Vampire Mafia: Santa Cruz

by Jackson Stein

  “Good morning, Macgregor,” I said. “It is a cold morning, but a glorious one indeed.”

  “That’s for certain, I say, and I’ll not have you catching ill on y’ere biggest birthday. No sir, young Vladdie. I won’t be hear’n of it.” A careful smile flashed across his lips. “And, by the way, happy birthday to you as well, son.”

  Macgregor held a thick goose-feather quilt under his arms, and he immediately wrapped it around my shoulders, rubbing the chill from my bare arms. “We’ll need to be prepar’n your finest suit, then. It’s sure to be a grand celebration this evening,” he said with a wink.

  “Thank you, Macgregor. I hope my father will be here to share in the festivities as well,” I said as I stood, still shivering, and then walked under the archway and down the great stairway for the first time not as a boy…but as a man of proper age to be the official prince of Wallachia.

  The ball was to begin at precisely sundown. I realized, painfully, that there was still no sign of my father or any new word of his safe return. I knew he would not miss my coming-of-age ceremony unless some horrible tragedy had befallen him and his men. I stood in front of the full length mirror in my quarters with the gritty distress for his welfare washing over me time and again. I held my chin high, grinding my teeth with frustration as I dressed in my formal attire.

  If my father could not make this once-in-a-lifetime event, it meant he was risking his life, saving our kingdom, saving his people. It would be selfish of me, even foolish, to demand he refrain from his sworn duty to uphold the safety of the Wallachian people.

  Nevertheless, in my heart, I hoped he would somehow make it home before the night was over. I took a deep breath and walked to the castle’s common area, where intoxicating aromas filled the room and a servant placed my favorite dinner in front of me with a deep bow. The mouth watering sight of roasted goose wrapped in sugared bacon and glazed with plum sauce immediately spiked my appetite and I ate my full share wholeheartedly.

  As I was finishing my meal, I noticed Macgregor walking toward me. His eyes showed sadness, and I realized they held bad news.

  “I have received word of the whereabouts of the Wallachian army,” he said in an official air, concealing any emotion. “Our men are due to return in one fortnight.” He paused and let the horrible news settle into my mind. “The Ottoman Empire has established a stronghold on the border of Bulgaria, bearing down on the opposing Bulgarian forces. Our allies have requested our additional support and it has been granted by the king.”

  “Our allies need to learn to fight and win their own battles!” I heard myself growl as my stomach sank.

  “Vladdie, you don’t understand, lad—the Ottoman Empire is now putting up much more of a fight than expected, and unfortunately, we’ve just received more terribly grim news. Our own General Dragomir has been captured, dragged off the battlefield, and taken behind the Bulgarian borders.”

  I knew General Stephan Dragomir’s reputation of being both a great warrior and my father’s right hand on the battlefield. His capture surely cast a heavy sadness over our army, even though he was not killed, only taken. There still remained a small chance of negotiations to bring him safely home.

  “The Turks will be sorry they ever crossed my father,” I ground out as my jaw clenched, my brittle heart cracking in my chest as I sat there. The food in my stomach turned sour. I stood, feeling awkward and rigid. I felt my chin absorb the news with a quick quiver I hoped no one saw, and I tried my best to disguise my emotion as I walked into the main ballroom where the festivities were just beginning.

  Music from the royal orchestra floated through the air of the enormous ballroom. Hundreds of townspeople milled about and talked amongst themselves. A trumpet’s fanfare announced my presence and everyone stopped in place, clapping and smiling. With Macgregor by my side, I took my place behind the royal table, which had been placed on an elevated stage overlooking the ballroom.

  Members of other royal families in attendance were seated at the table as well. They looked at me, passively smiling, as they made clapping motions with one or two gloved fingers against the backs of their other hand.

  The whole night now seemed meaningless and empty without my father’s presence, but I shrugged it off. He would return soon and I would be fighting at his side. With that in mind, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, determined to enjoy the evening’s celebration as best I could.

