Alana is surprised when she is chosen to manage a new restaurant. She has neither the training nor the experience to justify her success. But La Cueva del Vampiro has the kind of ambience she adores, for Alana has always had a penchant for the dark side of life.

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  Alana woke with a start. She lifted herself on her elbows and glanced quickly about the room.

Darkness.

A bit panicky, she fumbled for the night lamp by her bed and switched it on. She could hear herself breathing. Her heart pounded hard inside her chest, and a sticky film of perspiration covered her skin. She felt exhausted, confused, even mortified, and yet secretly excited, fascinated.

It had happened again for the third time.

The dream. Or was it a nightmare? But nightmares are supposed to frighten, and she had not been frightened. She had been… but no, it was too weird.

She rose heavily from the bed. She walked over to the dressing table and, leaning on it, stared at herself in the mirror. Her dark almond-shaped eyes looked huge under the subtle yellow light. Her long lashes cast eerie shadows across her face and gave her a ghostly appearance. Her hair tumbled in wild tousled waves to either side almost to her waist. Annoyed, she shoved one heavy strand away from her face.

What a morbid creature you are, she told herself. Then she laughed, softly. It felt good, laughing; strangely comforting. At least her sense of humor never abandoned her.

She walked over to the sliding glass door and opened the curtain. The clear Puerto Rican night sky spread out before her like an enormous luminescent tapestry. At seventeen stories high, she couldn't ask for a better view. Unlike many people she knew, she didn't mind the height at all. In fact, she loved it. A few months ago, when she had been looking for an apartment to rent, she had told the real estate agent that she wanted a really high place, that she wanted to live high up in the skies, that she wished to have the feeling of being able to fly off one night if she wanted to. Fly off? Why had she said such a silly thing?

She pushed open the sliding glass door and stepped out into the balcony. There was no moon tonight, no breeze, only a bold and disturbing stillness. Closing her eyes, she began to massage her temples with the tips of her fingers in soft, circular motions. She tried to go back to her dreams, tried to submerge herself into the murky waters of her subconscious. She tried to force herself to remember the whole thing from beginning to end. But, as usual, it was no use. Everything came to her in little fragments.

The creature.

Or was it a man? The strength and safety of the powerful arms that could have crushed her in a second. And the face, a face she couldn't remember but which she knew--somehow she knew--to be wise and magnificent and ancient. The hypnotic way the fingers had touched her, caressing her ever so lightly, and sending such powerful shivers into her body that she had almost convulsed. The finger had traced little circles on her throat...no, it had been a long nail, she could recall that distinctly. A long and pointed nail like storybook witches have. Yet she had not been afraid nor repulsed by it. On the contrary, it had sent her into a delicious trance from which she had not wanted to escape. The raspy tongue, icy cold, had licked the soft curve of her throat, the nape of her neck, and she had felt herself lost, drowned in a bottomless lake of rapture.

And the teeth...yes, the evil teeth! Uncannily long, sparklingly white, razor-sharp.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, opening her eyes and shaking her head. "I'm going crazy."

She had always been an unusual child, perpetually obsessed with anything that had to do with the occult, ghosts, werewolves, witches. In secondary school she used to pretend she was possessed by the devil and frighten the other girls, staring at them with a demonic expression on her dark-eyed face. She always had her nose in a book, the kind of book that wasn't suitable for an innocent girl of her age in a Catholic convent school--books about witchcraft, demons, the psychology of criminals, famous murders in history. But even though she was morbidly interested in all of this, most of the time, simply out of boredom, she enjoyed shocking her classmates.

One day, for instance, she drew on the blackboard a picture of a woman, a large curved knife in hand, stabbing a man. It was a very detailed picture--droplets of blood dripping from the wounds and the knife. Of course, the nuns became horrified. The news of this demonic act reached Mother Superior, who summoned Alana into her office. But Alana, with her sweet nature and good grades, told her that it had all been a joke, a bad joke to scare her classmates. The nuns always forgave her, loved her, thinking that they understood her. Alana was sure the nuns attributed it to the loss of her mother. They had to, after all, the girl was most likely suffering, had recently lost her mother.

