The Master's Return

Marcus stood by the window of the twenty-ninth floor of the abandoned office building which he had set up as his nest. He was dressed in his ubiquitous black dress trousers, tailored by the finest haberdashery from his hometown in Italy, and scarlet button down dress shirt, chosen because it was the same color his legatine cloak had been. He looked out the window over a vast expanse of the city. It was just past midnight, and the city was still teeming with life. Marcus smiled to himself at the blissful ignorance of the mortals who walked on the streets, completely unaware of what was taking place above them.

A door opened. Marcus turned as two vampires entered, carrying an ornately carved stone sarcophagus into the room. They were clad less formally, both wearing dark jeans and shirts that bared their arms which were branded with the mark of the Legion. Marcus thought that their vampiric super strength was superfluous, as it was evident from the look of their arms that they would have been strong enough to carry the sarcophagus even before they were immortal. Marcus nodded at them as they reached the center of the room. They stopped, set the sarcophagus down and removed the lid. They placed the lid down, next to the now open sarcophagus and moved to stand behind Marcus.

Titus and Sixtus had been his most trusted lieutenants for the past seventeen centuries. They alone were worthy to be present for his moment.

“Did you think to start this party without me?” a petulant voice raised in complaint.

Marcus turned back toward the door, not even trying to hide the grimace on his face. Of course, Rosseau would be here. He too was the progeny of Astrus, after all, brother-in-blood to Marcus. That and that alone was the reason Marcus tolerated him at all. Yet, Rosseau continued to carry himself with an undeserved bravado and unmitigated insolence. Still, Marcus told himself that he should be more tolerant. After all, Rosseau was the only brother he had left.

“I brought the drinks,” Rosseau said, smiling with the clear desire that the others smile back. Titus and Sixtus simply stared at him. Standing well over six feet, the former centurions towered over Rosseau’s thin frame. It was only in un-death that Rosseau could have ever hoped to stand up to men such as them. Rosseau had been directly turned by a millenarian; therefore, his power exceeded that of Titus and Sixtus, despite being over a millennium younger than them. Despite this, Rosseau appeared intimidated by the pair. Saying nothing more, he turned and motioned to the girl he had brought with him.

The girl was breathtakingly beautiful. Marcus was surprised by the younger vampire’s choice. A vampire’s preference of victim usually reflected his proclivities in mortal life and Rosseau invariably favored male victims. Marcus quickly realized that this was not a reflection of Rosseau’s own desire. He was offering the girl up to an ancient vampire who had not drunk in almost a century. Rosseau was demonstrating a desire to destroy the femininity that others, including his master, found so alluring but by which he was repulsed.

Damn you, Rosseau! Marcus thought, still looking at the girl. What a waste.

More than that, despite his almost seventeen hundred years of un-death, the girl’s beauty stirred in him a very human desire to protect her. He considered sending out Titus or Sixtus to procure another victim. But the night was already half spent, and sending the girl away would be pointless. Glaring at Rosseau, he picked a golden chalice off the small table next to him.

As if on cue, the girl stepped forward wordlessly. Her compliance must have been a result of Rosseau’s compulsion. Of all the powers of a vampire, it was compulsion at which Rosseau excelled most highly. Still, Marcus was older and more powerful. He took the girl’s hand and stared into her eyes, overriding Rosseau’s compulsion with his own. He bared his fangs and raised the girl’s wrist to his mouth. Carefully, he bit into her radial artery then held her wrist over the chalice to fill it. When the chalice was half full, he placed it back down on the table. He raised his own hand to his mouth and bit the tip index finger of his right hand. He then touched the puncture wounds in the girl’s wrists, instantly healing them.

Marcus picked the chalice back up off the table and walked over to the sarcophagus, leading the girl by the hand. He stood over the open coffin, looking down at the body of Astrus, High Priest of Tyre and Sidon, as it lay. It was decaying, although at a much slower rate than what would be expected from being dead for decades. Marcus poured the contents of the chalice onto the corpse’s mouth. The instant the blood touched the lips of the corpse, it opened its eyes. By the time Marcus had drained the chalice, the body had already started to regenerate.

