Chapter Four #3
It took all the strength and self-control she possessed not to let her eyes wander over the man’s shoulder or scan the yard.
She knew for a fact that her maker was not here.
Astra had assured her that if other supernatural creatures were near, Astra would know about them even before Mihaela did.
Supposedly a vampire could not hide from a prince of Hell, no matter how well their presence was shielded.
Mihaela had no way to test Astra’s claim, but she believed her, sometimes a little too blindly and with a devotion she was not sure was entirely normal.
Do I trust her because of our pact or because she already has a claim over me?
Whatever the reason, right now Mihaela desperately wanted Astra to be here.
“Mihaela!”
She hated the sound of her name on his lips. Hated how he kept saying it.
“Among our kind, I am known as Marquis Bracci—Silvio Bracci. Your maker, my Master, has sent me to bring you home.”
The thirst was there, but it did not gnaw at her from the inside like it normally did.
It flowed beneath the thin layer of her skin, a kind of thirst that could be quenched with water but it would feel, oh, so good if it were sparkling water.
To guzzle down something cold and bubbly, the very opposite of blood.
In the beginning, during those first nights, Mihaela thought about blood like hot chocolate: thick and warm and sweet.
Once it ran down her tongue she could not stop.
She killed her victims and then struggled to find ways to dispose of the bodies.
Astra had helped her, more out of pity than from any desire to actually assist with Mihaela’s transition from a sleep-deprived, anxious student to a newly-made vampire, permanently covered in gore.
Somehow it was harder to be a vampire in Sofia than in Tarnovo. Tarnovo was surrounded by hills and forests. If Mihaela wanted to, she could lure her victims out of town and hurl their bodies over a precipice, hoping a wild animal would find it first and take care of the rest.
Her maker had not taught her how to stalk humans and feed, or care for her new vampire self.
She had to learn on her own, testing how far the fictional stories held true in reality.
As they walked, Silvio ushered her to the side, the two of them slowly falling into step behind a man, the only mortal out on the street at this hour.
Emerick—or the Comte, for this was how the longhaired vampire had introduced himself—remained a short distance behind them, hands shoved in his trouser pockets.
“Choose them young and healthy,” Silvio instructed. He laid a hand on the mortal’s shoulder and halted him.
The mortal wore a clouded expression, as if he had been caught sleepwalking. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold, the rosiness made him look younger than he was. He could not have been more than thirty.
He did not flinch when Silvio began undoing the scarf and coat, baring the man’s throat.
Mihaela had to rise on tiptoe if she wanted to reach the throbbing vein.
Noticing her frown, Silvio’s hand pressed down and the man fell on his knees.
A huff escaped his lips, like gas leaving a corpse’s stomach.
“This one was drinking,” the Marquis noted, running his fingers through the man’s hair, combing it back.
Mihaela could not stop looking at the unblinking eyes, how calm and willing he was.
She preferred them struggling, not because she did not know how to cloud their minds or command their bodies like this, but because, perversely, it was less cruel.
“Drink a little from him first,” Silvio added. “I will find you another one to finish. There is no merit for restraint in one as young as you. Drink as many as you need.”
“If there’s alcohol in the blood can I get drunk?”
The moment the words came out Mihaela regretted them. There were far more pressing matters, far too many questions she needed answers for—about her, about them. She should have asked instead if the thirst would always be like this, strong and insistent.
“Not in the same way a human gets drunk but it will affect you. Makes you a little tipsy. And you will want more.”
“What if someone sees?” Mihaela asked.
They were out in the open, three figures standing in the shadows cast by a row of street lamps. Cars passed now and then, their horns croaking in the night.
Silvio moved behind the mortal and yanked the head back by the hair.
The man made a noise and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Mihaela wanted to sink her teeth right in it and drain him.
She knelt and put both hands on the man’s shoulders, going for an embrace before stopping.
Silvio was studying her; without turning around, she knew that Emerick was watching too.
