Legacy of the Vampire

CHAPTER 1

THE MEETING

During daylight hours, the scene was breathtaking. An ancient oasis of bleached structures silhouetted against a light blue Aegean Sea, as old as the lineage of the locals that called this paradise home.

Tourists would stroll in droves over cobblestone pathways marveling at the town like a history book come to life. It spoke of simpler times, before the flashing of digital cameras hanging around foreigner’s necks and the buzzing of cell phones dangling from their belts dominated the sights and sounds of the city. When villagers spent their days fishing from reed boats or farming with oxen and horses, and praying the nearby volcanoes would remain silent.

Aside from the occasional attempts at invasion from across the borders by unfriendly neighbors, the Grecian world would pass tranquil, with thoughts focused on wine and olive oil and if the Gods would bless the harvest this season. Even today, as the native society struggled with an ever-increasing encroachment of twentieth-century change, it still retained an impression of serenity and freedom from strife.

But, such an atmosphere would be challenged tonight, as the pale yellow moonlight and a soft, warm breeze originating from the calm sea streamed across a twisting road that was ancient before Jesus was a sparkle in God’s eye. Save for the late night’s surf cashing onto the beach, not another sound echoed past the old walls until the rapid clacking of heels joined the chorus as a nervous figure made his way through the streets. Short legs, not quite proportionate to the hefty frame they supported, feverishly worked to close the distance to his destination.

His name was Julius Bimby, a trader in ancient artifacts and well known for supplying private collectors with pieces of history that deserved homes in museums rather than someone’s dusty shelf, where only one pair of greedy eyes would feast on their splendor. He still scarcely believed that what lay within his clutches would earn him a single greater profit tonight than all his prior fifty-seven years had seen. They were an underground dealer’s dream, priceless and untraceable.

His buyer, a man not unknown in the relic hunter’s circle, first contacted him more than a decade ago. Four other of Julius’ comrades received similar offers, but it was he that finally found the treasure. And much to his dismay, it would be he that receives his just rewards.

Making his way past the silent buildings, the raised hair on the back of his neck forced a second guess on the decision to come here alone. Julius understood the value of his unique possessions, any number of archaeologists or collectors would pay handsomely for them. Even selling them to a museum would yield him financially stable, but this particular individual promised wealth beyond his imagination. Besides, he wasn’t getting any younger, and accepting this offer meant much more than a comfortable retirement. It assured riches that would allow him to possess a large boat and the kind of female company only such money could attract.

Julius halted at an entryway with no door, reading the numbers posted against the faded, white walls of the empty hut aloud.

Seven-two-nine, he spoke, then suddenly fell silent upon hearing something creeping from behind...or was it above? A shuffling, perhaps a scraping, like talons against soft stone.

I’m here! he called, not knowing who to beckon since no name was ever given for his contact. Is...is that you out there?

Seconds passed with no reply, so again he presented himself, and this time it was met with a deep, hollow voice, announcing,

Yes, I am the one you seek.

A tall man appeared from the depths of the hut. His face was hidden within a heavy cloak that encompassed the figure’s entire body. Julius fought back the impression of fright, holding his ground and trying to keep from shaking. Any salesman understands fear is a very visible sign of weakness which could impair one’s bargaining position. Besides, this person would certainly do him no harm, Julius thought, especially after he found what no one else could find or even believe existed in the first place. Such a valuable supplier as himself would surely be needed again to search for other items. Anyone with this kind of cash must have an impressive private collection, along with an equally impressive wish list.

Do you have them? the imposing figure demanded, short and to the point.

They are here.right here! Yes, I have them right here, answered Julius enthusiastically and displaying a wrapped bundle. Difficult it was, trying to converse with you by letter, since you never gave me your name. By your garment, I see you enjoy your privacy, but is there something I can refer to you other than ‘my mysterious friend?’

Baccus, was the dry reply.

Oh, well then, Mr. Baccus, pleased I think you will be.very pleased. Quite a discovery this is! May I ask how you know of the secret language upon these relics? Very old.very rare, not seen for thousands of years, Julius inquired, trying to break the severe tension he felt with some conversation.

The figure did not answer, and Julius was suddenly overcome by a feeling others were standing near, but just out of his peripheral vision, anxiously but patiently waiting. But he dared not take his own eyes off the being before him. If any suspicious movements arose, he came prepared in case of treachery.

