*Trick

New York 1973

Cars bustled in the street; the city rejoiced. The world trade center's inauguration came with the hope of reviving a city in the clutches of gangs and criminals of all genres.

My ears no longer withstood the noises and the millions of voices that invaded my mind. Tetanized by the constant humming, my companions found refuge in the deep coves of Sugarloaf Mountain, which follows Devil's path, and Blackhead in the Catskills mountains. Their discomfort reverberated in me; the pact we have is that profound.

I fled the cold of Denmark for the warmth of the foreign metropole I was immune to until her death. My homeland held too many memories of my rise, executions, intestinal wars of the houses, and my exile.

Wry, lost in translation, and isolated, nothing satisfied me.

"Knock, knock."

His voice alone triggered a migraine.

"Vladislav."

"King, or can I call you Søren, now?"

"Have they voted?"

"Yes, congratulations, you are now part of the Strigoi Republic and free from your royal duties. All the houses from here to Zanzibar are choosing their senators, as you wish. May I ask you why you are abdicating?" Vlad winked at me and walked to the bar to serve himself a glace of Cognac.

"The world is changing, and so are we. Peace relies on a fragile treaty, which we can reinforce if all agree. Humans are now more numerous than any of us imagined. If we carry on like this, we will end up extinct like all the other species. All should validate the decisions concerning our species."

Vlad chuckled, "you answer, I was merely polite," he rose his glass in my direction," that's a speech for the fools of the council. Tell me the truth, why give up on so much. Why leave a peephole open for the Arcadius and all the other houses?"

The truth.

What about it? I could not tell him. I fled once more. A vulnerable king, I longed to be like the nameless souls who walked beneath us without care. Unaware of our presence, free from any lust and demons. The truth is, I wish to be free from immortality.

For a Strigoi, a vampire, as they call us, my thoughts were blasphemy.

Glowering, Vladislav did not hide his discontent as he gave me a crooked smile, which showed his fangs exactly like our father used to do.

My brother's ambitions for politics stopped that day on the balcony of Alva castle, as I demanded he played his part as my brother. Still, there is neither trust nor love between us.

"I see you liked my offering," Vlad said as he knelt next to my bed and lifted the motionless arm of the red-head lying on it to change the subject.

"Thank you, she was tasty, in every way."

Blood and sex seemed to be the only things that distracted me from boredom. Vlad chose, well, a girl in her twenties, scorching red hair, porcelain skin with a few freckles in the right places. My fetish remained unchanged despite the centuries and my loss. It's their rareness that attracts me. In a crowd, they are the only women I notice.

Vlad examined the girl, "why don't you kill her or make her a Second; her blood is clear of illness; she is an orphan, you could? ㅡ."

"No."

Creating Seconds is something I stopped doing in 1900; these servants are like children, which you must fend for all the time. Also, you never learn the type of Second you created until it awoke. There, you realized whether you made a monster or an intelligible being.

What I detested the most is their death. One hands over a part of themselves when they engender them, and if they perish, a little of the creator dies. One can find themselves bedded because of the psychical suffering and psychological torment. For Mina, I remained in my coffin for almost a year.

"No, I will erase her memory."

"Done," Vlad replied as his hand swept over her face. The gesture was merely aesthetic. Once we enter someone's mind, we can meddle with their psyche with a single stare. I watched Vlad call on the bodyguards, "rent a suite for her at the Lowell Hotel. My generous brother here present shall pay."

The dark stare I threw did not intimidate him. I went to the balcony, and Vlad joined me. He looked below and shuddered; the fifty-five stories below us seemed to make Vlad uncomfortable.

"Wow, why does this scene seem like a deja vu? Are you planning on throwing me off the ledge again?"

"You could have avoided the fall."

Vlad displayed both pitying and roguish stare, "one must accept the punishment inflicted by the King. It took me thirty-five hours of total confinement in my coffin to regenerate and sacrifice of sixty virgins whose blood I bathed in to reconstruct my beautiful visage. Besides, it did a lot of good to your reputation, King Søren, the merciless. No one dared cross you for years."

I have to admit, my brother is superb. Vlad, aka Jesus, is a canon of beauty no matter the era. Vlad possesses sapphire blue eyes, a perfectly symmetrical face, long dark hair, which he kept throughout centuries, 6.3ft tall, and a soft voice. His beauty is the only thing I can say I envied once.

"Be careful; I might just grant your wish."

Vlad lifted his hands in protest; a wolfish expression adorned on his face, "no, thank you, I think you will need your page boy a little longer. The council has not entirely relieved you. They want you to preside, as a Tepes, you remain a figure of authority, lord Søren. Many wished you stay, King.

My eyebrows furrowed.

"Stop, it was the condition. You can live your life, settle where you want. All they ask for is for you to hold the leashes on conspirators."

A profound sigh of exhaustion expelled in the air without my consent, and I weighed the probabilities. Somehow, the agreement had me cornered. No one knew how the elders would handle my request. We are only a few First amongst a legion of Seconds, yet we constitute law.

I left the balcony; Vlad followed, "what are you going to do? From midnight, you will no longer haveㅡ."

"Don't get sentimental, since when do your fear for my safety? I will travel; whatever I do, it's my choice."

I grabbed my perfecto and left the suite accompanied by Vlad, whose long black coat swayed with every movement of the knight he once was while the leather of his trousers purred with every step. We reached the lobby and left the hotel.

Above us, the cauldron of bats flew in circles, midnight was only five minutes away, and we waited to see if they obey to my last will, as King. The clocks stroke, and thunder clapped in a clear sky that darkened.

"Søren, something is not right, run, Søren," Vlad screamed while a beam of thunder came down and chased us. Gravity corrupted; cars toppled, people screamed and ran confused in all directions.

The bats followed my steps and broke me down with their bites. Unlike popular belief, as I explained, we do not fly. The bats give the illusion when the reality they disassemble and reconstruct us in a sequence visually close to teleportation. Only Firsts have this ability. The more bats one has, the swifter and fluid the process is. For me, who possesses a fleet, the action represents fractions of seconds.

The lights twitched; the poles shone with electrifying lines that ran on them.

"Lord, do not go there," a guard yelled.