Page 5 of Blood Ties (City of Blood #1)
Elina
After the night I had, I want nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep until Monday.
Sunday is my only day off and it's the only day I get to spend with Grand-mere Celeste.
For a species that lives on the death of others, vamps are surprisingly devout, or maybe it's a holdover from their European roots and old religions.
Either way, Sundays are a compulsory day of rest for everyone in Ville de Sang.
We do chores, we go to church, and we relax. We do not leave home after dark.
When I finally arrive home, right after sunrise, I, again, find Grand-mere in the kitchen making breakfast. This time, I join her.
“Good morning, Grand-mere Celeste. I hope you had a good night,” I say by way of greeting when I enter the room.
“Oh! Yes, my dear. Yes. Sit, sit. Eat something. You're gone too much, you work too much, and don't sleep enough,” she lovingly scolds me. As though we have a choice. It's me and her, like it's been almost my entire life, but now, she's 80 and needs my help more than ever.
As I start on the breakfast of eggs and bacon she piles on my plate as she takes the seat opposite me.
“Do you remember the Guerra de Sang?” I ask.
“Of course I remember. I lost my only child and the streets ran red with blood.” She looks lost in her memories for a moment, and the memories aren’t happy.
“It wasn't the Blood Ravens that named it the Blood War, it was us. We were the casualties in their territory dispute. Fighting and killing in the streets for the right to feed on us. Despicable. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering if you would tell me about it—about maman and the real story. I can't trust the history books,” I say, leaning forward to hold her wrinkled hands in mine. She hesitates, but only for a moment. I’ve made it a general rule to skirt around this part of our history, knowing she doesn’t like to talk about it.
“You were only 3 at the time, and I was still working at the hospital.
One night, after 35 years of relative peaceful co-existence, the Italian vampires descended on the city.
They flooded over the walls like the water used to.
They attacked anyone in the streets, vampire and human alike.
Blood ran in the streets like rainwater.
Little flashes of light going off all over the place from the vampires being extinguished, their flames going out.
Your mother was working in the French Quarter, not far from the cathedral.
One evening, at dusk, she was making her way home and was attacked by someone, we aren't sure what side they were on. She died in the street. It was the greatest heartache of my life.” She stops talking then, a hitch in her breath.
Her bottomless brown eyes fill with tears, the same eyes my mother had.
My mother's death is still an open wound 25 years later.
“Oh Grand-mere, please don't cry. I shouldn't have asked.” I squeeze her trembling hands. I avoid these types of questions, they always upset her. I try to change the subject—“What time are we leaving for church?” I ask, even though I know by now—it's the same every week.
I drag myself up the stairs, my mind cloudy and confused, needing sleep. Only a few hours before the day begins.
Climbing into the shower of our only bathroom, I bow my head under the spray and let the hot water relax my muscles.
When I close my eyes, I picture perfectly windswept hair and steel grey irises.
There is something alluring about him and I feel heat in my belly at the thought of him.
Shaking my head to clear the vision, I wonder who he is, and why he was in the bar, especially considering I’ve never seen him before.
How old is he? He must be an old one and clearly a member of the Blood Ravens.
He handled everything, including making the bodies disappear.
Unlikely to get answers to any of these questions, I dress in my Sunday best and head downstairs.
During the day it’s possible, easy even, to forget that we can’t leave and we are little more than food that makes money for the vampires.
Sitting in church, listening to another sermon about having faith and believing in salvation, I wonder if God has abandoned us as surely as everyone else.
The preacher is allowed to preach whatever he likes, but he cannot outright disparage the vampires or even say the passage Deuteronomy 12:23 out loud.When he reaches the passage, he pauses momentarily, as though letting us fill in the blank.
Only be sure that you do not eat the blood, for the blood is the life, and you shall not eat the life with the flesh.
Deuteronomy 12:23
After church, we file out onto the street in the bright sunshine.
“Grand-mere, I’m going to head to the Quarter to go to the library—there’s something I’m interested in. Do you need to go that way or are you planning to head home?”
“Go ahead, dear. I will just be resting and making supper. Don’t be late!” she answers, pulling me in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I know she will be fine, all of her friends are gathered around chatting and laughing.
Waiting at the bus stop, I decide whether I am likely to find what I am looking for in the public library, or if I will need to go to the cathedral and visit the archives.
A flyer blows across the ground and wraps around my leg.
Leaning down, I pull it free, seeing what news the blue sheet of paper brings.
Deliveries into Ville de Sang are only permitted during daylight hours on Mondays and Thursday. Outgoing traffic, excepting vampire movement, is prohibited except Friday-Sunday, 24 hours a day.
Rolling my eyes, I crumble the sheet of paper up and toss it in the garbage bin inside the little covered waiting area.
I hate going to the archives. Being in the home and the seat of power of the vamps sets me on edge, way worse than being at the Velvet Tomb. Even though, I guess technically, it's perfectly safe since it's the middle of the day and everyone is asleep. The archives it is, I guess.
The archives are a small library within the cathedral that holds all the available information about the vampires, their history, and anything else they believe worthy of archiving.
While the cathedral’s public areas are open to the public during daylight hours, the archives are closed to tourists as no vampire information or lore is allowed outside of the city.
We aren’t allowed to have cellphones at all and tourists are not allowed to bring them out of their hotels—it’s too difficult to control the flow of information.
If they do, their phones are forfeit and they are forced to leave the city.
Checking in with the Shadow Court librarians, showing my ID, and having my picture taken, I wander through the small stacks to locate what I am looking for.
Running my fingers across old, dusty tomes bound in leather and canvas, I pause on a title that may hold what I need.
La Stirpe Malvani di Vampiri
I don’t know all of the words but I recognize Malvani vampires.
“Perfect,” I mumble in the quiet space, pulling the book off the shelf.
Cracking the old book open, I carefully flip the pages.
Page after page of ego-driven descriptions of great vampires who did great deeds—both benevolent such as donating to charity and absolutely heinous such as wiping out an entire village because someone had extinguished a vampire flame.
Horrified, I cover my mouth to avoid gasping aloud.
Obviously, almost all of it is from Italy—since they have only been in America for 30 years or so—but there is a passage about the Guerre de Sang.
It doesn’t tell the real or whole story, much closer to the fairytale we sell the tourists about a peaceful transfer of power that benefits the humans.
They even lie in their own archives, I think, scoffing at the text.
Finally, I find a family tree. Despite there being a vampire library, and despite having been under their rule for 25 years, humans don’t know that much about the inner workings of the Blood Ravens.
The new vampires, those not connected to royalty, create vampires by murdering those they have blood-shared with, and those people rising again as Sanguine Nocturnus, but the Blood Ravens look like a family.
It looks like they breed and reproduce rather than turning others.
I have never seen a vampire child though, so maybe not?
I am not likely to find out the answer either since their secrets are so heavily guarded.
A notation has been added to the bottom of the family tree I’ve found which looks newer than the surrounding text.
Re Marcus, b. 1034 AD, to Titus and Octavia, is the eldest of four children.
Two sons born together, Victor and Darius, b.
1040 AD, and a daughter Vespera, b. 1044, followed behind Re Marcus.
Re Marcus sired one daughter, Julia, (deceased), whose maternal parentage is not on record.
Victor bonded Valentina and sired Lucien, (deceased), Gianna, and Filomena, who remain unbonded with no sirelings.
Darius married Lucinda and sired Aurora and Alessandra, who remain unbonded and have no sirelings.
Vespera sired Sebastien, whose paternal parentage is unknown.
Sebastien is unbonded, with no sirelings. Sebastien has been named Heir Apparent.