The day before my fortieth birthday was a rather cooler-than-normal day for this scorched land. Even the usual suffocating dryness, that drained your mouth of moisture and replaced it with a sandy grit, was absent as I mounted my horse and rode out.
It promised to be a long day, with today’s patrol taking me into the deep southern reaches of Alexandria. This journey afforded me plenty of time to prepare myself for how I wanted to approach and question Amenemhat about the recent allegations against Sons Of Seth and its supposed connection to the demon ZOZO, and the claims that it was summoned to purge the land of House Of Horus and its followers. I relished the anticipation of stirring the pot and observing what rose to the surface.
Though there were ten of us, the long silent desert ride echoed the feeling of being stranded on horseback upon a desolate island without trees, where swirling dust devils served as transitory companions and where the only water appeared through deceptive mirages rising up from the sand that seemed to stretch to every corner of the Earth.
My sole comfort lay in thoughts of my family and of the previous night's visit to the Queen, who surprised us with an artist who had come to the palace to paint our family portrait. A most pleasant surprise that captured a moment in time that I cherish to this day.
***
Brooklyn swiftly spun around from her typing. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, that huge painting in the lounge is from Cleopatra?”
My skin shivered as I closed my eyes and nodded with a great smile of remembrance, which she mirrored before turning back to her computer and mumbling, “Must be worth a fortune.”
“Priceless.”
***
After hours of relentless riding, we set up camp near Banha, savouring a meagre meal. In the distance, I caught sight of the distinctive swirl of galloped sand, heralding a rider approaching over a dune to the North.
Jumping off his sweaty horse he wiped his dust-covered forehead beading with perspiration and grime, then removed the cloth covering his mouth and spat before bending to try and catch his breath.
“G-General-Sir,” He huffed, staggering back up.
“Calm down soldier, what is it?” I asked.
He took a few deep breaths and jabbered, “The-ther…ah. There is a massive army gathering outside Alexandria Sir!”
Shock, followed by an instant rush, swept over me. “Alexandria? By whose command,” I demanded. He raised his palms up and shrugged, his mouth moved in search of an answer for his general, but he could not find the words. He did not know.
Taking a breath, I reassured him, “It’s ok, soldier.”
Understanding the difficulty of not having an answer for a superior, I placed my hand on his shoulder and calmly nodded. “Why would the Queen assemble her army? For what purpose?”
“The Queen?” The soldier commented.
“General, I thought you knew?”
“Knew. Knew what?” I asked, stepping back to stare in confusion.
“The Queen. She set sail on her royal barge this morning—for Rome.”
I stood there, dumbfounded. I mean, I knew she didn’t need to inform me that she was leaving for Rome, but who else would muster an army without the Queen's consent? Then it hit me. Who would seize the opportunity in her absence, deeming himself almighty and above the rest?
Amenemhat, of course, but why? I paced the scorching sand, attempting to piece it all together. What sinister motive could drive a priest of the Sons of Seth to amass an army and launch an attack? And who was the target?
“No, He wouldn’t dare,” I snarled and roared, “Figlio di puttana! Get me our two fastest riders…NOW!”
“Yes, sir!”
Moments later, two unarmoured soldiers atop their mounts saluted, “General!” As they punched fist to chest.
“You ride east as fast as you can, tell Centurion Marsus what has happened, and to meet me South of Bubastis. You ride West to Centurion Sala; tell him the same. Make sure they leave with haste.”
I turned to my prefect. “Break camp,” I commanded, “We march for Bubastis.”
“Sir, Yes-Sir!” He abruptly replied with a salute and went about calling to his men to make ready.
I looked back at the dried-out soldier wearily standing against the bloating side of his heavy-breathing horse, awaiting orders. “Soldier!” I shouted, causing the poor lad to use what strength remained to salute.
“General.”
“Drink and make sure you water your horse; his mouth is white with salt. Follow when you are able.”
Lifting the heavy head of his horse, he shouted back, “I will, Sir. Thank you, General.” Then guided his mount to the well.
The Foederati Centuria made me proud. They were dehydrated, hot and in desperate need of rest, yet they obeyed with such vinegar that our camp was ready to go just as the midday sun intensified its scorching presence.
We rode hard beneath the blazing sun, stopping only to water ourselves and our horses. Just before dusk, as we approached the south of Bubastis, the blinding glimmer reflecting off three chariots atop a sand dune captured my eye. Knowing the formations of men, I recognized that these three were at the rear, overseeing an army on the opposite side, and were most likely in charge.
Vicing my legs, I leaned in. “HA!” I cried, galloping past my men to scale the dune.
Hearing the neigh of my horse, all three white-cloaked men turned. There he was, that prick, and his two abettors, with their hideously tattooed faces that mimicked the appearance of exposed muscle beneath skin, complete with lidless bulging eyes and lipless lips. Standing arrogantly in their golden chariots, grinning their cocky grins as I rode up.
“Whoa!” I commanded my sighing steed.
“General,” nodded the high priest bitch.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I barked as I looked down the slope and saw the enormous army of foot soldiers and archers.
Amenemhat’s grin widened; a condescending glint sparked in his black eyes. “Why General; You’re a long way from patrol?”
“Planned it all out, did you?” I sassed, moving closer towards him.
“Waited for the Queen to leave, and for me to be out on patrol,” I goaded with a sneer. “Probably didn’t expect me to get here as fast, did you?”
