Santa Fe Blood: Volume One of the New Mexico Trilogy

By Gloria H. Giroux

In the tumultuous 1960s, Santa Fe, New Mexico, is shaken by the arrival of a diabolical killer who preys on young women. One after another, women are found dead, and the killer leaves no trace. As the body count grows, the manhunt begins.

The Grayhawk clan is an unusual family who traces their mixed Navajo/Hopi-European roots back hundreds of years. Memphis Grayhawk, a dedicated law student who migrates into private investigation, leads this crime-fighting team. His younger brother, Tucson, is a psychologist in training, while his three youngest siblings provide energy, support, and love. Memphis’s best friend, police detective Sand Hazelwood, and his twin sisters, Snow and Swan, play an integral part in the investigation. Finally, there is Memphis’s cousin, Tansee, a medical student with insight crucial to the case.

As these men and women follow the clues, they realize the unfathomable depths of this monster’s motives. Will the killer manage to escape the clutches of justice or get the punishment he deserves? How will these horrific crimes impact those hot on his trail? Will they survive the manhunt or fall into the darkness they pursue?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781532099571

Gloria H. Giroux

Gloria H. Giroux was born in North Adams, MA. Raised in Hartford, CT, she graduated from Bulkeley High School, the University of Connecticut and the Computer Processing Institute subsequently embarking on a double career of IT and writing. The author of nineteen fiction novels, Keene Retribution is homage to a special place in her life in New England. She currently lives in Arizona where she is working on her next book.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 Gloria H. Giroux.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-9958-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-9959-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-9957-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020907596

iUniverse rev. date:   05/26/2020

Contents

Map of the united states

Map of europe

Map of new mexico

Map of santa fe

Author’s foreword

Cast of characters

Cast of additional characters

Prologue

Book one

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Book two

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Book three

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Epilogue

Author’s foreword

MAP OF THE UNITED STATES

5.jpg

MAP OF EUROPE

6.jpg

MAP OF NEW MEXICO

7.jpg

MAP OF SANTA FE

8.jpg

All photographs including cover shot

courtesy of author Gloria H. Giroux

Cover Photo: Santa Fe Home, Carefree, Arizona

Maps & special images by Shutterstock

Author’s Foreword

Blood.

The physiological concept seems fairly straightforward. It’s liquid, and red, and the average human body contains approximately five and a half quarts. That is the simplistic explanation.

But blood is a complex component of living creatures from mammals to amphibians to reptiles to birds and more. Insect blood is entirely different. Their bodily fluid is called hemolymph, does not contain hemoglobin, is not red, and varies in color from colorless to pale yellow and green.

Human blood sends nutrients and oxygen to the cells and transports metabolic waste products away from those same cells. Blood cells are suspended in blood plasma, whose volume is comprised of 92% water. Plasma contains proteins, glucose, mineral ions, hormones, carbon dioxide (plasma being the main medium for excretory product transportation), and blood cells themselves. Albumin is the main protein in plasma and regulates the colloidal osmotic (induced by proteins) pressure of blood. The blood cells are mainly red (RBCs, or erythrocytes), but share the human body with white blood cells (WBCs, or leukocytes) and platelets (thrombocytes). The most abundant cells in vertebrate blood are red blood cells. These contain hemoglobin, an iron-containing protein, which facilitates oxygen transport by reversibly binding to respiratory gas and greatly increasing its solubility in blood. In contrast, carbon dioxide is mostly transported extracellularly as bicarbonate ion transported in plasma.

Vertebrate blood is bright red when its hemoglobin is oxygenated and dark red when it is deoxygenated. Blood is circulated around the body through blood vessels by the pumping action of the heart. When the heart ceases to beat, blood ceases to flow and settles at the bottom of whatever position in which the deceased lies (lividity).

Those are the basic physiological components and actions of life-giving blood. However, the concept of blood and its meanings through the eons has migrated from simple biology to emotional and psychological associations. How often has one heard the phrase, Blood will tell. The phrase means that someone has inherited and/or demonstrated characteristics—physical, emotional, or psychological—of an ancestor, good or (most often) bad. Blood will out is similar and generally means that after birth a person’s true character will eventually be revealed regardless of any concealing artifice.

Blood will have blood originates from the concept that one murder will avenge another murder; colloquially, it refers to any violent action and is another way of stating the karmic rule of what goes around comes around.

Blood is thicker than water is quite a simple concept—those sharing a bloodline will stick to their relatives over any other consideration; a tight family bond will be breached by no one and nothing.

Blood in the course of mankind’s history has been spilt for war, for greed, for power, for religion, for love, for hate, for honor, and often for no legitimate reason at all.

Blood has also been let for medical reasons, such as curing an illness. George Washington fell ill with a sore throat and had difficulty breathing, and his doctors felt that draining some of his blood would restore him. This bloodletting resulted in the exsanguination of five pints of blood—almost half of what was in his body—in the course of a single day. He died.

And, in the peripheral of all those reasons blood over the millennia became a physical expression of religion, spiritualism, witchery, spells, and mythology, crossing cultures, crossing continents.

The Aztecs were known and feared for their blood rituals. The blood spilled and consumed had various spiritual meanings depending on the type and purpose of the ritual. Blood and/or human sacrifice was a frequent offering to the Sun God. The Aztecs believed that the gods shed their blood to create the universe, so they must do the same to show their gratitude for the gifts of creation. Also, ritual blood was shed to promote the fertility of crops. The Aztecs feared that if blood was not shed in frequency and volume that the gods would be displeased and people would suffer their wrath. The history of the Aztecs is defined in many people’s minds with the sacrifice of prisoners having their beating, bloody hearts cut out.

The Native American Sun Dance often ended with a blood sacrifice. The Sun Dance ceremony was practiced by some Indigenous peoples of the United States of America and Canada, primarily those of the Plains cultures. The community gathered together to pray for healing. Individuals made personal sacrifices on behalf of the community. Sometimes the sacrifices included the spilling of blood.

