Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (23 page)

I
was changed.

Chapter 10

Jean

I lay on the cushioned chaise
longue and surveyed the festivities. I might have looked a bit tired but I was
more bored than anything else. So many people wanted to sit with me, talk to
me, touch me, especially the girls in their low cut gowns and their bright
cherry lips, their velvets and their sugary sickly compliments. They were all a
bit dull. I sent them away with false politeness. I did not feel like flirting.
Instead I inspected my reflection in the mirror across the hall. I was tall and
irresistible, in milk-
coloured
tights and shiny
pointed black leather boots. I could completely understand why everyone courted
me. I was without a doubt the most handsome man in the room. Until, and this is
hard for me to say,
Marek
entered. The freeloading
swine!

Marek
had
returned earlier from a hunt. I had watched him creep through the forest and
enter Oleander’s library for quiet conversation. It was the fourth night in a
row. He was nearly one of us but not quite. They all started off resistant,
horrified, looking at themselves as abhorrent creatures. Then slowly they were
seduced by the knowledge that they had become superior beings. It was but a
small hurdle for most, and not like the drama and trauma that
Marek
put himself through.

Marek
sought out Celeste and I could see that Zola watched carefully. She had been
moody these past few days. Zola had asked if she could accompany
Marek
on a hunt but was rejected. Oleander was punishing
her for her sullenness and her outspoken concern for her brother. Oleander did
not like it when others tried to take control, or form their own groups with
the opportunity for conspiracy. She did not like the fact that Zola still
considered
Marek
her own.

Many
of our
circle
, who had lived elsewhere throughout the
land, had come loyally to our frequent gatherings, though these meetings were
not as they were. Once upon a time, when Lewis was in control, it was purely a
time to discuss problems, living arrangements, inductions of new recruits, and
news from across the lands. Now these meetings were just an excuse to party
frivolously into the night, to hire expensive human musicians who may or may
not see out the night – our sorcery often used to dull their memories of
the night as good musicians were difficult to come by – and share human
blood in wine glasses served to us by obedient and completely dull humans.
These humans were considered fortunate: granted the opportunity to serve us
faithfully for the term of their natural lives. Many others who entered the
castle, enticed by our lavish hospitality and decadence, would never see
another sunrise; these particular humans were used for more pleasurable and
satiable means.

Lewis
had silly rules such as limiting us to one kill every full moon, and considered
that anything more was greedy. I always found his rules so tedious whilst
Oleander was less strict with hers. She tended to turn a blind eye to many
things. She adored me so, spoiling me with jewels and fine clothes.

Our mistress
had her own rules but it did not necessarily mean I had to follow them too.
What she did not know would not trouble her. If she got wind of my taking a
child’s soul for instance she might chastise me lightly but that was all. I
simply smiled in wonderment, kissed her forehead, praised her for her fairness
and counsel, and the penalty was painless. Lewis was different. When anyone
took the life of a child he had
them
killed, or worse:
banished. And, to be honest, a
strigoi
without a
coven was unwise. Once banished it was hard to join other ones in distant lands
for most covens will not assume someone else’s garbage once any word on your
character is spread. Usually it was a pathetic end for those who were banished,
forced into mountain and forest dwellings, eventually going mad with loneliness
or exposing themselves to humans to be hunted and burnt as witches, as many of
them, unlike me, were lacking in fortitude to start with.

But
my dears, belonging to a circle did not mean we were trapped. In particular we
enjoyed more freedom there than most, as long as we reported to Oleander
regularly. If we did not stray too far, we were free to spend the days how we
pleased. No other coven had such an open door structure. Oleander relied on
loyalty and it seemed she had it for the most part – well, her new
generation of life-takers perhaps. And where else would you have received blood
served to you on silver platters? All very delicious wouldn’t you say?
But a tad too easy, which was why I found it boring.

I
grabbed a wine glass off a tray being carried by a young human. I could smell
him. His blood was fresh. This wine was milked from hapless humans. Anyone who
brought a human to the castle knew that it was to be shared amongst us. Stupid
humans were too busy admiring the extravagance to notice the ravenous looks
in
the eyes of my
strigoi
brothers and sisters
. The fluid was deep red and I
swirled and sniffed it first to
savour
the
flavour
. It was wonderful. When I opened my eyes, the
servant was gone. Too bad he was off limits.

Yes,
this life was decadent, but I yearned for new places, new girls,
new
adventures.

Sometimes
I left for days. It was during these times that I sought out children: the
sweetest of souls. It was like drinking from fresh water springs, light and
cool, so pure were their thoughts.

And
what did I think of my own circle? It was perhaps a good thing they could not
read my mind; I was not prone to sing too many praises of anyone. Most were
weak and unable to hold interesting conversation. Most did not have the real
spirit to be a
strigoi
, just riding on the coat tails
of the rest of us. Only Zola and Oleander were the strong ones.

I
put a berry pastry in my mouth. There was a small burst of taste but nothing
that lingered. To explain what artfully decorated pasties are to a
strigoi
is probably best compared with what flowers mean to
humans. They do not do an awful lot to satisfy a need but you still have to
take one just because you can.

