She was a rare gem, as rare as she could be, even for the Romanies. A red-haired baby born to this clan, having never occurred before, could have been taken as a token from the gods, but not to them, not this time. The tribe members mourned the death of the patriarch's wife, taken as she was while giving birth. Gathered inside the tent, those allowed in, comforted the man, who moaned bitterly cradling in arms the newborn.

'There's evilness in that baby Django ...' the man glared over at the fortune-teller as she broke into the leader's tent, clinking a bag of seashells and already speaking. 'She has taken her mother's life and soul to make her own way into this world. And so many lives she'll snatch to suffix her hunger, to quench her thirst for blood.'

'Stop mad woman! A wicked witch you are Ágata!' Django stood on his feet, still carrying the weeping creature in arms.

'Wicked you say? Witch you call me? Wicked is that little demon you hold in arms, no scattered star, so she'll grow to be a dark witch!'

'How dare you! Take her out! Strip her robes off and whip her in bare backs! Drag her out into the woods and never let her come back!'

As ordered by the Voivode, three men hauled the woman, throwing her out the tent. There, they did as instructed, having the entire Kumpania witnessing the brutal reprimand.

'She's doomed! Mark my words! That baby is doomed!' was Ágata's last sentence before she'd be dragged, half dressed, covered in blood out the camp.

By himself, the loving father raised little Calista, always beneath his protective wing. The patriarch's daughter was different to the rest of the kids. Unlike the bronzed skin of those in her kin, hers was as white as lily petals and her hair was a flaming summer sunset. Sapphire eyes pierced everyone she looked at, alone with the silence of her tiny rosebud lips, as the girl hardly ever spoke a word in company ...

Quiet Calista only hummed when dancing by herself inside her tent, her speech often limited to nodding and short phrases. She was never interested in playing games with other children in the tribe, as they were not fond of her either, often calling her strange.

Calista was seven years old when the day came for Django to have cause in marking the witch's words. While brushing his mare, he watched the girl playing in the water, when he noticed fish floating dead around her. Fearing an animal in the river had killed the fish, he hurried to take Calista out the shallow creek. Shaking his head in disbelief, he saw the moment when his daughter reached downwards to a meandering golden fish, only to touch it with her index finger. The creature stopped moving and then emerged to the surface to float away with the rest, dead.

Heart plundering in his chest, he lifted Calista in arms and placed her on a rock. 'Did you kill the fish?' Looking straight into her eyes, his tone was more a statement than a question.

A tear rolled down the lass' rosy small cheek while nodding in affirmation.

'Since when can you do this? Tell me please, Calista!'

Perhaps unaware of what exactly she had done, with a glowing and genuine innocence on her face, she shrugged shoulders and just wept.

'Don't you cry my girl. See, we Domari respect life ... nature is for us to borrow, to bond to. We don't take others lives because that's not in our hands and never is it our will to choose. Promise me Calista, no matter how deeply you wish to, you'll never do this again. Do you promise me?' Fatherly, Django held his only child's shoulders, reassuring the plea with a tender smile.

'Yes daddy', the affirmation came in a whimper.

'Good. Let's go home. Let's keep this our little secret', and holding hands, the man helped the girl climb down the rock, then both walked towards the horse.

'I killed mommy, did I?' Calista pulled her father's hand as they walked, urging him to look down at her.

'What? Wait! No! Who told you that?' He knelt in front of her, cupping her chin with tenderness.

'Mommy told me ... she comes to me in my dreams.'

Years passed by and Calista grew to become a gorgeous young lady. With age, she developed other abilities, while learning to control the power within her. Other than killing by accident or boredom, nothing more sentient than a few spiders and butterflies, the teenager kept loyal to the promise made to her father ten years since, to respect life and to follow her kin's customs and traditions, despite not being considered by the rest as one of them.

It took some time to earn respect as a fortune teller and healer, as her life unfolded with relative normalcy. Being more feared than admired, the redhead never gained a friend or suitor, though she was past the age of marrying, and the fairest of them all in her clan.