“Oh, no, dear General. I am actually delighted you made it,” he replied with a sinister undertone in his voice. “One of our citizens was taken, and you were nowhere to be found. So, I figured I would help you out and rescue the life. Such a shame, you seem to be always a step behind.” His face was occupied with malicious satisfaction.
“Ha!” I laughed, “A whole army to rescue one person? Funny how that one person was taken to Bubastis, the expelled home of your rival, House of Horus.”
His face blackened as he shouted, “Rival!” Pulling back the reins as his chariot jutted forward. “They are no rival. A nuisance yes, rival, not even close.”
I’ve had enough of this patronizing slut. “Disband this army now, Priest!” I warned. “We are the protectorates of Egypt, not you.”
“But, Dear General,” he continued in his condescending tone.
Leaning into his chariot, I demanded, “Disband immediately or…”
He looked back at my men waiting at the base of the dune, then back to me he grinned that arrogant grin. “Or what, General?”
My nostrils flared; I was boiling over. This priest, this fool— thinking he can mock me, intimidate me, a soldier, a general of Rome. His army would hold no chance against a Roman army, but alas, he had the numbers, and I had only nine foederatus for now, ten men against what looks like thousands. And he knew it.
Amenemhat looked at his cohort of priests and shook his head. “You would think the General would be pleased knowing that I came here to rescue his daughter.”
My heart stopped, my blood ran cold, and my eyes bulged in a furious rage as I pulled in the reins of his chariot. “What did you say?” I exploded as I stared into him.
“Oh, yes. The citizen that was taken was your precious…. Siri, I believe her name was,” he said, turning to one of his priests who confirmed with a nod. “Such a sweet child, I’m told,” He taunted, and I wanted to kill him right there. But was it true? Was she here in Bubastis? Was she in danger, or was this just another game he was playing to justify his war? I needed to know, I needed to get past his men. I needed to— for my daughter, I needed to plead.
Sucking it up. Siri means more than my pride. I softened my look as I pleaded, “She is just a child, Amenemhat. Please…huh—Please, I beg you. Let me pass. Let me and my men get into Bubastis and talk to them, find my daughter if she is there. Maybe avert a needless war.” The uncertainty tore at my heart, not knowing if she was safe or if this was a cruel game playing with my fears.
He tilted his head and gazed at me. “Needless war. Why, having assembled this mighty army, would I not use it? It might seem needless to you Romans, but we can finally rid this land of our enemies once and for all. I didn’t journey all this way for nought, General.”
Again, I beseeched, “Don’t do this. You said it was to save a citizen, she is my daughter Amenemhat. My daughter! These House of Horus priests hold no weapons, you would slaughter them? And then what of my daughter?
“You have two, do you not?” He goaded.
I couldn’t fathom what he just said. His intentions were obvious. As I scanned the blazing horizon searching for answers, bobbing mirages appeared from both the East and West, revealing my men. However, they were way too far, at least another hour or more.
Knowing all too well the eyes of war whose piercing gaze was now staring back at me, my soul sunk along with my heart and stomach— a paralyzing feeling for a helpless father. What could I do? I knew Bubastis and Siri didn’t have much time. “I will take my family, resign my commission, and leave Egypt. If you let me and my men go, retrieve my daughter, you will be rid of me.” Dismounting, I went down on one knee with a bowed head below Amenemhat, pleading once again.
“I swear it,” I assured him, as I placed my fist over my leather-clad heart.
His response suggested he truly wanted me gone from Egypt, so, I thought.
“Very well General. Take your men, speak to them, secure your daughter. Then, General Valentino Pompeious Magnus…tsst— Ha-Ha, you will resign.”
Clenching my teeth and burying my pride, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and sighed, “I swear it.” Then, climbed onto my horse and waved my men to follow.
As we wove our way through the massed formation of leather-clad Egyptian soldiers parting before us, we reached a captivating sight—a man and a woman standing alone and resolute in the desert’s expanse before an army of thousands. Despite the absence of weapons or armour, they stood fearless and undaunted, something more, there was an unusual aura surrounding them, piquing my interest.
Dismounting from my horse, my gaze remained fixed on the enigmatic figures. The closer I came, the more peculiar their appearance became. It was as if an arcane force shrouded them, distorting their features. Even my men, huddled behind me, exchanged unnerved whispers about an otherworldly charm that veiled their true likeness, akin to gazing through a stained-glass window. The mystery deepened as we approached the unforeseen enchantment surrounding the couple.
The man raised his hand, signalling me to halt. Undeterred, I continued my approach until an unseen force prevented me from advancing further. Confused, but determined, I attempted to move forward once more, only to encounter the same invisible barrier. A faint buzzing sound accompanied each attempt.
Frustrated, I extended my hand ever so slowly. As I did, the hairs on my hand stood erect, and a tingling sensation likened to pins and needles, coursed through my fingers. I could feel the resistance of an unseen field and the buzzing sound that intensified the closer my hand got. However, it reached a point where it could no longer pass, halted by the invisible barrier.
“What is this?” I muttered, perplexed, as the man and woman stepped closer.
“It is a shield of sorts, Soldier,” the man explained.
“It’s General,” I asserted. “A shield, you say.”
