HUNGER OF THE WICKED

14.

Zelenogorskiy, May 2, 2011

A subtle breeze shook the branches of the blossoming apple trees, scattered along the hill. A young woman, barefoot and dressed in a light dress, was running among them laughing. Her long black hair waved to the rhythm of her movements with an almost perfect fluidity: she was flying above the ground. She would sometimes reach for a butterfly, hoping to caress it, then resume her walk, indifferent to her many failures. Only her happiness mattered. Loredana. She turned often, sending kisses with a delicate gesture, eyes ignited by love... Flames... The landscape disappeared writhing to give way to a room invaded by flames. They ravaged the furniture, spread inexorably through tapestries, curtains, and thick carpets. The room was nothing more than a gigantic fire that could not be extinguished. A refugee on the balcony, still safe from the disaster, the young woman screamed, calling for help. She reached out to him, begging him crying... but he couldn’t reach her. He no longer saw her through this frenzy of fire and smoke. Only her cries reached him, distorted by the sound of the fire. Resigned, she stepped over the rail and jumped into the void. Two floors down, she crashed on the steps of their beautiful mansion, now devoured from side to side. Loredana broke her back against the stone slabs but didn’t die instantly. It required the intervention of fire, intense and relentless, to shorten her suffering. Finally, the Italian was consumed.

Rempert opened his eyes, aware that he wasn’t alone. Darya, an amused smile on her lips, was sitting on the edge of the bed watching him closely. She gestured at his outfit.

“Nightgown and hat, I’d have put my money on it.”

The vampire pulled the blanket over his chest, modest.

“My door was locked,” he said.

“Forced.”

“I’m entitled to peace in my room, piccolina.”

“You were moaning, I was worried.”

“Oh, thank you. Could you leave me now?”

“It seems to me that this a good time for our little conversation. And don’t try to make an excuse. Either you explain your behaviour last night, or I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, and then immersed himself in the contemplation of the ceiling. No, she wasn’t joking. He had to make a dangerous choice for the rest of their relationship, and do it now. Delaying was of little use: if he wanted help, he had to trust her. Helpless and worried, he took a deep breath, as if he really needed it.

“I told you, I am old.” He raised a hand to restrain an objection. “It is not a joke, believe me. Please, forget everything you think you know about vampires! Even among my people, many do not know what to expect.”

“Really?” asked the girl, surprised.

“Yes. They know we are eternal, it does not occur to them to ask how this eternity will unfold. I am 437 years old, I am the oldest of us. And, for several years now, I have been losing my memory... and my marbles, as you might well say.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any disease?”

“We cannot suffer any harm, at least as you understand it. No, it is a very specific state to our condition. I studied the matter thoroughly.”

“Are you a biologist?”

“Yes, among other things. I spent a lot of time diversifying my knowledge, with a preference for history and biology. What I am looking for here is simply a cure for my condition. But first, I have to find an object that I hid in the area several decades ago.”

“You don’t remember the place anymore. The mountains that you recognized stretch for miles, I’m not even sure you’re in the right Oblast.”

“I know. That is why I need your help. Your knowledge of the region is essential for me to exploit the rare recollections that are willing to rise to the surface of my unstable mind. If I am far from my goal, you will be able to tell me and I will continue elsewhere.”

Darya bit her lip. The situation was complicated. Between an uncertain destination and Rempert’s crisis which risked randomly popping up at any moment of the journey, their success seemed a sweet utopia. In the mountains, even at this time of the year, a schizophrenic vampire was a real public danger. She thought quickly, determined to help him anyway.

“Drinking blood helps you keep sane?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we must take advantage of it and leave as soon as possible. Make me a big meal while I gather some equipment.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

But she was already out, eager to get on with the job. Rempert hoped that the dose of haemoglobin taken from the drug addict would be enough to keep his madness away for several days. But he doubted it. The quantity and quality didn’t suit his condition. Irritated, he stood up. After all he had gone through, the trials endured—and defeated—he couldn’t give up easily. Especially since today, he was no longer alone.

Irkutsk, May 2, 2011

Kassian opened his eyes. Disoriented, he stared at the long series of windows—a good half of which were broken—that ran along one of the walls of his refuge. The cold morning air entered freely into the room, without causing the slightest reaction. He was no longer afraid of bad weather since he was an Insubmissive. A failed vampire, in other words. Neither human nor vampire, condemned to remain eternally between the two races, persecuted by both, because he was too different. Too despicable. He stretched, straightened up in bed, and looked at his hand. Healed. Should he thank his ability to regenerate or hate it, because it allowed him to survive many tortures? He had been wandering for so long, unable to find his place that he no longer felt much about his condition. He was going through it, that’s all.

The teenager finally became interested in his surroundings. It must have been in an old warehouse, transformed into a rudimentary loft space, with some Formica furniture that had seen better days. No personal objects—photos, trinkets, books—decorated the room, so that the whole thing formed a cold, terribly bland dwelling. Whoever lived here was only supposed to see it as a transition stage, a safe house, nothing more. Then the events of the previous day returned to him. The ambush by a vampire at The Black Cat—the hunt for an Insubmissive, he should say—the aggression, the rescue by another vampire sharp-mouthed and physical, and the death of the first...

“Slept well?”

Kassian jumped. The so-called Syssoi was there, beside the bed, a steaming plate in his hand. Dressed in worn-out jeans, shirtless and barefoot, he breathed power and brutality. Two qualifiers that were not likely to match the slender kid he was. He smiled and accepted the held plate. Borscht, a soup made from cabbage. Original, for a breakfast, but he was so hungry that he threw himself on it.

“I’m bad in the kitchen,” said Syssoi. “I have no bond with machines.”

“I’m used to it,” Kassian mumbled.

“Good, because we’re going to be together for a while.”

The teenager remembered their conversation the night before. He had to help him find a vampire of a particular kind. And, if his memories didn’t deceive him, he had accepted, even if this choice was more blackmail than anything else. In a few spoonfuls, he finished his soup, his eyes still riveted on his saviour’s chest. How could one have so many muscles? His thoughts were interrupted as he contemplated the ridiculous comparison with his own body.

“Here’s the plan: I’m looking for a Venerable, I know he’s in Siberia, without further details. I rented an SUV, took provisions for you, equipment... well, everything.”

“A Venerable? Right here?”

“Yes. He’s from Europe, he’s the oldest of us. Still up for it?”

“You’ll still kill me if I refuse?” he replied with a teasing smile.

Syssoi looked at him for a moment, hesitating between repulsion and curiosity. His diaphanous skin, where blood was visible flowing through his veins, looked less ugly than in the dead of the night. The multiple bruises that dotted it at the time and which had now disappeared had to explain this difference. Now he had returned to his normal appearance, but still a walking corpse. His blond hair, always greasy, his pale eyes, and his narrow shoulders didn’t help. He was so frail that a mummy had to weigh heavier than him. Day and night, Syssoi thought.

“I have respect for the Insubmissive,” he said after a few minutes. “Resisting vampiric transformation takes a special person. You must have a will of steel.”

“If I’d known what was waiting for me, I wouldn’t have resisted.”

“I doubt that.” He thought for a moment. “Listen, I won’t kill you if you refuse, just give me your answer.”

“I’m not used to going back on a decision. I said I’ll help you, so it’s a deal. When do we leave?”

“When you change clothes, yours went in the trash.”

It took this remark for Kassian to realize that he was completely naked. With a quick gesture, he lifted the sheet to his chest and Syssoi laughed. But there was no mockery so that the Insubmissive willingly shared the hilarity of his strange companion. While laughing, the vampire gave him a stack of clothes and let him dress in peace.