But they say nothing lasts forever and promises, promises are meant to be broken. One morning, the sun peeped through the foliage to kiss Calista's bared and wet skin while bathing in the river. Summer had never been that hot as long as she remembered in Catalonia. She'd had known better, but witches never see the future through their own eyes. Calista was not alone.

While emerging to the surface, three men, all of them Romanies from her tribe, watched her, eyes filled with lust and evilness, from the shore. While the girl never saw them coming, she knew well their intentions. In no time they dived into the water, swiftly swimming towards the redhead, who struggled to get out of the river. Taller and stronger, the trio reached her on the other side of the stream. It was so easy for them, having no other obstacle than her fine cotton underskirt, already impregnated to her nakedness. While two of them held her arms, the third one opened her legs apart and forced him into hers.

Cries were muzzled by the man's hand. She realized there was just one way to stop them ... it was their life, or hers. Grabbing the guy to her right by the wrist, the redhead sent a pulse that jerked him back. With her free hand, Calista reached the ones on top of hers, and placing her index finger to his chest sent a pulse that paralyzed him, making him tumble to his side.

Crawling backwards, her eyes glowed as red as burning coals, watching with delight how after two or three violent seizures, his eyes went blank and stopped breathing.

'But it was in self defense! Don't you see the bruises on her body, the dry blood on her thighs! He raped her!' Calista's father begged to the tribe's council.

'You know the law Django. An eye for an eye ... and the boy is not here to defend himself as you're for your daughter.'

'I know the law. They took my daughter's honor!' The patriarch's voice cracked filled with rage and impotence, staring at his girl.

'And she'd taken a man's life!' An elder reposted. 'You're even.'

'With dark magic!' another member of the clan's council added. 'You knew she cast dark spells and omitted it to the tribe. It wasn't only in her to foresee the future; she's gifted with an evil power, a forgiven art to the Romanies. You know it Django. You always knew it ... and now is not in your hands to decide.'

'Exile', pronounced the oldest of the men.

'Exile', the rest repeated in unison.

The words echoed in Calista's head while staring blankly to the horizon, a curved line swallowed by steep hills below, dying on the placid lake's surface that began to frost. Standing at the top of a craggy peak, a tear rolled down her face while watching a gypsy caravan meandering through the forest. They were once her kin, but she never was one of them. She now knew well. Her destiny was never to be a Romani, or any sort of a human being. She was born only to die and be reborn as a vampire.

Another tear escaped her blue eyes, just to be taken away, carried by the cold winter breeze.

'Past is a heavy burden on the shoulders of someone who can see the future' the blonde vampire with her spoke as stepping to her sides. 'You've been not in your best mood today, mistress Calista.

'I don't know, it's been a long time since this nonbeating heart feels like wrinkling ... something is wrong here Ana, but the message is not clear yet.

'Of course, it's your racing heart ... ha! You see what I did there? Raisin, racing, huh.' The servant smirked to her own joke.

'You always cheer me up Ana ... Let's go hunting!' The vampire's lips curved up in a smile.

'Yes! Hunting! The last one is a rotten corpse!'

Calista let her servant take the lead just to have a look down once more to the colorful display of the moving Romany caravan, the only colors to be seen in Pallars' bleak winter.

A few miles into the deep woods, where the Catalonian Pyrenees met an end, Calista and Ana fed each on a duo of unfortunate campers, hunters that despite being armed with rifles, were not a fight to both female vampires. 'Behead then Ana.' After taking the man's the last drop of blood, a satisfied vampire instructed her servant while rinsing her hands in a natural spring flowing down the mountain's rocky surface. 'We better move on. Someone is coming.'

'It always gives me Goosebumps when you say that', the servant hurled away the head in her hands. 'It always amazes me how attuned you are ...'

Not attuned enough so Calista might think. The thumping sound made by approaching stallions made both Calista and Ana halt. It only took a few seconds to meet the cavalcade. Not an ordinary one, but soldiers from Prince Lucio, who'd promptly dismounted to render a reverence.

'Princess Calista ...'

'There's been a long time since I don't wear that crown you fools. What do you want? I mean, what does that piece of drunken leech want now? Don't waste your time; tell him I'm not going back to that snakes nest!'

'I'm afraid, m'lady, this time you won't have any other choice.' One of the bulky vampires addressed an envelope to her.

