Melina Caruso is an extraordinary human whose red lifeblood and gifted abilities brought unwanted attention to the world of immortality and ultimately sparked a race for blood, power and love.
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What you can't talk about, you have to keep quiet about.
- Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein (1889 - 1951)
As the sun began to set, the Tuscan landscape was bathed in a warm, colourful spectacle that reflected many colours of the rainbow.
My gaze swept over a town of yellowish-brown Sienna stone, which rose imposingly into my focus, while the surrounding groves of various shades of green and scattered trees lent more harmony and tranquillity to the peaceful atmosphere. The remaining rays of sunlight began to colour the thick clouds above me, creating an additional contrast with pink and purple alongside the green.
The bell tower standing in the main square began to chime, startling a few birds, which immediately turned towards the coloured sky.
My grey-blue eyes followed them until they were no longer recognizable.
The town of Volterra was in many ways an idyll.
In art and literature, the word describes an image or text of a pristine and harmonious coexistence of simple people in seclusion. A fitting description for the life of most people within the ancient city, which was probably founded by the Etruscans in 400 BC.
Nobody suspected that there were mythological figures and mythical creatures among the more than ten thousand residents who had retreated into the city's underground.
Vampires.
A devastating truth, given Volterra's history.
A terrifying fact for me.
The ever-approaching sound of shoes in my direction finally tore my gaze from the picturesque setting and met the brown eyes of one of the waitresses, who placed a full coffee cup in front of me with a friendly smile.
"Excuse me...but...I didn't order coffee," I said with a furrowed brow, while the smile on the young waitress's lips grew wider and wider.
"Don't worry, Melina. It's on me," she replied and my eyes widened in surprise. The brown-haired girl smiled contentedly at my reaction.
"We know each other... from literature class. You helped most of the class achieve a high score in the last exam," she quickly explained and I nodded, understanding.
"Marisa Fiore, right?" I asked uncertainly and she nodded with a smile.
"Quite an impressive achievement, given Professor Marchetti's strictness regarding her content on exams or tests. How could you have known that out of all the subjects, she would pick 'Matteo Bandello'?" she asked quietly, stepping closer to the table. Her arms folded around her serving tray.
I looked at her thoughtfully.
She wouldn't expect or believe the truth.
In earlier centuries, superstitions about magic, witches, ghosts and demons led fearful and ignorant people in their desperation to segregate, persecute and execute innocent people for years. Later on, scientific discoveries changed most perceptions. However, people's knowledge of the possessed or demonized shifted to diseases of the psyche that required treatment. A situation that was in no way inferior to the cruelty of earlier methods.
I just shook my head.
"I overheard Professor Marchetti talking about the exam in the staff room." I lied convincingly and reached for the saucer before carefully taking a sip of hot coffee. Marisa nodded, satisfied with my answer.
"Anyway...enjoy the rest of your coffee," she said in farewell and turned her back to me. I looked after her as she walked back into the small café and put my half-empty cup back on the small table.
Suddenly the table and the cup blurred before my eyes and I slumped back into my chair.
An elderly woman walked with unsteady steps along the Palazzo dei Priori. She held a walking stick in her right hand, which often trembled under the strain. Her white hair blew in the increasing wind as she looked around in every conceivable direction. Her gaze was confused and disoriented, unable to make a clear decision.
I blinked several times as the coffee cup on the table came back into my view.
My head lay back on my neck and for the moment I enjoyed the cool breeze of the wind loosening some of my small front hair from its knot.
It took me a while then to realize that something was different.
That I was different.
It started in my early childhood with strange premonitions and feelings.
Insignificant things, like sudden rain despite a good forecast in the weather report, the end of books I had never read with my grandparents, surprise visits from friends or family members, and the contents of my presents at Christmas and birthdays.
The death of my parents.
A few months after their funeral came the strange dreams.
Some blurred and cloudy, like white, misty morning landscapes.
Others, on the other hand, were firmly outlined and crystal clear, like watching a movie in high definition.
Most members of my family attributed my strange dreams to the trauma I suffered at a young age. In their estimation, my dreams were a processing mechanism for my fears, problems and longings associated with the death of my parents.
I believed them at first until I gradually began to doubt the explanation as I got older.
Eventually, visions began to appear alongside the dreams.
The first few times were frightening when I could suddenly see my grandparents or my great-grandmother doing various things before my eyes without me being in their immediate vicinity.
Reading a new book or going shopping.
Knitting a new blanket.
More frightening, however, was the later realization that some of the visions had occurred soon or long ago.
A few years ago, I could see my aunt Sofia completing her specialist training before my eyes, even though the exam was only due to take place in a few weeks. Her excited and happy phone call brought back the memory. At the same moment, a series of images appeared that gave me a severe headache. Various cities and hospitals, including some in Italy, had made her generous offers.
In the end, she opted for the offer in Seattle, the Virginia Mason Hospital. A few months ago, she transferred to another hospital.
And just like the future, I was sometimes overcome by the past.
The lingering existence of the vampires in Volterra came to me through a vision during St. Marcus Day two years ago. Since then, I avoided the festival and kept a low profile for the most part, away from the danger of attracting their attention to me and my knowledge of their millennia-long survival in our midst.
