Deagth

I fell. The blood splattering the walls infuriated me even more. I threw my body across the alley so hard that it flew about fifteen meters toward the main street, finally catching a garbage can, which caused a terrible commotion among the rats scavenging inside. I was angry! That's an understatement. The bloodlust that gripped me then was unstoppable. More! Blood! The tenant, alerted by the roar of rolling garbage cans, peered out the window of his flea-infested lair. I jumped toward him, ripping his head off mid-flight. Only as I was falling did I grab the ledge of the building, but in the frenzy that gripped me, I misjudged the strength of my struggle to stop myself with one hand—my other was still occupied with the poor man's head. I hurtled down, tripping over the fallen garbage cans, and landed right next to the body I'd thrown earlier. Only now did I notice how badly I'd ruined them. I threw my head at them and, still furious, walked away in the opposite direction. I jumped a little and, with quick bounces between the nearby buildings, climbed onto the roof. At least here the view was a bit friendlier than a forgotten alleyway—if such a place deserved to be called an alleyway. The two corpses I'd left behind were at least guaranteed to make the pages of the local tabloid, and—if it sparked more interest—perhaps the alleyway would be named.

The sarcastic vision of the tenement owner cheered me up—the image of him rubbing his hands in glee; after all, such advertising was bound to raise room prices. "An attraction! You can see a VAMPIRE here! And if you're lucky, you might even DIE at HIS hands" (or rather, "teeth"). A horror I myself had created.

Leaping to the next roof, I was caught off guard again, and with the sound of a broken gutter, I tumbled down. A man stared at me in disbelief; unsure if what he was seeing was a figment of his alcohol-intoxicated mind or the truth, he stared at me with terrified eyes. Then he laughed out loud. His drunken realization must have dawned on him that what he was seeing was a figment of his alcoholic imagination. His bad luck. In my anger, I watched him run without arms. His torn-off arms lay near another stinking dumpster. He ran seven meters in shock before bleeding out so much that his legs refused to run any further.

The number seven even put me in a reflective mood, but the woman's scream pushed my thoughts away until later—a more convenient time for such contemplation. I realized that even though I'd brought down another corpse, I was still hungry. I turned and lunged at the woman, who stood there in shock and terror. Her blood was exceptionally fresh and delicious, but my thirst far exceeded what she offered. I decided to do something foolish and jump onto the main street. A quick and powerful leap landed me in the middle of the road, even at that hour, which was quite busy with traffic. The driver of one of the taxis racing down the street, upon seeing me—flying a meter above the ground—slammed full speed into a police car parked on the side of the road. Both cars began a short dance of death, crushing a passing couple and a police officer trying to demand "extra services" from a certain woman. The latter was quite terrified by the sight of the officer being thrown by the car. The officer, in turn, landed rather unluckily on another person passing by. They must have broken something in reciprocity. Perhaps even a spine. I didn't have time to stare for long, as the policeman's interlocutor caught my attention; so much so that a moment later I was greedily drinking her blood... and the blood of a man paralyzed with fear who—unfortunately for him—happened nearby.

I was full, and only this realization, along with a sense of fulfillment, curbed my frenzy.

I ran to the traffic light, turned left, and ran to the next crossroads. There I paused, listening. The not-so-close sirens of police cars gave me a sense of comfort: the newspapers would once again be filled with chatter about an "unknown perpetrator." Pathetic. My rage faded as suddenly as it had come. I dusted off my coat and wiped the blood off it. However, I was still covered in mud, and after a few steps, I kicked a fire hydrant, sending it flying a few meters. Nothing else happened, so I calmly walked to the next intersection and repeated the maneuver. Finally, a shower of icy water washed over me, both physically and mentally.

Flashes of consciousness returned to me, and my rage at her—Deagth—turned into rage at myself—again, I couldn't contain my emotions, and once again it ended in bloodshed. This time on the city streets. Megfold had said I was a mentally ill vampire. I'd laughed in his face then, but now, as I walked back over the rooftops to that street, I began to consider a psychoanalyst. The very thought even amused me. So much so that, climbing into the house through the window, I smashed my head through the upper pane. "Hard-Headed"—the pane went through, and I was unharmed.

The bed, left in disarray, reminded me of the evening's events preceding my mindless frenzy. "I'm going away." The thought began to circulate around me like a persistent mosquito in summer. I didn't go to sleep. After popping sunscreen, I ran to the airport.