Voodoo and Santeria practitioners often use animals’ sacrificial blood to cast their spells or achieve some desired effect. Most people think of sacrificing chickens, but other animals are used including doves and goats. Frequently, the sacrificed animal subsequently becomes a feast.

Love spells cross cultural lines, and in some such spells—to gain the favor of a man—the spell caster would use menstrual blood as part of the mixture.

And, of course, blood sacrifices are sprinkled throughout the Bible, where animals such as lambs were slaughtered as offerings to God.

Exodus 29: 19-22—Then you shall take the other ram, and Aaron and his sons shall lay their hands on the head of the ram. You shall slaughter the ram, and take some of its blood and put it on the lobe of Aaron’s right ear and on the lobes of his sons’ right ears and on the thumbs of their right hands and on the big toes of their right feet, and sprinkle the rest of the blood around on the altar. Then you shall take some of the blood that is on the altar and some of the anointing oil, and sprinkle it on Aaron and on his garments and on his sons and on his sons’ garments with him; so he and his garments shall be consecrated, as well as his sons and his sons’ garments with him.

Leviticus 9: 3-4—Then to the sons of Israel you shall speak, saying, ‘Take a male goat for a sin offering, and a calf and a lamb, both one year old, without defect, for a burnt offering, and an ox and a ram for peace offerings, to sacrifice before the Lord, and a grain offering mixed with oil; for today the Lord will appear to you.’

Hebrews 13: 11-13—For the bodies of those animals whose blood is brought into the holy place by the high priest as an offering for sin, are burned outside the camp. Therefore Jesus also, that He might sanctify the people through His own blood, suffered outside the gate. So, let us go out to Him outside the camp, bearing His reproach.

And, of course, there is the sacrament of Catholic Holy Communion wherein the supplicant figuratively drinks the blood of Christ and partakes of His flesh through consecrated wafers, all in remembrance of the spilled blood and broken body of Jesus as He was crucified.

The Bible aside, other mythologies have imbued their heroes, villains, monsters and gods with the need for blood in some form.

Celtic fairies would sneak into homes at night, suck the blood from the sleeping residents, and use that blood to bake a cake they would hide in the house. Should the people not find the cake, they would wither away and die.

The malevolent entity in Germany called the Alp enters humans through their mouths by turning into mist or a snake, or by using its tongue. Then it plagues its victims with terrifying nightmares, fits, sleepwalking, and night seizures. The Alp sucks blood from a person’s nipples (male or female) and is said to enjoy breast milk as well.

The Mesopotamian bloodsucking demon goddess Lamashtu will sweep in when a baby is newly born and eat its flesh and drink its blood.

The Filipino Aswang spends its days as a beautiful woman, and its nights as a bird-like creature with a long tongue who sweeps into a room at night and inserts the tongue into its victim, drinking its blood as though it were sweet nectar.

The Chupacabra, literally goat-sucker, from chupar, to suck, and cabra, goat, is a legendary creature in the folklore of parts of the Americas, with its first purported sightings reported in Puerto Rico. The name comes from the animal’s reported habit of attacking and drinking the blood of livestock, including goats.

And, of course, there is the infamous vampire, one of the undead that can only survive by drinking human blood. Think Dracula as the most well-known fictional incarnation of the creature, brought to cinematic life by Max Schreck, Bela Lugosi, Lon Chaney Jr., Michael Nouri, Frank Langella, and Gary Oldman, to name a few. And one certainly cannot forget the fangs and smoldering sexuality of daytime soaps’ favorite vampire, Barnabas Collins of Dark Shadows.

Blood has been written about for centuries and by people from all walks of life with all perspectives.

"And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came

to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose

up against Abel his brother, and slew him."

"And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother?

And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?"

"And He said, What hast thou done? The voice of thy

brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground."

"And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened

her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand."

Bible, Old Testament, Genesis 4: 8-11

"The Father willed that his blessed and glorious Son, whom

he gave to us and who was born for us, should through

his own blood offer himself as a sacrificial victim on the

altar of the cross. This was to be done not for himself

through whom all things were made, but for our sins."

Francis of Assisi

"The great questions of the day will not be settled by means

of speeches and majority decisions but by iron and blood."

Otto von Bismarck

"Children were vehicles for passing things along. These

things could be kingdoms, rich wedding gifts, stories,

grudges, blood feuds. Through children, alliances were

forged; through children, wrongs were avenged. To

have a child was to set loose a force in the world."

Margaret Atwood

"Life is about rhythm. We vibrate, our hearts are pumping

blood, we are a rhythm machine, that’s what we are."

Mickey Hart

"Everyone knows the phenomenon of trying to hold your

breath underwater—how at first it’s alright and you can

handle it, and then as it gets closer and closer to the time

when you must breathe, how urgent the need becomes, the

lust and the hunger to breathe. And then the panic sets in

when you begin to think that you won’t be able to breathe—

and finally, when you take in air and the anxiety subsides...

that’s what it’s like to be a vampire and need blood."

Francis Ford Coppola

"Nothing splendid was ever created in cold blood.

Heat is required to forge anything. Every great

accomplishment is the story of a flaming heart."

Arnold H. Glasow

"I had a vision—and I saw white spirits and black spirits

engaged in battle, and the sun was darkened—the thunder rolled

in the Heavens, and blood flowed in streams—and I heard a

voice saying, ‘Such is your luck, such are you called to see,

and let it come rough or smooth, you must surely bear it.’"

Nat Turner

"Who has fully realized that history is not contained

in thick books but lives in our very blood?"

Carl Jung

"There are things about organized religion which I

resent. Christ is revered as the Prince of Peace, but more

blood has been shed in His name than any other figure

in history. You show me one step forward in the name of

religion, and I’ll show you a hundred retrogressions."

