Although the space he woke up in was barely larger than his 1.9 meters, he felt no panic and, strangely, no claustrophobia. When he wondered why he hadn’t suffocated, he realized with a start that he wasn’t breathing. He lay there, replaying the odd conversation with the crone, counting his heartbeats to calm his nerves. In the dim light of his wristwatch, he counted one beat for every sixty or seventy seconds rather than the normal sixty or seventy beats a minute. His respiration, at his best guess, was no more than once in every two to three minutes. His hands told him that the confining space was made of wood, so placing his palms against the box over his head, he tensed his muscles and pushed. Nails squealed as the lid lifted, and Max sat up, frowning. He shouldn’t have been physically able to push open a nailed box so easily. Panic pushed at the edges of his mind, but he focused on the job at hand. He could panic later.
At zero three hundred in the morning, the light in the room was dim but, surprisingly, still sufficient to see. The smell alone told him that he was in a morgue. The plain wooden box he’d rested in sat on the floor by the service door, while six stainless steel gurneys, all filled, sat against the far wall. Moving carefully to avoid the nails, Max stepped out and stood, taking a quick inventory. The list was short. He had one cheap Timex Indiglo wristwatch, a thin and well-worn gold wedding band, a toe tag, and nothing else. The bullet wound was gone, as if it had never existed. Padding barefoot across the cold cement floor, he checked each of the six bodies in turn—four men and two women. Each was naked. Beside the door at the far end of the room, a garbage can was heaped with old clothes, and Max wasted no time in dumping it on the floor. He dug out his shoes, socks, pants, and underwear, but found that his shirt and heavy warm coat were soaked with blood. One of the men’s shirts fit reasonably well, and he was able to pull on a threadbare black trench coat that smelled of sweat and cheap Russian cigarettes. Overlooked in the pocket of his pants was a small handwritten slip of paper with an address on the outskirts of Râșnov. The note was signed Viorela. It took him half an hour to find another body that had been waiting two weeks for identification and drag said body to his own shipping box as a replacement for his own very much alive self. Max found a pencil in a desk. He put the pencil point on the chest of the corpse and, with a grimace, drove it in. Removing the bloody pencil, he studied his work, deciding that on quick inspection, the body would look as if it had been shot. After switching his toe tag, as well as his watch and ring, to the replacement body, he carefully and as quietly as possible resealed the shipping box. The manifest stated that the box and its contents were to be shipped the very next day directly to a Raleigh crematorium. Anita wasn’t very sentimental. She would be counting up his insurance policies before she reached the States.
Max checked the room one last time for neatness before he turned to the exit, picking up a battered dark wool newsboy cap and jamming it on his head. His bump of direction was back in operation, and he knew that it was a long walk to the address on the paper in his pocket, which he assumed was the crone’s house. As he walked through snow covered streets, he had time to reflect on just what had occurred.
It was noon the next day when he finally walked up the long stone path to the small, neat thatched-roof cottage. Smoke was curling from the stone chimney, and it looked very homey. He wasn’t really interested in homey at the moment, though. Max was wondering why, after walking for seven hours in freezing weather, he was not tired, hungry, or particularly cold.
The heavy wooden door, scarred with age and darkened by countless Romanian winters, creaked open, and the crone smiled at him. “You took your time getting here, Maximilian,” she murmured sweetly.
“It’s a long, cold walk,” he growled in reply. “What the fuck did you do to me, Viorela? I assume that you are Viorela.” Anger was churning in his gut.
She waved him in. “I am Viorela. My granddaughter, who is home taking care of her children today, is Ilena. It was she who bit you and whose blood you drank. I cast the runespells.” Her look was even. “It takes two vampires to turn a human, you know.” She stepped aside as he entered.
He stopped as she shut the door behind him. “Wait…” He frowned, his mind whirling. “Vampires…turned… drinking blood… are you telling me that you turned me into a bloody fucking vampire?” He struggled to keep from shouting at the old woman.
