by NightsDawne
Chapter 3: Blood and Fire
Bistrita, Romania, 28 June 1916
Margarete watched through the cafe window the nearly deserted street, abandoned in spite of the flickering gaslights by townspeople too afraid to be out after sunset. Only a policeman on his rounds and a stray dog provided motion to the scene. For two weeks she and Keith had followed a trail of bodies, first soldiers, then civilians, not once catching sight of their elusive prey. She was beginning to regret having promised Major Batishinov that she could take care of the vampire problem. The attacks were becoming more and more frequent and scattered throughout the country. She stirred her coffee and turned her gaze to the blond vampire idly picking over some potato dish she hadn't found any flavor in. "So you're Slavic? Valentine isn't a Slavic name."
Keith glanced up. "It isn't. My great-grandmother married a Roman general and took his name. In case you haven't noticed, my family is rather eclectic in first names as well. Our title and lands are from the Slavic line, though. Originally Federovs."
"Keith Fedorov Valentine. It's like an international smorgasbord."
Keith laughed. "It gets worse, my full name would be Keith Jean-Phillipe Christopher Maximillian Alessandro Marc-Anthony Federov Valentine."
"International and pretentious," smirked Margarete. "No wonder you just go by Keith."
"My theory is that my family is intent on including every name on the Earth in our lineage, and having fewer generations, we have to rely on giving everyone more than their share to make up for it."
Margarete nodded, returning her gaze to the street outside. "What are your theories on our current problem?"
"I'm holding out for more evidence before I finalize any thoughts on the matter." Keith finally took a bite of his dinner after having separated the ingredients with the meticulous attention of a finicky two year old.
"Just say you don't know if you don't know."
Keith smiled to her. "I don't know. Happy?"
"I'll be happy when we finally catch up with this monster. I'll be happy when this damned war is over. I'll be happy when innocent people aren't being rounded up to be used for slave labor or killed because they happen to be the wrong race or religion and when the young men of Europe aren't being blown to bits for no good reason other than the fact that there's more young men where they came from."
Keith pursed his lips and pushed his plate away. "Yes, well..." His formulation of a reply suitable to such a speech was cut off by a scream from outside. He and Margarete looked to each other and were on their feet in an instant, racing for the door. The policemen was nowhere to be seen, but the dog's frantic barking and anxious stare into the alley across from the cafe directed them to the trouble.
Keith drew his broadsword, holding it easily in one hand as he strode toward the dark recess. Margarete chose a more cautious route, cradling her pistol in her hands as she ran across the street to the cover of the wall of the inn they'd purchased a room in for the night, then edged to the corner of the alley to provide cover for her less vulnerable partner. He was likely enjoying this. She herself loved the thrill of the hunt, but for Keith it was something different. He held a perverse pleasure in danger as if only the thought of being killed gave him a sense of life. Not that he was easy to kill. He himself was a vampire, although by birth rather than creation, untainted by drinking blood and unaffected by the more traditionally suffered curses of his race.
Keith stepped into the alley, his eyes scarcely affected by the darkness, easily spotting the two uniformed figures locked in an embrace near the kitchen door of the inn. The taller figure looked up, dropping the crumpled and lifeless form of his victim and smiling slowly, then burst through the kitchen door to make his escape. Keith followed, his long legs allowing him to easily match the pace of the other vampire. "He's in the inn, Margarete!" He paused by the policeman's body to check that there were no signs of life before entering the abandoned kitchen.
Margarete cursed silently to herself and ran for the inn door. So they finally had Vlad cornered. Well, this would definitely make a great story to tell in a bar someday, how she and a Slavic-Latin vampire slew the legendary master of the undead. The lobby was deserted except for the startled clerk. Margarete flashed him a charming smile. "Rat in the kitchen." She waved her pistol cheerfully and ducked through the small dining area, then slowed to a walk towards the kitchen door. She reached out to push the swinging door open, but was startled by it suddenly opening into her face, knocking her back onto her rear as a pale Austrian soldier burst through, blood staining his lips and shirt.
"Oh, shit." Margarete rolled out of the soldier's way, but found herself without room to complete it and get to her feet as she knocked into a table. The soldier made a dive for her and grabbed her ankle. Margarete struggled against a powerful grip to crawl to safety. "A little help, Keith?!"
A dry cackle spilled from the soldier's lips, but was suddenly cut off with the sharp wet sound of steel carving through flesh and bone. The grip on her ankle fell loose and Margarete yanked her foot away, scooting out from under the table to stand. Keith stood calmly as if he'd done nothing more than swat a fly, the headless body of the vampire at his feet.
"Are you alright?" Keith asked gently.
"Fine." Margarete smoothed her hair. "I must be getting rusty."
"Anyone can be caught off guard. Besides, with legs like those, you're hard to resist." Keith strode over to the head, perched like a centerpiece on one of the tables.
"Well doesn't that make me feel better." Margarete gave the body a halfhearted kick. "At least it's over. Dressing up like an Austrian soldier. Not a great disguise for this neck of the woods, Vlad."
