Authors: Aiden James
I sat in a large wooden chair with a tall back. Keep in mind that I’m not small in stature. Yet, the chair made me feel even more like a little girl, where my feet barely touched the barren floor.
“Wh-who are you?” I was still nervous. Disoriented.
I looked around the room, hoping to get my bearings as to what and possibly where this place was. Obviously the ‘where’ would be most difficult to determine, but the ‘what’ was getting clearer for me. It wasn’t a dungeon, unless my mysterious host favored the bowels of an ancient castle. Ornate tapestries hung from a wall to my left, and to my right a row of three stained glass windows, featuring haloed figures in Byzantine dress. It reminded me of that sort of thing, based on clothing examples I remember seeing from a medieval history class I took in high school. Perhaps this place was some kind of church or cathedral.
The voice chuckled, and a hulking figure that had been sitting in a similar chair near the tall fireplace stood up. I could tell in the shadows that whoever it was wore a long dark cloak, probably some sort of velvet, as the sleeves shimmered from the firelight and soft rays from the moon streaming in through the windows.
“I am Ralu Izcacus,” said the owner of the voice. “I am the reigning king of the largest vampire nation, known in privileged circles as the
‘Vampire kan isyanı’.
Surely, you have not heard of us, although your world will soon know us very well. As the people in your country, America, are fond of saying, this past week has been our ‘coming out party’.”
The way he emphasized the word ‘vampire’ spoke to ar
rogance and deep pride. I thought about all of the needless killings I’d witnessed very recently while he laughed again. He stepped toward me and then leaned against a jeweled golden scepter, bringing his face within a few feet of mine until I gasped. He was taller than I would’ve initially guessed, nearly seven feet in height. But if he ever was an attractive man, comeliness was no longer part of the deal for him. Like the Nosferatu-looking vampire I witnessed earlier devouring Elaine Johnson’s throat, his head was bald, and his ears pointed. His sharp, jagged teeth were muted at the moment, for his mouth was closed. Just the fangs protruded from each side, making him look like a dangerous saber-tooth cat sizing up its prey.
His appearance frightful, I suddenly felt uneasy. It was mainly the eyes. Fiery crimson in their intensity, they bore the same luminance so prevalent among every preternatural creature I had encountered this past week. But, the difference here was Ralu’s eyes made him look worse than predatory. He looked frigging evil—like the damned devil himself!
“You have much to learn, Txema!” he chided, leering at me while he moved over to a long primitive wooden desk that sat to the left of the fireplace. He struck a match and lit a thick white candle sitting upon the desk’s top, and then stepped around to the other side. “We are not the monsters you perceive…
and
we are not the ones who provoked the battle with your newfound friends.”
“You mean the other vampires?” I sought to confirm, frowning as my mind worked furiously to glean what I could from my conversations with Garvan, Armando and Chanson. “Since when did they or anybody else do
anything
to you!”
I could feel the irritation literally climb up my throat, forgetting for the moment my place and disadvantaged position.
“You cannot imagine the wars waged between us for hundreds of years—even thousands, if we count the early disagreements in Atlantis and later, Egypt and India,” he replied, calmly, despite the sharpness in my tone. “Our estranged brethren have forgotten their natural place in the world, and have manipulated how things are run in your world for many centuries. Their worst abomination deals with you and your kind.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Honestly, I had a pretty good idea, and I’m pretty damned certain he knew this, too. He looked at me, his hellish eyes locked onto my sullen gaze, ever hopeful he couldn’t sense the depth of my nervousness. If nothing else was clear, I understood that I was an endangered species. Armando and the others had done what they could to stop this other type of vampire from killing me, and stamping out the last of the strange birthmark bearers.
“Yes…you already know, Txema," he said, the smooth warmth in his voice giving way to a slight iciness. “All you are doing by running is prolonging the inevitable.”
“Running?” I couldn’t believe how he’d say such a thing, since we sat together in the room with no obvious route for escape. I had noticed two other cloaked figures standing in the shadows near the room’s doorway. For the moment, what looked like a heavy wooden door was closed behind them.
“Yes, running,” he repeated, his tone much softer…thoughtful. “It saddens me that the last of any race on earth must perish. Yet, the sooner it ends for you, the sooner we can claim our rightful place in the world!”
A chill crept down my spine, and the soft hairs on my arms rose to full attention. How quickly his delivery went from the edge of compassion to such a sinister musing. It was as if he desired the deeper contempt within his heart to travel across the room and tear its way into me—to destroy me where I sat. I latched onto the absurd notion that perhaps for some reason he couldn’t touch me physically—that somehow I could still elude his long, sharp fingers’ grasp despite my close proximity to this inhuman giant.
He sat down and studied me where I sat, his hostile gaze continuing to bore into me. For a moment, he said nothing, allowing his pursed lips to open slightly. Wide enough to where I could see a row of long, sharp teeth kept hidden until that moment.
“Yes, not much longer will I have to endure my enemies’ celebration, their jubilation at finding the last of the Vampire Lovers, their precious ‘
Les Amantes de Vampire’!”
Ralu’s charms knew no bounds, and, with each snide threat, I grew more and more uncomfortable. Hard to know how to respond to any of this, but apparently my blank expression wasn’t what he hoped for. In a nanosecond, he crossed the table and was in my face, the stench of decaying flesh filling my nostrils.
That certainly got my attention. As I’ve said before, I truly hate it when they do that sort of thing.
“Mark my words, Txema. The imposters who call themselves your ‘friends’ will not save you in the end—regardless of the elaborate tales they will concoct, and no matter what immortality ceremony they come up with!” he warned, getting angrier by the second. I tried to scoot back in my chair, but there was no escaping Ralu’s contempt and aggression. “The only way you’ll survive is through our version of the Dark Gift—the one true ‘
Salut de sang
’!
