New Jeanland

It should have been a dark and stormy night.  It would have been if Anatoliy had been consulted in the matter.  Three weeks before yet another Christmas and the revelers were out in full force celebrating. He was not amused.  He kicked a small pebble down the street and watched it spin and bounce off of the wall of a building before skidding underneath the undercarriage of some nobleman’s equipage.

“Christmas,” he muttered in Russian.  “It has to be Christmas.”

He hadn’t always despised Christmas.  There were a few years when Alexei had been young that he could almost forget the creature that he had become. In those times, Anatoliy insisted that he, Natalya, and Alexei celebrate on Russian Christmas Eve in the proper Orthodox way, leaving Piotr out of the purely family celebration.  It had been a quiet affair where he would keep from hunting for one night to stay up late with Natalya and his son, attending the Midnight service, and eating what Piotr called “peasant fare” including <i>kutya</i>, nuts, fruit, <i>bobal’ki</i>, potatoes, and red wine for the two mortals.  Anatoliy had given the traditional prayer of thanksgiving and had watched with pride as Natalya blessed Alexei with the cross of honey on his forehead, murmuring the traditional blessing in the Names of the Trinity that Alexei might “have sweetness and many good things in life and in the new year.”

Natalya would then celebrate on Christmas Day with Alexei and Piotr.  Anatoliy stayed away from that farcical celebration where Piotr attempted to stay out of the sunlight and buy Alexei’s goodwill with too many sweets and toys that Anatoliy could never have afforded to purchase for him. 

Now, years later, Alexei was grown and played the part of the father to his sons.  Anatoliy never attended those celebrations.  Anatoliy spoke to Alexei on a regular basis, especially since the death of Natalya, Alexei’s mother. He had introduced Alexei to the woman that he had married and did his part in watching over his grandchildren as they grew up. But Anatoliy didn’t feel comfortable trying to fit in with the little family and celebrating with them.  Alexei’s wife, Larisa, was rather formidable and devout; Anatoliy got the feeling that she saw through a good portion of his façade of cheer and normalcy.  He had no desire to be chased down and destroyed by a hunter for the sake of a few hours of “family togetherness”.

So Anatoliy abstained from Christmas celebrations, both the traditions that Peter the Great was putting into place and the ones held by the church.  He found other things to do while the others debated whether they should celebrate on the new date or the old date.  “I need to go somewhere that they have never heard of Christmas,” he muttered.

Snow was gently twisting through the alleys, over carriages, and around the horses as Anatoliy walked.  Footmen stamped their feet and held their hands under their arms or in their pockets as they waited for their particular employers to exit the grand houses where balls had been held, anxiously looking up at every flash of candlelight and laughter exiting the front doors. 

For his part, Anatoliy watched hungrily as one family in particular moved in a particularly showy way down the steps and into their carriage, the youngest daughter laughing in her fur-lined cloak.  “That will do,” he muttered, as the horses started moving with alacrity to the chirrup of the coachman.

He followed the carriage quietly, well able to keep up while the horses were kept to a slow walk through the streets to avoid collisions with other carriages and the rare pedestrian weaving his drunken way home.  He kept to the shadows, moving by instinct and focusing solely on the chase in front of him.  The girl would be sweet and would slake his thirst for at least a couple of nights.  Perhaps one of the older daughters would provide a good meal as well if it seemed safe enough to make more than a visit or two. 

The carriage pulled up in front of a house on the corner where two streets met.  A tiny alley ran behind one side of the walled courtyard and the lower wall that enclosed a carriage house.  The horses were apparently housed behind the courtyard, accessible by the alley.  Anatoliy slipped into the narrow space after the carriage went by and oriented himself to where the house would be.  A couple of lights flashed from the second story windows only to be extinguished about forty-five minutes later.  He waited patiently for another couple of minutes before running at the wall of the courtyard, jumping, and then pulling himself up.

He was about to drop into the courtyard of the house when he heard a bark echo through the alley behind him.  He froze in position, not wanting to give himself away by a sudden movement that would confirm a curious animal’s suspicions in either the alleyway or the garden.  He waited for about five minutes, plotting out the most-likely window of the youngest daughter in preparation for his controlled fall into the garden.

He had just gathered himself for the jump down when the dog barked again, this time twice.  He gritted his teeth, fighting back the urge to curse.  He slowly turned to face the alley, expecting to see a Russian wolfhound or the like.  Instead, a medium-sized dog sat there, tongue lolling out of its mouth as if it was laughing.

“Shh,” he said, willing the dog to leave.

The brown dog barked again, almost cordially.  Noticing a light coming on inside the house, Anatoliy sighed and jumped down into the alley instead of the garden.

“Thank you so much for alerting them to my presence,” he said sarcastically.  “Now leave.”

The dog nestled its head down onto its front paws but stayed still.

“Look, dog.  I’m hungry and dawn is coming.  You’ve just lost me my meal.  Now head along home to your mistress or your master.”

The dog yipped gently, but didn’t move.

“Have it your way.  Freeze in the cold for all I care,” he said, moving towards the street.  The dog yipped twice more as Anatoliy turned down the street, heading back to his current daylight abode.  He could probably last another night without eating, but his mood would not improve. 

He had gone through three turnings of the streets when he heard the click of tiny toenails gamely keeping pace behind him.  “This is a joke, correct?”  he asked as he turned around to see the same dog following in his wake. 

The dog whined and kept walking towards him, obviously limping on one of his front legs.

“Dog, look.  You are more likely to be dinner for me than you are to get something to eat from me.”

The dog sat down in front of him, a determined, trusting look on its face.  Anatoliy ran a gloved hand over his face and shook his head.  “Go home, dog.”

When they had stood there staring at each other for about two minutes, he shook his head and started walking again. The clicking followed him to his daylight abode.  Anatoliy put his hand on the door and sighed.  “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

The dog whimpered softly and scratched at the door.  Anatoliy thought briefly about possible solutions to the problem but decided against the majority of them as too violent.  “There are rules,” he said calmly as he unlocked the door.  “You’ll sleep near the door.  There will be no barking during the day.  I will be cleaning no messes that are related to you.  You are on your own as to food.”

The dog yipped and ran in the door before Anatoliy could get it open all of the way. The vampire shook his head and followed him in. “I must be going crazy from lack of food.”