Still sceptical, I persistently attempted to penetrate this elusive shield shrouded in a faint blur. Much to the befuddled amusement of the man and woman who awaited opposite me, tapping their sandaled feet in the sand, which drew my attention.
As I looked up, a soft gasp escaped me. There, through the hazy barrier, stood an enchanting figure— a beautiful blonde with piercing blue eyes. A tough-looking warrior woman dressed in form-fitting leather, brandishing a spear in her right hand and a sword across her back.
“It’s called magic,” she answered. “We are of the House of Horus and what you see before is an impenetrable magic shield to protect us, halt your army. We do not want war, only to live in peace, Roman.”
“M-my army,” I faltered, stealing a quick glance back at my men and the formidable Egyptian forces behind. Turning my attention back to the man and woman before me, I reassured her, “My men are not here for war. Rome does not authorize this. A priest...” My words hung in the air as I was interrupted by the man, who spoke, “Amenemhat?”
“Yes, Amenemhat. He seized command of the Queen's army when she departed this morning. I know the Queen; she would not order this. We can stop this. He said you took my daughter. I just want her back, and we can end this.”
The woman leaned in, her eyes searching mine. “Your daughter? The only outsider here is, Siri.”
“That’s my daughter,” I replied.
“She showed up here this morning,” asserted the woman who glanced at the man who nodded in agreement.
The truth unfolded in their eyes, a silent promise of resolution to the ominous situation. My eyes sparked and my heart raced with the hopeful urgency known only to a desperate father. “Yes, yes…Siri. So, she is here then?”
“Yes, she is,” affirmed the woman. “But she came of her own will, she likes to…”
“To escape, to roam…” I interjected, a wry smile playing on my trembling lips. I should have known she had run away again. Kidnapping that spirited girl would be damn near impossible.
The man returned with a smile. “So, you are Valentino?’ He asked, and I surmised Siri must have shared something about me.
“And you are?” I asked, looking at both.
The man’s gaze shifted to the woman by his side. Returning his focus to me, he spoke, “Your wife, Alexandria, spoke highly of you General. She described you as a good and honourable leader.: A warm smile crossed his face as he continued, “This is my wife Maglyn, and I am Iclyte. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Taking a moment to reflect, their names seemed familiar. Ah, the couple my wife had been going on about. Instant relief washed over me. “She is safe,” I reassured myself with a sigh, lowering my head. “Thank Mars, she is safe.” I extended my hand in a gesture of both welcome and gratitude.
“Of course, general, we would never harm a child,” affirmed Maglyn with a reassuring smile.
“Please, can you go get her so I can take her home?” I implored. “More men are on the way, and we will stand with you when they arrive. I will not let this happen.”
The man mumbled some words, and the figures behind the magical shield began to coalesce. As he stepped forward to shake my hand, their once indistinct forms sharpened into focus. “Of course, General.”
I gripped his hand firmly. “Thank you, and please, Valentino is fine.”
I turned to my men. “Parate milites tuos!” I commanded. My men turned to face the Egyptian army and held their ground.
As I turned back around, the faces of Maglyn and Iclyte drew back, and he shouted, “Custodia!” Then, they rushed back with gaping mouths as their eyes looked to the heavens in horror. A cold shadow rolled over me as I turned to see what had instilled their fear.
A cloud of arrows, partially obscuring the glaring sun, rained down. “That son of a Bit...” I started to cry out just as arrows found their mark. Like molten-hot pins, they pierced through my leather-clad chest, arms, and legs. The searing pain sent me to my knees, gasping for air, finding only sips as I struggled to lift my hands and locate the afflicting arrows, but they were too deeply embedded in my burning muscles.
Upon my knees, I swayed and watched with blurred, red-rimmed eyes as my men before me dropped to screams of agonizing death as their bodies became camouflaged in arrows. All I could think of at that moment was, he waited for me to get the shield down. He used me and didn’t care about killing everyone, including my men. Now my Siri…Siri…
I don’t know how long passed before I found myself slaking the desert sand with my blood as I leaned against a rock, caught in the ebb and flow of consciousness as I gazed upon Marsus and Sala arriving atop the dune. I wanted to wave and stop their approach, but the haze of my fading awareness, coinciding with the flow of my blood, thwarted my efforts.
The moments blurred into a fading, nightmarish chorus of agony—a symphony played to the clang of swords clashing, barbarous cries of anger, and the mournful moans of death. I became an unwilling witness to the massacre around me as if trapped in a relentless nightmare, unable to escape its haunting grasp.
One by one, thousands of my men fell to the treacherous backstabbing hands of one-time war comrades. They never stood a chance, for how could they ever suspect they would be betrayed.
The pain, the sorrow, the heartache, begged me to close my eyes, and I drifted away to darkness for some time. When haunting pleas, and cries from my beloved daughter Siri, tormented my dreams, I awoke and managed to lift my head to Bubastis. Hope welled within me, praying that these poor defenceless people were faring well and protecting her.
My mouth fell open when, through the hordes of bloodied Egyptian soldiers, I saw Iclyte and his woman. They were drifting away— how I do not know. They were not walking or moving, but stationary. It seemed as though the land itself was moving, gliding or floating away, as arrows and spears hit and bounced off what I assumed was the so-called magik shield. And when I could no longer keep my heavy lids from falling, I remembered being relieved, knowing that they were safe and away, and so was my Siri…my Siri…my Siri…
Blackness soon overtook me.
