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The immortal awoke as though startled; his eyes widened in the darkness and he heard again the sound that stirred his subconscious. Usually, the only noise that warned a vampire from its slumber was one of a lurking danger, but this sound was no such noise. He sat up as the second whinney trilled its way to his ears, a wan smile already crossing the warrior’s face. A horse. It was near. Cautiously, he remembered where he was, and peeked over the open-lid casket that had been provided earlier. It was dusk; not safe yet, but to peer out of the funeral wagon’s stained glass window for a look was surely not too much. Nandor leaned, glimpsing the beast as it was led into the camp. He actually gasped, a sound of excitement heard by no one, as he was not to be disturbed, and his sacred wagon was left to the far edge of camp. It was an Arabian, he could tell from afar. In the blueish-gray of dusk, he saw its bold rabicano patterning and made another sound, craning his neck as the creature was led farther inward, and out of sight. With a smile, Nandor lay back, crossing his forearms over his trunk and listening. “...can’t keep the Lycans away, they’re too f***in’ hungry and killin’ all the deer.” One of the Roma elders, Maricara, spoke in response to this strange accent. Was that an American? Here? Nandor’s black eyes stared at the ceiling of the wagon, interested in the human dealings. “Can you not control them, my Lord?” “I can,” oh, it was definitely an American. How odd. “...but not when I’ve got all these transformer problems. I don’t know when the power to the mine will be back. It might not be enough just with the load reduction.” The human sighed as if withholding information, but then mumbled to someone else about taking the horse. “We appreciate your help so much,” the human woman’s gratitude was evident in her voice. She also spoke to Nandor in this way. He wondered how the human was helping, but the Immortal’s need for rest was stronger than his curiosity. He would face consequences for even this brief awake period; it was worth it to see and hear the beautiful horse. —------- Nandor arose as the wagon’s rear doors creaked open. He stepped onto the ground with a flourish, knowing without seeing that his own eyes were slightly bloody. Maricara was the first to greet him. She and several others were ‘Ataman’; chieftains, as far as Nandor understood it to be. But Maricara was left to speak to the vampire, as he was not the first she had dealt with. She was the least afraid of the Persian. “Greetings, Sire,” came with a bow, and Nandor expected her blunt curiosity as she rose, eyeing him in the darkness. Firelight danced off both their faces as he bared his fangs slightly. “You look…unwell….are you alright?” “Yes,” he said dismissively, and then informed the trio of elders with a sweep of his ringed hand, “When a vampire does not slumber completely or is awoken, it is very damaging. And now I will have to regain sustenance.” It was important for them to know, as his entire purpose here was to turn the head of the clan into a vampire. Nandor had been on what was derisively termed an ‘apology tour’ for the past several months. After learning of the devastation in former areas his army conquered, he sought out Romani and other groups to assist them in regaining some control of their land, finances and strength. Nandor was nothing if not a cheerleader for underdogs, a champion for the harsh, the motivated. Of course he would never do something as easy or pillowy as give the groups riches or power. Instead, the gift of vampirism among their leaders would drive their ranks upward and give them advantages they could not have otherwise. Vampirism had different moral assignments depending on who he was talking to, but for the most part the Romani people here were eager to receive the powerful gift. So he would attend the gatherings, ceremonies, let the humans do their strange rituals while he fed and sampled the local human cuisine. And then after their music and alcohol and other partakings, he would sire the chosen leader and book his next appointment. So far it was great fun. This was his third night; the first two had been spent in larger cities, transferring to this clan. They were descendants of miners, from what he understood. But this spot of mountain region was theirs, and it was where they held matters of importance, bringing him here in an ornate wagon and creating an entire camping party in the snow. He now glanced around at the pretty twinkling lights and circle of wagons that protected the group. Nandor gasped unexpectedly as his wandering eyes caught– “Hey, it’s that horse!” The Boyash had their own horses of course, tied alongside the camp as they were unburdened from their wagons. But these were mostly older draught horses or even ponies–they were fine for work, but not for…show. Nandor drifted away from the circle of humans and directly approached the beast, which eyed him suspiciously. He began speaking in a tone that so far, none of the Romani had heard–a quiet, gentle singsong as he ran a palm down the Arabian’s neck. Maricara recovered the most quickly, her hands