by Jamie Ott
“Why is that?”
“Because we don’t all agree with their new ways. We are who we are, and we shouldn’t be ashamed of that, nor should we be persecuted for doing the things we enjoy, things we’ve done for centuries. If the council could have their way,” he said nastily, smoke flowing through his nostrils, in between bites, “We’d all hide away in caves and never see the light of day again.”
Though The Council was highly suspicious, to Starr, she couldn’t help but wonder if Bulgari was being overdramatic. Louisa Credenza hardly seemed like the hiding in a cave sort.
“Preaching again, I see,” said a man in a bright red suit, carry a silver staff he held for show, rather than need. “I’m Fer-r-rnand,” he boasted loudly, and bent over to kissed Starr’s hand.
Fernand was a tall vampire with long reddish blond hair, not so unlike Lucenzo, the one who’d given her, her beloved knives.
“He is my br-r-rother. I haven’t seen him in years, but he emailed me about you, told me you were coming, and he was right, you are a knockout!” he smiled broadly, grabbed Starr by the shoulders and kissed her on each cheek. “Those sickles, you should know how ‘especiale’ they really are,” he said with an Italian accent. “Lucenzo won them at auction; supposedly, they belonged to a medieval Carpathian warrior, and the rubies are priceless,” he said exuberantly, with arms flailing, as Italians liked to talk with their hands. “How lovely that they’re finally being put to use, haha,” he laughed gleefully.
Feeling irritated by, yet, another mind reader, Starr felt her face warm.
“I beg your pardon. As we get older, our abilities grow, including an ability to communicate with each other, mentally.”
“It’s alright,” said Starr, trying to sound as if she meant it.
“In the future, you will get used to it. You will learn to have conversations with other people in rooms outside yours,” he said with a large smile, his eyes twinkling in the candle light.
“Yes but you can learn to block out mental intruders, if you want. You must close your mind,” Bulgari whispered into her ear.
“How did Lucenzo know that I was coming here?”
“I’m not sure, but he just told me to look out for you, and to help you, should you need it. He has a good eye for the ladies, you know what I mean?”
When a woman came in, jingled a golden bell, and told them all that dinner was ready to be served, Starr was relieved. She hoped she could shake the flirtatious Italian as they filed into the dining hall.
Over the long dining table, she’d seen in her mind earlier, the goats were tethered to enormous spits that had been removed from the fires only moments before, as they gave off heat and fragrant meat scent.
“That smells delicious!” exclaimed Fernand, who took Starr’s hand with force, and led to her a place at the table.
Over the next several hours, Starr met many vampires; some were over 150 years old. They seemed to be delighted by Starr, telling her how pretty she was when dressed like a lady. This, also, angered her! Were people watching her all the time? How do they know how she dresses?
“Some of us saw you, earlier today, and as you took out that gang of Gypsies, oh my, my, my…” said a middle aged looking vampire, sitting directly across from her, by the name of Lord Lucas, shook his head. “I’ve never seen a woman who could fight like that,” he said as he scooped a bit of sauced goat into his mouth.
“My dear, you were breath taking, a woman after my own heart,” said the man who sat to Lucas’ right, who spoke with an English accent. “Have you ever tried fencing?”
Starr shook her head.
“Oh please,” said a woman in silk red frock. “She is not the strongest vampire in the world.”
“Maybe not, but no one has the skill that this young lady has,” barked Lord Lucas, coming to Starr’s defense.
The woman looked at Starr, back to Lord Lucas, rolled her eyes and looked away.
Starr reached for the bottle of red wine, in front of her.
“Allow me,” said Fernand, as he pulled the cork and poured. “He told me what a beauty you were but terrifying and strong, all at the same time. Not much unlike Louisa Credenza, if I may say so. You know, you look somewhat like her. Are you related?”
“No,” said Starr incredulously.
She was nothing like that wicked woman.
