Bloodlines

by Drew D'Amato

  Malachi had short black hair spiked straight up. He cut his hair about fifty years ago and the rest of the bloodline thought he was a fool to do such a thing. He was a free thinker like that. He thought it would be the way of the future. He did regret it a little in the sixties and seventies, but not anymore. He didn’t miss the hair at all and tried to get the others to go along with him. Feeling like Samson, most of the vampires were very reluctant to do so since it could never grow back. Let them keep their pony-tails and look like failed musicians or writers, Malachi thought. He embraced the glamorous vampire lifestyle, unlike Vlad.

  Vlad didn’t associate with most of the vampires in his household. Most of the vampires in his bloodlines did not even know what he looked like except for the pictures of him as a human. He liked it like that. It made it easier for him to keep a certain mystique and fear to him. The only men he really associated himself with were Michael and Jericho. Seventeen other vampires lived in Vlad’s castle. They had seen him, but he rarely spent time with them. They resided more on the second and fourth floor. Vlad liked to stay just on the third floor, in his office. His fledglings didn’t amuse him. He tried not to talk too much with the other heads around the world either. He could go for months only talking to Jericho and Michael because they really understood him, unlike the rest of his lineage, who just respected him and played by his rules. Vlad only needed to talk to Michael who took care of all of his phone calls and connections like his personal secretary, and Jericho who was his closest friend.

  Malachi lived with nineteen other vampires and he associated with them all the time. He was a vampire’s vampire. He did not ask to be a vampire, but he was happy to be one. He stayed out of the politics of the war. He hated those meetings. It had been a little more than a week since that last meeting with Radu. Last night had been a celebration. His men had returned from Europe with no sign of Radu. They had a wild night and ended up back at the mansion with some of the young girls from a local nightclub. The girls left in the morning and now Malachi relaxed by his pool, contemplating what a life without Radu would mean.

  A vampire with short black hair, spiked like Malachi’s, walked atop the roof, toward his master with a cell phone in his hand. He handed it to Malachi.

  “It’s Michael from LA,” Andre said as he passed the phone.

  Malachi grabbed the phone. “Hello.”

  “Malachi, what’s the latest news?”

  “My men came home last night. Nobody has found anything.”

  “How detailed was their search?”

  “Transylvania of course, also England, Italy, Germany, even the Russian guys were not at their usual spots. And they’re involved with the mob over there, so they tend to make appearances at certain places.”

  “And nobody has seen anything. What about France?”

  “Fuck the French. Their food is too weird.”

  Michael laughed. “So you didn’t send anyone there?”

  “We were pretty thin to begin with. Moscow was the most certain place and we found nothing. No sign of life from Radu’s house in Transylvania either, nothing anywhere.”

  “Malachi, we can’t be casual about our estimation with this.”

  “I’m not. We found nothing. Have you heard from any of the ex-vampires?”

  “Yes, they all want back in, but Vlad won’t do it unless we need them. That is why we must be diligent in our search.”

  “Have they seen anything though?”

  “No, and I think most of them want to find something. They want the power back more than they want the world safe.”

  “This power can become corrupting. I told my men to come home because no sign of him can only mean two things. Either he is truly dead; or they are all hiding, fooling us that he is dead. Either way I did not want my family spread thin any longer.”

  “So with Radu, you think it’s all or nothing?”

  “Isn’t that always the way?”

  2

  Michael walked into Vlad’s recreation room on the fourth floor. Jericho and Vlad were playing a game of nine-ball. The one and four balls were off the table and Jericho aimed the cue in front of the two-ball near the side pocket, an easy shot.

  “Malachi’s men have all come back from Europe,” Michael said as he entered the room. “No one has found anything. They even went to his house.”

  “But if they didn’t go inside, he could still be in there.”

  “Malachi’s men would have seen something.”

  “But we still don’t know for sure,” Vlad said. “We cannot delay this trip any longer. Call Malachi back and tell him to have his men ready to leave for our house tonight.”

  Jericho took his shot. The two buried into the pocket along with the cue ball right behind it. He scratched. Something Vlad said disturbed him.

  “You know master, this trip, this mission, will not be an easy task,” Jericho said. “Radu and his men sleep in basically a high-end bomb shelter under the house, which is why we cannot attack from a distance. We have to go during the day to have any element of surprise since they will be sleeping, but as uninvited guests we will have no vampire powers at our disposal. There is a reason we have not performed this mission yet.”

  Vlad set the cue ball in a straight line in front of the three-ball.

  “We will have Malachi and all of his men to aid us. We all go in through the front door. He will have an alarm, but that won’t be hard, Jericho. You are great with that technological stuff. Once we get downstairs they will all be sleeping, we just need to take out Radu. If he is even still alive.”

  He hit the cue ball hard. It kissed the red ball with such power that the three-ball did not go into the corner pocket. In fact the ball popped in the air and landed back on the table to prevent a scratch. The cue ball rolled back on the table in a straight line and hit the nine-ball lying next to the near right corner pocket and fell in.

