"I, Vampyre" - Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Motherland

 

            “Privyet!  Welcome to Saint Petersburg,” Makenna said, in her usual pleasingly feminine voice, with just a hint of a Russian accent.  “I got your message, Siren, and I came as fast as I could.”

            “Now, why would you want to do that?” Siren asked, pouting her lip in affected angst.  “That sort of thing should never be rushed…”  Makenna stuck her hip out, an amused look on her lovely face, and Spike completely lost herself to the giggle-fit.

            “Just kidding.  You’re right on time, ‘Kenna, my dear,” Siren assured her, fondly rubbing the arm of Makenna’s white fur coat.  “Now… where are we exactly?”

            “Petropavlovskaya Krepost… the Peter and Paul Fortress, in the very heart of the city.  Let’s head over to the Cathedral, my friends,” she said, gesturing.  “I want to show you something.”

            I looked up again at the towering golden spire of the Peter and Paul Cathedral, flinching only slightly at the sight of the angel and cross, some four hundred feet above us.  I muttered under my breath, and glanced quickly at Bellissima when I heard the same thing echoed back in her voice: “Another damn Cathedral…”

            We all strode swiftly across the square that marked the center of the old citadel.  There were no tourists at this time of night, and any random workers or guards were kept well at bay by Glamour-rich glares from Siren and Bellissima.  Adrianos was managing to walk fairly well on his own, but he would occasionally lean on Spike for support.  I don’t deny that I still felt a small sense of schadenfreude at seeing him reduced to such a state.

            Makenna paused underneath the tall columns that surrounded the entrance to the church, and we all prepared ourselves.  Entering consecrated ground wouldn’t cause anything as dramatic as, say, our bodies spontaneously bursting into the very flames of Hell… but it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant, either.  I felt my stomach turning over, Spike appeared less-than-thrilled, and Adrianos (somehow) looked even sicker and paler.

            “Do we really have to do this, ‘Kenna?” I asked, tugging at the ridiculous collar around my neck, trying to loosen it " in my acute anxiety, forgetting yet again that I didn’t need to breathe.

            “Da,” Makenna insisted.  “I want… I need to show you… my grave.”  With that, she pushed the doors to the cathedral open and walked inside with an air of forced confidence.

            I was the first to follow her in, trailed by the others of our updated vampiric sextet.  A human with any sort of appreciation for religion and/or architecture would have found the interior of the cathedral quite beautiful… but we were no longer human.  I just wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, and I kept my eyes focused on the backs of Makenna’s legs (not that I minded that view too terribly).

            We started to walk past several ornate tombs, and Makenna began to speak, as if she were narrating a very special tour of the grounds.  “The Cathedral houses the remains of many Russian Emperors and Empresses.  Peter the Great, Catherine, Alexander, all the way through the last Tsar…” " she paused, her voice catching " “…Nicholas the Second, and… his family…”

            Suddenly, a priest rounded the corner, and the old man stared at us with shock and surprise, his brown eyes very wide.  He made the Sign of the Cross at Makenna, and she recoiled backward, hissing angrily.  I charged at the holy man, fangs bared, thinking twisted thoughts of blessed blood… but ‘Kenna stopped me with a word:

            “Nyet!  This place is sacred, do not kill anyone here.  We are not animals.”  She turned to look at me, and there was a flickering flame in her eyes that had nothing to do with the oil-lamps on the walls.  “There will be a time and place to kill and to feed… soon.”

            Reluctantly nodding my head at her, I stared deeply into the venerable priest’s terrified eyes.  Then I nudged him along on his way… with a strong notion that he should call someone to do something about the ‘mischief’ of rather large rats he saw tonight.

