by Lucas Thorn
Cigar clenched between two big knuckles on his left hand.
He touched tongue to the tip of his fingers before turning each page.
During the flip of paper, he’d look at her.
Wistful smile.
Suck a deep pull from the cigar.
Exhale gently.
Then look down. Content to admire without intrusion.
Each time he did, she wanted to throw herself at him. Tear the newspaper to pieces. Spit in his face. And rip his throat open with the shattered ends of his cup.
Instead, she pretended calm.
And waited for Senka to grow bored.
“His name is Peter,” Senka said as she dropped into the chair next to Vasilja. “He’s most fascinating.”
“Most fascinating,” Vasilja said, mimicking with exaggerated girlishness. “I think it was a mistake to let you come with us. We should have left you at home. Listen to you. I think I liked you better when you wanted to bite everything that moved.”
“He knows so many things. About law. Medicine. And even science. He’s studied them all.”
“He looks shabby, Senka. Look at his clothes. And I can smell him from here. He lives in a brothel, I’m sure of it. I’ll wager he never finished his study. Did he?”
“Study bores him. He wanted to study people instead.”
“For what purpose? That sounds a lot like wasting time. He’s not a writer, is he? Oh, he is, isn’t he? Of course. The shabby clothes. The silly moustache. The way he walks like every woman needs to know him. How distressingly banal.”
“He showed me some of his pieces. They’re very short. I like them.”
“You only like them because they’re short. If they were of a proper and decent size, you’d get bored.”
Senka shrugged. “I didn’t think I liked poetry before.”
“I’m sure what he’s writing isn’t poetry.”
“It sounds like it to me.”
“Can we leave this place, Senka? I want to see a recital. I’ll go crazy if I have to sit here any longer with the sight of old men drinking tea. And their cigars make me want to strangle every last one of them. The stink of it! How can anyone stand it?”
The young vampire looked about to argue.
Pout had already touched her lips.
Then sighed. “Hailwic left you with me, didn’t she? You don’t trust me to be on my own.”
“It’s your first time in the city, Senka. We were all a bit giddy our first time.”
“Even you?”
“You’re lucky it’s me who’s looking after you. If it was Hailwic, you’d be screaming like a trapped wolf by now. On my first trip away from Transylvania, she tied a ribbon from my wrist to hers. It wasn’t long enough for me to walk more than a pace behind her.”
“She didn’t!”
“She did.” Indignant scowl. “It was bright red, too. So, everyone saw it. And she didn’t mind. She told them I was her dim-witted sister, and that if she didn’t keep me close I would run off and play with gypsies or something equally unattractive to city people. I haven’t tied a leash to you, so it would be nice if you showed just a little gratitude.”
Senka was still grinning. “I’ll try.”
“Then, can we please leave? That dreadful man is staring at us.”
Senka turned and waved.
Cheeky grin at her lips as Peter flushed with pleasure.
“I thought you wanted me to learn how to control people, Vasilja.”
“Yes, but not his kind. He makes me sick to my stomach. Look at him. He’s a stray dog looking for a tree to urinate against. That’s all he is.”
“What a thing to say!”
“And, to him, you’re the tree.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Come on, Senka. That’s it. I’ve had enough. If we don’t leave, I’ll bite everyone here. Including you.”
The young vampire put her hand to her throat. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. The smell of this coffee makes me irritable.”
“Won’t Hailwic wonder where are?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s gone to see Dracula’s lawyer.”
“He has one here?”
“He has one in most reasonable cities. There’s usually also a banker at the very least, but not here. If there was, I’d go and see him. I like bankers. They’re a lot more like us than most people. If Dracula was here, he would have told his lawyer. He’d want to get more money to start with. Especially considering the kinds of places he likes to stay. Nothing but the best for him.”
“Is that what Hailwic’s doing? Getting more money?”
“Why? Have you spent all yours already?”
“I wanted the coat.”
“We gave you enough for at least a hundred coats. Your tailor must be very happy right now.”
“He was worried his wife would kill him. I kept him too late. I offered to talk to her.”
“Yes?”
“He said she’d definitely kill him, then.”
Vasilja put her arm around the younger vampire and smiled as they left the coffeehouse. “Hailwic says you’re changing, Senka. She says you’ll change us all one day. Please don’t change that much. I love you just as you are, you know.”
“Love?” Senka showed her teeth. Put her top hat on and adjusted its balance. It was only slightly too big and tended to push down uncomfortably on her ears. “Or is it you’re just amused at how I don’t know everything like you do?”
Shrug. “It’s the same thing, in the end.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
They linked arms and strolled down the street. Vasilja loosening her shoulders the further from the coffeehouse they got.
In the distance, sound of a violin. A cello.
“Oh, listen to that, Senka. Listen!”
“I don’t know much about music.”
“You don’t need to. Just listen to it. Feel it. Isn’t it like rushing blood soaring across your tongue?”
“Not really.”
“You’re a monster.”
The little hall was almost full, but Vasilja swept inside like it belonged to her. She clasped tight to Senka’s hand, trembling with excitement as the violin wept.
