Karolina Dalca, Dark Eyes Read online

  I called my earth magic and made a face when I felt its tingle in my toes right away. With all its use, earth magic and I were developing a fairly steady relationship.

  The airport was modern for a country famous for olden vampires and medieval castles. The floor and walls were smooth cream tiles, with a mix of honey-colored wood. White chairs lined the boarding areas like shiny leather teeth. We walked along a bar lit up with blue neon lights. At the end of the counter, a three-person band acted as a magnet for airplane passengers.

  The DJ spun disks on the equipment, creating a masterpiece of electronic booms. His partner played an electric violin; his face lit with passion as his fingers blurred across the strings. Finally, a dark-haired beauty sang out in Romanian. Her siren voice haunted me as it pierced through the violin and bass melody.

  When we passed them, I felt the vibration of the Charm in their music. The woman shot me a cheeky smile between words. A man emptied the entire contents of his traveler’s pouch into a guitar case. His companions danced with their pockets inside out while sweat dripped from their brows. Others sipped cocktails like zombies as they waited for their flights…if they could break away from the spell at all.

  Romanian words flashed in neon on a computer screen which hung above the hallway. Underneath, the English translation read Welcome to Bucharest.

  We walked down the length of the airport. I scanned the crowd the way my Crime and Intelligence Analysis course taught me, taking note of the activity around me through my peripheral vision. When we arrived at the opposite end of the building, Andre stopped at a desk labeled Autonom. A sign in the vast universal language was beside it—a stick figure standing beside a car.

  “Give me a minute,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  Andre returned a few moments later. “Let’s go,” he said. His pocket buzzed as we rode the elevator down. He took out his phone. A voice spoke in Romanian on the other end and he replied with the same perfect pronunciation. Jealousy bit at me. He could speak it and I couldn’t. Mama had forgone speaking her language to me. Wanting me to fit in with the other kids, she’d only spoken English at home. The snippets I learned were from my grandparents.

  He flicked the phone shut and we headed into the parking garage.

  “How many languages do you speak?” I asked.

  “Fluently? Five. English, Romanian, Ukrainian, Russian, and Italian,” he said. “You start by learning small amounts as you travel around.”

  “I can mostly speak one language,” I said. “I was going to choose some intro language courses for my electives at university this year. Try to get a little more culture under my belt.”

  “The best way to learn a language, Karolina, is to be immersed in it.” Andre tried to take my hand, but I crossed my arms.

  A sleek black car rolled up, with the word Dacia mounted on the front of it.

  The valet opened the door. “Doamnă,” he said.

  It took me a moment to realize he was waiting for me.

  “After you,” Andre said.

  “I can’t remember the word for thank you,” I said as the driver took our bags and handed Andre the keys.

  “Mulţumesc,” Andre said. He got into the seat and slid his hands lovingly over the steering wheel. “Hello, gorgeous.” He turned the key and purred when the engine revved to life. We roared onto the speedway where a large arch glowed in the distance at the center of a roundabout clustered with trees.

  “What type of car is this?” I asked.

  “It’s a 2014 Dacia 1300 concept,” he said. “It’s made in Romania. I try to drive a car that’s made in the country I’m visiting.”

  I wondered how many countries his work had carried him to. “I’m excited to see my family’s homeland,” I said.

  “I’m glad I could show it to you,” he said.

  Too nice. He was looking at me the way he had in the dorm. The dash clock read 4:30 a.m., only a few more hours until sunrise. We passed under a pedway connecting a cluster of stark buildings which shadowed the dead area of Ceausescu’s rule. The road brightened deeper into the capital. I turned to the window and watched the lights of the city blur by like falling snow among the people. “Why are there so many pedestrians still out?” I asked.

  “You’re in Europe’s party capital, little vampy. The bars close at six in the morning here.” He jerked the car. An oncoming car glanced by us and blared its horn.