The hunger prevailed over how exposed she felt, and she pressed her face in the man’s throat.
Her teeth pierced the skin and with the flow of blood came the memories—a flood of images she could not make sense of.
Push them aside and focus on the blood, Silvio’s voice thundered in her head and Mihaela spat from the shock. The blood oozed down her chin and she drew back to wipe at her mouth, before biting down again.
“Follow the blood, not the mind,” this time Silvio spoke aloud and Mihaela was thankful for it.
When there was nothing left to drink she stood up and let the body slump on the ground. Mihaela cut her finger and smeared some of her blood around the bite marks, watching them heal.
Just as Silvio said they would…
It was one of the few tricks he had shared, showing her how a proper vampire was meant to act. Mihaela was eagerly cautious of his next lesson, mimicking him to the best of her abilities.
The Marquis, he hasn’t lied to me. Yet...
Silvio had already left her; the two men were now walking ahead side by side.
Out of breath, Mihaela caught up with them, hidden in their shadow.
Emerick said something, a chuckle pushed its way between his words, and Silvio answered, his tone serious, making a dismissive gesture.
The watch on his wrist gleamed in the dark.
His coat billowed and spread like a cape behind him every time the wind picked up.
She could not remember how long they wandered the streets.
Her gums were sticky with blood, her body felt heavy.
The few times she had asked them about her maker they had avoided her questions and urged her for patience.
She did not know what kind of a man her maker was, only that he had orphaned her on the streets of her ancestors—amid the ruins of a long gone empire.
And now he was a plane ride away, all the way to Germany, and he was asking after her.
The ‘All Father’ the vampires called him. Mihaela found the title wanting.
The massive doors of The Sheraton Hotel in Sofia opened, ushering her into opulence and splendour she had only seen in films. Although she had passed the hotel many a time when she was in the city centre, Mihaela had never been inside.
The building overlooked an Orthodox church, a synagogue and a mosque—all situated on almost the same spot within the old part of the capital.
The large inner yard of the hotel contained the remains of Roman fortifications and the church of St. George, an ancient rotunda structure standing there since the times when Sofia was known as Ulpia Serdica, the capital of a Roman province.
Somehow it felt fitting that a vampire would choose to rest amidst this cluster of shrines and ancient ruins.
The hotel was buzzing with excitement; clocks on the walls urged the staff to work faster and complete the final arrangements before the stroke of midnight.
Laughter and shouts ricocheted through the marble halls, barely drowned out by the music of a live band.
A waiter carrying a tray of champagne rushed past them on his way to the lifts.
If she focused she could even hear the music from the New Year’s celebrations on the square outside.
“There are no more flights for the day. You will have to endure a night with us before we take you to your father,” Silvio explained, his tone apologetic.
As if Mihaela would brave the airport at a time like this, when the whole city was drowning in alcohol, and the smoke and sulphur from the fireworks.
They led her into an executive suite, the vastness of the room and the high ceiling made her dizzy with discomfort. She was glad to be away from the cold, no longer looking over her shoulder for mortals or shadows, but the room was too much.
Silvio left the key in the door and shrugged off his coat over one of the many armchairs.
He crossed to the nearest window and opened it.
Mihaela braced for the deafening noise coming from the square, hundreds upon hundreds of voices talking and shouting, teeming and eager for the countdown.
A misleading sense of calm that the festivities were winding down, hung in the air.
Outside people were huddled together, searching for warmth and companionship, their feet stomped the snow, sliding over the treacherously smooth surface of the yellow paving blocks covering the square.
The orchestra was taking a moment to compose themselves before the announcer started yelling again, whipping the crowd up into a frenzy.
“I would close that window, if I were you,” Mihaela frowned, desperately searching for a clock to check the time.
I used to have a wristwatch. Green, with a mouse on the dial. Mihaela rubbed her wrist, feeling the ghostly imprint of a leather watchband forgotten or lost among the many trappings of her mortality.