Frank Sinatra

"And trust no agent, for beauty is a witch against

whose charms faith melteth into blood."

Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, Claudio, Act 2, Scene 1

Blood is the basis of life.

Blood is the basis of death.

Blood is the basis of vengeance, passion, love, hate, war, peace, desperation.

Blood boils, blood courses, blood spills.

And those who spill blood have their reasons, reasons that God would decry but for which Satan would stand up and cheer.

9.jpg

Cast of Characters¹

105127.png

Cast of Additional Characters²

PROLOGUE

August 21, 1614, Csejthe Castle, Kingdom of Hungary

She was cold, so cold. She had complained to the guard earlier that her hands were icy, but he was unsympathetic and simply said, Ez semmi, szeretője. Csak menj és feküdj le. It’s nothing, mistress. Just go and lie down.

She could never see his full face, mainly just his eyes unless he came into the cell for some reason. A few other people did, too, on occasion, but for the most part she was left alone. The bricked-up rooms in which she had been held for four years had only slits for ventilation and the passing of food. Her solitary confinement had tortured her for that first year, but afterwards she accepted her fate and actually grew to calmly endure if not enjoy her dearth of human contact. She had books and needlepoint to occupy part of her awake hours, and a massive volume of memories to sustain her when those activities did not. The winters in Čachtice Castle were so cold and the summers so hot, but after a time she learned to ignore her physical discomfort—including the rancid scent of her bodily excretions—and concentrate on the things that would keep her from going completely mad.

They thought she was mad; they all thought she was mad. Mad, and evil incarnate.

Perhaps she was.

She pulled a thin robe around her bony frame. The robe was tattered and rough but gave her a modicum of comfort. She sat on the edge of her thin mattress and absently brushed her hair, noting that a generous hank had been pulled from her head. She once reveled in her luxurious, dark, thick, silky hair when she was a young woman, but now at fifty-four her locks were mostly gone; those that were left were gray, dull, and brittle. She stared at the hand holding the brush. Her skin was translucent and replete with veins and age spots. Her fingernails were broken; two had fallen off, just like her toenails. Most people didn’t live to her age, and she assumed that most of those who did suffered many of the same physical decrements as she, although not as much resulting from captivity in the solitary, dark cell. There were no windows, so for the past four years she never knew when the sky was light or dark, whether it was day or night. What month it was … What year … She cursed her stupidity for not beginning to mark down the days she was imprisoned by marks on the wall, but finally she did, estimating that she had perhaps lost track of a couple of months. She would read the personal letters and correspondence in her private chest, a luxury permitted by her captors, surprisingly. Try as she might she couldn’t fathom how much time had passed since the dates and sentiments in those letters.

Time for her had just … stopped.

She lay down on the uncomfortable bed and closed her eyes. She rubbed her hands together to warm them up, a futile exercise. She left her mortal body as she drifted into the past when she had all the wealth, all the beauty, all the respect, all the admiration, all the attention, all the promise in the world …

The countries, territories, boundaries and dynasties of Europe were no more tumultuous than in the Middle Ages, which stretched from the fifth century AD to the fifteenth century AD. Beginning with the fall of the Western Roman Empire it transitioned over centuries to the Renaissance and the Age of Discovery. Historically divided into three distinct sections of history—classical antiquity, the medieval period, and the modern period—the generally agreed upon endpoint coincided with the discovery of the Americas by Christopher Columbus in 1492. The thousand years of the Middle Ages was a miasma of social, economic, cultural, and explorative growth unparalleled in the previous history of modern man.

Populations rose and fell, technological and agricultural expansion and discoveries burst forth to increase global trade, dynasties were born and extinguished, and climate change necessitated shifts in population and authority, and inevitably set the stage for the centuries that succeeded it; the stage was set for the Early Modern period—1453 AD to 1789 AD—which saw divisions of humanity’s progress in very specific timeframes:

• Age of Discovery (or Exploration) (Europe, c. 1400 – 1770)

• Polish Golden Age (Poland, 1507 – 1572)

• Golden Age of Piracy (1650 – 1730)

• Elizabethan era (United Kingdom, 1558 – 1603)

• Protestant Reformation (Europe, 16th century)

• Classicism (Europe, 16th – 18th centuries)

• Industrial Revolution, (Europe, 16th – 18th centuries)

• Jacobean Era (United Kingdom, 1603 – 1625)

• Petrine Era (Russia, 1689 – 1725)

• Age of Enlightenment (or Reason) (Europe, 18th century)

• Scientific Revolution (Europe, 18th century)

Firmly entrenched since their inceptions dynasties in Europe spread across the continent and fomented aggression, alliances, and divisions. In the territory now known as Hungary many clans ruled portions of land with their own narrowly defined rules and desires. One such clan of nobles, the Gutkeled, derived their origins from the two Swabian brothers, Gut and Keled, who emigrated into Hungary from the southern sector of what became Germany during the reign of King Peter (1038 AD – 1046 AD), himself of Venetian descent. Subsequent kings granted lands to various nobles for their loyalty and victories. One such noble line of three brothers—George, Benedict, and Briccius—was granted land in eastern Hungary, Bátor in the county of Szabolcs. George and Benedict died, and the last brother, Briccius, took full control of those lands and renamed his familial line Báthory; i.e., of Bátor.

The new Báthory line split into two major branches through Briccius’ sons and grandsons. The elder branch of the family, the Báthory of Somlyó, were descended from John, Count of Szatmár, the firstborn son of Briccius, through his eldest son, Ladislaus. The younger branch of the family, the Báthory of Ecsed, were descended from Luke, the youngest son of Briccius. Marriages, alliances, births, deaths, war—the Báthory families fought for their land and their birthrights and through it all produced a number of notable personages that rose to prominence not only in their lands but in the annals of history. Some were persons that made a typical impact in the development of Hungary; some begat notoriety and the stuff of legends.

