Cowardice is our greatest enemy. And the most shameful defeat is when we lose because we are too afraid to fight and too afraid of the thought of defeat.
Coffee was clearly on edge. She seemed as if she might bolt for the door at any moment, yet she held her ground, forcing herself to steady her breath. Her eyes flickered toward the ancient vampire sitting at the head of the table—his father, or at least I assumed so.
The man exuded an intimidating presence, a stillness that spoke volumes. His calm demeanor could have been mistaken for disinterest, but it was anything but. He commanded the room with the weight of centuries, the kind of silence that was both unnerving and absolute.
Coffee inhaled sharply, her composure wavering for only a second before she willed herself to regain control. She knew the importance of making a favorable impression in a room like this. Her gaze swept over the thirteen vampires seated at the table—each one a member of the Crimson King's court, chosen for reasons I could only guess at. I did the same, trying to size them up.
Beside his father was a diminutive vampire with a thick catfish-like mustache. His appearance gave off an air of eccentricity, but there was a sharpness behind his eyes that made it clear he was anything but harmless.
Next to him, a soldierly-looking man, tense and alert, was followed by a gaunt, almost skeletal vampire with a sunken face. He only appeared at these meetings when matters were grave, the kind of vampire who made you feel the weight of impending doom with nothing more than a glance. The sickly-looking figure sat rigidly, his posture radiating a chilling kind of grace. Every movement seemed deliberate, as if he were both an instrument of elegance and destruction—an ancient vampire in the truest sense of the word. Looking at him, the hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention, and you could feel the presence of centuries in his gaze.
Then, there was Bazil Bonazzi. I knew him well. The youngest member of the council, or at least he appeared to be. His youthful appearance gave the impression of a rebellious twenty-something, the kind you'd expect to see hanging around a street corner rather than among the most powerful vampires in the world. Yet, there he was, in the middle of this grim gathering, casually reclining with his legs crossed and a smirk playing on his lips.
Next to him sat Lubelle, a name that carried weight in vampire circles, and for good reason. Her beauty was notorious, her presence magnetic. Her low-cut attire only served to emphasize her allure, but there was something more to her than just physicality. Lubelle was the kind of vampire who knew her worth, who understood the power her beauty held over those around her. She didn't need to flaunt it; it was simply there, in every gesture, every glance.
Bazil would occasionally whisper something to her, no doubt attempting to coax her into a more personal encounter. Lubelle, however, was not the type to be easily swayed. She would turn her head in disapproval, her eyes narrowing with the subtle power of someone who knew she was untouchable. Most vampires would have killed for the privilege of her attention, but Lubelle wasn't one to indulge those fantasies.
The rest of the vampires around the table were a blur of names I didn't bother committing to memory. Vampires had a knack for selecting the most cumbersome, convoluted names, the kind that were meant to impress. The longer and more difficult to pronounce the name, the higher their status, or so it seemed. Some vampires bore not one, but two or even three first names, and while they might use only one or two regularly, the full list was always a spectacle. The names were rarely important—what mattered was the power behind them, the centuries of history that each one carried.
"Have you been successful?" Mr. Blutkaiser's voice broke the silence, smooth and commanding.
One of the vampires slid a stack of papers onto the table.
"The names of all the dealers," he said, his voice clipped.
Mr. Blutkaiser nodded, a brief acknowledgment.
"I believe the mobilization of our private armies will be sufficient," another vampire added, his tone confident.
Coffee took a deep breath. Then another. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she could feel the cold sweat collecting in her palms. She was sure her father had brought her to the Council meeting simply to observe—to soak in the experience. Yet, despite the weight of the moment, I had no doubt that she would find a way to surprise the room full of bloodsuckers. Even if it meant facing her father's wrath for her impudence.
"I wish to speak."
Every pair of eyes snapped to her in unison, their collective gaze sharp as a blade. The pressure in the room spiked, and I could almost feel it settle on her like a suffocating weight. I noticed her fingers tremble—just slightly—but enough to betray the nerves beneath her composed exterior. To be honest, I wouldn't want to be in her shoes either. Still, she didn't back down. She steadied her breath and met each gaze with a quiet, determined resolve.
Among the council, some gazes were hostile, others curious. Lubelle's expression softened, intrigued, while Bazil gave a playful grin and wink, offering her silent support. I was certain that the young vampire's encouragement gave her a little strength, that there was at least one member of the council who might be willing to hear her out. Mr. Blutkaiser, however, narrowed his eyes and studied her intently, his expression unreadable.
Coffee met his piercing gaze without flinching.
"You are not a councillor, Izidora," her father's voice cut through the tension, cold and final. "You have no right to ask to speak."