“In these times of upheaval and shifting of power, to have you would be quite an asset,” Lord Lucas leaned in and whispered across, and under, the spit.
Thinking back to Bulgari’s earlier comment about The Council, Starr asked “Can you tell me about this shifting of power?”
“No,” said Madam Balaji, at the other end of the table. “No politics tonight, only fun.”
“What you’re asking is a subject that inspires fighting words,” Lucas said with a smirk, as he chewed on a piece of bread.
After a time passed, the servers cleared off their dishes and came around with gelato, miniature pizelle crisps, coffee and espresso.
Into her third bite, Lord Lucas asked, “Starr, will you be joining us on Friday for the hunt?”
“The hunt?” she queried.
“Uh,” Fernand cut across, “Uh, we like to go hunting; it is fun, but I’m sure you must be going on your way, soon, yes?”
“Yes, I shouldn’t stay so long. I need to get back home.”
After dessert, they went back into the Great Hall where they sipped brandies by the light of the five foot high fireplace.
“You know what gets me,” exclaimed the lady who rolled her eyes at Lucas “is there’s always going to be traditionalists. Sometimes people like the comfort of the old ways.”
“Yes,” Mitch, whom Starr hadn’t seen all evening, concurred uninterestedly.
“Why is it that the reformists always must squash the old conformists? Leave us alone, that is what I say.”
Starr watched them but asked no more questions. From the comment Bulgari made, and the others, that evening, it was easy to see that it was The Council oppressing other vampires, like those at the Castel de Negru. From the bits she’d picked up, since being at the castle, it was easy to presume that Credenza wanted to use Starr in her rise against other vampires.
They talked nonchalantly about things Starr knew not. Periodically, she thought she’d die of boredom, but then the English man from dinner approached her.
“May I have this duel,” he asked with a bow.
“What?” Starr was shocked.
In his arms, he carried two long, heavy swords.
“But Parker,” Fernand called the English man, “She has no jacket.”
“She doesn’t need a jacket, and I would love to find a fencing partner. We will just have a friendly assault.”
“Assault?” she asked.
“Yes, a game of sword combat.”
Suddenly, the room got quiet.
“Here, take your epee,” he said, handing her a long sword. “We will just play, nothing too serious.”
Starr turned as she watched him walk around her, sword at the ready.
“Raise your epee, Starr,” called Fernand.
It took a second longer for Starr to realize the epee was the sword.
Suddenly, he took a jab at her middle, in what Starr knew was called an attack. Instinctively, she blocked it in, what was called, attack au fer, or a beat.
Starr wasn’t a fencer, herself, but she watched it on television once, in the Olympic Games.
She remained dead still, turning on the spot as he crossed over, several times, moving to the left. Then, in, what was called a balestra, he lunged forward, but Starr side stepped as, at the same time, swinging her sword, upright, from right to left, knocking the sword from his hand.
Parker landed on his knees with a loud thump, on the hard wood floor. When he stood, it was to see bloody holes in cream colored pants.
Starr just stood there, wondering if she should apologize when the guests clapped and whooped
at her cleverness.
“You are magnificent!” yelled Parker.
Starr just smiled.
“I will call on you, we must fight full force. It is nice to meet someone who is a challenge!”
Starr knew what he meant only too well.
“Yeah, I’d like that. I’d like to learn to fence.”
“Brilliant,” Fernand grabbed Starr’s shoulders with his cold, hard hands, lifted her and put three wet kisses on her cheeks.
To his left, Bulgari exhaled a stream of smoke with a smile on his face as he stared at Starr.
“My, my, my,” uttered Lord Lucas, “you are magnificent.”
“You must come to call on Thursday because the party is Friday,” said Madam Balaji to Parker. “I will have a costume sent, special. It would be a shame to let such talent go to waste.”
“Parker, your pants are dreadful!” said Mitch, the scrawny blond.
“Yes, well, it is the first war wound I’ve had in centuries,” he laughed heartily.