When my eyes eventually reopened, it was not to the sounds of war, nor the glaring sun and blue sky as before, but to an orange, copper-hued sky—a breathtaking sight that filled my aggrieved being with peace. It was a sight and a feeling I had never imagined, truly beautiful. As I followed the drowning sun being absorbed by the Red Sea Hills to the West, there was a dead calm. The sounds of flying arrows, clashing swords, trampling horses, and stampeding armies were replaced by faint moans and agonal breaths of my dying men, who must have tried to come to my aid but fell short and now lay close enough to where I could just barely hear their parting breaths.
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Suddenly, the tranquil sights and praying echoes were shattered by Amenemhat’s chariot, rolling to block the serene sun before me. I wanted to leap forward and rip his throat out, but all I could do was stare behind tired, dimming eyes.
His horse was suddenly spooked and vaulted forward a few steps. When it did, I thought my eyes were deceiving me, for at that moment, the air grew thick with an otherworldly presence, and an intolerable, gut-wrenching odour enveloped the surroundings, stinging my nose, as what looked like the demon from the cave emerged from his back. There it stood, hovering many feet above the priest, glaring down at me with a sneer below its penetrating red eyes. The horned head, goat-like muzzle, and beard added to the hideously frightening image that chilled my dyeing body, bones and all.
And when Amenemhat reached for the handrail of his chariot to steady himself, the demon repossessed him with a body-jolting thrust, and that's when I noticed. Closing my eyes, I retraced the ghastly images still vivid in my mind. “By the GODS,” I breathed. It was him, Amenemhat…he was missing a small finger on his right hand.
All this time, he managed to never show it, but it was him— the hooded man in the cave. He summoned and worshipped the demon that now haunts him. How could I have been so dumb? Of course, it was. And it's still with him…in him. That was what I just saw, I was sure of it.
Amenemhat hissed, casting a contemptuous grin as he looked down on me while riding away, shouting, “Kill all the Romans and find any stragglers from the House of Horus. KILL THEM ALL!” A deafening roar echoed as the thunderous footsteps spread out, and fading pleas and cries reached my ears, punctuated by the heart-wrenching sound of piercing spears and swords plunging one final time into the dying bodies strewn before me. It was a sound, a smell, that has tormented me these many thousands of years.
Accepting my fate, my heavy eyes half-closed to a gentle, warm wind that found my face and cradled as I sank into the sand, taking solace in my imminent death. My majestic companion, the strange, orange-coppered sky, accompanied me, providing comfort as it and I slowly drifted from this life.
I was at peace now; with the sun, I go to sleep……………………………….
“Do you want revenge, do you want to live forever, General?”
“Huh-huh-huh-huh………………………………..YES!”
March 8th, 2020
I needed a night of reflection after reading for Verse. 3 of my volumes. I did not anticipate the pain my thoughts of that day, so long ago, would resurface. Long neglected self-reproach crept back in, dragging with it the familiar fear and heart-wrenching pain that still leaves a bitter distaste in my mouth—a taste I intentionally buried deep within, a flavour I did not want on my palate. Yet, it now lingers, vividly reminding me of every moment of helplessness upon losing, not my life, but my Siri.
My tearful silence fell like a heavy shroud, prompting Brooklyn to cease the rhythmic clatter of keys. I sensed she was not expecting to hear about her long-lost cousin. Slowly, she turned around, concern mirrored in her eyes. My words had unravelled buried pain, casting an unspoken ache across my streaking face, lingering in the fireplace-lit room.
“Papi, why don’t we stop for today?” She suggested as she leaned forward to rub my trembling foot, which was crossed over my leg as always.
“It is a good ending,” she sniffed and wiped the tears streaming down her face. “***sniff***And it should leave the reader sorrowful and wondering what comes next, as it does me.”
I just nodded. My mind and heart were elsewhere and too deep in the moment to offer Brooklyn any form of empathy, an act I now regret.
Now, dear reader, I sense a flicker of doubt— ‘Vampires with emotions?’ Allow me to dispel this scepticism, such prejudice is based upon the fictional narrative of novels and movies, whose sole purpose is to distance you from the beast on the screen or in the pages, to instil fear and captivate your imagination, thereby reaping profits from the propagation of your fears. But, let me illuminate the truth—we denizens of the night, are beings immersed in profound emotions. Our capacity for love is not merely profound; it is a tapestry of sentiments woven with intricacy and depth, we love remarkably, and there is no equal.
Envision, if you will, the flawless love of a parent—a love that takes root long before their child’s first breath, a love unburdened by conditions, one that comes with no prerequisites, destined to span a lifetime.
Now magnify this immaculate love as it teeters on the edge of losing a child— a love so perfect that the impending separation intensifies its brilliance. In these moments, every second together becomes precious, an unguaranteed gift, infusing an otherworldly depth into the essence of love. It threatens to rend hearts and souls, fueled by the poignant awareness that each shared moment might be their last. The dread ***sniff*** of never beholding their child again, of never experiencing shared moments again, of never hearing their voice, seeing their smile, laughing together, listening to likened music together, even arguing— it all hangs in the air. This, dear reader, is the essence of our emotional realm! That! is how we LOVE!