            Bellissima gave me a nudge, in turn, bringing me back from my sudden reverie.  A memory, another from long ago, had stirred " hadn’t there been a St. Peter’s Cathedral in Philadelphia, back in 1774?  Was it still there today?  I had wanted to revisit Philadelphia back in July of this year.  I imagined that July 4^th, 2076, the tercentennial of the ‘birthday’ of the United States of America, would have been quite the celebration in the City of Brotherly Love.  And Philly still held a special place in my heart.  After all, it was where I had met…

            “Look… look here,” Makenna said, and I shook my head to force my focus back to the here and now.  “This tombstone marks the final resting place of Tsar Nicholas II and Tsarina Alexandra.”  Indeed, an impressive marble slab was set into the floor near this particular corner of the great cathedral.  The next words that ‘Kenna spoke were not unexpected, but they still filled me with awe and a touch of woe: “My father and mother…”

            “Grand Duchess Olga!  Your royal highness!” Siren announced, bowing with exaggerated respect.  Makenna winked at her friend and let out a polite-sounding laugh.  Adrianos leaned heavily against the slab, ostensibly examining the words inscribed thereupon, while Spike pulled shut the curtains on the window behind the tomb.  Bellissima was inspecting one of the marble-and-gold tablets affixed to the nearby wall with great interest.

            “Ольга Николае™на…” Bellissima read, saying Makenna’s human name in near-perfect Russian.  “Born November 15, 1895… died July 17, 1918.”  Belli looked at ‘Kenna, confusion and wonder in her bright blue eyes.  “But, if you’re here… whose body is in this tomb??”

            “And Happy Birthday to you too, ‘Kenna, by the way,” I offered.  Makenna just shrugged in response.  As Kindred, our human birthdays ceased to have much meaning, especially since our bodies no longer aged.  Instead, the day of our ‘turning’ " our death, our rebirth " was much more significant.  So, Makenna was ‘only’ 158 in vampire years… the baby-vamp of the group, much to her dismay.

            “It’s a doppelgänger,” Makenna said, answering Bellissima’s question.  “A double, a clever ruse by… my Sire.”  Belli opened her mouth to speak (and Spike was hopping up and down with poorly-concealed excitement), but Makenna cut her off with a brusque hand gesture.  “That’s a tale for another time, ladies.”

            “Makenna…” Siren began, peering anxiously for a moment over at Adrianos, “we need your help.  We seek an audience with Superior Katerina Ivanov… if you have any idea how to arrange such a thing.”

            ‘Kenna turned away from the tablets on the wall, her pale fingers slowly sliding off the one that read ‘Анастасия’ " ‘Anastasia,’ I surmised, the youngest daughter… and Makenna’s baby sister.  “Yes, that can be arranged.  Given the, hmm, ‘infamy’ of our little band of vamps, she’s probably already on her way to find us…

            “Which doesn’t give us much time,” Makenna continued, and that burning look flared up in her eyes once again, like a rod of iron had stoked the smoldering embers.  “I need your help with something first… all of you.”

            “Anything, ‘Kenna,” I said.  “What is it?”  Something about the look in her eyes spoke to me, appealed to me.  It was something I knew very well… a thirst for revenge.

            “I’ve managed to track down the ancestors of one of the bloody Bolsheviks who ruthlessly murdered my family.  I want you to help me butcher them like the swine they are…!”

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, after we had discussed our plans (and meticulously erased any evidence that we had ever been at the Fortress), we were on the move again, through the quiet, gloomy, snowy streets of St. Petersburg.

I peered down at the street, from my vantage point high above on the rooftops of the city.  Adrianos was walking steadily down the sidewalk, following a white cloud that twisted and turned unnaturally, like a ghostly sidewinder.  A cloud of silvery mist was trailing him, and I could barely make out the cloud of faint, nearly-translucent vapor that hovered above him, distorting his shadowy shape.

Silently leaping from one building to the next, I stole a glance over at the rooftops on the other side of the narrow street.  Bellissima’s eyes glinted, but she was ahead of me, moving with the skill and deadly grace of the assassin that she was.  It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, not really a race… but it was starting to feel like it.  Grinning, I doubled my efforts in pursuit of my prey.

Not long thereafter, we reached our destination.  The white cloud, like a sentient fogbank, circled and then settled at the door of an unremarkable-looking apartment.  Adrianos ascended the steps to the uncovered stoop, and he pounded on the door three times, each knock sounding ludicrously loud to my attuned ears.