  And then I saw her.

  The most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. Her long blond hair ran down the length of her slender body, her dress accenting every beautiful curve. She stood tall and lean, with long, gazelle-like legs and an ample bosom. Her sapphire-marine eyes were bright and hypnotizing, like deep pools of clear blue water.

  And then I recognized her.

  This was the poor peasant girl from town I had seen working at the trade fair selling sheets of cloth woven from wool. This was the girl who dressed in ragged, unfitting clothes and without shoes.

  Now she looked so different, so ravishing. Her beauty stole my attention. I realized at once that this unmistakable attraction was indeed a powerful one. She seemed to look over at me and smile. She straightened when she noticed my gaze and her eyes flashed with interest. Not knowing what to do next, I raised my glass of wine in her direction just as she turned away.

  Macgregor again appeared at my side, whispering in my ear. “Young Vladdie, it is time for the ceremony to begin. You must rise and approach the head priest who will ordain you, with God’s acceptance, as our royal prince.”

  I stood, took a deep breath, then walked up a few stairs to the center of the main podium. Once at the top, I looked on all the happy townspeople in attendance, but only searching for the blond girl with the sapphire-marine eyes.

  The priest began to speak. “Vlad, the third, in the presence of God, do you accept, from our ruler and king, your joining of ranks into the royal army, and do you swear to defend her with all your might even if the resulting effort shall surely mean your own death?”

  “I do,” I said softly, and at that moment, I spotted her in the crowd. Again, I became mesmerized by her poise. I watched her move around the ballroom in wonder.

  How could this girl, so elegant, be a peasant?

  She moved like royalty, like a princess. I decided I would ask her for my first honorary dance. The priest still spoke, though I had all but stopped listening.

  Finally, the priest concluded the ceremony and the crowd responded with roaring applause. He handed me a sacred chalice to drink from. I raised it to my people, and then drank deeply.

  Macgregor returned again, whispering at my ear. “Traditionally, lad, the first dance goes to the princess who is the frontrunner to be your wife.” He pointed to the end of our table with his elbow. “That would be Princess Agnes from Eastern Wallachia.” But I barely heard him.

  I absconded from the podium and blindly made my way through the crowd. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as my mind raced through the words I would say to her. I spotted her playfully chatting with a few of her friends, who seemed to be giggling as I approached.

  The crowd separated. She turned. Her porcelain doll-face flushed to a shade of pink rose, but her eyes would not be denied. I took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. An audible gasp of shock swirled through the room as the townspeople cleared the floor…and then…the band began to play the traditional coming-of-age waltz. I put my hand around her waist, holding her tightly against my body as we danced.

  “Congratulations Vlad, Prince of Wallachia,” she said tentatively. “I know you will be a great warrior and you will protect our kingdom for many years to come.”

  “May I ask your name, miss?”

  “Helena,” she said in barely more than a whisper. “My father raises sheep, and we sell the wool cloth each weekend at the town’s trade fair.”

  “Yes, I remember seeing you there,” I responded, watching her cheeks again redden. “You are looking more beautiful than ev
er, Miss Helena,” I said, and inexplicably leaned in and kissed her cheek just as the song ended.

  I spent the rest of the evening speaking with the royal families from surrounding castles. All congratulated me and wished me well. As the gala concluded, I watched Helena leaving with her friends. She smiled one last time in my direction as she walked out into the royal courtyard, disappearing from view. I secretly vowed to find her and ask her back to the castle when we would have more time to talk.

  That night, I must have fallen asleep again on my secret perch. When I awoke, I found myself wrapped in the fluffy down quilt, and I knew Macgregor had been here.

  Sensing a low rumbling in the distance, I stood and peered out over the great expanse before me. I saw a large plume of dust rising from the south and could almost hear the thunderous pounding of approaching horsemen. I stood excitedly waving my arms high overhead, even knowing I could not be seen, but I didn’t care. Excitement ran through my body in a powerful jolt, energizing my mind, uplifting my soul as happiness flooded my heart.

