by Lynn S.
Francis kept his own counsel, listening intently, combing fingers through his thick mane of dark hair. His eyes reflected the orange spark of the fire before him, dancing in his pupils until his eyes looked like obsidian and molten lava. His shirt was tidy and impossibly white, giving the illusion of a disembodied entity, a ghost impervious to dust and smoke. His hand rested calmly on the handle of a pure silver dirk, the only weapon guaranteed to protect him against his companion.
Across the bonfire sat a man with ash blond hair and eyes the turquoise of peacock feathers. Carla judged those eyes to be his only redeeming quality. The man had all the markings of a peasant, from calloused hands, the product of farm labor, to clothes made of plain cotton. His was a collection of stains produced by sweat, dirt, food residue, and blood. Carla listened intently, keen on grasping what her father wanted to show her. She was about to witness Francis’s most profitable deal to date.
“The secret is breeding adequate bloodlines,” the creature of the night explained. “You must engage certain people with affinity. Humans carry traces of old magic within them, it is a matter of finding a strain in their blood that is inclined to match our own. After that it is not unlike herding. Keep the docile close, eliminate the threats, and subdue females into doing your bidding. It was good enough for my mother, it will be good enough for the mother of your children.”
The blood drinker belonged to a clan that had successfully conceived offspring with humans for considerable generations. While most vampires created progeny through blood exchange, the Popescu vampyrs claimed their children through flesh as well as blood, being born through the union of the living and the undead. Children, upon arrival, were enslaved to the will of their father. Francis despised the man in front of him. He was a leech, the lower level of Shadow Acolytes, and yet this man had more leverage over humankind than the whole of Fae dreamed of.
The dhampyr continued, pausing only to taste the blood of his victim, a filthy orphaned child he had picked up earlier that night. The blond man held the small boy on his lap, squeezing liquid life out of a body in the throes of death, letting it flow into a cup.
“Pappa Popescu is careful not to reveal details about how it is done exactly, and you might ask yourself, little fairy, why I am confiding in you. Well, I’ll get my boon for entertaining you, but you…you won’t get much. Your kind is worse than the regular vampires ever were. It is common knowledge that the Fae have no soul, there is nothing that connects you to humanity.”
Francis Alexander made a point to neither smile nor show disagreement. But he was satisfied. How ignorant they were, relying on the petty concept of the human soul, when the Fae once had a hand in creation itself.
The creature in front of him cut out a strip of flesh from the fresh corpse, digging further to drain what was left of the blood. The Sidhe thought, This is one of the Popescu clan indeed, but not one of their feared vampyrs. He is one of those creatures born of a woman’s womb. His tongue is not barbed and he lacks the canines that are telltale of his species. He is a bastard in transition. A dhampyr himself, thirsty for power as well as blood. However, he is careful enough not to drink from living flesh and rush the change. Such care indicates a level of fear.
“Indeed.” Francis inhaled deeply, feigning resignation and defeat. “I am bound to grant you a boon. What do you want for our exchange?”
The dhampyr smirked, satisfied, cleaning the traces of blood off his chin. “I spoke of Pappa Popescu tonight. He is the leader of my clan. I want to be head of the family. I want all to look up to me with fear in their eyes.”
“I assure you,” Francis answered while helping himself to a sip of blood as well, “that the mere mention of your name will strike fear upon their hearts. I’ll raise you above all others. It will be done.”
And he disappeared, leaving the rustle of hundreds of tiny wings in his wake.
That was how, a little over three hundred years ago, Francis Alexander appeared at the door of the enclave of the vampyr known as Pappa Popescu with a piece of information meant to feed the immortal’s increasing paranoia. The Sidhe had learned enough to measure strength and have a notion of all things convenient. And yes, he was willing to disrupt, even topple the Popescu on behalf of a lesser clan, but the information he had obtained was too valuable to divulge to others, so he kept it to himself and simply carried on.