Starr enjoyed the party, but it was a relief, to her when the guests left, as she’d already begun to doze off in her chair, spilling a bit of the amber liquid on her lovely dress.
“Starr!” Fernand exclaimed with arms wide opened. He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. “I’ll be back domani. We must have lunch, together. I cannot wait to tell Lucenzo about tonight!” and he kissed her several more times and walked off, not waiting for a goodbye.
Starr thanked Madam Balaji for a nice evening and bade her goodnight. She was relieved to retire, to be out of the dress, into her pajamas, and rest her head on the pillow.
Immediately, she lulled right into sleep, but, then, something awoke her, a sound. Was someone screaming?
She tried to forget it, but when there was a loud, continuous shout, Starr sat up in bed. With her mind, she scanned the castle for signs of trouble.
In the south end, there was a commotion. Like pictures in her mind, she saw the faces of men and women; they were scared.
She only saw them for a moment because, like throwing a blanket over her head, all went black. That had never happened to Starr before, and she knew, instantly, that someone had, in a sense, pushed her consciousness out of the room.
Briefly, she tried to make sense of what she’d just seen, but when nothing came to mind, she said “Whatever” to herself. “It’s none of my business,” and she lay back down.
The next morning, there was a knock on the door; it was Nina.
“Good morning,” she said. “Madam Balaji sent Manu, the driver, to pick up your things, earlier today.”
She walked into the room and put her bag on the floor next to the bed.
“Breakfast is served, every day, at 9:30 a.m. It is, now, 9:15. Okay?” she smiled and left.
Starr was irritated. Didn’t these vampires have any boundaries? They read her mind, go into her hotel room; poke through her stuff.
Fortunately, all her things were there, even her cash.
Into another pair of black leather pants, and a suede black sleeveless shirt, she walked down the cold hall, down the steps, to the dining area where Madam Balaji welcomed her to breakfast.
“How did you sleep?” asked Madam Balaji.
“Well, thank you. Good morning Adam, Bulgari, Mitch.”
A girl, Starr hadn’t met, offered her tea.
“I hope you don’t have plans, today, because I think you should see all of Castel de Negru. I’d like to give you the grand tour, after a bit of breakfast; then, Fernand will come by and we’ll show you the grand reservoir, and then visit the grand labyrinth.”
Starr didn’t like the sound of a labyrinth. Some of the grand ones could be as big as a football field. Many a person, throughout history, had gotten lost inside such “grandness” and died.
She sipped her English Black Tea. The server put an omelet on her plate.
When they’d finished breakfast, Madam Balaji led Starr back through the Great Hall, through the large door, into the back area where the pyre burned the vampires, the night before.
Starr noticed there were no ashes and that it was cleaned.
Looking outward, she also noticed that there were no walls to protect the back portion of the castle, but it was simply open space all the way out to a large mountain that was miles back.
They continued along a cement path that led them a few hundred feet away from the house. Up ahead, there was a large white wall, behind which, Starr could see the branches of trees and many little pipes, which she assumed was an irrigation system.
Midpoint between the wall and the house, there were two more cement paths that went left and right, but they continue straight until they reached the chunky wood door in the ten foot stucco wall.
Madam Balaji pulled a key from her pocket and turned the dead bolt.
“We have to keep this locked up or locals will come and ravage it.”
Inside, it reminded her of the natural gardens she’d visited on a grade school field trip, except this garden was 100 times more impressive with flowers of nearly every variety, and even some strange varietals of orchids, which, she thought, needed to be in high heat to survive.
“These are a Mediterranean flower; they are not orchids. They look similar, though, don’t they? They’re used to coastal climate, which means lots of fog and mist, so it’s not so bad for them here.”
They continued along the path. Every so often, they’d pass a garden worker spraying, mending, or breaking up soil.
“Here,” said Balaji, plucking a green apple from a really tall tree.
