Aleron: Book One of Strigoi Series (Stringoi Series) (15 page)

He leaned over and placed his hairy ear to my mother’s chest to hear her heartbeat. My mother’s arm began to move. Though her eyes never opened, she rubbed his head gently and lovingly while it rested on her breast. She smiled.

I could hear my father’s heart quicken. A tear ran down the side of his face onto my mother’s gown. He was indeed saddened by her declining health. He knew the end was near. And that knowledge was tearing him apart. I, too, felt tremendous sorrow and decided to leave as quietly and swiftly as I’d come. Seeing my parents in such despair made me want to comfort them. That I simply couldn’t do at the time, so I left, knowing I would return.

I stood frozen across the street from the place I once called home. I wanted to go back in and reveal myself; however, I couldn’t. I simply stared at it. Just before I turned to walk away, I saw him in the window again. He was looking around, but his thoughts didn’t reveal him seeing me. Ever watchful, ever protective, honorable Aknon.

I began walking in the direction of a place I had rented shortly before my transformation. An eerie feeling came over me and grew with each step I took. Slipping immediately out of sight and into darkness, I surveyed the area. My senses heightened as my eyes pierced the moonless
night. It was here. The very same scent I had committed to memory was upon me once more. Yet, again, I could see no one. I heard no one. And then it was gone.

I knew at that very moment that someone or something was following me, stalking me. Perhaps I would be the prey of some unknown and powerful adversary. The thought made me smile, as Ammon was recalled to me. I thought not. I didn’t sense any actual danger. Whatever was following me posed no threat, I concluded.

I returned to the streets, for the hunger in me had returned, and it was time to feed. The air was dry and smelled of rain. Musk and wafts of perfume came and went, carried by the unsure wind. The temperature was only warm, but the people were steamy and hot, burning from the desires of life and the wants of the flesh. I was surprised by the number of people out at this hour, especially the young ones, whom I seldom saw. Though I quickened my pace, a few caught sight of the ghost of the night. I entered the Sharak district in Eastern Alexandria. This was the city’s second most populated district after al-Montaza. Therefore, the district was predictably rife with bandits and lowlifes. It wouldn’t cause too much of a stir if a few of them went missing.

I entered Saad Zaghoul Square, which was known for its many open-air markets where the townspeople shopped for jewels, clothing, medicine, and food. Gambling, prostitution, and crime were also prevalent in the area. This commerce made it a haven for thieves and murderers, an evil a la carte, so to speak. I scanned the minds of many people and was soon able to locate my prey. The preparation and partaking of this particular meal was neither a major concern nor a matter of importance. All I cared about was that he would bring new life to my undying existence. A new life to be cherished. As if we vampires lived for the kill and were sustained through those we killed. We saw their lives from their perspective in the blood memoirs and thus lived vicariously through each of them. This contributed life to our lives and thus lengthened our existence, or at least made it more bearable to live indefinitely. When this cycle was broken by our kind, we ceased to exist. We became victims of our own immortality.

After feeding, my flesh was warm, my complexion less ghostly. It was
time to return to al-Montaza. Aknon would be less likely to be able to see who I’d become. I needed only to stay out of direct light to deceive my severest judge: my father, who knew me better than I knew myself; my father, who had trained me to be the man I became and an absolute force in the vampire I’d become. Aknon, whose stare could penetrate my soul as a mortal and make it waver even in its immortal form. I do have a soul, for all living flesh are souls. I’m not a specter that travels like energy from the dead. I am life itself.

In less time than it takes to enjoy a sip of tea, I was, once again, standing in front of my father’s home. I could sense my father was still awake and diligently alert The book he was now reading was
The Sorrows of Young Werther
, ironically about a tormented man who’s fixated on an inaccessible woman. Oh, how my mother’s health tormented Aknon. It aged him and was driving him to the very edge of sanity. He felt powerless, and that was the root of his agony. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe spoke to Aknon through the words of this novel, and my father listened.

I let myself in unnoticed through the same upstairs window. For as long as I could remember, this window was kept unlocked, for it was too far from the ground below for a thief to enter. Well, perhaps an ordinary thief.

