Chapter 5
The Land of Vlad the Impaler
I steeled myself for my return to Romania. It wasn't a far journey, but crossing the communist border would be a hassle through traditional human means, so I covered most of the way on foot and noiselessly leapt over the fence in the dead of night. The Border Policeman barely lifted his head as he probably wondered what that flash was all about. I then ran to the base of the Carpathian Mountains and hiked into its majestic beauty. As I reached a summit and looked out over the tops of towering pines at the snowy, blue peaks of neighboring mountains, I wondered briefly why I'd ever left.
The answer to that question came to me in the form of a palpable weight of oppression that pressed more persistently on my chest with every step closer to my destination. I felt the old ruins just beyond that last stand of trees and fought the urge to flee. An urge I hadn't bothered to fight two centuries earlier. I couldn't run away this time. Access to the resources of the Romanian organization was vital to the success of my newly-adopted mission to somehow bring about a large-scale acceptance of more peaceful, less murderous eating habits among vampires.
Stepping through the trees just before daybreak lit the hills, I set my eyes upon the familiar stone outcroppings, precariously balanced on the hilly incline. They'd been balanced there for two millennia. The maze of crumbling half walls and rocky rubble were all that was left of what used to be a grand castle and fortress. I moved cautiously around what had been part of the wall surrounding the fortress and saw them. Vladimir and Stefan. The only two surviving Romanian Ancients. They were perched forlornly on two large pieces of rubble that made sorry substitutes for the golden thrones from which they used to rule.
The poor dears were, and still are, trapped in a time warp. Their ancient minds focus only on the days when Romania ruled the vampiring world. They barely talk of anything other than their never-ending vendetta against the Volturi, the force that overthrew them. They are consumed with useless plots to reestablish Romania as the one, true power. They don't even realize that the rest of us are here. They honestly believe they are the only two Romanian vampires left in this world. In reality, the Romanian organization – I won't call it a coven because it's made up of too many independent parts – is enormous and thriving. The organization is bigger than any outside parties know. Bigger probably than most of the inside parties even know. Around the sixth century, the Volturi crushed the ancient Romanian coven with shocking brute force. The Italians had amassed their strength in secret, so the Romanians never saw it coming. Their prized castles were demolished, and only a dozen Romanian vampires survived the vicious attacks, including Vladimir and Stefan. Although the Volturi had destroyed their palaces and taken much treasure, the Ancients had had the foresight to hide the bulk of their fortunes deep in the hills. It was protected in cooperation with the reclusive Carpathian hill witches.
After licking their wounds and plotting for half a century, the Ancients decided to rebuild their forces, and so they began a 'recruiting' campaign and created more vampires. The plan was to educate and train these new vampires, so that one day, they could attack the Volturi and reclaim Romanian supremacy.
Much of the education and training focused on tactics of intimidation. The New Romanians were enthusiastic and went on to develop the most lasting and powerful instrument of Romanian intimidation – Vlad the Impaler. They watched the antics of the sadistic, fifteenth century, human ruler, Vlad III - also known as Drakulya, and saw how he could help them. They encouraged the use of the nickname 'the Impaler' and spread rumors that he would join the world of the immortals at the moment of his human death. These rumors spread fear not only among humans, but also among vampires around the world. This fear still lingers because no one has ever proven that Vlad isn't still among us, a secret part of the New Romanian organization. The initial plans were for the New Romanians to actually welcome Drakulya among their ranks, but in the end, the psychotic ruler proved too erratic, even for power hungry vampires.
The New Romanians appreciated their culture's rich history and also learned from it. They studied it and saw the drawbacks to being the recognized world leader. They weren't interested in a life of paranoia and constant conflict. The New Romanians were not so much concerned with controlling the vampiring world as they were with preserving their own legacy. They recognized that their long and imposing history was, and still is, their key to status and superiority. United in this vision, the New Romanians furtively pushed the Ancients to the side into dubious roles and set themselves up in true positions of leadership. They were no longer interested in conquest. They would pursue their own interests from a position of quiet power and let the Volturi deal with the messes of governing.
The New Romanians went again to the hill witches for help. I don't know what promises this new generation made to the witches, but they convinced them to use their magic to help carve out the insides of the hills in a labyrinth of hallways and secret rooms. This underground complex has served as the organization's headquarters ever since. At the center of the complex is a huge room where historical relics are displayed. A museum. Among those relics are the bones of the naïve hill witches, who could only have believed the new generation would make good on their promises as their predecessors had done. Boy, were they wrong. Once the witches' magic had served its purpose, the entire colony became the main course at the vampires' celebratory, grand- opening feast. The New Romanians weren't interested in conquest, but they weren't interested in playing fair, either.