Breathless, Vasilja slid into a vacant chair and stared.
Stared at the young woman dressed in blue and white. Lit by a row of gaslight lamps at the front of the stage. Standing like a wounded tree in the absolute centre.
Eyes closed.
Mouth offering the smallest of movements as she worked her bow.
Senka looked around at the crowd.
Most seemed fairly clean, she thought. The coffeehouse hadn’t been dirty, but there was an obvious difference in the people here.
Rich, she thought.
Self-conscious, she looked down at her clothes.
The coat and suit beneath were very nice. A few gentlemen in the crowd wore similar, though they’d left their coats outside.
The ladies, however, dressed like Vasilja.
Roses in hair. Bows and lace.
Immaculate.
Senka fidgeted for most of the performance, feeling a rising sense of unease every time someone in the crowd caught her eye. They always frowned.
Mostly surprised.
A little curious.
Their gazes would slide across to Vasilja, and the curiosity would rise.
Two women. One dressed as a man.
What were they thinking?
Heat licked the inside of her chest. A buzzing of bees, their hive her heart.
She hadn’t felt out of place at the coffeehouse. In fact, Peter had complimented her boots.
But here?
Here she was a thing to be scrutinised. Every choice questioned.
How did Vasilja stand it?
The other vampire was utterly absorbed by the violinist on stage.
Didn’t notice the staring.
Didn’t seem to care.
“Brahms,” Vasilja
said softly between her teeth. Aimed the words to Senka’s ear. “It’s Brahms who composed this sonata. And she’s simply amazing with it, don’t you think? Her name is Marie Soldat. Did you know Soldat means soldier? Hailwic would like that. She should have come with us.”
“Everyone is looking at me.”
“Not everyone, Senka. Only most of them.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I told you to wear a dress.”
“But I like these clothes. They’re comfortable.”
“Fashion isn’t about being comfortable. It’s about wearing a uniform which allows others to make a judgement as to what we are.”
“Peter didn’t judge me.”
“That’s because he was busy thinking about what was under your uniform, Senka.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say about him. He was very nice.”
“Only because he wanted to get you out of your clothes.” Sigh. “Look, Senka. It’s your choice to make, of course. You can wear the hat and coat if you want, but you’ll need to learn to accept that other people will find it very strange. And people always look at things they don’t understand. They’re trying to figure out if they like you or not.”
“I don’t want them to like me.”
“That’s not your choice to make. You can choose how you feel about them, but you can’t choose how they feel about you.” Smug smile. “At least, not unless you can learn my power. And I don’t think you can.”
“Then can’t you make them all stop staring at me?”
“Possibly. But why should I? That’s a lot of energy I’d have to spend just because you wanted to wear your hat. I might need that energy on the way back to the hotel.”
“Oh? What for?”
Vasilja tilted her head closer to Senka’s ear. “We’re in Vienna, dearest sister. This music is making my blood race. I am surrounded by people whose lives have no real meaning to either themselves or anyone else in the city. In fact, the only ones who’d value them at all are the two of us. So, what do you think I mean?”
“We’re going to bite one of them?”
“Hush. Let me listen to the rest of the performance in peace.”
“Of course,” Senka said. “I won’t say another word. I promise.”
She didn’t understand the music. Couldn’t grasp why Vasilja enjoyed it so much.
Sometimes the sound of the violin was like chalk on a board to her ears.
She tried not to flinch.
Tried not to sigh.
And, as final applause made the hall vibrate and the violinist was taking her bow, she still waited until Vasilja took her hand before speaking again. “There are two at the front. One has a white flower in his jacket. And his hair looks like he uses glue to keep it in place.”
“I saw them.”
“They kept looking. And I didn’t like it.”
Vasilja’s smile was broad as she glided with the crowd. “Then let’s find them. And let them take us somewhere quiet. Somewhere secret. Somewhere dark.”
“And bite them.”
“There you go,” Vasilja giggled. “Something we can do together which we both enjoy. The night is not wasted.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Senka dreamed while her body lay in torpor during the day.
Dreams which echoed her revelry.
Bats with eerie green eyes swarmed high above while she danced through Vienna’s cobbled streets. Blood pooled in the gutters and bodies were strewn across paths. Parks. Draped across window sills, glass hanging in shattered teeth from their frame.
Her army was a foul and twisted band of demons, eyes burning with venomous green Fel energy. Voices chanting unholy songs born in the deepest pits of Hell.
Songs of murder.
Songs of doom.
Songs of perverse and bestial lust.
Drums beat the rhythm, a constant doom-ridden pulse which measured the frenzy of battles fought, won, and celebrated.
She danced among her horde, stealing blood and kisses.
Whirling into the air, she hovered above the city. Now her city.
Watched as Felfire blasted from the ground, spewing more demons into the streets. They floundered on uncertain legs. Then rose, ready to fight.
She laughed as St Stephen’s Cathedral burned. Consumed by foul green flame.
Laughed as screams played their own demented tune from the hill on which thousands were skewered on heavy wooden stakes. Their agonies amplified by torments devised and inflicted by droves of female demons with exotic tools of torture hung from their belts.