Give them here, now! the figure ordered, and before Julius could respond, a gloved hand shot forward and easily snatched the package from his tight grip. Quickly unwrapping the artifacts, the enigmatic person carefully studied the inscribed hieroglyphics engraved upon the pair of rectangular tablets. After a few seconds, Julius could almost sense a smile from under the man’s gray hood.

Like I promised, they are genuine, are they not? he asked, holding his breath for the answer.

Yes, they are, and you have done well, came the response, adding, How were they acquired? I have search centuries for them.

Centuries? I doubt that old you are! Julius laughed, but was not joined by the stranger. You are one of little humor, I see. I assure you, a lesser man would have missed this discovery. I, being unequaled in my skills, easily recognized them when I saw them in possession of another, who was clueless of their value. Simply a case of expertise that only comes with years of experience, boasted Julius, hoping leave an impression of his worth toward future venues.

In reality, it was pure luck he ever came in contact with the tablets.

Two weeks past, a young man knocked on his door holding a dirty cardboard box and asking if Julius would be interested in purchasing any or all of the items contained within. The boy, perhaps fourteen years of age, claimed his uncle died and left them to him. Expecting the usual handful of worthless junk, Julius first believed his suspicions were confirmed as he rummaged through the shards of vases, figurines, and pottery.

Ancient Minoan replicas, he thought, just common counterfeits. Good quality ones, he gave the kid that. They could have fooled many with their worn appearance and realistic textures. If they were real they’d be worth a fortune.

Not interested, Julius decided, and handed the box back.

But, the persistent boy pressed against the closing door, unyielding.

No, no! You buy! I know of you, and your reputation. You can sell these for big money! All very rare! The boy exclaimed.

No, all very fake. Now go hustle someone else, returned Julius, waving his hand as if the boy was a large insect and he was trying to shoo him away.

Please! the boy begged, I can prove they’re real!

Julius halted the swinging door, curiosity taking the best of him. Besides, it was a slow day and there was nothing on television.

All right, prove how?

My uncle, the boy began, he worked when he was young for a man who was part of the big dig on Crete, at the city of Phaestos.

At the mention of Phaestos, Julius perked, although it still didn’t mean the kid wasn’t just a better con artist than originally thought.

What dig? There have been many, he inquired, fishing for more details and proof.

The first one, with Sir Evans. I know of him from the stories my uncle told.

Julius stared at the boy’s words. That name, Sir Evans.Sir Arthur Evans, who first discovered and excavated the ancient Minoan City of Phaestos. If this was true, and these pieces authentic, they could be worth tens of thousands.

My Uncle said he worked on the dig, and stole these pieces to sell later. But he never did, fearing being captured by the police, the boy explained.

Julius still believed these were probably fakes, and the kid scamming him, but the slim possibility that they were authentic was too great of an opportunity to ignore.

Fine, fine. Here, I’ll give you ten for the lot, Julius offered, eager to get the box inside and more carefully study its contents.

Ten? the boy repeated, No, one hundred! he counteroffered.

Twenty, Julius came back, and the promise I won’t turn you in for theft. I’m sure when your uncle died, if he is even dead, didn’t state in his will that this box would go to you, he added for good measure.

A bluff, really. If these were stolen artifacts, a known dealer in illegal goods would make a much better catch long before an anonymous, annoying young boy would be. If the kid decided to report him, he’d probably be jailed until his dying days, so the last thing he wished for was any contact with the authorities.

The boy gazed hatefully at him, uncertainty and hurt in his eyes, and reluctantly nodded his head at the offer of twenty.

Julius reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills and tossed one at the young man. As he retrieved the box and closed the door, the kid flashed a rude gesture before running down the street and into a local shop to splurge on candy and soda.

Once inside, Julius emptied the box, laying each piece of clay or stone out on a table with loving care. He was able to recognize several items, most damaged but still rare enough to have numerous bidders eager to posses them if he could guarantee their authenticity. But his delight soon turned to confusion as he spied one particular bundle.

At the bottom of the container lay something wrapped within a dusty rag. As Julius peeled back the tattered cloth he reviled two clay tablets, each almost as long as his forearms. One contained an ancient alphabet, Minoan perhaps. Chiseled over the other was a series of hieroglyphics he didn’t recognize.

What is this? he asked himself, staring at the strange shapes. After so many years dealing with relics he was surprised this language seemed so foreign. They didn’t match any Greek or Egyptian text he was familiar with, and he’d seen many.