To be forthright and not mislead you, our younger counterparts are, at times, cold and aloof as weanlings; a veneer reminiscent of sociopathy. However, the majority transcend this phase, as I did, maturing into beings guided by nuanced emotions. Similarly, like humans, there are those among us who, bereft of the warmth of love, find solace in the intoxicating embrace of extreme power and the accumulation of wealth over the centuries. Born into the cold grip of emotional neglect, they know nothing but the bitter taste of a loveless existence. When turned, this bitter sentiment transforms into a seething primitive anger, a wrathful lament directed at the very world they hold responsible for their misfortunes. These pariahs revel in administering their pain onto others.
The sense of betrayal weighed heavily on me, and the lives of my men were the toll for my failure to piece together the clues before that fateful encounter with Amenemhat on the battlefield. If only I had realized sooner, understood that he was one of three in that cave that night who summoned the demon. However, he was not just anyone; he was a high priest bound to his Gods. The hatred and mutual despise between us were palpable, and I was aware that he would stop at nothing to eradicate the House of Horus. Despite this knowledge, I stood idle, paralyzed by inaction.
And why did I turn my back to him? That decision still echoes through the chambers of my heart like a haunting refrain of betrayal. I knew damn well I couldn’t trust him…. huh, and yet, I averted my attention in favour of finding my daughter, which I would surely repeat, however, only after the bulk of my men had arrived and my back was covered— alas I did not wait. In that moment, I sacrificed more than just my tactical judgement as a General; I forfeited the lives of my daughter, my men, my love, and my human existence. All because I allowed my heart, not the strategist’s mind, to guide me—a father’s impulse, they say. But everyone paid dearly for my aberration, and the echoes of that choice resonate as an indelible lesson that I have carried through the corridors of time.
“Papi…Papi…VALENTINE!” shouted Brook, her voice cutting through the silent agony of my reflection.
“Sorry, Brook, I was…”
“I know. You, ok?” She asked delicately.
“Yeah…” I huffed, “I’m good now.”
Brooklyn slapped me on the leg as she stood up and anxiously squealed, “Hey, how about we go get something to eat at Mario’s?” Putting her hands together, she bobbed and looked down at me, eagerly awaiting my decision.
“You know what? Yeah,” I replied. “That sounds like a great idea.” I stood and nodded to myself, enough of this glum. We swiftly changed our clothes. I never leave the house dressed as a peasant.
“I see you’re in your usual Victorian garb,” chuckled Brooklyn, shaking her head as I straightened out my deep red tailcoat and brushed down my black trousers. “Please, not the hat tonight…” she pouted, mimicking an exaggerated frown as her eyes rolled.
“Hey…that era was amazing, and these clothes are making a comeback….watch and see. They had style, and no gentleman back then left the house without looking Lordly.”
I appraised her with a playful smirk, my eyes trailing up and down as I shook my head and pinched my chin. After a moment, a wry smile formed on my face.
“Look at you,” I teased. “You could at least put on a dress; you do recall Mario's is a classy establishment…right?”
She shot back with a grin, her hands striking a pose on her dancing waist “When I wanna look classy or hot, I look classy or hot. When I wanna be comfy, I wear this. And Mario lets me joggers and a T. He said I could wear whatever I wanted when I go there,” she mirrored a runway model, “so, I’d rather be comfy then look like,” her eyes playfully scanned me, “a stiff-red-velvet-bellboy.”
“Pff..Ha-ha, really,” I laughed. “…OK.”
As we left, I deliberately snatched my black top hat and silver wolf cane sword.
“Seriously?” She scoffed.
“Well, if I’m going to look stiff, I might as well go all the way. And us stiff’s need a cane to help with the walking,” I said, grinning as I elegantly strolled past her, my cane purposely pounding the carpeted floor on my way through the front door.
“Walking?” Questioned Brooklyn. “Let’s go as creaturesss off the nightttt...haha-ha,” she joked, her voice elongating with a playful tone.
I grinned and shook my head. She always had a way of making me laugh, even if I didn’t show it at times. “Can’t we just take a nice walk?” I asked as I stared at the darkening sky. “Just look at that gorgeous waning sun with its beautiful bluish colour diminishing as it heads off to sleep.”
Strange, no smart comments, no witty remarks from Brooklyn about my parlance. When I glanced over, she was just staring at me, shaking her head as she batted her eyes. With a smile, she capitulated, “Okkkk…Papi, WHATeverrrr.” Taking my arm in hers, she softly added, “We can walk.”
We strolled along the dirt road, carved between the green pastures and rolling hills until we came upon the deserted, save for the fat meowing cats— stalking the cobblestone streets of the town— a few miles away. The amber streetlights began to buzz and flicker on, casting a warm glow upon the families that had gathered outside their homes, waving at us. Some had set up small tables and even invited us to join them and eat. I graciously bowed and declined. That is why I love this secluded, family-oriented part of Italy.
A few blocks away from Mario’s, the soulful melody of Luigi’s violin serenaded our approach, its comforting strings enticing us with warm smiles to quicken our pace. Seconds later, we found ourselves beneath the orange glow of a flickering streetlight, positioned across the street from the relaxing scene— a group of tables where patrons conversed, savouring their meals under the open sky, highlighted by the amber streetlight and the soft inviting melody of Mario’s Trattoria filling the air.