I entered my mother’s room. I walked over to her bed where she still slept and knelt until my weight rested on one knee. Memories of my mortal mother were instantly cued, various visions spanning my childhood and adolescence, times nearly forgotten. We were so happy then. She was so vibrant. This wasn’t the woman I remembered lying before me in my mother’s bed, wearing Camilia’s gowns. She also wore Camilia’s scent. But if this were Camilia, she’d been reduced to a mere shadow of herself, a shell of old feeble flesh. I had to see her eyes. Only her eyes would reveal my birth mother to me. If only I could see those soft, beautifully accented brown eyes. The thought of Eliza’s eyes came to mind.

I already knew my father was approaching the room, but I simply didn’t care. At that moment I heard the sound of Aknon’s Spencer and Roper twelve-gauge shotgun cock, and then my father was standing directly behind me with his shotgun pointed at the back of my skull. I wasn’t worried in the slightest, not only because I was immortal, but
also because my father knew that there was no guarantee if he fired a shot that my mother wouldn’t be wounded. Besides, it would have been messy. Thus, the shotgun’s role was one of intimidation. Had Aknon been standing behind another human, the person would have been utterly paralyzed. Fortunately for both of us, it was his supernatural offspring who stood before him.

In an effort to somewhat ease the situation, I raised my hands into the air. “Stand up slowly,” he said in a hushed yet sturdy voice.

I did, carefully and silently. From behind, my father couldn’t see my face. I wore my oversized collar turned up to obscure most of my features, and the room offered little light.

In a slow and calculated voice, he said, “Turn around slowly and go out of the room into the hall.” I did exactly what he requested. In a slow, deliberate dance, Aknon followed me, step for step. My father, with his uncompromising manner, kept the business end of the shotgun planted to the base of my skull. Together, we completed a circle, and once our places were traded, he nudged me forward. We stealthily inched out of the room. He quietly and, without taking his eyes off his intended target, closed the door behind him. We walked slowly down the hallway and stopped with just enough distance between us and their bedroom door. Aknon began to speak with the gun still nestled on the collar of my shirt.

“Why have you come here? What do you want?”

I said nothing.

“What do you want?” he repeated slightly louder this time, while pushing the barrel even more firmly against my head.

“I wanted to know,” I said just loud enough for him to hear.

“Know what? Who are you, and why have you entered my house?” Though my father wanted to know why I was there, his thoughts affirmed his greater desire to know how I got in without his noticing. This burned him tremendously.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Aknon.” This was the first time I had ever said my father’s name when speaking to him. It felt strange, but it also seemed appropriate since I was now something other than the son he had known.

“Turn around slowly,” he said, thinking,
How does he know my
name?
I could sense his nerves quickening, the finger on the trigger unsure, his heart racing.

I turned slowly until I was facing the shotgun and Aknon. Though the light provided by the flickering bulb was still insufficient in the hallway, his eyes widened, and he began to lower the shotgun.

“My God! Aleron?” he questioned in almost a whisper. Many things came to mind in that moment; however, I only managed to reply directly to his question, “Yes.”

His instinct was to hug me, but the dominant alpha male in him couldn’t allow such a gesture just yet. He simply stood there looking at me for what seemed to be an eternity. My abnormal features were cloaked by the lack of light. No matter how I tried, the voice emanating from my mouth was inconsistent with what he remembered. Though he hadn’t seen me in decades, he knew I was somehow different from the Aleron he knew, for a parent knows his child. Aknon remembered me from the very last time he saw me those many years ago, and I’m sure he couldn’t have imagined me as I’m now. How could he?

His eyes left my face, and a once-staunch stare retreated into confusion. He completely lowered his shotgun and walked into his study, passing a colorless portrait hanging on the wall that depicted a young father and mother with two gleeful children. I followed slowly.

The flicker of the candlelight on his desk disguised the movements of my shadow, which had often appeared to have a will of its own. He turned around to face me.

My father’s stature was shorter than mine. This, coupled with the natural deterioration of his bone structure from age, created a surreal visual of a son towering over his father. There was no intimidation in my father’s eyes or heart, only curiosity, which turned into anger.