I took Spanish in high school, and the only French I understood was the few phrases spoken by my paternal grandmother. Odd as it may seem, I had heard this
‘Salut de sang’
mentioned before. Though I couldn’t be entirely sure on the translation, I knew that ‘sang’ meant blood in most of the Romance languages, and Grandma Terese used the word ‘salut’ during many of her Catholic prayers—especially the ones her family brought to America from France. She said it meant salvation.
So, this was about ‘blood salvation’, which had something to do with a ‘dark gift’?
Ralu’s widening leer confirmed my basic understanding of what he said, as well as the likelihood that he enjoyed full disclosure of my thoughts and growing terror. His next actions reinforced that his words would stay locked in my head forever more.
“Surrender your blood and be one with us…become
our
princess—our queen in waiting!”
“Hell,
no!!”
Perhaps my response came out faster than it should have, before I could censor how it might affect my captor and my fate. Again, that’s always been a problem with me. Incensed, his eyes narrowed and he brought up his left hand, armed with long sharp fingernails. His fingers suddenly splayed open. Armed and dangerous.
“Very well,” he sneered, snickering again in contempt.
Before I could apologize and utter a plea for my life, he raked those nails across my throat. A crimson river washed down my parka, spilling through the zipper onto my sweatshirt. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, and worst of all, I couldn’t scream….
***
…I awoke with a start in bed. It had been a dream after all.
The worst frigging nightmare I’d ever experienced!
Relieved, I sat up, gasping for air while I reached for my throat. My hands felt clammy. The room dark, at least the air was warm. Reasonably assured no one else was there with me, I stepped out of my bed, surprised by the cool wooden floor beneath my feet. This certainly didn’t feel anything like the worn carpet in my dorm room. Add to that fact my ankle hurt like a mother….
Where the hell am I?
Light seeped through the bottom of a small round window near my bed, and in the dimness, I could make out the outlines of a desk and a dresser in the room. I limped over to the window and lifted the shade.
Imagine my shock to see nothing but blue for as far as my eyes could see! Somehow, I ended up in the middle of some enormous lake or a damned ocean.
Panicked, I scurried over to the door, fearing it would be locked. It wasn’t. I threw it open and craned my head to look down both sides of a deserted hallway. An ornate carper runner covered the floor, and a row of polished brass light fixtures lined the wall. I envisioned that the room I just stepped out of might be lined with the same expensive grade of cherry paneling in this hallway.
This had to be a ship, and a luxurious one at that.
In my excitement to find out where I was, I ignored the fact I only had on a pair of panties and the T-shirt I wore beneath my sweatshirt. But once I saw my reflection in the room’s mirrored door, I hobbled back inside. I found my jeans and sweatshirt hanging on a dark leather chair next to the bed, and when dressed more appropriately, I ventured back into the hallway.
“Hello?.... Is anybody here??”
Maybe it wasn’t the wisest thing to do, especially without knowing who else shared this vessel with me. There was no response, other than the steady hum from the ship’s engines.
I suddenly thought of Tyreen, worrying about her welfare, as well as Peter and Johnny’s. I offered a fervent prayer for their safety, trying not to think of the devastation I’d experience if they hadn’t survived the attack on Massey Hall.
I had to find a way to contact them. My cherished Iphone was missing from my coat pocket, which brought immediate remorse once I remembered that I left it in my backpack in my dorm room.
Just frigging great!
That left me little choice but to explore my surroundings, all the while praying the monster named Ralu or his guardians didn’t jump out from some shadowed hiding place. I decided to explore the right side of the hallway. It could’ve been my superstition to avoid the left, like the silly hopscotch games I played with the kids in my neighborhood growing up. Or, maybe it was because the engine drone sounded louder to my left, which told me the engine room was in that direction. Aside from being in the back of the ship, it would be a perfect place to get ambushed, without much chance to hear an attacker sneaking up on me.
Not that it would matter when dealing with a supernatural miscreant.
Creeping quietly down the hall, I soon heard voices and footsteps moving across the ceiling above. Near the end of the hallway was a spiral stairway that would take me up to the next level. I cautiously approached, while the voices grew louder. The voices were male and all spoke French.
Great. It would be hit or miss for me at best, in trying to decipher their conversation. I quietly climbed the stairs, careful not to aggravate my ankle any more than necessary. A waiter dashed by the stairway carrying a large tray loaded with pastries. Luckily, he didn’t see me. The aroma of cinnamon and chocolate kindled my hunger.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Ybarra!” a young man’s voice boomed from a bar located not far from where I huddled. I was near a short gate that opened up to this level, which I assumed was the main one. I had also assumed the bartender couldn’t see me. However, as I peered through the gate rails, the handsome blonde with slicked back hair smiled at me from the other side of a long bar. He was dressed in a formal black tuxedo with a red cummerbund. The bar’s ornate decor rivaled any I’d ever seen before, even in the ritzy taverns in downtown Richmond or anywhere in Knoxville. Amid the expensive glasswork were rows of bottles featuring the finest liquor brands in the world, many up until then I had only heard of and never actually seen before.
More embarrassed than wary, I stood up and smiled shyly. Understanding just enough French to be dangerous, I offered a demure ‘bonjour’ in response. Blue-eyed with a boyish complexion, the bartender nodded and then looked up beyond my line of vision. For a moment, he carried on a conversation in an unfamiliar French dialect with someone else, unseen by me on the next floor up, perhaps on a balcony.
“Txema!? So, she’s awake?”
The rich, mellow voice traveled easily to me from where this unseen male was, almost directly above me. The use of my native tongue instead of the secretive French surprised me.
“Yes, I am!” I called out to this man, hoping he was as unthreatening and approachable as he sounded. “Who are you?”