Vampires Don't Cry: A Mother's Curse

by Hall, Ian

  I wondered at the maid’s dramatic plummet of spirit. Perhaps I had drained too much. I could not afford to deplete her at such a rate and committed to cut the next feeding by half. With this thought in mind, I redoubled my efforts to make her eat, rebuild her strength.

  “Begin,” I said gently.

  “Please, sir, I could not…”

  “Your dinner grows cold; if you do not eat it voluntarily, I will be forced to shove it down your throat.”

  Nicolette took up fork and knife with trembling hands. Deep, foreboding sobs broke from her as she stabbed the meat. She brought a razor-thin shaving of it up, but could not seem to force it passed her lips. Only then did I realize my misgivings for the nature of her reluctance to feed from my plate. It proved no sense of propriety that kept her appetite in check.

  “You’ve poisoned it,” I said sagely.

  Nicolette burst up from the table, fork discarded but knife secure in her grips. She ran at me and I felt the silver edge shear the shell of my ear. The bitter sting burned like a hot iron and I covered the hole with one hand, dispatching my feral maid easily with the other. Grabbing locks of black hair, I forced her head to the table with a painful crack.

  “Good attempt, my dearest, but you will find I am not that easy to kill.”

  “You drank my blood! You are a demon!”

  “And you, my minion. Do not come against me again, Nicolette, or I will make you like me if only to find a thousand painful ways to practice killing you. From this day forward, your life is forfeit.”

  I yanked her upright.

  “Let’s begin this new arrangement appropriately.” I sliced the blade down the side of her head; she let loose a banshee’s cry. “An ear for an ear,”

  I retrieved the linen napkin from the table and pressed it to my wound. Very little blood stained the cloth. It’d already begun to heal; not so for my spoiled maid. I tossed the napkin down to Nicolette. Only once the blood dried did I come close enough to inspect my handiwork.

  It looked a clean cut; unlike myself she, at least, had the hair to conceal her disfigurement.

  “It is not my intention to harm you,” I said, “but only to survive. You will serve me to that end, Nicolette, or you lose far more than this.”

  I left her there to continue her silent sobbing, knowing for certain my cheeky servant had finally learned reverence.

  Turning the two women did not prove as easy as I’d first thought. They were dirty, and the nearest stream lay half a mile away.

  “I will baptize you,” I said as we set off.

  “But we’ve been baptized before,” Alexi replied.

  “Not the way I do it. Don’t question me, girl.”

  Samara and Alexi stripped naked to bathe, and walked slowly into the small stream. Once they had washed each other to my satisfaction, I allowed them back on the bank to dress.

  To my immense relief we met no one else on the trip back to the house. Although I knew these delightful wenches would be sacrificed, I felt some reticence in adding to my crimes.

  I had turned a woman only once before, but did so with a lot more confidence than I’d turned Tomas. I took the mother first, while the daughter looked on, her senses dulled by my commands. As much as it felt like a precursor to the training, it wasn’t devoid of pleasure.

  Once Samara had been instructed on her task, she was a decent lover, and as I bit her neck and drank from her arteries, I unexpectedly plunged my seed deep inside her. It seems I had been without a woman’s touch for too long.

  When I let her drink from my wrist, she took to the new concoction with vigor, pulling on my blood, forcing it from me.

  The turning complete, I set her in a corner, on the crude bed, with an instruction to stay still.

  With my natural passion gone, I took more time with Alexi. Obviously a virgin, she had none of the natural ways of a woman, and lay stiff and scared despite my hypnotic suggestion to the contrary. It took much ministration to make her ready for me, her first love, and I found myself bored in spite of her obvious attributes. Once turned, she cowered against her naked mother, who looked at the fresh cuts on her daughter’s neck with more than a motherly interest.

  Unbeknown to my conscious thoughts, I had decided on my pupil, and who would only to be a blood source to us both.

