Author Jason Huffman-Black

Presents an Untitled Piece

(the beginnings of what we hope will be a book someday)

Chapter 1

Salvatore discreetly watched the tide of people who passed his seat at one of the many outdoor cafes in Venice. He held a book and even flipped a page every now and again to keep up the ruse. A steaming coffee sat before him on the wrought-iron cafe table, and he lifted it to his lips to feign actually drinking the liquid. He was as good as invisible to the wait-staff, so they did not question that his coffee never decreased in his cup.

His brow arched as a young couple paused on their stroll to gaze in a store window, arms around each other and faces close together as they spoke furtively. Obviously, they were on their honeymoon and could never be lured from one another. They weren’t what he looked for at any rate. He turned his attention back to the stream of humans who passed his spot, not knowing who watched them on their trek. There were both locals and tourists, those heading toward dinner or some event or party, street vendors who called out to the sea of humanity, shop owners hurrying by on their way home after a long day of work, locals out for a stroll, and the pickpockets who wove through the crowds, bumping here, nudging there as they collected their haul for the day.

Salvatore tended toward the pickpockets or one of the many young students who wandered the streets. Neither would be immediately missed or have someone keeping strict track of their whereabouts. As if called by his thoughts, a young man paused in front of the cafe, digging in his backpack as if checking for change to buy a coffee. Salvatore smiled.

With a wave of his hand, he called the waiter to his table and pointed toward the young man as he instructed, “Advise him that I have arranged for a free coffee if he agrees to sit with me while he drinks.”

The waiter nodded and hurried to do his bidding, mumbling to the young man and pointing his finger back toward Salvatore before leading him to the table. Salvatore rose and pulled out a chair for the man as he arrived.

“Sit, please,” Salvatore crooned as he made sure the man was comfortable, then took his own seat again. His new table partner was not quite as young as he had thought, perhaps twenty-five at the most, but appeared just as naive and unsure of the situation as Salvatore would have expected from someone younger, with wide brown eyes, curling hair a few shades darker, and long eyelashes to match. Plump, pink lips completed a picture of beauty to rival that in the paintings of Botticelli.

He offered a smile, which was no more than a curving at the corners of his lips, to reassure the man and gestured toward the waiter. “Order whatever you would like. I offer you this since I too was once young and struggling.”

The man ordered a coffee, and Salvatore added a selection of pastries and biscuits. After the waiter hurried away, Salvatore introduced himself. “I am Salvatore Acerbi. And you are?”

The young beauty before him lifted his eyebrows, eyes widening for only a fraction of a second before his expression resumed that of innocent curiosity. “Corbin McMillan.” A hand was offered across the table, and Salvatore accepted it and shook. Once his hand was released, Corbin focused on the coffee being set before him as if trying to hide something.

Canting his head slightly, Salvatore asked, “Do you know of me, Corbin?”

Corbin shook his head in denial as he busied himself with a small plate, plucking a fresh glazed croissant with slivered almonds sprinkled over the top from the platter placed between them. He’s lying. Interesting.

“Ah. well, I have lived in the city for many years, so it would not surprise me if you had. I’d planned to have dinner with a friend this evening, but he cancelled at the last minute, leaving me at loose ends.” His lips curved up slightly with a hint of amusement. “Would you care to tie me up?”

Corbin choked on a sip of coffee, taking a moment to clear his throat before asking, “Excuse me?”

Salvatore chuckled and answered, “I mentioned being at loose ends, and then asked if you would tie me up. I jest with you. My actual question should have been if you would care to accompany me to dinner.” The young man was beautiful, but the mystery of his reaction to Salvatore’s name was an attraction of equal pull. Tonight would make for good entertainment.

“I-I’m sorry,” Corbin stuttered. “My uncle would not approve. I’m already late, and he will worry.” Corbin took a gulp of coffee and reached for another pastry, He’s going to leave. I must stop him.

 Reaching across the table, Salvatore caught Corbin’s hand as he tried for a pastry, cupping it between two of his as he leaned forward, catching Corbin’s gaze with his own.

In a smooth, enticing voice, Salvatore coaxed, “You do not need to leave, Corbin. You will go to dinner with me and your uncle will not worry. Do you understand?”