clasped together as she followed Nandor to the post. Her calm tone did not hide her human uncertainty. “Will you recover enough this night, Sire, to complete—” “Yeesss,” Nandor reassured in a flat tone, still stroking the beautiful creature’s neck, his other hand patting its soft nose. “I will be fine. I just need to eat even more than I was planning to.” He pivoted, as though remembering their location. “I cannot smell very many humans surrounding, but this whole mountain stinks of dog, and the humans have an odor too. Do you have a werewolf problem here? Or bad water?” The group’s eyebrows all rose in unison as though Nandor had proven himself in a way they didn’t anticipate. “There is…a village, on the other side of this mountain,” Maricara began. Her eyes slid toward the forest as Iacob, another elder, mumbled his way through the rest of the sentence. “They are…tainted.” Nandor stopped stroking the horse’s neck and paused, genuinely curious again. Iacob licked his lips and stared into the forest as well. “We do not mix with them. I would not suggest feeding there. They are under a dark witch’s spell.” Nandor bared his fangs, his nose wrinkling. “I do not wish to feed on something with witch piss all over it,” he said flatly, annoyed that he hadn’t known about this earlier. “But the dog smell, is it a werewolf?” “No, not real ones,” Maricara offered. “They too are strange, twisted. But they are not wolves, they are human. They are called Lycans. We only come to our ceremony site when we have the numbers and fire to ward them off. Vile creatures.” The vampire chuffed, and returned to the soft velvety animal. “Great,” he muttered, “Smelly witch sh*t or smelly dog sh*t. What a sh*tty night.” The elders seemed unable to comfort him, but Nandor was not fazed by this. With a flourish he turned away from his new friend and held one side of his winter cloak aloft. “I will depart to feed…and when I return, I shall fulfill my duty.” With another swing of the thick cloak he fluttered into a bat and was gone, leaving the delighted crowd to giggle and watch the night sky in awe. Hours passed, and Nandor had more than his fair share of what he’d learned were ‘Lycans’. Really they were just stale, moldy humans. The first few had been disgusting, but Nandor had tasted much worse. He considered his efforts at feeding a real service to the forest; animals were distressed, the balance of nature was askew with these strange warped failed attempts at immortals lurking in the night. A pile of drained, discarded Lycans littered the moonlit snow, and Nandor suddenly appeared in human form on a tall outcropping of rock. He crouched, surveying the mountain and enjoying the cold air on his face. How he was reminded of his own human days, being here. And then the days thereafter, where he was a new, baby vampire, learning to conquer in the dark. Watching rocky slopes just like this one, flexing his inhuman senses. Listening to everything. Feeling his own power. He still had time before returning to the camp, and Nandor continued to survey the landscape, undecided on his next action. How could he explore, be a creature of the night, when the stink of mushroomy people wafted up into his nostrils even this far away? As his dark, piercing eyes tracked upward, following the moon, he caught another scent, a new one. Different. Cigar smoke and hot iron, as though in a forge. A bit of human, coppery blood, but something else? The vampire’s head turned swiftly as he hoped for another sample of the smell, and soon he was off again, following his nose. It was not what he’d expected. He perched on a high tree limb, hugging the trunk as he peered over the treeline. It was a human after all, but what was this strange person doing? He was up high, sitting on a piece of metal, cursing to himself while he poked into electrical cylinders. Nandor didn’t know what they were; he’d spent most of Edison and Tesla’s warring days feeding on opium-addicted humans and reading Alice in Wonderland. But he knew that generally humans avoided these big beacons of lightning. The man had the same scent as the overall area, but it was hidden in layers of other, better smells. There was something about this man. Nandor was leaning forward, fangs bared while he smelled, not even realizing he was drifting closer. Although he was full, the vampire had no notion of self-discipline. Not here–why? This was Romania, the Vampire’s Playground! Never mind that at this angle, the man’s odd clothing was reminiscent of a Van Helsing vampire hunter wardrobe. Yes, he had to have the man. Just as Nandor arrived at this decision, he caught one of the human’s louder curses, and he recognized the accent and slight stutter. Ahhh! It was the owner of the horse in the camp. Nandor briefly wondered if the group would be sad at his death, since he seemed to be friendly to the clan. Maybe he could just offer to take the horse off their hands, although the logistics of having a horse as a vampire hadn’t really worked themselves out yet. Nandor licked his lips. This would be his reward for ridding the mountains of part of its Lycan problem. He sprang from the tree in human form, soundlessly gliding through the night to