Servant of the Princess

By Angelo Tsanatelis

What begins as a strange murder investigation for the worn-down Miami PD Det. Steve Sullivan, quickly spirals out of control when he realizes that there are a lot of things about this case not fitting what he’d grouchily accepted as ‘normal routine’ in similar situations. In his frantic hunt for the elusive killer he’ll unearth a giant web, a cancerous secret society of soulless assassins, evil sorcerers and the undead monsters Steve thought he’d buried deep in his memories over fifteen years ago.
In the third volume of the series, old and new characters surface again in a horrid game of lies, dark secrets and a limitless desire for the ultimate power. At center stage an unwilling Persianna will have to face a fight to the death against an ancient creature seeking a return to the ‘old ways’ through the brutal annihilation of all the sinners; with half the Tribe wanting her pretty head on a platter, a dead witch that wants to return to living with her help and her own treacherous immortal heart that lusts after the only thing that’s more dangerous than the deranged ‘Sire’s Dog’. An immortal she hasn't seen since Paris more than two hundred years ago.
The infamous Rootless.

This is the third volume in the Living Sword Chronicles series and a direct sequel to the Lodge and the Tribe. It includes the small prequel -Menuet.

1st edition. (version 1.2)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angelo Tsanatelis
• Release date: Aug 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301830558

Angelo Tsanatelis

Angelo (Aggelos) Tsanatelis was born in Athens, Greece on October 24th 1979. He lived for seven years in Bulgaria, where he studied Law at the University of Sofia. During his studies he traveled in Europe and Africa, undertaking 'daring expeditions that no one ever heard about, visited mysterious locations or simply searched for hidden treasures in the most unlikely of places' as he quoted himself in a interview in 2012. After he finished his studies he worked in the private sector for several years before he realized his childhood dream and became an author. His first novel already many years in the making was Origins, the 1st episode in the Living Sword Chronicles series and it was published in April of 2011. It was followed by the novelette, the Rootless set in the same universe and the sequel to Origins, the Lodge & the Tribe.

Book preview

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‘The narrow flat platform runs through the Shades auditorium shaped like a shiny white arrow that splits the great Hall in half. The hall is packed with a colorful crowd, every single one of its design comfy chairs occupied by an important person. The models parade one after the other on the catwalk wearing anything from an extravagant tiny piece of cloth to what could only be described as a ‘circus on two legs’; managing nevertheless to maintain their professionalism and plastered almost mean looking, smiles.’

It was so blatantly perfect, it quickly became boring.

Then the music changed and her eyes that had drifted sideways towards a cute faced and too young for his own good stylist, returned on the runway and caught the entrance of Liliya. Wearing a long bridal veil that left her fit tanned legs uncovered and a tiny dress, no sane girl should ever wear in a church the blond model came her way. She somehow managed to equilibrate on a pair of lace up leopard pony hair ankle boots, the tall Christian Louboutin variant, her full feminine lips slightly parted, sky-blue eyes staring straight into her soul.

For a brief moment she lost herself in that seductive numbness, mind abstracted perhaps from the sounds of the minuet -string quintet in E major- that was playing from the hall’s loudspeakers. Even in this crude modern execution, Boccherini’s music still manages to lure you away, she thought with a smile.

Liliya grinned back as if she knew what she was thinking and turned on her heels under the flashes of the fashion news people, while the cultured voice of a man ended almost violently, their moment.

Can you believe what she’s wearing? Dear me, if I had a dime for every crime I’ve witnessed today I would be crazy rich!

Everything ends, eventually.

I need a drink. She replied staring again towards the cute stylist. The young man had exceptional teeth and clear, although a touch shiny, skin. He had noticed her staring him and raised a styled brow questionably.

My mind is set on tasting a blood orange Mojito. Tony makes the best in the city. The man sitting right next to her suggested. She couldn’t remember his name although they had come together to the event which was a little annoying… no, she decided, the man was annoying.

She turned her head his way, the tip of her pink tongue touching her lower lip. A taste of vanilla from the creamy expensive MAC lipstick she wore attacked her senses surprising her momentarily; it retreated quickly as a much stronger flavor coming from the man himself fueled a neglected need inside her. It originated in her mind, run down her throat, her stomach and ended between her legs with such a force that she clasped her thighs together, her knees touching, ankles turned outward, right on the edge of her chair.

But her expression never changed.

Take me to the bar then chéri. She replied in a throaty voice and the man’s eyes filled with lust.

The music stopped as the show ended. Liliya was nowhere to be seen and she let him guide her, his arm possessively around her waist, through the crowd of well dressed people. Still a little numb but suddenly almost painfully, thirsty.

That never went away.

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Lives in parody, outside life’s custody

Goes to places that have no roads

A strange glyph on your blackboards

Has no conscience but an evil plan

A Seraph with the face of a madman

An invert’s heart, in a child’s body

…

That screams and pours its eyes out

Wandering the realms,

Of reality’s last passionate shout

.

Nightwalker, Persianna (1358- ?)

(The Vampire Scrolls 8:1-9)

Taken from the Dark Notes, Book II

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(Die schönen Puppe)

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Winter of 1382 AD Wien, Erzherzogtum Österreich

(Vienna, Archduchy of Austria)

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She could hear the cold wind blowing on the wooden shutters and knew it cut like a sharpened blade at this hour. It could open up your skin in a matter of minutes and a prolonged exposure meant certain death. Everything outside had turned a brilliant white, a kingdom of snow, pitiless as much as dangerous.

