Onwards
Goodbyes are never easy, even when they’re necessary.

A tip of the hat to Ryan Lebeck, who planted the seeds
for this story with his always-imaginative and thoughtful suggestions ... much thanks!

            “Antonio, old Lucia wanted to talk to you.”

            Antonio, a sturdy middle-aged man, looked over at cousin Celesta quizzically, raising his dark, bushy eyebrows.  “She’s not here?” he asked, looking around at the rest of the family scattered around the huge bonfire.

He was able to answer his own question when he couldn’t find Lucia’s thin, wizened form amongst the dozens of people sitting in the grass, talking and eating.  A few were still quietly weeping, but the grief was nearly purged from the closely-knit band of gypsies, and it was giving way to acceptance of their loss.

The death of his aunt Simona was truly a sad event, and her bright eyes, quick wit, and helping hands would be forever missed by her family and friends, but she’d lived to a ripe old age, longer than most, and she’d died in her sleep, peacefully slipping into the next world.  There was an additional sadness to Simona’s passing, because she’d been the last of Donatella’s children, who had done such great things for the band of gypsies during their long lives, and with Simona gone, it was the end of a dynasty.

But all of Donatella’s children had sired multiple children of their own, and those children, Antonio included, had even more children, and they would proudly lead their family into the future.  As a matter of fact, it was Antonio, the eldest of Donatella’s grandchildren, that was now looked upon as the head of the family.  But that didn’t mean that he was the eldest member of the bloodline.  That was kindly old cousin Lucia, who seemed to be as ancient as the mountains themselves, and was forever writing in her thick book of family history.

“Where is she?”

“Out by the ruins,” said Celesta, pointing off to the west, “By the sea.”  The small woman then turned back to Francesca, the youngest of her children, who was clamoring for attention.

Nodding, Antonio reached out and gave his cousin a hug, which was probably the hundredth that day; Simona had been Celesta’s mother.  “I miss her, too,” he murmured into her ear.  “It won’t be the same without her.”

Though she weary from grieving and the funeral that had come to an end just a couple of hours prior, Celesta managed a smile, and to Antonio’s pleasure, it was genuine.  “Thank you,” she said, patting him on one of his thick, muscular arms.  “I don’t know how I would’ve made it through this without all of you.”

“Hey, that’s what family’s for, is it not?” said Antonio.  “Just like Grandmother Donatella always said.  We share in the joys and the burdens.”

Celesta wiped a tear from her eye and hugged him again.  “You’re going to be a good head of the family, I know you are.  I can see so much of Grandmother in you.”

Antonio chuckled.  “Well, if that’s true, I think I’ll go out and conquer the world before dinner!  Would you like to go with me, little Francesca?” he asked Celesta’s diminutive daughter, who was already showing a remarkable resemblance to her late grandmother, with her dark olive complexion, long curly hair, and fierce, flashing eyes.

“YES!” bellowed the little girl, bouncing up and down in excitement.  In addition to her grandmother’s looks, she’d also inherited the woman’s wild disposition, and it was all Celesta could do to keep up with her.  “Let’s go!”

Antonio swooped the young girl up in his arms, spun her around several times, making her laugh like a lunatic, and then set her down again.  Giggling like mad, Francesca tottered off towards some of her cousins, her walk decidedly wobbly from the spinning.  After several steps, Francesca tripped and fell flat on her face, uttering a rather vile swear word as she got back to her feet.  Unable to help herself, Celesta burst into laughter, precisely what Antonio had hoped to accomplish.

“She has Grandmother’s mouth, too, eh?” he asked, giving his cousin a playful elbow in the side.

“Oh, go, go, go talk to Lucia before she grows impatient with you!” said Celesta, trying to rein in her mirth as much as possible, lest little Francesca take it as encouragement and an invitation to throw out even more foul language.  “You are a troublemaker!”

“I’m helpless against it, it’s in my blood,” said Antonio with a grin.  Bidding her farewell, he turned and headed towards the ruins, his heart light.

*     *     *

When Antonio reached the ruins, which were a mile or so away from where the family had set down camp a few weeks ago, he saw Lucia sitting at the top of an old flight of stairs, looking out at the sea with her big book of family history on her lap.  He called out to her and she turned and waved at him.  She yelled something as well, but it was lost to the strong winds coming off the ocean, which was a deep crystalline blue in the late afternoon sunlight.

