I might have. Once upon a time. When I was a little girl with fantastical and silly dreams about who and what my father was. An astronaut stuck in space? A prince in exile who couldn’t risk our safety by coming to us? A spy who lived a secret life?
But adulthood disabused me of those silly notions.
What I do feel is an urgent need to do something, anything, to save my daughter while the vampires are distracted by this charming ceremony.
Throwing caution to the wind, I’m about to rush the altar and take my chances, magic or no, when a crushing grip squeezes my forearm painfully.
Wait.
Again, only one word. No context. No explanation. No nothing.
This is utter bullshit.
I let out a string of expletives into his mind that would make a sailor blush as I try to yank out of his grip to no avail.
So help me god if anything happens to my child I will stake your cold, dead heart, then behead you, then burn your body and scatter your ashes to the four corners of the earth and beyond.
I feel only sadness from him, but then it’s cut abruptly like a faucet being turned off.
My father moans, distracting me from my focus on Darius and back to the scene before us.
Vladmir is leaning over Timót, holding a bleeding wrist to his mouth. My father is drinking the vampire king’s blood.
The two of them exchanging blood can’t be enough to turn him. Darius and I have done that so many times, I’d for sure be a vampire by now if that were all there was to it.
There is more to it, the king whispers into my mind as he locks eyes with me. I clearly failed to keep that damn wall up.
He smiles in a way that’s totally creepy, and then very viciously snaps my father’s neck, killing him instantly.
And with that final, brutal act, the man who had been nothing more to me than a childhood curiosity turned nightmare, slumps to the ground.
I suck in my breath as Vladimir stands, his thin lips twisted into a gloating smile as he turns his attention to Rain.
Chapter Three
I stand frozen in place, stunned by what has just happened. Even if Darius does loosen his grip, I won’t be able to move.
“And now, the ceremony,” Vladimir says.
The three eldest vampires begin to chant, softly and quietly, and the rest of the temple falls silent. Aside from the king and the Ancients, every vampire crosses their arms in an X over their chest and stares down at the ground. The uniformity of it is impressive, like they’ve been running daily prophecy fulfillment drills for hundreds of years. Shit, maybe they have.
Just as Vladimir takes in a deep breath, ready to launch into something terrible, Darius interrupts. “Father, do we not first wish to bless the mother and child, as the prophecy reading would dictate. Lest we waylay our plans entirely through improper planning.”
Vladimir holds up a hand, pausing the chanting. “You are quite right, son. It seems thousands of years of waiting have me acting rashly. We would be remiss in taking any shortcuts on this most auspicious occasion. Priests, bring forth the unholy waters for anointing.”
Unholy waters? Oh hell no, are these dead assholes trying to give me and my kid a reverse baptism? My Catholicism has long since lapsed, but even I don’t want to mess up my afterlife chances, especially with how frequently my child and I seem to flirt with death.
Two priests in long gray robes step forward holding small pewter bowls filled with--apparently--unholy water. I don’t even want to know what makes water unholy. I also have questions about what makes these guys priests.
As one moves toward Rain and the other toward me, they chant together in a strange, ominous language. When each priest arrives at his mark, they draw water from the bowls and use the pads of their thumbs to paint a half circle with a dot in the center on our foreheads.
I don’t expect to feel anything but annoyed, but a zing pulses in my spine, then fades, and I shudder.
What did they do to me? And more importantly, what did they do to Rain?
Darius keeps his grip on my arms, and I start to pull against him, ready to die if it means I go out trying to save my baby girl. No matter how hard I strain, he keeps me still. I doubt he’s even putting in much effort.
“The mother and child are now duly blessed,” Vladimir says as the priests walk back into the shadows. “We may begin.”
The chanting resumes, now accompanied by a low hum from all the vampires who continue looking at the ground with their arms crossed.
I stop fighting against Darius when it’s clear I’m just wasting my strength, and I turn my attention to Timót. No one else is paying any attention to my father, as he’s pretty dead looking. Maybe it takes a long time for the transition to happen, or maybe all Vladimir did was kill him for good. In any case, the vampires pay Timót no mind, so when his body twitches, I’m the only one who sees it.
My eyes dart around the room, trying to gauge where we are in the process. Vladimir still stands away from Rain, and all the vampires have intensified their humming. The vigor of the ceremony is really ramping up, as is my heartbeat.
When my eyes shift back to Timót I fight the urge to gasp as he blinks. His eyes slowly focus on me... and then he smiles.
Daddy is back, and now in addition to magic, dragons, and an army, he’s also got access to all the cool vampire tricks.
He looks toward the opening in the ceiling. He has a vampire on either side of him, but they have their arms crossed and their eyes closed. To the vampires, this ceremony is about the survival of their kind, so commitment levels are very high. That makes it easy for my father to sneak the tip of his wand out of his sleeve and point it to the sky. I try to blank out my mind in case the king might be looking into my thoughts.
Fortunately, Vladimir is entirely focused on Rain, now walking toward her with a shimmering dagger in his right hand.
“From the beginning,” the vampire king announces to the room, “we have been shunned by our creators, and feared by the other creations. Our powers were seen as a plight on the world, not a gift. Our demands for respect were met with calls for our heads. No more.”
He continues his slow walk toward my baby, his stare frighteningly entranced by her presence. I sneak another glance at Timót and see that his lips are subtly moving while a tiny speck of light drifts from his wand toward the open ceiling.
“The Fates gave us life in death, they created the prophecy for all to see, and now we will make our realm absolute.”
At the edge of the altar, Vladimir raises the dagger over his head. The humming from the room grows louder, and a scream that has been brewing in my knotted stomach is about to leave my mouth when Timót shatters the silence.
“Excuse me,” he says, getting to his feet and brushing off his knees like someone who just tripped and is apologizing for creating some commotion. A collective gasp ripples through the temple, and the rage on the king’s face can be felt by everyone.
“You dare interrupt?!” Vladimir spits.
“Sorry, just woke,” my father says, feigning ignorance. “Has the ceremony started?”
The king’s lip curls and his disgusting fangs extend, making it clear what he wants to do to Timót. “I should have killed you the moment you arrived.”
“Perhaps,” dad says with a shrug. “A bit late for that now.”