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Criminals were easy to find—in fact, they were practically crawling out of the woodwork of this village. Take this one, for example, a big greasy man with ugly tattoos and a shaved head. He was not the one I had come looking for at the White Stag Tavern, but he would make a suitable replacement. The Oaf, for that seemed an appropriate name for him, gripped my wrist and grinned at me, showing white, perfectly aligned teeth. I supposed that was meant to be threatening, but his teeth were certainly not as sharp as mine.
“You needn’t look any further, Ginger. I’m all the man you need.” Nobody seemed to notice the Oaf’s behavior, or if they did, they were too intimidated by his size and attitude to do anything about it. I didn’t flinch as he squeezed harder; I couldn’t let the challenge go. It was not in my nature to be passive, to let things happen to me. Not anymore.
I laughed in his stupid face. “Who says I’m looking for a man?” He dropped my hand in disgust. Oh yes, this one had a true hatred for women, especially for women who didn’t care for a man’s company. Little did he know that sex was the last thing on my mind. It was blood I craved with every fiber of my being. Reading his mind, I could see violence, his past crimes unrolling like a horror movie. Yes, he didn’t just imagine cruelty; he was an offender in the truest sense of the word. His crimes were intended to demean and punish his female victims. He had not yet killed, but he had the potential and would likely do so eventually.
And I was starving.
He turned back to his beer while I scanned the room attempting to identify my original target; Omar Sadiq was his name, and he had killed many in his young life. The blood of his victims hovered around him like a screaming cloud. How strange to think that mortals did not understand the mysteries of blood power. But then, what had I known beyond the empty rituals of my childhood?
Sadiq...I called with my mind.
Nothing. Any mortal who heard a strange voice in his mind would certainly react. He was not here, or I would certainly have found him. I had to feed! I tapped the Oaf—Leif was his true name—on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Perhaps you can help me after all.”
With a disgusted glance over his shoulder, he growled, “Get lost!” A round of laughter echoed through the dark tavern. My mind swam with angry black bees. I was so hungry I could have killed everyone in here. In the early days of my curse, I could do such a thing without thinking about it, but things were different now. I was different. Humans took murder much more seriously these days, and I had others to think about.
Arthur! I am so lonely!
Then I felt Sadiq walk, no, run behind me and then out of the tavern. How was that possible? How could he, a mere mortal, hide from me? And how did he know I was searching for him? I moved so quickly after him that the people in the tavern must have believed I’d simply vanished. Sadiq had barely rounded the corner before I grabbed him by the neck and dragged him into the woods behind the tavern. He screamed but only briefly, for I was on him like a feral cat on a crippled mouse. I ignored his thoughts, thoughts of home and his mother and his god.
I drank until he was nearly dead, settled back on my haunches and let the warmth of his blood strengthen me. I didn’t have long to linger, for I heard a man’s voice, no, make that several men’s voices—and one was the Oaf!
“Yeah, she couldn’t have gone far. Not in those heels. Check over there! Hey, Ginger!”
What a buffoon! But I had no time for more killing. And despite my nature, I took only what I needed, no more. I’ll be back for you, Leif.
With that thought and a smile, I flew through the forest, ignoring the wayward branches that slapped my face and arms until I reached the highway. I was so satiated I did not feel a thing. There were no cars coming, so I walked across the narrow road and into the abandoned village of Kite. A homeless family had been staying there recently, but I did not care as long as they kept away from my kistvaen. They were harmless enough, though they did have a tendency to steal.
I’d taken up residence in the fallout shelter in the abandoned school. It locked from the inside and had everything I needed to survive: darkness and privacy. Moving the kistvaen had been tricky, but I’d found someone to help me: a criminal named Lucas, whom I quickly killed afterward.
Slinging off my jacket and shoes, I closed the door behind me and with a wave of my hand moved the stone lid off my resting place. I settled down inside, my heart still beating hard from my recent kill. By taking blood so close to my rest period, I would certainly dream. I hoped for dreams. At least in my dreams, I could take the chance of seeing Arthur again without fear of his disapproval, his disgust. He must wonder what happened to me. Best to leave him alone.
I waved my hand again. The stone lid moved, the surrounding darkness comforting me.
I entered the dream realm easily and quickly. I did not need to struggle or demand entry as I sometimes had to. And no memories of the past crowded in, demanding for me to remember them.
I slipped into this dream like one would fall into a silk dress.
Yes, I dreamed, and it was a dark dream.
I dreamed I sat on a throne of black stone—black stone washed in blood. This was Camelot; I was residing in the court, but it was not the Camelot I remembered. Before me were rows and rows of mortals, their wrists bleeding, their heads bowed. They whispered my name longingly, offering themselves to me. I knew my eyes were glistening; my hands gripped the arms of the chair as I steeled my resolve. I would not indulge.
I was not alone. I heard a woman’s voice in my ear saying, “Drink your fill, Queen Guinevere. Listen! The sword calls you. It longs for you to claim it, as is your right—you are married to it. You love it above all others. Don’t you?” The mortals vanished. Ah! They were never here! This was a trick of some kind.
A spark shone in the darkness, then a low glimmer and then a bright light. In the center of that bright light was Excalibur, beautiful and powerful.
“Morgan?”
No answer came, but she was near—not Morgan, someone else. I was not fearful. I was strong, stronger than ever before, strong enough to wield the sword. Excalibur wanted me to hold it, love it. I knew that. With Excalibur in my hand, I could once again rule Camelot. I would feel human again. But how? I was a vampire, and Camelot no longer existed! Nothing could change either of those facts.
“No, Undead Queen, Camelot exists still, and it is yours to claim. She would not tell you this, the one who tricked you.” The woman’s voice had a strange accent. It reminded me of the tongue of the Northmen of old. “The sword has the power to change you. I will show you how. I know its secret.”
I gasped at her answer. “Now take the sword!” she exhorted me.
My quivering hands reached for it, but I paused.
Arthur! I will not betray you! I will not take what is yours!
And then I heard the woman growl, and the dream rolled away like a carpet tugged out from beneath my feet.
Excalibur was gone, and I fell into the blackness that awaited me.
