June 15th 1975

The spider scuttled its way across the side table at one hell of a speed, perhaps aware that it was being watched.

A pair of red eyes widened slightly and although the spider moved quickly, this young man was even quicker, trapping the poor thing beneath a tumbler glass. He leaned down slightly to inspect it, nodding his chin with satisfaction as the spider tried vainly to escape. The glass was too big, and the spider too small; there was no way out.

“Got you, you little pest,” he muttered, studying all eight of its legs curiously, “You will not get the chance to scare Dmitri today, not on my watch you won’t.”

If it was possible for a spider to glare then it would have glared daggers at Maximilian Vasile. It had meant no harm at all, it was just spending its life like any other living creature; eating, resting, making a home for itself. It was not the spider’s fault that ten year old Dmitri was terrified of them. It wasn’t even poisonous; why the hell should it get punished just because one silly little boy feared its kind?

The youngest member of the house was scared of a lot of things, even though he would puff out his chest and declare that he wasn’t. But in the deepest and darkest parts of his mind, creeping, crawling, sneering things were his terror; they hid in shadow where he could not see them, only sense them. Every inch of his skin would prickle and his heart would freeze fearfully, until he had recovered enough of his senses to run squealing for his big brother to come and save him.

Maximilian understood his fear and never complained when Dmitri pulled at his shirt and ordered him to dispose of the little terrors. He remembered likening his great uncle Rastislav to a spider because of his long, thin fingers and his creepily sinister disposition. If Max had thought of Rastislav that way then it was entirely possible, and extremely likely that Dmitri had thought along similar lines. So it was a very little wonder that even a tiny spider could reduce the ten year old to shivers.

“It is a good thing he is sleeping,” the teenager pointed out, “Or I would have killed you. Perhaps I should kill you anyway just in case you find your way back in here. The last thing I need is for him to freak out.”

It had taken two hours to convince Dmitri to fall asleep, two hours that Max was too tired to have to repeat. His whole body ached, he felt heavy, and he wished that he could just lie back and sleep himself. But there was too much for him to do, too many things to organise and Maximilian was the sort of person that could not bear to leave things half finished.

“I will deal with you later,” he hissed at the spider, going back to his work book. His father never cared about the family’s finances; if he wanted money then he dipped his hand in the pockets of his prey and expected to settle the accounts that way. Maximilian knew better and he ended up spending many lonely hours figuring out how much there was for the family to live on, sums littering the pages of his little workbook.

He needed new clothes. It felt like he’d only just replaced them but out of nowhere he’d grown another few inches and once again the bottoms of his trousers were halfway up his calf. Max could have rifled through his father’s clothes and been able to save a few pounds but there were two problems with that. The first was Jan’s increasing waist; Max would have to wear a belt. And the second was that if father and son were sharing one set of clothes then they would get threadbare and ripped twice as fast. It would also mean more washing but at the rate Max was growing then it was likely he would end up too tall for his father’s clothes as well.

It was quickly becoming ridiculous. In just under a year he’d grown twelve inches and every muscle and joint complained miserably. He had become strangely clumsy, as if his limbs were not working properly but his father had at least reassured him on that point. Max was still getting used to his size and it would take a while to adapt; clumsiness was acceptable as long as he didn’t break anything. And the growth spurt had provided Dmitri with several years worth of hand me down clothes that Max had kept in perfect condition for that very purpose.

At least they did not have to worry about food.  Well, not for them at least. Animal food was a completely different matter, and Maximilian hated having to figure out how much they could afford  for the poor beasts on the farm. They ate so much and there was barely enough cash to pay for it all. All Max could do was sell the cow’s milk but he never got as much as he would have liked per pint. He could put his prices up but there were other farms in the area to compete with; no one would buy from him if he raised the price.

Occasionally, Dmitri would have a bad day and Max would get another chance to make a profit. He charged a lot more for his meat and he would find a momentary comfort from the sudden heavy weight of his wallet as the poor beast was taken away for steaks and burgers. The butcher in nearby Whitby, Mr Darling, always paid good money for good meat. But that profit meant very little when he was confronted with the reason for its existence; Dmitri, driven almost mad by thirst.

His brother was such a handful, so demanding of Maximilian’s time and effort but he could not bear resenting him for it. It was not Dmitri’s fault that he was like that. The blame lay with Rastislav and only Rastislav, even if it felt that it was Max who was being punished for the old man’s crime.

