Night's Vampires: Three Novels

by H. T. Night

  “So what’s it like to never grow old?”

  I needed something to move off the subject of ‘me’. Besides, the existence of an immortal living human as opposed to an undead one seemed incredibly interesting. I imagine that’s the case for most of us.

  “I heard them tell you the other night how lonely it can be,” he said, the mirthful expression fading into one of grave seriousness. “Truthfully, it is that…. It is that and often a burden—one where I have sometimes asked myself if it is wiser to move to the other side and be reunited with loved ones gone for centuries. Or, does it merit one to live as long as they can and experience brand new delights the world has yet to offer? After all, if life is eternal in one form or another, then I can always reunite with those dearest to me at any time. So why rush?”

  And just like that, the impishness was back in his countenance.

  I nodded thoughtfully in response. When an awkward silence followed, I turned my attention to the incredible view again, thinking of eternity without my loved ones while gazing down into the deepening chasm below us.

  Thankfully, the road’s grade eventually evened out, and we moved through a forest thick with tall evergreens. This lasted for a few miles, until suddenly a massive stone turret appeared along the tree-line.

  “Oh my God!” I whispered, once the large granite structure came into view.

  It was enormous, with several spires within the middle of the structure jutting toward the sky. Much of the castle looked like it had been built around the time of the French Revolution, resembling the classic chateau style from that period. However, the spires and turrets looked much older. An array of dormant gardens surrounded the castle, and it came complete with a moat and drawbridge, although at present the moat was dry.

  A beautiful site, yet at the same time foreboding.

  “The castle was originally given to me as a gift, after it was abandoned during the Moor occupation during the beginning of the eighth century A.D.,” said Racco, after we crossed the drawbridge, obviously noting my fascination with his fabulous home. “It has undergone several updates to its design, with the major restorations taking place in 1792 and 1946, both times from damage sustained from war. If the Nazis had won the most recent conflict, Hitler’s obnoxious red and black banners might be hanging from the walls instead of the ‘fleur de lis’ you see before you.”

  White and purple banners with gold fringe and tassels hung along both sides to the main entrance, with the most famed symbol of France aside from the Eifel Tower prominently displayed in the middle of each. As we pulled up to the entrance, a dozen servants from inside the castle came outside to greet us, with most of them moving to the two trucks. It surprised me that we were all quickly ushered inside the building, as if all of us were vampires who might explode into flames from the fading sunlight at any moment.

  Once inside, this secret service-like urgency lessened, although I watched a few of Racco’s assistants stay near the windows, where they cautiously surveyed the front grounds to this estate. It was like they were expecting someone to follow us, and I noticed that two of them carried pistols.

  I was about to ask if the security extremes were really necessary in such a remote locale, but then I looked around me. The majesty of the castle’s exterior was more than matched by the opulence inside. At the moment we stood within a grand corridor that seemed to stretch for much of the castle’s length. Where it ended was too far to make out from where we stood. Two marble staircases veered upward on either side of the corridor, and amazing frescos covered much of the walls and the entire ceiling. I could tell by the artistry that a master of some sort—or masters, given the castle’s age—had created them. Such detail I could easily discern, and the ceiling rose at least fifty feet above us. All of this artwork was framed within solid oak beams bearing carved images and gold inlays.

  A colorful carpet runner featuring the same fleur de lis symbolism covered the marble floor. Even the furnishings were luxurious, although seemingly out of date, as it seemed most of the couches and chairs in the sitting areas alongside the corridor hadn’t been updated since the 1946 date mentioned by Racco. But at least the large LCD screens in two of these areas pointed to a step into the twenty-first century.

  “It will take a week or two for you to become familiar with these new surroundings,” Racco advised, placing his arm around my waist as he escorted me toward the staircase to our left. “Some of the staff still gets lost from time to time.”

  He chuckled, drawing closer to where the rich aroma of his expensive cologne embraced my nose. I was already intoxicated by the scent and thought earlier it would smell great on most men. But mixed with his unusual body chemistry heightened the experience. I could have eaten him alive.

