There always seemed to be a sense of silence, of calm before a bomb when off. And for a few seconds, that calm overtook everyone. And then the air was sucked out of the room and Jenny launched herself off the couch, her hands outstretched, her nails aimed for my face.
I shifted to the side and placed myself behind Viktor then beside him.
She missed me, but the sound she let out pierced my ears and gave me a headache.
"How dare you," she hissed. Seriously, were humans capable of making a sound like that? Would I have to add that to my research? I wanted to go home.
"How dare I what?" I asked tiredly. I kept Viktor in between me and the crazy woman. He brought me here, he can deal with it.
"There has not been someone claiming to be a member of the Tesalor family for hundreds of years. Do you think that just because you read an old book, you could use that name for yourself?" Jenny was livid as she paced around in front of Viktor, trying to find an opening to get to me.
"Helsing, can we go? I am getting tired," I said, the last of my energy leaving me. I didn't want to think of that name, of the memories that it brought to the front. I couldn't deal with it right now.
The ice in my hands started to move up my arms and I started to shiver, my teeth chattering.
"Of course," said Viktor, standing up and gently placing his hand on the small of my back. Any other time I would have been stunned at how accommodating he was being, but my brain was just blank. The pain was coming, I could feel it.
"She can't leave until she is registered in my House," Jenny said, standing up straight and looking Viktor in the eyes. "You said it yourself. She is an unregistered Gypsy and needs to be declared by me."
"You think a human like you has the right to declare Gypsy Royalty as a member of YOUR House?" Viktor scoffed as he gently led me out of the room and out the door.
I didn't even remember getting into the car, let alone the heat being turned on. The smooth, quiet ride lulled me to sleep, and I closed my eyes, hoping to keep the nightmares at bay.
The funny thing about nightmares was that they could suck you in, and trap you in an endless circle. I saw my brother killed in Romania by the human hunters that thought that just because you were a Gypsy, you were the Devil in human form. I saw in slow motion as they cut out his tongue so he couldn't scream, how his gaze found me hiding in the dark forest of our home, how his eyes seemed to beg me to stay quiet.
The human hunters never wanted information. They never asked questions to see if they got the right person, if the one that they killed was truly a being from Hell or just a person with a family, with people that loved him. They never cared.
I was six at the time, and my older brother was sent out into the forest to look for me as it was getting dark. I remember how much I loved playing amongst those trees. The freedom they gave me when my mother wanted me to practice my sewing.
I remember not wanting to go back, so I stayed quiet, watching Nicholas search for me. But what he found was not me, but a camp.
He smiled and walked up to the fire, asking the men if they had seen a little girl; if they had seen me. The strangers stood up as one and grabbed my brother and held him down.
This forest was Gypsy territory. It had always been safe to assume that if you found someone there, they would be Gypsies, that they would welcome you to their fire with a smile and offer you something to eat or drink.
Maybe this was what the hunters were thinking; anyone in that forest was automatically a Gypsy.
They kept him alive for three hours before ending his agony, and I watched every second of it, my eyes never leaving his. I didn't want him to think that he was alone. I didn't want him to be alone.
When he took his last breath I turned and ran to my parents and told them everything. That was the memory of my first move. There were countless others after that. Our clan of 150 only had 25 people make the crossing to the New World. And I had to watch all those deaths one by one.
------
The soft sound of agony echoed through the condo. Viktor lifted his head from the reports in front of him and looked at where the sound was coming from.
He got up and quietly walked towards the room that he had put the Little Cub in.
After the meeting with Jenny, the Cub fell asleep in the car and he was not able to wake her up. He carried her up to his home at 432 Park Avenue. He had paid more than $100 million for the penthouse floor and in the five years that he had owned the place, this was only his second time in it.
He carefully placed his Cub down onto the soft guest bed and pulled the sheets up, tucking her into bed.
It had been centuries since he last heard of the Tesalor family. Known as the Weavers, the Tesalors were the true royalty of the Gypsies. They created the clothes worn by his family and most of the other Houses, or at least those that could afford them. They command the highest of prices for their fabric and they got it.
If a traveler was lost, or someone needed a home, the Tesalors would take them in and make them family. They commanded the respect of people without even asking for it.
But, as with all royalty, there was a price on their head and within a decade, they were wiped out. Or at least that was what he had been led to believe.
Viktor picked up his phone and made a call, "Sasha, can you bring me all the information on the Tesalor House?"
"Of course, Sir, you will have the files in 30 minutes." Although Sasha was curious, it was not his place to question an order. He didn't know what his brother had done to deserve extra training, but Sasha was determined not to join him.
25 minutes later, Sasha knocked quietly on the door to Viktor's condo and stood there quietly.
Viktor opened the door without a word, took the files from Sasha's' hands, and then promptly shut the door again. Sasha shrugged his shoulders at the two Knights on both sides of the door, turned around, and went home.
Rule number one of the Knights of the Holy Order: complete obedience to the Head of the Van Helsing House.
The unspoken rule number one was to never gossip about the Head of the House. If the Viktor Van Helsing did not want you to know, you didn't ask.
Viktor walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of tuica, or plum brandy. Still holding the files, he brought them and his drink to the living room area of his home. He sat down, took a sip of the drink, and got to work learning everything he had forgotten about the Tesalor family.
An hour had passed when he started to hear the soft whimpers coming from the guest room. He stood up, shot down the last of his brandy, and then walked towards his Little Cub.