Corbin stared at Salvatore, his face slack for a moment before taking a breath. Salvatore nodded encouragingly as he waited for the boy to agree. Instead, Corbin jerked his hand away, grabbing a handful of pastries before standing so quickly the chair fell over behind him. The young man’s mouth worked as if he wanted to say something but, in the end, decided against it, simply turning to run off into the night.

Salvatore sat in complete shock for several moments. Not much shocked him anymore, but this boy had succeeded. Then he began to chuckle.

What in the world have I found tonight? A human whom I cannot control by mere suggestion? I shall have to look further into this boy and his uncle.

Chapter 2

Corbin scurried from the cafe. Even in his haste, he took care to place the pilfered pastries gently into his bag. His uncle would appreciate the treat, even if he would not appreciate who his nephew met in order to get them. Corbin berated himself for his stupidity. Not only had he come into close proximity with one of the city’s most notorious vampires but also shown the deadly predator that he was not susceptible to the creature’s powers of control.

He never stopped his hurried movement, weaving amongst the human traffic in the square until he found himself beside the fountain at the center. There, Corbin allowed himself to turn. His gaze scanned the crowd, heart beating a tattoo in his chest with concern that he was being followed, but Corbin located Salvatore still seated at the cafe, his head canted slightly in curiosity.

From that distance, Corbin allowed himself the pleasure of admiring the handsome man. Hair so black that it shone as blue, even in the fading light, lay in soft waves around chiseled features and eyes the deep blue of lapis lazuli.  Why was evil always so attractive? Why could it not display its ugliness on the surface as well as hidden inside?

Relieved that Salvatore did not appear to be pursuing, Corbin turned to leave only to run immediately into a well-muscled chest. With a mumbled apology, he sidestepped without even looking up, intent on getting home and forgetting about his close call. A hand wrapped around his bicep, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to prevent further movement.

After a moment’s hesitation, in which Corbin could not will his body to take a breath, he slowly lifted his head, mouth going dry as he found himself looking into eyes of dark blue surrounding an iris so black and empty it had its own pull, as if he were balancing on the vampire’s event horizon.

“You are not what you seem, Corbin McMillan, and I plan to puzzle it out.” The corners of Salvatore’s mouth twisted up into a slight smile before he slid his index finger into his mouth and bit. The finger revealed with a drop of blood on the tip. Corbin had no clue what this was about, but he knew he wanted away from the hold Salvatore had on him.

Corbin tried to flee, but the struggle was as ineffectual as a one-winged chicken attempting to outswim a shark. Salvatore pressed the tip of his index finger against the side of Corbin’s throat and held it there for a moment before releasing Corbin so quickly he sprawled across the bricked ground. Without even attempting to rise, Corbin scrambled across the ground on hands and knees, finally pushing up enough to run down an alleyway that led toward his uncle and their home.

* * * *

Silas McMillan stood, thin lipped, as he watched his nephew scrub the skin of his neck raw in an attempt to remove the blood there. Scarred and callused hands swiped over Silas’s mostly bald head as he struggled to find a solution to the situation. First, he had to stop his nephew from permanently disfiguring himself with a simple washcloth, then he could focus on the much larger issue.

“Why would he do that? What does it mean?” Corbin yelled, although Silas had already explained the meaning behind Salvatore’s actions twice since the boy had stumbled in the door, gasping for breath, eyes wide with fear. “We are supposed to be hunting them! Shouldn’t they try to keep away from us?”

“Although I wish it had never happened, this is not completely a bad thing.” The older man reached out to pat Corbin’s shoulder in an attempt to calm the boy, but his nephew spun away from the touch.

Corbin’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing. “How could you say something like that? You said this means he marked me! How can being claimed by an evil creature older than the Coliseum be a good thing?”

“I-I…” Silas began. “Not good that he wants to own you. But… Just stop!” Silas snatched the washcloth from Corbin’s hands and tossed it away. The skin on Corbin’s neck was already discolored with broken blood vessels from the boy’s rough treatment. Silas grabbed Corbin by the shoulders and shook him hard enough to rattle his brain, then spoke slow and calm. “What’s done is done. But no other vampire in the city will attack you with his mark. You hear? Let’s think on the good until we can fix the bad. Panicking ain’t gonna fix nothin’.”

Silas’s Southern accent came out when emotions got high. He attempted to hide his birthright most of the time, but no one ever seemed surprised to learn he came from Kentucky.