The first flight I came across took me aboard a shiny plane ready for departure. Destination: Italy. Again. Still better than waiting for the verdict of madness here. I sighed, sinking into the deep first-class seat. The stewardess smiled and offered me a colorful drink. I fell asleep. Despite everything, I fell asleep.

I dreamed of a boy throwing plates. However, all the plates stopped right in front of the wall and, arranged, landed gently on the carpet, much to my parents' surprise and delight. When I woke up, I also remembered the wet nurse, dying in the basement of our house. What? Vampires can't reproduce. Money can buy you anything. Secret knowledge, a wet nurse—miracles. I'm a new generation. Telekinesis is just one of my other abilities. Even my physical prowess embarrassed my parents, especially when I'd trash my room in a fit of rage. They hadn't cured me of such uncontrolled aggression back then.

Italy welcomed me with a cool night, which I was extremely pleased about, because swallowing another pill didn't exactly look forward to, especially since I remembered their "side effect" well – for me, repeated vomiting the day after I stopped taking them. The mere knowledge of what I had to endure soon made me nauseous. Still, it was better than lying around in the sun. My outfit aroused excessive curiosity. But in summer, you rarely see anyone in a black leather coat. Even at night.

The first hotel I found smelled of damp, which, given the heat, even at night, seemed unlikely. Only a more thorough reconnaissance of the basement the next day made me realize the foolishness of the builders who had planted their "flower" on a natural spring. I took a shower and a few minutes later I was lying naked in bed, this time trying to fall asleep peacefully and without any additional "alarm clocks."

____________________

"Bartha!" Antonio exclaimed, opening his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. "Good to see you again.

" "Ciao Antonio! Good to see you too, especially in one piece!

" "You know very well that I've been avoiding those explosive toys ever since," Antonio smiled and gestured me into his house.

His house was beautiful, in a beautiful setting: the bright structure, perched on a low cliff, was old (not much younger than Antonio himself, though a normal person wouldn't have been able to say the same about him). The old walls, somewhat reminiscent of Spanish architecture, were surrounded by a small grove where lush Southern European vegetation offered its leaves, scents, and colors. A turret also graced the corner of the house, delicately rising one story above the roof. Antonio had his studio there, where visitors—despite his host's warmth—were reluctantly welcomed. Stairs led from the high, fortified shore to the beach, and once you descended, you reached one of the most picturesque spots I'd ever seen. The small cove, enclosed by a stone island from the sea, provided excellent protection from any weather whims, yet left enough room for sunlight. And for the moonlight, which now bathed the sea in a mercury hue.

"Make yourself comfortable. As always, and I'll go get us some real wine." With these words, my host disappeared behind the cellar door, leaving me with a handy suitcase.

Half an hour later, we were comfortably seated in deck chairs, sipping excellent, cold wine from the dark cellar famous among our community. The full moon that had made the night pleasant played with its waves.

"How have you been coping these past few years, Bartha?" Antonio began the conversation after a long pause.

I slowly placed the glass on the table.

"As you know, after the war ended, I fled the trenches in France north to London, where I've been sitting ever since.

" "You've been there since 1918?" he asked incredulously.

"It's only been six years," I replied. "Besides, contrary to your opinion, it's a pretty good place to live, despite the lack of sunlight, where you can't walk anyway!

" "I can't walk, but it's always nice to look at it and long for the old days when you could."

"You still remember that?" I sneered.

"Well, kid..." the host smiled. "I may be old, but that doesn't mean I have sclerosis.

True, true." Despite his "hundreds" of years, Antonio had the appearance of a thirty-year-old, which was a trait he often mistook for new people.

"I won't argue with older people.

" "And you're lucky," and wagging his finger ironically, he asked about further memories.

So I recalled all my past experiences that had kept me in England for so long. Antonio listened intently, occasionally interrupting my story with peals of laughter that echoed off the island. Then he told me how he had to flee the hospital, his leg still unhealed, when the doctor's curiosity began to turn into terror. How the death of a patient at his hands was noticed... A few hours passed, and a moment of silence fell, broken only by the roar of the waves.

"I'm going to America," I said into the silence.

"Alone?

" "With Frank Greaswold," I replied. "He's a seeker...

" "I know who Frank is," Antonio interrupted. "He's looking for Omega. Like many others.