  “The city isn’t what I expected,” I said, and rolled down the window, letting the dance music from the streets fill the car. Andre turned down a narrow road, laced with historical stone buildings, which soon turned into restaurants and nightclubs. I studied the architecture. Some buildings were medieval, with high pitches and carvings of wolves or angels. Others were midcentury modern. The blend of old and new was exciting, like I too could build on what once was. I loved Romania for that promise.

  Andre swerved again to avoid a pothole. Once straight in the road, he rolled down his window, and hung his palm out into the rush of the oncoming air. His dark locks blew back, and he rested his head against the seat. He relaxed in the motion of the rushing wind. I decided, in this moment, he was in love with Romania.

  We turned down a crumbling cobblestone street and stopped outside the doors of a restaurant. The sign read Rosu Foame. I leaned over him to look at the building. It was made of ancient gray stone, with windowpanes in an iron cross pattern. The candles inside danced in the restaurant windows with the pulse of the music.

  “It’s our check point,” he said. “Let’s head inside for a bite.”

  “I’m down,” I said, ignoring the pun.

  A man in a black jacket opened my door for me. When I got out, a red object stepped into the light of the restaurant. It was a woman in a short red dress and gray fur. Her black makeup was smudged, and she beat her fists wildly against the chest of the man she was with. He took her by her twiggy wrist and whispered in her ear.

  I shortened the distance between the couple and myself, my hand almost close enough to rip the man off her.

  I was jarred back toward the car.

  Andre had taken my arm and guided me back to the car at freakish speed. I rolled my elbow out of his hold and faced him.

  “She’s a junkie,” he said. “Look at the track marks on her arms. He’s probably a concerned family member.”

  I looked at her again. She and the man walked into the darkness of the alleyway. She swung her arms as she walked, showing angry needle-like wounds scabbed over on her forearms. I cringed. My experience of living in Ottawa for university showed me that criminal drug rings were the sad reflection of any city that punished addicts as criminals, and Romania wouldn’t be an exception.

  “I didn’t consider it was a family member,” I said.

  “Let’s head in.”

  He gave me his arm and I took it, for formality. We crossed the threshold of the restaurant door, and I felt a drape of magic. The pungent odor of lavender slapped me in the face. I looked up above the door and saw foreign carvings at the top. The ceiling had more of the markings carved into the heavy timber columns.

  The maître d’ approached us and spoke Romanian to Andre.

  “For two,” Andre said.

  The man took the hint and switched to English. “Right this way, please.” He led us to a private booth in the back and gestured for me to be seated first.

  “Now what?” I asked

  “I meet my contact, and you eat. Relax,” he said.

  “You won’t eat?”

  “I’m a full vamp remember? I barely eat food.”

  “I feel sorry for you.”

  He lit up, and I’ll admit it, he had a nice smile. Nice teeth, nice mouth…nice eyes. His gaze felt like velvet against my skin. I looked down. If he’d used his power again, I couldn’t tell. His eyes were still blue, but I didn’t know if he had more subtle talents. I hoped my spell was still in place.

  “I’ll relax if you tell me more about yourself,” I said. �
��On the plane, I heard the call on the speaker. He called you agent Smo—”

  “Shhhh. Don’t say that here. There are others who may know that name.” He leaned in. “Pretend we’re on a date. Yes, he said agent,” he whispered, audible only to my vampiric hearing.

  I leaned in to whisper. “To be an agent means you are an emissary, P.I.s work on contract. An agent means you are a part of an organization.”

  He shuddered when my lips accidently touched his ear. “Careful, sweetheart. I’ve lost a lot of blood to you and I’m starving.”

  “You’re wanting me to act like we’re on a date. So, if you want me to play along, you have to give me a little more info to work with.”

  “I sparked the Dark Charm when I was eight,” he whispered. “After that your uncle, Loukin, took me in. I’ve been his top man ever since.”

  “I see.” So, my uncle and Andre were a part of the underground.

  “Plus, he wouldn’t have trusted just anyone to retrieve you.” He attempted to meet my gaze again, but I wouldn’t risk his compulsion, or my stomach fluttering. Sunrise was coming, I told myself.