  “In a moment, Julianne will show you to your room upstairs,” he continued, grinning as if he could read my most recent lustful notion. Holding me in his gaze, he motioned to a pretty brunette waiting for me on the landing above the stairs. Thirty-ish, she seemed more in line with what Racco’s apparent physical age would merit, and I felt a pang of jealousy. “In a few minutes it will be four o’clock. We will reconvene in the dining room at six. Julianne again will escort you there, and your clothing for the evening has already been arranged, waiting now for you in your room. Tonight’s celebration should be quite an event, and Gustav has told me personally how he can hardly wait to meet you!”

  Before I could respond, he kissed my forehead and left me at the foot of the stairs. I lingered long enough to watch him disappear from view as he returned to the main path of the corridor. By then, Julianne had come downstairs to meet me.

  “Redresser cette façon, s’il vous plait.”

  “Sur.”

  One of the few French phrases I understood, I ignored her smirk and gave Julianne my arm, as she requested. She then led me upstairs to my room. Along the way I wondered if she spoke English like the others under Racco’s employment, but I decided not to ask. Officially at my hosts’ mercy and realistically stranded in a remote castle far away from everyone I’ve ever cared about, it didn’t seem like a good idea. It made me miss those who truly loved me even more…and especially those who knew me well enough to not play games with my intelligence.

  Chapter 16

  My bedchamber in the castle would be considered a coliseum in comparison to my accommodations at Massey Hall. A huge king-size bed, full media center, armoire full of designer fashions, and a real Jacuzzi tub and waterfall shower in the bathroom. Not to mention the bedroom portion of my suite was big enough to cause an echo from my voice. I know, because I tried it.

  I thought having a couple of hours to relax and get used to my new surroundings would mean plenty of time. But the media center proved far too distracting to play with for just an hour. The next thing I knew, I had roughly 20 minutes to get ready for the night’s dinner party.

  I was still putting on the last touches of my makeup when Julianne arrived to escort me back to the main level. She had changed into a beautiful lavender sequined evening gown that accentuated her modest curves. Relieved to see her dressed like this, it made me feel less self-conscious in the Versace burgundy gown of similar style and fit that Racco’s people had left on my bed for me, along with a matching pair of Manolo Blahniks for my feet. Too bad there were hardly any warm-blooded males in attendance that night, as only vampires seemed to notice our ravishing attire.

  After another brief conversation in French she led me downstairs, where a fairly long jaunt to the deepest regions of the castle brought us to the dining hall. I should’ve guessed it would be even more ostentatious, since it obviously was where the castle’s undead inhabitants liked to hang out. There was enough gold leaf and stained glass windows to easily compare to the finest buildings of King Louis’ superfluous kingdom long ago.

  Vampires were everywhere, roughly sixty by my count. Everyone of them unique in their eccentricity of style and clothing, they were also uniformly beautiful—like male and female fashion mo
dels that had never seen the light of day. They flitted about between a long, heavy-oak table in the room’s center and huge gold vats nearby. No one had to tell me what was stored inside the vats, or within a large crimson crystal punch bowl in the table’s center that they crowded around.

  “Welcome Txema Ybarra!” shouted an especially pale man sitting on a glistening jeweled throne at the end of the table. His skin was almost alabaster, emitting a soft glow under a massive crystal chandelier that hung above the table. “Welcome indeed to ‘Le château de douleur’!!”

  The man appeared roughly the same age as Racco, and he suddenly rose into the air and drifted toward me—roughly a hundred feet from where I stood. Dressed in a long white robe bearing unusual symbols etched in red and gold, he donned a very tall matching hat that reminded me of what a Pope would wear. He seemed to glide just above the floor, his robe lightly touching the marble squares. As he drew closer, this one’s ethereal glow and longer incisors clearly announced him as the leader amongst the others. That, and the fact the other vampires deferred to his presence, some even bowing as he passed by on his way to where I stood.

