A presence.
He couldn’t find a different word for what he felt at the moment.
A huge, overwhelming presence.
***
A tall being in a long, black coat appeared at the door.
“Stop, who goes there?” Jerzy yelled out, and cold sweat dewed his forehead.
The being didn’t respond, but walked a few steps forward. It definitely wasn’t anyone from the nighters’ unit... so, an enemy.
“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” Jerzy groaned out weakly.
His thoughts galloped in twisted chaos. What other fucking thing needed to be said? Was he supposed to shoot yet, or would it be unjustified use of his weapon? Wait, where was that fucking backup? They should have heard him... he couldn’t wait for the nighters, better shoot, moron, before it’s too late!
“Stop!” he nearly whispered.
As if in a trance, he trained the red circle on the approaching silhouette. He shot a double. Quickly. One, two.
Noise spread around the hall. Echoed from the walls. Hurt his ears.
Time sped up, fueled by adrenaline. Jerzy only saw bits of pictures. The creature kept getting closer, so he thought he’d missed, he set the MP5 to stream shoot. He pushed out a series of several bullets into his enemy, the recoil nearly ripping the gun from his hand, and bullets began to wound the ceiling.
The other kept walking in that slow, nonchalant step.
Jerzy treated him to another series of bullets, but without any results. So he shot again and again...
The bullets smashed the pots, walls, and windows, hailing shrapnel.
The other kept walking in that slow, nonchalant step.
Nine millimeter parabellum didn’t make slightest impression on him... Or maybe had just missed him widely?
The gun clicked silently; the magazine held thirty bullets. No more ammo. No chance to switch it out, not here, not now. There was no backup, there was no sound of colleagues running over to help, there was no voice speaking in the receiver stuck in his ear. The nighters were silent, silent as if they had dissolved in the fog. Did they forget him? Or maybe they were dead... all of them?
The enemy stopped a step away, right in front of him. Untouched.
So he really was a vampire, Jerzy thought, dropping the empty MP5 helplessly to his side. They didn’t lie, they didn’t screw with me, it was all true. And vampires are immortal. I have no chance.
In a sweep of desperation, he grabbed the gun, and turned a flashlight on with his left hand. He shone the light straight into his opponent’s eyes.
Frightfully light pupils nearly disappeared in bright whiteness, marked with narrow iris needles. The eyes shone with their own light, and Arlecki became lightheaded just by looking at them.
He suddenly understood that Lord Ultor himself stood before him. That message appeared in his mind and stayed there as undeniable fact.
The newcomer blinked, and his solemn, serious face stretched in a smile full of approval.
“Oh, that was good, that with the flashlight,” he said approvingly. “Unconventional thinking. Hardly anyone thinks of it. They just shoot bullets senselessly. I like you, kid.”
Jerzy shivered, hearing that powerful voice. He suddenly weakened. He felt like kneeling obediently before the lord, waiting for his decision. Any decision, as long as it came from him, any order to fulfill now, immediately.
Instead, he let go of the MP5, and pulled out a glock with his right hand. He lifted it, added his left hand and took a combat position.
“Stay still or I’ll shoot!” he yelled, aiming at the vampire’s coat lapels.
Dumb... so what that it was fucking dumb? Did he have any choice? Anti-vampire equipment hadn’t been included in today’s plans. Guillotines and crossbows with wooden nails were temporarily out.
Ultor grimaced in disdain.
“Surprise me with something,” he asked. “You roll with instincts, and not well trained ones at that. It’s so uninspired...”
“They didn’t deliver wooden stakes yet,” Jerzy growled. Lifting his eyes, he stared straight into Lord Ultor’s.
A mistake, a terrible mistake... they had told him not to do it. Shining with a strange glow, the irises told him to step back, and lower the gun. He obeyed before he realized that he was doing it. He grabbed ahold of himself when he began to slowly bend his knees, to kneel before the lord in submission.
He straightened up immediately, lifted the gun with both hands, and began shooting blindly with his head down.