There was no need to open the missive, while she was struck by the content of it. The envelope shook in her hands.

'Your presence is requested upon the court. It's the Prince's last request.' After paying a final reverence, the vampire guards climbed effortlessly onto their horses and galloped away.

'Last request? What does it say?' The blonde servant asked.

'We're attending a funeral ... but first, we must clean thoroughly the house. Family is coming to visit.'

That night Calista tossed and turned on her bed. Rumbling voices inside her head didn't let her find rest. 'Damned!' Throwing bedspreads asides, a fuming vampire got up from bed. "Memories! Why? Always bumping in the night ... as if there was any difference', in a daunting soliloquy, she stood by the window, staring at the dwindling moon in the sky. 'I wish you'd never existed', a tear rolled down her pale cheek, tasting bitter on her lips.

Dusk painted orange the skies in Catalonia. Calista climbed down her mare and tied it to a tree by the river. With great skills, she lit a bonfire and the lamps on her wagon, before night enveloped the woods.

Sitting on the cart's lower step, the redhead put a piece of honeycomb to a long stick and warmed it along with some slices of unleavened bread. It was always good to have a meal before going to bed. Once she'd eaten, Calista filled a bucket with water from the river and bathed under the full moon. Humming a lullaby her father used to sing to her when she was a toddler; she ended sobbing until she got fully dressed by the bonfire.

'Good evening, signorina. Woods are never a safe place to a lady, even more in a night like this', the sultry male's voice came from the shadows.

Fear tingled on her skin, urging her to run off an imminent danger, but there was also a voice not coming from her head, a voice speaking through her pounding heartbeats telling her there was nothing to be afraid of.

'Show yourself," it came out as a command.

'There's boldness in the lady,' emerging from the darkness, he gave a step forward.

Eyes like rubies fixed to her while his thin lips curved up in an amiable smile. A foreigner, she knew by his features and his skin, even paler than hers, was porcelain perfect.

'You're not human,' she gasped, climbing backwards a step to her wagon.

'Neither you,' the stranger advanced towards hers.

'Me, you say? There's no heart beating inside of you!' Calista remained unscathed, feeling more curious than afraid. She'd seen so many ghosts in her life to be scared of another one.

'Oh, I see. I knew I was to find something special tonight ... but never thought of ... a witch,' he closed the gap between them. 'Come. Do you want to feel?' He took her hand with gentleness and placed it on his cold chest. 'Interesting. You've got the touch of dead. I can feel the pulse, a stinging in my quiet heart.'

'What are you?' Her lips shivered to his closeness.

'A creature of the night, just like you ... but, why don't we go inside of that charming wagon of yours to talk? As I told you before, woods are not a safe place for a lonely traveler.'

Hypnotized by the foreigner's handsomeness and soothing talk, the redhead only nodded and holding hands, they walked into the cart.

It was late night when the first visitors arrived. The most elegant entourage stationed in the front yard of the mansion. Calista recalled, the last time she found herself surrounded by so many vampires was the time she lived with Prince Lucio ... when she believed she was his princess.

Quite a spectacle to witness it had been ... the bright colorful display ... an exotic and surreal parade in the main hall. Coming from every corner of the world, a dozen vampires traveled to Catalonia, to have a meeting on a pressing matter; their prince agonized and all of them, coven leaders, had been summoned. A successor had to be chosen.

In the salon, everywhere you looked, a perfect in appearance creature stood. Saracen god-like creatures from Egypt, refined and classic from London and France, African descendant divinities, and others of either bohemian or rustic comeliness, which one of them more gorgeous than the other.

Calista climbed down the stairs, her hips swayed with cadence under the see-through satin of the gown she wore. Forcing a welcoming smile, the red haired greeted her guests.

'Welcome to Santa Helena's castle. It's been a long time since the last time we met, isn't it? Make yourselves comfortable ...' Calista gestured the servants to come. Some of them took their luggage upstairs while others served each a glass of fortified wine. 'A little refreshment to warm up.'

'My lovely', imprinted with a thick British accent, a most handsome vampire approached, while kissing the duchess' hand. 'Thank you for inviting me. We had so much fun the last time I spent a season. With you. Here. Remember?'