  “Txema…I have long awaited this moment!” he enthused. His voice mellower than any of the others, he smiled, revealing two smaller fangs next to the more prominent incisors. “I am Gustav Domnul-delael—presently the reigning king of Europe’s civilized vampires.”

  I tried not to think long on his silly attire, afraid to laugh. He seemed more unreal than any of the others and therefore much more dangerous, like he could obliterate my entire existence with just a thought. Even when he took my hand, he did so gently, and I could tell his fingers alone could crush mine into dust. Maybe that’s what living for several thousand years will do to you.

  His eyes were a mixture of blue and gold—hard to define in a continuous flux of color as they glowed preternaturally. Much more intense than any of the other vampires too.

  “This is quite a place you’ve got here,” I told him, unsure what to say to such a person.

  I mean, king of the undead, and apart from that fact scary as hell? I could tell the former human was once quite a looker in his day, with a sleek nose and high cheekbones. Perhaps Gustav would still be considered comely…in a ‘Friday the Thirteenth’ sort of way. Think about it, dear reader, do you know someone with kaleidoscope eyes and skin whiter than snow? Other than in an old Beatles cartoon? I think not…hopefully not, anyway.

  “Yes-s-s…it certainly is,” he said, studying me as if trying to piece together the rampant thoughts colliding in my head.

  His French accent was barely discernible, and only in certain English words. There was another accent, too, harder to define since camouflaged beneath the French. Perhaps it was much older, and disguised on purpose.

  “You must be hungry. As you can see, we have included a unique variety of entrees tonight,” he said, motioning to the table filled with far more delectable items than was present on Racco’s yacht. “Some is what Armando told us you like, and other offerings might take some time to acquire an appreciative taste. I believe that you, Txema, are an adventurous girl who might be game for something…something ‘different’ this evening.”

  The way he said this last part sent a chill up my spine—far worse than the vampire’s close proximity to my body. Hell, with so many of them gathered in one room, I wished to God I brought a jacket to keep me warm, despite roaring fires burning in the two fireplaces on either side of the room.

  “Dear father, I do not believe she will be sharing a taste of anything warm and wet with us tonight!”

  I whirled around when the voice behind me erupted into uproarious laughter. Armando stood behind me, wearing an impish grin, and Franz stood smiling nearby.

  “Armando? I should’ve known it’s you!” I nearly shouted. It was so good to see him—and not just because the Vampire King gave me the willies. “Where have you been?”

  He stepped back, feigning offense from the harshness in my rebuke, though surely he understood it was intended as a playful jab.

  “Franz and I had ‘things’ to take care of back in the States,” he said, motioning to his companion, who nodded supportively. “But we are back now.”

  He allowed the grin to widen to a gorgeous vampire smile. Both he and Franz were dressed in the black leather ‘rocker’ attire they wore when I was taken to the cave in the Smoky Mountains the week before.

  “Were you in Tennessee?!” I asked, knowing full well he was there. “Can you tell me about Peter, and Tyreen and Johnny? Are they okay??”

  He eyed me curiously, and for a moment I detected compassion that seemed humanly sincere.

  “Come, let’s talk,” he advised, gesturing for permission from Gustav, who nodded while smiling at me.

  I shivered, turning my attention to the table while Armando guided me toward the middle where the scent of roast beef awakened the raging hunger Gustav had sensed within me. One of the servants from Racco’s yacht offered to carve a few slices for me. I then added some vegetables and a small salad to go with it.

  “Would you like some wine, Txema?”

  Racco’s soothing voice immediately surrounded me with warmth, and once I turned toward it I nearly ran into him.

  “Whoa! I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, laughing while carefully keeping the glass of Merlot he had poured for me from spilling on the white dinner jacket he wore.

  He set the glass down next to my plate, and then seated himself to my right, while Armando eyed him sullenly from my left.