Headquarters was completed, the organization was thriving, but still the Ancients couldn't let go of their vendetta against the Volturi. The New Romanians saw this vendetta as a troublesome distraction that would never go away, so they launched a half-hearted attempt at a takeover. Curiously, all of the remaining Ancients, except for Vladimir and Stefan, were posted in the front lines and destroyed immediately. The Romanians retreated in defeat with Vladimir and Stefan protesting the entire way back. It was during this long, depressing journey home that the minds of these two seemed to have lost the developments of the previous millennia. They returned to their former palace much as they remain today. They didn't realize that the only reason they were still around was because the New Romanians had unabashedly preserved them as living relics for the museum. They became part of the exhibit.
With the Ancients out of the way, the New Romanians gave the organization the benign title of Blood-Drinker's Institute of Transylvanian Existence, B.I.T.E., and forged a truce of sorts with the Volturi. According to the agreement, both sides agree to stay out of each other's way. This is not a problem, since the Italian and Romanian vampires have such different goals. It's sort of like the difference between Parliament and the Royal Family in England. Parliament, like the Volturi, runs things, while the Royal Family, like the B.I.T.E., carry on the history and tradition of the culture.
B.I.T.E. branched out in their collections and began storing information about vampires from around the world. It is this vault of information that I am after. Once I regain my place in the organization, I will have free access to peruse the collection. The information there will be invaluable in formulating my master plan.
The ambitions of the new organization led to a new recruiting campaign. As had always been done, only those humans of pure Romanian blood lines were transformed. This was when I was created by one of the top New Romanians, Viktor. After a couple of wild years during which I terrorized small, Ukrainian villages, I was brought into the fold and trained along with the twenty or so other newer recruits. I learned quickly and rose to the top of my class. I became a great favorite of Viktor's. But I was missing something that none of them seemed to notice; I lacked ambition. All I really cared about was having a good time. Learning was entertaining; kicking my cohorts' ass in every respect was a riot; high praise from Viktor in front of all of them was a blast.
But the fun couldn't last forever, and once that ended, I felt the siren call of the big, wide world, and I left. Without a word to anyone, I left. Saying good-bye might have helped pave an easier way for me now, but I never expected that I would one day return, so I hadn't bothered. Now I was going to have to kiss a lot of cold, B.I.T.E. butt.
Part of the sucking up included appropriate attire. I'd ditched the pale, baggy linens and casual shoulder-length hairstyle I'd grown accustomed to in my care-free life with Father Pawel. That would never fly with the 'Royals.' Their tastes were heavily influenced by the stuffy communist regime that ruled the humans in this part of the world. Purchasing my new, conservative wardrobe had depleted my already low funds. Two centuries of care-free gallivanting hadn't come cheap. I knew I was going to have to find some kind of work soon, anyhow. Might as well be here.
I approached Vladimir and Stefan in a black, button down blouse – buttoned all the way to my throat and stiff collar turned up – and a short, thigh-hugging, black skirt. My coal black hair was cropped short and plastered sleekly along my scalp. Long, silver spikes hung from my earlobes. Before leaving the cover of the trees, I slipped on the plain, black pumps that I'd carried across the mountains.
"Look at this one," Stefan said in a misty voice that sounded like it was covered in cobwebs.
"Another tourist?" Vladimir asked, the words seeming to flow out of his mouth in a fog.
I'd crossed the old fogies' paths a bazillion times in the past, but they had no recollection of me. They wouldn't. As far as they knew, I didn't exist. Neither did the several other Romanian vampires that roamed past them into and out of headquarters every day. They would never again acknowledge us and were apparently explaining away our presence by assuming we were tourists.
"Shall we rip her throat out?" Stefan asked. Part of their dementia included not realizing that others could hear them.
Vladimir wrinkled his nose and said, "She looks sour. I'm waiting for something sweeter."
I walked directly up to them and said in a booming voice that nearly knocked them off their pedestals, "Buon giorno!"
They froze at the Italian. Only their eyeballs moved to glance first at each other and then at my ivory skin. I knew they were worried that I might be with the Volturi.
"Il dolce far niente, eh?" (The sweetness of doing nothing.) I said lightly. Just a nasty reminder that they sat around like lumps all day while the world was busy around them.
Their eyeballs flicked off me, and they sat perfectly still, staring at nothing. The old codgers were both insulted and terrified. It wasn't nice to tease them, but it was terribly fun. Besides, they deserved it after that sour comment.
"Arrivederci!" I called over my shoulder as I stepped past them. I snickered as I made my way to the center of the stony maze and out of their sight. At least there were going to be some enjoyable benefits to returning.
I arrived at a stone, trap door with a round, metal handle and heaved it open. Security precaution number one – the door was much too heavy for a human to lift. I looked down into security precaution number two – a dark pit that looked like nothing more than…a dark pit. No human would see any point in venturing down there. I crouched and jumped down the fifteen feet, pulling the trap door shut behind me.
