Читать книгу Two for tragedy. Volume 1 - Анна Морион - Страница 2

As soon as the bright orange disc of the sun set in a thick, long sea of clouds, Markus and I left the castle and made our way to a remote low boulder.

My brother's mysterious and distracted look intrigued me. I knew from Markus's eyes, always laughing but now calm and even nervous, that our conversation would be serious. I wondered what my eyes were like at that moment. In my heart I was speculating what the conversation would be about, if it required such secrecy.

We stopped at the edge of the cliff, and I looked expectantly at my brother, thinking Markus would start his story immediately, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that he'd summoned me to a secret conversation and was silently watching the horizon.

– So, what are we talking about? – I asked in a bored tone, sensing that if I didn't speak first, Markus wouldn't say a word.

– I think I already know what you're going to say," my brother said, glancing at me. He had a satisfied smile on his lips.

– Markus, don't drag this out. I have plans for tonight. – Markus's phrase didn't make sense to me.

– I never thought I'd live to see this day. I'm in love," Markus said in a calm tone. And then he added. – Just recently.

I chuckled derisively. I'd thought it was going to be something serious.

– You took me away from my business for something like that? – I said grudgingly.

– Nonsense? – He frowned.

– Exactly.

– You're crazy! – Markus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

– If you think I share your views on such a subject, I'm afraid you're fatally mistaken," I said.

I had reason to be annoyed: the talk of love and my mother's hints that I should be related to one of the vampire families were driving me from my indifferent existence. All this talk was a joke to me, a ridiculous play directed by an inept director.

– You're ridiculous," Markus said sharply. – Have you ever loved anyone but yourself?

– The very word didn't fit my life. Love. Being a slave to a woman was not my thing. – And why did I feel like the hero of a bad melodrama at that moment?

– When I saw her, something in my heart exploded. – Markus turned away from me, apparently offended by my words.

– In that case, I pity your heart.

– I saw that beautiful vampire and realised that from now on my heart was beating only for her. Everything happened swiftly and imperceptibly. – It was as if Markus was drowning in his own thoughts and didn't hear me.

I was getting more and more annoyed: Markus was well aware of how much I hated this kind of talk. You're in love and to hell with you! What was the point of notifying me?

– Love is just a metaphor people invented to explain attraction to each other. Don't tell me I'm going to fall into that trap someday," I said ironically, anticipating a moral judgement.

– How childish you are! – grinned my brother.

I was tempted to throw him something caustic, but when I looked into his dreamy, yet serious eyes, I realised that Markus had opened his soul to me, and that I was mocking him. And I was deeply ashamed.

– I'm sorry. I went too far," I said conciliatingly. I was ashamed of my behaviour. Only now did I realise how deep my brother's feelings for his lover were.

– Don't apologise for your stupidity," he mumbled. – My trifling life changes seem enormous to me alone. You have never loved and cannot understand me!

– I don't think I ever will. – I spoke the truth, for I really thought love and all that goes with it was downright stupidity. – I don't want love.

– Do you think she'll ask your permission?

– I'm already in love," I grinned, trying hard to keep myself from sounding annoyed.

– What news! And with whom? – Markus asked mockingly

– The moon and the sunset.

My brother looked at me like I was crazy. Then suddenly he laughed out loud. I watched his tantrum with an impenetrable face and waited patiently for it to subside. Finally, Markus pulled himself together and gave me a mocking look.

– You're comparing loving a girl to loving a sunset? With your notions of love, you can only entertain children and write books for losers to justify their failure with the opposite sex!

Markus was always a joker, and his irony never missed the punch line.

I chuckled unwillingly.

– Who knows, maybe in the future this book will be a success among mortals! – I said with a laugh. – But now make it clear: who is the lucky girl?

– Do you remember Mroczek family? – my brother asked me instead of answering. – The Polish clan?

At the mention of the object of his affection, Markus's eyes warmed.

With a slight smile on my lips, I nodded.

"One of the Mroczek girls, then?" – I thought.

– Mariszka. – Markus exhaled the name with such favour that I could barely keep from laughing derisively. It was entertaining to watch him – had love really changed him that much?

"Mariszka. Ah, yes. The thin beauty with hair the colour of ripe wheat," I remembered and smiled.

– Well, congratulations to you: she's really good," I congratulated my brother, deciding that Mariska Mroczek was indeed perfect for a serious vampire like him.

– She's gorgeous," he corrected me.

– You know better," I smiled.

Despite my fair prejudice against love, I was happy for my brother. He'd believed in love, and he'd looked for it, and waited for it, just like people do. And at last he had found what he longed for.

I neither sought nor believed. The words "love", "seek", and "wait" seemed disgusting to me. Only humans can be so naive.

– I hope… No, I'm sure you'll find your life partner soon," Markus said with a smirk.

– Don't start a comedy," I grinned wryly.