Antonio started along the dirt path that led up the side of the massive hill on which the ancient ruins rested, and he once again looked over the strange shapes of the stone structures that covered most of the hilltop.  To a gypsy who’d spent his entire life moving from one place to another, the structures seemed especially odd … why would anybody need that much space to live in?  Did many, many people live on top of the hill once upon a time?  Or was this a place to live at all?  Was it used for something else?  Perhaps gatherings or magickal rituals like what his own people performed?

He’d asked uncle Mariotto those very questions years ago, when he’d been but a child and their band had settled in this area for a time, and even his quiet, studious uncle had been uncertain of the purpose of the ruins.  He’d also asked Lucia the very same questions, not long after they’d made camp, and she hadn’t been able to illuminate the mystery very much, either.  All she’d said was that they were even older than they appeared, and that the slowly-crumbling buildings didn’t seem interested in giving up their secrets, even to the extremely curious.

But like Antonio, old Lucia seemed drawn to the ruins, and she often spent entire days out in the ruins, nosing around and writing in her big book.  Sometimes she took children with her, but other times she went by herself, disappearing amongst the structures until after the sun went down.  Antonio had originally objected to the aged woman going by herself, for fear that might get hurt and not have any help available, but Simona herself had told him not to worry.  Old Lucia could handle herself just fine, Simona had said, and out of respect for his aunt, he hadn’t argued, though he’d still privately worried about it.  Even as a child, Antonio had tended to watch over everybody, even his elders, which Aunt Simona had declared to be a noble trait, even if he was a mother hen at times.

Climbing a rooftop that had long ago collapsed to the ground, Antonio drew closer to old Lucia, and after moving around several partly-buckled columns, Antonio started up the well-worn stairs that Lucia was sitting atop.

“You always find the most difficult places to get to,” he said in a lightly scolding tone when he reached the top of the stairs.

She glanced up at him and graced him with a warm smile, the wind playing with the long grey hair that emerged from beneath the bandanna she always wore.  “That’s because the most difficult places usually have the best views,” she said, turning to look out over the endless sea, holding out her hands to encompass it.

The hillside abruptly ended in a sheer cliff a short distance away, and the sounds of waves crashing and gulls calling reached his ears as Antonio gazed at the magnificent cerulean sea.  The view was indeed breathtaking, and as he admired it, he felt some of the remaining tightness and grief slowly wash away from his soul, cleansed by the pure beauty of the vista before him.  Overhead, the sun was slowly making its way towards the far, and the color of the sky was deepening to match that of the ocean.

“You’re right, as always,” he said, reaching down to take her thin hand and give it a squeeze.

“No, I’m not always right.  Just most of the time,” she said, squeezing his hand in return.  “Sit with me for a time, won’t you?”

“Of course,” said Antonio, dropping down onto the solid stone of the top step, and he and Lucia sat in silence, watching the sun slowly travel downwards.  “Celesta said you wanted to see me,” he said after some time had passed.

“I do,” said the old woman with a nod.  “Very much.”

“What is it you need?” asked the sturdy man, giving her a look of concern, his heart skipping just a little, worried that perhaps the old woman was sick.

Lucia softly laughed and shook her head.  “No, I’m not sick or dying,” she said, giving him a pat on the cheek.  When he frowned, grinned.  “I can tell that’s what you’re thinking just from the expression on your face.  Your grandfather Buccio always got the exact same look when he got anxious about something.”

“Then what is it?” he pressed, not certain whether to be relieved by her answer or to be even more concerned.  Lucia could be very strange at times, and even after he’d reached middle age, he’d found that she could still give him pause just as easily as she had when he’d been a young man.  “Is everything all right?”

The old woman sighed.  “Well … yes and no.”

Antonio frowned again.  “Yes and no?  What does that mean?  Are you sure you’re all right?”

Lucia turned from him and looked back out at the ocean.  “I’m sorry.  You remind me so much of Buccio it hurts sometimes.”  She wiped at her eyes and Antonio realized that she was gently crying.

He immediately put an arm around her and pulled her close.  “Hey, what is it?  What can I do to help?”