“Where have you been?” he blurted out! Traces of spatter escaped his mouth while saying this. “We all thought some terrible fate had befallen you. We all thought you were dead, or worse!”

Interesting
, I thought.
Worse than death?
I guess one could suggest that my encounter with Mynea and eventual transformation could be considered worse than death. One could.

“Not so far from the truth, father,” I replied, desperately trying to mimic the voice of mortal Aleron, his son.

“Why did you leave?”

“I had no choice in that matter. It’s complicated.”

He looked perplexed. “Why return now? What do you want?” Aknon demanded.

“I didn’t wish to remain away for so long, but understand, it wasn’t my choice, and I want nothing,” I heard myself reply. It was a difficult question, for even I didn’t know what I wanted.

My father lowered his head and, in an insecure voice said, “Your mother, she’s not well.” He raised his head again. “And I know it was you in her bedroom earlier.”

“What’s her ailment?” Before I could finish getting the question out, his thoughts told me: a broken heart.

“We searched tirelessly for you. I neglected my customers. I closed my business and employed many men to search for you. I spent our entire wealth looking for you. Your mother and sister went door to door, all throughout this district and the neighboring districts. Nothing. Not a word. Not a trace. I went to your employer. He had already begun a search party of his own. We talked to the many men who spoke of their conversations with you at the Promethium Gala. None could remember where you went or what time you departed. What we found out next led us to the worst possible conclusion. There were traces of blood in the woman’s quarters. Upon learning this information and not finding any trace of you, your mother and I feared you were dead.”

He looked directly into my eyes, which were still disguised by the candlelight. “Your sister fell into a deep depression. You don’t know how much you meant to her. Neither did we, until that day. For the next few months your sister became more and more withdrawn from everything. She would get in frequent arguments with your mother and me, fueled by a rage and depression we’ve never encountered, the likes of which would be second to the depression that befell your mother after Shani left Egypt, for the Americas. Your sister didn’t consider how
losing both children would affect her mother. Nevertheless, your sister’s mind was quite sound when she made her decision and left for her new beginning.”

The Americas
, I said to myself.

“Your mother became ill soon after. It began with constant fatigue, followed by constant irritability. She would go days and sometimes weeks without eating more than a slice of bread or leaving her bedroom. The doctors were all perplexed, and understandably so, for they couldn’t cure a broken heart.”

My father walked over to me and wiped what felt like a tear from my cheek. Suddenly, his gaze shifted from one of sympathy to one of amazement and intrigue. I learned why when he retracted his hand, and his finger was dressed in a diluted red liquid. He rubbed his thumb against his red-soaked index finger, trying to feel the consistency of the liquid. He stepped back and removed the candle from its holder on the wall. He wanted to see me. I could have vanished in the blink of an eye, but I decided not to. I remained in the same position, for my thoughts were with my mother and nothing else mattered. How could I have let my selfish desire to be with Mynea allow me to neglect those who loved me the most? A monster, I was. My father was looking upon the monster I had become.

Dare I?
I thought.
Dare I disregard the very essence of what Mynea taught me about staying among the shadows? Never allowing any mortal to look upon us without devouring them shortly thereafter? Dare I peel back the veil of secrecy that has kept our kind safe for as long as we have been? Would I be the first to reveal himself in this demonized angelic splendor?
As I grappled with these questions and thoughts, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t care!

He held the burning candle up near my face. His eyes widened. I already knew what he saw—the wavering eyes of his son, larger than what he remembered and a thousand times more menacing and captivating. I didn’t move. He raised his other hand and touched my face.

“My God” he whispered in awe. “So cold. Hard like stone! What has happened to you?”

The statement ‘My God’ coming from my father was a paradox. He
was never one to quote or refer to any religious teachings or scripture. He openly loathed the fact that my mother and sister had spent countless days spreading the word of God. This must have had profound meaning coming from Aknon. His utterance couldn’t be taken lightly. He was genuinely moved by what he saw, and he sought divine understanding. Who was I to deny him this? He withdrew his hand.