It was a very bad winter.

Her mother had told her that when she was conceived the weather had been as brutal if not worse. She hadn’t met her father and the only thing from him she possessed was left on the commode next to the brothel bed. A silver ring shaped like a crown.

Almost a trinket.

The man sweating above her would pay her a lot more. Two, even three silver Thaler if she played her part well enough. A moan escaped her lips not because she was aroused but because the rash between her legs had started bothering her again. He took it for pleasure though and that sent him over the edge. The bed creaked as he climaxed, his plump body collapsing on top of her.

Madame that was extraordinary! he said in heavy Austrian accent and she could smell the brothel wine in his breath.

She pushed him off her gently but steadily. Putting both feet on the floor she walked a little unsteady to the large basin placed in a corner of the tastelessly decorated room. The water was dirty and lukewarm but she splashed it nevertheless on her naked breasts and belly trying to clean herself.

It’s you my dear Gustav. You are a fantastic lover. She replied with a small smile and he laughed pleased as he searched the pile of his clothes for his coin purse.

She heard the coins fall on the bed, but didn’t hurry to count them. Three perhaps, she thought noticing that the rash had grown on her thigh. Gustav had started dressing meanwhile seeming content.

I will journey to Budapest to pick up my wife tomorrow.’ He said putting his boots on. ‘as always I will miss you Madame.

You are such a tease Gustav. I’ll pray for your safety.

He shook his head at her words.

They both knew the Almighty paid no attention to a whore’s prayers.

.

(2 hours later)

She could see the carriage at the edge of the alley and she hurried its way. It was dark, almost freezing cold and although covered with a heavy shawl her face hurt from the icy wind.

At least it stopped snowing, she thought walking carefully on the slippery slated road a hand on her face keeping the shawl closed, the other lifting her long green dress as much as she could to avoid sweeping with it the filth off the road. This dress is too darn expensive and even more difficult to clean properly.

The driver of the carriage bobbed his head seeing her coming his way and that small gesture had a calming effect on her.

To Hoher Markt plea— she said five meters from the carriage but her words were cut short. A man hidden on the side of the alley appeared and knocked her out of her path. She went down with a yelp, the frozen hard slated-road hurting her knees and left elbow as she landed.

The next moment a cold rough hand grabbed her by the neck and the figure of the man towered over her. Scared as she was, she could still scream.

HEEELP!! MURDEER!

The man cursed in an alien accent and let her go. He was gone and not long after that the robust silhouette of the driver appeared over her.

Are you well Madame?

Yes. Just help me up please. She said adding Thank you.

The driver’s unshaven but kind face smiled.

Not a wise time for a stroll Puppe. He noticed concerned and she recognized him.

One of my clients, she thought trying to catch her breath. How sweet.

…

That damn, accursed whore, Felix thought angry trying to collect himself. He’d run the last five hundred meters at full speed to get away and now he was sweating like a pig going to the slaughterhouse despite the freezing temperature. At least you’ve managed to grab her purse, he told himself looking around him for any suspicious lawgivers.

The streets surrounding the still unfinished St. Stephan’s Cathedral were mostly empty, with only the occasional tavern habitué walking about. ‘Tobias Stätte’ was visible from where he was standing. He decided to pay it a visit himself. ‘A generous cup of ale will revive you nicely.’

Felix started walking that way crossing the empty square, its slates covered with dirty frozen snow. Ten meters from the illuminated entrance, a man standing just outside wearing an expensive long overcoat, called to him.

Using his name.

Felix.

He stopped alarmed near the door and examined the stranger. Part of his face was covered by the lifted collar, leaving half a nose and his forehead exposed. His eyes had a deep black color and seemed larger than one would expect. He stared intently his way, neither angry nor happy.

If Felix were to describe with a word what he’d seen in the stranger’s eyes, he’d probably respond, ‘lust’.

You must be mistaken sir.’ He said quickly, glancing at the closed door of the tavern no more than five meters away. ‘my name is Wilhelm.

The stranger tended a closed gloved fist between them. Felix stared at it confused. The fist opened long fingers moving swiftly, revealing three gold coins in his palm. He noticed the writing, they were Byzantine.

I’m a traveler,’ the stranger said in a cultured deep voice, ‘from the East. What I search for is not difficult to find, but I’m willing to pay more than adequately for it.

Felix breathed relaxed. He was interested, the tavern could wait.

What is it you search stranger? he asked him looking at the shiny coins greedily.

Meet me in an hour behind the Cathedral,’ he answered ‘come alone.

No one is allowed in the site.

Worry not about that. Don’t spend what you’ve earned earlier. Take the coins.

Felix didn’t think it twice; he palmed them immediately with a grin.

You’ll have twice as many later. If you decide not to show though, I’ll take them back.

I could disappear. Felix countered raising a brow.

The man shook his head up and down.

Yes,’ he agreed in the same manner as before ‘you would.

…

Violetta, the half Italian, half Austrian whore renting the next room didn’t seem convinced.

Are you certain, you didn’t drop it on your way here?

She almost screamed in frustration.

"What’s the matter with you!? That bastard stole my purse Violetta after he failed to murder me in the street!"

You are screaming.

Was she?