He used up the whole magazine, seventeen bullets. Maybe one would hit the vampire lord straight in the heart or head, who knew?
The vampire let out loud, mocking laughter.
Keeping his eyes trained on the floor, Jerzy saw how the untouched bullets moved toward him along the parquet. They stopped right in front of him, forming a smiley face.
He was enveloped in a feeling of total helplessness. He wanted to cry.
“All right, kid, we’re going to end this game, so I can get back to the meeting,” Ultor said. “I found out what I needed anyway.”
The gun jerked itself out of Arlecki’s hand, and clattered to the floor. Jerzy nodded with resignation, straightened up, and trained his eyes on the black coat’s collar, framing the white neck. As long as he didn’t have to look up and look into the vampire’s eyes.
“Why did you want to kill me?” the vampire asked.
“Because you wanted to kill me,” Jerzy replied immediately. “I preferred to be first.”
“And I thought it was to protect widows and children etc.,” Ultor tossed out mockingly. “And to keep up the eternal human-vampire enmity at its proper lever. Unless you had some particular personal reasons for killing me? Or at least some legal reason; an order, verdict, that kind of stuff...”
Jerzy swallowed. He put his hands on the now useless MP5, tightening his fingers helplessly on it. What was he to do, run away? Beg for mercy? Or lunge at the other one with his bare hands? Pointless, he decided in his mind. The lord’s power outgrew all imagination, and Ultor would do whatever he wanted with him. All actions would be doomed to fail, resulting in humiliating hysteria. It was better to die standing up. To show the enemy he wasn’t afraid of death... too much.
“No,” he choked out in the end. “I have nothing against you personally. And nobody told me to shoot you either. I didn’t get an order; I didn’t see a verdict. I was afraid of you, that’s all.”
“And was I dangerous to you in any direct way?” Ultor asked calmly. “I just came in here, and what did you do? You yelled, ‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’ followed immediately by a series of bullets. I wouldn’t really have had a chance to stop, even if I’d wanted to. Was that nice?”
“I preferred to be first,” Jerzy repeated. “It would be better to be judged by four men than carried out by six, you know.”
It all began to feel completely surreal. This scene, this conversation was so absurd... Death was approaching in large steps—he felt its presence—but he stood right in front of an over-thousand-year-old vampire, apologizing for shooting without adequate reason and warning. Suddenly he burst out in an insane, desperate giggle.
“But you wanted to kill me, and that’s why you came here,” he said lightly as if that was a joke. “So we’re even.” He became serious all of a sudden, “Okay, so do what you’re supposed to do, and quit fucking around. It’s getting pathetic.”
He lifted his eyes and stared straight in the vampire lord’s eyes, harshly, challengingly. He wouldn’t ask for mercy or moan in fear. Dignity. The only thing he could fight for was his dignity. Nothing more than that.
Ultor didn’t control or attack him with his sight like before. His eyes were calm, thoughtful.
“I didn’t know if I wanted to,” he said slowly, “but now I know. Yes, I’ll kill you.”
Arlecki paled, but remained erect. He let go of the gun, and it hung loosely in its strap. He took his helmet off, unpinning the night goggles. The equipment cla
ttered to the floor.
The human took a loud breath.
“Go ahead,” he said calmly.
“You deserve it,” the lord muttered. “You definitely do.”
Suddenly, the air whistled, and Arlecki managed to catch the other man’s few moves with his eyes, a flash of steel... A wave of hotness rolled down his naked neck, reached up to his right ear. He lifted both hands and pressed them to his blood-gushing jugular. An incredible weakness swathed him, and his vision blackened quickly. He managed to see Ultor shake off drops of blood from a wakizashi sword with a short, decisive move, and then, lifting part of his coat, put it in a sheath hanging from his belt.
Jerzy fell to his knees, his body started to feel painfully cold in rhythm to the red life drops leaving his body.
“Too bad,” the vampire lord said, standing over him. “You could have been one of us.”