His hand shook slightly as he tabulated how much they had to pay for tax and he cringed mentally as he found himself in the red once again. Vampires of old had never paid taxes in their life, never put a penny piece in the hands of the government. But the vampires of old didn’t have John Hawthorne breathing down their necks, they didn’t have to assume a guise of mortality to protect their families from death. The Vasiles had to if they wanted to survive, for the time being at least. It was safer hiding in plain sight, integrated with the mortal world. And that meant taxes.

He was going to have to dip into his savings.

Maximilian choked back a private sob. They were his savings; his hopes and dreams in monetary form. He’d worked so damn hard for it as well, so hard until he felt like he was going to grab his hair and tear it out from the stress of it. His savings were his lifeline to a better existence, away from this bloody farm, away from his father and everything else. He wanted a house of his own, somewhere far away where he and Dmitri could live in peace and quiet and never have to worry about money ever again.

But that was just a dream. The animals needed their food. Their taxes had to be paid. And Dmitri needed new shoes. Dreams were free, but giving them up cost Maximilian everything. What else could he do?

If only his father would help out more. But Jan had fallen into a strange irritable depression and he was never there when Max needed him most.

“What advice can I give?” Jan had sneered at him, “any time I make a suggestion you always tell me that it won’t work. I’ve given up trying to give you advice because you never take it anyway!”

But it wasn’t advice Max wanted! It was support! It was an extra hand around the farm. It was a proper father and carer for Dmitri that he wanted, not advice. He was sick and tired of doing everything himself. Dmitri tried to help, he really did. But he was still so young and small and everything had fallen onto the shoulders of the sixteen year old even though he too was far too young to have this sort of responsibility.

Maximilian dropped his pen from his shivering hand and sitting back in his armchair he reached up into his hair and pulled hard, closing his eyes tight so he wouldn’t have to look at all those horrible sums. He couldn’t take it anymore, his head hurt, his body hurt. And his eyes stung from tears he was too proud and too stubborn to shed.

“Oh God,” he murmured painfully, “help me.”

God never answered. Instead of the soothing, gentle tones of an Almighty Being, what Max heard instead was the soft, padded footfalls of someone in the hall behind him. He had his back to the door so he was unable to see who the footsteps belonged to but their rhythm and weight could only belong to one person.

“Bed!” Maximilian ordered, not bothering to turn around to glare at Dmitri.

“I’m thirsty,” Dmitri whimpered plaintively

Max bit his tongue so he wouldn’t mutter the horrible truth, Dmitri was always thirsty. Instead he sighed heavily and placed his hands down flat on the table before him to keep them steady, “There is some blood in the fridge. I will heat it up for you and bring it up in a few minutes. Go back to bed.”

“But…” Dmitri began, sounding as wretched as Max felt.

“Please just go back to bed,” Max glanced around at him, “I will be up in a few minutes.”

But that wasn’t was the boy had in mind. A pint of blood was nothing; he’d down the whole thing in minutes. Dmitri mourned whenever he killed one of the poor cows but his need was too great, too overwhelming for someone so young.

Max guessed what Dmitri was about to do and tensed in his chair, ready to spring. Dmitri was four feet away from their front door; he was 9 feet away. Yet somehow it was Max that reached the front door first, raising his hands and blocking his brother’s path.

Dmitri stared at him flabbergasted, “That’s not fair!”

“Tough,” Max snapped, “I said go to bed. Now go to bed before I make you.”

“Oh, are you going to catch me with your super speed, huh?” the ten year old glared at him, “If I could run as fast as you then you wouldn’t be telling me to go to bed. You’re not my father!”

“I might as well be,” his brother sighed unhappily. It wasn’t Jan that made sure Dmitri brushed his teeth. It wasn’t Jan who washed Dmitri’s clothes and helped him with his studies.

“I SAID I’M THIRSTY!” Dmitri bellowed, his whole body shaking.

“I know, I understand,” Max replied gently, “But please do not turn this into another fight. I am too tired for that. You are old enough now to start trying to control this. I know it is hard but you have to try.”

Dmitri shivered, his eyes darting around desperately as if he was figuring out another way to escape, “Max, please. I need to… I can’t…”

He pushed forwards, one hand shoving his brother aside while the other reached for the door handle. Dmitri tried to pull the door open but Max slammed his hand onto the wood and forced it shut. Dmitri whimpered incoherently and struggled against his brother’s strength but the damn door remained closed. He was going nowhere.

