Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (24 page)

During
Marek’s
changeover, I had begun to doubt some of
Oleander’s decisions. And Oleander knew of my doubts over
Marek
.
He did not know that he could have lived normally without all this. Perhaps I
had been too outspoken on this matter. It was unwise to make an enemy of
Oleander, who could cast me to the dungeon in the blink of an eye.

I
had loved Jean once and he reciprocated for a time. Though I should have
recognised
the shallowness; he was cold.
Marek
on the other hand was something else. But he no
longer had eyes for me. I saw how he looked at
Celestina
.

There
were stories that his mother was also very powerful. That she led a small coven
of witches here, living alongside the
strigoi
. Why
she left is not really clear, though there has been speculation that she
struggled with the activities of the
strigoi
and
refused the changeover. If she had stayed she would have been safe.

Marek
danced from one
strigoi
to the next. Many of these
were
reborn
– converted witches – with
weakened
strigoi
ancestry: arrogant frivolous beings
with lesser skills than me. Then there were the others, though not many, who
had been a
strigoi
for centuries. I sometimes felt
very different to them even though we shared a common thirst for blood. They
had not had to work hard for everything they had.

I
noticed that Jean’s hair had lost some of its shine lately. His eyes were
bloodshot. Even all the powder on his bad days could not mask the fact he
seemed to be ageing at a rapid rate.  He looked much older than his
thirty-year-old human shell.

With
immortality came the opportunity to resurrect oneself. Jean would no doubt be
looking to do that shortly.

Marek

It was a most amazing night. I had
taken fresh blood every night for several weeks and each time it got easier.
Oleander said that soon I would not have to feed so often, that my voracious
appetite was just part of the changeover.

Sometimes
I saw things in their memories that I wished I hadn’t. That night I took the
life of a rogue: a terrible man who drank and hurt people. A man who had no
care for anyone but himself and I was pleased this land was rid of him. Once
the blood rushed up through my own mouth and into my veins, there was no better
feeling. Perhaps this was close to madness, but such lunacy that made me feel
so alive and so clear of mind. Anything that could make you feel this good had
to be right, did it not? How wrong I was.

My
canine teeth had grown longer, not so noticeable when I smiled but as I rubbed
my tongue across their sharper edge I could sometimes taste my own blood, and
they would enlarge further just prior to feeding.

I
did not take the souls like Oleander showed me. I just pretended to. When my
victims released the final breath – the one that carried away their soul
– I allowed it to escape so that it passed on to the next world. I may
have enjoyed eliminating human filth but I still believed they needed a second
chance, to be judged by a higher order than
ourselves
.

This
last vagabond’s demise was particularly strange because while I was wandering
through his memories, his drunken fights, his seductions, his murders, I
thought I saw Celeste, when she was small, in a cotton nightgown and holding an
older woman’s hand. This Celeste wasn’t smiling though, as she looked directly
into my victim’s eyes.

I
sought out Celeste, or
Celestina
as she preferred it,
to tell her what I had seen and she seemed vague and dismissive as if she had
no memory of her childhood. I would have thought that she would question me
further but she was completely disinterested. Instead she asked me to dance.
She was fickle these days and although I loved her, she lacked a certain warmth
that I used to think was there.

Zola

Many days and nights had passed
since the change, and
Marek
has spent much time with
Celestina
.
Too much time.
The new
Celestina
was more adversarial than first thought. She knew
how I felt about him yet she had been attempting to drive him away from me. It
was just a game to her.

Oh,
how could I have let myself get to this point? I vowed to never let any man
control my heart.
Marek
clouded my
judgement
so much that I had forsaken all other lovers;
even the attentions of Jean no longer amused me.

I
was determined to make
Marek
see that
Celestina
was a mask only; and the real creature beneath
was so cold of heart, that she was incapable of love. She was playing with
Marek’s
heart to make Jean jealous. She had wanted him for
years but she did not know Jean like I did. He would do whatever he pleased,
tiring of her eventually, and I had this feeling that he would surprise us all
one day.

I
opened
Marek’s
door. He was sleeping but once I was
inside the room he became alert.

‘What
is it?’ he whispered.

‘I
can’t sleep.’

‘Oh,
Zola, it is you!’

‘Who
did you think it was?
Celestina
?’

He
said nothing.

There
was still a lot that
Marek
did not know about the
strigoi
, much he still had to learn and much that I had
shielded him from. If he had known that
Celestina
was
not what he thought, he would never forgive any of us.

I
saw a connection between the mute girl and
Marek
back
in the forest. It was very admirable that he should try and find the girl a
home. But then later it became clearer that he perhaps had another interest.
Celeste turned out to be more beautiful than any of us imagined with her long
neck and masses of ebony curls.

If
Marek
ever found out her true nature what would he think?
He would despise her and try and find the real Celeste. It was not the imposter
who stole a piece of his heart.

‘I
have been missing you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry …’ but with his kiss he stopped me from
saying the words I needed him to hear: I am sorry. I’ve
mislead
you. I’ve helped make you into something you should never have become for you
have not seen the whole truth.