“It was the only way to save your life.” There was faint laughter in her voice as she poured two steaming cups of tea. Max could tell instantly from the smell it was Camellia sinensis, Chinese green tea. “You might as well sit down and sip your tea.” She waved a hand at the two overstuffed chairs flanking the side table supporting the teapot and cups. “This explanation will take a while.”
He stood stiffly, glaring at the old woman, if she was a woman. “There are no such things as vampires,” he stated firmly, beginning to pace the small room.
Sipping her tea with withered lips, she looked at him sadly. “You may believe that, if it makes you feel better.”
He glared but made no reply as he continued to pace.
Viorela sighed. “I will take care of the practical matters first,” she said, opening her worn patchwork purse to remove a familiar wallet and American passport, which she set between the two teacups. “These are yours, I believe. You may need them, eventually.” Fishing in the bottom of the purse, she came up with one last item—a single metal dog tag—and set it beside the wallet. “I had to leave the other dog tag on your body so that the local authorities could identify you. Your room key traced you back to your bed and breakfast.”
Max stopped and stared. “Clever,” he admitted grudgingly. “So, did you really turn me into a bloodsucking vampire? Is my soul damned, like the stories say?” He began to pace again in agitation.
Viorela snorted a laugh. “Yes to the first, although a rare steak will suffice nicely, and no to the second. A person is judged by their actions in this life, not the circumstances. I know several vampires who are devout Christians.” She smiled thinly. “One is a Carthusian nun, if I remember correctly.”
Max stopped and picked up the teacup to sip the hot liquid.
“The first thing you should know is that vampirism is simply a viral infection. Infinitely subtle and nearly impossible to kill, it is still just a virus.” Max opened his mouth, but Voirela interrupted. “The only way it can be cured is if you are given a total blood transfer immediately after being turned. Massive doses of antibiotics could then destroy what was left of the virus… maybe. In your case, a blood transfer was not an option.”
Max sagged. “So, I’m stuck.”
She poured another tea, which he quaffed in a single pull before he began to pace again.
“What now?”
Her smile widened. “Now I give you a few explanations. To start at the beginning, there are certain times and procedures where it is possible to ‘turn’ a human to a vampire without creating a vampiric slave. That part of the old stories is true.” She sighed. “Luckily, taking a fatal wound while saving a pair of vampires is one of those times. Some say that volunteers can also be turned safely, but who would willingly choose to be a vampire?”
Max snorted, setting down the empty cup and finally sitting. “I can think of a few perverts who would find the pastime… entertaining, especially if they can create their very own sex slaves.”
“That is why vampires are very careful who they turn. It is quite difficult and unpleasant to track down a rogue vampire to terminate him or her. Next, as I said before, vampirism is a viral infection, but works best for a person of a certain genetic stock, although I’ve known a few very powerful Chinese vampires. It may be that there was a lost gate in China at one time.” She shrugged. “A single taste of your blood told us you were a suitable candidate.”
Max chuckled to himself as he thought that his Romanian stock, always a subject of jests in the military and in school,
had just saved his life. Max rubbed his chin, recalling the long walk to the crone’s cottage. “Apparently sunlight doesn’t bother me.” He said slowly, putting the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.
Viorela smiled. “You’re slightly more susceptible to a sunburn now, so wear a sunblock.” She sipped her tea and continued. “You have noticed by this time that you aren’t dead, although your heartbeat and respiration are so slow that it is usually mistaken for death. Cellular changes at the DNA level make you far stronger and faster than humans, and your senses go well beyond those of normal men and women.” Her lips were a thin smile. “In vampiric company, the correct term for non-magical people is ‘mundane.’”
“Like the Harry Potter movies,” Max muttered.
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, that word was ‘muggles.’ Your healing is phenomenal, and you can choose to appear young or old, or modify your body type. You can have brown skin or black or red or yellow, or even combinations if you chose. You cannot change into a large bat or any other animal.” Her voice was flat at the last comment. “You can, however, glide for short intervals by using magic to push against the ground to hold you up.”