  “That ends the game,” Vlad said with a smile directed at both of them. “Guys, go pick up Father Pacami. It’s been a week, time for another mass.”

  3

  Pacami half hoped, half feared that the stretch limo would not pull up in front of his church once mass had ended. But there it was. Michael had drove, and Jericho was there in the back with a bandana waiting for him. Not much for an introduction had been said to him on this trip. Pacami put the bandana on his head and sat there in his anxiety.

  He had been doing some research on Vlad “The Impaler” at the Cypress Park Branch Library of Los Angeles a few blocks away from his church. He discovered that The Order of the Dragon had in fact existed and Vlad was a member of it. He also found some unsettling anecdotes about Vlad’s life. Most of what he learned came from a simple internet search. He had access to the internet at the rectory, but whatever he looked up was stored in the browsing history at the rectory. Pacami didn’t want anyone at the church to notice his sudden curiosity in vampires and the life of Vlad “The Impaler.”

  The storing of the web history was originally implemented in the hopes of catching child porn seekers. Pacami agreed with this policy, and hoped other churches would follow suit. Out in the secular world of the library he noticed the glances he got when people put together the combination of a priest and the internet. It came from mothers, single men, even kids. Pacami felt their suspicious were deserved. The actions of the church in response to the child molestation accusations were nothing more than a hush-up. The church said it had to forgive, and Pacami believed in forgiveness, but some things were unforgivable and needed to be punished.

  The looks he got motivated Pacami to take out some books simply to alleviate anyone’s fear. He checked out some books on the Knights of Templar. Just a priest researching the Crusades, nothing strange. None of them would know that he was really looking up one of the most macabre man to ever walk the Earth.

  Vlad Tepes III was a moral fascist. Muslims visited his castle once and one would not remove his turban, even though Vlad insisted that to remove one’s hat was t
he proper sign of respect in another’s house. He then ordered the turban nailed into his head with a large spike. He also tricked a victim of a theft to tell exactly how much he lost. Unknown to the victim, Vlad had put one extra florin in the bag before he returned the loot. The victim had told of the extra florin, which was wise, for had he not, Vlad would have had him impaled. His rules were so feared that during his reign a gold cup was placed in the middle of town, right next to a water fountain. Anyone could drink from it, but if anyone took the cup they would be killed. The cup was never stolen. Once, a thief ran through his castle. A policeman chased him through the castle following suit. Vlad ordered both the thief and the policeman to be put to death. His reasoning for killing the officer was that he was a gentleman, and should have known not to enter a house uninvited. Pacami wondered if this was the root of the myth that vampires lost their powers if they entered a house without an invitation.

  He was the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, but since he was also the real thing, what did Stoker know that no one else did? Pacami could not believe in a coincidence like that. Did he have a connection to Vlad similar to what Pacami had now? Stoker died a normal death. Syphilis—but still normal. The more research he did though, the less he felt safe. This man/vampire did not value human life. That was not good for Pacami.

  Knowing more about the wrath of Vlad did not help to alleviate any fears in Pacami as he rode to the mansion. He was again led blindfolded through the house, up the elevator to the office, and wondered to himself if today would be the day he died.

  The bandana came off, and he heard the sound of men walking off behind him. He found Vlad sitting in his desk across from him with a smile on his face. Today he was dressed in just a black suit.

  “Good morning Father, how has your week been?” Vlad asked.

  “Good, I had done some research on your life,” Pacami said and instantly felt he should not have admitted that.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t spend much time telling you about myself last week.” Vlad was still smiling. “I assure you most of those flattering stories about my human life are true.”

  “And your human life ended in 1476.”

  “Yes, to become a vampire after taking the blood you must next die a natural human death.”

  “Did you also know that in the 1930’s an excavation was done on your tomb in Snagov, Romania and nothing was found?”

  “Well,” Vlad smirked. “What did you expect?”

  “But you were decapitated. And while your body was placed in the Snagov Monastery, your head was brought to Constantinople. If your limbs don’t regrow, how were you ever reborn?”

  “I had a little help.”

  “From who?”

  “My brothers.” Pacami shifted in his chair to try to take this information in. Vlad continued. “I brought you here to connect the dots between how my father drank the Blood of the Betrayer while in the Order of the Dragon, and how I became the vampire before you now. To explain that I will have to tell you my life’s story. To not tell you what I am, but who I am.”

  Vlad now settled in his chair behind the desk before starting his monologue.

  “I guess I should start at the beginning. To understand me you must understand the situation I was born into. Eastern Europe in the 15th century was nothing but bloodshed, war, politics, and more bloodshed. My people fought constantly to preserve our homeland. The conflict of this time was between the Catholics, in Wallachia—which is now Romania—Hungary, and the other German states to the west against the Ottoman Turks to the east. While kings from England and France sent men on Crusades to fight the Muslims, we had them right in our backyard and constantly battled with them. With that turmoil a natural part our life, the throne of Wallachia also changed hands many times. It was the desire for this throne that had persuaded my father to join the Order.

