Vamparazzi (28 page)

“Us?”

“Maximillian, the situation here has clearly passed the point of crisis and is now descending into all-out catastrophe,” Radvila said. “Therefore, I believe we should forego wasting time and be candid with one another.”

Although still appalled by the slaying of Bosko, Max recognized that Jurgis Radvila seemed far better equipped than he to combat the vampire epidemic. Therefore, cooperation was advisable—no, essential.

Max nodded in agreement. “Yes, by all means. Let us exercise candor.”

“Very well. I should perhaps begin by telling you that my comrades and I are vampires.”

Max flinched and fell back a step.

Having apparently expected that reaction, Radvila added, “Not made. And certainly not undead. We are
Lithuanian
vampires.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Of course. We are hereditary vampires.”

“Hereditary?”

“And we have come here to halt this vampire epidemic.”

Recalling that the three Lithuanian combatants had slain a veritable army of vampires tonight—whose stinking remains were now scattered all over the graveyard—Max said, “I don't yet understand what you're saying. But I suspect that, once I do, I shall be very grateful for your presence here.”

“We must act quickly and decisively,” said Radvila. “The Council of Gediminas is very concerned about the situation in this region.”

“Who?” Max asked.

“The Council of Gediminas,” Radvila repeated. “As I said before, you and I have much to discuss.”

“H
e told me they were an ancient council of hereditary vampires who governed, er, vampire matters,” Max explained to me. “They also thwarted vampire epidemics by slaying the undead with prompt and merciless efficiency, as well as executing unruly made vampires.”

A middle-aged woman strolling near us in Washington Square Park on this sunny Sunday afternoon heard this and gave us an odd look. She also noticed my black eye, scraped cheek, and ravaged neck—all of which had alarmed Max when I'd first arrived at his bookstore earlier—and obviously drew her own conclusions about us.

“Keep your voice down,” I reminded Max as the woman deliberately changed direction to avoid us.

At some point during Max's account of his experiences as a vampire hunter in the Balkan provinces of the Habsburg empire, Nelli had made it known to us that she needed her walk—or, as Max called it, her habitual afternoon perambulation. (Much of Max's syntax was still living in the Habsburg era.) So after attaching Nelli's pink leather leash to her matching collar, we had brought her to the park while Max continued his story.

“All right, I follow how vampire victims became the undead, bloodthirsty monsters that you hunted and killed. Um, slayed. Slew?” I said, reviewing the key elements of Max's terrible tale. “And based on what Jurgis Radvila told you, I also follow how a living person becomes a made vampire. And, by the way, how disgusting is
that?
No
way
am I ever drinking the blood of a stinking, drooling, decaying corpse just so I can have supersonic hearing or feel more robust!”

A passing jogger stumbled, stopped, and stared at me.

“I'm an actress,” I said quickly to him. “We're running lines.”

“Oh!
Oh.
” The young man's expression cleared. “Cool.” He continued on his way.

Tugging gently on Nelli's leash to urge her away from the siren smell of some garbage that lay on the ground, Max noted, “You might want to keep your voice down, as well.”

I did so as I said with disgust, “If Bosko wanted improved vigor, he should have tried eating right and exercising more, rather than sucking on the marrow of the undead.”

“He lived in an impoverished village in eighteenth-century Serbia,” Max pointed out. “Eating right was seldom an option. Exercise consisted mostly of backbreaking work, relieved by sporadic intervals of feuding with other locals or fleeing from invading armies.”

“Well, yes, okay. I get that.” I took Max's arm as we walked. I was stunned by the story he had told me. My considerable respect for what he had faced, endured, and conquered over the course of his long life had increased again today. “But what Bosko did was so extreme, Max. What was he
thinking?
”

“I never really had a chance to know him, obviously. And since we left Medvegia within two busy days of his demise, I also had little opportunity to learn much about him after his death. But it was obvious that he was respected and valued in the village. And I saw for myself that his friends were correct when they described him as a brave man. He stayed in the graveyard with me to battle the undead. He did not flee when attacked, nor even after we were outnumbered.” Max sighed sadly. “I have always believed that Bosko did what he did because he sought to absorb vampire power so that he could more effectively combat the undead and protect his village from those creatures.”