" "Yes. I think you all know each other," I turned away. "But he didn't mention he knew you.

" "We got a little angry at each other once. But that's not important now," he said. "Give him my regards and tell him that when he finds his share, I'll be waiting with mine."

"Is that jewel really that important to you?" I asked.

"Would you like to be able to walk in the sun again someday?" he replied, looking piercingly into my eyes, searching my mind for memories.

"I don't believe it, unlike you." I broke eye contact and stared at the sand.

"We can bet on it," he smiled.

_____________

"You've had so much to drink you can barely walk!

" "You're no better yourself. You're bouncing between the walls like a ball," I replied.

"We're in a pretty serious storm, in case you haven't noticed," Frank said in a rather sober voice, then made a surprised face and took a swig from his almost empty bottle. "Don't look at the last of it, it'll make your eyes pop. There's more in the room.

" "At least that's why," I said, trying to keep my balance as the ship tilted again. Lying two meters away, I saw my companion writhing with laughter.

"You won't make it that far!" he choked out between his spasmodic laughter.

"I'll make it then!" "I said firmly, then stood up (the counter-tilt helped immensely) and began to concentrate on lifting myself up, even just a little.

It wasn't easy in my condition, and the look on Frank's face clearly described what I must have looked like in the effort. Once I had risen a few inches above the deck and stabilized at that height, I heard Frank applaud:

"I return the favor! You don't have to walk around drunk from now on," after which he burst out laughing again.

A man in a raincoat, dripping with water, emerged from around the corner, leaving slightly lighter streaks of salt on his skin. He looked terrified at me, still suspended in midair, glanced at the laughing Frank, who had his back to him, and then stopped, mouth agape. Then Frank did something he absolutely should not have done. As soon as he sensed the figure behind him, he turned, his red, vampire-like eyes on him. The effects of this "corridor of fear" didn't take long to show. The man jumped up to the ceiling, did a half-turn on one foot, and with the screech of a half-broken lock, fell into the nearest stall. Nevertheless, to our surprise, he managed to close the door securely behind him. Frank turned and looked at me. We burst out laughing. A moment later, I lost my balance in midair and fell to the ground, right next to Frank, who was rolling with laughter. Suddenly, our laughter was silenced by the sound of the door being forced open, sending the victim of our humor flying out. The door slammed against the hallway wall, held for a moment by the man's weight, then fell to the side. The unconscious man toppled over. I felt something strange inside and looked at Frank, whose face instantly hardened. His gaze was fixed on the figure that had appeared where the door had been a split second before. She

was short, dressed entirely in black, contrasting with her delicately red hair. Her eyes radiated fury, which she retained despite the wave of surprise sweeping across her face. She instantly regained control of her expression, raised one eyebrow, and tilted her head slightly, a gesture of mild surprise. I glanced at the frozen Frank. He slowly inclined his head in a cautious greeting. The remnants of his smile had long since vanished. I looked back at the standing figure, feeling its gaze on me. She slowly moved her eyes, taking me in, probing roughly. When our gazes met, hers momentarily lost their fury, but she must have noticed it herself. She turned abruptly and, with a quick movement, extended her hand towards the fallen door, which snapped into her hand. With swift movements, she disappeared into the cabin, blocking the entrance with the ripped door. I heard the scrape of some heavy furniture being moved, knocking against the door, and then there was complete silence, broken only by the creaking of the ship as it struggled against the storm.

I sat there, transfixed by the sensation, as Frank rose and carelessly brushed his clothes.

"Let's go," he said over his shoulder in a tone that made me afraid to hesitate, let alone object.

He stepped over the unconscious man's legs and disappeared around the corner. Sobered by the whole incident, I quickly followed him.

That night, he didn't say a word to me, which, in contrast to his normally open mouth, was atrocious. Curiosity consumed me, but—fortunately—the brandy coursed through me much more strongly than through him, sending me to Morpheus much faster than Frank (assuming he'd fallen asleep).

I woke up, my eyes catching on Frank sitting there, writing furiously. Memories of the night returned reluctantly until, having arranged the chronology of events, I rubbed my eyes.

"We have dinner in ten minutes. You should show up for that meal," he greeted me.