'Yes, I remember Henry. And you're lucky to be still alive. You know that I could have killed you centuries ago ... perhaps ... now ...' Glowing a mischievous grin on her face, her index finger pointed down to his groin. 'Did you know I've learned to kill a man by parts?'

'No, no, no. Wait, honey ...' He gave a step backwards.

'Vlad, is there such a thing as a revival cure for a dead ... thing?' Calista addressed a tall, bulky vampire with a scar on his face.

'I'm afraid not ... not even a spell.' He laughed out loud.

'This is so much fun! We're here for couple's therapy.' After sipping wine from his glass, another vampire added sardonically.

'I bet now he'll think twice before calling honey a woman.' Arching an eyebrow, Adora, the mythical Llorona, scuffed in a bitter tone.

'Damned it be Henry! This is not a couples' retreat ... at least not with you. You English leech!' She made her way towards the group.

'And speaking of retreats ... where's my negrito lindo? Here he is ...' Cupping the bronzed skinned vampire's chin, Calista's voice softened in a sensual tune. 'It's been a long time since we ... huh ... met at Port of Palos. Remember, Garan? You don't know how glad I am you left that Yiyí for good. I guess Marissa is more ... easy to handle. Incest is a sin, you know ...' Her lips curved up in a wicked grin.

It was enough to bring the assembly to a halt. Calista never committed mistakes, but she had a touch of prophecy, a remnant from her days as a witch. Words would escape her lips in trivial conversations, phrases that filled those who heard it with a sense of dread, or déjà vu. Usually, those visited by her gift would dare ask further, but Lindsey didn't stop to consider, he simply continued.

'You didn't seem to mind when you were your father's whore.'

Twitching her mouth, the redhead stepped back, squaring eyes in disgust. 'The Prince and I are not tied by blood ...'

'Really? Blood is the strongest bond within us.' The god-like African vampire retorted.

'That and sex! Cheers!' Cara Mía raised her glass, while fanning her long lashes and blowing a kiss to the group.

'Well, let's sum-up this queridos míos', Calista spoke to the group. 'In three days all of us will be at Lucio's castle playing who killed the prince..."

'But he's not dead', Cara Mía interrupted.

'Not yet. But he will soon.'

How do you know?'

'Don't you forget I was a witch before turning into a vampire.'

'Let's not forget who turned you into one.'

'Maybe that's why, I feel he's gonna die soon ... but the bastard resists.'

'So much hate spilling out those rosebud lips.'

'You know I've got my reasons. That's not an issue here ... the issue is, and I'm guessing, they need a successor, a righteous heir to the throne, and he or she can only be one of us.'

'There was once a princess to Lucio.'

'Not anymore! My apologies for the tone ... Anyway, here's the plan. There's a tourist cruise ship to aboard tomorrow midnight at Barcelona's port. It will be fun guys. Remember when the plague was blamed for every stranded ship piled up with dead bodies? Everything is set up for the trip. Now, have some rest. We'll refine details tomorrow morning ... Well, I'm exhausted ... Mi casa es su casa ... The servants will guide you to your rooms, but just a bit of a warning, there are seventeen human servants in this castle. And I said servants, not dinner. I'm counting cattle-heads in the morning ...'

On her way towards the stairs, the host made a stop in front of the Egyptian vampire, placing her hand on his chest. Closing the gap between them, she brushed his leg with her knee. 'I'd love a private dance tonight ... Son ... of ... none.' Lust gleamed in her bright blue eyes while biting her lower lip.

'My act is a luxury, not everyone is willing to pay.' A half smirk drew on the gorgeous Saharan creature.

'Ha! Your real name might be a well-kept secret, dancing sphinx, but her affairs are a busy talk. There's no need to play games here.' Arching an eyebrow, Cara Mía added, her tone hinted in irony.

'You can come too, if you want Cara Mía. My bed is big enough for us three.'

'I'm reluctant to pay, what I can get for free... and all to myself.' There was no hidden message in the belle Bohème's reply. She let escape a chuckle.

'Touché." Lazlo cracked, serving himself another glass of wine.

By  Rosaimee