Apart from this fierce curiosity for the supernatural, Alana had been a totally normal child--with all the good and bad that goes with it. That's why she couldn't understand this darker side she had. She felt as if it had always been part of her, though it had intensified after her mother's death. But then again, perhaps it was only human to have a darker side. Perhaps everybody had one.

And the dreams...

"It's all because of that ridiculous place," she muttered, turning back into her bedroom, suddenly angry at the world in general. Who had thought of opening that silly place, anyway? La Cueva del Vampiro--what a cliché. If she were the owner of the place, she would have been more original than that. Perhaps she would tell the owner. But she didn't even know the owner, had never met the person, didn't even know if it was a man or a woman. Wait a minute. She knew it was a businessman, the old man who gave her the job had said so.

"Congratulations, Señorita Piovanetti. The job is yours." It was a soft voice, nearly caressing.

"Really?" She stared at him, surprised.

"I don't see why not. A degree in philosophy from the University of Boston, magna cum laude, and from what I can tell from the interview--imaginative, responsible, enthusiastic. These are important qualities in a manager. It's true that you don't have any working experience, but that's not very important."

"No?" This was crazy. She didn't know anything about business. She hated anything having to do with business!

"Not at all. It's always better to hire somebody young, with fresh ideas...like you." He smiled vaguely. Had there been a strange shimmer in his eyes? A tall thin man in his late sixties, he'd been clad in an expensive-looking grey suit, with an oddly alluring smell emanated from him, redolent of pines and humid earth. He explained how he was not the owner of the restaurant, no, not at all, the owner was an important businessman who traveled a lot. No, not Puerto Rican, not American, why was she so interested in his origin? He had smiled, condescending. He represented the owner's business interests here in San Juan. He had been put in charge, whatever problems she might have she should contact him....

So, even though she was only a twenty-two-year-old Nietzsche freak fresh out of college, she had gotten the job as the restaurant manager of La Cueva del Vampiro, the new nightclub everybody in the city was talking about.

She would get an excellent salary, ridiculously so, and she needed the money to pay her share of the apartment. Later, after having acquired some working experience, she would look for another job, maybe go for her master's. Restaurant management was definitely not for her, but the truth was, as soon as she had read the job opening in the newspaper, she had been instantly and magnetically drawn to it. The idea of dressing up as a vampire, of pretending to be a vampire became an immediate obsession.

It appeared too good to be true, and yet she had a bizarre feeling deep inside her, as if the job had somehow been waiting for her. For her. But no. As usual, she kept falling prey to her imagination. Her friends, who knew all about her perpetual fascination with the supernatural, had been happy for her, congratulated her, joked about how at last she had fulfilled her dreams and become a vampire. A vampire! Ominous jokes, they were. And she had laughed, they had drunk champagne until two in the morning, and she had gotten shamelessly intoxicated.

And then that night she had had the first dream. The creature or whatever it was. Taking her in his arms, doing terrible yet wonderful things to her, taking her away, far, far away, somewhere….

She glanced at the clock on the night table, a Mickey Mouse mechanical clock she had bought in Disney World when she was a little girl. It said 3:05 a.m.

It looked out of place, the Mickey Mouse clock. Smiling Mickey, with his thin arms and white-gloved hands pointing at the numbers. It looked too innocent, somehow contrasting sharply with the sober, modern furnishings. She had walked into the shop with her mother, who pointed out to her that the Snow White clock was much nicer. But no, just to go against her mother, Alana had chosen the Mickey Mouse clock. Even after all these years, the memory still made her wince.

Taking a long deep breath, she went back to bed, trying to clear her mind, to shove away the thoughts about her dead mother. She knew from experience how damaging they could be.

And the creature…

She closed her eyes tightly, as if by doing so, she could push away the haunting memory of that long pointed nail at her throat, of the gooseflesh the mere recollection of his proximity gave her.

Go away, damn you, go away, leave me alone, let me sleep!

She needed sleep.

Tomorrow was the opening night at La Cueva del Vampiro.