Her head hurt. She looked at her reflection in the wall mirror. Too pale, she noticed, with dark circles under the eyes. Hardly the picture of beauty.

I look terrible. She murmured rubbing her forehead.

"You just need to eat something.’ Violetta said and grabbing her by the elbow she pulled her towards the door.

Where are you going?

"We are going downstairs to eat something tasty and perhaps drink a bottle of good wine to lift your spirits." Her friend answered and she let her guide her out the door.

.

The Hotel’s restaurant was half full despite the late hour. They had eaten two portions of hot meat soup and a half loaf of dark bread and now she felt a little better.

I had my father’s ring in the purse Violetta. She said sadly tasting her wine.

If I were you, I would be more pissed about the thirteen Thalen you lost.

You don’t understand.

But her friend wasn’t paying attention.

I think he’s giving us the eye. Violetta said in a conspiring manner pointing to a gentleman wearing a gold and blue coat seated four tables away. What do you say?

Not tonight. I think I’ll turn in early.

Violetta wiped her lips with a towel and turning showed him her teeth in a catlike smile.

Jesus, she thought.

I’m going in.’ her friend said standing up, that smile plastered on her face. ‘wish me luck.

Luck… she said but it was doubtful Violetta heard her. With a sigh she set both elbows on the table and rested her head on her hands. Her headache had returned and she decided not to have any more wine.

‘You are barely twenty-four,’ she said to herself ‘yet you feel like you are forty not to mention that you probably have the Great Pox. Things aren’t looking good girl.’

Her eyelids heavied and closed inadvertently. Less than a full minute later she was asleep.

…

The worksite was dark and cold, hardly the place for a romantic encounter. Not that Felix was the romantic type, but with the money he was offering him, they could have rent a room for the whole night.

The stranger was there all right, wrapped in that overcoat, barely visible near what appeared to be the center of the unfinished church. He wasn’t religious either but fucking inside the Sanctum Sanctorum was a bit too much even for him.

You came. The stranger said in his distinct cultured voice. Latin, he decided, his accent clearly wasn’t native.

Listen,’ he started as he approached him, ‘I know of a good, cheap place we can go. But the stranger never let him finish.

I think you’ve misunderstood me Felix’ he said not looking his way. ‘sex isn’t what I’m searching.

Felix stopped not two feet from him suddenly worried.

It’s not?

You’ve attacked a woman earlier,’ the stranger started and Felix looked around them getting ready to bolt. ‘taken something from her. I wish to have it.

He relaxed a little bit. But now he was curious.

How do you know?

That is irrelevant.

Felix cleared his throat, his breath creating steam clouds. Snow started falling again, it melted on his skin, wetting it. They should really go inside, he thought staring at the stranger still undecided.

She didn’t have much,’ he finally said deciding to play along ‘you are paying me way more sir.

The stranger set that alien big eyes on him.

Do you have it then?

He found the stolen purse in an inside pocket of his coat.

You said twice as much. Six gold coins for her purse.

That is what I have said.

Felix showed him the leather purse. The stranger didn’t move an inch.

"Okay,’ Felix said feeling his mouth dry up. There was something really unnerving about him, he’d just noticed. The stranger’s breath didn’t form clouds around his head. How bizarre was that? ‘I’ll give it to you." He added.

Again the stranger didn’t move. Felix decided to shorten their encounter. He started walking the rest of the way holding the purse in his right hand intending to give it to him.

Two short strides later, he was dead.

…

The Sire of the Tribe was sitting on his white throne. His eyes were closed, his face ashen, skin hard as stone. He hadn’t moved or spoken to any of them for more than two hundred years. But although dead they knew he was still alive and inside every single one of his firstborns. His final words echoed on the walls of the ancient tomb, bouncing on the gold furniture, the colorful jewels and the white bones that formed his grand throne.

‘Let not the Rootless walk through the gate. Keep the crown away from the daughters of the Goddess. Steal their voice, for if they’re heard the Gods shall listen and the tranquility will be disturbed. What has been imprisoned thus must remain.’

The woman’s voice was melodic; her words spoken in Latin but strangely clear to her. She was singing in an unfamiliar tempo and although in a dream she could still hear her as she woke up.

numerous are the years of our waiting

many are the errors we have made,

lot are the things that divide us,

to the Gods channels let my voice be heard

to the houses of the dead let my prayer be shared,

that which divides us let it stay away,

Accept my heart’s gifts,

Name your price

Listen to me,

feel as I feel,

and from your sleep now arise

Her room was dark. She was lying on her own bed although she couldn’t remember returning there from the restaurant.

Is someone here? she asked standing up noticing she still wore her street clothes, but got no answer. Sighing she put her feet on the floor, feeling drowsy from her sleep.

How had I returned? She thought puzzled looking around her. Why can’t I remember doing it?

The two floored hostel was quiet, the hour was late and through the sunblind the night greeted her. The dream must have woken me up, she thought still a little distressed. Her eyes returned to the closed door of her room and she almost screamed seeing the woman standing there, half hidden in the dark, looking straight at her.

Who the hell are you?’ she asked her harshly, her heart beating wildly in her chest. What are you doing in here?"

The woman had very long and straight rich red hair, thin nose on an oval face. She wore an ankle long white night gown and her feet were bare as if she had just come out of bed herself. Another tenant? She guessed waiting for her to answer.

You don’t have long dear.

It was almost a whisper.

What do you mean by that? she asked her. Do you live in the hostel?