– You know what, I'm willing to bet," my brother said insistently, holding out his hand to me. – I'll put the blood cup on the line.

I grinned, but shook his hand firmly.

– You'll lose," I warned him

– We'll see. – Markus glanced at his watch and smiled. – I've got to go!

– To her? – I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

– I had invited Mariszka to the cinema.

"To the cinema? Like children!" – I thought, but kept my thoughts to myself.

– Good luck. Fly," I said instead.

– Good luck to you, too. And whatever you say, your approval means a lot to me. – He gave me a friendly clap on the shoulder and flew away. And I was left standing by the cliff, watching the beautiful evening sky and reflecting on the drudgery of my life.

Everything I was once passionate about had long ago ceased to interest me: hunting, entertainment, music, books, philosophy, studies, history, science… Now I was living simply because my life was stretching. To put it more precisely, I was living my life without any meaning, and at times I thought that eventually I would dawdle from boredom and tedium with the current. The university and the system of institutions of higher learning that I had once idolised had become intolerable to me. These institutions had become to me a concentration of stupidity, and it was funny to watch professors trying to pass on knowledge to a younger generation whose goal in life would be to pass that knowledge on to the next generation of fools. An endless chain. And, although I, without boasting, had a profound knowledge of all the known sciences of the modern world (for the sake of interest I had finished all the known universities of the globe, and now, sitting in lectures, was exhausted from boredom), to discover something new became for me a duty, ceased to be a pleasure for the soul and mind.

After my conversation with my brother, I felt something strange, inexplicable. It was a new feeling for which I did not know the name. It was different from anything I had ever felt before. It felt like emptiness. Emptiness and disappointment. But what am I disappointed in? I have no reason to be trapped in black melancholy. And to get my mind off these thoughts, I decided to fly to the bridge where I liked to meet the sunset. But this time the sunset had already gone: I would have met it if Markus had not so unexpectedly wished to speak to me.

When I returned to the castle, I put on a long waterproof cloak. It was autumn, so my attire was not much different from that of the citizens of Prague. Then I went into the garage to get my car. I was the lucky owner of a black Toyota, but not one of the latest models, despite the fact that my family members changed cars almost every week. My father, mother and Markus decided that since they couldn't fly around the city during the day, they would flaunt their cars – the latest models of the world's famous brands. I smiled derisively at this consolation of my ego. Passers-by often saw off the Morgan's motorcade of foreign cars, and my Toyota looked like a real exile in it. But my faithful iron friend was to my liking, and I was not going to change her. Since my youth, I have been convinced that a means of transport should have only one function – to be comfortable, and not to become a way of compulsive self-expression.

Contrary to mortal opinion, we do not literally fly around the city. To my great regret. But we call all our movements around the city "flying". And once again I flew to the bridge that connects the districts of Prague and is located on two hills, stretching over the deep Nusle valley. This bridge was conveniently located in the neighbourhood of the Faculty of Physics and Mathematics where I studied.

The Czechs call the Nusle Bridge, forty-two metres high in the centre, the "Suicide Bridge". Seven other such bridges were built in the world using similar technology, but all of them, except Nusle, have faded into oblivion. In Soviet times, Nusle was considered a working class neighbourhood, although workers, hooligans and other people still live here. The spirit of the neighbourhood is depressing, and the concrete bridge has absorbed the same spirit. You look down and think about how easy it is to die. That's the thought of hundreds of suicides who come here to end their lives. There were so many suicides that the Czech government seriously thought about this phenomenon, so nowadays the bridge railings were iron partitions and bars. However, these pieces of iron do not stop the death-seekers: from time to time, opening the daily Prague newspaper, I once again learnt about new victims of the Nusle Bridge, this gloomy giant. A person flies a distance of forty-two meters, in free fall, in just three seconds, and then, at a speed of one hundred kilometers per hour, meets the asphalt. Suicidal people are reminded of the streetlamp under the bridge, which illuminates part of its tube and points upwards to illuminate the suicides' final path. And those who wish to commit suicide are many: their number approaches four hundred. In the history of the bridge there are only two known cases when those who jumped from it survived, however, one of them died in hospital seventeen days after the fatal jump. During the Soviet era, the media hushed up suicides on the Nusle Bridge, as nothing was to sully the name of the first "worker" president, Clement Gottwald, which the bridge bore until one thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. Today, howevebr, the bridge is infamous worldwide as the "Suicide Bridge."