“Yes,” Arlecki whispered, laying softly on the ground. “Too bad. I could have been one of you... I would prefer that I think, you know?”
He lay on his back, the white moonlight crossing through the orangery windows and blurring in his extinguishing eyes. Then solemn, serious face of Lord Ultor appeared over him...
And then darkness came, and he didn’t see anything anymore in it.
“Salve, frater!” Ultor said, leaning over the dying one. “Salve file Latentis.”
***
Jerzy woke up with a scream. He reached for his neck, searching for the slashed jugular... Nothing.
Smooth, healthy skin. No sign of a wound or even a scar.
He sat on the bed, and looked around frantically.
He was in an empty room, bathed in a delicate glow coming through a wide-open window. The wind slithering in and carried the resin scent of an evergreen forest.
“Emów?” Jerzy muttered uncertainly. “Still?”
He got up, looking over the black, silky fabric of his tracksuit. He crushed it between his fingers and it was light and pleasant.
He leaned over the bed and checked if there was a gun under his pillow. No, nothing. He glanced around the room once more. Apart from a metal bed, there wasn’t anything else in there.
He walked up to the door; pushed it. It opened.
He stepped out into semi-dark corridor and looked around. Was it still Emów? He still wasn’t sure.
He walked up to huge double door. Pushing it gently, he walked inside.
Twenty-something men, all wearing the same black tracksuits, were in the room. They sat on sofas, armchairs... one of them was working a minibar stuck in a corner. A huge flat screen TV took up nearly a whole wall. The windows were thrown wide open, letting in the gentle glow here as well.
Once they saw him, they faced him, looking friendly. Jerzy walked in a few steps and stopped, shyly.
Morawski stood up from the chair by the window and walked up to him, smiling brightly.
“Operation ‘Faust’ one thousand one hundred and thirteen, successfully completed,” he announced gladly. “Welcome to the club, Vesper.”
He extended his hand toward him. Jerzy smiled briefly, still not understanding anything. He squeezed the captain’s hand automatically, and nodded.
“Sit, sit.” Morawski walked him over and sat him down on a couch, next to a table. “Oy, guys, get a move on! Give the kid a drink, he must be starving.”
The bartender took out a tall glass in a flash, filled it with ruby liquid, and placed it on the counter. One of the men grabbed it, and brought it to the table, handing it to Arlecki in a nearly ceremonial gesture.
Jerzy took the drink, only now feeling how hungry and thirsty he was. He gulped the contents of the glass in one swig. The drink was delicious; a tad sweet, a bit salty, and incredibly refreshing. Arlecki felt better right away. He smiled appreciatively, and put the empty glass on the table.
“Thanks,” he said, not hiding his relief. “I really needed that.”
Approving smiles appeared on the faces of the men surrounding him. Suddenly, the captain became serious. He gestured for one of the men, who got up immediately and walked to a cabinet by the wall. He pulled out a plastic folder and handed it to Jerzy.
“The funeral was beautiful. People cried,” he stated solemnly.
Arlecki opened the folder, and pulled out a stack of papers and photos. As he looked it over, his eyes widened in shock.
Jerzy Arlecki, killed in action.
Death certificate.
Funeral photos.
Honorary salute.
Gravestone.
Crying aunt.
Finally, he ran his eyes over his colleagues, a puzzled look on his face.
“You faked my death?” he asked. “But why? Is this unit really that secret?”
“We faked your funeral,” the major said, entering the hall.
All present jumped up and stood straight. Except for Jerzy, who sat on the couch, still staring at the documents in disbelief.
“At ease,” the major said. “Yes, the unit is very secret,” he added calmly, walking up to the table. “But we didn’t fake your death. You died, Vesper, you really died. And now you’ve joined us, and Lord Ultor accepted you into the unit, offering you the Gift of Blood. You died and woke for the Night. What you think?”
The recruit burst into silent, nervous laughter.
“Gift of Blood?” he mumbled. “I died... and live? Means that...what? I’m a vampire now? Me?”
They nodded in solemn, serious silence.