The redhead pointed to the closed window with a slim finger.

Before morrow ends, you’ll have to decide’ she said in her barely audible voice. ‘whether or not you belong in this world.

Her words angered her. She had enough in her plate to let this intruder rattle her with her cryptic prophesies.

Get out of my room.

The redhead smiled.

I’m not really here dear.

The whore known as ‘die schönen Puppe’ realized she could actually see through the woman as if she was transparent. Before her mind had the time to process this bizarre information the bare wall of her room was all she could see.

The redhead had disappeared.

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Have you seen Violetta? she asked the Patron of the hostel half an hour later.

Not really. The man answered, his face telling her he hadn’t slept that well last night or had a little too much to drink. Probably a little bit of both.

That’s not an answer Hans.

In my book it is.

She puffed a little annoyed staring at his cup of early morning ale, set in front of him on the reception desk.

Well? she probed him again. Can you indulge me with some additional information?

If I had to guess,’ the grey haired German started, ‘I’d say, she probably rolled in the hay with the gentleman she left last night. Now as to where this despicable act of debauchery occurred… I have absolutely no idea.

It was a struggle not to slap him hard in the face.

Who saw me to my room then? she asked him instead.

Hans drank the rest of his ale in a go, retched loudly grimacing as if he was in a great deal of pain and answered her.

Honestly sugar, I don’t know what you’re looking for. You’ve left by yourself yesterday.

Are you certain Hans?

The man nodded.

Saw you going upstairs with my own two eyes. He replied then gave her a strange stare before adding sounding a little offended I wasn’t that drunk.

.

Ritter Ferdinand von Gaupp, the man standing next to a smiling Violetta bowed his head lightly.

Your beauty surpasses even the most enthusiastic descriptions Madame! he exclaimed, his thin moustache dancing above his upper lip.

Come now sir Knight,’ she answered a tad coquettish. ‘a bachelor like yourself must have scores of burgfräuleins falling at his feet. Many I’m sure holding both beauty and position well above mine.

I assure you Madame, what you may luck in status you make up tenfold in many other ways. If you allow me, I consider you a bargain.

I allow you sir Gaupp. She said smiling pleased.

Call me Ferdinand. The man hurried to correct her, adding I insist.

Violetta attempted to shift his attentions her way.

Ferdinand promised me to prepare two invitations for the ball at his house this evening. She said placing her hand on the man’s forearm. Isn’t it wonderful?

Two whores mingling with the aristocracy, she thought. Surely not a novelty.

Of course it is. A dream come true. She agreed with a phony smile it went unnoticed from a pleased Ritter von Gaupp. Then again a night of good shameless copulating can dull a man’s senses.

...

The Tribe was growing restless again. A farrago of different selfish creatures, always bored, never completely satisfied, vengeful and untrustworthy. Like rats living inside the belly of an old ship, running scared at the first sign of trouble. What was it this time? What was the last one about?

Lupin, she thought, in 1913. Time flies when you are not paying attention.

She walked naked towards the balcony. Went through the thin cream colored drapes and stepped outside. The cold of the night hugged her skin, her nipples hardening at the touch. The sky above was a light mauve, with no clouds and the moon round and brilliant.

Almost full.

Her tongue licked her luscious lips, sharp teeth scratching underneath, the thick tepid blood still jamming her throat. She grimaced displeased.

It was still early, she decided. Valmont always said, I’m too naughty for my own good. But he wasn’t there anymore. Time had snatched him from her years ago.

Gasping audibly she backed away from the parapet and retreated inside the dark bedroom. Her soul if she still possessed one, was angry, the blood burned in her veins, the hunger undiminished as if she had just awoken from years of sleep.

Still early.

The glassy eyes of the man followed her around as she dressed quickly in the dark in a short silk mini dress, no underwear. He couldn’t see her; not really, it was just a game her scary companion enjoyed to play.

A game she detested.

Stop doing that. She snapped irritated and the dead man complied closing his eyes.

Of Teamet’s (Latin- Timit) lieutenants four are known

Leilah, Sinar, Gjian and Bell (or Baaloth).

He maketh himself a son he named Asamet

Causing great disturbance amongst them

Especially with the son of Bell,

the one called Lupin because he could turn into a wolf.

Asamet named his Firstborns the leaders of the Tribe

And then became lost from our time.

Thus the Houses of the Historian, of Mael the Wise

and the one called the Sentinel of the gate

cameth to be.

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Nesafer (899 -977),

Archmagister of the Lodge 24th cycle

‘Deciphering the Dark Notes’

The Archives

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(Firstborn)

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She recognized Baron von Trautenegg watching the great hall like a hawk and next to him another smaller group of people, among them Ritter Ferdinand von Gaupp talking with a short heavy set man, much older than him. Their conversation was animated and she caught some of what they were saying as she walked past them.

I’m telling you it’s this whole Privilegium Maius affair. I think Rudolf lied through his teeth— the older man argued but von Gaupp didn’t let him finish.

You are saying it’s a forgery? Absurd! There is no way such a thing could occur. The knight said.

I’m not of the same opinion dear friend.