The words were harsh, but Coffee didn't flinch. She held her ground, unwavering, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of quiet pride. Her courage was undeniable.
"Come now, Aida," Bazil chimed in with a grin, "She may not be a member of the Council yet, but she will be one day, won't she?"
Mr. Blutkaiser paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed the request. The room fell into a tense silence as the ancient vampire took his time, his mind clearly working.
"You may speak," he finally said, his voice a calm, measured command.
"Thank you," Coffee began, her voice steady despite the palpable pressure in the room. "I submit that the plan to sever the supply of vampires is doomed to failure. It is highly probable that the humans are stored and used for days, even weeks, before being replaced, which means there is no significant weakening to be expected."
For a moment, the room was still, the weight of her words settling like a heavy fog.
"A correct observation, Miss Blutkaiser," said the ancient, short-statured vampire, his voice sharp with age. "We are prepared for that eventuality."
Coffee's expression flickered with surprise, but she quickly regained her composure, the brief shift in her features betraying just how much the response had caught her off guard.
"Forgive me, Sir, but in light of that, I fail to see the point of targeting the dealers," she replied coolly.
"Ah, of course," Bazil cut in, leaning back with a grin that bordered on smug. "Our allies are shaky. We must act swiftly, or we risk losing them entirely."
Coffee ignored the casual tone and the knowing glance Bazil gave her, her focus remaining entirely on the discussion at hand.
"With all due respect," she continued, her voice growing colder, more deliberate, "we're pursuing a policy of retreat. I don't believe eliminating the blood dealers will convince our hesitant allies to stay. They'll see it as a half-hearted attempt, more a defense of our cities than a true offensive against the Fifth King."
She took a breath, letting the weight of her words settle. "Those who are inclined to break from our alliance won't be swayed by such temporary measures. It will only delay the inevitable. The war will come, whether we like it or not. And during that time, the Fifth King will only gain more followers, while we continue to lose ours."
Another tense silence followed, the room thick with unease. Then Bazil let out a sharp whistle, his expression one of unreserved approval, despite the stares of disapproval from several others. Lubelle, along with a few of the other vampires, regarded Coffee with growing curiosity, while a number of others shot her looks that could cut through steel.
For a moment, I couldn't decide whether to be worried for Coffee or to feel an overwhelming sense of pride. She had just spoken boldly, unflinchingly, in front of the very council she was supposed to be observing. It was daring, dangerous, but undeniably impressive.
"What would you suggest?" Lubelle finally asked, her tone laced with intrigue.
Her melodious voice wove a spell over the assembled vampires, drawing their attention like a siren's call.
"I propose, Counselor," Coffee began, her tone steady yet imbued with conviction, "that our King be called to war. If we unite our private armies with the royal forces, and if our King himself joins the battle, we would stand a fighting chance. Should that not be possible, I suggest we employ mercenaries. History has shown that, in times of dire need, we've sought the aid of sorcerers, their magic an invaluable asset in our struggles."
"I refuse," one of the elder vampires snarled, cutting her off.
The sharpness of his voice was met by a chorus of agreement from seven others. Coffee's fingers curled into fists beneath the table, her nails digging into her palms. Although the council members had shifted their gaze away from her, she kept her eyes fixed on the table before her. The weight of their rejection was palpable. She didn't speak again, her silence as much a shield as a surrender. She dared not glance toward her father—perhaps fearing the anger, disappointment, or even shame she might see in his eyes.
To those who didn't know her well, her expression might have seemed impassive, but I could see it clearly. Coffee would have gladly shed tears if she'd allowed herself. She longed to disappear, to escape the stinging taste of defeat. Yet, if she had dared to lift her gaze, she would have found no anger or judgment in her father's eyes. In fact, there was a subtle gleam of amusement dancing behind them.
As the deliberations came to a close and the room began to empty, Lubelle passed by and, to Coffee's surprise, gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Coffee looked up, meeting the gaze of the beautiful woman, who offered a comforting smile before moving on without a word. The vampire walking beside her gave Coffee a barely perceptible nod.
Bazil, ever the carefree presence, clapped a few times before stepping in front of her. "Don't let it get you down, princess," he said, his grin wide and genuine. "You've convinced me."
With a wink, he sauntered off, humming merrily, hands stuffed in his pockets. Coffee stood, but she didn't follow.
"Izidora," came the stern voice of her father, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of them.
She didn't turn to face him, her head lowered in quiet resignation.
"You acted recklessly during the meeting," Mr. Blutkaiser's voice was firm, his tone commanding.
For a fleeting moment, I thought Coffee might apologize, but she didn't. Her lips pressed together, and I knew it wasn't her defiance that held her silent—it was the sting of her words not being enough. The failure of her plan.