A short Italian man, Mario, with his great fat silver handlebar moustache, saw us walking across the street and came out to greet us “Signore, Signorina. It’s-a been-a too longa-time-a.” He put his hands lightly on our waists and guided us in. “Please, please, venire… com-ona in.”
“Piacere di rivederti, Mario,” I replied, “It has been a while, my friend. The place still looks the same inviting self.”
Despite the passage of years, Mario’s presence embodied the charm of an old Italian grandfather. His friendly demeanour, coupled with a slight limp from polio that affected his left arm, added to the endearing character that made him a fixture in this cherished place.
“Ah, thank you. Thank you, my friend. Like-a me papa as always a tolda me, If it a don’t no rotto, ya no fix…eh…”
He then blew a soft kiss, accompanied by a smile, to Brooklyn. “A speakina no broka. Ah, mi Bellissima. You no change. You still a make-a-dis old man's as heart a-stop. Aye-yi-yi.”
I believe that even devoid of the allure granted by her vampirism, Brooklyn possesses an irresistible charm that would intoxicate any man. Her olive skin, enchanting smile, long silky black hair framing emerald-green eyes, and an angelic high-cheek boned face, make her undeniably alluring. Let’s not forget her long, slender legs, toned stomach, and approachable demeanour, ***cough*** I may be biased, but the fact is she is descended from the most beautiful woman to ever grace the Earth—my Alexandria,—whose beauty remains unparalleled.
Brooklyn leaned in, hugged Mario, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Stepping back, she smiled and playfully clicked her tongue, “Tuh…You’re too sweet, Grampy. You know I’m still waiting for you. You’re the only real man around here.”
Mario placed his palm on his forehead and shook his head. “Aye…If I no a-marry….” Chuckling, he escorted us to the expansive, amber-lit seating area, near the old-stone fireplace. Luigi nodded and smiled at us as he sauntered along the wine-coloured carpet, softly playing his melodic violin.
Mario assured us, “I be back. I go a get a your preferito tavolo…K?” Before heading to a table in front of the fireplace, where a couple was leaning over the round, wine and white-clothed table, holding hands and lightly kissing. They looked over at us; their shadowed faces were obviously not happy as they briskly got up and were directed to another table near the darkened corner, where Mario pulled out their seats, then raised his clapping hands and air-pouring to someone behind us as he headed back.
“There we go,” he said. “Un Momento. I make sure it’s a nice and-a clean.” He personally replaced the wine-stained white tablecloth, sparkling glassware, and polished utensils, then returned to seat us.
“You didn't have to make that couple change tables, Mario. We could have sat there instead,” said Brooklyn. Mario placed his afflicted hand at the base of her back, just below her long shimmering black ponytail and guided her gently to the seats, as he replied, waving his finger, “No, no, Mi Bella gets the best table in da house…all da time.” Mario, being very animated, then chopped the air with his hand. “All da time. No matter a what!”
Brooklyn was like that—unwilling to disrupt things just to seek something better. Still young, she may not realize that in life, you take what you can get, even something as simple as better seating. Perhaps it’s her upbringing in Brooklyn, making do with what she had. I, on the other hand, care little about people's feelings. I’ve lived far too long to worry about hurting someone's sensitive emotions. My life’s experiences are way beyond their comprehension. Over many lifetimes, I’ve seen, done and been through so much. I’ve earned what I want, and so I take it. And should someone have an issue with that, let them say it to my face.
I once knew a man who had little, except for his heart of gold. He was like Brooklyn, who never wanted to rock the boat, fearing that if he said something, or spoke up for himself, it might lead to an argument or a fight. Consequently, throughout his whole life, he was taken advantage of, even by those he considered friends, who constantly used him. When they had taken everything he had, leaving him nothing, they abandoned him—tossed him aside as if he were nothing. And he found himself alone, wondering why he had no friends. In reality, he never had genuine friends; he had leeches who cared only about what they could get, what fun he could provide, and what addictions he could sustain for them. They drained his soft heart dry, taking advantage of his good nature and unwillingness to stand up and say, ‘NO MORE.’ Stripping away his pride, his ambitions, his faith in his fellow man, and his trust in love, he cared less and less about himself or his appearance. In the end, all that remained was his heart of gold, now melted, as he died—a lonely, bitter, sad, and broken man, surrounded by silence even in death, with no one to witness his passing.
I have seen this time and time again through the centuries. People will take advantage when they sense vulnerability. If you are soft, they pick up on it and feed on it, taking all they can from you until there is nothing left. Trust no one, I say. Never show weakness, and never show indifference if someone does something that offends you. Speak your mind, stand up for yourself, and watch as it discourages the crowd of predators seeking easy, soft, and weak prey. Believe me, there’s an abundance of predators out there—don’t be their prey.
Amidst the familiar ambience, Mario, a seasoned friend of ours over the past few decades or so, brought a warm familiarity. His voice, ever the comforting cadence, cut through the ambient hum of conversations as well as the intermittent melody coming from the kitchen as waiters gracefully stepped through the swinging doors, carrying with them the song and the savoury scent of Italian cooking. “la-la-la-la, la-de-la-la-la.’ Despite the passage of years, Mario’s presence embodied the charm of an old Italian grandfather. His friendly demeanour, coupled with a slight limp from polio he contracted as a child, which affected his left arm, added to the endearing character that made him a fixture in this cherished place.
“Your vino is on it’s a way, Signore. And if I ricorda correctly, your usual— Kobe, red?” He inquired.