I landed squarely on my feet and looked around in what would be pitch blackness to human eyes. I spotted the protruding stone – security precaution number three. I leaned close and breathed on it. The ancient-looking stone was actually a high tech device created by the New Romanians just before I left them. It encoded the breath of all authorized vampires, like a fingerprint but more reliable. The stone shifted in, and I was relieved to see that my authorization hadn't been revoked. A few more stones moved aside, and I crawled through the opening into a long corridor – security precaution number four. The long corridor's temperature was so frigid that no human would survive walking the length of it.
My hand touched the handle of the single door at the end of the corridor, and a breathy, female voice said from out of nowhere, "It's been a while."
There was no going back now. They knew I was here.
I stepped through the door into a modern reception area of grey metal and glass. The décor was definitely bare minimum minimalist. I looked to the receptionist with her sheets of straight, brown hair hanging like curtains on either side of her somber features. Nicole. She was exactly as I'd left her. We didn't exchange greetings. There was no point.
"Viktor
is waiting for you. Conference Room B. You remember the
way?"
"Yes," I answered.
Viktor was already waiting for me. This was either very good or very, very bad.
I clicked my way down another long corridor to Conference Room B. I didn't know it then, but the beginning phase of construction on my wall had already begun. I needed to win back the trust of these vampires, but I couldn't tell them everything. Besides not revealing my true purpose, I couldn't let them know that I personally was no longer drinking human blood. It went against the whole jealously preserved, Vlad the Impaler mystique of the New Romanians. It simply wouldn't be tolerated. Not yet. I had years of work ahead of me before I'd be able to even consider sharing that secret.
And I could never ever let them know about Father Pawel. They would kill him. The Volturi was very specific that no humans were to have any hint of our existence, and B.I.T.E. would not risk their precarious relationship with the domineering Italians just so I could keep my buddy.
Luckily, no one in the Romanian organization possessed special gifts, like mind reading or premonitions. The organization adhered to tradition and didn't mess with these primarily newer phenomena. We were happy with good, old-fashioned, super-human speed, strength, hearing, and vision. That's one of the reasons we'd never hope to overthrow the Volturi, who almost exclusively recruited based on these freaky, but advantageous, gifts. If a gifted vampire was accidentally recruited into our organization, they were either politely asked to leave or ripped into pieces and burned, depending on how potentially dangerous their unfortunate gift could be to us.
It was weird to me that I was already thinking of myself as part of 'us.' I guess once you'd truly become part of the organization, you never really left it. It was in my blood, so to speak.
I forced my mouth to spread into a smile that I didn't feel as I stopped in the doorway of Conference Room B.
"Ah my Little Beta," Viktor said in his calm, soothing voice as he came around a long conference table. He grasped my shoulders and touched his smooth cheek to mine. And so our subtle dance began.
"I actually go by Elie now," I told him respectfully.
"Ah, but I didn't get the chance to watch you grow into this Elie, so I'm afraid you will always be Little Beta to me," he said pleasantly, taking my hand and patting it.
I gave a small smile at the rebuff, and met his even gaze. His receding hairline, which led to short, salt and pepper hair, and the wrinkles around his brilliant, marbled black and gold eyes completed his image of authority. Viktor had been converted at a relatively mature age. He'd been recruited specifically for his leadership skills and was a permanent fixture at the top of the New Romanian pyramid. He wasn't a large man, physically. He didn't have to be.
Viktor kept my hand and led me around the table. For the first time, I noticed that we were not alone. I'd been so focused on Viktor. This other vampire had been converted at a younger age than had Viktor, I guessed in his early thirties, but was still relatively old by vampire standards. He had wavy, black hair that was grown out longer than the close, commie crop that was common in these parts. His dark eyes had a softness to their tint, almost like you see on humans occasionally. He had strong, handsome features and, although he was clean shaven, his face had the look of being on the verge of stubble in just a few minutes.
I would have written him off as your everyday, devastatingly gorgeous vampire, except for a mottled scar at the right peak of his upper lip. It wasn't big, but its whiteness interrupted the rich redness of his mouth and made him…interesting.
"Allow me to introduce you to Gregorio," Viktor said, passing my hand off to the stranger.
The stranger took my hand and seemed to contemplate kissing it, but instead gave it a polite shake. Good choice.
"Gregorio? That's a little Italian, isn't it?" I asked, my gaze back on Viktor.
Before Kristoph, I'd heard that B.I.T.E. had brought in some sort of foreigner, but I hadn't paid the rumor much attention. They'd always been so rigid about Romanian nationality that I guess I hadn't believed it. To find out that it was true was shocking, and I couldn't hide my surprise.
Even though my question had been directed at Viktor, the foreigner answered in a smooth, deep voice. "My mother was Italian. My father was Romanian," he said.
