The man kept his eyes on Lavinia, studying her. What he saw must have reassured him she wasn’t a junkie. “We still need to make sure you are okay.” He asked her a few more questions, wrote her full name and address on a pad, then said, “Do you have any money to buy something to eat?”
Lavinia’s hand went to her side, where her hobo bag usually sat against her hip, but she had left her apartment without it. “No, but I can walk home.”
“Dinner’s on me tonight,” the man said, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket.
Lavinia raised her hands to halt him and shook her head. “No, it’s okay, thank you.”
“I insist.” The man pushed a few bills into her hand and helped her up. “How do you feel?”
The street and the man swam around her for a few seconds, but soon enough, her sense of balance returned. “I’m fine,” she said. “And thank you.” She raised her hand clutching the euros and took a step. When she was sure she could walk, she nodded at the man, who nodded back but remained on the sidewalk, checking on her until she entered the alley.
In her aimless wander, Lavinia hadn’t realized she had entered Trastevere and she was close to Leone Rampante. Instead of eating at one of the small trattorias for which the neighborhood was famous, she headed toward the pub. She needed a familiar setting tonight.
As soon as she entered Leone Rampante, Giulio, the manager came and hugged her tight, and she knew she had done the right thing.
5
Adrian awoke in the room next to Mark. He had finally gone to sleep past noon, when it was clear that he wouldn’t find any answer by pacing the catacombs, but hadn’t wanted to drive back to his house. His friend would sleep for another hour at least, giving him time to gather his thoughts.
Whatever was happening to him, Adrian would need to be proactive and inform the Directive. He knew, without a doubt, that the thirst wasn’t done with him. It coursed through him like a living thing, a feverish need that left him weak. Even now, after drinking enough blood to satiate an army of voracious vamplings, Adrian felt the tingle in his throat.
He had no other option but to call Magno Zara himself. If anyone might know why Adrian was affected by this inexplicable thirst, that would be the old vampire. Even older than Adrian, Magno would know where to look for answers.
And as if on cue, Adrian’s vision blurred as his body spasmed in the throes of the insatiable thirst. He needed to feed. After raiding the pub’s pantry the night before, there was no blood left at Leone Rampante.
Enslaved by the ague that ravaged both his body and his mind, Adrian sprinted through the catacombs, hoping to feed before what was left of his consciousness would disappear, consumed by the imperative to wet his parched throat.
By the time he reached the next exit to another of his businesses, Adrian had become a mere shell of his former self. He burst into the pantry of the restaurant, scaring to death one of the waiters, who dropped a bottle of wine to the floor and fled. He ripped the large industrial fridge’s door from its hinges and grabbed a handful of blood bags. One after the other, he punctured the plastic and gorged on the cold plasma. Droplets stained his hands, his mouth, his chin, and his shirt already caked with his previous hasty meal.
Only when he had topped the last bag did Adrian pause long enough to breathe. He caught his reflection on the stainless-steel door of the fridge and recoiled at the sight. Never in his long life as an undead had he fallen victim to the savage need of feeding as he had just done. For a moment, the rest of the world had disappeared, replaced by the raw necessity to stop the thirst at any cost.
A few persons peeked through the open door, looking at him with terrified stares and lowering their eyes as soon as he stared back with a snarl. Emerging from the crowd, the manager stepped into the pantry, his face a mask of horror as he took in the ripped bags and the blood stains.
“Leave me alone. Go back to your work,” Adrian said. “Nothing happened. You—” He pointed at the manager who froze on the spot. “Do you have more blood?”
“No, I don’t.” The man shook his head, trembling. “That was our entire stock for the month.”
The crowd dispersed, and the manager grabbed a broom and gathered the plastic bags to the center. Adrian didn’t linger. Instead, he hurried back into the catacombs, because Mark would be waking any minute now and they needed to talk.
As soon as Adrian turned the corner that led into the portion of the catacombs directly underneath Leone Rampante, the thirst hit him again. It was nothing like anything he had experienced before. This time, he feared he would finally lose himself to the plague because he had no strength left in him to fight the insatiable thirst. It robbed him of his will.
Mark’s room opened and he stepped out into the tunnel. “Adrian,” he greeted him before seeing the stricken expression on Adrian’s face. “What’s wrong?” He moved toward him, but Adrian raised his hand.
“Don’t come close,” Adrian managed to say in a choked rattle that he didn’t recognize as his voice.
“Is it happening again?” Mark passed his hand over the stubble on his jaw.
Adrian fell to his knees. “Need blood.”
Mark nodded and frantically looked around. “Where’s the closest blood bank?”
“No bagged blood.” At the mere thought of gulping even a single drop of that foul, dead-cold beverage again, Adrian’s stomach heaved.
Shaking his head, Mark said, “I can’t bring you a donor in your current condition.”
Adrian knew his friend was right, but the thirst commanded his body, and his mind wasn’t sound any longer. He felt like a leaf adrift in a vortex. “I need blood,” he repeated. “Live.”
