunch of pretty ‘Hollywood’ vampires against the so-called ‘others’, huh?” I asked. Really, it slipped out before I had a chance to decide if my cynical sense of humor would be appreciated or not, a meaningful question posed from an irreverent perspective. The initial looks I got from my visitors made me regret it, but before I could apologize for being so forward, Garvan spoke up again.
“In a sense, you are not far off the mark,” he advised, his expression solemn. “Like your movie stars, only a few fortunate souls make it to the Big Screen, as they say. That is similar to us, where just a few hundred vampires like us exist throughout the world. However, the army that is looking to destroy your kind numbers in the thousands.”
This revelation surprised me, and sounded beyond ridiculous. I mean, all this attention for just little ole me?
“So, these other guys are vampires too? I take it they don’t look like you two, either—am I right about that?” I asked, trying to define the scope of danger I faced while sitting up high enough to lean on my elbows in my bed. Neither one moved as they silently watched me...still studying me? Or was this how they read the stream of thoughts flowing through my head. I imagined my cynical forthrightness hindered that effort.
“That is correct,” said Armando, finally. “You would find them grotesque and frightful. The closest thing you have in your modern world that I can compare them to is Nosferatu. But even his portrayal on the silver screen would be considered generous compared to the race known to the people of Spain as ‘La sangre fea embauca’.”
“Or ‘Monstres Glabres’ to the good citizens of France,” added Garvan, almost interrupting Armando, which drew another stern look from him. He looked away, uncomfortable again.
If there is a hierarchy or pecking order among all vampires, I had certainly just been given a clue as to who’s the boss between these two.
“These other vampires are like rabid dogs,” Armando resumed after returning his attention to me. “They are highly dangerous mongrels with no self control…no decency. They feast on what amounts to road kill in your terms, at least until recently. La sangre fea embauca were once a menace to ancient villages in Europe and Asia until the Industrial Age. They scurried underground like the vile vermin they are, and we’ve rarely heard from them since the early nineteenth century…. But now they have regained a lust for living blood and tissue, and no longer are content to hide in the shadows like recluse spiders, waiting for a meal to show up for them.”
He studied my expression; I’m sure searching for a trace of squeamishness in my blank look. But I was simply fascinated by what he talked about�
��about these other vampires with an obvious bent toward violence.
“So, you and they are different?” I persisted. “Yet, you both survive off the blood of people—”
“Or, sometimes animals too,” interjected Garvan. “But our kind doesn’t need to feed as often as the others do.” He nodded thoughtfully.
“The difference is in how strong the ‘germ’ is with them,” said Armando. “The mutation they bear comes from the exact same source that has afflicted everyone of us, a condition that all vampires deal with. Think of chupacabras. You have heard of these creatures, no?”
“The hairless mutated dogs that attack sheep and cows down in Texas?” I asked, wondering what the ugly critters I saw once on a Yahoo report had to do with our discussion.
“And in Mexico too,” said Garvan, who then quickly nodded to Armando. Apparently deferring this way kept him from another upbraiding look.
“Yes,” said Armando, glancing briefly toward our door as if he just heard something. Perhaps an RA had heard him speak….that could be bad for Elaine Johnson, if she ventured a peek inside my room. “They, too, suffer from a germ that is similar to ours, though the canine version does not slow the aging process. But the mutations are almost immediate…loss of hair and elongated fangs and claws.”
“Is that what usually happens to you?” I asked. Again, my mouth-gate couldn’t stop an abrasive thought from leaving my head.
Armando opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped. He looked over at Garvan and they both shook their heads.
“No, it will not happen to us—definitely not!” he said, turning his attention back to me. “There is not enough time to explain how this whole thing works tonight. Just know that our adversaries once started out like us, but then changed. We are different based on something in addition to the germ in our systems…something which makes us truly unique, and thus our numbers run much smaller than theirs….”
He paused for a moment to look at the door again. Then, he suddenly disappeared and I heard the doorknob shake, the lock being checked. An instant later he rejoined Garvan at my bed.