"Where were you converted?" I challenged, snapping my gaze back onto him.
Viktor chuckled softly and laid his hand on my shoulder.
"It's good to know your nationalism still runs strong, Beta. Why, one would almost think you'd never left," he said. It was yet another gentle reminder that I had, in fact, left. "But you don't need to worry about Gregorio."
Viktor's other hand moved to clap the Italian fondly on his shoulder. Viktor had to reach up, because this stranger was quite a bit taller that him. He was also taller than me, even with my high heels. Viktor stood between the two of us, each of our shoulders firmly in hand.
"He has more than proven that he his worthy of our trust. His is like my adopted child," Viktor explained.
Viktor obviously wanted my acceptance of this stranger, so I plastered on a smile and said, "Aren't we all."
"No, Beta," Viktor said, shaking his head as a cloud crossed over it. He removed his hand from Gregorio's shoulder and moved it so that he held my neck gently in both of his hands while he glided his cold thumbs along my jaw bones. "My venom courses through your veins. You are not adopted; you are mine."
I suppressed the snarl that instinctively rose up in me. He hadn't said this last sentence affectionately or even possessively. It was a bald threat.
I kept my composure. I had hoped this next part of the conversation could be done in private, but it appeared that I'd best get to it as soon as possible.
"Viktor, I wish to return to the organization. I am sorry that I left, but I was very young and didn't understand what I was walking away from. I have learned much through the years, and I now understand that this is where I belong. I come here today fully prepared to serve Romania and to serve you."
Viktor examined me for a long moment before breaking the deafening silence.
"Pretty words, Beta," he said and released my neck with a small jerk. "You know, Gregorio here left a fairly powerful organization once. You may have heard of them – the Volturi. Tell me, son, how would they react to such a pretty speech from you? Would they take you back?" Viktor's voice was oily and slick.
"No, sir," Gregorio answered.
My eyes flicked onto him. His gaze was downcast onto the long table. Coward. He couldn't even look at me. I knew better than to trust an Italian, even if Viktor didn't.
"And this is after he fought valiantly for them in many treacherous battles," Viktor said with a meaningful glance at me.
"Is that how you got the scar?" I asked. I was going to make the coward look me in the eye after doing me in.
The Italian did look up at me. He wore a bemused expression, probably wondering how I could ask such and inane question at a time like this.
"No, that's not how I got it," he said with a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.
It was my turn to look down at the long table as I awaited my sentence.
Viktor said in a low voice, "Lucky for you, Beta, we are not in Italy." Then he leaned his lips to my ear and said quietly, "Welcome home."
My head whipped up and toward Viktor, and I blurted incredulously, "Really?"
So much for my cool composure, but I couldn't believe it had been this easy!
"Yes, Beta, welcome home," he said again with outstretched arms. I moved to him for a real hug while I relished my victory. I peered over Viktor's shoulders at the traitor. He was watching me mournfully. Sore loser. I thought about sticking my tongue out at him, but I was filled with too much good will.
Viktor released the hug, but kept an arm over my shoulder. He started moving me toward the door.
"Now, for a few minor procedures before we can reinstate you," he said as we walked.
When we reached the door, the Italian called out, "Miss Elisabeta."
Viktor and I both stopped and looked at him. By the increased tension in Viktor's grip on my shoulder, I could feel that even he was surprised at the interruption.
The stranger's dark eyes were fixed gravely on me when he said, "Good luck with your reinstatement procedures." He couldn't even work up a false smile through his jealousy.
My lips stretched into an evil grin, and I gloated, "It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it."
Viktor chuckled lightly at this 'sibling rivalry' as he led me out of the room and down the hall. We were moving away from the reception area. He stopped me at a thick, metal door, and we walked through and down another, narrower hallway. As we moved down this hall, Viktor dragged his hand slowly up and down my back. It felt as if he was again asserting his ownership.
I recoiled internally. I despised this entire charade, but it was for the greater good, and so I would endure it. For Father Pawel, I would endure it. For Kristoph, I would endure it.
"Have you ever had anyone leave you, Beta?" Victor suddenly asked.
I thought about it and answered truthfully, "Not voluntarily."
"Hmm…yes, well, either way, how did that feel to you?"
"Not good," I answered cautiously. My steps slowed as I again grew wary.
"Not good," Viktor repeated and dug the tips of his fingers into my back. "Yes, well put. That's exactly how it feels, isn't it?"
His voice was too smooth. Too calm.
"It's about trust, really," he continued as he stopped and opened up yet another thick door. It was dark beyond this door, and I couldn't see where it led. He motioned for me to step inside, which I did.
It didn't lead anywhere. It was just a small, body-sized closet.
I turned questioningly to Viktor.
"I have to learn to trust you again, my Little Beta," he said softly and slammed the door in my face.