Marcus heard the voice of his master, but it was weak and groggy.

“I thirst,” he said slowly. “I smell blood.”

It would take more than what was in the chalice for Astrus to fully recover from his hibernation and regain his full form and power. Marcus spoke up, “Master, we present you with this young woman to feast upon at your pleasure.”

He stopped, looked directly at Roseau as he added, “I ask that you allow her to become one of us when you have had your fill.” For the briefest of moments, Astrus said nothing and remained in his sarcophagus, perfectly still.

Suddenly, Rosseau rushed forward with vampiric speed. Marcus had not seen him withdraw a knife from his coat. With it, Rosseau swiftly slashed across the girl’s throat, slicing open her carotid. Still under compulsion, she fell forward wordlessly. Her knees hit the ground first, than the rest of her body slumped into the sarcophagus. Her warm, bright red blood poured out, covering Astrus.

In his wild, slashing arc Rosseau nicked the arm of Marcus. Marcus felt the now familiar burn of silver as the metal touched his skin. If the girl was not dead, she would be within seconds. Because the mortal wound had been inflicted with a silver blade, there was no hope for turning her.

By the time Marcus realized what had transpired, Rosseau was on the other side of the room. He angrily pointed at Marcus with the hand which held the knife, the girl’s blood still on the blade.

“That is not our way,” Rosseau screamed at him. “It never has been! You would pollute our bloodline!”

Marcus sped across the room with vampiric speed, grabbed Rosseau by the neck and slammed him into the wall. “The bloodline is already polluted,” he snarled, fangs bared. Rosseau attempted to raise his arm to stab with the knife but Marcus used his free hand to grasp and crush Rosseau’s wrist. Rosseau let go of the knife, which Marcus caught with his free hand. Then, at the same time as he let go of Rosseau’s neck, Marcus thrust the knife into the younger vampire’s chest. Rosseau dropped to his knees, howling in agony. Marcus could hear the vampiric flesh crackle as the silver blade cut through it.

He stood over Rosseau and yelled at him, “Have you not forgotten that it was not our way to turn useless, pathetic, effeminate artists either? Everyone turned before you was a warrior!”

Marcus reached back down and wrenched the knife out of Rosseau, in the same motion drawing back to strike him again. Perhaps, tonight he would end the immortality of his brother-in-blood.

He heard a voice behind him.

“Enough!”

Without another thought, Marcus dropped the knife and turned around. His Master demanded obedience.

Astrus had sat up in the coffin. He was as youthful looking as the day on which he had turned Marcus. The girl’s limp body lay across the sarcophagus, her neck giving clear evidence that Astrus had drunk his fill. Seeing that he had the attention of his progeny, Astrus pushed aside the girl’s body, then pushed up with his arms to stand within the sarcophagus. Titus, Sixtus and Marcus immediately dropped to one knee. Rosseau, who was already on his knees, stayed there.

Astrus stepped out of the sarcophagus and walked toward the other vampires. Marcus was closest to him. He stopped in front of him and motioned for him to rise. Marcus complied.

“Your gift was well received,” Astrus told him, putting his hands on Marcus’ shoulder. “But your brother is right. Such is not our way. More importantly, it is important we do not dilute the bloodline, especially now.” Marcus nodded.

“What year is it?” Astrus asked.

Still on one knee, without raising his head, Titus answered, “It is the two thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-ninth year since the foundation of Rome, my Lord Astrus.”

Astrus smiled. Turning back to Marcus, he said, with a note of excitement, “Then it is almost time.”

“Yes, Master,” Marcus replied, pleased that his Master was pleased. “The alignment approaches.”

“Have all the fragments been recovered?” Astrus asked.

“We are close to tracking them all down,” Marcus replied, hesitantly. “I thought you might wish to start making preparations.”

“Indeed,” Astrus said. Looking around the room, he said, “You have done well, my good and faithful servants, all of you. Rise.”

They all complied. Astrus looked at them and then down at himself. “My sons,” he said. “Fetch me some clothes.”

Marcus smiled faintly. All was well. The Vampire Lord Astrus had returned.