Who gives half a coin about borders and privileges? She thought and decided to cross the dance floor and reach the other side of the hall. Not far from the musicians a tall man wearing a fine blue overgown over a rich red doublet with woolen black hoses on his legs, drew her attention. He had a long face and the nose of a Latino, straight raven hair like hers, though cut very short and large strikingly-black eyes. The man noticed her and nodded his head her way lightly. Handsome, she thought her interest peaking. Probably crazy rich too. With a modest smile she approached him, trying to avoid the stares of the many high class Ladies standing between them.

Some of the whispers reached her ears. Contempt and anger, perhaps even a bit of jealousy but mostly pure undiluted hatred. The intriguing tall man offered her a silver cup of wine which she took with a quick thank you.

Not everyone finds you displeasing Madame. He said. My name is Mael Kjell, I’m a Dutch merchant.

Mael, like the Breton saint? she inquired smiling.

Like the first word in maelstrom. It means ‘to grind’ but other than that, I can tell you little else of its origins.

I wasn’t really given a name. she said tasting the expensive wine as the musicians started playing again. Actually I was, I just don’t recall it.

You are not Austrian.

It wasn’t a question. She stared in his imposing eyes. There was depth and knowledge in their black pools, a promise of secrets revealed and of journeys down the roads less traveled.

My mother was Hungarian.

His fingers picked up a stray curl that had fallen inside her gown’s neckline and guided it over her uncovered shoulder. An intimate gesture in a public place, she prayed to have gone unnoticed.

"Sir…’ she started still shocked by his boldness. His painted red lips parted, clear white teeth shown underneath. A wave of arousal run through her and she lost her words, the music and the talk turned into a mishmash of incoherent sounds, the colors became a blur and for a moment she feared the wine had gotten her. The man had a broad smile on now.

They can’t see us beautiful doll,’ he said in his cultured voice ‘and they don’t matter anyway.

She looked at von Gaupp’s guests intrigued.

They can’t? She flashed her tongue at Lady Tubolt putting his words to the test but the tart faced woman didn’t respond. It was as if she wasn’t there. That’s extraordinary!’ she turned to her companion ‘how did you do that?

That is unimportant.

Are you pulling my leg sir? Will they all start laughing at me in a moment’s time? Tell me the truth!

You will die before this summer is over.

She almost dropped her cup on the floor.

I… why would you say such a thing? she muttered shocked.

You are very sick Madame. But you already know that.

It will go away. She argued feeling the rash coming alive between her legs. Her stomach turned a bitter taste of wine and acid climbed up her throat and she almost vomited where she stood.

That would have been something.

No it won’t,’ the man said matter-of-factly. ‘but it will get worse. I’ve seen it before in my travels. There is no cure.

She tried to clear her throat discretely, a difficult thing to do when you are standing so close to someone and half-managed a question in a croaking voice.

How do you know this? I’ve never seen you before in my life!

Am I mistaken? Are you not ill? Haven’t you lost something yesterday you wish returned?

What was he talking about?

You… are not the man who attacked me.

He seemed offended.

Of course not. But I have what was taken from you.

Will you return it to me?

Perhaps.

She narrowed her eyes angered.

You wish something in return sir?

Mael remained silent for a moment examining the people dancing in circles around them.

I want to know of your father. He finally said.

…

The white flash of the Lighthouse illuminated the dark ocean and part of the ground she was standing on for a brief moment. It quickly went away but she knew it would come back.

History repeated itself.

Isn’t it wonderful? she asked the young man standing next to her almost at the edge of the 130-foot cliff.

I really think we should go back.

The flash returned again bathing both of them in its white splendor. She glanced toward the palm trees they have left behind them along with the unseen Lighthouse.

Have you ever fucked so close to sunrise Saul? she asked him pulling her short dress up and over her head in a single move. She threw it at him and completely naked now she retreated towards the scarce Palm trees, another flash from the Lighthouse revealing her curvy figure.

Holly…’ Saul exclaimed surprised holding the small piece of clothing in his hands ‘what in the name of David are you doing?

But she didn’t answer him. With a moan of pleasure she started running, her feet barely touching the ground. Shaking his head the young man went after her.

.

Her scent was intoxicating. Making love to her was like plunging deep inside hot ice. Skin perfect with no marks or scars, heavy round breasts he couldn’t cup with his hand, a face belonging to a Seraphim or a Demoness. Her duality made the whole ordeal so much more exciting. She could turn to a beast in less than a second and overpower him or just lay as she did now, open and docile, a lamb.

Another flash lit her face. Her eyes sparkled, a brilliant sapphire color, long raven hair spilt on the ground under her head, sensual red lips lightly parted in a half wicked grin.

Now. She whispered commandingly.

His orgasm hit him like a brick wall taking him by surprise. He felt himself melt into her, sucked into her wet embrace, a moon surrendering to a black hole. For a good five minutes, he couldn’t even speak. Saul just lay there on the grass next to her, breathing slowly, powerless but sated beyond words. Then her voice brought him back to reality.

The sun is rising,’ the Princess of the Tribe whispered to him in her throaty ridiculously seductive voice ‘take me home Saul.

If this was a dream, he wished it never ended.

.

The broken oak brunch stuck in her dress tore at her skin, a superficial long cut across her belly that hurt like hell. She opened her mouth to scream in pain only to realize that it was full of mud.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Coughing and crying at the same time, she tried to free herself. Her feet kept slipping on the bank of the river, gown heavy kept pulling her back towards the water and certain death. Soaking wet and freezing from the extreme cold she fought desperately not to get drawn in, a losing battle as her strength was diminishing with every passing second; but a battle she fought nonetheless. Stubbornly she dug her fingers in the frozen mud like claws, breaking her nails and hurting thin tendons, doggedly refusing to let go despite being completely blinded by snow.

