Lord of the Vampires

by Jeanne Kalogridis

  Her lips twitched with faint amusement, but she restrained her merriment out of consideration for me. “He is called the Dark Lord because that is what He prefers to be called. And He is not necessarily a he.”

  I stared at her, confounded, as she pushed open my chamber door and drew me across the threshhold. “Come, my darling. You have much to learn.”

  3 MAY 1893, CONTINUED. Returned, returned—all my strength, all my power, all my joy and beauty, returned!

  Elisabeth led me inside my own chamber (which, appropriately, were now the old servants’ quarters), where my polished black casket lay open beside Dunya’s. Again she worked to repress a grin at the sight of the coffins, and was not entirely successful. At my questioning glance, she murmured, “How very dramatic … and how like Vlad. He has always been more obsessed with death than life.” She turned to me. “Zsuzsanna—are you able to keep a stunning secret from Vlad?”

  “I am. My thoughts are my own; he is not privy to them.”

  “I did not mean that, my darling. I could protect your thoughts from him—though this is indeed better, for it will not provoke his suspicion. I meant: Can you keep patiently silent, even in the face of the most thrilling revelation?”

  The diamond brilliant gleam of anticipation in her eyes quickened my own excitement. “Yes, of course—if silence is to my benefit.”

  “Oh, it shall be. I have returned only a portion of Vlad’s power to him—I lied and told him I could only accomplish it in increments, for I wished to know his true intent before I restored him completely. I do not trust him. But I can see that you, Zsuzsanna, are possessed of a good, honest nature; therefore, I shall restore you to full vigour this very hour.”

  I clapped my hands together in eagerness, though the act took a great deal of effort. “And Dunya too?”

  “As you wish. I have no doubt that she, too, must be deserving, if she has won the affection and loyalty of one so worthy as you. But here is the condition: You both shall perceive your restored beauty, and your strength—though to Vlad you will both appear as you are now. But you are neither to speak of your restoration, nor indulge your reclaimed powers in front of him. Do you swear to this?”

  “I do,” I answered, smiling for pure joy. I knew it would be difficult to keep from striking Vlad a mighty blow, or flaunting my greater abilities before him; but I was desperate to regain the life I had known. I would have sworn to anything.

  “Excellent,” she breathed, then glanced round the vast, cold room. “Darling, lie down.”

  I moved obediently towards the casket, but she shook her head. “No, not there. That is too gruesome a place, and we want no reminders of death! On the bed, Zsuzsanna.”

  Together we moved to the room’s far end, where a narrow, long-unused bed stood near a window. I drew back the heavy curtain surrounding the bed, and lay down upon the grey homespun blanket covering an ancient, lumpy mattress of straw.

  Elisabeth followed and knelt beside me, then patted the unyielding mattress with a groan of pure indignation. “Zsuzsanna, this is a servant’s bed!” She looked round the chamber with dawning realisation. “He has put you in the servant’s quarters!”

  I sighed. “I know.…”

  “No more for you, my darling! When you come with me, you shall sleep on pure down, in silks and satins and grandeur befitting a queen!”

  When you come with me …

  Had I a heart, it would have begun to beat faster then, for the notion that I should live with one who truly cared for me—and was so exquisite to behold—evoked a thrill of anticipation. Had I understood her aright? Was she truly suggesting that I break away from Vlad, and go to live with her?

  Was such a thing possible? I had always believed that Vlad’s fate and his power were inextricably bound to mine; that if he perished, I should too. At least, that is what Vlad himself had told me—and I had always believed him. Had I suffered here needlessly in this desolate castle because he had lied?

  Any anger I felt at Vlad was eclipsed by hope: perhaps he had lied to me, but that fact was actually more comforting than the thought that he had not. If I could break away from him, abandon this grim castle without fear and go with this amazing immortal woman to enjoy all that the grand cities of Europe have to offer …

  “Do you mean,” I whispered, “that I am not obliged to remain with him? He has told me that my existence depends upon his; is it—”

  Before I could utter the word true, Elisabeth countered angrily, “Believe nothing he has told you! There is no Devil—but the Prince of Lies lives, and his name is Vlad. My dear, I have known him almost three centuries, and I know his selfish mind: he made you as you are not because he was lonely or because he loved you, but because you flattered him, appealed to his masculine pride. And if he has told you that his destruction will bring about your own, it was only because he wishes to keep you enslaved by loyalty.”