the figure sitting in front of the power lines. Hundreds of years of hunting made Nandor perfect at his killing pounce, even when the prey was oddly strung up in an electrical tube. His eyes glistened as he sank his fangs into the man’s neck and immediately knew he’d made the right choice–he was delicious. Strange and tangy in a way. Before Nandor even found his feet and grasped the man, the human had reeled backward and bucked, sending the tool in his hand toward Nandor’s neck. Nandor caught this effortlessly, but was taken aback when the human successfully managed to free his own neck from the vampire. They were both suspended in air, and for a moment Nandor fumbled, expecting his catch to fall. They often did, but this human seemed to have some sort of levitating platform? Oh no, it was a large hammer, strangely buzzing underneath the man, that he now held the handle of and swung with another curse. His hat flew from his head and disappeared into the night; he clapped a gloved hand over his neck and as Nandor rushed him again, the man palmed Nandor’s neck. A strange sensation coursed through the vampire and he paused, actually pulling back as he felt the unmistakable sensation of electrocution. “What the…heeeyyyyy,” he said in an offended tone, floating backward several feet to take in the decidedly odd view of this man. This man was able to levitate, somehow, his feet on the large hammer again. He looked more wolf than the Lycans did, very hairy, not that Nandor had a preference. And his eyes were yellow, flashing with anger as he continued a stream of cursings. “How did you….” the man in the coat now flung the same hand forward and something began to pelt Nandor in the chest and face; he pulled away, realizing that many small tools, and several blades, had all streaked over and in some cases embedded in his skin, drawing blood. “F***ing!” He hissed midway through the insult and went for the neck again. The man tried to pull away, but Nandor was faster. They barrel rolled through the air, headed toward the ground despite Nandor’s wish to stay higher; he had a clear advantage in the sky. Or at least he usually did. When it became obvious that he was being pulled to more level ground, Nandor dissipated into a cloud of vapor, leaving the tangy man to slam into the snow amid more cursings. When Nandor reappeared on the ground, his cloak enveloping him as he stared at the other, it seemed to spark something in the hairy man’s expression. He glared at the fangs, at the cloak, and his yellow eyes danced around as though he were contemplating something. “It’s nothing personal,” Nandor quipped through his raised hackles. “You just taste delicious.” Another wave of his palm and more metal appeared, slashing its way toward the vampire. He moved faster than the human eye could track, and closed the gap between them. “Enoughhhh,” he growled, “I am wasting energ—” The other suddenly took out some kind of…stake? No, it was from his belt, it was a metal pole with a pointy end. Well, yes, a stake. Nandor didn’t know what its original use was, but it was now held in the man’s gloved hand and pushed into Nandor’s side. He was frozen from the strange twitching the stake caused. More electricity! Was this man making electricity? Nandor vapored himself again, and appeared several feet removed. He contemplated his next steps, but it seemed the hairy fellow was contemplating his own, and had arrived at an idea sooner. He withdrew two more of the stakes, and Nandor hissed, curling away as they made the sign of the cross. He could not bear to look at it and threw up his cloak. “Hol-yyy SH*T you’re a vampire,” breathed the human man, and Nandor wished very much to say NO SH*T, but with the cross still drawn he could not properly speak. He felt a sizzle on his arm and cried out. Once more he rushed the human and it worked; the metal clanged as it flew away and then silently landed in the snow somewhere. But the vampire was still disoriented and his tackle ended with the human dropping to his back and planting a foot on Nandor’s stomach, sending him sailing in a pile of fur and fabric. It was rare that a human, upon getting free, didn’t flee. Some fought or did unexpected things, and Nandor expected no less from this one. He could hear the ring of the hammer before it was descending toward him and he uncharacteristically leaned forward to bite the man’s thigh, finding it difficult to reach for all of the belts and strange equipment that was strapped to the human. This strange midnight skirmish might have continued forever, or until one of them were battered beyond repair, but the sound of approaching footsteps and many torches interrupted the series of bites, curses, and tactical moves. It was the Boyash, running across the switchback trail underneath the utility line. Though several younger, strong men were in front with the torches, stomping down the snow, the elders were hot on their heels as they struggled toward the pair, commanding and pointing for the men to dive between the two. “Sire!” “Your Lordship!” “Lord Heisenberg!” “Gentlemen!” It was the solid, booming voice of Maricara that finally wrenched Nandor from his killing instinct, and he paused, noting with surprise that he was nearing breathlessness. More adults spilled into the circle between the two, fear deeply traced across their features, readable even in the dark. Nandor paused, his eyes moving along the crowd, and he tentatively straightened, moving to his full height in a return to rationality, despite eyeing the blood on the man’s shirt collar. The man–Lord?