Torturous spasms tore him apart, and he grabbed his hair, turning his face up to scream. Pure agony seized his body. His temperature passed from freezing to burning and back again as he dry-heaved. His head split, an invisible knife cutting through hair and skin and skull and brain. Sand filled his throat and his lungs. Fire ants poured out of his ears.
After a while, his mind refused to make sense of what was happening to him, and he experienced the pain and the sensorial hallucinations without knowing what was real and what wasn’t.
Then, all of a sudden, as the thirst had started, it stopped, leaving Adrian heaving on the floor, puking blood.
“Adrian,” Mark tentatively called from several steps away. “Are you okay?”
“Not even close.” Adrian pressed his hand against his stomach, hoping for a few minutes’ reprieve before the next episode started.
6
“I’ll drive you home,” Giulio said.
The man was Lavinia’s father’s age and very protective. Besides her family, he was one of the few who knew that she was a half-breed werewolf, and hired her anyway. A supernatural himself, a warlock, he had daughters too, her and Carolina’s age, and was in a state of shock over Carolina’s murder.
“There’s no need.” Lavinia grabbed the takeaway brownbag one of the waitresses had prepared for her and walked toward the door. “I can take an Uber. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay, and I’ll feel better if I see you safe and sound back at your apartment.” Giulio looked over her shoulder and made a sign to Carlo, one of the bartenders, to check on the place.
Giulio’s car, an old Fiat, was parked just outside the pub. As soon as he merged into the night traffic, one of the guys moved two large flower boxes to secure the spot for when Giulio came back.
“Why don’t you go visit your family for a few days?” Giulio asked, navigating the crowded road.
Trastevere was one of the most famous neighborhoods in Rome and a favorite among tourists and Romans alike with its little trattorias, pubs, and bars. During February nights, when the temperatures were unseasonably mild like tonight, and the moon shone brightly in the sky, people strolled between the venues, savoring a gelato on the way to the next pub.
“I think I might,” she finally answered his question. “If that’s
okay with you.” She kept her eyes glued to the streets that were full of life. By contrast, she felt like she would never feel joy again.
“As I told you, take your time. I’ll deposit two weeks in your account, and when you’re ready to come back, your spot will still be there.”
“Thank you.” Lavinia knew that Leone Rampante was always busy and the business was probably doing well, but it was still decent of him to offer. “I’ll take a week for now, then we’ll see.” She didn’t want to take advantage of the situation.
Even though it was too soon, Lavinia knew that she would’ve to react eventually.
“I’ll accompany you to the door,” Giulio said, pulling the car to a stop next to a parked Volvo.
Lavinia had been so deep in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized they were already at her place.
“I don’t want you to take a ticket because of me,” she said, pointing at the policeman making the rounds across the street and checking the parked cars.
Giulio looked at her building first, then at the cop, and finally nodded. “Okay, get inside the glass door so I know you are safe.”
Lavinia nodded and hurried out of the car, making a beeline toward the entrance. The moment she slipped her keys in the lock, she saw a shadow to her right, but when she looked in that direction, there was nobody. Spooked, she turned her key and lowered the brass handle.
Once inside the foyer of her building, she waved at Giulio, who waved back but didn’t leave until she turned the corner and took the stairs.
She knew something was wrong the moment she reached her apartment’s landing. Her door stood wide open. From what she could see of her living room, everything looked untouched, but a strange scent lingered in the air. A strong sense of dread filled her. She stood at the threshold, unable to step inside.
A moment later, she reached for her cell phone and punched the number of the detective she had spoken to the previous night. She let the phone ring several times until it went to voicemail.
“I’m Lavinia Rossi. Please call me back,” she hurried to say as she headed downstairs, running outside, hoping against hope that Giulio was still there. But his Fiat was already gone.
The third-floor tenants, a young couple with a little kid, walked past her. Lavinia saw the pity in the woman’s eyes and the recognition in the man’s. Before the couple could stop her, she said hi and hurried to the sidewalk as if she were waiting for someone. With her back to them, she opened her Uber app and tapped to request a ride to go back to the pub. Fortunately, a driver was only two minutes away.
As it had happened earlier, a shadow crossed the street, darkening Lavinia’s path for a brief moment. A sudden chill engulfed her, making her shiver as she looked right and left. A few passersby spared a rushed look her way, but nobody stopped or paused.
Lavinia shrugged the uneasiness away. The sense of foreboding remained, growing as the minutes ticked by instead of mitigating. She checked her driver’s route and walked to the corner where the alley opened onto the main road. Her Uber’s Civic Honda turned into the alley a moment later. Only when she was safely ensconced inside the car did Lavinia breathe a sigh of relief.
“Miss, is everything all right?” the driver asked, merging into the traffic.
He was a young man only a few years older than her and looked like the poster boy for good guys. Handsome face, and from what she could see, muscular arms that hinted at hours spent in the gym. Only yesterday, Lavinia would have flirted with him, and possibly a car ride would have been the start of something else. Tonight, she couldn’t even muster a smile for the nice driver. Her last disastrous relationship had ended two years ago. Since then, she casually dated but didn’t go through the boyfriend hassle any longer. Too much work and very little reward.