  At this notion, I began to weep, for the truth was that I had worshipped him slavishly when I was alive, and there were still remnants of girlish adoration in my heart. To think that his motive in Changing me had not been love—

  “Ah, sweet child, don’t waste your tears over the likes of him.” Still kneeling, she pulled off the powder-blue gloves and carelessly cast them onto the floor; then she reached forward and took my hands into hers. Her flesh—softer than a child’s, and finer—possessed a febrile warmth, as though she had just held her palms over the fire for an hour to capture the heat. At the touch of it, I sighed. “You shall be returned to your former glory—perhaps more—and will have no further need of him.” She leaned forward until the entire world consisted of nothing but her glittering diamond-and-sapphire gaze.

  Brilliant as diamonds and just as cold, I thought, and shivered, abruptly seized by strange and irrational fear. “What shall you do to me?”

  “A kiss,” she whispered, bringing her face so close to mine that her sweet breath warmed my cheeks. “Only a kiss …” And she bent down until at last those soft, soft lips pressed against mine.

  How shall I describe it? How does one describe infinity or bliss to those who have not experienced them?

  I remember the night of my Change, after Vlad had left me to die—the sweet sensuality of it, the euphoria, the intriguing sharpening of all faculties: sight, sound, touch. The memory of those moments has stayed with me these five decades of undeath. Nothing, I thought, could supplant them; ah, but that was before Elisabeth’s kiss!

  So intense was that pleasure, so consuming, that for an unknown period I lost myself—lost all sense of my surroundings, of Elisabeth, of time, of anything at all in the world, save darkness and bliss. There was no I, no thing separate from this union with eternity.

  Given a choice, I would never have left it, for beside it even the attraction of immortality dimmed. But all too soon, I discovered that I had returned to my body, and that I lay upon the uncomfortable straw mattress and rough blanket staring up into Elisabeth’s delighted eyes.

  “Oh,” she breathed, putting a hand to her heart in amazement. “My Zsuzsanna … How beautiful you are!”

  And with the other hand, she drew me up to my feet. I rose easily, gracefully, and laughed aloud at the infinite strength that suddenly flowed into my limbs. Still holding my hand, she stepped back a pace to study me, then abruptly grasped a lock of my long hair and said gleefully:

  “Look, my darling, look!”

  I looked—and saw that the silver was once again coal-black, and imbued with a sparkling indigo sheen.

  “A mirror!” she cried, pacing about the spartan chamber, scanning its grey stone walls. “Where is the mirror? You must see!”

  “There are no mirrors,” I told her sadly. “Vlad destroyed them all long ago. Even if there were, I could not see my own reflection.”

  “Bah!” And she pulled my hand and dragged me out into the hall. “To my chambers at once!”

  And together we ran up and down staircases; this time, I had no difficulty remaining by her s
ide. When we had at last come to her room—on the eastern side of the castle, where we house guests—she flung the door open, revealing countless suitcases and trunks, and a stout, surly-faced young woman, as plain as Elisabeth was fair.

  She gestured at the woman. “This is my attendant, Dorka; she is utterly discreet. Dorka, this is Vlad’s niece, the Princess Zsuzsanna. You must treat her with the utmost respect.”

  Dorka gave a half-hearted, unsmiling curtsy.

  “Fetch my mirror at once,” Elisabeth ordered, her admiring gaze on me as she held out an impatient hand to her servant. When Dorka had moved from the sitting-room where we stood to the bedchamber, her mistress said, “So, Zsuzsanna, have you never seen yourself as an immortal?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, you shall,” she replied, just as Dorka came running and huffing back into the room with a lovely handheld mirror encased in fine gold and inlaid with pearls and diamonds. The servant placed it in Elisabeth’s waiting hand, then withdrew to give us our privacy. “Look, Zsuzsanna. Look at what you have become.”