"I'm not very hungry," Alana said. "I'll just have a salad and a glass of wine."

"You're not hungry? I'm starving! I'll have...I'll have the T-bone steak with French fries."

They were sitting at their favorite corner table at El Metropol, a lively Cuban restaurant with low prices, friendly waiters, and generous portions. As usual at this time, the place was filled with voices and laughter and the clinking of forks and plates and glasses. Lots of noise, lots of cigarette smoke. Frantic waiters rushing trays from one end of the place to another.

After they had ordered and the waiter served them their wine, Valeria lifted her glass to Alana and said solemnly, "To my twin soul. May you have unlimited success in your first job. Or should I say, in your first immortal job?"

Alana grinned, raising her glass.

They had been inseparable friends since they first met in primary school, maybe because in many ways they shared the same thoughts, had the same fantasies, liked and disliked the same things. Twin souls. Ever since they were little, they had agreed on that. In their minds there existed no other explanation for such closeness. They would read the same books, play the same games. Always together, the redhead and the blonde. That's how Mother Superior referred to them, the redhead and the blonde. Who pulled Karen's braids? The redhead and the blonde. Who escaped from the dining hall to avoid lunch? The redhead and the blonde. Who sneaked into the library to read books about ghosts and witches? The redhead and the blonde.

Everybody who saw them was touched by their charm. How could they not be? They were unusually lovely, with their respectively red and blonde locks, their creamy white complexions. In an island where most children were dark-haired and dark-skinned, Alana and Valeria possessed very uncommon physical traits.

But the teachers knew about them and would always separate them, so they wouldn't speak in class. It was strange, this closeness, this intimacy. Sometimes one would look at the other, and understanding would follow. Valeria always claimed their minds were telepathically linked. But Alana, a bit more skeptical, thought there was nothing magical about it. Only they were so close, knew each other so well, that often they sensed one another's thoughts.

Rebellious and stubborn, they both considered themselves utter pessimists. But as much as they resembled one another, in some aspects they differed completely. Valeria acted cooler, more pragmatic and unscrupulous, while Alana tended to be more impulsive, temperamental, moody. Sometimes they had awful fights, even fist fights when they were little, but they always came back together, kissing and hugging. Oddly, this difference in their personalities only served to bind them stronger together.

Going to college in Boston turned out to be a hard decision for Alana. That night they got totally drunk. They talked and cried and laughed. They would miss each other terribly, but Valeria seemed happy for her. They had a genuinely beautiful friendship, and no distance would ever keep them apart.

Untouchable, the two musketeers. The twin souls.

So while Alana had gotten a degree in Philosophy from the University of Boston, Valeria, whose family didn't have the financial means to send her abroad, had gotten hers in Architecture from the University of Puerto Rico. After graduation, Alana, glad to say goodbye to the cruel Boston weather, came back to her sticky hot island, to her family and friends, to Valeria.

Then they did what they had always planned on doing together: looked for jobs, searched for a cozy apartment, and shared the rent.

They clinked glasses.

Alana took the red wine to her lips and drank eagerly, watching Valeria as she did the same.

"Mmmm. Delicious," Alana said. She began fiddling with the fork, her favorite pastime while waiting for her food at restaurants.

"So?"

Alana smiled. "Don't look at me like that. I'm nervous enough as it is. This whole thing seems insane. I'm still wondering why I got the job."

Valeria rolled her eyes. "Here we go again. You'll be terrific, super, magnificent! I couldn't think of a job that would suit you better. It's great. And anyway, it's just for a while. I'd be having fun if I were you."

"But why did he give me the job? I don't know anything about restaurant management. We're talking about a first-rate nightclub, here. You wouldn't believe the amount of money invested in this place. You would think they would have hired a professional."

"If you say that again, I'm going to kill you. You have a college degree, you're beautiful, you don't need anything else."

"Oh, thank you," Alana said with amused sarcasm.

"You're welcome," Valeria said in the same tone. "Anyway, you didn't know anything about restaurant management. You do now. You should, after all Victor's training. How many weeks has it been now?"