The hard shake seemed to calm Corbin, but with his loss of panic came a lethargy that left Silas holding the boy up until he could maneuver him over to the couch. Corbin crumpled onto the cushion and curled in on himself. Silas wasn’t sure which reaction was better or if there was any use trying to shake the boy out of it. This appeared to be shock, and at least it was quieter and less hurtful than the panic he was in seconds ago. Maybe Silas would have some peace to think on a plan.

* * * *

Vincent Tolbert lit a cigarette and glanced up once again to the small apartment that Silas McMillan shared with his nephew. Without glancing away, he pulled his phone from the pocket of his shorts and thumbed it open. He glanced down for only a second to make sure he pressed the correct keys, then leaned against the wall, phone against his ear.

“Yeah, interesting news. No, I didn’t find him, but I may have the next best thing. Meet me at Giorgio’s; he’ll want to hear this too.” After hanging up and pocketing the phone, he took another sniff of the night air. There was no mistaking it. The kid had been marked by Salvatore himself.

And if we don’t act on it fast, someone else will.

* * * *

Salvatore swept from an alley off Salizz S. Canciano and turned toward the Grand Canal. He had fed for the evening but found little pleasure in it. His mind was on the odd young man he’d met early in the evening. Still, he had marked the boy for later consideration, which would make for interesting hunting.

He rarely cared enough about his prey to make the effort, but in this case, there was a mystery that needed solving. Something new to keep his mind busy for a time. He ducked into a side entrance of the oldest standing palazzo along the Grand Canal, Ca’ Da Mosta. The structure was in ruins but empty and available for his use. He’d heard of an interested purchaser for the property. He despaired at the thought of finding new lodgings, although imagining the old palazzo getting a facelift gladdened him.

As he came up the stairs from the home’s basement, he was met by Carmilla, his maid and housekeeper. Salvatore had commissioned the cleaning and partial restoration of several of the inner rooms for his use, and Carmilla kept them and his clothing in order. The maid appeared as ancient as the sagging dwelling, but she had been loyal to her master for many years.

Carmilla simply bowed and awaited instruction. Her voice had been taken in a violent vampire attack that would have left her dead if not for his intervention. The oafish predator had ripped out most of the small woman’s throat in his attempt to feed. Salvatore considered himself much more refined, preferring to sup instead of maul. After nursing the woman back to health, with some help from his blood, she had been with him ever since.

Salvatore smiled and placed his hand on her fragile shoulder. “Be at peace. I have no needs except for rest. Alert me if there is any trouble.” With that order, he turned and made his way into a surprisingly well-appointed bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Chapter 3

Vincent inhaled a deep drag from his cigarette, his gaze sweeping between the other two men in the room. The first lights of dawn were beginning to glow through the windows. Giorgio had a little flat in Venice where he and his partner Samuel stayed when in the city on business. The business that had brought them to Italy on this trip was Giorgio’s sighting of Salvatore. The vampire was a near complete myth since he was only seen on the rare occasion, and even then, it was usually by someone who could not be trusted absolutely. So when Giorgio took a cell picture of the vampire, the entire team rushed to town for a chance at such an amazing capture.

Venice was known for its vampires, so individually and in pairs, the entire team had spent enough time in the city to be familiar with its layout. But this time, they would all hunt as a team: Vincent, Samuel, Giorgio, and Silas. Silas had even notified the group that he would be bringing his nephew for some training. And that is where the problem now lay.

“Enough of the melodrama. What is so important?” Giorgio growled. The short Italian sat with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other clenching the arm of the chair, fingers beating a tattoo against the antique wood. His hair and eyes were dark, his body stocky and well-muscled.

Samuel sat sideways on the couch, legs stretched out along the length. He seemed patient with his partner’s hesitation in telling them his news. He was a large man, blond hair that now held a healthy portion of gray mixed in. His eyes were blue, perhaps the color had faded over the years. Tall and broad of shoulder.

“Why isn’t Silas in on this meeting?” Samuel asked, proving he had intellect to match his brawn.

Vincent sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. “On the way to his apartment last night, I noticed a young boy. Something about him… his scent…” Vincent shrugged. “I followed him instead. At first, I thought he had been bitten. The boy hurried through the alleys as if afraid of his shadow. When he turned a corner, I saw it. A blood mark on his neck. He has been marked and he smells of ancient blood.”