“At the cost of
becoming
a vampire?”

“He may have thought it was worth that sacrifice. Or perhaps he didn't fully understand what would happen to him—what the transformation would entail. Radvila believed the latter to be the case, and he may well have been right. The beliefs, superstitions, and apotropaics of the region in that era were a complex muddle of partially accurate folklore, desperate measures, and uselessly bizarre fiction.”

Max stopped to let Nelli greet another dog, her tail wagging and her attitude playfully bouncy—which the other dog dealt with bravely, considering the difference in their sizes. This was apparently a friend whom she met regularly, since the other dog's owner acknowledged Nelli by name. In response to the woman's greeting to him, Max smiled and briefly lifted the white fedora he wore on his head. A chilly gust of wind whipped through the park, making his long duster flutter and flap in the breeze; the pale brown coat, a true relic of the Old West, had been bequeathed to him by a gunfighter.

As we continued walking again, he said, “Bosko must have learned—perhaps from a local wise woman or village elder, or possibly from remembered legends about a previous epidemic—that drinking vampire blood could enhance his physical prowess. He may have gone hunting a vampire with the goal of using its essence to turn himself into a more effective warrior. But I think it more likely that the decision was made on impulse after he managed to survive an attack and dispatch his adversary. When he saw the creature's body lying at his feet ... I think Bosko believed he could make a difference, if he could just steel himself to do what was necessary.”

I heard remembered sorrow in Max's voice again, and I squeezed his arm. “Oh, how terrible.” Realizing that the long-dead Serb deserved recognition as a fallen hero, I added, “It seems very cruel of Radvila to have killed him, if he had transformed himself so he could better protect the villagers.”

“I would say ruthless rather than cruel,” Max said. “I admired Radvila. I grew to like and trust him. I am proud to say that we became friends, though we never met again after signing the Treaty of Gediminas. But he was quite ruthless. Then again, it was his duty to be so. The council had put him in charge of eliminating the vampire epidemic that was spreading through Eastern Europe. He did not have the right—as he subsequently told me—to leave alive a made vampire who lacked self-control. A vampire who might start killing to feed his hunger.”

Max made a little sound of regret and shook his head before he continued, “Bosko's fate was sealed the moment he attacked me. I don't believe he intended to hurt me, and I sincerely doubt he would have tried to kill me. His behavior in that moment was just instinctive. But once Radvila saw—
agh!
”

Max nearly fell over when Nelli, who weighed more than I did, suddenly lunged for the remains of a discarded hot dog that lay in the grass. As she gulped down her unsanitary treat, she pretended deafness, looking everywhere but at us and completely ignoring Max as he scolded her for her ill-mannered and ill-advised behavior.

Then Max smiled ruefully at me. “
Instinct.
Now that she has physical form, Nelli finds herself unable to control the canine impulses she experiences. After he transformed himself, Bosko also found himself unable to control his instinctual vampire cravings.”

When I saw him absently rub his shoulder, which Nelli's sudden lunge had wrenched rather sharply, I said, “Here, give me the leash, Max. I'll hold her for a while.”

I took the pink leash from him and gave Nelli a brisk tug, attempting to halt her frantic snuffling around in the grass as she searched for more processed-meat remains.

Watching her activities, Max said pensively, “Once the Lithuanian saw Bosko's behavior, there was nothing else to be done. I grew to understand that. Radvila would never allow sentiment to persuade him to let an unstable and dangerous vampire remain alive and at large.”

“How dangerous was Bosko? Does vampirism turn the living into monsters, too?”

