Disclaimer: I don't own In the Forests of the Night.
It is nonsense when someone says that there are no such things of vampires.
If that were the case, I would not be here right now. If that were so, I would have lived and died humbly in an ancient world, never getting to see the rise of modern civilization. As it is, I have not been human in over three thousand years.
I have been walking this earth for so long that I stopped counting after the first couple of milleniums, and now I am known simply as Aubrey of Silver's bloodline.
Places, events, and faces seem to blend into the background as I stand off to the side. I watch time flow on and leave me behind. In all those years, few things and even fewer people have ever caught my interest.
But the human soul fascinated me like no other thing could. I delved into its secrets as I tried to crack the code to each and everyone's inner self. Once the mystery was solved, I could manipulate others into doing anything I asked. And after several centuries of practice, there were hardly any humans who I could not read.
Those who did remain mysteries became my personal targets. I sought to draw them to me, to coax them to abandon their beliefs—whatever it was that gave them their extraordinary strength. It became an art to destroy.
This is my nature. Hate me as you will, you will not be the first or last.
I cannot tell you my victims' names since I doubt I remember them all. But I know that there was one a girl called Rachel. For a time, I was convinced that she was the one I was looking for because, despite obvious differences in other things, she had a certain rare aura much like my own.
Then there is Risika. Though we are close in terms of power and status, we stay away from each other. I do not like the path that she has chosen for herself, nor does she approve of mine that reeks of death. She remains, to this day, a reluctant predator.
She has let her heart die slowly, suffering because of its love.
Risika loves that pet tiger of hers— Tora, I believe she is called—dearly. I watch her from afar as she strokes that animal's fur and plots her revenge against me. To her, I am nothing more than her mortal enemy.
I suppose that it is what I deserve, and so I bear her hate with good grace. I have long since resigned myself to it, having resolved to hate in her return while wondering what went wrong. I ask it of myself, because as usual, I am the cause for this twisted result.
Rachel. Risika. It does not matter what name she goes by now. She does not forget, and I do not forget. We both remember those days long past where this reality seemed so far away.
Three hundred years ago, I was more or less the same as I am now, but Rachel…Rachel was born in the colonial times, before the American Revolution. Back then, religion was still a central part of life. Heaven and Hell were real places, not just handy words to swear upon.
The quaint town of Salem was an excellent example of this.
---
1701.
"Welcome to Salem, Aubrey," Ather said with a coy smile as I passed through the town's entrance. "What brings you here?"
Seeing her for the first time in several centuries, I raised an eyebrow at her changed appearance. Instead of her usual gaudy silver jewelry and all-black clothes, Ather was now dressed like a human female, her attire comprising of a long dress and minimal makeup. She had disguised herself well. Though she did not stand out as strange, Ather definitely was attractive enough to draw eyes to her. But for all her enchanting beauty, I saw that there was nothing beautiful inside her.
Ather was a vampire, as am I, and though she is my blood mother—the one who made me immortal— I do not love her.
"The famous witch trials, obviously," I replied companionably, offering her my arm as we strolled through the streets. There were many people in the street that day, but we did not appear suspicious. I had long since found that a little vampiric mind control goes a long way, and I doubt that the humans noticed us at all. "News of witchcraft travels quickly, even through humans."
"Ah, of course," Ather commented, a hint of amusement in her smooth voice. "It is very interesting, is it not? To think that we have witches living among us! The thought is horrifying!" As she said this, I chuckled. It was a fair joke, considering that witches have hunted our kind for many centuries now.
"I see you've adapted well, Ather," I remarked, referencing her outfit.
She returned the smirk. "As have you."
Indeed, I had also dressed for the occasion. Vampires are constantly in need of different attires to blend in with their surroundings, and I had gotten used to changing wardrobes as the fashions shifted from one style to another. This time, I had selected the appropriate breeches and top. The glaring red of my shirt was perhaps too bold for the times, but I had always preferred bright colors to highlight my black hair and eyes.
"I hope you'll find the locals to be very pleasant people," Ather said as we continued through town. Occasionally, she would nod to or smile at a person she recognized, but I knew that it was just for show. She really couldn't care less about the humans. We stopped when Ather reached her destination—the tavern—and I wondered which unlucky fool would be her prey for the day.
"Feel free to stop by my home, Aubrey," she said before disappearing into the small building. Having issued the invitation, she smiled slyly. "Have fun." It was exactly what I planned to do.
Once Ather had gone, I continued on my tour of the town. To make my experience more interesting, I let my power over the mortals slack. With that barrier gone, they began to wonder about where the newcomer came from.
During the course of the day, I was approached several times. Some of them were young ladies who timidly milled around me while offering silent smiles; others were friendly folk who had noticed that I was a foreigner wandering quite alone.
"Aubrey Karew" was my alias. With that name I had concocted a story about being the son of wealthy merchant who had come from one of the southern colonies. I was a practiced liar, and the story that came so easy to my lips seemed to convince everyone. Within several minutes of conversation, I earned their trust and they began to tell me things of interest.