--was breathing heavily, still glaring, the hammer he wielded still raised. His yellow eyes cut to the others furtively as though looking for answers. Maricara was already attempting to explain, holding her hands out as though to visualize the distance she wanted to see. “Lord Heisenberg…this is a guest we have invited….for a ceremony–” “He’s a goddamn vampire!” The man still sounded shocked, and Nandor scoffed. “Look around you, this is literally Romania,” he snapped, and Maricara again cut into the argument. “This is Lord Karl Heisenberg–he protects our clan and has been helping us, restoring power.” Nandor blinked in obvious confusion. “He is a vampire too? Restoring power?” “She means electricity, you freak,” the man issued in his buttery accent, and Nandor frowned. Despite the other’s size and intimidation, he turned to Maricara in the same way a petulant child would move to tattle. With a snarl, the non-vampire man named Heisenberg spat, “He f***in’ bit me on the NECK! And my leg!” To this Nandor could only stutter, and wince–well, it was true. Maricara and the others all turned expectantly toward the taller vampire, who brushed his slightly disheveled hair back with the same air as a cat. “Well I…but he….” now he pointed a finger, also reverting to childish gestures. “But heeee is not normal! He’s not a regular human. He tasted like extra coppery blood. And he smelled delicious.” At this the other man’s eyebrows knotted together in half anger, half concern, and Maricara raised her palms between the two, looking less like a chieftain and more like a playground referee. To Nandor, she said patiently, “He is not human. Lord Heisenberg was given powers that he did not ask for, as an abducted child. He rejects fame and selfish gain, and uses his powers for good. He helps us. He has for years. So, while he probably does taste good–respectfully, Lord Heisenberg–he is off limits.” Nandor sighed, and then plucked a piece of metal from his own cheek. The sliver was jagged, and he hissed as he discarded it. “F***ing guy.” Heisenberg narrowed his eyes and seemed to want to say more. But instead, he bent forward unexpectedly and gave a rather sheepish, childlike hug to the older woman. “I’ve gotta go anyway, need to order more parts.” His features moved into a deep frown as he looked over her shoulder at Nandor. “I’ll come back when that…thing is gone.” She laughed at the proposition, patting Heisenberg’s arm like a grandma would do. Nandor tapped his own fingernails together in an agitated, awkward way, his own sneer barely faded. “Not a thing,” he muttered. Maricara threw Nandor a bone as well. “We were the ones to invite him, it is our fault. We should have explained—” “Not your fault,” Karl Heisenberg argued, and swiftly left the gathered crowd, leading the caravan back to its original camp spot. Nandor was unusually quiet as he strode back, contemplating the whirlwind of events. His mind needed to be clear for the Unholy Transition that was to come when the moon was at its peak. So he would get the brooding out of the way. Talk slowly commenced as the humans made their way back to their fire, but Nandor realized he was going to the same spot as Heisenberg; the horse’s ears turned forward as its rider approached, and Nandor internally winced. It was time to be nice, he supposed. The old Immortal continued to touch his fingertips together in a mindless pattern as he stepped in front of the post, where Heisenberg was now unsecuring the reins. “Might I…say goodbye to your lovely horse?” This caused an odd look from the Lord, who seemed ready to accept, but changed his mind at the last minute to quip, “Wouldn’t you rather bite him?” Nandor was already stroking the creature’s neck, eyeing the spatters of roan and white on its short, thick coat. Karl paused to watch this strange bit of humanity before sighing, rolling his eyes. He offered the end of the reins. “Go ahead. Just don’t go too fast or–” “Ohhhh, I couldn’t possibly,” Nandor interrupted. “Even if you can see at night remember he can’t–” “No, no, it’s too much trouble.” Heisenberg stared, the annoyed look still etched onto his hairy face. “Fine.” “Well all right then if you’re going to keep bugging me to,” Nandor exhaled thankfully, nearly knocking Heisenberg over in his rush to get to the horse’s left shoulder. He began to adjust the stirrups for his longer legs. To the horse, he spoke, “What’s with this guy eh? Can’t even give it a break, it’s like, geeeeshhhh.” Karl stepped back, clearly unamused, and Maricara appeared at his side, her chin against the engineer’s arm in what was some of the only affection the man had ever had, or tolerated. “I f***ing hate vampires,” Heisenberg said in a stunned voice, as though he were surprised by this information.
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