She sighed again.  “It’s … complicated.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Antonio.  “No matter how complicated, I’m here for you.  Whatever you need, whatever it takes, I’m here, cugina.”

“I know,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.  “You’ve always been like that, ever since you were a little boy.  I was always so proud of you.  The other children thought you were being bossy, but I knew that you were just trying to keep them safe.  Sometimes you overdid it, but you always meant well.”

Antonio blushed a little at the memories, remembering how his brothers, sisters, and cousins had often teased him because of how he was forever keeping an eye on all of them.  “Sometimes they didn’t—“ he began, and then stopped.  Oh no.  He looked at Lucia critically, gazing into her eyes, suddenly fearful.

“What is it?” she asked, wiping at a tear.  “I told you I was all right.”

“No, no it’s not—“ he said, stammering.  “It’s just that …”

“What?”

He put his head down, feeling ashamed for reacting in such a way, and now it was his turn to sigh.  “No, it’s nothing,” he said.

“Like hell it is,” said Lucia sternly.  “Something’s got you upset.  Tell me.”

“I … you weren’t …”

“I wasn’t what?” prodded the old woman, giving his shoulder a squeeze.  “You said you were here for me.  Well, I’m here for you.  It goes both ways.  What’s bothering you?”

Antonio shakily met her gaze, and when he saw the clarity of her eyes, he felt tears forming in to his own eyes.  “Lucia, cugina, you … weren’t here when I was a child,” he said gently.  “Don’t you remember?”

She nodded.  “Yes, that’s part of—  Wait a moment,” she said, leaning towards him, his eyes narrowing.  “You think that I’m losing my mind, don’t you?”

He shivered a little at the intensity of her stare, feeling even more ashamed that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut over such a delicate manner.  He’d seen it happen to several of his aged relatives when he’d been younger, how their minds had slowly started to deteriorate with their advanced years.  He’d been nothing but courteous, gentle, and understanding with them, never letting them think for a moment that he noticed their diminishing faculties.  But he’d just discovered Lucia’s problem, and he’d already let on about it, just like that!  What sort of behavior was that for the head of a family?

After the grief of losing his Aunt Simona, he was more vulnerable than he cared to admit, and to suddenly be faced with the prospect of losing another relative so soon afterwards …  Though he worried about Lucia falling and hurting herself amidst the ruins and things of that nature, he’d never once thought that her mind would start to fall apart as she grew older; she was always so sharp and perceptive, her mind so quick and clever, like that of a youngster’s much of the time, that he’d thought that would never happen to her.

“No, I don’t … I … it’s just that—“ he stammered, blushing furiously.  “I’m so sorry, Lucia!  I didn’t mean anything by what I said, I didn’t mean for you to think—“

“Hush,” said the old woman, giving him a grin and shaking her head.  She put a hand to his cheek.  “I’m not losing my mind, Antonio,” she said softly.  “I was there when you were a child.  I bounced you on my knee and read you stories at bedtime and took you for walks in the woods and so many other things.  Everybody thought I was going to spoil you to where you were going to be insufferable, but I was just so proud of you that I could hardly leave you alone for a minute.”

Tears ran down Antonio’s face, his heart nearly breaking at the sight of the old woman’s bright smile.  “No,” he said gently, taking her hand in both of his.  “You weren’t there, Lucia.  You didn’t join us until I after I became a man, when all of us traveled down south and came across you near the sea.  Remember?”

“I remember everything,” she said, putting her other hand on top of his.  “Your fears are nothing, cast them away.  I’m fine.”

“It was my grandmother that did all those things with me,” said Antonio, his voice barely above a whisper.  “You never got to meet her, but we’ve all told you so much about her … perhaps you were just too deeply into writing the family history.  Maybe after the last few days, you’ve gotten a little … confused.”  Every word pained him, and he did his best to keep his eyes on hers, not wanting to look away from the proud woman before him.

“No, I’m not confused,” she said with a sad little smile.  “But I’m confusing you, I see.  I didn’t mean to.  This is difficult for me, and …”  She shook her head.  “No, I’m doing this wrong.  All I’m doing is hurting you this way.  You’re a grown man now, a strong man, like your father and your grandfather, and I never cat-stepped around them, and I won’t do that to you, either.”