  I turned and ran through the archway behind me and down the spiraling stone staircase that wrapped around the tower’s interior. When I arrived at the common area, Macgregor was there waiting. He gazed at me with a knowing smile, then gave a slow nod that told me he, too, knew the king was approaching the castle. In his hands, he held my new battle garb, gleaming chainmail and helmet, and on the floor in front of him were new war boots, shined to perfection.

  “The king is due to arrive in two fingers, as the candle burns, Vladdie,” he said with the corners of his mouth curving up into a bright smile. “We had better get you dressed and ready to greet him in the receiving yard. A warm bath is being heated for you as well, son.”

  I smiled gleefully and felt much better knowing how much time I had to prepare. If it were not for Macgregor I would surely have rushed to the castle’s drawbridge and waited in my wrinkled underclothes.

  I bathed and dressed quickly before appearing in the common room, where a full breakfast greeted me. Thick slices of honey-cured ham, freshly scrambled hen eggs and warm-from-the-oven fluffy golden brown bread were placed in front of me.

  I pushed the plate back, untouched, much too excited to eat, and stood. Anticipation rose by the second as I peered from the front window. I saw many of the staff hustling to line up for inspection in the receiving yard. I walked out to join them, barely able to contain my emotions, but the waiting just seemed to only continue.

  I thought about how lonely my life had been in this castle, and I imagined how much my life was about to change. I had been raised solely by my caretakers, taught privately, fed by my personal chef, and clothed by my personal tailor. Some would say I’ve led a life of luxury. However, like most royal families, this life comes at a steep price.

  My life is one of desolation and solitude inside the cold stone walls of our castle. With my mother passed on and my father gone away at battle, I have existed in a constant state of heartrending isolation.

  I had never known a friend near my own age, never allowed to socialize with anyone outside the castle, never allowed to just be myself. I had come to understand the way things must be, the way it had been for the past generations. They say, “Heavy is the head, and the heart, who wears the crown,” and, indeed, they are right.

  But now, for the first time, I would become my father’s son. I’d join the ranks of the great warriors who have had the distinguished honor of fighting alongside our king, the legend, who is my father. The waiting had been almost impossibly difficult, but it would be worth every moment. I’d now be able to assist with the planning of battle strategies and listen in on the negotiations with our enemies as they surrendered to our demands.

  I would also be able to attend other social functions that I had not been allowed to attend thus far, meet others my age, and even take a wife.

  Over the years, I had longed to get to know my father better. Not as the king of Wallachia, but as the man whose blood runs through my veins. Most of his time is spent away on long mysterious journeys to faraway places, traveling to different royal meetings or on to the next battle. I had only seen my father twice in the last three years, and then just in passing.

  But I understood his job did not include entertaining me, and I fully realized the importance of being a worthy prince. I must be prepared to make whatever sacrifice necessary to sustain prosperity across our land. My father’s job is to rule our kingdom to the best of his ability and I had to respect that role, and even prepare to one day succeed him.

  Finally, the drawbridge began its descent. Butterflies fluttered through my stomach and my heart raced after them. The wood creaked and groaned as the men released the great locks that held it in place. The drawbridge leaned outward over the water, suspended by thick ropes that led down to two enormous wheels, one on each side of the great door.

  Each wheel was manned by six servants faithfully holding the tonnage of iron and wood in place. I could hear the loud tick-tick-tick-tick of the gears engaging, and then releasing as the massive bridge lowered inch by inch. I knew the moment had finally come when it landed on the far side of the moat with a solid and dusty thud…and for a moment everything went silent.

  I held my breath as horses began to press somberly forward through the gate, their slow, clonking hooves echoing through the narrow stone tunnel that led into the castle’s courtyard. The defeated looks on the faces of the men told the story of what had happened in battle.