  “What? You’re saying you’re Mr. Impulse Control?” I played at a laugh, but it sounded breathy.

  “Yes.”

  I remembered the trashed residence-room and wondered if he considered that restraint. “Doesn’t say much for the rest of them,” I said. “Why just one man?”

  “Stealth.” He leaned closer.

  “What makes me so important?”

  “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll tell you,” he said.

  “Maybe I’ll be good if you tell me. And Andre, I can be so good.” It was too far, but the words just flowed out.

  “There’s some information I can’t share, no matter what the reward,” he said and leaned back against the booth. “I think it’s time we ordered, don’t you?”

  My face burned.

  The waiter approached us and asked for our order.

  “I’ll try a glass of the house’s special blend,” Andre said.

  “I’ll have the merlot please.”

  “Excellent. I’ll leave the menus with you and will be back in a moment with your drinks.”

  I felt the blood starting to leave my cheeks. “Can you help me with the menu?” I asked Andre.

  “Of course, Miss Dal—” he stopped mid sentence. “What should I call you?”

  I said the first thing that snapped to mind. “Dark Eyes.”

  “That’s all you got?”

  “Better than yours,” I said.

  He helped me find the Romanian translation of mushroom and bacon stuffed beef, muschi poiana, on the menu. Then he downed his wine in two gulps and set the glass on the table. When the waiter returned, Andre ordered a bottle of the house special for himself and placed my order.

  I felt woozy from the thick lavender scent.

  The waiter delivered my food and the bottle of wine for Andre. Andre poured a glass and downed the whole thing in one gulp. “I’ll be back in a second,” he said and disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

  The room blurred. I hadn’t had much wine. My food steamed in front of me. Two days of hunger turned in my stomach.

  Halfway through my meal, my senses were still foggy.

  A feeling of anger zinged through my chest. I gasped. It was Andre; with my new sense, I could feel it was him. Like before on the plane, I felt him in the distance. His emotions flooded into me. His rage balled inside of my chest making my heart beat in my throat. In the fleeting seconds I called to my new power to feel for more details, but the sensations washed blank. I composed myself, but the room spun through the haze of the lavender. I felt drunk.

  Andre sat down just as I finished. He had a spare wine glass with him. He set the glass down beside his and filled them with the house special.

  “Hey,” he said and slid the second glass over to me. “I want you to try this wine, It’s really good.”

  Buzzed, full of food, and warm with comfort, I took the glass. I held it to my nose, but all I could smell was lavender. I took a sip. An explosion of flavor washed over my tongue. If desperation and intoxication had a palate this was it, and they tasted good. Fangs burst through the roof of my mouth. Deep rattling hunger turned in my stomach, then disgust. The owner of the blood had a soul riddled with despair.

  My hand trembled and let go of the glass. It fell and shattered on the table. Everyone turned to us for a moment. The waiter rushed over, but the blood inside the glass already soaked outward across the white tablecloth like a crimson ink blotch.

  “I told you,” I said, “I don’t drink human blood.”

  “Come on, Karolina, you drank mine. How is this any different?”

  The waiter placed a white napkin over the spill and cleared away the glass.

  “It is. What we did with each other was different. You can’t say that it was equal to this,” I said and gestured to the bottle.

  “Aw, little vampy,” he said. “What? Are you going to say what we did was special?”

  “Yes, I tasted your soul.”

  He looked away. “So have a lot of girls, sweetheart, and to be honest, your flavor is a bit much.”

  “Where?” I whispered. “Where does the blood come from?”

  He met my gaze.

  A chill ran over my skin. The context of the situation set in. This restaurant had bottled human blood. The lavender. It covered up the smell of blood, vampiric senses and all. I called up my vampiric eyesight, but it was blurry. I concentrated, but all my senses were numbed. The markings. The restaurant was spelled. I peered at the closest table; it had a bottle marked the house special on it. I looked to another, then another. They were all the same. Outrage lit a fire inside me.