"Terrible business, this witchcraft," a man said in a hushed tone. I acted shocked. "There's one to be burnt this afternoon."
As it happened, I ended up watching the execution. I did not look away from the sight of the screaming woman as she was consumed by flames, but merely frowned.
It was obvious to me that the "witch" was not a witch at all, but just an ordinary human. Someone probably framed because one of the witch-hunters had a grudge against her. I shook my head at the foolishness of man. They did not know a witch when they saw one.
When I turned from the burning, I saw a stately building from a distance. The church.
Realizing that I had not visited one in many years, I made my way there. A vampire's life is often full of ironies, and I saw no reason not to indulge myself in them. Labels of "right" and "wrong" had ceased to bother me years ago.
I found a seat somewhere in the back of the church and remained silent as the preacher gave his sermon. It was tedious and dry, and I remained completely unmoved. But then, I was an unabashed killer and hardly an unbiased judge. The others around me seemed to be listening in rapture, however, and I let my bored gaze wander from face to face. It eventually landed on the girl sitting across the aisle from me.
I bolted up straight in my seat when I saw the bright aura surrounding her as she listened obediently. Instinctively, I drew away. That young woman was a witch. A true witch. And though she was untrained and most likely unaware of her heritage, it was never wise for one of my kind to get closer than I already was.
Yet, there was something else in her spirit that attracted me, and I found myself staring at her again. She was pretty, yes, but I was not one to be swayed by that alone. No… It had to be an internal quality—perhaps the fact that I could not read her so easily—that was her charm. She looked as though she would be bright even in the dark.
And perhaps it was just wistful nostalgia, but I was also struck by a sense of kinship.
I sat there throughout the whole service thinking about what I should do with this girl to whom I had an instantaneous attraction. There was risk involved, but I was willing to take the chance. The moment the service ended and people began to file out, I approached her.
Swiftly, I crossed the aisle to where she was still seated, her eyes closed in silent contemplation. Or at least, that was what I thought.
Amused, I realized that she had fallen asleep. I had never seen an angel, nor do I believe in their existence, but at that moment, I imagined that she must be the very vision of one.
As I considered waking her, another person did my job for me. A boy of about seventeen strode into the now almost empty church and glanced around as if looking for someone. Before he had reached her—I had stepped back to avoid trouble—I already knew the relation between the girl and him. Their features clearly marked them as siblings.
"Rachel," he called, gently shaking his sister's shoulder. "Rachel, wake up. "
She roused quickly and her eyes snapped open to reveal startling honey-colored irises. "Alexander!" she exclaimed in distress as she scrambled to stand up. "I'm sorry I fell asleep, but I was so tired and…" She trailed off when she saw me looking at them.
I nodded in acknowledgement but did not say more. I knew her name, and that was enough information for now. As I left, I heard Rachel say, "Have you spoken to the priest yet?"
Alexander's reply was defeated and subdued. "No, I couldn't tell him. I could never do it, Rachel." I heard him slump down into a wooden bench, and his desperate whispers, too soft for a human to hear at this distance, were clear to me.
"God, I beseech you, please help me to control this curse!"
Next to him, Rachel had begun to pray for the salvation of her brother's soul as well.
Why pray? I wanted to ask. If the boy had displayed signs of magic already, he was blessed. In an established witch clan and with proper training, he could have been a top hunter at his age.
Yet, it seemed that his unexplainable abilities frightened him more than anything. He had called it a curse. The fool. The only thing that is a curse is weakness. What was being damned to being powerful?
"The world is evil"— that is what I would have said to Alexander.
---
Now
"Panthera tigris tigris," is what the sign reads.
I am at the zoo. Not to frolic with the animals, but to pay a visit to the beast that Risika loves. To see Tora for myself. And I have found what I am looking for.
Though I prefer the black wolf that prowls and bounds in the forests, I can see why she cares for her tiger the same way that she once cared for her brother. Like Risika, she has the feral mindset of a predator, and is both proud and powerful. Secretly, I admire her.
Tora gazes back at me through the bars of her cage with her jewel-like eyes, bright and intelligent.
It is strange. So many have tried and failed to understand me, yet, in front of this beast, I feel that my shields have been penetrated. Her look is calculating, as if she knows that I resent her.
But you are the one caged, not me, I say in my thoughts, running my fingers down one of the steel bars. I could easily break them just as I have broken all the cages that have ever held me, but I know that Risika purposely hides Tora from me. She wants to protect Tora, and would rather stay away rather than to let harm come to her loved one.
This, I do not understand because I am not soft like Risika. I do not always protect those I love.
Ah, but she does not believe that I can love at all.
History tells me that Risika is passionate, and that should I lay a finger on Tora, she will definitely come for me. I could kill her pet and force her to attack, but I leave her be for now. I will give Risika time to reconsider. For old time's sake, if nothing else.
Tora growls deep in her throat as I bid her good night.