In spite herself, Alana nodded. "Okay, okay." True. Victor had been there with her, training her, helping her, advising her. He was thirty-five, and all of his adult life he had worked in restaurants and nightclubs. During the last three weeks, they had worked together from morning till evening, going over the decoration, the lighting, the menus, the costumes. Talking with the waiters, telling them how they should apply their make-up, wear their costumes, showing them how they should speak, walk, behave. Not only for the restaurant but also the nightclub. He had behaved with the care and patience of an older brother and she would always be grateful to him.

"What's happening to you? This is not like you. You're always sure of yourself. Too sure of yourself, if you ask me. These past few weeks you seem different."

Alana had told Valeria she'd had trouble sleeping. She had told her she had been having dreams, strange dreams. But she had not told her what the dreams were about. They were used to telling each other their most intimate fantasies. But these dreams...well, were somehow too private, too weird. They were her secret. Of course, Valeria had questioned her about them, but Alana had averted her eyes and said she could never remember their content, which at least was partially true.

As if she had been reading her thoughts, Valeria said, "Does this anxiety have anything to do with the dreams?"

Damn. Her pulse raced. "What? No, why do you say that? I'm not getting enough sleep, that's all. I told you I never remember the dreams."

"That's strange for someone who usually has such vivid dreams." Just a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"Yes. Very strange," Alana calmly said, giving her best performance and not falling for the bait.

For a second they stared at each other.

Then Valeria said, "You were making noises last night."

Alana was momentarily stunned. "What?"

"I heard you making noises, moaning. I was too sleepy to get up and take a look, but I heard you."

"What do you mean, I was moaning?"

Valeria laughed. "Moaning. You know. Moaning." She dramatized this a bit too loudly, and the people sitting at the next table turned their heads to look at them.

Alana flushed, stirring uncomfortably in her seat.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, my little twin soul."

"Valeria! You're making this up!"

"It's true, I swear it."

"Tell me the truth!"

"What's the big deal? I suppose you had one of those dreams last night, one of the ones you can't remember?" Valeria teased.

"No, I didn't," Alana lied, suddenly annoyed. "And stop talking to me in that patronizing tone. And don't call me your little twin soul again. In case you forgot it, I am the older one." Never mind that she was only three weeks older than Valeria.

"Oh, I forgot. Would you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Alana gave her a malevolent smile. Then she lifted her glass and took a sip.

"My God, are we moody today! My last intention is to get you angry. Today of all days. I brought you here to celebrate. But I can sense your transformation in the air. It's like poison gas. When you get in a bad mood I can smell it, I swear."

"You know what your problem is? You swear to much," Alana said.

Valeria laughed, patting Alana's hand. "Try to relax, will you? Don't you remember when they first hired me at the firm? I couldn't eat or sleep for a week. Everything will go great tonight, you'll see. Do you want to make a bet?"

"No, I don't want to make any bet. I just want tonight to be over." But in fact she wasn't thinking about tonight. She was thinking about what Valeria had said about the moaning. And about how aroused she had awoken this morning, sweating, her throat parched, her pulse throbbing in her temples.

"Valeria," Alana said, her voice lower and more confidential. "Was I really… What's wrong?"

"Don't turn your head now, but there are two guys over there who are staring at us."

"Where?"

"Behind you, the last table. And they're not that bad-looking either," Valeria mischievously said, pretending not to look at them.

Alana turned her head to glance at them. One of them smiled, lifting his wine glass to her. They were handsome in an office-executive kind of way.

Alana scowled at them, then turned to Valeria. "I hate when they do that. Why don't they let us eat in peace?"

"I know. They're cute, though." Valeria glanced at them and smiled. She was enjoying this. She always did.

"No, Valeria, please," Alana urged, suddenly panicked. "They're going to come over to our table, like last time. And you remember how it ended up. They were a couple of arrogant jerks."

"Maybe these aren't arrogant jerks."

"I'm not in the mood."

"You know what your problem is?" she said, mimicking Alana. "You're never in the mood."

"Oh, shut up."