  I took the glass. And cried out in pleased amazement at the woman I saw there. Nay, woman is too unflattering a word. Angel, vision—these are words that better describe what I saw. Dunya had been right that my portrait did not give proper tribute to my beauty.

  For fifty years I had not seen the woman in the mirror: a raven-haired young beauty, black tresses agleam with electric indigo, sharp teeth of pearl, lips of ruby, brown eyes asparkle with molten gold. My skin was as delicate and porcelain as Elisabeth’s, and shimmering with mother-of-pearl glints of colour: rose, turquoise, seafoam-green. Even the sharp features I had inherited from Vlad—the thin hawkish nose, the pointed chin, the thick black brows—were softened now to delicate perfection.

  I gazed up from this wonderment to see Elisabeth grinning broadly in approval, like an artist greatly pleased with her creation. She reached for the mirror, but I would not let it go; at that, she laughed softly.

  “I was tempted to change the teeth,” said she. “But I left it to your discretion, in case you found them aesthetically pleasing.”

  “But I must have them! How else shall I feed?”

  Her voice lowered as though she were indulging a dark secret, and feared that someone might overhear. “My dear. There are as many different ways of ‘feeding,’ as you call it, as there are those brave enough to attain immortality.”

  “But Vlad created me,” I protested. “And a vampire’s bite begets another vampire. How else can it be?”

  “It can be however you desire it, Zsuzsanna.”

  “But how?”

  “Vlad’s pact with the Dark Lord need not control you.”

  The thought of that mysterious creature, Devil or no, terrified me; I lowered the looking-glass and recoiled, whispering, “The Dark Lord …”

  To distract me, she took my free hand and pressed the palm to my own cheek. “Tell me what you feel, my darling. Tell me what you feel.”

  For a full minute I was too overwhelmed to speak. At last, I sighed, “Warmth.” My eyes had filled with tears; one at last spilled onto my cheek, my fingers. A hot tear.

  “Is that not more pleasant than being cold as a corpse? Vlad is so obsessed with the ghoulish.”

  “You must revive Dunya!” I cried, grasping her arm and pulling her towards the closed casket. I returned her mirror to her and flung open the lid to reveal the sleeping occupant—so withered and frail.

  Elisabeth approached and peered inside. “Ah … A sweet young peasant girl.” She gazed up at me. “You must be patient. I have restored you in full and Vlad in part; my reserves of strength are diminished. I shall have to rest now, but I promise you I will deal with her to-morrow.”

  “But dawn is only a few hours away,” I protested, eager to remain in her company. “And then you can rest all day.…”

  “No, I shall be up in time to enjoy the sunrise. I only require two hours’ rest as a rule, more when I have exerted myself as I have to-night. Dear me, child, Vlad’s silly notion that you are restricted to the night hours has taken quite a toll on your enjoyment.”

  “But it is true—the sun pains me horribly. Yes, I can venture out if I must, but it weakens me and is dreadfully unpleasant.”

  “It need not be. Why should you not be able to enjoy both night and day?”

  The question gave me pause. I remembered my one journey to Vienna a quarter-century before, and the disappointment I felt at not being able to ever go into the Konditorei and sample the buttery pastries, or enter the dress shops, with their glorious new fashions. The one dress I purchased in Vienna—from a trembling old tailor, near blind, the only one who would venture out at midnight to a hotel to fit me—is now two decades outdated. I looked at Elisabeth’s gown, with its more modest décolleage, fitted hips, and narrower skirt—and a flounce of gathered fabric at the derrière, which I had never before seen.

  “But how—” I began.

  She shook her head. “We have much to talk about. Don’t worry, darling”—for my disappointment was no doubt visible—“we will meet again to-morrow night. Until then …”

  And she took my hand, bent down, and kissed it as a man might; a disturbing and undeniable thrill passed through me as she did so.

  Dear God, I am in love!

  4 MAY 1893. I woke at sunset to find Elisabeth sitting in a chair beside my open casket—a sight that quickened my hope and excitement. To my further delight (and surprise), a smiling and beautiful young Dunya stood beside her.

