By H. M. Garber
Brent assumed the secret belonged solely to his family. He presumed that his cousin Viktor, a vampire who changed Brent into Vampyr because Brent was dying, remained the last of his kind. Viktor told many tales of his isolated, lonely existence and how he needed family with him to ease his burden of immortality. He concluded that Viktor was a law unto himself, a dark force of nature, free of all constraints except those which he chose for himself.
Brent learned that one should never assume.
Training to use his new vampiric powers was exhilarating, and living with family that cared and wanted him was amazing. The pain of loving and leaving Robyn, of missing her presence, remained bitter. The training took all of his effort and most of his time, both waking, and in dreams. Euphoria and depression tore at his emotions until his mental state resembled a ravaged war zone. It mirrored the part of Prague where Viktor and Brent now lived.
While most of Viktor’s building was an abandoned, Soviet-era relic, Viktor kept a luxurious suite of rooms in the interior secure and well maintained. Whenever Viktor let him, Brent explored the rest of the city, and discovered he loved living in Prague. It matched his disposition perfectly. The dirtiest, most squalid corner of the city held a rich history. Back in America, even the garbage seemed plastic and fake.
Techno dance clubs sprouted two, three, or five to every littered street. The joints Viktor and Brent visited were usually in basements and each individual needed a unique glyph for entrance. They were all dark and smoky with strobe lights, loud synthesizers, and heavy bass back beat. These clandestine night spots were the perfect camouflage for a vampire to slink through and seduce a tender doe-eyed boy for a quick drink. He never drank from girls. They reminded him too much of Robyn, so deep in his heart that biting women felt like adultery.
Aunt Agnes’ letter crinkled in Brent’s pocket. She wrote him about Robyn’s disappearance. He was worried Robyn would hurt herself. She never did anything spontaneously.
Brent took a deep breath, feeling cigarette smoke scratch at his lungs. There was a familiar scent of cinnamon in the air, coming from the press of bodies in the center. His favorite prey was here.
The boy wore a black t-shirt with a scrawl of silver Cyrillic characters on it, black BDU pants about three sizes too large. Although he wore sleeves with small silver spikes covering his forearms, his neck was bare of any matching collar. Thick kohl eyeliner encircled his innocent blue eyes. Brent didn’t know his name, but he found the boy in four different spots four weeks in a row.
Brent slid behind him, matched his rhythm and whispered in his ear. He knew the other couldn’t hear him above the pounding beat, but it didn’t matter: Brent knew only a few words of Czech. He projected thoughts of sensual pleasure into the boy’s easy and open mind. The prey swooned back into his arms and ground against him as Brent gently bit into the boy’s sweaty neck. Cinnamon spiced cologne flavored the blood. The pounding of the boy’s heart and the beat echoing in his chest overwhelmed him and he fed greedily.
Brent’s mind morphed the young boy into Robyn, her clove/cinnamon scent filled his senses when she moaned and ground back into him. He sucked more deeply pulling her essence from her body; he wanted to drain her and make her like him. He needed to possess her completely and forever.
Stop now, Brent. Take a small bit. Just a taste. Only enough to quell the hunger. Viktor whispered in his cousin’s mind. He stood off to a corner of the dance floor. Viktor’s aura was wrapped tightly around him, making him appear like any other dancer. He was a bit old for this club, and although people paid no attention to him, they instinctively avoided making contact as they danced and writhed to the persistent primal beat of VNV Nation’s Nemesis.
Brent knew the dangers of taking too much blood. If a vampire didn’t want the human to die they must take only a small amount. Making a human into a vampire was risky because the human body could reject the gift of immortality. Viktor always said if Brent did not keep himself disciplined during feeding, he would become a monster. Brent hoped he was learning quickly enough, but the way his thoughts kept straying back to Robyn told him he had a long way to go.
Thank you, Viktor. Brent thought warmly back, and after licking the neck of the young boy, moved to kiss his ear. The boy loved that, and tried to twist around to dance face to face with Brent. But Brent stepped back into the throng, using the crowd to mask his own presence. Viktor said it was better that the boy not become too attached and seek him out, and Brent believed him.
Dance now. I will find my own food. Then we must return to our chambers.
With Robyn still on his mind, Brent danced deeper into the crush of writhing bodies. After living half his young life in a wheelchair, being able to dance was ecstasy. He wanted to grin like a madman, but held himself to the half-smile that Viktor taught him: friendly and open, but hiding his fangs. Half-blinded by the flashing lights, Brent could barely make out Viktor finishing his drink from a small blonde girl. As he swam with the human currents toward Viktor, a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around.