Ardent passion flamed the vampire as she spun, eyes searching the violence.
She looked down at her hands. Clawed nails dripping blood.
And saw veins glowing green beneath her pale skin. Lit by Fel.
Shaking, she held them up in front of her.
What was this?
A demon roared. Bestial sound which made her stomach churn.
Panic.
The song. In her ears. It wasn’t battle. It was the song of Fel. The Felstone, corrupted heart of Hell, was singing to her. Through her.
“Hailwic,” she croaked. “Hailwic! What’s happening to me?”
“What are you complaining about now, Senka?” Hailwic sighed from behind.
Senka turned. Hailwic’s eyes leaked Fel.
Black horns drove out through her forehead, long and curved. Fingers elongated and ending in cruel claws. Mouth filled with fangs. The terrible beauty remained, but now she looked more powerful.
Evil armour wound around her lithe form like a living carapace.
No vampire anymore.
Demoness.
Senka screamed.
And screamed again as her body erupted from torpor to the alluring smell of fresh blood and the peeling air of death.
Vasilja leapt on her, the vampire shoving hand across Senka’s mouth. “Hush, sister! Hush. It’s alright. You’re safe. Listen to me, Senka. Stop screaming. Listen. It’s alright.”
Senka’s eyes rolled as she struggled to break free.
Then quieted when she saw Hailwic.
Beautiful Hailwic.
No horns. No strange armour.
The blonde vampire stood quivering with rage.
It was that rage which softened Senka’s struggles. Was Hailwic angry with them? Had she found out about them biting the two men?
Hailwic’s eyes burned with anger, making Senka flinch into her coffin.
“I’m sorry, Hailwic,” she mewed. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Mean what?”
Senka looked from Hailwic to Vasilja. Not sure what was happening.
Looked down.
Her white dress was wet with blood. From chin to navel.
“Senka,” Vasilja hissed. “Hush.”
And there was a body at the foot of her coffin. A man she’d seen in the coffeeshop. An old man.
Lay on his back. Big knife buried in his belly.
Bruised and battered face toward the ceiling. Mouth open, leaking drool and blood. Ghastly emptiness to him as his eyes, milky and dry, stared into death.
Old white shirt. Stained with sweat and travel.
Pants of tweed. Patched at the knees.
Coat, he’d left on the chair.
He’d come into their room. Seen them in their coffins. How long had he stood there? Staring at them?
Then draped his coat over his chair. Rolled up his sleeves.
Opened his bag.
Senka’s mouth dropped open as she saw the stake and hammer by his gnarled hands. Hands curled in death.
But, once, those hands had gripped the stake with every intention to nail it into her heart.
“Senka?” Vasilja helped her climb out of her coffin, lifting the younger vampire with ease. Held her close. “Senka, are you alright? Do you need air?”
“I don’t know. Vasilja, what happened? He tried to kill us?”
“Dimiti was here,” Hailwic said. “He kept us safe.”
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“He’s a good man,” Vasilja said. “You did very well, Dimiti.”
“I tried, Lady.”
The old man’s voice was weak, and Senka shot a glance to where he sat on the floor against the wall. One knee up. One arm across the knee. The other across his belly.
Blood ribboned down from a wide gashing wound in his neck.
Another hole in his chest soaked his shirt black with blood. Wide pool stretching across the floor around him.
“Dimiti?” Senka swallowed hard. “You saved me, Dimiti? You?”
“Aye, Miss.”
“But he must have been standing right in front of me.”
“Had the stake to your heart, he did. When I came in. It were a close thing, Miss.”
“But I wanted to bite you,” she said. Struggled to understand.
“Aye, Miss.”
She pushed away from Vasilja and knelt beside him. Blood tang sweet in the back of her mouth, but she pushed it aside. Pressed a hand to his shoulder.
Looked up to Vasilja. “Have you called for a doctor?”
Amusement twinkled the vampire’s eyes. “He doesn’t need one, Senka. He drank my blood, remember? He’ll heal. It might hurt for a little while, though, and there’s nothing a doctor can do about that.”
“Can’t we do anything for him? Dimiti? Do you want anything? Tea? Would you like tea? All the old men drink tea. They say it’s good for their health and makes them feel better.” She flew to her coat. “I’ll get you tea, Dimiti.”
“It’s fine, Miss.”
“Tea.” More firmly.
“Senka?” Vasilja called as the younger vampire whipped the door open. “Wait!”
“Go with her,” Hailwic said. Voice clipped.
“But-”
“There might be others. Go with her.”
Sigh. “This is a terrible idea. And you shouldn’t keep letting her do what she wants like this.”
“Just go.”
Vasilja ran, kicking the door shut behind her.
Leaving Hailwic to stare down at the body of the vampire hunter.
“Have you seen him before, Dimiti?”
“No, Miss.”
“He wasn’t hanging around the hotel? Or the wagons?”
“No. I’m sure I would’ve seen him, even if I didn’t know what he was. When I opened the door and saw him, it was the first time I’d ever clapped eyes on him, I swear.”
She nodded.