  “Your boyfriend, Peter? He is fine, and anxious for your reunion!” Armando announced, and I could tell from the way he looked beyond me that this news was intended as much for the ‘Lord of this Manor’ as for me.

  “Reunion? You mean, I will see him again…soon?”

  I experienced the weirdest feeling right then…such a mixture of joy and guilt, for both the man I’ve loved and the one I lusted after the past few days.

  “Yes!”

  Armando offered more exuberance at Racco’s expense. I could feel Racco bristle next to me, as if this wasn’t a development he had anticipated. As for me, the heat of embarrassment rushed to my face.

  “So that is good news, no?” Armand continued, reveling in the moment. I looked up and caught a glimpse of Garvan, who stared at us from across the room. Dressed as if still part of Marie Antoinette’s court—with a powdered white wig to boot—his face bore a satisfied smile that told me he was listening intently to our conversation. “Tyreen is okay now too.”

  “She is? Oh, thank God!!”

  It was like an incredibly heavy load suddenly lifted off my shoulders. Tyreen survived her attack! Since Saturday night’s abduction, I worried something terrible would happen to Tyreen, that her wounds from the Chupacabras vampires would somehow prove fatal — like what happens to vampire bite victims in the campy horror flicks my brother so dearly loves.

  “And, Johnny?” I persisted. “He’s okay too, right?”

  “Yes, he seems fine,” Armando assured me. “Maybe when this crisis is over, we can invite them all for a little visit, no?”

  “I wish I could go home and see them,” I told him, feeling so homesick I thought I might cry at any moment. “I really miss them all!”

  “There, there, chere,” Racco whispered in my ear, placing his left arm around my shoulder as he drew me close. I began to weep. Meanwhile, Armando’s playful smile disappeared, fading into a look of sullen anger. But it was nowhere near the look of disdain that Garvan shot me from across the room. In an instant he traveled across the room to us.

  “You should court someone your own age, don’t you think?” said Garvan, disdainfully, supported by hearty head nods from both Armando and Franz. “Perhaps if we care to list the recent steady string of female company cavorting about your bedchamber, Txema would take her leave from you…forever.”

  “I’ve got the list!” Armando exalted. He launched into a twirling dance, pantomiming exaggerated arm and h
and movements to illustrate an endless series of pages.

  “Is such childishness necessary?” Racco’s tone was much more acidic than what I’d heard previously from him. “Perhaps we could toss your caskets out into the meadow behind the castle. As long as the local gentry ignore their presence, you could last a century or two!”

  He squeezed my shoulder and drew ever closer. The scent from a virile spice cologne embraced me, and with each passing moment this was getting worse…at least for me.

  Racco made it seem like a joke, but no one near us laughed. I just wanted to get as far away as I could from all of this. Garvan seemed the most put off by Racco’s behavior, his fangs elongating while he growled menacingly.

  “And it is not like either one of you can keep her warm at night and deliver the daily human companionship she deserves!” taunted Racco, wearing a smirk that clearly announced he was unafraid.

  Even so, it only took a moment for the three of them to appear around me, each taking a threatening stance against him. I expected some kind of a fight to erupt from this, but suddenly a green blur appeared in front of me. Something cold grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the four of them.

  “Grab her plate and wine!”

  In the next instant I was transported to the very head of the table, next to Gustav, who had returned to his throne. I started to feel sick, but then I noticed Chanson stood beside me. She was dressed in a beautiful forest green gown with a matching petticoat. Cumbersome clothing to be racing around in…unless one is a vampire.

  Raquel stood to her left, holding my plate, while Nora held the glass of Merlot I had yet to taste. The two of them were dressed similarly to Chanson. In addition to the rose gown with a pink petticoat she wore, Raquel’s face was adorned with diamond and ruby chips in swirling designs that I assumed were pasted to her ashen cheeks. Like some avant garde punk rocker born a few centuries too early, but obviously free to express her wilder side amongst her peers.