I nodded, “Very good, thank you, Mario.”
He smiled, looked up, raised his hand and snapped, then turned his gaze to Brooklyn. “Mi Bella, Signorina, your usual as well?” He inquired.
“Actually, no, Grampy. I think…” She looked at the menu. “You don’t have this on the menu, but is it possible to make me a rare burger?”
“Bene…for you, anything. You know Mario always takes care of a you, right?”
“Thank you, Mario, and yes, you always have, and that's why you’ll always be my Grampy,” smiled Brooklyn.
Humbled, Mario’s cheeks rose to plump apples beneath reddening eyes as he gently took the menu from Brooklyn, and looked back and forth at both of us. While a young lady brought and poured us some red wine, he said, “I must say, you gotta tell Mario your secret. You a never a change a, for twenty years you look-a-da same.” He then kissed his fingertips to the air. “Magnifico!”
I looked up at him and said, “It’s easy, Mario….a daily flute of blood.” We grinned, licking our teeth as he looked at us and belted out, “Bah-ha-ha-ha. You two, ay, are…pazzo… Crazy, no? OK, one day you tell your Grampa, k.”
Brooklyn gently placed her hand over his on the table. “And what about you, Grampy, you look amazing as always. What are you, like 40-ish?”
Mario shook his palms up in mock worship and jubilation, “Ah, Mi Bella Donna, now you see why Grampy canna never charge a you.” He then playfully took my shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Signore Val, now he, ha-ha, I canna charge, but you…I coulda never, muah.”
“ok, I go make a your ricevuta now.” With that, he left, still giggling to himself and shaking his head as he walked away.
A short while later, or order arrived. As we savoured each bite, I, and I’m quite certain Brooklyn too, absorbed the soothing violin-infused ambience and the warmth emanating from the crackling fireplace. Meanwhile, we were entertained vicariously by the hushed narratives unfolding among the other patrons.
After sinking my teeth into my bloody Kobe, I glanced across the candlelit table at Brooklyn, and revealed, “So, I have decided to help that young man, Paul.”
A knowing grin played across Brooklyn’s lips as she responded, “I somehow knew you would. He reminds you of someone doesn’t he?” She asked Brooklyn before indulging in another bite of her generously dripping burger, as my thoughts retreated to long ago.
“Yeah,” I huffed. “Centurion Marsus, the mountain as we used to call him. He, too, lost his sister and father. He lived as a proud Legionnaire, and all he wanted was to climb the ranks—make his family, his wife and daughter, proud. He insisted that his wages were to be sent back home every month, keeping only the bare minimum to survive. So, yeah...Paul reminds me of Marsus, ” I said, recalling the last time I shook his boulder-cradling hand in my home before he was betrayed and murdered by Amenemhat’s unjustified war.
“So, what’s your plan?” Brooklyn inquired, her tongue deftly working to free a stubborn piece of beef lodged between her teeth.
I responded with a smile, and she immediately sensed a plot brewing. “Oh, No, Papi, soill it. I know that scheming mind of yours.” Her lips curved, and she tilted her head in anticipation.
Clearing my throat, I responded with a sinister smile, “Ahem…Hmm...I would like you to personally deliver Drac’s…Vlad’s, Dragon armour and spear to Paul, on consignment.”
Her face dropped. “What!” She bellowed, turning heads and drawing attention to us. “Shhh…” I urged as I tapped her hand, which was now squeezing the life out of the tablecloth.
“You can’t be serious,” She protested. “You saw how I was when I was near him.”
“Yes. Exactly,” I explained. “It’s a perfect opportunity to simmer your addiction, get it under control.”
She narrowed her eyes on me, huffed, and questioned, “And if I take him?”
“Then you take him,” I replied indifferently, squeezing the blood out from a piece of meat onto my lips.
“You just made me think you liked this kid. Why take the chance? I don’t get it,” Brooklyn asked, clearly confused.
“I do like him. And I believe, so do you. So, I know you won’t take him.”
She looked at me, her eyes wandering over my absent face, then across the table, and finally the fireplace on our right. I knew she too liked this boy, this young man. She longs for someone her age, but she just doesn’t trust herself. I wanted her to understand that she could control it if she truly wanted to. It had been centuries for her, with many attempts and failures, but I had a feeling this time would be different. She could have killed him at the house, regardless of whether I was there or not. The addiction cares not who is around, only that it is fed. So, something was holding her back, and I hoped it was feelings.
Brooklyn slowly closed her eyes as she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “Hmm, OK, It’s on you then. And, that’s quite a sum you’re trusting him with?”
“It’s on me then. And yes, it is a sum. I told him two million pounds for the armour and one million for the spear. Tell him we want one million and 500 thousand respectively. The rest is his when he sells them. This should help his business, put him on the map as a legitimate dealer, and help with his mother’s accruing bills.”
I could tell instantly that she liked the idea, judging by the unsuccessful avoidance of her growing smile as she stared at the table. I am sure she appreciated the notion of helping someone we did not know. I should have tried this long ago— giving her a sense of purpose, a feeling that she is not this evil thing that takes lives, but someone who could also extend help to those in need.
