Blasphemy! Where do they think the true flavor comes from? Peasants have very flavorful feet.
However, I tasted every batch in production and several barrels in the cellar. I must admit that while our new wines lack notes of blue cheese and earth, they are quite good.
I remove my evening wear. I had been wearing a pair of Neli’s black “sweat pants” (that were very tight and hardly reached my calves) and a top hat and black cape Neli scrounged up from a bag of All Hallows’ Eve garments from her closet. I am pleased that my favorite religious holiday is still observed in these modern times. In any case, my own clothing has long disintegrated, and Neli has promised to bring me an additional outfit for tonight from something called a “thrift store,” as she claims it is the only place to find ruffled shirts and clothing that suits my taste on such short notice. She also mentioned procuring some additional outfits “on line.” I believe she means to steal them from a neighbor’s clothing line. I wonder what sort of leather pants are washed and dried in such a way.
Now, appropriately naked, I lie down flat on my back, and a splinter pokes me right in my backside. Ouch! I must have Neli procure a new coffin immediately. This thing is about to fall apart. Yet, I almost do not care. I am simply that exhausted from my evening of learning. Oh, and hunting.
Neli warned me not to venture out alone—too many things have changed, she said—but I am the Great Prince Bozhidar. I fear nothing and no one. Well, except those automobiles. Dear gods of the night, they travel almost as fast as I do! Almost. Which is why I am still with my head. I had been strolling near town, taking in some of the large, oddly rectangular buildings, when one of these vehicles nearly ran me over. Thank the gods for my fast reflexes.
I then found a tavern where the female patrons dressed in what appeared to be undergarments—trousers with the legs missing and tops that exposed everything but the bosom. So indecent! Especially because they claimed not to be whores.
I press my hand to my cheek. That blonde woman hit hard. But how was I to know she was not for sale? She also made fun of my “funky getup”—whatever that means. Hungry and weak, I had no choice but to wait around back and grab the first person who walked by: an older woman with a very bad flavor. I loathe dining on grandmothers. Or any sort of woman who is not a virgin.
I wince and flick my tongue over my upper lip. So bitter. If it were not for that, I would have drained her dead. Instead, I used the age-old trick to wipe her mind of any memory of me, and sent her on her way. Tonight, I shall hunt again and find something sweet and tender to fill my belly.
My mind quickly wanders to that woman I spotted walking outside moments ago. Her long brown hair was loose and wild, and her sun-kissed skin was concealed by a long dress meant to tease a gentleman’s imagination—sexy little vixen!—but even through the glass, with her at a distance, I could smell the virginal blood pulsing beneath her skin. So sweet.
I will ask Neli about her when I wake tonight. To be sure, I have many questions about this new world, including how a vampire conceals himself, or more accurately stated, how he conceals his kills. Neli was very clear that in this day and age, my kind is nothing more than a myth. The villagers do not offer slaves or virgins or any of the perks I once enjoyed. Vampires have receded into the shadows, and nothing feels familiar except the constant ache in my belly. A vampire’s hunger is never quelled.
My eyes start to close as the sun rises over the horizon.
Gong! Gong!
My eyes pop open. Someone is at the front door. I am sure Neli will get it. I cross my arms over my chest, which is now back to its gloriously muscular shape along with the rest of me. The silver speckles have returned to my dark eyes too. Even my long black hair has regained its lustrous shine. I am once again the grand stallion of the night, worshiped by every female who lays eyes on—
Gong! Gong!
Dammit. What does a prince of the night have to do around here to get his beauty rest? I push on the lid of my wobbly coffin. “Cornelia!”
Silence answers me. Where is that girl? She has forgotten her place. I am her master, never to be disobeyed or displeased.
The door gongs for a third time. That does it. Someone must want to be my bedtime snack.