No way in hell god dammit!

Eventually the seams of her long gown gave and against the odds stacked up against her from the start, a large part of it was ripped off setting her free. Groaning miserably she crawled on the frozen mud and eventually reached the untrodden snow covering the banks of the river. Exhausted and numb from the cold, she laid on her back, fresh snow falling on her wet cheeks, unable to move any further. She almost gave up right then. Her tired body wanted to, her mind seemed to prefer it but her heart refused to surrender.

She didn’t want to die.

.

‘I want to know of your father.’

The man had the biggest eyes she had ever seen in her life. The black of his pupils dilated, two bottomless lakes that sucked her in. Darkness that felt alive, strange gelatinous shadows moving and morphing constantly, wanting and constricting. A forest of whispers.

They weren’t inside the dance hall anymore.

His long fingers wrapped around her nape and pulled her closer to him.

‘Speak to me child. Where is the rest of the pendant?’

She wanted to scream but she couldn’t. His face came closer, grew unnaturally, lips parted revealing hideous teeth, the mouth of a monster pretending to be human.

Her voice was just another whisper.

‘I don’t know.’

The shadows listened carefully to her words. They were convinced and parting let her go. The darkness withdrew, the voices died down and the man appeared before her again, tall and handsome.

It was a masquerade.

His voice shattered the illusion.

‘Then you are useless to me.’

.

The light blinded her and she moaned turning her head to the side, her cheek touching a soft pillow.

She was burning up.

You are having a fever. The redhead said coming out of her wooden wardrobe. Through the closed shut doors!

I’m hallucinating.

How did she end up in her room? She thought trying to get out of the covers. Was it all a nightmare?

She couldn’t move her limbs at all. The skin on her hands was torn, oozing yellow pus and an ugly dark red color. Painfully damaged.

A scream of frustration came out her mouth but it quickly died out. She was too tired even for that and desperately thirsty.

There was a man. She managed to say a while after.

The redhead laughed, her body fading in and out of existence.

He moves fast and with purpose, he who is wise. She said cryptically. but even he is blinded in his vanity.

More riddles, her head hurt. The fever burned her from the inside.

I’m thirsty. I need to have some water.

You’ve lost a lot of blood. It’s a miracle the cold spared you.

What is the crazy illusion talking about?

I’m not that badly injured. She argued.

Although even her mouth hurt as if her teeth were about to fall out.

You may not have long The woman sounded strangely pleased, but perhaps there is still time. You need to return to him.

What I need is water you crazy bitch.

You expect me to fetch it for you, yet you name me crazy. Huh! The redhead pointed at a flagon on her boudoir. Get it yourself, whore.

The door burst open and a disheveled Violetta rushed in.

Thank God you’re awake,’ she said worried walking through her translucent companion as she approached. ‘I was sure you wouldn’t make it.

There… she stammered trying to warn her. Violetta stopped and looked around the room puzzled. Her eyes stayed on the flagon and the next moment she headed for it.

Water, of course.’ She said to herself lifting the large flagon with both hands ‘you scared me shitless doll.

She returned and offered her to drink absent cup directly from the nozzle.

Drink your heart out, it will sent the thirst away. Violetta reassured her.

And boy was she wrong.

.

‘Useless,’ the monster had said.

She could see the steaming hot blood painting his jaw and neck, could smell it, taste its metallic flavor in her throat. She was wounded and scared. More scared than wounded. Wanting to move but unable to even look away from him. Frozen, trapped like a fly on a spider’s web, ready to be eaten alive.

‘You taste Persian child,’ he said almost in a state of trance. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve traveled into your bloodline.’

Her tears froze on her cheeks, the blood cooled on his face, became like paint. He closed his eyes savoring the moment. Then his voice was heard again.

‘Your father was a thief and he sired a whore. He walked in the chambers of the dead, stole from them. Disturbed their precious tranquility. What was taken must be returned.’

But the spell was broken the moment his eyes had closed. Her feet were moving even before her numbed brain gave the order. She run for the bridge, the shadows following her.

The blackness materialized around her, like ropes embroiled in her dress, attacked her arms and legs, hellish tentacles bidding his command. They pulled and cut but she didn’t give up. She run with her heart until the paved road ended and she fell screaming into the deep foul waters below.

…

The cupid’s white eyes stayed on her face. He had a naughty smile on, his bow lowered as if he’d just fired it. What did you do? She asked the small bodied angel, running her manicured fingers on his chest, feeling the cool marble underneath. The cupid remained silent and her eyes strayed lower to its base that stood as a squarish tombstone. She didn’t have to read the written in beautiful calligraphic letters inscription, being the one that had put it there in the first place.

A long time ago.

Pasqual Nimis

1760 - 1841

It read and just under it with smaller but still visible letters, another line signed with the capital P. A red tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it unconsciously with the back of her hand. The shadows whispered a warning and she spoke without turning his way to the man that had approached her, not from the path leading through the tombs but out the woods covering the north side of the cemetery.

Deal with it yourselves Mikhail.

The child of the Tribe paused, his heart beating slowly, his thoughts calling to the blood, revealing its worries, confessing recent tales of death and the promise of a coming mayhem.

