"William Mark Simmons - Undead 1 - One Foot in the Grave" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons William Mark)

to fill the air and my stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten for the past two days.
"Most enclaves will permit members to apply to other demesnes. Both groups must agree to the
transfer and that can be complicated by issues such as resources, competition, questions of loyalty—"
"I mean, what if a—" I hesitated over the word "—um, vampire—didn't want to be a member of any
enclave?"
"Then he or she would be considered rogue. And nearly every rogue is hunted down and destroyed
for the safety of the enclaves."
 Swell: no undead is an island. John Donne would have approved. I tried to concentrate past my
growing hunger pangs. "Why is one vampire more likely to expose himself than a whole colony?"
"Think, Mr. Csejthe." She turned off the burner and moved the saucepan to the sink. "Vampires tend
to beget two things: bloodless corpses and other vampires, either of which threatens to take
bloodsucking monsters out of the tabloids and put them in Time and Newsweek. The enclaves have
developed systems for undead population control, ample but safe food supplies, and the means of
disposing of corpses and covering up such faux pas if such should occasionally occur."
"Sounds like a bloodless society."
"Mon Dieu!" the intercom squawked. "He thinks he has a sense of humor!"
Mooncloud hit the off button on the intercom. "Would you like something to eat?"
I nodded and watched her ladle the soup into a bowl. "So what's to become of me? That—um—"
"Vampire."
"Okay, okay: vampire! Seemed more inclined to take me back dead than alive. Or should I say
'undead'?"
"I cannot speak for the Doman of New York. I am here at the will of Stefan Pagelovitch."
"So what does he want?"
Mooncloud put the ladle aside and turned to face me. "I have lived among the wampyr for most of
my life and I have devoted years—decades—to their study. I know everything that they know about
their existence, their history. More, in fact, than most." Her eyes narrowed. "But all that I know—all that
is known—pales into insignificance beside the questions that remain unanswered to this day. There is still
so much that we do not know. For example, why do some victims rest quietly in their graves while others
come back as the Children of Bassarab? We know that a two-way exchange of blood between the
vampire and victim is significant . . . but not conclusive. You, Mr. Csejthe, may be the missing link in our
research."
She turned and picked up the bowl of soup. "Our Doman has sent for you, Mr. Csejthe, and offers
you his protection." She set it on the table before me. "What we have done this night may set us at war
with the New York enclave, with Bassarab, himself." She handed me a spoon and napkin.
"When Lupé said that you were a dead man, she meant that there was no going back to the life you
have known. Whatever has altered your blood and metabolism may eventually lead to your death. Or
your undeath. But the process has begun and you have entered a state of Becoming. Bassarab will not
permit you to run free. And, frankly, neither can we. We offer you sanctuary. A chance to make a new
life that will accommodate the changes you are going through."
I lifted the first spoonful of soup to my mouth. "And this Bassarab? Just who is this guy?" I
swallowed, feeling saliva flood my mouth and throat.
"As I said, we don't really know for sure." Mooncloud came and sat down across from me. "The
Bassarabs were a great dynasty of the Vlachs, ruling Walachia and fighting off invasions by the Mongols,
Turks, and Hungarians back in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Various princes ruled under the
names Vlad I through Vlad IV. One of them was so bloody and evil that he was known as Vlad
Drakul—which means Vlad the Dragon or Vlad the Devil. His successors, according to legend, were as
bad or worse: Vlad Tepes is known to this day as Vlad the Impaler and Vlad Tsepesh was called the
Son of the Devil—Drakul, with the diminutive 'a' added to the end."
I looked down at my bowl, which was nearly empty. "You're saying that this Bassarab is Count
Dracula?"