Record-keeping was not especially perfected in the mid-sixteenth century, but somewhere around 1560 AD or 1561 AD, Baron George VI Báthory of the Ecsed branch of the family, brother of Andrew Bonaventura Báthory, who had been voivode of Transylvania, and Baroness Anna Báthory, daughter of Stephen Báthory of Somlyó, another voivode of Transylvania, who was of the Somlyó branch, welcomed a daughter into the world.

Born at the family’s country estate in Nyírbátor, Countess Erzsébet (anglicized as Elizabeth) Báthory de Ecsed was one of several living children of her noble parents. She was preceded by two brothers, István (Stephen) and Gábor (Gabriel), and followed by two sisters, Zsófia and Klara; her mother’s other pregnancies resulted in miscarriages or stillbirths, not uncommon in that time period. She came from a very inbred lineage which probably explained her seizures, called the falling sickness; in modern times, epilepsy. In Elizabeth’s time, however, impractical and useless medical treatments were used to address her issue, including rubbing someone else’s blood on her lips during a seizure, or afterwards. This was considered the height of medical knowledge at the time.

Still, she was the child of a noble house and as such was provided an education that few girls had during those times. She learned to read and write Greek, Latin, and, of course, Hungarian. Her social position was impeccable, and she was destined for an arranged marriage that would bolster her family’s position. At the age of ten she was betrothed to Ferenc Nádasdy, the son of Baron Tamás Nádasdy de Nádasd et Fogarasföld and Orsolya Kanizsay, in what was probably a political arrangement within the circles of the aristocracy.

Although her years of betrothal should have been in focused preparation to assume her role as wife, an incident took place that might have derailed her future had her family not been as clever and determined as they needed to be. At the age of thirteen Elizabeth gave birth to a child supposedly by a peasant boy. The child was immediately given to a trusted woman who whisked the infant away to Wallachia (modern-day Romania, the territory surrounding Bucharest), never to be heard from again. The boy that fathered the child most likely would have suffered a quick and fatal fate. Her lack of virginity and illegitimate use of her womb for a bastard child did not, however, detract from her attractiveness as a marriage partner; the contract that had been sealed in December of 1572 was upheld happily by both families.

The betrothed couple married when she was three months shy of her fifteenth birthday and he was aged nineteen at the palace of Vranov nad Topľou (Varannó in Hungarian) on May 8, 1575. Approximately 4,500 guests were invited to the wedding, although by that time Elizabeth’s parents were deceased, and the groom’s chose to not attend, either. As Elizabeth’s social standing was higher than that of her husband, she refused to change her last name, and instead Nádasdy assumed the surname Báthory. Some official correspondence or personal references, however, referred to her as Lady Nádasdy, or after her husband’s death, Lady Widow Nádasdy.

Elizabeth moved to Nádasdy Castle in Sárvár and spent much time on her own while her husband studied in Vienna. Over the years she had multiple pregnancies, some producing live children, some producing stillborns. Her firstborn living child did not make their appearance until she and Ferenc had been married for ten years, when Elizabeth was the ripe old age of twenty-five. Her surviving children were son Pal (Paul) and daughters Anna, Orsika (Ursula), and Kata (Katherine); son András died young. By all accounts she was a good and loving mother to her children. How many illegitimate sons and daughters her husband may have fathered is lost to a history where such activity was commonplace and inconsequential.

Upon their wedding day Ferenc bestowed upon his new bride an exceptional gift—Castle Csejthe along with its seventeen associated villages. Elizabeth lived a full and lavish life not only due to her fortuitous marriage into an especially wealthy and influential family but because she had inherited a great deal of wealth from her parents. She upheld the honor of her family and that of her husband, giving no cause for concern about any improprieties or sin. She was often left husbandless as Ferenc went off to study, to battle, or to survey his lands. Elizabeth spent her time in pregnancy, child-rearing (with the help of a swath of servants and wet nurses), and tending to her own properties. It was whispered by rumor and innuendo that she made visits to relatives deep into the worlds of sorcery and witchcraft, but nothing to prove that—or to prove that she indulged as well—was ever unequivocally documented.

Then.

The years rolled by, and there was nothing untoward about the life and world of the noble woman ensconced in the lap of privilege and power. She managed her estates. She enjoyed entertainment. She went horseback riding and hunting. She hosted banquets that shouted her wealth and position to the world. She may have flirted with available and not so available young men who served to alleviate her loneliness of a wife whose husband was rarely home. She was said to be a tempestuous woman whose temper shortened as the years went by.

Yet despite her wealth, her social position, and her power, she faced the same inevitable fact that all human beings do—she aged. And it was one thing in her world for a man to age, but for a woman, the angst and consequences were far different. She could no longer bear children, and her form exhibited the natural expressions of a much-birthed woman in her late twenties rather than a girl in her mid-teens.

Elizabeth did everything she could to stave off the ravages of middle and elderly years. She bathed in the finest perfumes and crystal clear water. She applied the finest creams to her face and body. She had her hair brushed a hundred strokes every night to ensure its silkiness and luster.

And still... the wrinkles as fine as silken thread appeared at the corners of her eyes, and her skin was not as moist and as soft to the touch. She didn’t know what to do.

Until that one night when she was thirty years old, when, in essence, her true youth had passed her by and she knew it.

She was bathing in her chambers. A servant girl was washing her hair as delicately as possible, but somehow that girl managed to snag a lock and pull it. Elizabeth cried out in pain and anger, whirled around, and slapped the girl as hard as she could, drawing blood. As the girl stood back cowering in fear of her mistress’s potential punishment, Elizabeth stared at the red, red blood on her hand. For whatever reason she raised her hand to her lips and tasted the servant girl’s blood. The warm, iron-tasting blood sent a thrill through her soaking body. She screamed at the girl to come close and when the girl did Elizabeth rubbed her hand on the girl’s bleeding nose, then rubbed the blood onto her face and let it set before she washed it off.