Valeria pouted playfully. She looked lovely, clad in an elegant navy-blue suit, her face expertly made up, her thick blond hair falling sleek and straight down her shoulders, perfectly even bangs covering her forehead and brows.

Wherever they went they always got attention from men.

The redhead and the blonde.

Are you sisters? No, twin souls....

And Valeria loved the attention, much more than Alana did. Valeria was a natural flirt, with her angelic big brown eyes and sweet smile. During her four years at the university she'd had a long line of boyfriends.

She would jump from one relationship to another with no regrets, in a very pragmatic, cold-blooded manner. Now Valeria was seeing someone at her firm, a married man she referred to as "The Pirate." Just as Alana had her ghosts and witches and demons, Valeria had her pirates.

On the other hand, Alana had never had much success with men. She'd had a few boyfriends, but there was always something missing in the relationships. She was easily bored, annoyed by them. She didn't even enjoy their caresses. In the end she always drove them off before the relationship could progress beyond a few kisses. She knew she was unrealistic and demanding, waiting for the perfect kind of man to sweep her off her feet. But she couldn't help feeling old-fashioned about it. She wanted to fall in love, and she wished the first time to be perfect.

Over lunch the conversation turned to safer subjects. Alana talked about the restaurant, giving Valeria a preview of what to expect that night. It was going to be an event, and members of the press had been invited. Alana enjoyed most describing the menu, which would offer dishes like Dracula's Steak and Virgin Sacrifice Potatoes.

Valeria laughed. "Virgin Sacrifice Potatoes?"

"Ridiculous, isn't it? My idea."

"I know." She gave Alana a knowing look.

Alana raised a brow. "And I suppose you're the expert of experts?"

"A lot more than you, that's for sure. I'll be happy to give you a few theoretical lessons."

"It's not theoretical lessons that I need," Alana said, popping a little carrot stick into her mouth. Then, to change the subject, she added, "How's your 'Pirate' doing?"

"He's fine. We haven't been together for more than a week. It's so hard seeing him every day at the office, and not being able to touch him. We just look at each other, eat each other with our eyes. We'll be together tonight. He'll come with me to the opening." Valeria sighed.

"Don't look at me with those sad puppy eyes."

"I'm not doing anything."

"I'm not going to tell you anything anymore. You know what you're getting into."

"I'm only trying to enjoy life, make the best of it," Valeria said, a wan smile playing on her lips. "We're pain and pleasure machines…" she began tauntingly, mimicking Alana and her fervent philosophical arguments.

"Don't give me Nietzsche. I know about Nietzsche. He was a madman." Then her expression turned softer, her voice gentler. "What's going to happen when his wife finds out? She will find out. They all eventually do. What's going to happen to the kids? To you? I don't want you to get hurt. And you will get hurt."

"I'm a survivor. Besides, I'm in control of the situation."

"Stop the cool act. This is not like your past conquests. This time you're more involved than you think you are. And I'm going to tell you something else. Those kids will get hurt most of all."

Valeria rolled her eyes, obviously mortified. She looked like an impetuously stubborn child being reprimanded by a parent. "Don't go into 'Cosmic Justice' again. It bores me to hell. Things like this have been happening since the beginning of time, and they will continue to happen." She paused, and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I'm not saying I'm proud of it. I feel guilty, too, for the kids."

"I know you do."

"But what do you want me to do? Maybe my guilt isn't strong enough. Maybe I don't have morals. And I'm selfish, I know I'm selfish." She threw Alana a piercing look, then gulped down the rest of her wine.

"No, you're not. You're giving yourself completely to him. You wait for him. You see him only on those occasions when he sees fit. He's a lucky bastard, with a young and beautiful mistress falling head over heels for him, and a family who doesn't suspect a thing. Every man's fantasy. He doesn't make you any promises. He cannot offer you any plans for the future."

"I take what I want from him. And I'm not head over heels for him. Far from it. The least I want is complications in my life. I don't ask for any future with him. I don't want a future with him. Get that into your thick head, will you? I told you, I'm in complete control of the situation."

Alana nodded, weighing Valeria's words in her mind. She sighed, suddenly overcome by a keen urge to smoke.

