that he met others of his kind. The Undead. They had sensed his presence in the cafe immediately, and he realized that they all seemed to have the ability to detect the presence of others who possessed the Dark Gift, as did he. It manifested itself in a sudden tensing of his muscles, a subtle tingling along his spine.
It was there, in that same dark cafe, that he learned that vampires had existed as long as humankind. The world of the Undead was a world filled with mystery and suspicion, a closed world where secrecy was essential to survival, where the slightest whisper of the word "vampire" could incite mortals to rise up in fear.
No vampire ever trusted another of his kind. The Undead could be found in every city and clime thoroughout the world, each one jealously guarding his hunting ground. The elders often killed their younger counterparts. There was a vague sense of brotherhood, but no sense of loyalty except, perhaps, between a master and his fledgling.
He learned that he could initiate a mortal and that, once initiated, that mortal would serve him for as long as the mortal lived. If he wished, the mortal would hunt for him, kill for him, dispose of the remains. He learned that he had the power to pass the Dark Gift to others. With age, came an increase in physical strength and mental abilities.
He thought of Shaylyn, who had lived for thousands of years. Were there others even older than she? What powers did they possess?
It was inParis that he saw his first revenant - a brute neither human nor vampire, neither alive nor dead. It was little more than a walking corpse, its putrid flesh rotting from its skeleton. It was by far the most frightening, most foul-smelling creatureNavarre had ever seen.
He heard of bizarre rituals that were believed to ensure that a body would stay dead. In the Balkans andGreece , stakes were hammered into the chests of corpses to pin the body to the grave; nails were inserted in the hands and feet and hair, symbolically attaching the corpse to the earth to ensure eternal rest. In some parts ofEastern Europe , peasants would not use the word owl for fear the nocturnal bird might be a transformed vampire hunting the night for blood.
He spent but a short time inFrance . The presence of the other vampires made him uncomfortable. He was an interloper, an outsider, and he found himself constantly looking over his shoulder, fearing that they might try to destroy him. He leftFrance without a word of farewell.
There followed long years of loneliness and darkness, a sense of being lost. He had been close to only a few people in his life; all those he had known - his mother, Katlaina, his son - had died long ago.
Filled with bitterness, he wandered the world, watching the changes take place. Rulers fought their way to power, and then were destroyed. Boundaries changed. Gods changed. People changed, while he remained the same.
There were endless wars and revolutions.
There was poverty and hunger.
Plagues and floods and earthquakes decimated cities.
But, sprinkled amid the ruin and destruction, were scattered beacons of light.
He read the works of Shakespeare and Poe, Dickens and Browning, Dumas and Disraeli.
Great composers influenced the masses with their music: Brahms, Haydn, Beethoven, Handel, Paganini.
Great artists made their mark upon the world: Degas, Whistler, Monet, Cezanne, Renoir, Picasso, Raphael. Rodin and Michelangelo sculpted masterful works. Charles Gamier designed the Paris Opera and the casino atMonte Carlo .
AndNavarre was there to see and hear it all. He was atCovent Garden to see Handel'sAlcina . He was inVienna when Mozart's first opera was performed. He saw the first paved sidewalk laid inWestminster . He walked the corridors of the Louvre when it was new, rode one of the first velocipedes down the streets ofParis .
He sat in the sacred silences of the great cathedrals, absorbing the scent of incense and candles. It was there that he was most aware of the vast gulf that stretched between himself and the rest of humanity. It was there, amid the silent statues of the saints, that he felt the weight of eternity, the bitterness of damnation.
He indulged himself in the world of opera, went to the ballet inFrance andEngland andItaly . He toured the Paris Opera House, knelt in Notre Dame, admired the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.
In the dark of night, he wandered through the museums and art galleries of the world, his keen