And so I emerged from our cabin only for dinner, still slowly taking in my surroundings. The storm had subsided, and I could move around the ship much more freely, which resulted in the arrival of more people who, until then—as Frank put it—"had been contemplating the storm in their own cabins." Luckily, the sky was still overcast enough that we could even go up to the upper deck without risking sunburn, which we did after eating lunch (still in silence).

The dark surface of the sea rippled restlessly, gently reflecting the cloud-dampened daylight. A light we see so rarely, and practically never in its full solar intensity. The ship, gently rocking, crashed through the waves on its way to America. I looked away from the fascinating view from the bow. Frank was staring absently into space. I didn't want to disturb him with my pressing questions. He knew exactly what, or rather whom, I wanted to ask.

I began to observe the people who, despite the chill of the wind, had flocked to the observation deck. They were probably all fed up with the several-day storm that had accompanied us from the coast of Europe. They were lost in contemplation and silence, gazing out at the Atlantic. They were probably wondering how it could be so extreme—one day tossing and turning, the next lying submissively. I tilted my head up, wanting to gaze at the curtain of clouds that so effectively blocked out the sun, but my gaze met hers, staring at me from the upper deck. She stood there, a dozen or so meters away, unabashed, unfazed as she had been the night before. Dressed in beige today, a small hat on her head quivered in the gusts of wind, the pale red of her hair contrasting sharply. A voice slowly rose in my head. At first, it was an incomprehensible babble, and a moment later, it clearly asked me who I was. I don't know how long we would have stood there if not for a stronger gust of wind that tore off her loosely tied scarf. With an inhumanly quick movement, she turned and caught it in mid-flight, before it flew out of reach. She didn't return to the terrace railing. Her voice faded from my mind, and reality slowly returned. I heard Frank's voice and turned around. He was standing in the same position, still staring into nothingness.

"I asked you if she'd left yet?" he said in a remarkably calm voice, turning his head to look into my eyes.

"Yes. She's gone...

" "I didn't want to tell you about her," he said.

"Did you know she was here?" I asked, surprised.

"I knew there was someone else like us here," he replied after a moment's thought. "But I didn't know who, because she carefully concealed her aura.

" "That's probably why she was so angry yesterday, like...

" "No," he interrupted, narrowing his eyes. "She was angry that I was the one who met her. It quickly passed when she became curious about you. Be careful with her.

" "What's the connection between you?" I pressed.

"If I tell you old stories, you'll believe me, but it won't be enough for you." He smiled with the corner of his mouth.

"As if you could guess!

" "He's looking too. He's part of the Circle, and once..." He closed his eyes and began to extract facts from his memory. I didn't interrupt. When he opened his eyes again, I knew he'd filtered his memories. "Once, as you can probably guess, we were... together, but it ended.

" "How?" I asked.

"Quite explosively. That's her style," he replied, his amusement now evident.

"Meaning?

" "She blew up my house.

" "Those castle ruins you showed me in Scotland?" I asked incredulously. "It would have taken—

" "It took, believe me," he interrupted. "It took a lot, so she must have put in a lot of effort. I appreciate her effort, but it left a certain bad taste in our mouths. Especially since the castle wasn't completely empty.

" "Oh," I said, my mouth hanging open. "What was the cause?

" "A misunderstanding," he cut in.

"Which should stay between you two," I nodded. "Do you talk?

" "If we have to." But she's the one who avoids other conversations.

" "You have a tendency to always bring everything up," I remarked with defiance.

"You know what you're talking about?" he smiled. "You know I don't blame you for the Bugatti anymore!"

I burst out laughing.

"Yes. I know." I looked at him, amused. "What's her name?"

He turned to me and looked deep into my eyes, considering the answer. This went on for several minutes, during which my patience was thoroughly tested. He was a bit disappointed with his answer, as I'd been expecting more moralizing from him, but he intrigued me for another reason:

"Watch out for her, and when you're together, don't eat her," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Her name is Deagth, although she'll probably call herself Debbie from now on, since it's more fashionable. She doesn't know your name.

"

"No, no, no, no!" she screamed, then grabbed the nearest object and threw it at me. Surprisingly, it missed, so the flower and its brass pot landed on the couch. I stood motionless, staring at her, captivated. Meanwhile, her eyes flashed red again, a warning before another wave of rage.

