The Vampiric Housewife (29 page)

    
“We?” Rhett laughed. He couldn’t wait to be rid of Drew for good. “I’ll call Venjamin and get clearance. We’re going to find the bitch and her brats. You just watch.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Blood, Legends, and Immortality

    
As a boy Venjamin’s father would tell him stories about Vlad III Prince of Walachia and his propensity of impaling his enemies—men, women, children, even infants—with a wooden stake inserted through the anus until it emerged from the mouth and how he’d leave them to rot outside his castle. Hundreds of corpses rotting like shish kabobs. Not the stories most parents tell their children before bed. But Engles Venjamin was not like most fathers. Engles had been a doctor too, but of different sorts. He was an academic man, a professor of theology. He taught at universities all over the world and wrote countless books over the years. He was a godless man, an atheist to the core, but he could quote the New Testament, the Torah, Koran, Pali Canon, pagan myths, Hindu stories with ease. He loved the philosophies, the politics, the hypocrisy, and deception of religion. He could have lectured on any of it. Instead he chose to tour the best universities of Europe lecturing on lore—vampires, witches, werewolves, zombies, ghosts. It was embarrassing for young Tobar. In university halls he heard the snickers and jokes cracked about his father and his work. Tobar remembered being mortified for his father and for himself. As he grew older that embarrassment turned into resentment. Engles told Tobar these stories not to frighten him or pervert him, but simply because those were the only type of stories the widowed Engles knew.

    
It was in his father’s beloved lore, the lore which Tobar had so despised, that he discovered his life’s work. While visiting his son in the U.S., Engles told him a story about his latest trek into Romania. He had been in a remote village where a woman had given birth to her ninth child—her seventh daughter. That alone, her gender and number in sequence, had labeled her a child vampire. Engles was fascinated by his meeting with a ‘real’ vampire. The stories were a dime a dozen in third world countries. A child born out of wedlock or died before baptism would miraculously transform into a blood sucking ghoul. If a pregnant mother didn’t eat salt or was simply gazed upon by a “witch,” her child would be born a vampire. It was not that Engles believed in any of the nonsense. He preferred to see the social relevance of these stories in the villages that produced them. Tobar, however, viewed them as mere superstition by those who were not educated enough to have read Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
. They certainly were not to be indulged by anyone with true intellect. As his father went on to describe how these stories shaped the lives of the villagers and why, Tobar had an epiphany.

    
Vampires and genetics. His father’s passion and his own merged together. Suddenly Tobar wanted to know where this village was located, how he could get there, what had become of the child. His father informed him that the mother’s family had killed the baby which was often the case in these villages. But Tobar was determined to find another child vampire. He could make a name for himself and validate his father’s lifelong work so he would no longer be a laughing stock in the hallowed halls of academia.

    
Though Engles was happy for his son to finally take an interest in his work, he thought his son was mad as did the rest of the scientific community. They continued to butt heads until Engles suddenly passed away in a South American jungle. The news had reached Tobar two days after he found his first vampire child in a Polish farming village. Lore and science had met and they were surprisingly compatible.

    
Tobar had spent his life trying to validate his father’s work through science as he reclaimed his reputation as one of the most brilliant minds of the century. Now as he was coming so close to doing just that, his body was failing him; both he and his father would be lost in obscurity. It would be some mediocre doctor that would stumble upon his research, make the leap from theory to reality, and receive the ill-earned glory. Venjamin would not stand for it! As he thought about all his work swirling down the drain with every moment Amelia Murray was out of reach, his own life with it, he remembered another bedtime story his father told him.

     
Elizabeth Bathory. Just as Vlad the Impaler had been an inspiration to the legends of vampires, especially Bram Stoker’s highly inaccurate
Dracula
, the Blood Countess was a real life serial killer whose own bloodlust tied her to vampire lore. The legend went that she tortured and killed six hundred virginal girls and bathed in their blood in order to sustain her beauty and youth. She would lure unsuspecting peasant girls into her Hungarian castle with promises of work or simply kidnap them from the village. Some stories even claimed she drank the blood of particularly pretty maidens. In actuality, she may very well have killed six hundred girls through various methods of torture: flagellation, mutilation, starvation, severe beatings, and so on, but there had never been any evidence of bloodbaths or consumption of blood.

    
Yet it was the Hungarian Countess’s bloodbath and drinking of blood that Venjamin was thinking about. It had a beautiful symmetry. Immortality, immune system, blood . . . drinking blood to obtain the immune system of a vampire and achieve immortality. Blood was the elixir of life for vampires. The way made-vampires drank blood, Venjamin had always seen as barbaric, parasitic. The doctor knew he could order Rhett or one of his other made-vampires to convert him into the undead, but he’d rather died—and his genius along with him—than become a walking corpse. Living vampires were another matter. To be like a born-vampire . . . natural to this earth . . . that was something different all together. Human blood would do him no good because he didn’t have the vampire’s digestive system to pull the needed nutrients from the blood, but what about the blood of a living vampire? Not to drink of course. Though . . .

 
   
Mental confusion and disorientation were symptoms of liver failure, he knew that, as the liver could no longer cleanse the blood and waste built up in the brain. But his brain was still functioning. Venjamin did not doubt that. In fact, it was sharper than ever.