She dismissed the servant girl and called in others to help her finish bathing. When they were done and gone she stared at her reflection in her mirror, examining the cheeks that had been smeared with the servant girl’s blood. She was certain—she was certain—that the blood had made her cheeks more rosy and healthier-looking. Her heart thumped madly in her chest. The taste of blood on her lips had helped when she had her seizures; the physicians swore by that treatment. What if blood—life blood—could do more than just heal?

What if blood could invigorate?

What if blood could turn back the hands of time?

What if blood could make flesh taut and youthful?

Every nerve ending in her body snapped with electricity as her mind rolled over the possibilities.

And the plan, the obvious plan.

The next morning she gave orders to her guards, who obeyed her without an instant of hesitation; no one dared disobey the countess. They were inconsequential men, and what she demanded was even less consequential. That, and they could not have cared less.

Elizabeth was strident with her servants all during the day as she eagerly anticipated her evening ablutions. She snapped at her children and threw her afternoon meal across the dining hall with a curse rarely heard from even seasoned soldiers. Fortunately, Ferenc was off fighting some battle somewhere, so she didn’t have to endure his presence during her special time.

The day seemed to pass slowly, but soon enough evening fell and Elizabeth prepared to indulge in what she hoped would be a satisfying and restorative exercise in elongating her life and beauty. The sun had set when she went to her chambers for her evening bath.

Two servant girls were waiting for her. Neither could have been older than fifteen; the younger one thirteen, perhaps. The large mosaic-laden ceramic tub that Ferenc had brought back as booty from Constantinople the previous summer rested near the roaring fireplace, the flames flickering across the warm, lavender-scented water a foot deep. Per her request two dozen aromatic candles dotted the perimeter and cast shadows on the walls and on her body as the girls deftly and carefully disrobed the countess. She grasped the edges of the tub and stepped in, lowering herself into the scented water. The temperature was perfect. She signaled the girls to begin bathing her. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the tub rim.

The older girl lathered Elizabeth’s hair and gently washed the long, thick strands. The younger girl used the soft sponge and cinnamon soap to wash her body, beginning at her face and working her way down to the toes. Every few minutes the girl stopped and gently poured a small pail of warm water over Elizabeth before continuing with her task. Neither of the girls spoke; that would have been unthinkable to address a noblewoman, and Elizabeth was silent as well, lost in her thoughts and exciting expectations.

An hour into the bathing Elizabeth sat up straight, startling the two girls. She eyed them balefully, stood, and demanded her robe. When she was garbed she called out to her primary bodyguard, a tall, wide man who looked as though he could wrestle a stallion to the ground and strangle it to death with his bare hands. His face was utterly neutral. He waited.

Elizabeth studied the girls, and decided on the younger one. She nodded towards the girl, and with two long strides the guard grabbed the quaking teenager, and in one swift second snapped her neck. The other girl sank to the floor sobbing quietly, expecting that she would be next.

The guard carried the dead girl to the bathtub, withdrew his foot-long side knife, held her upside down over the tub, and slit her throat. Although the other servant girl had fainted by that time Elizabeth stood close by licking her lips and watching intently as every drop of blood from the girl dripped into the tub, turning the water a deep pink. When the drops had tapered off to one or two per second, Elizabeth nodded and the guard wordlessly threw the dead girl’s pale, bloodless body over his shoulder and left the countess’s chambers to dispose of the corpse.

Elizabeth stared into the pink water for a long time before she kicked the unconscious servant girl awake and slipped back into the tub. Her eyelids fluttered and she groaned in orgasmic ecstasy as the warm, bloody water sifted over her flesh. She barked at the girl who managed to crawl to the tub, pick up the sponge, and begin massaging her mistress’s body with the newly invigorated liquid. The servant girl’s tears flowed down her cheeks but she dared not make a sound. Finally, after an interminable time for the servant Elizabeth told her to stop. She turned in the tub, stared at the distraught face of the teenager, then issued a savage blow across her face, breaking her nose. Elizabeth grabbed the girl by the hair and with her other hand wiped the nose blood onto her fingers. She shoved the girl away then used both hands to wash her face with the sticky blood. An involuntary mewl rumbled at the back of her throat.

Elizabeth stood and used the plush towels to dry herself off as she snapped at the girl to leave. The girl scrambled to the door and fled, fled to the bowels of the castle where she lived with her parents and five siblings, also servants in the great castle. She sobbed out her story, expecting sympathy and horror. Instead, her angry father twisted her arm until it broke and said she was never to speak of that night again. Ever.

She never did because the next night it was she whose life blood flowed into Elizabeth’s tub of warm, scented water. Two days later, her fourteen-year-old sister was sacrificed on the altar of Elizabeth’s quest for youthful immortality. They were simply the first, but certainly not the last.

One would think that the barbarism of a woman’s single-minded quest for elongating her life and beauty would be short-lived, that the murders of helpless young women would be stopped or curtailed. The Middle Ages and the time that succeeded it, however, was a time where nobility had free rein over the peasantry for any and all actions, including murder. Servants had virtually no rights, nor did those who worked the land and provided the bounty for the aristocracy and royals. Even three hundred years after the advent and consequences of Europe’s Black Death the population was still mired in a caste system where laws were usually made only for those powerful enough to enforce them. Social position was everything. Secrets, dark and evil, were often kept to maintain power and prestige.

That was the world of Countess Elizabeth Báthory, the world which allowed her to act on her mad, desperate desires for twenty years. The world, however, was not without some sense of right and wrong, and word of her atrocities spread their tentacles as the years passed. Silence became whispers, and whispers became louder in volume until what those whispers said could no longer be ignored.

