by Wynn Wagner
“Tonight?” I asked in my head. She was in Switzerland, and I was in Bavaria. Communicating using mind-words was the oldest trick in the vampire toolbox. No effort. All you had to do was think about somebody, and it was like you had dialed their cell phone. We could use cell phones, but that would be so much slower.
“No, dear,” the queen said. “Tomorrow would be wonderful, if you aren’t busy.”
Her English was flawless, but she had had centuries to perfect it. I’m sure she could speak whatever language the pharaohs of Egypt spoke. She could have spoken with Alexander the Great and King Henry VIII, although I doubt she would have much to say to Henry. She seemed to like gay men, so she and Alexander had probably been good friends.
“Your wish is my command,” I said with reverence.
“Knock it off, Mårten,” she said in my head with a chuckle.
Okay, Hamlet and I were due at the court of the queen of Europe. She lives outside Bern, Switzerland.
Hamlet was already laying out his clothes when I made it to his room. It was a conference call! The queen had let Hamlet listen in to our conversation.
“You were a little informal for the queen,” Hamlet said.
“What do I tell Oberon?”
“Hmmm,” he said. Oberon wasn’t invited. It could mean Oberon was in trouble, but that wasn’t likely.
“You and I are the best fighters in Europe,” I said.
“I can whoop your ass twice every day without getting my shirt wrinkled,” Hamlet laughed.
“Oberon’s going to be worried.”
“Yeah, I know. Just tell him it is for a fight.”
That could work, and it was probably the truth anyway.
“Fight?” Oberon said from the doorway.
“Switzerland,” I said. “Queen Cécile wants Hamlet and I to pop over tomorrow night to fight somebody.”
“I’m not invited?”
There was no way for me to break it to him gently. He felt hurt. Maybe he was worried about me.
“The queen said Hamlet and me. Menz isn’t going either. Paco isn’t going.”
“What’s it about?” Oberon asked.
“Queen stuff,” Hamlet said, shrugging his shoulders. “She asks, and we pop.”
Oberon looked like somebody had shot him. He had his Goth game-face on, but this one was real. He was sulking, and it wasn’t an act.
“Oberon?” It was the queen again. Her mind-words were in my head. Hamlet and Oberon could “hear” too.
“Your Majesty.”
“Something has come up, and I have asked your husband and Hamlet to come to Switzerland tomorrow.”
“I know, Queen Cécile.”
“Would it be possible for you to join them? I need your assistance building some armaments,” she said in our minds.
“Of course,” Oberon said.
“Menz does not need to be involved,” she said. “If he asks, make some excuse that you want to get away for a couple of days. Sorry to be so secretive.”
“I understand, ma’am,” Oberon thought.
The queen was one cool monarch. You learn a lot about working with personalities in five thousand years. She probably sensed Oberon’s reaction to the original invitation. I hoped she wasn’t mad at me because Oberon knew, but how could I keep my absence a secret from him? We have celebrated our hundredth anniversary as a couple, and that makes secrets almost impossible.
So, did she really need Oberon, or was she trying to smooth things over for my benefit? I don’t know, and it didn’t matter.
“Hamlet, Oberon, and Mårten,” I said aloud.
“We do make a dashing team together,” Oberon said.
“Can we all fuck now?” Hamlet said.
“No,” I said, but I noticed a bulge growing in Oberon’s pants. He still has that teenage dick that jumps to attention with little provocation, which is probably unusual for a man over a hundred years old.
I left Oberon and Hamlet alone, shaking my head as I left.
Chapter 4
“SO WHAT do you think the situation really is?” Oberon asked as he joined me at a table on the backside of the mansion. The table was on a patio overlooking the garden. The garden slowly and methodically pushed against its winter hibernation. Crocus leaves were peeking out through the dead-for-the-winter ground cover.
Vampires don’t feel cold, but a thermometer on the wall told me that it was only about three degrees (a little under forty degrees Fahrenheit). That’s cold to humans. I saw patches of snow here and there. The garden was little more than potential at this time of year, but it was beautiful in the way it stood up against the German deep freeze. Eventually the garden would win and banish the cold until autumn. I could sit at that table for hours every night, admiring the garden in its starkness. It was an empty shell waiting for the warming sun. It wanted to be pretty and pleasing, but it had to struggle against the force of winter.
Oberon walked behind where I sat and put his hands on my shoulders. He let his hands fall tenderly over my tits until one hand grabbed my cock.
“Hamlet didn’t take care of you?” I asked.
“Hamlet is a fuck,” Oberon said. “I make love only to you, and you know it.”
He kissed my cheek and then walked to sit next to me.
“You really are a dream,” I admitted. “Your English now puts my German to shame.”
“Right, but you know Swedish. That has to be useful.”
“In Sweden, sure. It doesn’t get much play elsewhere. You know what languages?”
“German, English, French, Spanish, Italian, Greek, Russian, and Arabic.”
“Okay, Russian?”
“I like languages.”
“No, you like running up the scoreboard,” I said. “What possible use do you have in knowing Greek?”