"It's just so physical," Valeria said. "I just…I can't control myself. The passion is so strong, so totally commanding. You know what I mean."

In spite of herself, Alana had to laugh. It amazed her, the way Valeria was. At times so cool and down-to-earth, at other times such a slave of the senses, lecherous. Alana couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy.

All of a sudden the image of that long pointed nail flashed into her mind. Just the memory of it was enough to make her heart race, her stomach tighten, her face flush.

"I just get so restless sometimes," Valeria went on. "I feel like grabbing whatever life offers me. In a few years we'll be old ladies, no one will look at us. And we'll be sick, and we'll suffer. These are the best years of our lives, and I don't intend to throw them away. And you should understand that, better than anybody else," Valeria said. She looked right into Alana's dark eyes, and held her gaze for a moment.

"Yes...I do," Alana said, wincing at the allusion to her mother's death.

"That's why I hate to see you alone. You hate socializing. You look at men as if they were the plague. The only thing which seems to make you happy is your books and classical music. And don't tell me that to be alone is better than to be in bad company. You don't deserve to be alone. God, you're missing a hell of a lot, Alana." Valeria placed her knife and fork on the plate and shifted in her seat. The wine, the passion in her voice had flushed her cheeks. "But the problem is you don't want to do anything to change it, either. Like I said, these are the best years of our lives."

Alana snorted, somewhat hurt by Valeria's words. But she had to admit Valeria was right, in a way. She remained stubbornly quiet, though, her hand fiddling with the fork, her eyes cast down.

Valeria sighed. "Now I truly did it, didn't I?"

"Are you finished with that steak, Valeria?" Alana said coolly, looking up at her. "Victor must be waiting for me at the restaurant. We still have a million things to do before the opening." She signalled to the waiter.

"Always good at changing the subject," Valeria muttered. She threw her napkin onto the table and leaned back against the chair, folding her arms across her chest. "Sometimes I wonder, Alana," she said. "What are you waiting for? Who are you waiting for?"

Embraced by the Shadows Copyright © 2002. Mayra Calvani. Author's preferred edition. All rights reserved. Please do not copy without permission.

Author Bio

Mayra Calvani is the author of two books. Her stories, articles and reviews have appeared in many online and print publications in the States, England and Puerto Rico. In addition, she is assistant editor of Voice in the Dark newsletter, where she writes a monthly column. She has lived in America, Asia, the Middle East, and is now settled in Brussels, Belgium, where she lives with her husband, two children and a variety of pets. Her hobbies include playing the violin and astronomy/sky observing.

TTB title: Embraced by the Shadows

Author web site.

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  Reviews

Alana Piovanetti always enjoyed horror tales in books (not just fiction) or film especially when supernatural creatures starred. So her best friend Valeria is not surprised when Alana accepts employment as a vampiress at the Puerto Rican restaurant La Cueva del Vampiro. Alana considers Valeria her best buddy who knows the surface of her dreams, though she hides the depth of the nightmares that were always there, but seem more prevalent now than ever before.

From the first time Sadash saw her face, when Alana was nearing adulthood, he knew he found his cherished soul mate. He waited for her to mature and feels the time is now to make her his. At the first night opening of the restaurant, Alana spots Sadash, the man who has haunted her dreams. She feels the attraction immediately, but though compelled to become a vampire like him and with an opportunity to learn the truth about her past, will she take the step? Sadash also worries if he can keep her safe from the secrets in her past.

On the surface, [Embraced by the Shadows] appears like many recent vampire romance novels. However, Alana lifts the novel high above the current level of similar books because readers feel he protagonist's inner torment between a love that borders on obsession and a past that she obsesses over. Sadash is somewhat more typical of the sub-genre though his human like conscience brought about by his love for Alana will surprise readers yet feels true to his character. Even with the threat to their existence as a couple taking a back seat to the love story, sub-genre fans will fully hunger for more dark supernatural romances from Mayra Calvani.

Reviewed by Harriet Klausner for Blether Book Review.
 

 

 

 

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