Complaints against Elizabeth came to officials’ attention over the years, but for the most part were dismissed or ignored. By 1610, however, the refusal to acknowledge what was happening in her castle and land could no longer stand the test social blindness. Perhaps the turning point was when Elizabeth veered from selecting young peasant girls and included young noblewomen in her rituals of blood sacrifices; peasants were one thing, but girls of a higher station were quite another matter. Lutheran minister István Magyari made complaints against her, both publicly and at the court in Vienna. Hungarian authorities took some time to respond to his complaints, but finally, in 1610, King Matthias II assigned György Thurzó, the Palatine of Hungary, to investigate.

Thurzó ordered two notaries to collect evidence and in 1610 and 1611, the notaries collected testimony from more than three hundred witnesses. The trial records included the testimony of the defendants, as well as thirteen witnesses. Priests, noblemen, and commoners were questioned. Witnesses included the castellan and other personnel of Sárvár castle. As the witnesses brought forth known and assumed details the notaries brought the horrific information to Thurzó. Elizabeth’s ultimate fate was soon sealed.

Thurzó went to Čachtice Castle after Christmas on December 30, 1610 and caught Báthory in the act of murdering another young girl for her blood. Thurzó arrested Báthory and four of her servants, who were accused of being her accomplices—Dorotya Semtész, Ilona Jó, Katarína Benická, and János Újváry (Ibis or Fickó). Thurzó’s men reportedly found one girl dead and one dying and reported that another woman was found wounded while others were locked up. The countess was put under house arrest.

The dispensation of the countess’s fate was a dire matter. She was a noblewoman from a very powerful, widespread family. She could not be put on trial like some common person, nor could her crimes receive the same type of adjudication and punishment. Thurzó recognized the issue and conferred with King Matthias as well as Elizabeth’s son and sons-in-law as to how to proceed. King Matthias demanded a trial and was hoping for a sentence of death at the inevitable conclusion. He understood, however, that a trial plus an execution would negatively impact his reign as well as the cause of the nobility.

Elizabeth stood trial twice, first on January 2, 1611, and then a few days later on January 7th. Dozens and dozens of witnesses testified against her, and evidence included forensic items such as bones and cadavers of previous victims. The tally of her victims varied, but was believed to be over six hundred. Six hundred innocent young girls gave their lives and blood so that Elizabeth could maintain her dying youth. The official record listed only eighty, but everyone knew that number was a sham. She had well earned her nickname of the Blood Countess.

The verdict was a foregone conclusion. Since an execution might have negative consequences for King Matthias and the nobility, Elizabeth was sentenced to be bricked up for life in her castle in solitary confinement. And there she remained for four years where she could reflect on her life and crimes as her body withered with the ravages of time.

The guard called out to her on that morning and received no answer. He called again; again, no response. He opened the door to Elizabeth’s cell and found her dead, her decaying flesh and soul at their inevitable conclusion.

She was buried in the church of Čachtice on November 25, 1614, but according to some sources there was an uproar from the villagers at having the Blood Countess buried in their consecrated cemetery. Subsequently, her body was moved to her birth home at Ecsed, where it was interred at the Báthory family crypt. The location of her body today is unknown. Čachtice Church or Čachtice Castle do not bear any markings of her possible grave.

Countess Elizabeth Báthory sought to stave off the inexorable effects of the passage of time, to remain beautiful and immortal through the life blood of innocents. Her story passed down through history and reality to the fiction of subsequent centuries where she was called Countess Dracula as well as the Blood Countess, or Countess of Blood. The inimitable British film company, Hammer Films, told her story in 1971 in Countess Dracula, starring the beautiful, sultry queen of horror movies, Ingrid Pitt. That same year another film, shot in Belgium, highlighted the Blood Countess—Daughters of Darkness, starring John Karlen, the hapless vampire sidekick Willie Loomis from the soap opera Dark Shadows.

Other films have touched directly on her mythology, including 1973’s Immoral Tales; 2008’s historical drama, Bathory; and The Countess, a 2009 film written and directed by Julie Delpy. Countless books, both those purporting to be nonfiction as well as novels, have delved into her mystique.

She achieved her immortality, but in a way that history deemed her notorious rather than famous.

Perhaps she would have enjoyed that distinction.

11.jpg

Countess Elizabeth Báthory

BOOK ONE

12.jpg

"Yes, Sangre de Cristo; but no matter how scarlet the

sunset, those red hills never became vermillion, but a

more and more intense rose-carnelian; not the colour

of living blood, the Bishop had often reflected, but the

colour of the dried blood of saints and martyrs preserved

in old churches in Rome, which liquefies upon occasion."

Willa Cather, Death Comes for the Archbishop

CHAPTER ONE

14.jpg

August 27, 1965, Santa Fe, New Mexico

"Please? Please, please, please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

"No. No, no, no, no, no. What is it about the concept of ‘no’ that you don’t understand?" Memphis Grayhawk asked his ten-year-old brother, Luc, crossly. Despite the fifteen years that separated the siblings both had looks on their faces of determined men. Memphis thought that even when he had looked into his newborn brother’s eyes ten years earlier the baby had something old-soul about him in those dark chocolate orbs. Although at six-four he towered over the youngster he always felt that he was simply conversing with a small adult rather than a kid. This whiny attitude of Luc’s was out of character, but then again, the advent of the British Invasion of new music had changed the personalities of a lot of kids and teenagers. Even his normally mature sixteen-year-old brother, Troy, had let his hair grow out into a Beatles cut and was blasting every song on the Fab Four’s albums throughout the house on a regular schedule—24/7. Currently the album Help! was the flavor of the week and its grooves were almost worn out. That wouldn’t be so bad if Troy wasn’t trying to play an old guitar he’d bought at a thrift shop. He was a terrible if enthusiastic musician.

Luc scowled and jammed his fists into his waist. The Garcias are going. So are the Lopezes, the Johnsons, the—

I’m sorry, Memphis interrupted. "Did any of those kids get their big brother to drive them down to Albuquerque two days ago to see the premiere of Help!? And sit through the damn movie three times while shelling out his hard-earned money for popcorn and Milk Duds? I think not."