What should I report? the vampire asked her treading carefully.

The cupid was still smiling naughtily daring her to answer, to reveal the truth.

Tell them I was indisposed. Now leave me alone.

I can’t deal with this now.

Somewhere in the distance a violin started playing a Sebastian Bach ethereal piece, the music dancing around her urging her to follow its happy tempo. To forget the present, retreat into the memory land and bask in the company of friends gone too soon. But she couldn’t.

That wasn’t how this story ended.

.

Those that walk… shalt not act thus everlastingly.

All things maketh halts… and to all, secure places exist.

.

The Book of Walks, p. 6, 1-2

.

(Covenant)

.

The shivers run down her spine turning to pain half-way, a pain that expanded and hurt her deep in her loins. She stumbled three feet from the unfinished wall and almost fell down, in what would have been a death plunge resulting in a broken skull at the least. The foundation of the Cathedral gaped on both sides of the thirty inches wide wooden plank she was using as a bridge to reach across. More than fifteen meters deep and half-filled with freezing stale water, iron rods and cut stone boulders that would be covered come summer but for the moment were nothing but a death pit.

‘Reach the finished inner sanctum,’ the ghost had advised her ‘conquer your fear and just as a precaution, better not look down.’

Hoolly fuck!’ she cursed trying to regain her footing immediately adding, remembering where she was, a genuine ‘sorry Lord.

It worked.

She reached across and grabbed the neck tall wall with both hands. Although the cold hadn’t retreated at all, she was sweating, breathing heavy and more than a little dizzy, her crazy exertions doing nothing to relieve her fever.

It was a fools’ plan.

Why was she even doing this?

.

Her cough was so sudden and unending that for a moment she feared that she would vomit her own lungs out. The redhead, that was the ghost of a woman she had never met in her life, put her hand in her chest. It sunk deep almost to the elbow, not that she felt it or anything, but it was enough of a shock to stop her outbreak.

‘Do you want to see the coming summer?’ she asked her, voice full of malice, the ghost’s mouth not synchronized to her words as if she wasn’t really talking. ‘have you had enough little doll? Is it time to leave this world behind? It would be far better if you are.’

‘No… I am not.’

‘I see your lips moving but I can’t hear your voice whore. What will it be?’ she mocked her pulling her hand out of her chest.

‘I don’t want to die.’

The redhead narrowed her eyes. There was so much hatred in them that she stepped back scared, until her back touched the wall of her hostel room.

‘The Wise hides to travel through the blood.’ She said apocryphally.

‘I don’t understand what you are saying.’

‘When he does, the shadows lie dormant. Unafraid he is, the firstborn of Teamet Monzan’s son, sure in his ignorance.’

‘His ignorance?’

The redhead dissolved suddenly into thin air, but two minutes later she appeared again at the exact same spot, wearing the same mean expression on what would have been a uniquely beautiful face, when she was still alive.

‘Mael assumes the witches are dead and they can’t touch him.’ she paused enough for a cunning smile to cover her lips and added ‘and while half his assumption stands correct, the erroneous part shall prove to be his undoing.’

.

The light couldn’t penetrate the linen rugs covering the two large windows and the room above the holy of holies was dark and extremely cold. A wet inhospitable place she suddenly didn’t want to be in.

Empty or so it looked at first glance. A few uncertain steps inside the large rectangular room, its dark bare stone walls weighting on her, she almost gave up. Better to take your chances with the Pox, she thought as another shiver climbed up her spine, her hands cold, fingers barely closing although her face was burning with fever.

Then she saw the huge brown trunk occupying the whole side of the room she faced and froze still on her feet. For several minutes she just stayed there unmoving, barely breathing trying to find the courage to approach.

‘And do what? You probably can’t even lift the cap off this thing!’ she argued with herself.

.

The Redhead didn’t bat an eye. Without changing her expression she repeated her instructions.

‘You will spill his blood. Take it for yourself.’

‘Are you fucking joking? THIS is your big plan? What shall I use if he is awake, my teeth?"

‘Use the razor you shave your cunt with, for all I care. I ain’t your mother and I’ve given you plenty already.’

‘WHAT… what have you given me, you horrible rotten witch?’ she exploded, her voice coming out hoarse, a foul taste in her mouth.

The ghost smiled grotesquely.

‘I’ll make sure he won’t wake up for a while. Trap him in a dream impossible to escape.’

Which wasn’t exactly reassuring enough.

‘How much is for a while?’

The redhead shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

‘Five minutes. Ten at the most. It’s not an exact science you know. Hell I haven’t casted a spell for a long time.’

She puffed out mentally exhausted.

‘Care to elaborate on that?’

The witch could.

‘Four hundred years.’ She said sugary. ‘Give or take a year or two.’

.

The elevator stopped and a pleasant sound from its speakers announced the floor she was at. Five minutes later she reached the huge half-floor office and went through its ajar double doors. The blond woman with the golden eyes raised a brow critically when she entered, her delicate fingers playing with a pearl necklace she wore.

It’s LA, I thought it would be warmer. She explained crossing her long legs, the short skirt riding up her thighs exposing flawless skin and no tights.

Not in the middle of winter. It’s barely fifty outside. The blond commented her eyes returning to a large screen on her office displaying the world’s stockmarket values in neat colorful columns.

Vivian’s character hadn’t changed that much after the transition. Once a bitch, she thought examining the luxurious office around her, always a bitch. There is only so much even the blood can do.