    
A complete blood transfusion would be required. Amelia’s blood circulated into his body as his own inferior blood was drained out. Normally he would test it first with another born-vampire on a human employee. But he already knew Amelia’s singing blood was different from that of other born and crossbred vampires. Plus he knew he did not have much longer on this earth. Days, a week at best. He would have to experiment on himself with Amelia’s blood and only her blood. His genius would live on.

Chapter Twenty-nine

A Vampire’s Paradise

    
Valerie stepped off the plane and was awed by the sight that surrounded her. The island was a huge, rambling series of hills rolling up and down covered by plush green foliage. She had never seen so much green in her life. It made the island seem alive and healthy and pristine even if the green was dotted by little white houses randomly distributed throughout the hillside. Palm trees grew tall, heavy with fanned out leaves and clusters of brown coconuts. The sea was an undulating mass of black, tranquil and soothing in its hypnotic motion. The stars appeared to have descended from the heavens as twinkling lights atop the masts of the boats anchored in the bay. A stirring breeze carried a salty, fishy scent from the coast. That smell was all it took; Valerie was enamored with the ocean.

    
A jeep waited for them. As Ethan navigated the narrow curving roads as if steering a roller coaster ride, she gazed out over the island. She was shocked to discover that in this paradise, all those little white houses she had seen were shacks. They passed a few nice terraced stucco houses, but most of them were mere huts constructed out of dilapidated houses or simply odds and ends.

    
Ethan drove them away from the neighborhoods and closer to the coast where they passed huge luxury resorts with tennis courts and sparkling pools. He passed all the resorts and finally turned down a meandering dirt road. Valerie didn’t know what she expected to be at the end of the road. A huge hospital like St. Vladimir. Maybe another cheap motel. Another safe house. She certainly did not expect the beautiful two story mansion with its clean, modern lines and windows for walls which welcomed nature into every room. She had never seen anything like it. It radiated with an organic homey aura. It wasn’t just a house, it was a home. It occurred to her that this was Ethan’s home.

    
He parked the car next to the house, and they followed him through heavy plantation doors immediately entering a very open, modern kitchen of granite counter tops and stainless stain appliances that put her kitchen back home to shame. It was as if she had walked into the space age. She couldn’t help but wonder why vampires needed such a fancy kitchen. Ethan immediately entered a security code into a keypad mounted on the wall.
 
 

    
The kitchen opened up into a huge great room with a high ceiling of thatch fans and exposed beams. There were floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean as it rushed up an unblemished beach. The interior walls were covered with the work of local artists—brightly colored scenery and African faces. On the hardwood floors laid fine oriental rugs, but all the furniture was modern and simplistic.

 
   
Valerie was so busy absorbing the magnificent house and its view that she hadn’t noticed the three people occupying the room.

    
“Welcome!” a cheerful voice called out startling her. She jumped a little and turned her head to see a vampire with long, pale blonde hair that hung all the way to his waist. He was tall and lean, and of course pale. His features were aristocratic, fine and delicate, his lips thin but smiling largely with long, curved canines visible. His eyes were small and blue. He dressed in a fuchsia velvet outfit that looked more medieval than twenty-first century. His arms were open in a welcoming fashion. Behind him stood another vampire and a human. “Valerie, John, Amelia, Harry, I am so glad you made it here safely.” His enthusiasm was a tad intimidating though there was nothing menacing about him, just eccentric maybe. “Ethan, job well done.”

    
Ethan just nodded and retreated into the background.

    
“I am Alessandro. This is my companion Jonathan and his lovely Gabriella.”

    
Jonathan was the other vampire, a muscular black man with a bald head, large round eyes, the scleras a blinding white, the irises a light brown. Near his eyes were black tattoos that were difficult to distinguish from his black skin. He was not pale like other vampires. To the contrary his skin was black. Not a shade of brown like the skin of the African Americans she had known in Sangre Valley or even seen in the cities. His skin was black as night and as beautiful. On his broad features he wore a serious expression, but it was not the least bit unfriendly. He dressed much more causally than Alessandro, wearing a white silk shirt and khaki shorts. Two small golden hoops shone in his ears.

    
Gabriella was human, Valerie could tell just by the smell of her, but she did not look the least bit alarmed to be in a room full of vampires. In fact, she was smiling. Despite her humanity, she possessed a beauty that made her look decisively vampiric. She had to be in her early twenties with her comely, youthful features. Her skin was the flawless shade of brown sugar while her stunning green eyes nearly put Valerie’s unique violet eyes to shame. Her hair was a rich brown that framed her oval face in soft waves. She was Valerie’s height but athletic where Valerie was slender. Openly displayed on her neck were distinctive vampire bites. Dressed in tight black jeans and a red and black corset, the girl was obviously aware of her exquisite beauty.

    
Jonathan stepped forward and shook her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Valerie,” he said very formally.

    
She shook his hand and nodded. These must be Ethan’s bosses. But Valerie was confused. These two men and this house . . . it hardly seemed like some kind of deep infiltrating organization that could take down Venjamin, rescue Charlie, or keep them safe. Alessandro and Jonathan seemed liked friends and the Murrays like houseguests.

    
“Is there anything we can get you? I’m sure you’re starving. Ethan mentioned that you’re vegetarians so we filled the freezer with meat,” Alessandro offered.