"Nonetheless," he continued, his voice softening slightly, "I'm truly proud of you."
Coffee turned to her father, disbelief clouding her features. Her eyes were red, and I could tell from a single glance that she had been on the edge of tears.Perhaps that was why she kept her eyes on the table. Perhaps she was afraid that if she looked up at the other vampires, she would no longer be able to hold back her tears.
"But I have shamed you before the Council!" she protested, her voice tight with emotion.
"Shame?" Mr. Blutkaiser raised a single eyebrow, his tone unbothered. "I have witnessed many things to be ashamed of, but this was not one of them. Eight of the thirteen voted in favor of the plan to execute the dealers, which means you managed to sway four members besides me. That is no small accomplishment."
He reached out, his fingers brushing through his daughter's hair in a rare, tender gesture. "You are young, Izzi. You haven't lived through war, so you can't fully grasp the fear it instills in the older ones. They'll do anything to postpone it, even if it only buys them a few days. You were never going to win them over."
Coffee's tears fell, quiet and bitter. "I'm so sorry, Dad. It was all for nothing!"
Mr. Blutkaiser's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Didn't I tell you? I'm proud of you. Those four who agreed with you—they'll remember this moment, and when the time comes, they'll stand by you to take my place. I must admit, I was surprised to hear you speak out. I had no idea you had such a perceptive understanding of our... less-than-ideal situation."
Coffee wiped at her eyes, her voice quieter as she confessed, "I was talking to a friend about it. He helped me see things differently."
I couldn't help but smile.
"Friend?" Mr. Blutkaiser inquired, a note of curiosity in his voice.
"The mixed-blood," Coffee whispered, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
I immediately understood her hesitation, and I couldn't bring myself to be angry with her. Like Coffee, I knew well the conservative mindset of the ancient vampires.
To my surprise, Mr. Blutkaiser seemed more intrigued than disappointed. "When did you make him your friend?"
Coffee paused, unsure. "I'm not exactly sure."
"It doesn't matter," Mr. Blutkaiser said, nodding with approval. "I'm sure you choose your allies wisely."
Coffee nodded in return, feeling his trust in her.
"Shall we go?" he asked softly, and Coffee nodded again.
I opened my eyes, feeling the faint pressure of Simon's invisible hand lifting from mine.
"Thanks, mate," I murmured to myself with a smile. "I owe you one."
Though Simon didn't respond, I was sure he could hear me perfectly amidst the blaring music.
(...)
It took only a few hours before the door to the pub creaked open. Berg Bertram took a leisurely sip from his glass, then grinned, spotting the new arrival. He waved in greeting as the vampire entered, casting a quick glance toward the bar before waving back and heading upstairs.
"Bazil!" Berg called out, his smile widening.
Parsleyhead's grin was instant as he slapped Berg a high-five. "What's up, Bert?"
"Boring paperwork," Berg groaned, leaning back in his seat. "How was the meeting?"
Berg probably expected a typical answer, but he was taken aback when Bazil let out a muffled chuckle.
"It was the most interesting meeting in centuries," Bazil replied, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Your boss brought his daughter."
"He mentioned something about that," Berg mused, rubbing his forehead. "And what's so interesting about that? Everybody knows he wants to hand over the reins to her."
"She's different, Bert!" Bazil beamed. "Not only did she speak up and challenge the Council, she also made solid suggestions. She's young, she's got potential," he nodded, clearly impressed.
"Bazil," Berg sighed, "You were fourteen when you joined the Council..."
Bazil's grin widened into a smug smile. "Hey, genius knows no age."
"Anyway, the elders weren't exactly thrilled about her," Bazil added, his voice dropping a touch. "The Council could really use some fresh blood, if you catch my drift."
Berg nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful.
"Hey, Bert," Bazil's eyes suddenly lit up with a new idea. "You're close with Kaisey, right?"
"Yeah?" Berg responded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied his friend suspiciously.
"Has she got a fiancé yet?" Bazil asked eagerly. "Any news about her?"
Berg let out a resigned sigh. "You never change."
Bazil leaned forward, impatient. "Well, does she or not?"
"Don't even think about it, mate," Berg warned with a shake of his head. "Blutkaiser would have you on a stake before he'd even consider letting you near his daughter."
Bazil paused, considering the threat for a moment, then pulled a face. "Pity, she's got some good looks. Guess that leaves Lubelle then."
Another long, exasperated sigh was Berg's only response. Neither of them had the slightest idea that every word they were speaking was being overheard. Perhaps they had chosen this obscure little village pub hoping to avoid prying ears.
I took a contented sip of my cocoa, a smile of quiet amusement tugging at my lips.