Kiss of the Butterfly

by James Lyon

  ‘Now hold…’

  ‘If you don’t let them bite you, they are no more powerful than an ordinary human being,’ Slatina cut him off before he could even begin his sentence. ‘Even the lycanthropes aren’t that difficult to combat. They just look fierce, although their teeth and claws do make things a bit more difficult. But they are not invisible or exceptionally fast or strong. Their power lies in their ability to shift shape, command lower animals, immobilize humans with their bites, and drain a man’s life essence, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Other than that, they are no different from you or me. Once they are discovered, they become vulnerable, so they do all they can to maintain secrecy.

  ‘Most importantly you must remember that a vampire’s powers lie in his burial shroud. If you can take that from him, he cannot shift shape or flee, and you will have him at your mercy. Some vampires will even stop struggling entirely, get down on their knees and beg for their shroud back. Therein lies the essence of their immortality. If you burn the shroud, you are left with a weak, bloodsucking leech in the shape of a human with little ability to fight back, other than its fists. As long as you know what you are facing, you will be safe. Simply do not let them gang up on you.’

  ‘Are you really serious?’ Steven asked. ‘Do you really expect me to return to Serbia, go into the tunnels under Petrovaradin, find some secret chamber and see if it’s full of vampires? There’s no way!’

  ‘Not just that. If the seals have been disturbed you must enter and retrieve an item for me.’

  ‘Retrieve an item? You’re crazy!’ But curiosity got the better of him and he added: ‘What kind of item?’

  ‘Nothing really, simply a small package,’ Slatina said elusively.

  ‘What’s in the package? You’ve already sent me out once without telling me what was happening. If you think it’s going to happen again, then forget it.’

  Slatina looked at him carefully.

  ‘It is my journal.’

  ‘Your journal? Then why don’t you go get it?’

  ‘I cannot. I will be arrested.’

  ‘What’s so important about your journal?’ Steven asked.

  ‘These twelve were clever and powerful and had mostly disappeared from view. A smart vampire moves far away and blends into his surroundings making him nearly unnoticeable. He may run a business by day, surround himself with lackeys who protect him, and use his wiles to kill his victims in a manner attributable to everyday violence. Yet we found their Achilles heel. A vampire must return to its grave every Good Friday. We found their graves, and – if you will – staked them out,’ he chuckled at his pun.

  Steven winced and rolled his eyes.

  ‘I recorded the final resting places of the eleven. If they have not moved their graves, it will be a useful tool to recapture and kill them, especially those who are concealed.’

  ‘But Easter’s almost a year away,’ Steven said.

  ‘It will not be easy. It took us nearly four years to round up the twelve. Some were hundreds of years old when I captured them and had amassed substantial fortunes. If they are free they will recover their treasure and use it to re-enter society.

  ‘This is a struggle against darkness, against the Adversary. I am asking you to help me revive the Order of the Dragon and fight the kingdom of the Devil. I need your goodness and your honesty. I need the strength of your faith.’ Slatina gazed directly into Steven’s eyes, but this time without his eyes turning feline red.

  A long silence followed, during which Steven heard every tick of his own wristwatch.

  ‘Is there no one else?’ he asked.

  ‘I need someone right now who is honest, with a good heart, and who understands what is at stake,’ Slatina replied. ‘I frankly do not have the time to find and train someone else. Too much is happening far too quickly. If they have escaped, then I fear they may try to reunite their quorum under the command of the Vlach. Something has torn apart the once-proud Yugoslavia with ease and is feasting on its life’s essence. If it is them, they must be halted before the scourge spreads further.’

  Steven looked at his hands for a long time before again looking Slatina in the eyes.

  ‘Then I will help you. But who is the Vlach?’

  ‘Ah,’ Slatina smiled grimly. ‘He is known to you as Vlad Dracula.’