Something
shiny and bright caught my eye. It was the luscious
Celestina
who had bewitched me. Not since Oleander had anyone been so intriguing. Well,
the new
Celestina
anyway. As she was before… let’s
just
say
I preferred her as she was at that moment.
She had asked us to call her by her new name and I knew something about
Celestina
that Oleander didn’t. She was bad to the core. I
knew before she (
Neve
) was altered that she was
insatiable when it came to danger, but she was old and ugly then and I wanted
nothing to do with her.

She
met my gaze across the room and nodded. Later tonight we would meet in her
room. But then came
Marek
with his pathetic puppy dog
eyes and she danced with him.

I
could see it all as if I was looking down from the top of a tall tree. Zola
wanted
Marek
who wanted Celeste who wanted me who
wanted Oleander’s adulation and indulgence of my whims. I loved girls who threw
themselves at me but I loved the ones more who played hard to get, like
Oleander. And I can say that I had not just confined my encounters to witches.
Human girls could be good company too but only after I had fed – the
smell of their blood sent me crazy. That practice was another secret –
for we were not to play with our food – along with the fact that I was
born more bad than anyone.

Lewis
sought me out many years ago. He caught my scent on the breeze and tracked me
down like the hunters that we are. I embraced the immortal fiend in me far
easier than most, after which I went back to my father and killed him. He was a
brute of a man who was ashamed to have such a fop as a son. Little did he know
I was just ahead of my own time for it appeared my high fashion caught on
everywhere, even in the
East.

After
the pleasure of killing my father, I then proceeded to eat through every person
who had mocked my unique ways. Eccentric, they said, slightly mad, even
comments alluding to a very low moral
fibre
and
intelligence. All those people who cast stones became my food. Such joyful
reflection! I still take much delight in those memories.

I
inherited my house in the Kingdom of France, which I returned to occasionally.
The
strigoi
never worked, of course, when we could
take what we liked from humans. For human lives were there for our needs, as
were all their worldly goods. Sneaking into wealthy merchant vaults was as easy
as lacing up my boots. My house was where I was going soon for a change of
scenery. Oleander was never happy when I took journeys to other lands,
sometimes alone, sometimes not, and my leave was always too brief. Sometimes I
had barely been away and she had called me urgently back to the castle, perhaps
for a judgment of another
strigoi
or a decision on a
new rule she had decided to announce to the coven. And I always dutifully came
like her lap dog.
Oleander, lovely, alluring, and mysterious,
but sometimes a ball and chain.

I
did not begrudge that Lewis chose Oleander to run the coven before he left us.
She was certainly a great leader. In the ten years with Lewis she took the
trouble to learn more than anyone else. Mind you, she was the one who spent
hours studying whilst most
strigoi
, like me,
preferred to live the pampered life. And let’s face it. I was strong but not as
strong as Oleander. I was at least her second in command.

Then
of course there came a problem. She had a brother who even I had been unaware
of until shortly before he arrived. He was a threat; I suspected that his power
might be greater. And this fact bothered me. Eventually, I might no longer be
the
favourite
pampered pet of Oleander.

I
held a secret fantasy to eat
Marek’s
soul. He was so
annoyingly good. He would not make a loyal
strigoi
.
He thought he was so clever but I noticed things about him that others didn’t.
Oleander was clever but sometimes she missed the tiny detail. She was too busy
at her work to notice that he still had not taken a soul, so I would have to
convince her that
Marek
might be better used
elsewhere.
For I knew something of Oleander.
It was
not blood that bonded her to her brother. It was her lust for power and she
would destroy anything that stood in her way.

I
strode across the room and swept delectable
Celestina
out of
Marek’s
arms and into mine mid dance. She was
pleased, loving all this new attention. She told me the previous night that she
was in love with both of us, but that she would still do anything I wanted,
even kill another of her own if it came to it, just to prove her love. Fickle I
know, but that was hardly a flaw in my book.

I
had another fantasy and that was to take
Celestina
to
France with me, so that we could hunt together. She was most certainly a
player, and once away from Oleander’s eyes we could do what we liked. She was
such a prize, though she was not really Celeste.
Just as Zola
was not really Zola.

Zola

Marek
changed. He had become one of us and yet this did not make me
happy. I had some regret now that I had brought
Marek
to Oleander.
No-one
had ever affected me this much
before. He spent much time doting on
Celestina
. I
hated calling her by that name. I now found myself questioning the motives of
both Oleander and Jean.

It
was
Marek
, you see, who had changed me. I had never
met anyone who was so good, or anyone who had put up such a fight against the
strigoi
inside of him. And now it hurt more knowing that we
had been lying to him. If I had told him the truth about what we really were,
when we would be stripped raw of our facades, he would hate me.

I
know now that I loved him. I do not know when I first fell for him. Perhaps
even as far back as when he rescued Zeke from the wolf. For a
strigoi
, I was one of the reborn. I was still young. We
were the new
breed
thanks to Oleander. And since she
came into power she had made many changes. She was smart and powerful, born of
a
strigoi
and a witch, since the
strigoi
could not sire children on their own. Humans were important to us in many ways.
Which is why Lewis maintained strict control over our circle so we were not
prey to excess, dwindling down humankind to insufficient levels. We took
society’s garbage though occasionally made some mistakes; mistakes, I’ve
noticed of late, that were no longer punishable.

I
knew that it was not just for love that she brought her brother here but in
preparation for a coven war. She was aware of
Marek’s
potential and the power to make her coven the strongest in the land. Other
covens had grown weak, allowing witches to take control.