He then noticed the columns and rows of the text on both tablets matched in the way they were scribed out. It became obvious. One was a secret or unknown language, perhaps even some code, he realized, and the other must be a key used to decipher the first.

Thoughts of petty profits were replaced with delusions of grandeur on the fame and fortune this could bring. The discovery of a new language could mean respect from the main stream scientific community, perhaps even an archeologi-cal job with some museum. And if he had unrestricted access to a museum and its contents, who knows what deals he could make on the side.

Julius was about to temporarily abandon his examination for a fine cigar until one symbol in particular caught his attention. It was a bird, appearing like a long-billed stork the way Picasso may have envisioned it. But, he had seen this abstract figure before, not on a vase or in a book but in a letter. A letter he received long ago but important enough not to be forgotten.

Quickly moving to a bottom drawer in an old wooden desk, Julius reached in and pulled forth a handful of papers. He rummaged through them until they lay scattered on the floor, then repeated the process. This time he halted halfway through the stack, selecting one yellowing envelope in particular and allowing the others fall indiscriminately to the ground. It was his copy of a letter sent to several dealers in artifacts.. .dealers with, shall we say, have a very liberal attitude on what they sell.

Unfolding the note inside, he read the message explaining how the letter’s sender was searching for an ancient Minoan object. The artifact could be identified by certain symbols carved upon it, some which were sketched at the bottom of the stationary. The writer did not know what form the piece would take, be it clay or papyrus or stone. But the reward promised for locating the object was beyond generous. Whoever found the object would certainly be the envy of his other fellow dealers for years to come.

Julius walked the letter over to the table and laid it open beside the tablets. All three symbols were verified; the bird, an open eye, and what looked to be a rising sun. All clearly inscribed upon one tablet.

He breathed heavy and poured a scotch, wondering if this offer was still valid. There was only one way to tell, and a reply was mailed to the return address on the original letter that evening. Along with a description of the tablets, Julius copied three additional symbols found on the tablet and included them in his correspondence to prove his discovery, before requesting a selling price close to what one may expect to pay for the golden mask of King Tut. A bargaining figure really, if he received a tenth of it, it would be a prize-winning sale and water the mouths of his colleagues.

Anticipating an ‘address not found’ answer to his attempt, in a few days Julius was shocked to receive not only a reply but a proposition of more than half of his original offer. He eagerly accepted, and tonight came time to complete the transaction.

Now that you are satisfied, Mr. Baccus, I very much look forward to doing more business with you, Julius gleefully said, forcing a smile.

Your services will not be called upon again, Baccus flatly replied.

I see. Unfortunate, perhaps you change your mind later, Julius said, but secretly was glad he’d never have to repeat business with someone who frightened him as much as this. Now, my turn if you please. If you will hand over my payment, I will be on my way.

What he dreaded most happened next, only silence came from his purchaser.

This is not good, I had bad feeling from you. You’re not going to pay me, are you? inquired Julius, not bothering to ask again for the money.

Of course not, the man confirmed, his tone very matter-of-factly.

Yes, I knew this. And now I feel you are going to kill me? To keep this discovery silent?

Yes.

Then, Mr. Baccus, your last mistake you have made tonight.

Without hesitation, Julius produced a handgun from under his shirt and emptied six rounds into the cloak of the man before him. They stuck their target squarely in the chest causing Baccus to cry out, but more from being startled by the impacts, rather than pain. Bracing against a stone wall, the concealed figure regained his balance and faced a stunned Julius.

What the hell? he thought out loud, wondering why this man’s insides weren’t splattered over the streets.

Over-prepared as always, he loaded the weapon with Teflon shells, the kind that could rip through a bulletproof vest like paper. Even wearing body armor this person should be very dead.

Fuck this, Julius said, abandoning the trade.

As valuable as the tablets were, they were not worth his life. But, before he could turn and flee, another figure became exposed from the shadows and stood next to Baccus. A thin female, her long, dirty blonde hair laying wildly about her shoulders, placed a hand gently on Baccus’ shoulder and halted him in his tracks. Her sunken face and anorexic frame reminded him of the starving street children he used to see rummaging through the trash in Brazil. Her skin was so pale it glowed in the moonlight, easily reflected from under the sheer fabric covering her nude body like a tunic. For a brief moment Julius was taken aback, there was an aura of forbidden and dangerous sexuality emanating from her, forcing him to stand his ground and stare.