He spoke to Pappa Popescu of treachery among his ranks and the vampyr listened to all the soul trader told him. Francis knew not to reveal his personal interest in the matter. He had time to tap into that forgotten magic, and had certainly found a lot of interesting things about those near and dear to Pappa Popescu. But the vampyr lord was suspicious of his kindness and even more distrustful of that apparent transparency and benevolent demeanor. He had lived long enough to know the Fae. The head of the most powerful coven in Europe didn’t reveal much, other than the mounting fury reflected in his eyes as they took a turn toward deep garnet. Whatever the intention of the Sidhe, Popescu made sure Francis would not turn acquired knowledge against him.
Popescu scratched the length of his arm with a long, filed nail. Blood surfaced dark and slow, almost coagulated, tired of running through a body that should have died centuries before. Taking Francis by the collar, he forced him to drink, laughing at the fairy’s disgust at being given blood to drink, though he was very discerning at the time to take an offering.
“My blood will be poison to your children, if you ever conceive any. If one of these days you become…interesting enough to cross my path with ill intent, you will die. That is the price to pay for knowing our secrets. But you have served me well, and I must be grateful. Consider yourself my guest, Francis Alexander. I want you to stay this night with me and witness firsthand how I deal with treachery.”
Chapter XVI
Friends, Fiends, And Family–Part II
A couple of nights after their initial encounter, Popescu invited Alexander into his home. It was a secluded fortress with watch towers of smooth stone and an impressive inner courtyard. Those guarded spaces were not meant for quiet contemplation or solace, they served the purpose of training.
The Popescu vampyrs were in a constant act of war against other vampire clans, which they considered less deserving. Though they had the upper hand when it came to numbers, and enjoyed the advantage of bound human servants in their children, dhampyrs still suffered the consequences of being human. The increasing number of sons born to the Popescu line required rigorous drilling, to both keep their fighting prowess up to speed and their minds off possible treachery. The level of aggression was carefully looked after. The last thing the clan wanted to risk was power struggles that might bring conflict within its walls. But they were soon made to forget.
That day, the battle stations were swept clean and the spaces were filled with streams and delicate flowers. Plates of food, roasted beasts fresh from the hunt seasoned with aromatic spices, were set up for a feast. There were a couple of vampires there too, along with their progeny. They were still loyal to the undead prince who had incorporated them into his clan. Always bearing the mark of Popescu, these lesser vampires suffered a grip that subdued their undead existence to their master’s fate. As to what they entertained themselves with…certain things were better left unaccounted for.
Ten male offspring sat at the main table and Francis Alexander was quick to recognize Iskhander, the elder dhampyr son, as the creature he met on the side of the road several days before.
The man no longer looked like a peasant. The finery of his robes spoke of esteem and stature; the cockiness of his smile and the drumming of his fingers against the smooth surface of the table told Francis Alexander all he needed to know. The man with a mane of platinum hair waited for his prize.
“I am pleased to have my sons gathered here today.” Popescu smiled and his incisors cut through the thin skin around his mouth. Licking his lips, the vampyr was successful at keeping a tab on his madness; the red of his eyes looked more like t
he effect of shadows and torches playing about than mounting rage.
The patriarch continued with his discourse. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. A merchant from foreign lands who has come to my house in order to hand me a most valuable treasure.” His hand rested on top of Francis’s shoulder, a sign of deference and gratitude. He had claimed the Sidhe as a friend to the clan, easing the worries of some at having a stranger among them. With a snap of his fingers, Popescu called in the servants.
Two men kept their eyes firmly on the ground as they carried over a considerable leather bound case, which was carefully entrusted to their master. Upon opening, the assembled laid their eyes on a battle axe. The piece was heavier and larger than those of common craftsmanship, its design exquisite. The double blade of the ax was sustained by the length of a thick wooden handle carefully protected by a layer of leather that covered two thirds of the grip. It was crowned by an engraved silver spike; letters of dedication were also carved on the flat edge of the blade.