Starr took a bite and it was the most perfect, most firm apple with a crisp lemon-like taste.
“That is a true Mediterranean apple. You will learn that certain fruits and vegetables grow better in this part of the world. It is the perfect green house, not too hot, not too cold, plenty of moisture.”
As they passed further along, she sampled grapes, and strawberries, and then plums.
“This garden is nearly 100,000 square feet,” she said when Starr couldn’t believe she was looking half an acre of arugula. “This is our favorite green.”
“Who?”
“Mine, Adam, Bulgari, and Mitch. We are old friends. I guess you could say I was a tomb boy, as a child in the sixties. We stayed friends, though Adam and I were lovers once.”
After a few moments of silence, as they walked further along another isle, she said “So if you don’t mind me asking, why were you turned? You are so young, hardly the age we’d recommend turning.”
“How old do you recommend.”
“Well, at least 18, though older is probably better. I was thirty when I was turned, and I think it was perfect. I was a fully matured woman when I was turned, and now I am a fully matured woman forever. ”
“I was dying,” she said.
“Dying?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Mitch was dying, too, when he was turned: adolescent leukemia. What about your friends at the clinic? Did you turn them too?”
More mind reading, thought Starr angrily.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” she said through clenched teeth.
If Starr’s blood still pumped, her face would have flushed, for she was feeling uncomfortable with Madam Balaji asking questions. Still she answered, anyway.
“When Michael, my friend, turned me, he left me to learn of my new condition on my own,” they passed a lovely row of roses of every color.
Starr stopped, dead, in front of the roses that looked nearly black.
“I should have known you’d like these,” Madam Balaji smiled. “They are called Black Baccara roses, but, as you can see, they aren’t truly black, just really dark. I’ll have some sent up to your room.”
She bent over to see if they smelled, and they did, almost as good as the red roses.
Straightening back up, she continued, “I woke up and…” she paused, remembering her sister, dead, on the bed. She ski
pped over, “I smelled them, locked and scared, in a room. I broke it down and that was the first time I met Marla, Mica, and Shane.
After releasing them, I wandered the streets hungry, and not even realizing what for. I was strung out, beat up, and bloody. Naturally, a cop picked me up, assuming I was on drugs. He took me to a hospital and, when they discovered I was healthy, that I’d been attacked and was suffering shock, they stuck me in a city home for abandoned children.
Over a few days, one by one, the police brought Marla, Mica, and Shane in from the streets; they didn’t have families; which was probably why they were abducted, because no one would miss them.
Coincidentally, my room had the most vacant beds, and so the staff assigned us, all, to room together.
The next night, while we slept, I think I vamped out. I don’t remember doing it; I don’t remember drinking them and turning them.
Next morning, I woke and the room was a mess. Marla, Mica, and Shane were in their beds but they were different; their animal scent had gone. I knew they weren’t human, anymore; that they were like me, whatever I was, as I still hadn’t quite figured it out. They said I attacked them, one by one, and then stuffed them in the closet. Strange, really; it’s almost like my inner animal had a mind of its own; it knew it needed to get rid of their bodies, but, then, of course, they turned instead of died.”
She sighed loudly.
“It didn’t take us long to discover what we could do, and our new taste, our new hungers and desires. We felt empowered; we had grand illusions and fantasies of what it could mean, though they hadn’t quite forgiven me for trying to kill them.
Then came the time to make a decision, for the home we were in was only temporary until we were to find permanent placement: they were facing relocation, being sent to different orphanages and such, and me - my parents were supposed to come and get me by the end of the week - , but we feared that others would see us for what we were, and that that could be dangerous, so we ran away.
Marla had to leave, soon, anyway, because she was the oldest, at 21 years: the city only made special exceptions for minors to live rent free in homes if they got into under graduate school, directly: she was only 6 months away from graduation. Mica and Shane were still underage, at the time, but they were nearly eighteen.