  * * *

  That evening, as they sat on the terrace watching the lights of Budapest and drinking wine, Slatina said matter-of-factly: ‘Steven, I must rebuild the Order, and I would like your help. Throughout its history the Order always had a monarch as its patron. But now there are no longer emperors or kings, nor are there great powers willing to intervene. As long as the chaos lasts the vampires will profit. It is in their interest to prolong the chaos, as it makes their lives easier. The resulting wars will see more people infected with this evil. The Order must be restored to its former power and influence, or the curse will spread upon the face of the earth.’

  Thanks to investments made on behalf of the Order hundreds of years earlier, Slatina had enormous wealth at his disposal, money invested throughout the world, via a network of holding companies. Yet money could not buy what he sought: a sovereign as patron who could place the full power and might of his state behind the Order. Approaching a foreign intelligence service was ruled out, as he knew that the Order would end up being manipulated. Forming a special corporation would do no good, as it would have no credible reason to enter the war-torn region. He could turn to the Vatican, but the current Pope had sided with the Croats and had no real power even in Croatia. A small mercenary army could not operate openly in Bosnia, Croatia, Kosovo, Montenegro or Serbia without attracting the attention of the local forces or the United States, Russia and the European Union. He felt stymied.

  During the next several days Slatina taught Steven more than he had imagined possible. Steven listened raptly and enjoyed the myriad digressions the professor made as every little thing sidetracked him into some long-lost memory. Slatina liked to walk while talking, and in this manner they covered much of Budapest. Slatina taught Steven how to open the locks to the chamber under Petrovaradin and began training him to fight vampires. Steven discovered that for this, being left-handed was a useful gift.

  ‘In a fight, a right-handed person leads with his left,’ Slatina showed him, as they stood in front of a large punching bag. ‘A left-handed person leads with his right hand, so it gives you an advantage and keeps the left side of your body away from their teeth. When you fight a vampire, just remember everything you learned in wrestling, and don’t let it sink its teeth into you.’ He also helped Steven recognize some of the external signs, particularly the bloating.

  Every evening they watched CNN, BBC and Sky News on television. Slatina paid rapt attention to the stories coming from the Balkans that showed besieged Sarajevo, refugee camps, and most of all, the politicians and warlords. On one occasion, he drew Steven’s attention to a baby-faced paramilitary commander who passed briefly across the screen in back of a group of politicians and said: ‘That one is a vampire.’ When Steven asked how he knew, Slatina said simply: ‘I can tell.’ Then added: ‘War brings out the noblest and basest instincts in man. It is a perfect breeding ground for the spread of evil. We have much work ahead of us.’

  Slatina wondered how Steven would face the challenges ahead. The darkness was now encompassing Bosnia, as the terror left no human life untouched. Each day they listened to gruesome and horrifying testimonies of ethnic cleansing, mass murders, mass rapes and the wanton destruction of entire villages. Steven’s mission took on a new sense of urgency and he became anxious to leave.

  ‘There is something else you must do,’ Slatina said. ‘Today we shall purchase a television and video recorder for you to take back to Serbia. I want you to tape the news and talk shows. I must see whether vampires are present in public life.’

  ‘How can you tell who’s a vampire?’

  ‘As I told you, I have special talents…they cannot hide from my gaze,’
Slatina said grimly.

  Steven wondered about his other special talents. The two homes on Castle Hill seemed overrun with butterflies, and on several occasions he could have sworn he had seen Slatina whispering to them.

  * * *

  After a week of brainstorming the Order’s reincarnation and learning about vampires, on Friday Steven bade farewell to Slatina. By mutual agreement Steven would travel to Petrovaradin, examine the vampires’ chamber, retrieve the journal, and then proceed to Belgrade, where he would tape the local television news and talk shows for Slatina to scan for vampires. Steven would stay for two weeks and then return to Budapest. Slatina had instructed him to get a map of the Petrovaradin underground from Mrs. Lazarevic and to find out from her how to access the chamber. His final words to Steven were: ‘Trust no one.’

  Steven took the mini-bus back to Novi Sad on Friday. Although the television and VCR attracted the attention of the Serbian customs officials, a twenty Deutsche Mark banknote resolved the issue quickly. ‘I’m learning, Neso,’ Steven said to himself.