The door opened, and a plausibly handsome Russian man in his mid-thirties came into view.  I caught a glimpse of Lady Bladedancer, crawling headfirst down the side of the apartment building… at that point, she was really just showing off.

The man frowned when he saw Adrianos standing there, with three shades of eerie vapor pooling at his feet.  He said something in Russian, with the inflection of a question at the end.

“Pavel Ermakov?” Adrianos inquired.

“Da,” the man confirmed, unwittingly signing his own death warrant.  He partially closed the front door " failing to notice the white mist flowing swiftly between his legs.

“May we come in?” Adrianos asked, and I could hear the sinister grin in his voice.  It was a bit of a cruel inside-joke… the idea that vampires have to be invited into a human home is another myth-within-the-myth.  Just desperate, wishful thinking on the part of our victims, perhaps.  As if to underscore the point, Makenna coalesced behind the man, Pavel, grabbing him and dragging him into the apartment.

That was my cue to move.  Just as Adrianos " and Spike and Siren, rematerializing from their Mist Forms " entered the apartment, I leapt from the rooftop on the other side of the street, dissolving into black mist.  I came back to myself at the top of the steps, glancing about quickly to ensure no one had seen us… just in time to see Bellissima hop down from the wall above the open door.

“Beat ya!” she taunted, winking slyly before dashing through the doorway.  Shaking my head in exasperation, I stepped inside as well, slamming the door behind me.

Six vampires against an unprepared human family was by no means a fair fight, and things happened very quickly.  Makenna now had a shining sword in her left hand, a silver rapier, and she wasted no time in running it through Pavel’s right shoulder, pinning him to the wall.  She screamed at him in alternating Russian and English… I had the sense she was translating for us:

“Па™ел Ермако™… Ermakov!  'ы меня знаете… do you know me?!?”

The man shook his head desperately back and forth, then yowled with pain as Makenna twisted the sword that was buried in his mortal flesh.

“Меня зо™ут Макенна … my name is Makenna… but your great-great-great-‘GREAT’-grandfather knew me as Olga Nikolaevna!”  Makenna pulled the blade out, only to immediately stab it in again, an inch or two closer to the center of his chest.  Blood was running freely down his torso now… and it looked delicious.

There was a brief, violent commotion behind us.  A woman " Pavel’s wife, I assumed " came out of the kitchen, screeching and wielding a nasty-looking carving knife.  Bellissima acted on pure instinct… she drew her dagger, and slashed open every major vein and artery in the woman’s body in blindingly rapid succession.  Pavel wailed anew as his wife crumpled to the floor, mortally wounded.  He shut his eyes to the horror of seeing Bellissima feeding on her, the spurting blood soaking her fur coat.

Makenna turned back to her prize, a beatific, fang-filled grin on her face.  “Your ancestor murdered my family… almost killed me!” " ‘Kenna didn’t seem to care if Ermakov understood her words anymore " “I want you to suffer, you b*****d!  I want you to want to suffer!!”

Siren leaned in, then, a Glamorous vision of a vampiress.  “You like this pain, don’t you?” she asked, her voice imparting an ironic sense of calm to the doomed human.  I’d heard that line before " in a remote barn, on a fateful night in 1975 " and I could only nod my head in sardonic appreciation.  I peered out the front windows, making sure that no sign of trouble was headed our way.  All clear.

The man nodded his head, and then looked almost disappointed when Makenna withdrew her rapier once again.  Siren ran her hand over his wounds, licking a smear of blood from her index finger.  “Do you want her to… penetrate you again?”

Pavel nodded again, even though tears were flowing down his face.  Makenna moaned softly in deviant delight as she skewered him again, this time on the left side of his chest, just above his heart.  She reached blindly behind her, and Adrianos " who had made a brief sojourn into the kitchen " handed her a large glass goblet.