She shut her eyes and murmured a few syllables that made no sense to Antonio, and then she shimmered before his eyes, as though she were a reflection on the rippling waters of a pond.  A few seconds later, he was staring at the familiar old features of his grandmother Donatella, who had died when he’d been in his teens.

Antonio gasped in shock, his heart seeming to skip every other beat, and he started to pull away, but the old woman held him tightly, with more strength than he would have thought her capable of.

“G-grandmother?”

She nodded.  “Yes,” she said, “It’s me.”  He shivered: even her voice had changed to the one from his memories.

“How … could this be?”

She held up a hand.  “There’s more.”

She murmured several more syllables and her features shimmered again, and time seemed to flow in reverse before Antonio’s wide eyes.  Within moments his grandmother’s face had smoothed out, the lines and wrinkles disappearing as her hair darkened from grey to a lustrous brunette, and he was looking into the face of a young woman who could scarcely have been older than her mid-twenties, if that.  But the facial structure and distinctive purple irises of her bright eyes were unmistakable: this was Grandmother Donatella looking at him, but now she looked as though she was less than half his age.

Hesitantly, almost fearfully, Antonio reached out to touch her face, delicately running his rough fingers over her smooth, impossibly soft skin, feeling the warmth and solidity of it, and he knew that what he was seeing was very real.

“It really is you,” he whispered in wonder.  “You’re still alive.”

She put one of her hands, now equally smooth and young, against his, pressing it to her cheek.  “I never left you, mi bambino, I’ve always been here,” she said.

“But … I saw you on the pyre at your funeral,” Antonio said, trying to stop trembling.  “I saw my father and Aunt Mea scatter your ashes into the sea.  I saw it!”

“It was all an illusion I wove with magick, in the same way I appeared to become an old woman as the years wound on,” said his grandmother gently.  “My funeral was a clever fabrication devised by my children and myself when we decided that Donatella Solario was old enough and that it was time for her to leave this world, not long after your grandfather Buccio died.”

“Why?” Antonio asked, the surprise and confusion making his head spin.

Grandmother Donatella sighed once again.  “It’s a long story.”

“Tell me,” he said insistently.  “Please.  I must know.”

“It’s easier to show you,” she said.  When he looked at her questioningly, she opened her mouth, and her canine teeth smoothly slid down from her gums, forming perfect ivory fangs.

Antonio opened his own mouth to scream, but his grandmother had anticipated his reaction, and her hand was already over his mouth, stifling his cry.  “It’s all right, mi bambino, despite everything, I’m still your grandmother.  I would never, ever harm you or any member of my family.  I would die first,” she said, the conviction in her voice so strong that the last several words were nearly choked out.

She removed her hand from his mouth, and took a few moments to gather herself, her eyes never leaving his.  “Years ago, when you were still a child, I was walking near a river that we had camped by, and I was captured by a strange man with inhuman strength and speed, who had fangs like what I now have.  He said that he was lonely and that he was going to make me like him, so that I’d be his companion through the endless years of his life.”  Her features twisted in anger, and she growled, “He wanted to take me away from my husband, my family, and my children, and I was never so scared in all of my life.  I hadn’t even known him for an hour, and I already hated him more than I’d ever hated anybody before.  I couldn’t let him take me away from my family, and I begged the old gods to give me the strength to resist him, to stop him from making me his thrall.”

Now her angry expression was replaced by a grim smile.  “After he’d drank my blood and then gave it back to me, I discovered that perhaps the gods had smiled down upon this old gypsy woman after all.”

She held out her hand, palm upwards, and her eyes flashed bright purple.  Purplish flames suddenly blazed up from the flesh of her hand, crackling and burning brightly, though they didn’t hurt her in the least, though Antonio nearly jumped out of his skin  “We’ve always been a people strong in magick, and on that night, I was given the power to overcome that bastard’s inhuman strength.”  Her smile grew wider but conversely darker.  “I burnt him to a cinder and threw his blackened corpse into the river.  Nobody takes me away from my family, Antonio, nobody.”

Not knowing what to say or think, Antonio only stared at the woman, fighting the urge to pull away from her and run back to the camp; part of him was terrified, but the other part desperately wanted to believe her.