Besides, being half-breed confined her to the mortal realm in her choice of partners. Werewolves wouldn’t have her because she wasn’t wholly wolf, and humans found her odd. She wouldn’t blame them, though. It was true that she didn’t feel comfortable sharing her secret with them and would act strange around them.
“Everything’s fine,” she finally said, lowering her gaze to her cell phone and pretending to play with the thing.
The driver got the hint, turned on the radio on a local station, and silently drove her back to Trastevere.
They were a few blocks from the pub when her phone rang. The detective’s name appeared on the screen.
“Is everything okay?” the man asked as soon as Lavinia answered.
“I don’t know,” she started.
“Has something happened to you?”
“Someone was in my apartment, but I can’t be sure. The door was open and—”
“Where are you?”
“In front of the pub where I work,” she said, eyeing Leone Rampante’s entrance.
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” The detective hung up, leaving her confused.
Lavinia thanked the driver, exited the car, and hurried inside the pub when she thought she saw a blur of movement on her right.
“Lavinia?” Giulio called her from the bar counter and hurried to her side. “What are you doing back here?”
“Someone was at my place and I didn’t know where to go,” Lavinia answered.
“I knew I should’ve left the car in the middle of the street and gone up with you.”
“I told you to go. It’s not your fault.”
“But I could’ve scanned the place for any strange energy and warned you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I called the detective who’s working on Carolina’s case, and he’s coming here.”
“Is he the guy from the Directive?” Giulio asked, lowering his voice.
The Directive served and protected the supernaturals, but every super was scared of the agency’s supercops and preferred not to have anything to do with them if possible.
“The same, but he promised he won’t report me,” Lavinia answered. “He isn’t after half-breeds.”
“Good. It’s time the Directive started doing something about all the hate crime happening in Rome lately,” Giulio said.
Lavinia wasn’t the only mutt under Giulio’s employment. The man had a soft spot for the underdog. Under his long management of the pub, he had hired several unregistered half-breeds, going as far as forging papers to save his personnel from racial persecution.
“I’ll stay with you until he arrives,” Giulio said, steering her toward a booth a couple had just vacated.
7
“We need to talk,” Adrian said, leaning against the edge of the marble table.
“And I have questions for you,” Mark said, confirming Adrian’s feeling. “But maybe it’s better if we go to your house.” Mark waved his hand, encompassing the Spartan room excavated inside one of the catacombs’ alleys. “Anywhere else that isn’t a cemetery.” He gave Adrian a rueful shrug.
“It can’t wait.” Adrian shivered. His body temperature kept fluctuating from one extreme to the other.
He had once talked to a heroin addict who’d gone through withdrawal pains. His symptoms were painfully similar to the ones that man had painted in vivid detail. Even his teeth rattled in his mouth. Only, Adrian had fangs that cut through his gums and made the experience one hundred times worse.
“What’s happening to you?” Mark asked, worry etched in his eyes.
“I’m not sure.” Adrian shook his head, which set a wave of fresh pain in motion. “But I need to find out before it kills me.”
“I could ask around—”
“I don’t want anyone to know what’s happening to me. Give me a few days, and I’ll discover what’s triggering this thirst. I promise that I’ll seek help if it gets any worse.”
“Okay.” Mark’s cell phone rang, but he let it go to voicemail. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“I’ll do it alone. You don’t need to be involved in this.”
“I disagree. You need my help, and I’ll do right by you.”
�
��Mark, please—”
“You saved me once. It’s my time to reciprocate the favor.”
Adrian couldn’t help but smile at Mark’s loyalty. If things went wrong and his friend was caught hiding Adrian’s secret, the Directive wouldn’t hesitate to execute Mark alongside him. And that scenario scared Adrian more than true death itself.
“Where can we look for answers?” Mark asked, pacing back and forth in the chamber. “I’ve never heard of something like your thirst before, but I’m a young vampire—”
“I’m old and still haven’t heard of it myself,” Adrian said.
Mark shrugged. “Be as it may, you can’t be the first one who’s ever suffered through it. I’m sure that’s rare, but not unique to you. We must talk to someone else as old as you.”
Adrian made an encompassing gesture, pointing at the entire chamber. “Most friends of my age are gone. Not many have survived the modern times.”
“Then we have to look for clues somewhere else,” Mark said. “If something like your thirst happened before, it stands to reason that someone left records behind. Somewhere, there must be a book or a scroll with the answer to your question.”
A sudden thought formed in Adrian’s mind. “The Satan Archives,” he said. “Of course!”
If there ever was a chance that records about his affliction existed, they could only be contained in the ancient book called the Satan Archives. The work of a Cistercian monk from the fourteenth century, the tome contained the largest collection of vampiric lore in Europe. At the time when the Satan Archives were written, vampires were associated with demons, hence the name.
The book had changed several owners throughout the centuries until it landed in the hands of Count Lando Carenzi, Adrian’s blood brother and rival.
“Do you think the count will let you rummage through his book collection?” Mark sounded sceptic.
The rivalry between Adrian and Lando was legendary. Sharing the same maker and turned at the same time during the Roman Empire, they had been rivals even before dying and took their fight to the next life. As they had competed for women and glory when they were alive, so they continued as vampires.
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