“JakĂ˝ ÄŤinit my mĂt zde? JEDEN Děťátko Krev Doušek.” The words were spoken in Czech, but Brent was able to pull meaning from the thoughts around the words. What do we have here? A Baby Blood Drinker. Brent peered closer at the scruffy punk who spoke. He was shorter than Brent, with black spiky hair and a worn leather jacket. He appeared to be wearing contact lenses, making his iris look red with gold flecks. But his elongated incisors were not fakes, no more than Brent’s own, and gave away what he really was. Brent noticed four other punks with similar eyes moving to encircle him.
There were others! Brent thought, excited until Viktor’s thoughts echoed loudly upset in his head.
Stay away! He’s mine! Viktor never used that tone of voice, even when Brent failed and failed again to learn even the basics of levitation.
“Viktor, jakĂ˝ ÄŤinit tebe potĹ™eba s takovĂ˝ jeden děťátko? My pocĂnovat uÄŤit jemu aĹľ k bĂ˝t jeden fyzickĂ˝ Vampyr.” Viktor, what do you want with such a baby? We can teach him to be a real Vampyr. Spiky said out loud as he stepped closer to Brent. Brent backed into another, who shoved him sideways. A third caught him and dug his fist into the small of Brent’s back as he shoved him upright again. He felt a cold hand encircle his neck and squeeze as Viktor shoved his way through the crowd toward him.
“Jeden, you must learn to be more careful how you hunt. We found you through your cinnamon boy. He was good bait, yes?” The blonde vampire whispered in heavily accented English as he gripped Brent’s neck. Blondie wore heavy black eyeliner and had an ebony sigil tattooed on his cheek. He lifted until Brent stood on tiptoes. Viktor was almost to the group. The other’s grip was so strong tears welled up in Brent’s eyes. He felt trapped and helpless.
“Christoff, let him go! You will teach him to be a killer, Roland. He is not your Child. I will bring the Zarkas down upon your gang. They will take your throats if you hurt him.”
Brent felt power and intimidation in that last statement. Then his attention was pulled to a slight trickle running down his neck and into his collar. He could feel the intense pain of sharpened nails piercing into his flesh as his feet left the ground.
“Stop hurting him!” Viktor ordered as he raced toward Christoff. The blonde vampire gave a menacing smile as his grip tightened. Brent unsuccessfully clawed at his attacker’s wrists.
Viktor tried to rip Christoff’s hands from his child’s neck but his nails dug deeper. Brent collapsed to the concrete floor as he was released from the deadly grip. He watched in horror as Viktor grabbed the blonde vampire by his throat and ripped it out.
“CHRISTOFF!” Roland rushed to the side of his fallen comrade just in time to see the remains turn to dust.
The other unfamiliar vampires backed away from Brent and melted into the pulsing crowd. Brent looked, but there was no trace of them or Roland.
“We must leave, now.” Viktor tilted Brent’s head and licked the wounds to accelerate his healing. Then he gently lifted him to his feet.
“Viktor, I’m fine. Really. I thought we were the only Vampyr left. Who the hell were they and what the hell is a Zarka?” Brent babbled with relief now that Roland and the other Vampyr Punks were gone.
“Roland and his boys are Vampyr, but not like us. They have no concern for life. They kill their prey and indiscriminately make new Vampyr. No care is taken to insure the youngling does not become a rampaging beast. Most of the younger Vampyr are like this.” Viktor explained as they swiftly retreated from the basement.
“The Zarkas are a powerful family that I work for. I am their Enforcer. Because of me, no stories of Vampyr or unexplained deaths will expose them. They allow me to destroy any Blood Drinker that does not follow the rules the Zarkas have created.”
Brent asked more questions as they neared their haven, eager to get to its safety.
“Why have I never heard of these people? What else have you kept from me?” The truth he knew turned sideways. Nothing was the same any longer. His world no longer consisted of feeling healthy and basking in his joy or bemoaning his lost love and experiencing utmost misery.
“The Zarkas are ten times more brutal and cruel than Roland and his pack. I wanted to make sure you could defend your physical and mental self before I introduced you to them. There are many dangers in my world. I will decide when to expose you to them.”
“So will I learn to do what you do? Be an enforcer for this family?” He felt helpless, small and very naive. Viktor kept protecting him. At least Robyn was safe from all this.
“I will protect you as much as possible. I cannot lose my only true family.”
HM Garber is a very talented writer. I can’t wait for the next installment of Family Secrets.