Max shot her a dry look. “Having the ability to change skin color would mean much less racism among vampires, correct?”
“Only in as much as there are certain vampires who tend to look down on other races.” Her replying look was cryptic. “You receive the most benefit from rare, preferably raw, red meat… or, better yet, blood. As I said, a rare steak will suffice. You will find that you can eat and enjoy the flavors of other foods, although they will be of little use to your body. If you try to subsist on a normal diet of fruits, vegetables, and chicken, you will starve to death. You only need to feed once a week, unless you are very active. Alcohol will no longer make you drunk, and no poisons will kill you—although they will probably make you sick.” She leaned back in her seat. “Lastly, and probably most importantly, the vampiric bacteria also imbues the recipient with the ability to control etheric energy—you know of this as magic—as easily as humans control mechanical devices. This is not illusion or sleight of hand; this magic is the real deal.”
“Would etheric energy be the same as dark energy?” Max asked, recalling the latest issue of Scientific American.
Viorela pursed her lips. “Perhaps,” she mused, considering his question carefully.
He shook his head. “Can you give me an example of this etheric energy?” His anger was beginning to subside as his inquisitive mind was engaged.
She smiled. “Watch carefully.” She drew her index finger slowly through the air, and it left a faint glowing silver trail that faded as soon as the symbol was completed. “This is a runespell, and you will find that many are already encoded in the genetic makeup of your DNA, making their use relatively easy. This is the simplest of the runespells.” She murmured a word as she gestured, and the teacup rose into the air. With another wave, the teacup settled back to the table. “You try it. The word you want is aerius. In the old tongue, it means ‘air.’” She laughed gently. “You wouldn’t want to lift the cup with water or fire.”
Max frowned, thinking, This is pure unadulterated bullshit. I’ll never be able to… His index finger left a silvery trace in the air as he copied the runespell with a shaking hand. There was a subtle sense of pressure behind his eyes as the rune grew. “Aerius,” he whispered, feeling silly. He made a slow lifting motion, and his teacup wobbled into the air. He brought his hand down, and the cup returned to the table. Max found that he was sweating.
“Again!” Viorela snapped sharply.
Max raised his hand, finger pointed, and murmured the word. The complete rune flashed into existence as soon as he began to trace. The teacup rose and fell on command.
“Again!” Viorela repeated.
Max felt a soft click in his mind as he raised his hand, and the teacup rose. He’d never had the chance to say the word.
Viorela sighed. “Good. The runespell knows its business and will come whenever you have need of it now.”
He mopped his brow with his sleeve. “Why am I so hot?”
Viorela grinned, unbuttoning the top button of her shirt. “Etheric energy is hot stuff. Some first-time practitioners have been known to go right up in flames on their first attempt.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Max asked in a shocked voice.
Viorela poured two glasses from a pitcher of chilled water, picked up one, and took a long drink. “Ilena and I knew that you had more etheric potential than we’ve seen in a very long time. I knew you would have no problems, and I was standing by… just in case. As you work more with etheric energy, you will also find that it is easier to do something by hand than with your mind. Practicing magic burns calories that you, as a vampire, can’t always afford to waste.”
Max’s stomach took that opportunity to rumble in protest.
“I agree that it’s time for a meal.” Viorela waved away the water and stood, heading for the dining table.
Max rose to his feet, turning toward the table, and was surprised to see two dinner plates, each containing what appeared to be a raw and bloody half-kilogram chunk of beef. He thought for a moment that the raw meat and blood would turn his stomach, but instead, it just growled insistently. After cutting a bite with his knife, he brought the morsel to his mouth. Whatever had changed him had also changed his taste perception. The taste of the raw meat was beyond wonderful, and he had to restrain himself from picking up the rest of the slab in his hands and tearing into it with his teeth. In moments, the steak was gone, and he was wiping the blood from his chin with his napkin. He was shocked when he felt his own distended fangs. Beside him, Viorela was doing the same, not looking the least embarrassed, and she too had fangs.
