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BLOOD
FAMILY
'Dhampir':
the child of a vampire father and a mortal mother. The dhampir gets most of its
powers from its father - great strength, the ability to hypnotize, as well as
the ability to sense and destroy vampires. Unlike its father, however, it can
step into sunlight unharmed. A dhampir may live a normal life for many years
without ever realizing what it is…
PROLOGUE
"No,
Dad!"
Strapped down, like an animal for the slaughter.
It was
not the first time. He didn't know what he hated more, the coldness of the slab
he lay upon or the tightness of the leather straps that bound his four-year-old
arms and legs.
Why are they doing this? I can't run away. Why is Dad
doing this to me again?
His Dad was accompanied this time by an
older man. Another reverend - with greying hair and a seriousness that made all
the lines in his face taut and frightening. His hands held an open book, The
Rituale Romanum.
Both men began intoning strings of words that the
boy did not understand, words that scared him. They reverberated off the walls
of the empty church, the same church that his mother brought him to every
Sunday to watch his father talk to the people and say prayers. He liked the
church during those times. The singing soothed him. When his Dad preached, he
would listen as best he could, not really understanding but enjoying it all the
same. It was, after all, his father up there.
At the end of the
service, the congregation would file past Dad, who stood at the door, and say
nice things to him, sometimes shaking his hand. Old women liked him a lot.
Children smiled at him, showing him their coloured pictures that they had done
in Sunday school or during the sermon.
There was so much the boy did
not understand. This, by far, was the one thing he understood the least. Their
family doctor's yearly injections were better than this! Anything was better
than this.
Then the old priest opened a black satchel and took out some
containers. From one he scooped out a small amount of ointment with his
fingertips and making cross shapes on the boy's forehead. Repeatedly he made
them, shouting his strange words. Dad just looked on, tight-lipped and grim.
The boy struggled mightily, yelling and crying. The two pastors looked at each
other as though satisfied that something they were doing was
working.
After an hour of this torment, the two ministers decided to
call it a day. His father kissed the exhausted child tenderly on the cheek as
he unbound him - saying how sorry he was that he had to do this to him. Saying
that it was necessary. Saying that he loved him.
The boy stood upon the
altar to which he had been strapped and looked across the chancel to the church
of empty pews. The old reverend was walking away down the aisle, his work done.
This wasn't his church, or even his denomination; Dad had called the man in
from some other place. There was no doubt that he would return when
needed.
"Daniel," said Dad. "Come on, jump down from there. We'll do
something fun. How about we go for some ice cream? Or maybe
McDonald's?"
But the boy remained, concentrating on the receding back of
the old priest. After a moment, the priest stopped. Turned.
The old man
was sensing the boy's stare. What he saw now was the red-hot rage that he knew
infested the child. Reaching into his vestments, he clutched the wooden cross
he had secreted there…
The boy flung himself through the air, eyes
blazing, an unearthly roar gushing from his mouth. In one swift streak, he was
upon his target. Newly formed fangs clamped on to the priest's neck, puncturing
his carotid artery. The boy's small nails grew into claws, tearing at the
vestments, shredding them from the man's body and covering his victim in
glistening red gashes. The child grinned wickedly.
But then - pain. The
old man had shoved something in his face. A smooth piece of wood. It should
have been cool, but it burned. He could hear the hiss of his flesh vaporizing,
smell his burnt skin as it sizzled...
A strong pair of hands wrenched
the boy away. His father was distraught beyond consolation, using every ounce
of strength to pull his son back to the chancel. He dragged the child to the
small, sunken pool, square and shallow, situated behind the altar.
"I
was afraid to put you in here before, Daniel," Dad said, "but now I have no
choice. May the Lord decide if you shall live or die!"
The child
continued to roar and thrash. Then…he was abruptly calmed. A voice sounded
within his head. Deep...reverberating…familiar...
"Kill him
before he kills you…my son."
The rage built again. The face of
the man he had called 'father' for all of his life now seemed to be nothing
more than a mask, the familiarity and trust only a shrouded lie. The voice in
his mind was one with which he felt strangely comfortable. It was within that
voice that he put his trust.
In five seconds, it was over. Teeth and
claws - as well as strength far in excess of a normal four-year-old - tore the
life from his father, all before he could wet the boy with even the slightest
drop of blessed water from the pool.
The boy stood up, shaken
and...exhilarated. He looked down at the slain body of the one he'd known as
Dad and felt no remorse. Quietly, he watched as the blood that slicked the
pastor's hand seeped into the pool. Then, something caught his attention. He
looked up.
An odd thing was happening to the large portrait of the
Saviour that hung at the back of the chancel between two stained glass windows.
The painted figure seemed to be moving. No, not moving - a dark and misty shape
had superimposed itself over it. Wraithlike arms stretched outward in the same
way as the Lord's. The black ghost-figure broke softly away from the canvas and
floated down towards him. He felt no fear.
The tall, infinitely black
figure hovered before the child and put forth huge, semi-transparent dragon
wings, practically dwarfing the figure from which they sprang.
An
angel?
It was then that he saw its fangs.
The entity flew around
him faster and faster. It was exciting as well as confusing for the boy - he
didn't know where he was, what end was up, anything at all, until finally -
The set of super-sharp teeth snapped down hard on to his neck. The boy
screamed with pain, with ecstasy, with sheer childish delight.
Screamed
until -
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