  Samara took to the training well. She lost her blood madness in only one day, and even with my added suggestion to feed, she railed against it, and resisted. She proudly held her head high, delighted with her willpower.

  “You have done well, Samara,” I said to her, our naked bodies entwined again. “You have proven your will to resist is strong. But now you must feed.” I waved at Alexi, who stood watching us. “Come here. Present yourself.”

  The young girl meekly approached and held her scarred wrists in front of us.

  “Ladies first,” I said with a huge grin.

  Samara deftly ran her incisors over her daughter’s wrist, and drank deeply, never allowing one drop to reach the dirty coverlet.

  Her training took only two more days, by which time, we’d drained poor Alexi to the core. Samara’s loyalty to me now seemed so well ingrained; she even performed the beheading of her own daughter.

  I tested her hourly, and she tested me in return. Harder and harder we pushed our bloodlust away, until at last, on the morning of the third day, I was confident that we could now pass for normal humans, even under the most watchful eyes of the Order.

  By noon, we’d taken to the road; the Jesuit and a handmaiden. If anyone asked questions, I accompanied Samara to join the sisters at the Chapel of Mary at Vinnytsya. I bought two horses at the next market town, and a new dress for my companion; nothing too gaudy, but certainly a cut above her peasant’s garb.

  Once she had changed into her new clothes, she looked very beautiful.

  We rode south for a fair distance, then turned eastwards, heading for Moshny and home. It was time to begin my training with my lord and master, Tomas Lucescu.

  I passed another night in leisurely pursuits. I enjoyed my readings, my new acumen at the piano and several decanters of wine while passing the time. And to be certain, Nicolette fully appreciated my ownership of her, I enjoyed her as well.

  My father Apostol had spoken blithely about the privileges of royalty, but I never embraced nor appreciated his vision until that night. It seemed the seeds my father planted had, at last, begun to sprout. His brutal legacy would serve me well in my new endeavors.

  “Nicolette, attend!” I yelled through the parlor.

  In short order she appeared at the threshold, washed and dressed to commence her duties. To my great surprise, I found that she fashioned her hair in its customary bun, shamelessly displaying my defacement of her. The sight of it caught me off-guard and I had to quickly stifle any reaction lest she enjoy my discomfiture.

  I made a spot next to me on the lounge. “Sit here. Extend your wrist.”

  Nicolette moved slowly, but she did move. With her gaze steady forward, she presented her arm out to me.

  “I will not take much, only what I need to get by.”

  I lied. Yesterday’s feeding had nourished me well; I suspected I could have gone several more days before the drive reignited. Nicolette, however, required much managing; she would be of more use to me in a weakened state than fully thriving. To keep her compliant, and yet well enough to perform her chores, would prove to be a tricky balancing act.

  She twisted as I bit down, but soon her head fell back and relaxed against the cushion. Once her rich blood coated my tongue, it was nearly impossible to stop. When her arm lost all tension, that is when I came back to my senses; again, I had almost gone too far.

  “This will never do,” I complained to her unconscious form. “I will need a harem of housemaids to supply me the blood I need.”

  As I rose from the lounge, Nicolette tipped over lifelessly. There would be no waking her; just as yesterday, she would need hours to recuperate. I didn’t believe I could take to
o many more feedings from her and made it my utmost priority to begin stockpiling the house with replacements. Apostol’s secret rooms would serve well as such a macabre pantry.

  As dusk settled, and still no word from Ivan, I stole off to Moshny. My beloved Stardust seemed well on the mend but I settled for a lesser mount – Ivan’s – to allow her more rest. The town grew quiet; many windows were yellow with candlelight. I donned a wolf fur hat and tunic of high collar to disguise me slightly; it would not do for a Lucescu to be seen outside.

  I kept my eye out for strays. Any solitary maiden would do.

  I rounded the alley through town where the lighting was so faint a human would scarcely see his hand before his face. Up ahead, gravel shifted and I knew I’d found my mark. Indeed, I’d found two.