  “The Order approached my father in 1431, a few months before my birth. A few years later they asked for him to become the dragon—drink the blood. They chose my father because he was a ruthless warrior and they thought he would make a great vampire. He agreed, on the condition that he got the throne of Wallachia. The Order accepted his terms.

  “My father thought he pulled a fast one on the Order. He didn’t believe in the power of the blood. Drink some blood and he would get Wallachia, sure. So he drank the blood in a special ceremony, and was even given a little bit of the blood to keep for himself. Then in 1436 the voivode of Wallachia, Alexandru I Aldea, was poisoned by the Order and my father was placed on the throne. My father thought he had used the Order for his own benefit.

  “But then in the following years two things happened. First, King Sigismund died in 1437 and Janos Hunyadi replaced him as the head of the Order of the Dragon. Second, my father learned how badly Hunyadi wanted my father to come through on his end of the bargain.”

  “He wanted your father to die?”

  “Yes, to become the dragon—a vampire. Well my father would not do this. As I said, he didn’t believe in the power of the blood, so he thought this request was just suicide. He couldn’t tell the Order that he thought the blood was powerless so instead he told them that he wanted to live a normal, full life with his wife and children, and to enjoy the power of the throne that was promised to him. He told Hunyadi that whenever he did die, he would be their servant, but not until his death happened naturally.

  “The war with the Turks kept getting worse and Hunyadi lost his patience. In 1442 Hunyadi had my father removed from the throne. My father loved the power of the throne and decided to do anything to get it back, even if that meant making a deal with his mortal enemy—the Turks.

  “My father, in an attempt to win back his crown, reached an agreement with the Turks. They would help support his rule and in turn he would pay them an annual tribute. To insure that my father would continue to pay his tribute the Sultan, Murad II, asked for his two youngest sons—me and my younger brother Radu—to be held in his court.

  “My father agreed, he needed the Turks to get back his title. He also had two older sons, Mircea II who was his oldest from his first wife, and Vlad Calugarul (or Vlad the Monk) who he fathered with one of his mistresses. Radu and I both came from his second wife, who he didn’t care too much for and cheated on constantly. We still had a place in his heart, but with so much conflict over the throne he needed Mircea to help him defend his power, so we were the obvious choice to part with. Also the Sultan preferred to have younger children, they were easier to mold. If he could raise us like sons, he could rule us like a father.

  “The Sultan’s court was not a casual study abroad. Some men are born evil, but some are made. I think it was my time here that made me that malicious bastard I became. We weren’t placed in the court, though my father was misled to believe we were. We were kept in an underground prison as soon as we got there and told we would be freed once we converted to Islam.

  “My brother Radu is heartless and capable of no loyalty. I saw that for the first time back then. Even though I was 11 and he was only 7—I could be wrong of our exact ages, it was so long ago—I told him to be strong, to not give in easily; that it would disappoint father. It didn’t matter to him. He agreed to convert before the door closed to his cell. He betrayed his father, his God, and the Order.”

  “You guys were in the Order?”

  “Since I was five. All of my father’s sons were. Radu had no problem turning on all of us, on the family, on the Order, on Christianity. He had no honor.

  “They left me alone for a bit. Over time Radu was sent to try to talk me into giving in. ‘What the hell did it matter, who cared what anyone thought?’ he would say. He brought Mehmed II, the Sultan’s son, to my cell to laugh at me. Radu had been admitted into the court. He lived like a prince. He would eat in front of me. He would pee on me through the bars. Once he got two men to come into the cell and hold me up helplessly so that he could slap me himself.

  “I learned later he was bribed by the Sultan to convert me. No
matter what though, I wouldn’t give in to him. Then the Sultan’s men started on me. They would keep me up for days straight, they would hold back my food, they took away my toilet. Physically, the most they would do was punch me with a sheet over my assailant’s fist. The Sultan was smart enough to not leave any marks in case I was returned to my father. But kicks to the stomach and slaps to the face by grown men still hurt at 13. I gave in. I told the Sultan what he wanted to hear. He freed me and trained me.

  “Back over in Wallachia the deal with the Sultan proved to have some value for my father. Hunyadi learned he could not easily dethrone my father a second time around. So instead he decided to play on his loyalty to the Order. Hunyadi asked him to honor his oath to the Order of the Dragon and join in the campaign against the Turks in The Battle of Varna in 1444. My father did not want to enter the battle and risk the lives of me and my brother. This is one of the few signs I have that he did in fact care about us. Pope Eugene IV understood the dilemma my father was in, but as a compromise commanded my oldest brother Mircea II to fight. The battle was a disaster and both Mircea and Hunyadi barely escaped with their lives.

  “That was the true reason why my father was asked to take part in the Battle of Varna. It was pretty much a suicide mission. Hunyadi felt he didn’t have to dethrone my father, he just had to have him killed and be reborn a vampire.

  “In 1447, Hunyadi again ordered my father to fight against the Turks, and again he refused. Hunyadi then gave up in trying to have my father killed on the battlefield and instead ordered the boyars to turn on my father and kill him. He was decapitated and my brother Mircea was burned blind with a hot poker and then buried alive in Transylvania in Tirgoviste.