“Not necessarily, but it
is
a serious risk and an all too common problem with made vampires. Which is why making a vampire is only allowed if the Council of Gediminas permits it after considering a formal petition. And they very rarely
do
permit it, precisely because whether the made vampire becomes a responsible individual or, instead, a violent hazard to society depends on too many complex variables.

“Such as?”

“Oh, the character of the individual, the nature of his transformation, and the circumstances of the new vampire's life.”

“
Nelli.
Come on.” I gave the oversized familiar's leash another sharp tug. She lifted her head from the grass, wagging her tail as she gazed innocently at me, and we finally moved on. “Well, I agree that character is complex and often unpredictable, Max. And given that the nature of vampire transformation consists of dining on a ravaged corpse, I'd say—”

“Oh, it doesn't,” Max said. “Not usually, that is. That does occasionally happen, as it did in Bosko's case. However, given how distasteful—indeed, almost unconquerably repulsive—imbibing from the undead is, it's more common to achieve living transformation by ingesting the blood of a made or hereditary vampire.”

“By killing one?” I asked dubiously. Based on what Max had said about their strength and prowess in combat, that sounded suicidally risky.

“Well, one could, if one were so inclined—as well as heavily armed and very daring. But the more typical method is that the vampire voluntarily shares his or her blood. The practice is rigorously controlled by the Council of Gediminas, and the process is, I gather, very formal and ritualistic.” After a pause, he added, “A vampire who ignores the rules might choose to share blood with someone as a personal, private, unregulated matter, but this is strictly prohibited and the penalties can be severe. Indeed, both parties might be executed. Did I mention that Lithuanians can be ruthless?”

“So this is your ... your
thing
with Lithuanians?” I asked. “They're all vampires?”

“Oh, goodness, no! Have I given that impression? How careless of me! Oh, dear.” He explained quickly, “No, no, vampirism is extremely rare among Lithuanians. And almost unknown among other peoples.”

“It sure wasn't unknown among the Serbs,” I pointed out.

“That was an epidemic, not a lifestyle. And those vampires were undead, not hereditary.”

“All right, that's what I
don't
follow. What is a hereditary vampire?”

“Ah.” His face brightened. “That's a rather interesting subject.”

According to the legend that Radvila had recounted to Max long ago, hereditary vampirism in Lithuania dated back to the Middle Ages.

Gediminas, the great fourteenth-century warrior king who founded of the city of Vilnius, was out hunting in the woods one day. The king's favorite dog went missing, and Gediminas didn't want to return to the castle without it. So he went searching for it, and thus wound up staying out too long. Darkness fell, and a swarm of undead vampires attacked him. Gediminas defeated them singlehandedly in fierce combat, during the course of which he accidentally imbibed enough of their blood to become a made vampire.

“How much is enough?” I asked.

“A sip or two is certainly insufficient,” Max said. “A more substantial quantity of vampire blood is required to effect transformation.”

“How does someone
accidentally
imbibe that much blood?”

“Actually,” Max said, “I find that part of the legend easier to believe than the claim that a normal man, even one very skilled in combat, singlehandedly vanquished multiple vampires who set upon him in a frenzy.”

Well, what with warring factions in his own land, marauding bands of unemployed knights from the south coming north to burn and loot in Lithuania, a land-hungry Polish kingdom on one side of him, and various Cossacks and Mongols on the other side, Gediminas really had a lot on his plate. However, he soon found that his vampire transformation made it easier to cope with the heavy demands of being a beleaguered warrior king. Eventually, through energetic conquests (as well as shrewd alliances), he created an empire.

It occurred to him at some point along the way that it would be advantageous for the future of his kingdom and the success of his progeny if he could pass on his acquired gift of vampirism to his heirs. He consulted various scholars, magicians, physicians, and prophets, both foreign and domestic. After a number of disappointments, he finally found someone who subjected him to an effective mystical ritual which achieved his goal; the progeny he sired thereafter, with Mrs. Gediminas and with other women, were born with the hereditary gift of his vampirism.