I
understood his state of being. He was still in the early stages of exploration
when the world seemed so wonderful, that killing was just a part of it, and not
all of it. He would soon come down from the clouds but only after he was a
practised
human hunter and his mind and body fully
accepting the
strigoi
within.

Marek

I pulled Zola gently down to lie
beside me and held her in my arms. I had not paid much attention to her lately,
and she had been distant, leaving the feasts early.

‘
Marek
, I would like us to go away to another country for a
few days. Just you and me.’

I
was shocked and pleased that Zola wanted me to come.

‘Zola, thank you.
That is wonderful and yes we can do that
one day
.
But Oleander says I still need training. She says that I must study the
strigoi
ways before I wander too far from her castle.’

‘And
it is probably
Celestina
that you stay for.’

That
had once been true. How could I admit that I had fallen for two girls? Until
recently, my heart had been divided straight down the middle, one half for
Celeste, the other for Zola.

Before
Celeste came, you could say I was falling deeply in love with Zola, but when
Celeste returned, it was different. After discovering she was a witch I felt
that our destinies were entwined. For many nights she was all I could think of.
And I was, admittedly, bedazzled by the attention.

There
were moments when I missed the Celeste I knew back at the farm, the one who
charmed me with her vulnerability. Oleander had groomed her well. And we have
spent several weeks together: riding, dancing, and idle childish games in the
snow. Well, not completely together. She spent some of her time with me but I
sensed she did not want just me. Jean was
there
always
watching on.

I
grew to like him less and less. He was devious and Oleander did not seem to
care or chose not to notice.

Zola
shifted and I touched her cheek with the back of my hand. It was cool. I could
see her clearly in the dark, her small bowed lips and delicate nose. And
suddenly she was all I could think of.

‘I
miss you too. I’m sorry I have been distracted lately.’

Celeste
was as alluring as a glistening black pearl but my desire for her had waned in
recent days. It was not something I could put into words but there was
a certain
oddness about her worldly character: an arrogance
only acquired by age.

I
kissed Zola gently with a touch of guilt and breathed in the rose petal smell
of her hair. I truly had missed her so much. It was Zola who I had stronger
feelings for after all and that night I proved it.

Zola

In the morning I dressed in the
early light and he watched me. As I looked out the window I saw Celeste and
Jean riding together.

‘
Celestina
is out riding,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you should go
too.’

‘Not
today,’ he said and those puppy dog eyes were filled with love and only for me.
‘Come back to bed and stay with me a little longer.’

I agreed
and slid back under the covers.

My
head had barely touched the pillow when Oleander entered without knocking. She
looked slightly shaken but not surprised.

‘Oleander,
can you at least knock?’ asked
Marek
curtly, only to
receive a reprimanding stare.

‘Come
with me, Zola,’ she commanded, and left. She knew I would follow.

Marek
started to rise.

‘No,’
I whispered. ‘She has only called me. Stay here.’

‘Can
you come back?’

‘I
will try.’ But something told me that it would not be that day.

In
her library, Oleander faced me, her expression closed. I feared what would
come, at the very least words of her disappointment. She would most likely ask
me to stay away from
Marek
, that he was too new and
easy to
mould
. She would perhaps think a better
pairing to be
Celestina
since she had little to no
conscience when it came to matters of the heart.

‘Zola,
Pietro
has escaped,’ she said. ‘There are others out
looking. You are our best tracker. I need you out there too.’

I
was glad that this was not about
Marek
– such a
lecture postponed and overshadowed by a more pressing task.

‘Perhaps
Marek
can go with you too.’

‘I
believe it is too soon. He is not like the others and may not cope with what he
sees.’

She
did not say anything but eyed me up and down. She knew the real reason I did
not want him to go. I was not yet ready for him to hate me.

‘Very well.
But sooner or later he will no longer have your protection. He must know what
he truly is, and survive like the rest of us, not babied and wrapped up in
lamb’s wool.’

I nodded,
relieved that she had agreed – a rarity – and eager to depart her
company. I was fearful that once
Marek
knew the truth
beneath this coven he would run far from me. He was someone who took everything
to heart.

I
left wishing I
was
still lying with
Marek
with his strong arms around me. It was odd that I was
the one protecting him yet when I was with him it felt otherwise. But it was my
duty as a
strigoi
to serve Oleander and I complied to
search for
Pietro
.

He
had been a prisoner, a nonconformist. He tried to usurp Oleander’s power,
though unsuccessfully as there were too many of the new blood loyal to her.
Pietro
was of the ancients who only wanted to survive by
the old ways. He and others like him had been imprisoned in the dungeon. He was
starved of human blood like the rest of them though he had not decayed as
quickly as the others.

I
looked at the ground for traces. You cannot see a
strigoi’s
footprint but another
strigoi
can sense they have
been there. There is a scent that is barely detectable. Most escapees had
headed east where the forests were vast, where it was easier to get lost. But
it made no difference. They were always found. I studied the ground until I saw
Pietro’s
mark and rubbed slush between my fingers.
Yes he had been here. The others had picked up the scent too and headed east
but they were wrong. He was expecting us to go that way.
Pietro
was a smart one. Too bad he was not conforming to Oleander’s rules. In some way
I understood that it must have been hard to accept the new decrees.