What do you want? Ms. Lacrou asked this time not hiding her hostility.

Where is he? Don’t play games with me Vivian.

I haven’t seen him in fifteen years.

You are lying.

Vivian stared at her with contempt.

Are you having problems Princess?

The damn bitch was under the impression she could rattle her.

Younglings.

Tell Rodriguez he has what’s left of this day and the ensuing night to fix it. This is his continent, his section. Flush the perpetrator out and rip him apart. She smiled politely getting up. Don’t make me come back here Vivian. The traffic is awful.

She could hear Vivian grinding her teeth furious. The blond despised being ordered around. Just before she went through the double doors she paused.

Is there something else? Vivian asked from her office.

Actually there is. I want Liliya’s phone.

Ms. Lacrou seemed confused for a moment. Patiently and feeling a little awkward, she explained.

She played the nightclub’s singer in your latest movie. Terrible choice, lovely girl.

"You are joking. That’s crazy and dangerous."

She agreed shaking her head up and down.

I know. Isn’t it fun?

Ten minutes later she was outside, huge fashionable sunglasses covering half her face. The limousine driver lowered the divider and stared her questioningly.

San Pedro and 12th.’ She said in an even voice. ‘I need a change in clothing.

…

The man laid asleep like the dead inside the trunk alright. She’d used a iron crowbar left by the workers to pry it open after several failed attempts with her hurt hands. Eyelids closed shut, face relaxed, peaceful. A contrast with her own heart that was beating erratically inside her chest, her lungs fighting desperately for every single breath.

Do it now. The ghost suddenly said, her voice startled her, the crowbar slipped from numb fingers and hit the floor with a loud thud. The noise resounded inside the bare room murdering the silence.

The wall opposing her became like the surface of the ocean. The agitated waves turned into shadows, that shot her way angry for the intrusion. She attacked them with her razor trying to keep them away.

Stop wasting time. The ghost of the witch scolded her and she bend over the open trunk to strike with it, her motionless target. The blade shone in the dim light as it sliced the air and the half concealed in the darkness man opened his eyes. The razor caught the side of his unprotected neck and opened his throat in a straight line in the fraction of a second. The skin ripped open and an extraordinary amount of dark blood gushed forth, the jet caught her right on the face and blinded her. With a heart-rending scream, she lost the ground under her feet, slipped and fell inside the trunk, directly above its injured occupant.

.

The blood was foul, tepid and thick. It stuck on her lips like rotten frosting, painted her teeth and then crawled inside her mouth following its own will. It reached her tongue, forced its way down her throat clogging her air pipes and fused itself on the walls of her esophagus.

Her mind exploded with myriad images, sounds and scenes from a life that wasn’t her own. She felt drunk and on the verge of the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life at the same time. Something started playing, because it wasn’t music, as it sounded like a thousand drums beating in an anarchic manner, in an ever repeating maddening pattern.

The blood was killing her. She felt herself fading away despite her heroic efforts to pull away. It was like she’d left her body and entered his to experience what looked like a mythically long life from his perspective. That wasn’t what the witch had promised.

Not the end of her disease, under no circumstances a beacon of life.

It was the curse of the shade.

The covenant of blood.

To escape death, she’d turned into his mother.

Earning in the bargain, a kingdom of living corpses.

.

It isn’t over yet.

The dead witch’s voice pierced the veils of Lethe and dragged her unwilling, shocked brain into consciousness. She attempted a reply but her mouth wasn’t working properly, her tongue strangely sticky, soaked in the disgusting substance that was the monster’s blood.

He’ll be up soon. Her companion explained.

She stared at the ashen, open eyed face of the man. His chin and neck seemed blackened in the dark from the spilt blood.

Up…’ she managed to say taking her eyes off his grotesque wound. ‘as in alive?

You are wasting precious time.

Jesus.

I ain’t touching him! she sputtered her stomach turning in the idea.

You have no other choice doll.

.

The man’s unnaturally large eyes were staring at the blank. He smelled of wet earth and rotten leaves and he was heavy. She pulled and dragged him out the huge trunk, hurting her injured hands, tired joints complaining on deaf ears once she’d set her mind firm to the task.

When she reached the opening and the wooden board that led back she paused undecided for a while. Then with a herculean effort she pushed his stiff body over the edge. The man somersaulted as he fell into darkness, wide open eyes staring in her soul and then struck the boulders at the bottom of the Cathedral’s foundation with a bone-crushing splash. Several half sub-merged iron rods used in construction embedded in the bedrock below, torn him apart. His flesh burst open and spilt a disgusting grey-red pulping mixed with white pieces of bones in the dark waters.

The whole affair had happened so silently it seemed surreal.

.

I’m not feeling well. She murmured on her way back to her hostel. A few unsteady feet later she collapsed hurting her knees on the snow-covered street. The witch’s voice came to her as if in a dream but her words were strange, commanding and pleading at the same time.

"Bind with the blood accursed shades.

Preserve your Sire’s line,

with death remove the life’s pain."

.

A child laughed close to her ear.

A delighted naughty giggle just before his small fingers caressed the side of her face. Then something wrapped around her hand, a thick black rope that felt warm and furry. The shadows came alive around her, they danced in the dimly lit street, creating different constantly dissolving shapes and images. They probed and they touched her frozen skin. Went