  “Where?” I yelled.

  Everyone stopped and stared at our table.

  Andre looked back at me tight-lipped.

  Fine. I leapt from my seat and headed for the kitchen, wobbling on my legs as the room teettered. A waiter appeared and blocked my path. My protective instinct took over. There may be people in there. They could be bleeding to death at this moment. He held up an arm to shove my shoulder back.

  “Wrong move, buddy,” I said.

  He yelped as I broke his arm.

  I charged for the door and kicked it open. It swung back on its hinges as I ran into the room. A man at the stove rushed over, Romanian erupting from his lips like rapid fire. I shoved past him into the back of the kitchen. Two skinny men were on the ground with their arms covered in bruises. They lay on the floor with needles in their arms, murmuring desperate praises to each other and encouragement to keep going. The needles were connected to a rubber tube which was placed in the top of a wine bottle.

  The back door gaped open. More frail men and women stood in a line-up. They scratched the scabs on their forearms, while a husky man at the door handed them cash. The breeze from outside blew at the dirty clothes of the two on the ground, clinging the fabric against their soggy skin.

  The house special.

  I crossed the distance to the man with the cash and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head, and I punched him in the nose. Blood sprayed like a fire hydrant as he collapsed to the ground. I recognized some Romanian profanities that Grandpa Dalca used to let slip.

  “Charming,” I said.

  I turned to the two on the ground and plucked the needles from their arms. Taking some nearby cloth napkins, I applied pressure. They yelled at me while I did, but they had lost too much blood to fight back.

  A hand clamped down on my arm and hauled me upward; my back cracked, and I cried out in pain. The force of the grab took me off my feet and out the backdoor. I crashed through the people in the line-up on the way out.

  Chapter Eight

  Lightning Storm

  I hit the cobblestone street with a thud. Rolling with the impact took some of the weight, but my shoulder still throbbed against the cool stone. The alleyway was dark. Its narrow street, with medieval buildings, whi
ch were once a royal palace, birthed concrete apartments like they had quaked through the crumbling rubble. The old town felt like a minotaur’s maze. Thunder rumbled behind me, and the hairs on my neck stood erect.

  I sprang to my feet to face my attacker, and the junkies from the line-up scattered. Andre walked toward me.

  “What are you thinking? Are you out of your mind? Do you know how many Romanian vampire dignitaries just witnessed your little scene in there?” He closed the distance between us in a flash and clutched me by the scruff of my jacket. He was so angry; lines on his face appeared for the first time.

  I swept my wrists out and down into his forearms. My blow broke his grasp and I stumbled back. “I would never prey off the sick and weak!”

  “You could have gotten us killed in there, Karolina!” He shoved me. “Move! You blew our cover!”

  “We need to call the police!”

  “No!” His movement blurred. He snatched me around the waist. “We’re leaving, God damn it!”

  I fought against him, but his grip was ironclad. He carried me kicking down the alleyway. While I struggled, a shadow crept across the cobblestone. I looked up to see the tail of a coat slip from sight on the roof ledge high above. On the eaves lining the roofs, I caught glimpses of silhouettes against the skyline.

  “Andre…”

  “I said no, Karolina!”

  “Andre.” The alleyway gave way to a courtyard ahead. Gargoyles glowered down at us from the roofs above. Bodies stirred among the stone guardians.

  “Andre!”

  “What?”

  “We’re being ambushed,” I whispered.

  “I hope your little scene was worth it, Karolina.”

  Men and women leapt from the rooftops baring fangs. The silence broke from the sounds of their clothing fluttering in the wind as they fell to the ground. A fluid stream of black lightning blazed past us and reverberated into the ground. Clumps of rock blasted into shards around us. I dodged a hunk of stone. The air filled with the charred smell of rock and sulfur.

  Instead of the surrounding people gawking at the noise, the streets cleared. The shutters slapped closed on the apartments lining the square. Except for one. A face hovered in the window, with a look of quiet indifference before it disappeared. There was no help for us here.