“It hurts me more than it hurts you,” Maximilian told him sadly, grabbing Dmitri around his middle. Using his inhuman strength he flung the ten year old over his shoulder and he marched into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring his brother’s kicks and screams. With one hand he pulled open the fridge and said pointedly to the boy, “Now if you had done what I had asked in the first place I would have made sure this was nice and warm.”

“I HATE YOU!” Dmitri screamed, kicking Max in the stomach but Max did not drop him, “I HATE YOU! YOU BACKSTABBER! YOU EVIL! YOU FOUL! I HATE YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“Careful Dmitri,” Max growled, “That is our mother you are talking about.”

“I HATE YOU!”

“I love you too,” he told his brother sternly, hiking up the stairs with the struggling boy in one arm and a bottle in the other.

Dmitri didn’t really hate him. The poor thing just wasn’t entirely in his right mind, brought on by that foul thirst of his. In a few hours after a nice long drink and a sleep he’d be as gentle as a lamb once more and he would forget his hatred. Maximilian and Dmitri were very fond of one another because sometimes it felt like all they had was each other.  

He dropped his struggling brother into his ‘bed’, a coffin more suited for an adult rather than a child. Dmitri tried to clamber back out again but once again he was stopped by his brother’s firm grip.

“Slow sips,” he thrust the bottle into the boy’s hand, “Trust me. It will feel like there is more in there if you drink slowly, just little sips at a time.”

The ten year old did what he was told, although his eyes blazed defiantly over the bottle. Max sighed and ran his fingers through Dmitri’s hair, wishing he did not have to go through this struggle everyday.  But as long as he was patient, as long as he remained firm then perhaps his brother would learn some control and go back to being the mischievous but sweet tempered Dmitri he was before Rastislav came to stay.

He kissed his forehead and sighed again. Dmitri’s eyes widened visibility and he seemed to calm down, perhaps surprised that his brother remained so calm.

“I’m sorry,” he said sadly.

“I know. Just try and sleep again alright? It is way past your bedtime, young man.”

Dmitri nodded before tilting the bottle up and draining its contents. He licked his lips and handed it back to his brother who accepted it gracefully. Then he lay back and mumbled another apology while his brother backed off towards the door.

Max stood for several minutes, waiting patiently until Dmitri’s breathing slowed down as he fell into a deep sleep. And he stood for several minutes more, just watching over his brother protectively and reflecting to himself how much Dmitri resembled their mother, his round face, his slight frame. His chest panged at the similarity; the last time he had seen their mother she was lying cold and dead in a pool of her own blood while that damn Hawthorne kneeled over her, a stake in hand.

Money troubles aside, that was his greatest fear. To come home one day and see Dmitri just like that, unable to laugh or smile ever again. Max didn’t know what he would do if that happened, rip his talisman off his finger maybe. He had to ensure that would never happen, even if he had to become as evil as John Hawthorne thought he was.

His father told him that there were many hidden abilities that was part of being a vampire. Max had already discovered a few of his own but he wanted to know more, he wanted to be able to do more. But that seemed impossible then he had everything else to think about. He could try and fit in training with his responsibilities, maybe increase his speed by timing how long it took him to do one task and then trying to beat that record. It seemed impossible but it was just something he would HAVE to do, if he wanted to ensure that Dmitri stayed safe.

But what would happen if Hawthorne got him and not Dmitri? How the hell would he cope? His brother needed so much patience and care and if Max was dead then that playful little boy who had filled Rastislav’s shoes with shaving cream would turn into a monster. They still had their father but Max didn’t have enough faith in Jan to leave Dmitri in his care. He had been a good father when they were really small and he had even played games with them. But after Dmitri’s transformation and Elizabet’s death, Jan had seemed like a man defeated, and he was extremely bitter about it too.

But, Max reasoned, they couldn’t be the only vampires in this situation. Surely there were others out there who, for some reason, were finding their lifestyles impossible, the modern world obliterating the safe and anonymous world that the undead had thrived in. Maybe they had ideas on how to resolve the situation. Maybe they were powerful and they would help protect Dmitri. Maybe they could create a little council to help protect each other and set down laws to stop people being hurt like his brother. There were so many maybes, so many hopes that Max found it difficult to consider them all.

He would have to start looking for them all, the vampires that still lived and breathed and preyed. He could find them and convince them to see his point of view. It would take months, years maybe but if Maximilian Vasile had enough patience to deal with his brother then he would not stop until he had found every single one. He wouldn’t stop until there was a council to protect them all.

He just didn’t want to be the one left shouldering all the responsibility again.