“Wow! Val,” she said with an uplifting tone and faint smile, casting her gaze across the murmuring flame-lit room. Witnessing that glimmer of purpose was enough for me. It lifted my heart to see my granddaughter contemplating what might unfold, how Paul would react to this unexpected act of charity, so to speak. I was sure he would be taken aback, especially considering his initial deflation upon hearing the cost of such items. I suspected Brooklyn was envisioning the emotions on his face when he realized that someone was there and willing to help, that he was not alone, for her eyes widened enough to grow into a dimpled, bright smile as her mind traversed the possibilities. Sipping my wine, I exchanged a pleasant gaze with her sparkling, amber-lit eyes. No more words were needed.
We sat quietly in our own thoughts as we savoured the last bites of our meals, while Luigi’s enchanting violin cast a tranquil spell, its melodic strains weaving through the air, creating a cocoon of serenity around us.
My lazed thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a deep-toned, troubled-looking man, whose table we appropriated, felt compelled to approach. “Excuse me, I had to come over,” he confessed with an uneasy demeanour. Standing before me, he glared down at my displeased, interrupted face. The palpable thumping of his heart resonated in the accelerated rhythm of his chiding words, “Who do you people think you are?” I raised my flaming eyes. He winched upon my burning gaze, and it became apparent that this man was hesitant, not there of his own accord. When an unsure individual takes such action, there is usually a puppet master pulling his strings. And so, I discovered it in the form of his sneering wife, skulking within the protection of the dark corner. Like a vulture, she peered at her alcohol-crafted gallant knight, whom she had obviously dispatched to defend her self-proclaimed honour.
Brooklyn, being Brooklyn, was about to get up when I subtly shook my head and cast a sorrowful glance up at the poor thing standing above me. The scent of brandied courage lingered on his lips, most likely introduced by his wife, along with, I’m sure, demeaning words that forced him to act even though he is probably not the type—if he were, he wouldn’t need a drink to do so. Yet, here the poor spineless fool stands.
Unaware that interrupting my dinner would usually mean a change in menu, but I was feeling righteous that night. So, instead, I stared past his eyes and delved into his mind. In a firm commanding tone, my eyes darkened as I declared, “This table belongs to us. Now and forever. You are to never sit at this table again. Return to your table, offering no explanation to your wife. Now…Go!”
Brooklyn seized his arm before he departed, drawing him closer as she invoked her own compel. “From now on, you will be sure of yourself and confident, proud, and will not take shit from anyone, especially your wife. Now kiss me.” His face turned from black to glowing, or perhaps it was the play of the orange firelight dancing across his brow. He leaned in, kissed Brooklyn, then stood upright, abruptly turning without a word. As he returned to his table, a chorus of slack-jawed, disapproving gestures followed from his furious wife. Her demeaning reprimands for his perceived lack of virility echoed through the room, causing hushed snickering throughout. She threw her napkin in his lap and stormed off to the washroom. Seemingly unfazed by the dramatic episode, He remained seated, resuming his consumption and smiling at the rubberneck guests.
“Nice touch, Brook,” I remarked, sipping my wine.
She grinned, “He-he-he. That is definitely one perk I do love. Well, that and the pheromone abundance thingy.” Leaning in, she whispered, “I mean just look at these people staring at us, some even with their partner right beside them. It’s crazy, but I must admit, I do love the attention. Could do away with the gross bat, though…he-he.”
I acknowledged with a brief smile but was more intrigued by the far dark corner. The wife had returned and was berating the oblivious man, trying but failing to coax him into a war of words, which I could taste was fueling her frustration even more. I was sure that the previous version of the man would have cowered like the gazelle facing a lion, and I seriously thought of following them after dinner and sending Brooklyn to emancipate this reduced man from that bitch. However, once again the evening's rapture overruled, and we simply sat, finished our meals, exchanged goodbyes, and expressed our appreciation for the respite, and then made our way home through the now silent cobblestone streets to the moonlit dirt road of the pastures.
As we strolled arm and arm, the night enveloped us in its cool and serene embrace, while the rhythmic cadence of serenading cicadas accompanied our steps, sending Brooklyn to rest her head on my arm and ask, “Papi, You know the family portrait you have?”
“Mmm-Hmm…” I whispered as those precious images caressed my mind.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, were your wife’s eyes really that pale green?
I gently rubbed her hand that sat on my forearm and answered, “As green as yours, Brooklyn.”
“Mmm…” She yawned, “ she had such beautiful eyes.”
A warm smile adorned my face as a longing sigh slipped from my heart. “huhhh, very…”
“You tired, Brook? We can start the next volume tomorrow,” I suggested. “OK?”
“NO, No-Papi. I’m not tired at all. I’m just so relaxed. I can’t wait to hear what happened after that idiot, Amenem...whatever his name is. I want to know who saved you?” She expressed with anticipation.
I did not reply, secretly hoping she would be too tired once we arrived home. I was not looking forward to telling her who turned me. But alas, I was not that fortunate.
As soon as we got in, she sprung to life, got into her housecoat, grabbed a warm cup of blood, and lit the fire, adding a touch of lilac incense to the ambience, before settling at her laptop to await me.
After I changed into my Egyptian robe and poured a mug for myself, I sat in my favourite leather seat behind her. With a deep, unsure breath, I uttered, “Ready.”
Brooklyn eagerly bounced in her chair, intertwining her fingers and stretching her arms above her head. “Here we go,” she said enthusiastically, placing her fingers on the keyboard to begin.