  Pressed up against the clay bricks of a cobbler’s shop, a pair of youthful lovers were enjoying their own misdeeds under the cloak of night. The young man spotted me first.

  “Be on your way, ogler. Find other entertainments besides spying.”

  His mischievous companion chimed an appreciative laugh.

  I closed the gap between us.

  The young man turned on me then, fist at the ready. “I said, be off!”

  “Momentarily, sir,” I said pleasantly. “Let me first collect what I have come for and I’ll be one my way.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Why, your blushing virgin, of course.”

  He came at me, shoving me back. “Get back, albino, or I’ll—”

  I wondered if he could see my smile through the blackness, “You’ll what? Kill me, perhaps? You’ll find that no easy task; many have tried of late and to no avail.”

  His grin I did see.

  “I’d be more than happy to give it a try.”

  The young man’s fist delivered a square blow; I felt it less than the tickle of an ant’s antennae. At his second attempt, I snatched his hand, snapping the bones of his wrist. He collapsed, bellowing. Only the young girl’s scream drowned his cry.

  With my way now clear, I claimed my prize, knocking her unconscious with a tap to the head. I slipped her over my shoulder, and made off through the sleeping streets of Moshny.

  I determined that I would enter the town in disguise, and approached from the west to a small gate used by smugglers and brigands. My beard had grown quite thick in my time away, and if I wore a half mask, no one would recognize me as Ivan Vyhovsky. I knocked on the door, and immediately, a small pair of eyes gazed out of the small barred window.

  “I seek Gregor,” I said.

  “Who’s asking?” the voice asked, obviously a child.

  “I am of the guild of thieves.”

  “Let me see.”

  I advanced and pressed my wrist against the bars. “You recognize the crest, don’t you?” I breathed heavily into the searching eyes, hoping my suggestion would be strong enough.

  “Eh, yes, sir. Crest of the Guild, sir.” The eyes disappeared from the window, and we stood in silence for a moment. Then after hearing footsteps on the other side of the door, it opened.

  A large man stood in the doorway. “I need to see Gregor.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Tell him that the ‘keeper’ has come calling.”

  The door closed again, and this time it remained so for a good ten minutes. When the man returned, we were immediately invited inside, being led through the streets, and eventually to the back door of a large, private house.

  Inside stood Gregor Ineslav, a thin, wiry man, and well known to me as a harbinger of thievery in the area. He was also, however, the man who could do incredible things with his power. Keeping on the right side of him had been no easy task these last ten years, but I’d managed it.

  “Gregor.” I swept my hood back and crossed the room.

  “Vizier Vyhovsky. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I need a favor, Gregor. I need to know the mood of the people, and I need clothes for two assassins.”

  “You plan a murder?”

  “Nay. There’s been enough death with the blood sickness. I just need disguise for myself and my companion.”

  Gregor nodded, and looked at Samara. For a second, jealousy tinged my emotions, and I swept it away.

  He motioned to the large man. “Get them clothes, weapons, too. You can’t be disguised as assassins and not be armed.”

  “Thank you, Gregor.”

  He waved away my thanks. “No matter, I will earn its worth back with interest.”

  “Oh, no doubt.”

  “Now, your question. The will of the people?”

  “With Apostol dead, and Tomas waiting to take the mantle, how do they feel?”

  Gregor looked uncomfortable for the first time. He seemed to weigh each word in his mouth before spitting it out.

  “There have been rumors.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, they centre on Tomas’s pale skin.” He paused, as if awkward.

  “Well, out with it, no matter how bad it sounds.”

  Gregor swallowed hard. “Well, some say he’s a homosexual recluse, some say he’s not of the Lucescu blood.”

  I laughed. “Oh, he’s his father’s son in many ways. He’s had his share of women. Is that all?”

  Again, he hesitated. “I don’t want to say it, Vizier, but there have been some vile rumors of late.”

  My brows narrowed. “And these rumors are?”

