Welcome to Madrid

Dracula

The night reclaimed me like a filial parent, offering its embrace as a breath of wind carried its murmurs of satisfaction.  It was beautiful, this Eden, this barbaric garden with its warm climate, and by no means was it any less captivating under the nighttime glow.  Footsteps still fell on the paving stones; the round, seductive vowels of their Romanesque language echoed throughout the city.  The Spanish capital was thriving, its vivacious flow reaching every narrow street.  Entangled in the moment, breathing in their life, I watched the evening activity unfolding before me with insatiable curiosity.  Gentlemen bowed to two ladies yet did not offer to escort them.  Off they went, their stiff walking canes tapping against the pavement regularly, like a metronome; leaving the women to continue, arm-in-arm, apparently oblivious or undaunted by the shadows the streetlamps could only dimly obscure.  A group of students boasted�rather too loudly�of the superiority of their philosophies and their logic, but did not hesitate to cross themselves upon passing the image of Our Lady of Sorrow.  It was magnificent: people who knew their limitations, a civilization who embraced reason with all its materialistic evidence but did not deny the otherworldly, simply for a lack of intangible proofs.  Those women whom I had passed in the street, they would not deprive themselves their nightly stroll for any notion of false propriety.  I probed their minds for images and found one had left her children to wait patiently at home.  It was her ritual, these late prayers at the cathedral followed by later exchanges of gossip.

But I had not ventured forth simply to observe the culture, though it fascinated me with its paradoxes, its irregular rhythm that in fact preserved consistency.  My attention was soon drawn to distant quarters, where a fandango was taking place on a bright street corner.  The sight was at once familiar and foreign to me, for though these were indeed gypsies, they differed from the tightly woven bands that dwelt between the forests and the mountains.  Here their mournful voices accompanied the guitar, flavorful Moorish influences entwined in their laments.  The castanets, the sultry, fluid movements of hands that were but shadows beside the flames that leapt and burned against the warm night, all with a grace exclusive to the flamenco dance�it spoke of times long past, of loves and lives lost.  As suddenly as it had begun it was over; the languid skill of the dancers was put aside as one violinist stood up.  Then commenced his boundless melody, a music I knew and recognized with all within myself, for each movement and cascading arpeggio sang directly of my land, of the Carpathians left far behind.  It called to me but I declined its powers to enthrall, refusing to remember what the darkly melodious notes stirred.

Now it was truly late, and though I left the gypsy encampment without a single backward glance, I knew I must be leaving the majority of the activity behind.  Where would they all be now?  In their own homes, no doubt, despite their obvious penchant for carrying on late into the night, far later than most of their European neighbors.  The streets were not entirely abandoned, for a warm hand clasped my arm, and I turned to face a wide-eyed countenance, singularly pretty yet exhausted.

�Se�or, I can give you what you desire��

�What do you know of desire?� I hissed softly, drawing back.  She reached for me again but I caught her wrist, my deathly cold touch causing her to gasp.  She did not try to free herself, no matter how startled she must have been, and I almost pitied her.  She did not interest me, this poor, desperate streetwalker.  It would be easy to crush her, near wilting as she was, but her blood could not tempt even my increasing need.  She was exceedingly drugged but hiding it well; her speech was not slurred but still I could smell it, and would be surprised if she were not dead by morning.  She let out a painful sigh then, and I released her.  She retreated back to the darkened alley, her thin hands covering her throat protectively, though I had not even touched her neck.  Her reaction caused me to smile ironically.

There was another presence besides hers in the lane; he passed her without so much as a glance from her direction.  His pace was unhurried but his strides were long, and soon I found myself moving quickly to keep him within my view.  He must have been at least five and sixty, yet his posture was immaculate, his physiognomy impressively well preserved, and there was confidence in every step.  A man of consequence, certainly, but what was he doing in this godforsaken area at so ungodly an hour?  I searched his mind but it was shut, closed firmly against my probing.  It mattered little; no matter where he was bound, he would not reach it.  His blood I would savor; his strength I would relish, for he defied both age and convention with his matchless poise.  He gave the impression of higher knowledge�perhaps I would moderate my thirst and search that fine mind at a later date, when he inclined more favorably toward compliance.  I reached out to grasp both his shoulders at once, to spin him around and end all protests before they had even begun.  Before I had even fulfilled my intent, something stronger intervened and I was aware of one thing only.

I could not touch him!

One moment he was there, inches away; the next, I had reached out and never even made contact with his sleeve.  He continued on his way, entirely unaware of the infuriated curses I hurled at that straight, regal back and flawless deportment.  Pursue him as I may, his aura was so strong, and so impenetrable, no effort of mine would take the slightest effect on him.  Were he a vapor, he could not have eluded me more gloriously.  I had to admire that in spite of myself�despite how badly I should have liked to have seized those well-formed arms, to see the calm, patient eyes widen with a feeling deeper than fear, and yes, realization at last.  Before he turned the corner and escaped me entirely, I sent out one final attempt.  Every fiber of my being was intently focused on bending his will to mine, on drawing him back over the space he had already traversed.

He stopped�turning his head slightly to glance over his shoulder, he seemed to pause reflectively, as if conscious of what he could not possible have known.  And then he was on his way again, and I, far too physically spent to follow, kept my secret astonishment.  It was a marvelous stimulus into brooding and self-induced aggravation, and I did both very faithfully, succeeding in brooding the entire return trip to the charming house of my even more charming in-laws.  I could not rid myself of the frustration, even as I lingered in the courtyard and paced restlessly.  Whoever�whatever�he had been, he had succeeded in doing what none other had.  At length I climbed the steps to Kelantha�s door, the first rosy streaks of dawn evident in the sky�without having fed or contrived an answer suitable to both my reason and my pride. 

Bienvenidos a Madrid.

>> on to next chapter

This fan fiction is for enjoyment purposes only. You may not reproduce, duplicate, or otherwise quote the written text without written permission.