I would like you to meet Rebecca, Baccus introduced the female to Julius, before turning to her and speaking, my dear, before you feed, first tear out his tongue so he cannot scream. Then you may kill him as slowly as you wish.

Broken from the spell, Julius heard enough, turned, and ran directly into two men who came out of nowhere. They grasped his arms like a vice, and lifted him until his feet dangled uselessly from the ground.

No! he screamed, looking up to notice Rebecca hovering inches from his face. Her eyes smiled at him, bloodshot and dead, as she placed a hand over his chin, forced open his jaw and slid a finger and thumb past his lips. Julius bit down hard with no reaction from the woman. He tasted dirt and grime as she pinched down upon his tongue and with a yank tore it in half.

Gagging on his own blood, Julius saw Rebecca lick the raw end of the quivering, pink flesh before tossing it away like scrap and opening her mouth wide. Through the pain he could scarcely believe his watery eyes, she had fangs, like two sharp daggers where incisors should be. A pair of hands with tremendous strength tilted his head, and he felt the vampire’s teeth puncture his neck like nails.

Suddenly, with a desperate shove, Julius managed to break free, but fell to the ground in a bundle too weak to run. His back became wet from blood as it pulsated from his torn, exposed jugular vein, and instinctively clamped a hand to his neck to slow the loss of the precious liquid.

This is a nightmare, he thought, it can’t be real, as the three figures methodically approached and stood over him. One of the males, an older looking gentleman in a shabby tuxedo, knelt and placed one hand on his right knee and the other under his calf.

Escape...bad, the undead thing hissed, and with a grunt snapped the leg upward, breaking it in half.

Julius gasped from this new stream of pain and saw luminescent colors flash before his eyes as he felt three sets of teeth tear into his body and begin to feed, before slowly fading into his final unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 2

THE BODY

The call came early in the morning, when the only people working were bakers mixing dough for donuts and pastries in preparation for customers looking for breakfast, and the bars cleaning up after the nightly crowd.

A frantic voice was on the other side of the line, describing finding a body, brutally murdered. Within half an hour Detective Mallous Dimitris, specialist in homicide for the Hellenistic Branch of Law Enforcement for Athens, arrived on the crime scene. They were at the edge of the city, in Piraeus, where some two thousand years past this was a major and thriving trading port of Greece, full of wooden merchant vessels transporting goods from around the known world. They were replaced now by hundreds of long, white sailboats and private yachts which lined the harbor like teeth in a giant maw.

The remains were found among the ruins of the archaic region of the city, where only empty buildings stood, carefully preserved in their original excavated state. One could almost imagine living during those ancient times while among these structures until you noticed the sprawling hotels towering over the rooftops flanking the shoreline.

The unmistakable shape of a body lay in the dirt just off the main street. Covered in a sheet once as white as the coat of the man kneeling beside it, the heavy red, soaked-through stains on the blanket gave hint to the condition of the corpse.

The medical examiner looked up and saw a familiar shape, and waited till it grew nearer until he could make out the chiseled and serious, expressionless face of the approaching man. Over six feet tall and donning the same brown trench coat as always, Mallous raised a hand to the doctor when in speaking distance. Spiros was always amazed that even on the hottest days this man would never be seen in shorts, but always a jacket and hat. It earned him a rather curious reputation.

Doctor Spiros, Mallous greeted, speaking in the native Greek dialect and tipping his broad-rimmed hat.

Detective! Detective Dimitris, the doctor returned. I am glad you came, this is a strange one. And when are you going to call me Paul? Longer we’ve known each other than my last three wives combined.

Paul, of course, I apologize, Mallous spoke, and then studied the shape on the ground. Looks bad.

An understatement that is, the doctor commented. This one.not pretty. Not much left to identify by.

The examiner lifted the sheet to expose its secrets. A man, or what was left of one, lay sprawled underneath. His arms and neck were shredded, with the thickening blood pooling on the ground. Mallous slipped a pair of plastic surgical gloves on and slid a finger into one deep gash on the body’s shoulder, then forced open the mouth and peered inside. A sound to his left broke his concentration, and Mallous looked to see a young man being questioned by a police officer. The person was gaping wide-eye at the exposed body, then promptly leaned over a short wall and vomited.

That who called? Mallous asked, gesturing to the sound of heaving.