“Is dinner always like that?” Max asked slowly, wondering if he should ask for another chunk of meat. “So…” He couldn’t find the right word.
“Enthusiastic?” Viorela supplied, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that’s the word.” He grinned at her, finally deciding to forgo seconds.
As if reading his mind, Viorela answered his unasked question. “You can have seconds if you wish, but that amount of meat will put you to sleep for a day, and we have a lot of ground yet to cover.”
He nodded to her, leaning back in his seat and sipping a tall glass of water. “It’s your show, Viorela.”
She gave Max a long look, as if trying to judge just how much more his sense of logic could take. After a long drink of water, she began. “Although etheric magic is common throughout this entire universe, vampires and magic users are not. Vampires and magic users are not native to this world, Maximilian.”
He blinked as the reality of what she’d said began to sink in.
“Sometime in the mid-1200s, six gateways were created to this world from the world of Aeyaqar. Your great grandparents arrived early in the diaspora.” Her smile never touched her eyes, and Max rose from the table to resume his agitated pacing. “The influx of magic users was the cause of the Inquisition in 1478. My parents arrived in 1502, shortly after Columbus discovered the new land. They never mentioned why they were fleeing the old world, but only hinted at a terrible danger threatening the world. The ability to world-walk is rare among residents of Aeyaqar, but common enough in vampires. That world was chosen by the ancestors of our race to be our home for a number of reasons, the first and foremost being the quality and quantity of the etheric energy available there. Magic almost oozes from the rocks in Aeyaqar. The other reason Aeyaqar was chosen was because that world had etheric ‘thin spots’ between that world and this, where gateways were erected. Gateways for our people to escape should the great enemy ever discover Aeyaqar.”
Max stopped and turned to face the old woman, wondering just what he had stumbled into. Mankind hadn’t gotten much past the moon yet, and he was mixed
up in an interstellar war and gateways to other worlds. Other worlds… The words rolled around in the back of his mind, and despite his firm resolve not to become involved, his excitement began to grow. Like most men of his generation, as a youth, he’d harbored a secret desire to be an astronaut and step onto a distant world. Now the chance was being offered to him.
“I really don’t have much say in the matter, do I?” he growled, reining in his churning emotions with some difficulty. “You’ve already made me a vampire, so I suppose I should just suck it up and say, ‘What next?’”
Viorela gave him a long look. “You were a soldier at one time, weren’t you?”
Max knew that his retired military ID plus his dog tags were a pretty clear indication.
“Yeah, for forty years.”
“I think I like working with soldiers, if you are any indication of their caliber.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re a pragmatic lot. Like I just said—what next?”
Crossing her arms, she studied him silently, her sapphire eyes dark and unreadable. “Stay here at the cottage for a few days, learning the basics, and then go on to Aeyaqar to continue your education.” Her withered face wrinkled into a frown. “The gateways have been in use, off and on, since the 1200s, and we know that they are relatively safe. Although nobody has used a gateway that I know of in several hundred years, I believe it is the best thing you can do. You shouldn’t have trouble blending in to a medieval and agrarian society.” She laughed lightly. “You may, however, have trouble believing some of the creatures you may encounter.”
A shiver went down his spine at the word creatures. “Are you sure I should go to this Aeyaqar? How can I be ready in just a few days?”
She shook her head. “You should know quite well the current state of computers on this world. If Maximilian Smith should be discovered alive and well in Romania from his fingerprints or facial recognition, things could become unpleasant for you.” She gave him a warm smile. “Unless you want to travel to the Gateway of the Sun in Bolivia or to Peru, the nearest gateway to Romania is the Ploutonian at Heiropolis, in Turkey.”
Destiny of the Vampire (Adventures of the Vampire Book 1) Page 2