“Ishka, come to your father,” Popescu instructed his eldest son. The vampyr nodded, satisfied, even clapped as his son made his way from the table. “I still remember the first time I held you in my arms.” There was a trace of pride in his voice. “You were but a wretch of a creature, marked for death. But you proved to be worthy when, instead of drawing your last breath, you fought the ease of death’s sleep and drank from your mother’s fount to keep on living. I loved her. And that is more than I can say for the women who’ve carried your siblings since then. That is why, today, I have decided to raise you a head above the rest.”
Iskander approached with a confident stride. The outcome was better than expected. His father was about to consolidate his position in regards to his other offspring. If his succession was blessed by Popescu himself, then no one could stake a claim when his father finally stepped down and he’d take the mantle of vampyr upon himself.
Ishka looked at everyone gathered out of the corner of his eye, the smug smile that had become his staple reminded them that they were all about to be ordered to follow his beck and call. But pride and that constant need to mock his brothers did not allow him to see what was really in store. His father took the battle axe by its sturdy handle and struck out in one powerful blow, cutting through as easily as with a long sword. It was as smooth as it was fast, and there was hardly any dripping of blood. The edges of the blade were lustrous silver and seared the skin as it sliced through, leaving the stench of burned flesh permeating in the air. But the vampyr wanted bloodshed and, picking up his son’s head, impaled in on the tip of the ax just to see strings of crimson bathe the width of the blade. Blood rushed over the engraved metal, highlighting the dedication carved upon it: Proditio erunt Iustitiam. Treachery will meet justice.
Francis Alexander disappeared that night, satisfied with the outcome of his work. With a simple comment and manipulating the ambition of a son, he had forever disrupted the sacred, trusted bond between vampyr and dhampyr in House Popescu. From that day on, the head of the clan would be haunted with restless sleep, wondering which one of his sons would be the next one to betray him. One after another, he’d find a way to cull them, taking them out until he was reduced to having no defenses. The lesser clans that once swore the Popescu vampyrs fealty, those vampires by blood, grew afraid of the patriarch’s increasing madness and fled or joined other night dwellers with whom they found comfort.
As he left, Francis crossed paths with a peasant girl. She was mortal, not quite a beauty, but had striking grey eyes and soft spun gold for hair. He crouched, looking underneath the table where she had hidden. There was an exquisite aroma to her skin, something he had perceived months earlier and had grounded him to that place, sending him to ask all the right questions.
Alexander wanted her, but it was something more than mere carnal desire. She was a mate chosen by a link to ancient magic. But it was a little too late. Fairies could read humans as well as vampyrs could, and Francis heard the hurried beating heart of a dhampyr in her womb. The young woman was fixed on protecting her unborn child and her lips pronounced a name like a paryer. The Sidhe was not sure if gods had heard, but he did. It was Adriana.
***
“You should have made this known to me since the beginning,” Carla reproached her father.
“To what purpose? It is I who needed to see the big picture.” The old Sidhe’s eyes locked on the woman before him. He had hurt her and surely would do so again. Francis brushed his hand against her temple where the gray of years was starting to show through.
“I love you, Kar-lagh, but you are still not the perfect creature I seek. My intent to create a foothold in the human realm has provided me with beautiful yet frail children who can barely outlive the cycle of a human lifetime. You are a hundred and twenty years of age, and though resilient, you are showing the signs of age and eventual decay. Not only that, in three hundred years I have only been able to produce two daughters who have survived to adulthood, and are now forced to live under the guise of mother and child. How is Isabel, by the way? How is my little one?”
Her sister. Years of living together in the human realm brought Carla to think of Isabel as her own daughter, but the elder sister could never conceive a child and had to settle for her sibling and nephew. Still, it felt strange to confess Isabel was not her daughter, and she caught herself pausing before answering.