  “Dunya!” I sprang from my slumbering place with a single graceful leap. We embraced like sisters, laughing and weeping, and I kissed her cheek—warm like mine now, like her strong, strong arms. “My sweet! How beautiful you look!”

  “Not so beautiful as you, doamna!” she cried. In truth, she looked faintly like me—with the thin chiselled nose and long dark hair (though hers was kissed with Russian red), and the soulful dark Roumanian eyes beneath arching brows.

  “How do you know?” I teased her.

  Smiling, Elisabeth held up the golden mirror.

  I slid an arm round Dunya’s tiny waist and turned to proffer my other hand to our benefactor, who rose and clasped it at once. “Elisabeth. You have been so kind to us, so good! Surely there must be some gift we can bestow upon you, some kindness which can serve as a pitiful attempt at repayment.”

  “Your happiness is sufficient joy for me.” And she turned over my hand to reveal my palm, and kissed it.

  Such an electric thrill coursed through my renewed body that I released Dunya and pressed a hand to my heart, lest I gasp aloud.

  At that moment, the chamber door flew open; in the doorway stood Vlad. For a fleeting moment, I expected him to scream in fury to see Dunya and me fully restored. I tried to pull my hand from Elisabeth’s grasp, recoiling as if ready to flee—but she held it fast, and gave me a reassuring glance that said, He does not know.

  To my amazement, Vlad remained at the threshold, his expression one of benevolent courtesy.

  “Ah, Cousin! I see you have taken pity upon our frail ladies. Please: I have prepared a banquet for your pleasure. It awaits you in the great dining hall, where I shall join you in but a few moments. Go there now. I need to consult with Zsuzsanna briefly in private.”

  I felt a fresh surge of dismay as Elisabeth gave a half-curtsy and left the room; even more dismay when I heard her footsteps echo down the hall, then the staircase.

  He remained in the doorway peering after her, his eyes squinting with the strain. (Clearly, neither his vision nor his hearing could match mine.) And when she was what he believed a safe distance removed from us, he stepped inside and shut the heavy door behind him. I studied his expression, trying to judge from it whether he saw me as crone or beauty, and could find no astonishment, no rage, there—only cunning.

  Such an old, ugly husk of a man. I had been mad all these decades: what use had I for him?

  Abruptly he demanded, “Zsuzsanna, do you love me?�
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  I hesitated but an instant. In that brief time, he understood my silence too well; his expression darkened as he continued:

  “It is Elisabeth. She has told you lies, put you under her spell, to make you fall in love with her. She has promised to restore you, has she not? I warn you—conspire with her, and you will embark on a dangerous path which can only end in your destruction.”

  I protested, my cheeks flaming hotly (such a long-forgotten sensation!). “Do you threaten me?”

  But he thundered on, oblivious to my beauty or my words. “Do you know who she is? Surely she hasn’t told you. She is the Tigress of Csejthe, the slaughterer of virgins.… During her lifetime, she tortured six hundred and fifty maidens to their deaths, and bathed in their blood; no doubt the figure has increased tenfold since her movement into undeath. You can trust nothing she says!”

  “You are a liar,” I said—then marvelled in silence at my own boldness. Never have I dared speak to him thus; I knew it would have meant my ruin, for I had always believed that he alone controlled my life and death. But I knew that, at last, I was stronger than he. Had he struck me at that moment, I would have killed him.

  Such freedom! I laughed, drunk with the power of fearlessness.

  He did in fact swing his arm to strike—but halted abruptly in midair in front of my face, prevented by an invisible force (ah, Elisabeth, my powerful saviour!). His eyes reddened with rage, and he parted his lips and released a low lupine growl, his face contorted into a Medusan mask.

  “Stay away from her, Zsuzsanna. Stay away, or I shall be forced to retaliate!”

  I said nothing, only watched him spin on his heel and storm out, slamming the door behind him with such force that it rattled for several seconds.

  Dunya stepped up to stand beside me; I think she had been cowering behind me all this time. She put a soft hand upon my shoulder and whispered, “Doamna. Do you think he can really hurt us if we see Elisabeth again? She is so kindly.…”