Not knowing what death was, I loved this place. I had a beautiful view from the bridge, and no bars prevented me from seeing it. I liked to meditate on it, to watch the sunset, and sometimes even to watch the dawn. Unlike my relatives, who came to the castle before dawn, I was not afraid to be here in the morning, and with the hood of my cloak over my head, I stayed until the first rays of the rising sun. Here I was not disturbed neither by the noise of the city nor by the noise of passing cars – I had long ago learnt to abstract myself from reality. And this time, after my conversation with my brother, I morally needed a long reflection. For some unknown reason, this time I felt inferior, an outcast, an outsider in my own family, in which everyone had a meaning in life. That meaning was their other halves. And I was like a person who didn't know what she wanted, or rather, didn't know what she lacked. But what do I lack? I have everything that mortals can accurately dream of: immortality, wealth, perfect physical disguise, a loving family, a vast store of knowledge. What is it that makes me feel inferior and alien when I have everything? I hoped to find the answer to that question. But how quickly would I find it? And, the worst part is that it could be months, years, or even centuries before the answer is found. But even then, I will be unsatisfied: each new guess gives birth to a dozen more questions. And this endless chain will never be broken. And all this time I will have to live with a feeling of mental emptiness. Will I be able to? I can't. I'm a vampire. Immortal.

When I arrived at the bridge, I parked my car in the small car park and headed for the high iron railing.

Whatever superstitious people might say, the Nusle Bridge was a work of art, filled with a special atmosphere of moral freedom and reflection on the mortality of life. Admiring the heavy clouds flying above me, the colour of a stormy sea, with thin veins of grey threads cutting through them, I thought a great deal. There were a few people on the bridge besides me, but they were just curious tourists, seduced by the bridge's terrible beauty. Banal: they would take pictures as a souvenir and soon leave, unable to withstand the aura of hundreds of suicides.

And so it happened, but my mind was visited by an unpleasant reminder of the beginning of the mid-term autumn exams, for which I had no point in preparing. I knew I would pass all the exams, after all, I had covered this material many times before. As I mentioned above, I have had the honour of studying at all American, Canadian and European universities, including Prague University, where I am studying again. I have studied here three times, in different eras, under different names, naturally without drawing undue attention to my identity.

Darkness descended on Prague. The city was lit up with thousands of multi-coloured lights and filled with the hum of evening fun. People got their long-awaited rest. What did that bode for me? I had only eaten two days ago, so I wasn't hungry, but Markus was out hunting tonight. Let him have his fun, perhaps even paired with the lady of his heart.

I leaned against the railing, closed my eyes, and stayed that way until I caught something unusual in the air that made me forget my thoughts and look in the direction the wind had brought me: a girl standing about fifty metres away. I couldn't have been mistaken, because a vampire's gaze was much more distinct than a human's. And despite the thickening darkness, I stared openly at the stranger.

The scent of her blood intoxicated me. This bouquet, never before heard by me, struck me with its beauty. The scent of fresh young human blood, filled with a touch of sea breeze and tart sweetness. To savour it, I breathed often and deeply, and my mind was involuntarily filled with strange questions. Who is this girl? What is she doing here? How had I not noticed her appearance on the bridge?

My interest in the stranger grew with every second, and I involuntarily just stared at her. Suddenly, as if sensing my frank gaze, the girl turned to me for a few seconds. But half a second was enough for me to reproduce her portrait in my mind. The first thing that caught my eye was her hair-dark, thick, falling in a waterfall down to her waist. The stranger's face was unusual, intriguing. The soft pale lips gave a slightly sharp contrast to her bright dark brown eyes. Her figure was slender, with no outlines of unhealthy thinness or starvation. The girl seemed mysterious and even beautiful to me. Her beauty was soft and expressive, like an autumn day that had not had time to cool down from the sun's rays, but already with the sun gone, sprinkling the sky with its farewell light.

For a moment our gazes crossed like swords. Suddenly the stranger took a quick step away from the bridge, as if fleeing from my unwilling, insistent attention. But I, as if mesmerised, looked after her, I just couldn't let her go. Let go of that magic.

Shit! What was I thinking?

I mentally berated myself for allowing myself to stare at some mortal, and, by an effort of will, albeit a hard one, I pushed the thought of her out of my head and remembered my immediate plans for the evening – to get away from the world and be in another reality for a while. But that memory brought back another, unwelcome memory-the scent of the stranger's blood, so tantalising. I would kill her and drink every last drop of that delicious blood.

No. Not this time.

I had principles I did not deviate from, even for the sake of such a unique flavour: killing girls and children was taboo for me. I hunted people who had already tasted life. The category of my victims started from the age of thirty to fifty, and I unmistakably felt the age of my victims, determining it by the smell of blood, and in the years of my life never made a single mistake. I felt that the girl I was interested in was still young, about twenty-two years old. Let her live. Maybe in eight years I'll find her and taste her blood.

With these thoughts I drove back to the castle. There, leaving the Toyota in the garage, I walked to the city.

In the morning several people were once again reported missing in Prague. When I heard this, I grinned: these were the hunting tracks of Markus and his fiancée. All the Prague newspapers wrote about these mysterious disappearances, including the cries of unhappy relatives and appeals for vigilance. The citizens of Prague discussed the news with bitter sighs. I, on the other hand, was filled only with indifference and derision.