  He arrived at Mrs. Lazarevic’s home shortly after mid-day and she greeted him warmly: the first question she asked was: ‘What did Marko tell you?’

  After lunch she brought out a large flat map case, from which she withdrew a sprawling yellowed diagram on thick parchment, over a meter long and half a meter wide. At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than an intricate series of star-shaped geometric lines with interconnecting and crisscrossing diagonals. But an intricate hand-stenciled legend read Souterrain-Plan der Festung Peterwardein, in Dermahlen Befintligen Stant Nebs. Denen Mayerhoffen und Umbligenden Schantzen, anno 1797, with a scale of 1:4000. It was a map of the fortress’ defenses and underground corridors from 1797. ‘You will copy this,’ she said.

  She drew his attention to the markings. ‘The fortress has four underground levels in the Labyrinth, and each intersection has a marble tablet or marker stating the name of the corridor. The lettering on the tablets is color-coded: red for the first level, green the second, blue the third and black the fourth. That way you can keep from getting lost, if you know which level you are on and have a map. If you don’t, then you could starve to death down there if your batteries die. So you must have a guide.’

  ‘Professor Stojadinovic will lead us. He says he knows the underground galleries well.’

  ‘No one knew them better than my Rade,’ Mrs. Lazarevic said. ‘He was stationed here as a soldier until the outbreak of World War Two, and he could find his way around the tunnels in the dark. There is also a fifth level. My Rade and Marko built it long ago, and it is unknown to anyone else…you read about that in the archives.’

  ‘Yes. And Professor Slatina told me about it in detail.’ He studied the map more closely. ‘But the fifth level isn’t on this map.’

  ‘Do you see this passageway here, where it says IV/500 Kom. Gall., and then it leads to IV. H.G. 507?’

  He stared at the faded print in the maze of intersecting lines. ‘Yes.’

  ‘In this passageway lies the entrance to the fifth level,’ she stated matter-of-factly, ‘where they interred the eleven vampires.’

  ‘Have you been there?’

  ‘Yes, many times. But the ground water rose and flooded the entrance to the lower chamber, so neither Rade nor I have checked the seals for more than fifteen years. Now even parts of the fourth level are flooded.

  ‘What’s it like, this chamber? What’s in it?’

  ‘Just vampires in coffins. If they are still there, then they are very, very hungry. And angry.’

  ‘Are they still there?’

  ‘I think they escaped years ago,’ she said with a polite smile. ‘When you go tomorrow, make certain everyone stays together. Have Professor Stojadinovic lead you to the entrance to the fifth level, but make certain he doesn’t know that you know. I will tell you how to open the lock. If the seals are intact, just leave them as they are.’

  ‘Is it safe?’ Steven asked.

  ‘Yes. Marko has always been a strong, good man, but he is a fool sometimes when it comes to women. It is because of a woman that this is happening.’

  ‘A woman?’

  ‘Never mind. We shall speak only about what is important, not gossip,’ Mrs. Lazarevic said, reprimanding herself again. ‘You will be safe.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Steven said, his voice uncertain.

  ‘Yes. If they escaped there is no reason for them to linger in the Labyrinth. They will have moved to another location. Take Marko’s journal and leave.’

  ‘Are you sure I’ll be okay?’

  ‘Steven, if I let you do anything dangerous my Katarina would never forgive me. Now, make certain you take a dry pair of socks and a warm jacket. It’s chilly down there, and I don’t want you to catch cold. And I will make some fresh apple strudel to take with you…’

  She reminded him of his mother, and he smiled.

  ‘Now, I shall make you a warm supper. I hope you like garlic.’

  * * *

  Interlude IX: Vakufgrad, Bosnia and Herzegovina: April 1992

  The Serb-controlled Yugoslav People’s Army had encircled the town two days earlier and begun lobbing artillery shells indiscriminately into the town center every so often, simply to frighten the inhabitants. From inside there was no contact with the outside world. All phone lines had been cut, there was no electricity or running water, and army roadblocks prevented the residents from leaving the terror of the bombardment. The town was defenseless, the only weapons at the residents’ disposal being a few scattered hunting rifles. People huddled in their cellars or on the ground floors of their homes seeking refuge from the incoming shells.