“And I’m gonna run around the city, and attack people,” he prattled on, slightly hysterical. “And suck their blood out and all...”
“Don’t you even try,” the major interrupted him briskly. “Ultor would cut your head off for antics like that. You get food here, and you’re not allowed to hunt on your own.”
“I told you we’re a special unit to fight vampires,” the captain added patiently. “We fight vampires, not people.”
“Renegade vampires,” the major filled in. “And you swore to protect citizens of the Republic of Poland, remember? You’re still in ISA, currently as a lieutenant. The training is over. There will be no more trials; you were accepted by the Lord, that’s enough. Oh, and remember, Jerzy Arlecki is dead. Your name is Vesper.”
The new vampire nodded slowly. Suddenly, he realized that his stomach was full of freshly drunk blood... He felt sick, and thought he would throw up any moment. He jumped off the couch, pushing his colleagues to the side, and ran up to the window. He leaned over the sill, breathing heavily. The nausea passed; apparently his body didn’t plan on expelling the precious liquid.
He looked around, still heaving. Clouds zoomed across the sky, and the sun gave off streams of light between them. It finally appeared from behind clouds for a longer moment. Vesper looked up incredulous, feeling dizzier.
There was only half of the sun.
And it was so strangely large, covered in scars... And didn’t shine as much as usual.
He finally understood, and slid off the sill, sitting on the floor. He glanced at his colleagues, surrounding him in a circle with serious expressions.
“So that’s how it is...” he said quietly. “I woke up for the Night.”
“Operation ‘Faust’ successfully completed,” the major confirmed calmly. “You’ve been recruited to the Nighters, Section III of the White Intelligence Office of ISA. Tomorrow, you start your real service for the Republic of Poland .”
Vesper nodded again. He closed his eyes for a moment, saying goodbye in his mind to Jerzy Arlecki and his life.
And then turned around and stared into the moon, which shone triumphantly in the sky.
I’ll get my uniform, and a locker key
The leader “attention-at ease” will tell me
Around our beautiful land my shoes will breeze
Being a soldier, a soldier at ease
Soon all my worries away will go
I have no need for money or work to do
I walk when they tell me, and if not, I re
st
Being a soldier, a soldier is best
And if some history was to be made
You know only one: Motherland this bade
And you can honestly your innocence trust
Being a soldier, a soldier is a must
Bulat Okudzhava
American Soldier’s Song
Illegal Blood
Two tall, slim men walked up to a table, sliding onto red leather seats. Each round table in the center of a small lodge was separated from others with a wooden screen. The place was called “Moonwalker”. A poster of Michael Jackson’s same-titled movie was hung right by the door, as if the owner wanted to announce he was the King of Pop’s fan and he’d named the pub after him.
The men looked around. The younger of the two drummed his fingers impatiently on a tabletop covered in a green, floor-length tablecloth. A waitress noticed them immediately and approached briskly. She smiled at the older one; apparently he was a regular there.
“Hey Mike,” she greeted him cheerfully. “What can I get you?” Her eyes swooped carefully over the other, unfamiliar patron.
“Same as usual, twice,” he answered, smiling brightly.
His companion nodded in agreement, twisting his lips in slightly forced smile. The waitress scribbled something in her notebook and walked away, flashing them a noncommittal smile.
“So?” the one called Mike asked. “Can you manage?”
The young man breathed deeply. He looked around with ill-hidden nervousness.
“It’s hard,” he admitted reluctantly. “Hard. So many people around... I can almost feel their blood.”
“Not bad anyway,” the other cheered him up. “I wouldn’t take you into a fully human crowd yet. Half the people here are ours. You getting it, Vesper? You see the difference? You feel it?”
He nodded.
“Sure, Nidor,” he confirmed. “I don’t know yet how it works... but, it’s just clear. Who is ours and who’s not.”
“Waitress?” the other tossed out, as if asking a student in front of a blackboard.
“Ours,” Vesper answered immediately.
Nighter Page 4