"You don't tell me what to do! I've had enough of you!" she hissed, and then the open dinnerware cabinet appeared within her reach. Her hand suddenly and nimbly grabbed the first item it came across and sent it hurtling towards me. The momentum she took surpassed the capabilities of her dress, revealing some of her charms. Only the brush of the plate against my hair brought me back to reality, where the next plate had a more accurate trajectory. I ducked in time to hear a crack just behind me as the plate collided with the lamp. Realizing where my gaze was, she became even more furious, causing the table to accelerate. I'd seen her supernatural abilities in action many times, and the prospect of dodging the table in the cramped kitchen seemed equally supernatural. I had to say something to calm her down.

"Honey, I'm just worried about you..." I said uncertainly. At the sound of those words, she squirmed.

"Honey, you don't have to worry about me," she replied, mimicking my tone. "I'm a big kid, over three hundred years old!"

I must have caught the chair mid-flight. She glanced around, searching for any more moving parts.

"You look cute when you're angry," I said, trying to buy time to reach her between the broken glasses. "Even the color of your eyes is close to the color of your hair."

She gave me a murderous look, but stopped searching for ammunition.

"And the blouse also expresses opposition to such drastic methods," I added.

When I was two steps away, she jumped and landed behind me, bouncing off the lockers. I turned around just fast enough to catch her hand at my face. She struggled with me for a moment. I reached out to embrace her, but she took advantage of my distraction and, loosening her grip a little, twisted out of my grasp. At least she wasn't so angry anymore.

"You'd better leave my blouse and my breasts alone," she snapped. "Besides, you'll have plenty of time to think about them from a distance! I'm moving! "

I suddenly became sad.

"And don't give me those dog faces! I'm going south to rest, and if you want, you can keep beating up every Nazi you and your buddies come across in the name of liberating Europe! Ugh!" she huffed and turned away from me. She stood there for a moment, arms folded, and I, unsure what to do, froze.

"Deagth... what's your point?" I asked cautiously. "But...

" "Are you still asking what I mean?!" She turned away, raising her hands. "What's the point!?"

My gaze inadvertently wandered a little lower again, and this time I didn't notice her hand.

"Even at a time like this, you sexist!" she said, already somewhat calmed.

I was massaging my face when Deagth left the room. At the threshold, she said something else I didn't understand.

__________

"Were you still together for long?" Antonio asked after a long moment.

"She moved out that same evening," I replied, then picked up my glass and leaned back in my chair. My gaze wandered over my host's head, across his library collection. I searched for her name among the authors. Antonio noticed:

"Second shelf from the top, number sixteen.

" "What's it about?" I asked.

"'Aura Spherization', the title says it all," he replied.

"You all read minds and speak through them?

" "People in the Circle are more of the older..." he searched for a word, "kind. And as you know, we also have easier access to Knowledge. And Deagth...

" "...specializes in that," I interrupted him. "Yes, I know that all too well."

There was a moment of silence. Only the crackle of the wood burning in the fireplace and the creaking of Antonio's leather armchair stirred the air. I thought of those crazy nights in northern France. People terrified by the slowly ending war, soldiers glad to be alive after the Normandy landings, and us—a group of madmen preying on the unsuspecting in the chaos of war...

" "Have you been out there long?" Antonio asked with a satisfied smile.

"Yes," I replied, disgusted. "I've asked you a million times not to. I don't feel like defending myself against your reading; I've already exhausted myself with her!

" "Sorry," he chuckled. "But I couldn't resist.

He refilled my glass with the fine wine and set the now empty bottle on the ground.

"This is for those days and those friends." He raised his glass higher.

I raised my own and struck. Like lightning, faces from 1945 flashed before my eyes. I glanced quickly at Antonio, but from his expression, I could tell it wasn't his doing. It was me.

Silence fell again. After a moment, I could hear the muffled sound of waves crashing against the shore. I glanced at the window, where dark patches of clouds moved slowly against the brightening sky. In moments like these, I couldn't believe that after all these years I could gaze out with such calm and curiosity.

"When will you return to her again?" a low voice tore me from my thoughts.

I looked at the floor, then at the fireplace, where the fire danced. The flames slowly consumed the block of wood, just as my own flame had consumed me, unextinguished and then rekindled after more than twenty years... by a short letter that had found me in Norway. I didn't even wonder how she knew.

"I'm leaving next week, as soon as I finish a few things in Paris," I finally replied.

The host smiled slowly, revealing his teeth. He shaded his face with his glass, which had been tossed around in a toast, and drank the rest of his wine.