  This was the first time I had witnessed an arrival home of an army at battle. Our castle’s tradition strictly forbids children from attending these ceremonies. If the casualties are too devastating a child may lose his nerve to fight on the battlefield. But I am no longer a child, I am now eighteen.

  I felt like celebrating their return but couldn’t help feeling the gloomy and morose mood hovering over them like a black cloud. Their heads hung low, their mouths held slack, their eyes disoriented. I could see many men were severely injured and still bleeding, and I knew many had not returned at all. A surge of panic flashed through my mind as I realized our king might be one of the casualties.

  Then my father emerged from the group and dismounted from his steed. His waxen face looked gaunt, with stark shadows cutting down from his nearly emaciated cheekbones. His long hook nose, that seemed suddenly too large for his boney face, led down to thin red lips, ending in a rather pronounced overbite. His small black eyes flashed across the yard as he handed the reins of his great stallion to a servant, and we watched the great beast being trotted off to the royal stables.

  He wore thick chainmail under his traditionally long black cape. His tunic displayed two brightly colored icons. Our castle’s family crest clearly visible alongside the barren red and yellow cross belonging to the Order of the Dragon. I thought back to how my father’s masterful plan had indeed come to its fruition. King Sigismund of Hungry wisely inducted him as a member of the Order just before his death and we gained the full support of the all-mighty Catholic Church.

  I stood in awe of the scene, smiling as my father approached. I wanted to run to him with open arms and hug him in his return, but I knew I must stay in my place, waiting in the proper formation of other members of the royal court.

  He walked to the first line and briefly greeted the many commanders and captains that had not accompanied him in battle because of previous injury or who had simply been held back to defend the castle if the need arose. I watched him whispering orders into the ear of his personal caretaker, Alexandru, and then he made his way up to the castle’s staff, which stood rigidly in a straight-line formation.

  He first addressed Mr. Iordache, the castle’s head chef. I looked over at the man’s ruddy red face with great respect and admiration, realizing life inside this dreary castle would simply not be the same without him. The king approached Mr. Iordache with an angry scowl on his pale, drained face.

  “My men are hungry and tired. Roast your fattest hog immediately and open a ba
rrel of wine. You have two hours.” He paused and looked at the chef for some time without speaking. Then he added, “And one more thing, Iordache—if you overcook the pig again, it shall be your head.”

  Waves of shock rippled through me at hearing what he had said. I thought I must have misheard him, or at the very least misunderstood the seriousness and context of his words. I had witnessed my father’s anger before but this seemed uncalled for. I decided his words came only from the frustration of the lost battle.

  Yet, I stood, puzzled, as I watched our great king make his way down the line toward me.

  The next staff member he approached, named Camelia, stood motionlessly—she was my chambermaid and one of the castle’s many governesses.

  He looked her up and down as if inspecting her immaculate black and white uniform. Camelia has beautifully striking features, with rich mahogany hair, unforgettably big brown eyes, and smooth, olive-toned skin.

  She is more than a few years older than I and very wise in the ways of the castle. Her duties range from serving as the castle’s head governess to acting as my personal chambermaid. She also coaches me on how to use the proper etiquette that someone of a princely stature would be expected to possess, from how to hold my head and chin with the correct posture…to which fork to use at which time.

  Even though I have not yet had the opportunity to put my social skills to use, I understand their importance because Camelia has always been very careful to take the time to explain how our behavior represents the traditions and customs of the Kingdom. Now that I have come of age, I will be expected to participate in all of the castle’s royal functions, and, thanks to Camelia, I will be ready.

  I imagine she has done everything my mother would be doing for me if she were alive today.

  My father stared at her in silence. Then his lip suddenly curled upward into a tight snarl, as if showing great displeasure. His brow began to crease together, transforming his bloodshot eyes into thin slits that bore into her. First he stared down at her full breasts, then into her beautiful brown eyes.