“Have you ever had sex with a Greek sailor?”
“No.”
“Then I can’t explain it.”
“You keep learning languages,” I said.
“It’s my hobby.”
Two lovely young men walked out onto the patio. They were bundled head to toe. Food.
“Let’s go in,” I said.
“The cold is okay,” one of the men said.
“I want to see you with less clothing,” Oberon admitted.
“I’m not gay,” one said.
“I know,” Oberon said with a wink. “I’m not trying to get you into bed. I see two eyes peering out of your coat, so how do I know if I am hurting you?”
It made sense to the humans, and the four of us walked inside to the library. Oberon and I fed.
When a civilized vampire feeds, it is a sensual affair for the blood donor, even for heterosexuals. There is something in vampire saliva that makes the human feel great pleasure. It also makes their wound heal almost as fast as a vampire’s. I feed from the donor’s wrist, letting my fangs sink in softly. When I feel the blood start to flow, I count to twenty slowly, and then I hold my tongue over the two holes in the donor’s arm. When the blood has stopped flowing, I swallow and then lick the wound. By that point, the arm is almost completely healed. Within an hour or two, there isn’t even a mark.
The healing is why we keep the computer spreadsheet updated. We never take blood from anyone more than once or twice a week. And if the donor is on top of the list but is sick or not in the mood, we respect it.
It is a topsy-turvy world. Humans murder and make war on each other, and vampires are the ones most concerned about the well-being of humanity.
Both donors were more businesslike than most of our regulars. One said he was straight, and the other just wasn’t my type. He might have been straight too. Neither set off my “gaydar.” We got their blood, and they were getting a college education for free. Everybody wins.
“Do you know what the queen wants?” Oberon said in my head. When we have a conversation about the queen or the vampire council, it is almost always in the head. Nobody speaks aloud of such things. They don’t want humans t
o know anything about the queen or the council. Sometimes they don’t want certain vampires to know what’s going on. The council is always secretive.
“We’ll find out tomorrow night,” I said, using mind-words as well. “Don’t worry about it, and don’t make idle conversation about it.”
“I know. I know.”
“Hamlet has probably worked himself into a tizzy,” I said. “He never knows what to wear to Switzerland.”
“He obsesses over his appearance.”
“Fancy shirt is not going to be the reason for the trip.”
“I thought you didn’t want idle conversation,” Oberon said with a wink.
Chapter 5
THE queen lives in what appears to be an office building in the Länggasse quarter of Bern in Switzerland. The building is on a hill and offers a spectacular view.
From the outside, it really looks like an office building. Landscaping keeps the curious from noticing that there is more activity at night than during the day. Plenty goes on during the day, but that is really just the support staff.
The queen has owned the land around her building for longer than there have been written records. When she decided to call this part of Switzerland home, it was all wooded. The town of Bern was just a kind of peninsula in the Aare River. The city has grown to surround the queen’s land. She has built and re-built several times over the centuries, just to stay as invisible as possible. It wasn’t her fault that the Swiss decided to make her part of the world a city.
There is even a university down the street. Her building is full of human blood donors, but they are both male and female. The first time I visited was also the first time I took blood from a woman. It was in the 1930s. My blood donor was a college student, and she reacted about the same as the young men at Menz’s estate. From the look in her eye, I probably could have had sex with her if I wanted. I didn’t want. In fact, she and I would have had nothing to do in a bed. I’m sure she graduated many years ago.
The queen kept her building as invisible as possible. She made sure it blended in: never over-the-top modern and never so old that historians would want to study or document it. The queen kept her facilities uninteresting to archeologists and architects.
When we arrived, several cars were in the parking lot. I’m sure they were owned by human employees of the queen or belonged to vampires who couldn’t float or jump.
The lobby always has someone on duty. Always—night or day, holiday or not. What most people don’t see is that the ordinary-looking office building is also a fortress. If somebody wanted to attack the queen, the guards or the queen herself could throw the entire building into lockdown. Steel sheets come out of the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. The building becomes a bunker from the outside, and the interior is divided up into sections. They test the security system regularly, but I don’t think it has ever been used.
It isn’t as though the queen needs all the extra protection. She can handle herself in a fight. She can kill you just by wishing you dead, and that is about as scary as it gets.
I think the protection is for the benefit of the others in the building. Maybe it is the queen showing just enough muscle to make potential enemies think twice before attacking. There are plenty of vampires in Europe who would attack her if they thought they could win. It is a vamp-eat-vamp world when you get into the upper tiers of the vampire pecking order.
There are plenty of master vampires who would like to be king or queen of Europe, and some have tried over the centuries. I don’t think any of them are still with us today. If they are, they’re permanently stored in some silver-lined coffin somewhere, wishing they were dead.
“HELLO, Mårten.” It was Pierre. I think he’s a vampire, but I’m not sure. After the queen, Pierre is just about the scariest creature I’ve ever met. He is pleasant, like the queen, but every pore oozes with the confidence of a soldier from a special operations group. Pierre isn’t an in-your-face tough guy because he doesn’t need to be. You see that he is confident, and you just know it is because he can take care of himself. In a fight, Pierre is one I’d want by my side.