I said thank you, Luc groused. "But the drive-in is showing a double feature—Help! and A Hard Day’s Night. Come on! It’d be criminal to not go. Please? I’ll wash your car every week for a year, I promise. I’ll take the garbage out."

You’re supposed to do that anyway along with a few other chores you slime out of on a regular basis.

"I never will again. I swear!" Luc stuck out his pinkie. A childlike, hopeful look spread over his handsome face. Memphis thought he looked like one of their gypsy ancestors, adorable and innocent on the outside and on the inside ready to divest you of your wallet and wristwatch. Memphis sighed theatrically and grasped his brother’s pinkie with his own and they locked for a few seconds before Luc grinned in triumph and ran off to tell his little sister that they were going to the drive-in tonight.

Memphis shook his head in resignation. He was a pushover for his younger siblings, all four of them. Still, he enjoyed going to the Yucca Drive-In. The outdoor movie theater had opened July 4, 1950 with Clifton Webb in Sitting Pretty and Randolph Scott in Fighting Man of the Plains. In his twenty-five years Memphis had seen tons of movies there. He had been there only a few weeks earlier when they showed a double feature of The Great Race and The Sons of Katie Elder. Christ, he loved John Wayne, and no one was funnier than Jack Lemmon. He had excused himself a week ago when Luc and Raleigh had begged him to see the Dave Clark Five’s first film, Catch Us If You Can. Thankfully, Tucson had taken up the sibling reins and driven his younger brothers and sister to the Pueblo Drive-In for that experience.

Still, it wasn’t an unusual circumstance for youths and teenagers. When he was Troy’s age he was enamored of rising star Elvis Presley, then Ricky Nelson and Connie Francis. Memphis had let his own hair grow from a flat-top to Elvis’s longer, swirled-back wavy hair. He went to the movies to see Love Me Tender ten times, and saw every Elvis flick at least twice right up to the one that premiered two months earlier in June, Tickle Me. His parents hadn’t said a word any more than they did when Troy and Luc began growing their own thick black locks and plastered their shared bedroom wall with Beatles, Rolling Stones, and Supremes posters; after the Beatles made their American TV debut in February 1964 on the Ed Sullivan Show, Elvis and his swiveling hips were simply too passé for them. The two younger Grayhawks’ record albums and .45s collections were growing at an alarming rate but, hey, it was their allowance and extra earnings from raking lawns and delivering newspapers that allowed them to indulge. Seven-year-old Raleigh had the smallest bedroom whose walls were almost invisible behind her British Invasion posters and cutouts of the teen 16 Magazine’s photos of the idols of the day. Currently, she was obsessed with Peter Noone of Herman’s Hermits and David McCallum of The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

Memphis sighed and ran through his mind the chores left for the rest of the day. He had to study a book on torts for the new law school semester that had started that past Monday. With his parents roaming the wilds of Colorado until November he was in charge of the Grayhawk brood as well as holding down a full college schedule and a part-time job running legal errands for crusty lawyer Joanna Frid. He was disinclined to cook for the brood tonight, holding out no hope that Tucson would assist; his younger brother (by three years) was spending the weekend with his girlfriend of one month and said he wouldn’t be home until Sunday afternoon. Tucson had packed a tent, one sleeping bag, and an igloo full of beer and sandwiches and drove his jeep (probably recklessly) up to Spirit Lake to camp on the land their father had just purchased to build a family cabin.

Fuck it, he thought, as he grabbed the keys to his brand new sky-blue Mustang and headed out the door. Ten minutes later he was at his favorite Mexican restaurant, Malagueña Fiesta, ordering takeout for the clan. While he waited he downed a strong frozen margarita, wanting a second one but discarding that impulse since he was driving. The movies didn’t start until near sundown so he, Troy, Luc, and Raleigh had plenty of time to chow down before they crammed into his car and took off for the drive-in. He was fairly certain that tomorrow morning he’d be cleaning popcorn kernels and greasy potato chip flakes out of his beloved car. With any luck he wouldn’t be washing sticky Coke out of the front rug. Luck, however, was one of his very infrequent companions. On the other hand, Luc had sworn to wash his car every week for a year, and Memphis decided to hold him to that promise, starting tomorrow.

When he got home Luc and Raleigh were tossing a Frisbee around the front yard with their two German shepherds, Waffles and Pancakes, yelling at the top of their lungs and thoroughly annoying their disapproving next-door neighbor, the widowed Señora Mendez. She stared at Memphis as he got out of his car, curled her lip, harrumphed, and swept back into her house, slamming the door. Vieja miserable bruja, he thought as he called to the kids to get into the house and don’t forget to pick up the dog shit. Luc scurried faster than his little sister, who groaned and reached down a tissue to grab up the mess that Waffles had made.

Don’t bring that into the house, Memphis exclaimed as his sister walked into the kitchen carrying a smelly lump in her Kleenex. She rolled her eyes and continued into the back yard where he heard a loud scraping noise as she tore off the garbage can cover and dumped the poop. She came back in and Memphis said, Wash your hands. Now. Another eye roll as she thrust her hands under the kitchen faucet and scrubbed them clean and pink.

Happy? she snapped.

Ecstatic. Now get the knives and forks while your brother —he narrowed his eyes at Luc— gets the plates. Chop, chop.

Did you get tamales? Luc asked as he pulled four dinner plates from the cabinet.

Yes, I got tamales.

Chimis?

Two. We’ll have to share.

Did you—

Enough. You eat what I put in front of you, Memphis sighed as he poured the salsa into a small ceramic dish.

I miss Mom’s cooking, Raleigh said as she meticulously placed a fork and knife beside each plate.

Tough, Memphis retorted. He paused for a second, listening to the blare of the Rolling Stones’ latest album, Out of Our Heads. He yelled, Troy—shut that off and come in for dinner. Now. The Last Time was blasting out, and that was Memphis’s favorite Stones song.