  Their Serb neighbors had all left a few days earlier, and the remaining members of the town council sent a delegation to the army to announce that the town was open and undefended. But the army maintained the roadblocks and the cordon around the town, while continuing to sporadically lob shells on the defenseless inhabitants.

  Low clouds and a heavy mist descended on the town as the weather turned everything murky, the only color coming from the fires started by artillery. Buildings shuddered with the impact of high explosives on concrete, brick and plaster. A few bodies lay in the streets, persons unlucky enough to be caught in the open when the shelling started. The artillery tore apart cars, peppered street-lights and light posts with shrapnel, demolished storefronts, shattered and cracked windows and rained dust everywhere. The townspeople found themselves caught in a hell they could not flee.

  At dusk the artillery fire lifted and a small convoy of dark jeeps and military trucks approached the army roadblock to the east of town, a black Mercedes SUV in the lead. A tinted window lowered and the commander looked at the regular army officer manning the roadblock.

  ‘You have orders to let us pass.’

  The officer in charge nodded grimly, recognizing the face in the Mercedes as belonging to a man whose nickname – Ris or Lynx – instilled fear in the hearts of all who heard it. ‘We’ve softened up the town for you. There’ll be no resistance. Just send them out to us and we’ll send them to refugee camps.’

  ‘How we do our job is none of your business,’ Lynx said arrogantly, shifting his silenced Heckler & Koch MP5 machine pistol in his hands as he petted a small wolf cub on the seat beside him. He disappeared behind his tinted window and the convoy drove on towards the town center.

  The Wolves descended on the village at nightfall, wool balaclavas covering their heads, their shoulders sporting a patch with a ravenous wolf’s head, jaws open, teeth glistening. They waved large Bowie knives, Kalashnikovs and German Heckler & Koch MP3 rifles as they rousted people from their homes and lined them up in their yards, shooting indiscriminately. One Wolf formed ten captives in a line, let his men place bets, then pressed his pistol against the skull of the last man and pulled the trigger. Three fell over dead and the winner collected his jackpot.

  They herded the inhabitants into the local high school auditorium. The Lyn
x walked among them, patted the children on their heads and gave them candy. He then left them without food, water or the use of toilet facilities for the next four days, the men on the right side, the women and children on the left. They took the more attractive women and girls to a local motel, where the Wolves satisfied their lusts in a non-stop orgy of gang-rape that lasted until the women passed out, and continued even after.

  They came for the men individually, starting with the mayor and town councilmen, then local business leaders and anyone with a university degree. The Wolves bound their hands behind their backs with wire and dragged them from the auditorium as their wives and children screamed and protested. The screams and shrieks of the tortured echoed down the school hallways day and night, filling those in the auditorium with terror as they awaited their turn. Sometimes the Wolves would throw a lucky survivor back into the auditorium, too badly beaten to walk or crawl. More often than not, they were never seen again.

  Lynx took over the mayor’s office. The Wolves brought him a prisoner every several hours, hands bound. After inhumanly loud sessions of torture, Lynx would throw each victim’s bloodless corpse out the window into the parking lot below.

  While he feasted, the increasingly bloated commander ordered his troops to strip all the homes and buildings of anything of value: jewelry, toilets, hot water heaters, stereos, televisions, washing machines, sinks, door and window frames, electric fixtures, personal possessions, even books. They loaded everything onto trucks that disappeared in the direction of Serbia to be sold on the black market. Those cars still able to run were also taken. When everything of value had been stripped from the homes, they were put to the torch or demolished with explosive charges.

  On the third day a Wolf brought a man to Lynx, bent with age over a gnarled cane, born – he said – when a Sultan still ruled Bosnia. ‘He says he has information that he’ll give only you, boss.’