Pavel’s essence was flowing forth, some of it collecting on and then dripping off of Makenna’s sword.  ‘Kenna held the goblet under the blade, collecting the blood, the clear glass turning a dark red.

“To Tsar Nicholas!” she exclaimed, holding the goblet in front of Pavel’s slack face.  “To his wife, Alexandra, and their children… Alexei, Anastasia, Maria, Tatiana… and me.”  Makenna drained most of the glass in a series of long, leisurely gulps.  She lewdly licked her lips, and she smiled.  “Mmm… revenge is sweet!”

            Siren was starting to move in for another taste of her own, when she stopped, head tilted, ear twitching at a sudden sound.  I had heard it, too " a soft, distressed-sounding cry, coming from one of the rooms upstairs.

            “Someone go kill the child,” Makenna ordered, her voice many degrees colder than the bitter chill outside.

            Bellissima looked up from the dying woman, fresh blood all over the bottom half of her face.  She shot a glance at Spike, who was still loitering protectively close to Adrianos.  Ad just shook his head… even if he’d had his usual strength, he was a noble-minded Vampyre, and I doubt he would have done it.

            Siren kissed Makenna’s cheek, murmuring, “we’re too busy with this one, aren’t we, darling?”  But I saw something in her aquamarine eyes, something that suggested taking the life of a defenseless, soon-to-be-orphaned young boy might just be beyond her capacity for wanton cruelty.

            I was only slightly disheartened to realize that I had no such compunction of conscience.  “I’ll do it,” I said, and Makenna favored me with a diabolical smirk.

            The last things I saw before turning to my coal-black Mist Form were Makenna refilling her glass, Siren sinking her fangs slowly into Pavel’s wrist, and Bellissima making ‘come hither’ gestures to Spike and Adrianos before turning back to her meal.

            As sure as smoke rises, I drifted up the stairs… like creeping Death, homing in on the cries of the child as they permeated the air.  I flowed effortlessly underneath the door of his bedroom, and I had to suppress a mad urge to pop out from under his bed, like the monster I was.  I rematerialized at the foot of the bed, instead, and the boy stopped crying.

            He looked to be about five or six years old, holding the heavy blanket up to his face like it offered some sort of magical protection.  His light-blue eyes peered up at me from beneath a thatch of sandy-blond hair.  “Papa?” he asked, fearfully.  I was pretty sure he didn’t think I was his father… maybe he thought his father would save him.  Silly boy.

            I told myself that I was doing this for Makenna, so her quest for vengeance would be complete… or at least, closer to completed.  That I was doing it for Lord Adrianos, for Spike, so we could move our mutual quest to save him from the ‘True Death’ forward.  That I was doing it for Bellissima and Siren " so neither of the women I loved would have to do it.

            But I would’ve been lying to myself.  I did it because there is no taste quite like that of a child, the blood so very sweet and pure, guileless, but laced with terror.

I took him, I nearly bit his head off in my ravenous greed, and I drained him dry.

 

* * *

 

            I was laying on the bed, still feeling the blissful haziness of a blood-drunk high, the corpse of the boy facedown on the floor, when the door swung open with a world-rending BANG.  Makenna’s curvaceous form was backlit in the hallway, and her eyes were a libidinous shade of red.  Her white coat was nowhere to be seen, and as she walked forward she hastily stripped off her bejeweled, black-and-red corset, revealing the pert breasts of an eternally twenty-something young woman.

            ‘Kenna dug her bared, bone-white claws into my pants and tore them off, drawing a truncated protest of pain from me as her talons raked bloody furrows in my legs.  She dropped to her knees at the foot of the bed, pulling me toward her as she kissed and slurped the spilled essence from my knees and thighs.

            “Spasiba, Nevik,” she whispered, as her mouth moved ever-higher, her pleasantly cool tongue licking up every drop from every inch of my exposed flesh.  “Thank you…”

            Makenna took even more of me into her mouth, and I weaved my fingers into her fantastic curly hair.  She nodded her head, and I groaned in pure pleasure as she sucked…

            …my blood.

 

* * *