"It's not Vlad." Keith hefted the head in one hand and surveyed its features. "It wasn't even a strong vampire. Recently made, I'd say."
"What do you mean? You are going to wash your hands after that, aren't you?" Margarete holstered her pistol and stepped over to have a look at the trophy Keith was holding.
"Naturally." Keith turned it so she could see before tossing it into the fireplace. "And I mean just what I said. It's not Vlad IV. He has brown eyes and dark hair. Of course, this does explain the epidemic of victims."
"More than one vampire." Margarete watched as Keith covered the head with logs and kindling, then lit it. "You know, that's going to make an awful stench."
"No worse than the food here does. Besides, it's necessary to make sure it won't be revived." Keith stepped back. "The real question is, how many vampires? If the others are as new as this one, they won't be able to make more vampires yet. Which means we're still after Vlad."
"Only chasing bodies isn't going to lead us to him." Margarete sighed. "So what do we do?"
Keith walked over to get his sword from the table and sauntered back into the kitchen. "The soldier was Austrian. I say we make a little journey to Vienna."
"Vienna. Are you totally mad?" Margarete stormed after Keith. "There is a war going on and Vienna is right in the middle of enemy territory. It's not like we can just take a train there, you know."
Keith glanced over his shoulder as he washed his hands at the sink. "You're the spy, mon amie. Isn't slipping behind enemy lines your specialty?"
Margarete put a hand on her hip. "That's it, appeal to my pride and our friendship in one blow. Fine. I'll get us there somehow. But what are we going to do about the rest of the vampires if we're going after Vlad?"
Keith smiled, drying his sword and sheathing it. "I'll go to the telegraph office in the morning. You have their address?"
Margarete grinned. "I have it. She's going to hate you for dragging him back into action, you know."
"Hate who, me?" Keith took Margarete's hand in his and lifted it to his lips for a kiss. "I'll just be very polite in my request."
"One of these days your charm is going to get you in trouble." Margarete failed to draw her hand from his, succumbing to Keith's smile.
Zurich, Switzerland, 29 June 1916
"Do you think peach or strawberry would be best for the filling of the cake, Yuri?" The petite and pretty girl with the angelic face turned to her fiancé. "Yuri! Wake up!"
Yuri gave a start and opened his eyes. "Yeah, white dress, flowers, all that shit."
"Don't curse." Alice softened her rebuke with a kiss, then gazed lovingly on the handsome Eurasian features of her beloved, reaching up to brush auburn hair from his golden eyes. "This is for our wedding. Don't you want it to be special?"
Yuri slipped his arm around her tiny waist. "It will be special. You'll be there and that's all that matters to me. That and we'll finally be married and I can--"
Alice put her fingers over his lips before he could complete any crudeness. "Is that all that matters to you, the wedding night?"
Yuri shook his head. "No, you know it isn't. How many times do I gotta say it? I love you, alright?"
"I know, Yuri. Even if it took forever for you to say it, I know. Now, peach or strawberry?"
"Um, peach." Yuri straightened slightly and pulled his hand back as Alice's mother walked into the sitting room. "Afternoon, Mrs. Elliot." Alice got her looks and coloring from her Swiss mother, but since they were relying on her for both room and board and Yuri's job in her bookstore, he couldn't help feeling, if not actual intimidation, at least a compulsion to keep on her good side.
"Behaving like a gentleman as always, Yuri?" Mrs. Elliot shook her head with a smile. Her future son-in-law had his good points, but he was hardly what she'd imagined for her sweet daughter. "There's a telegram for you. From Romania." She held it out to him.
Yuri took it with a raised brow. "Who do I know in Romania?"
Alice leaned over his arm. "Maybe it's from Keith. But how would he know about the wedding? He's asleep and we haven't sent the invitations."
Yuri shrugged and opened it. "Maybe it's one of your old friends. It's from Bistrita. No, it is from Keith." He fell silent as he read the message over, Alice peering over to see as well. "Well, looks like the wedding is going to have to be postponed for a bit. Damn."
Alice paled, not even bothering to comment on Yuri's language. "But we can't. In Romania? That's where the war is."
"Alice, we fought all kinds of shit just two years ago, including a God of Destruction. You think I can't handle a war? Don't go soft on me now, Miss Exorcist. This is right up your alley."
"Would someone mind telling me what's going on and why you're even discussing leaving Switzerland to go into God knows what?" Mrs. Elliot looked anxiously between the two young people who were the only family she had left.
"Keith and Margarete are hunting vampires in Romania." Yuri handed over the telegram. "They're going after the main one and need us to clean up the rest of the sons of bitches."
"Yuri..." Alice sighed, for the moment giving up on the never-ending campaign to curb her fiancé's rude side. "I suppose we have to go."
Mrs. Elliot sat down after reading the telegram over. "Why you? Haven't you done enough for the world?"
"Don't worry, Mrs. Elliot." Yuri got to his feet, taking Alice's hand to help her up after him. "I'll protect her. I've still got that wedding night to get through, so no bullets are gonna touch me."