  “Well, there are those in town that say Lord Tomas has been seen at night. It’s difficult to hide his pale skin and hawkish profile. The witnesses are certain it’s him; and there are many.”

  “And what has he been doing?”

  “The rumors are of Strogoi,” Gregor blurted. “Girls have gone missing. Many are being blamed on Tomas. The rumors are already in the taverns.”

  Strogoi; the ancient Romanian word for vampire, the crude nickname for the Order. The word held so much evil that I had not heard it spoken for many years.

  But the gossip had seeped out, and it seems that in my absence, Tomas had not conducted himself well. I’d returned too late to prevent the first mistakes. I hoped the new training would curb this insanity.

  Samara and I dressed in the black leather trousers and jerkins of the assassin, and took our leave of Gregor.

  Silently we slipped into the dark backstreets.

  I found this newest one to be no rebellious carper. The lady rode in near silence, only small whimpers as she hugged my back as if I were her champion rather than assailant. We rode at a good clip and returned to Lucescu stables long before sunup.

  Once inside my private quarters, Nicolette was nowhere to be seen, the lounge empty. My new acquisition and I moved easily through the east parlor to the false wall behind the bookcase. I led the way in pitch darkness; even my astute eyesight could make little of the narrow, stone passage. Yet, I knew the way by feel alone. Apostol had drilled his family well in making quick escape, should the occasion arise.

  I kept her hand clasped in mine, pulling her from behind, until I felt the walls separate. The air of the chamber felt moist and bitter with chill, despite the coming of summer.

  “I’m afraid the accommodations are less than ideal,” I apologized. “This is a utilitarian room and not meant for long-term use. There is no fireplace; neither any egress nor natural lighting. However, somewhere in here there are wool blankets and a supply of candles that you will get by one for a while. Water and bucket will be brought in.”

  I set her free to roam the dark expanse; however my guest seemed quite satisfied to press herself up against the wall, nearly becoming one with the cobbles.

  My mother kept a cabinet stocked with some bare necessities; yet, it seemed there were limits to even a vampire’s vision, and I could not make it out from where I stood. I left my petrified guest by the entrance while I fumbled about the dark. At the expense of many a knee-jarring, I located the whereabouts of the cabinet and one guttering taper still within the brass holder a
top it. Barely a wick seemed left to it, but it lit after much coaxing.

  I lowered myself to the short cabinet’s doors, careful not to peep into the glass lest I be greeted by my own reflection staring back at me, and made quick work of taking inventory; it seemed Mistress Lucescu had been quite thorough. Candles enough to last a lifetime. Thick, if somewhat prickly, blankets; enough to lay a decent palate over the cold floor and still have cover. A box of my father’s preferred cigars and full canteen of brandy wine; those I would take for myself.

  “Ha!” I said, celebrating my mother’s prudence. “She’s even included a cache of preserves and some dried fruit. I can’t attest to the flavor but at you’ll have something to eat.”

  The girl turned out to be quite the ungracious guest, giving nothing in the way of reply. Were it not for her hysterical breathing and rapid heartbeat, I would have thought myself very much alone. I made one last attempt at engaging her.

  “There’s a small selection of books to occupy yourself with,” I said, at last turning back to face her, candle in hand. “I assume you are literate?”

  The dim glow of the candle proved more than adequate to illuminate the frightened creature’s reaction of me. Her eyes narrowed, mouth gaped. She craned her neck, straining for a better view. I lifted the candle to aid her inspection, coming in a few steps closer.

  As I approached and her eyes adjusted to the meager light, the lady clutched her heart, silently screaming, and fainted at the first good sight of me.

  It took her only minutes to recover her senses; myself a while longer to recover my dignity. I crouched above her when her eyes flittered back open; she gasped and tried once again to become as mortar between the stones.

  “What is your name?” I snapped.

  She turned her head from me, away from the light that showcased my anomalous features. I lifted her chin, not gently, and forced her to meet my eyes.