The examiner verified whom the detective was inquiring about and answered.

Yes, third time the kid’s thrown up. Can’t blame him, my own breakfast I felt in my throat when I first saw this mess. I think he’s a student from one of the universities who came out here early morning to complete some research. Wonder if he will include a special chapter this in his term paper about this.

What do you think happened?

Animals, I’d say. Nothing human did these wounds. Have you ever seen anything like this before?

Spiros waited for Mallous’ reply. In the twenty or so years they had worked together, he gained an admirable respect for this officer’s ability to deduce a crime scene. But his answer was short and puzzling.

I agree, nothing human caused this, was all Detective Dimitris said, stroking his short goatee.

It was an evasive answer. He could have added more, for he did recognize the manner of beast that caused this man’s death. They were rare, but hunted in these lands long before cruise ships dotted the horizon.

Doctor Spiros moved his attention back to the body, and commented, Well, he’s too well dressed to be a vagrant. And there’s this.

Turning another part of the sheet aside, one of the dead man’s legs was exposed. At first appearance it looked ordinary, until Mallous noticed it was bent to a perfect right angle in the wrong direction.

How the hell did that happen? he asked.

The examiner drew a sigh.

Beats me. All I can figure is this man was up on one of the roofs, fell, broke his leg, and was attacked and killed by a pack of wild dogs. Don’t ask what he was doing up there to begin with.

I’m asking, the detective said, leaning the body to one side and removing a wallet from the back pocket. Searching the rest of the corpse, Mallous found a set of keys.

In any case it wasn’t robbery; the wallet still contains a credit card. And I’m sure these belong to the white convertible down the block, Mallous affirmed, jingling the keys, then slipped the driver’s license out and read, Julius Bimby.

Glad there’s identification, else we’d have to trace fingerprints. Sure couldn’t go by his face, Spiros commented, making a slight grimace and recovering the body with the sheet.

Actually, I thought I knew this man when I first saw him, but wanted to verify it first. Bimby is a dealer in stolen artifacts. Suddenly, this is looking more like a homicide than a bad fall. I know where he lives, we’ve raided his house before. You finish here, I’m going to check out his home, said Mallous.

The detective stood and removed his gloves, shook Doctor Spiros’ hand goodbye, then went to ask the witness a couple quick questions when he sensed a familiar smell. He altered course and walked over to one of the huts lining the street. Crouching to the ground, Mallous discovered a shell casing.

Doctor Spiros? Mallous called back, and the examiner tossed him a furled brow.

Paul then, he corrected, were any weapons found?

No, no knifes, Spiros answered.

Not a knife, a gun. A firearm was discharged not long ago, I believe. There are spent casings here. Have them sweep the area before they leave.

Spiros waved in agreement as Mallous again made his way to the pale college student before continuing to Bimby’s home.

CHAPTER 3

TRANSLATION

The villa lay deep in Mt. Hymettus, far outside the city of Athens. From the beginning of the long, winding driveway, one would never know there was a house at the opposite end. The single story building was completely concealed by thick trees and shrubs, and looked smaller than it actually was as most of the dwelling’s living space existed two levels underground. It was built for seclusion, and that’s exactly the reason it was leased one week ago by someone who cherished his privacy.

Sunlight, heavily filtered by the outside foliage, cast shadows that reflected off covered furniture and created frozen ghosts over the bare walls. The upper level rooms remained untouched and empty, one would have to journey to the basement to find any signs of movement.

The house’s lowest level consisted of one large room, shaped by paneled walls and recessed lighting. At one end a heavy cloak rested on a worn, bare mattress. Against the opposite three long, wooden boxes with hinged lids sat in a row. They contained nothing living, but were not empty. What lay within waited to emerge once darkness again claimed the sky.

Four open shipping crates claimed the center of the room, with their prior contents of books and research materials now scattered across the concrete floor.

The only piece of furniture that appeared well taken care of was a richly adorned mahogany pedestal near the bed, crowned with a glass case. Displayed inside was a carved wooden chest, no larger than the stack of textbooks on a nearby table where one figure sat. In one hand he was holding a clay tablet, in the other a telephone.

On loan?.. .a traveling exhibition?.. .I see.. .for how long?

The receiver clicked without another word, the man contemplating his next move.

In the few hours since he witnessed Julius Bimby’s mutilation and murder, the language upon the tablets solved many questions Baccus had struggled to answer for centuries. It