“Terrible and spoiled as always. Although I can’t deny that with all the drama that has unfolded with Esteban’s orchestrated death, she is carrying on as well as can be expected. She has never been much of an actress, my sweet little sister.”
“Ah! The downfall of my daughters! They fight among themselves as time slips between my fingers. Is that a tinge of jealousy I detect…Carla?”
Isabel was the crowned successor of House Alexander.
Francis had begotten his elder daughter, Carla, after pursuing a beauty of dark eyes and raven hair. He had gone around the world to find such a link like the one he had lost centuries ago, and his travels led him to Andorra. Back then, he went by the name Francisco Alejandro, and the youth in his face and the charm in his words tied the Catalan beauty to his whim. But Carla was cold, more Sidhe than human, incapable of conceiving children of her own be it through Fae or mortal seed. By the time Francis discovered another compatible strain to his bloodline through the O’Reilly men, it was obvious that his plan required a fertile female child to come to fruition.
So father and daughter returned to where he had once found a woman. He was able to find another match, the product of one of his dead wife’s great-nieces, twice removed.
If anything, the strain was slightly stronger in this one, closer to that glorious scent he had captured but once in this long lifetime. Enough time had passed for them not to remember the story of the attractive stranger who came looking for a wife, so it was easy to enthrall another.
He had tempted fate, returning to the same place again, and each use of magic binding had a serious consequence. Francis paid dearly for his second match. The union took its toll. In time, conceiving a second daughter robbed him of his youthful appearance. In a century or so, his face started to fade into unconceivable old age and certain members of the Seelie Court of Aval started questioning the reason for this heavy burden placed upon him.
Alexander was dying, as no fairy had ever done. Isabel cost him a retreat into the inter-world. But he was pleased as he had never been. From the gates of Aval, he saw his daughter achieve what few full-blooded fairies could—Isabel carried two children, both invested with magical traits that granted they were more than human.
At that point in time, Carla had gone from being her sister’s keeper to posing as her mother. The Alejandro women formed a bond with one of the unborn creatures, Evelyn. They knew instinctively that the female would be the stronger changeling, exceeding even her mother. Carla could see inside of Isabel and she was proud of that which she called her “little bird.” However, Bastian Salgado and his influ
ence over Neil made them reconsider their plans. They had lost their darling, but saved Esteban.
“Do you remember the day you showed at my doorstep? You were devastated, requesting I bring Evelyn back from the dead, but the child was forfeit,” her father continued. “It was then that I found it again, permeating on both of your skins, the trace of that scent that captured my attention so long ago. Compatible in all possible ways.”
“What are you implying, Father?” Carla suspected, but she was still working out her place as a witness to her father’s unexpected confession, so she forced herself to ask.
Francis Alexander crossed his legs, accommodating his frame in the ample chair. Carla noticed with unmasked disgust that he did so trying to conceal evidence of his arousal. What was left of his virility quickened just by conjuring this constant obsession.
“More human than her predecessors, Adriana promised never to drink from an open vein again, let alone kill in the process. That kept her mother’s essence alive in her, undiluted. Nevertheless, her blood was polluted by the dhampyr transition. It was poison to our kind. And yet, one born of her would be able to provide me with heirs strong enough to cut their ties to Aval and once again take residence on this Earth.”
Carla knew what he meant. Powerful as she was, special as Isabel might have proven to be, they were still prisoners of a realm that had a claim upon them. Whenever they closed their eyes, they would be called back into the Court of Fae to serve as pawns. They were judged as lesser beings and treated accordingly.
“It was then that I started to work on my contingency plan. I’m sorry that you regret being kept in the dark but it was necessary. Esteban had enough Sidhe in him to help me see my plan through. Strong enough to fully incorporate a Fae mantle underneath his skin, yet not enough to become an interest to the Seelie Court. It took him a while to visit the Gates of Aval, but when he finally did it, as a child, once he was able to communicate what he saw in visions and dreams—the day he drew the Circle on Innisfree’s soft soil—I knew exactly what to do.”