The problem is that I never know where Pierre is. One of my vampire talents is the ability to track others. I can track animals and people, but I excel at tracking other vampires. It is like a kind of smell or scent, but that isn’t exactly right. It is a kind of sixth sense that has no aroma. Does that make sense? Let me feel something you’ve touched, and I can go find you even if I give you a day’s head start.
Pierre doesn’t have a scent or energy. It is like he isn’t there. I see him. I can talk to him and shake his hand, but I can’t feel him. He can sneak up on me any time he wants to, and it scares the crap out of me. He always tries to make some kind of noise while he is some distance from me, just so I don’t freak out.
“Oberon, Hamlet,” Pierre said as he moved closer to us. “Thanks for coming on short notice.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “And thanks for using English. A hundred years has not been enough for me to master German.”
“We’re in Bern, Mårten,” Pierre said. “Most Germans would say what we speak isn’t really German.”
Oberon nodded like he agreed with Pierre’s self-assessment.
Hamlet just smiled. Pierre was Hamlet’s type: military, biker, SWAT, whatever. Hamlet was just happy to be around Pierre. He could have stood and drooled all night.
“Come on, the queen is waiting,” Pierre said, using mind-words. I guess there are secrets even in her home/office/bunker/fortress.
“Au contraire, mon ami,” the queen said as she walked into the reception area. “La reine n’attend jamais.”
“Ma’am,” he said with a bow. I have no idea what they said, but she was smiling. A smile on someone who can rip your face off with a thought is a good sign.
“Come,” she said to the three of us, “walk with me.”
We followed her through a set of doors that led to the largest indoor garden I had ever seen. Artificial light made it look like it was in the afternoon. It was beautiful. This was a sight that I thought I’d never see again: a gorgeous garden during the day. The electric bill must be….
“The electricity is provided by an array of solar panels on the roof,” the queen said. She can read minds, and she doesn’t mind that you know it. “Plus we have a fairly large array of wind turbines in the country, which sells electricity to the rest of Switzerland. Our actual electrical bill for this building is only a few euros each year.”
“Impressive,” I thought.
“Responsible,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What I am about to tell you,” the queen said aloud, “must remain between us. Mårten, Oberon, Hamlet, do you understand?”
We all nodded.
“I mean that nobody—not Menz or anyone else—is to know.”
We all nodded again. I must have looked puzzled.
“Don’t worry, Mårten. It is nothing bad. We just work in secret.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.
“I hear you are a good shot, Mårten,” she said. “What is your favorite rifle for long range?”
“The M40 or the PSG,” I said.
“You have a PSG?” Pierre asked.
“No, but I have used one. It is lethal up to eight hundred meters.”
“I have friends on the GSG-9,” he said. “I will get you a PSG.” The HK-PSG1 is an ultra-long-range sniper rifle used by the German police’s GSG-9 unit. They are a cross between a SWAT team and a military antiterrorist unit. The GSG-9 is full of really scary humans. I would have to have a really good reason before I tried to attack them. They don’t have silver bullets, but the bullets they have can make a vampire’s head explode. No head, no vampire.
“They’re so expensive,” I protested.
“You’re a good shot, so you deserve the best sniper rifle,” the queen said.
Sniper? This was the first inkling that she wanted me to be a sniper. I like to fire
rifles, but I have concentrated on hitting paper targets and empty bottles. It was always with the idea of being ready to help Menz protect our part of Germany, but I have only protected the estate from threats made by beer bottles and empty food canisters. It is true that the manor house has not been attacked by any bottles or cans since I started shooting. Being a sniper? Me? It would mean that I was going to be hunting my own kind. Could I go after another vampire?
The queen went on to describe a group of vampires that work around the world. This was the ultra-secret die-if-you-even-mention-it vampire council. What I didn’t know was that the group works worldwide. I thought it was just a European council.
For the sake of my own safety, I’m going to call this group the Obscurati. That is my made-up word. In Latin, it is the opposite of the Illuminati, which has gotten publicity in recent books and movies. “Illuminati” means “the shining or enlightened ones.” “Obscurati” means “the hidden ones.” Vampires work only at night, so Obscurati is my fake name for the vampire council. It is kind of a personal joke.
If I were to tell you the real name, I would be dead within the hour. There are plenty of good reasons to lay down your own life, but a stupid word isn’t one of them. The moment you say the real name, other Obscurati sense it. They interpret it as a cry for help, and they respond with blazing speed. When they arrive but find it was just idle chatter… let’s just say that they are not amused.
So the Obscurati has members from all over the world. The queen said she doesn’t really know how many. The members get together only by using mind-words. The entire group has one big virtual meeting yearly. All the Obscurati in Europe have to be in a special room inside the queen’s fortress/office building. There is something about that room that puts our heads in contact with all the other Obscurati. Outside the room, we can use mind-words with one or two members, but not the entire group.
