Page 33 of Besieger
Silvio had already left her; the two men were now walking ahead side by side. Out of breath, Mihaela caught up with them, hidden in their shadow. Emerick said something, a chuckle pushed its way between his words, and Silvio answered, his tone serious, making a dismissive gesture. The watch on his wrist gleamed in the dark. His coat billowed and spread like a cape behind him every time the wind picked up. She could not remember how long they wandered the streets. Her gums were sticky with blood, her body felt heavy.
The few times she had asked them about her maker they had avoided her questions and urged her for patience. She did notknow what kind of a man her maker was, only that he had orphaned her on the streets of her ancestors—amid the ruins of a long gone empire. And now he was a plane ride away, all the way to Germany, and he was asking after her. The ‘All Father’ the vampires called him. Mihaela found the title wanting.
The massive doors of The Sheraton Hotel in Sofia opened, ushering her into opulence and splendour she had only seen in films. Although she had passed the hotel many a time when she was in the city centre, Mihaela had never been inside. The building overlooked an Orthodox church, a synagogue and a mosque—all situated on almost the same spot within the old part of the capital. The large inner yard of the hotel contained the remains of Roman fortifications and the church of St. George, an ancient rotunda structure standing there since the times when Sofia was known as Ulpia Serdica, the capital of a Roman province. Somehow it felt fitting that a vampire would choose to rest amidst this cluster of shrines and ancient ruins.
The hotel was buzzing with excitement; clocks on the walls urged the staff to work faster and complete the final arrangements before the stroke of midnight. Laughter and shouts ricocheted through the marble halls, barely drowned out by the music of a live band. A waiter carrying a tray of champagne rushed past them on his way to the lifts. If she focused she could even hear the music from the New Year’s celebrations on the square outside.
“There are no more flights for the day. You will have to endure a night with us before we take you to your father,” Silvio explained, his tone apologetic. As if Mihaela would brave the airport at a time like this, when the whole city was drowning in alcohol, and the smoke and sulphur from the fireworks.
They led her into an executive suite, the vastness of the room and the high ceiling made her dizzy with discomfort. She was glad to be away from the cold, no longer looking over her shoulder for mortals or shadows, but the room was too much.
Silvio left the key in the door and shrugged off his coat over one of the many armchairs. He crossed to the nearest window and opened it. Mihaela braced for the deafening noise coming from the square, hundreds upon hundreds of voices talking and shouting, teeming and eager for the countdown. A misleading sense of calm that the festivities were winding down, hung in the air. Outside people were huddled together, searching for warmth and companionship, their feet stomped the snow, sliding over the treacherously smooth surface of the yellow paving blocks covering the square. The orchestra was taking a moment to compose themselves before the announcer started yelling again, whipping the crowd up into a frenzy.
“I would close that window, if I were you,” Mihaela frowned, desperately searching for a clock to check the time.
I used to have a wristwatch. Green, with a mouse on the dial.Mihaela rubbed her wrist, feeling the ghostly imprint of a leather watchband forgotten or lost among the many trappings of her mortality.
Silvio cocked his head to the side as his hand fished out a small case from his pocket; it caught the light with a playful glint when he opened it and took out a cigarette. Its metal surface was engraved in flowers, their long stems and petals crawled over it. The cigarette tucked between his lips, he took out a matchbox and lit a match, lifting it to his face. When the tiny circle of flame touched his face, Mihaela saw that his eyes were a lively green; they flashed and twinkled in the light, oddly inviting.
“I didn’t know vampires could smoke,” she said.
She unzipped her jacket and dropped her bag on the ground, and ran a hand through her hair. It was wet from the snow.Why is it so heavy? What did I pack?She could not recall packing for…For what?
Emerick appeared behind her to help her with the jacket, patting off a few specks of sand from her shoulders. He had discarded his coat and without it she saw his half-buttoned shirt. If she tilted her head just so, she could see his bare stomach.
“We do not need to smoke, but there are advantages to it,” Silvio leaned on the window, and regarded the noise coming from the square. He tapped the ashes into a glass ashtray on the windowsill hidden behind the plush curtains.
“It is useful when you want to lure humans. You appear less suspicious if you are standing outside smoking than if you were situated there on your own,” he continued, taking another drag. When he exhaled, the smoke curled around his lips and jaw. “You can invite a human to join you outside, away from others and out in the open. Or the human can approach you, asking for a cigarette or a match. A fine opportunity, one that allows you to get closer to them.”
“Earlier you said that alcohol can affect us and the blood. What about drugs?” Mihaela felt silly asking questions about things that were either obvious or she should know them by now. Four months were plenty of time to experiment, test legends of folklore and fiction, and suffer the trials and stipulations of a fledgling vampire.
Instead I spent those four months writing my master’s thesis and stuck in archives.
At the mention of drugs Silvio made a face. His features crinkled, wrinkles appeared around the bridge of his nose and he drew his eyebrows in a frown, like a cat given to sniff at a piece of citrus. As if the very thought offended him.
“Drugs spoil the blood, poison it. It is worse when a human is sick and pollutes the blood further in their attempts at recovery. Pumping their veins full of chemical filth. If you drink from them you will sicken as well.”
“Alcohol makes the blood sweet and heavy like honey,” Emerick added, striding towards the window. He took thecigarette from Silvio’s hand and lifted it to his lips. “Drugs… medicine… they turn the blood bitter, slower.”
Both men’s profiles were illuminated by the street lights and the projectors surrounding the square. They stood like wraiths before her, their faces hidden in shadow. The only visible feature on Silvio were his eyes when he turned to look at his companion. Emerick pressed the tiny red light of the cigarette into the ashtray, leaving behind only the lingering smell of tobacco.
Mihaela could hear the rising chatter outside and a voice bellowing—FOUR—followed by countless others, yelling the same.
THREE.
My parents…
She scowled, unable to remember what she had told them. These two had been in a hurry. The bag shoved in her hands, her father saying…What was he saying?He had not been talking to her. Was Mihaela pretending to be sick at home or had she promised, despite her better judgment, to come to the dinner party?
TWO.
Mihaela looked down at the bag she had packed. A set of clothes, her passport, her notes and papers. Her thesis left unfinished—the khan’s judgment yet to be passed. Her father had made a comment. Something about Emerick’s clothes being unfit for the weather and how he was going to catch a cold.
“You won’t impress the ladies with a running nose,” her father had said. The two men had laughed, she heard them in the corridor.
No. This isn’t right. Emerick never met my father.It must have been one of my cousins.
With her heart quickening, Mihaela tried to step towards the window, frowning as she searched for the right words, for the right memory.Hadshe been home tonight?