It took a few minutes for the music to stop and for Troy to barrel into the kitchen and plop down at the table.

No, no, Memphis said brightly. No need to help big brother put the food on the table. Happy to do it.

Great, Troy said, grinning, as he piled a huge pyramid of corn chips on his plate and dragged over the salsa bowl, then started crunching.

Miserable ingrates, Memphis muttered as he smacked down the bowls of takeout food, which barely touched the tabletop when the three youngest Grayhawks began digging into the food and piling it on their plates. It was Memphis’s turn to roll his eyes as he wondered how much would be left for him during the time he got the drinking glasses and put the pitcher of sweet tea on the table. He was relieved when one half of a pork chimi was left for his enjoyment. That, one tamale, a tablespoon scoop of rice, and a slightly bigger scoop of refried beans would be his dinner. The salsa and all but a dozen chips were gone. Maybe he’d nail a hotdog at the drive-in.

As he gobbled down a full chimi Troy glanced over at his older brother and said, Any chance Reynaldo can go to the movies with us? His Mexican-American friend was as much of a Beatles devotee as he was. His face fell when Memphis shook his head.

I can barely cram the three of you into my Mustang let alone another full-grown guy.

Raleigh can sit on my lap, Troy said reasonably.

Oh, hell no, the Grayhawk baby sister said, shaking her head of waist-length black locks vigorously. Everyone agreed that she was seven going on thirty.

Language, Memphis warned. He looked at Troy. But I believe her sentiment mirrors mine.

Oh, hell no, Luc muttered, ducking his head at his brother’s frown. Try as he might he couldn’t repress an evil grin.

Troy wasn’t about to give up, if only on principle. His parents have a station wagon. We can all fit into it.

No.

But—

Let me be clear—oh, hell no. Drop the subject now and finish your food.

You’re even worse of a parental tyrant than Mom is, Troy muttered.

That was it. Memphis slammed down his fork, startling his siblings into silence. So let’s get this straight, he said in a low voice. I am not a parent. I’m a twenty-five-year-old law student who is putting himself through school. I’ve been thrust into the role because we have a mother and father who put a premium on traveling the country without their miserable, annoying, demanding kids. I’m the oldest, so I got stuck with all of you whiny little brats. Don’t you think I’d like to be out on a date tonight instead of shoving you into my car for a movie I don’t give a damn about?

It’s a double feature, Luc said flatly.

Shut up.

You haven’t had a date in three months, Raleigh added daringly.

You shut up, too. And my love life is none of your business.

Or even existent, Troy murmured, his eyes never leaving his plate. Our garden gnome has a more exciting love life.

Suddenly there was absolute silence for the longest minute until Memphis shoved his chair away from table, spun around, and left the kitchen.

Luc reached over the table with his fork. Dibs on his chimi.

Memphis counted to ten mentally as he burst out into the back yard and took several deep breaths. Then he counted to ten again, and a third time. He wasn’t a damn parent. He didn’t want to be a damn parent. But … his younger siblings hadn’t asked to be divested of their real mother and father because of that couple’s craving for new adventures.

He surveyed the fenced-in back yard. A six-foot-tall painted cinder block fence reached from one end of the house in a wide circle to the other. The home sat on an acre of land, and the next closest neighbor besides nasty Señora Mendez was a quarter mile away. They had a magnificent view of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and the rolling desert that was being encroached upon year after year. The house was positioned east-west so from their fenced-in front courtyard they had the same view as well as the distant images of Santa Fe’s skyline.

The Grayhawks had lived in their Santa Fe (the city) Santa Fe (the style) home for thirteen years after the parents decided to try to put down roots and let their three sons have a normal way of life. Father Jakub bought the piece of land which was in the middle of nowhere north of the city and began building their home with the help of his two brothers-in-law, Hehewuti’s brothers Ahiliya and Cha’Akmongwi, and the two oldest sons, Memphis and Tucson.

The single-story house was unusually large for the time and place, but Jakub hated the thought of feeling closed in, and he and his wife planned on more children, anyway. At three thousand square feet with four bedrooms and an attached two-car garage, the house seemed like a mansion when the family of five moved in. Less than three years later Luc was born after a conception in Washington State and a birth in Oregon (courtesy of their father’s desire to perform at several folk festivals in those areas; he was a master of both the guitar and the violin). A trip to a Native American powwow in North Carolina produced Raleigh. Each child was named after the place he or she was conceived, except for Luc; had his parents followed their pattern he would have been known as Walla Walla but instead he was named after the place where Hehewuti birthed him—Lucifer Peak.

The children’s first names were not the only component unusual about their nomenclature. Hehewuti was an Indian woman, one-quarter Navajo (her father was half) and three quarters Hopi, the tribe with which she identified. Her last name was Maasikiisa; Jakub’s was Kosmicki. His father was Polish and Gypsy. Born and raised in Europe Jakub emigrated to the United States in December 1938 after a visit to a relative in Magdeburg, Germany in November of that year.

On the 9th and 10th of November, a systematic, vicious pogrom of bloodthirsty aggression towards Jews was carried out by the Nazis. The event became known as Kristallnacht, or the Night of Broken Glass, named due to the massive shards of broken glass lying in the streets after stores, temples, and homes were attacked by the anti-Semitic maniacs. Jewish homes, hospitals, and schools were ransacked as the attackers demolished buildings with sledgehammers wielded with rabid hatred. Over one thousand synagogues were burned (ninety-five in Vienna alone) and over seven thousand Jewish businesses were either destroyed or damaged. Loot stolen in those two days alone probably added up into the millions with paintings, jewelry, artifacts, and anything else of value that wasn’t nailed down.

The assault on Germany’s Jews was supposedly instigated by the assassination of German diplomat Ernst vom Rath by Herschel Grynszpan, a German-born Polish Jew living in Paris, and whose parents had just been kicked out of Germany