“And you let him get away?” Giorgio cried out, brows furrowed. “Do you realize what you have done? He—”

“He has not gotten away.” Vincent interrupted Giorgio’s rant so that he might continue and tell the most important aspect of this quaint tale. “I followed the boy to Silas’s apartment.”

Giorgio’s expression crumpled into confusion, but Samuel’s eyebrows rose in astonishment.

“The nephew?” Samuel guessed.

Vincent nodded and frowned. “I didn’t contact them. I simply watched the apartment for a time then came back here.”

Giorgio clapped his hands and stood from the chair. “This is the in we needed. We have the bastard now!”

“It’s Silas’s nephew,” Samuel reminded him, glancing between Giorgio and Vincent for some hint of how they would handle this.

“He’s nothing more than bait now,” Giorgio answered, waving off any concern. “If we don’t use him, someone else will. I can’t believe the great Salvatore has made such a grand mistake.”

Ignoring Giorgio’s callousness, Samuel asked, “How has this happened? Do you think it is some trap that Silas has dreamed up?”

“No,” Vincent answered surely. “I heard raised voices once the boy was in the apartment. Plus, Silas would not risk the boy by allowing him to walk the evening streets alone with such a mark if he were the one that placed it there.”

Samuel nodded in agreement, his gaze unfocused as he tried to work out this problem.

Giorgio grunted, but Vincent interrupted him before he could make any other insensitive statements. “Yes, I know what needs and will be done. But this is Silas’s nephew! Have a bit of empathy, will you?”

Giorgio shrugged, seemingly satisfied that everyone knew what needed to be done, and left Samuel and Vincent to their guilt over it, heading back into his bedroom to rest for the coming night.

After the door closed behind Giorgio, Samuel turned and placed his feet on the floor, elbows on knees as he leaned toward Vincent. “How do we broach this with him?”

Vincent knew that Samuel meant Silas. He lifted one shoulder. “He likely already knows what has to be done. He will either accept it or try to secret the boy away from the city. Salvatore will not allow the boy to leave so easily, though.”

* * * *

Corbin woke up a start and took a minute to remember where he was. The living room was dark in the small Venice apartment, and he had a light blanket over his legs that had not been there when he collapsed on the sofa the night before. Corbin dropped his face into his hands in despair as he remembered the events of the previous evening. The vampire that had invaded his dream was real, and he really was claimed by the ancient monster.

“Are you alright?” A soft voice came from behind him. Corbin almost jumped from his skin, turning to see the shadowy outline of his uncle seated in a corner chair. The older man looked as if he had been there all night, still wearing the clothes from the day before, the little bit of hair the man had left was standing on end as if he had been pulling it in frustration.

It took a long moment for Corbin to remember that his uncle had asked a question. “I… I dreamed about him.”

Silas nodded. “The blood will make that happen.” The older man sighed and stood. “Vincent didn’t come by last night. That tells me they already know what happened to you.” He tapped his at his chest, a sure sign Silas was nervous. He was searching for the pack of cigarettes that hadn’t been there for over five years now.

“But that’s good, right? They’ll help us to stop this. Maybe they know how to wash off the blood?” Corbin could feel the panic that wanted to take over again, but he tamped it down. As much as he would love to run screaming from this place, he knew he had to think smart or he wouldn’t be around to think much longer.

Silas winced. “The thing is… A vampire will protect his marked. He will hunt you down.”

“I know! And so they will help me get away. Strength in numbers and all that, right?”

“Listen, Corbin. Vampire hunters aren’t… we aren’t saints. I’ve done bad things in the past. Most of the time, we think the end justifies the means.”

Corbin’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not some priest, Si. You don’t need to confess to me. But all that means they fight harder to protect me. Failure isn’t an option and all that. We are going to be okay, right?”

“I need you to listen, boy,” Silas said in a firm tone. “The end isn’t making sure you are alive. It’s making sure the vampire is dead. Get my drift? The means to that end was handed to them last night when you got marked. So now we gotta come up with a plan.”

Corbin’s eyes widened and his entire body began to shake. “Shit! I don’t want to be bait. Bait dies, Si! Bait gets eaten!”