“I understand,” his grandmother said, nodding knowingly.  “My children and Buccio gave me much the same look that you are now.  They didn’t know if they could believe me, and they didn’t know if they could even still trust me.  But when I made it back home the next day, I asked them to do the same thing that I am going to ask of you: look into your heart and find the truth.”

Trying to gather his thoughts, Antonio rasped, “What have you become?  Are you a demon now?”

Grandmother Donatella shook her head.  “I’m not a demon, I’m sure of that.  But beyond that, I’m not certain.  After my ‘death,’ before I rejoined the family as Lucia, I roamed around, traveling far to the north for a time, and I discovered that the monster that tried to take me away was called a vampire, an immortal, immoral creature of the night that thrives on the blood of the living and enjoys making people suffer in countless ways.  Vampires are hateful, horrible beings, and I despise them all,” the woman hissed.  “I’m not a vampire, not a full-blooded one, at least.  While in the north, I encountered several others like me, with vampire fangs, strength, and powerful magickal abilities, and they all said that vampires hate people like me.  They fear what I’ve become because while I have many of a vampire’s strengths, I don’t have their weaknesses.  Sunlight doesn’t hurt me.  I don’t have to feed on blood to survive.  I have magickal powers that they don’t have.  I can still love as strongly as I ever could, maybe even more so, and I’m as ageless as any vampire.  Vampires hunt my kind because they’re afraid that if there are too many of us free in the world, we’ll destroy them.  They’re right.  If I could, I’d wipe their evil stain from the world this very second.”

“Then what are you?” asked Antonio, struggling to understand all of this.

“A half-vampire,” answered his grandmother, “And someone that desperately doesn’t want to leave her family, even though it’s time for her to do so.”  She looked down, unable to hold her eyes on his any longer, and her body was wracked by a powerful sob.

His trepidation overcome by the sight of his grandmother’s pain, Antonio’s instincts took over and he reached out and embraced her with his thick, strong arms.  He held on to her as she cried against him, the sun slowly sinking in the distance, drawing closer to the horizon.  Grandmother Donatella cried for a long time, and Antonio didn’t disturb her, only holding on to her and comforting her with his presence as best he could.  It gave him time to collect his scattered thoughts and look back over the past several decades, thinking about his grandmother and “cousin Lucia,” remembering how devoted “Lucia” had been to Donatella’s children, realizing many truths in the process.

When her tears had ran their course, he softly asked, “Why must you go?  You’ve used your magick to live among us for years as ‘cousin Lucia,’ so why can’t you continue to do so?”

Wiping crimson tears from her eyes, Grandmother Donatella gave him a wan smile.  “I would love nothing more, mi bambino, but I cannot.  It would be too hard for me.  The immortality the vampire’s blood gave me is both my blessing and my curse.  I’ve not only outlived my husband, but I’ve watched all of my children grow old and die, something that no mother should have to do.  I can’t do that with my grandchildren or great-grandchildren.  I used my magick to disguise myself as your long-lost cousin, so I could watch over my children, and ensure they lived long, happy lives, as free of pain as I could possibly manage.  Today, I scattered the ashes of my youngest daughter, who I held in my arms moments after she was born and held her once again when she died of old age, and … I have to move on, Antonio.  I’ve lived out my time amongst you, and I have to move onwards, to see what the rest of the world has in store for me,” she said, sadness and weariness creeping into her voice.  “It breaks my heart to leave, but if I stay with you any longer, it would break my heart even worse.”

She hung her head and softly sobbed, then looked up at him, her eyes glimmering in the molten rays of the setting sun.  “I’m selfish.  I was your mother’s midwife, and I was the very first person to ever touch you and look at you, even before your mother, and I remember you as the scrawny, red little person that was so furious at me for helping him out of his warm, dark womb.  I’ve watched you grow from a skinny little boy into a big strong man capable of leading his family without anybody’s help, and as much as I love you, mi bambino, I don’t want to watch you grow old.  I can’t do it again.  I want to remember you as you are now, and hold that memory in my heart forever.  I’m so sorry, if I was stronger, I could—“

“Shhh, it’s all right, Grandmother,” said Antonio, taking her into his arms again and stroking her long, curly hair in the way that she’d always stroked his when he’d been a child needing comfort.  No more tears came from Donatella, but she held on to him tightly, clinging as though for dear life.  He slowly rocked back and forth on the stairs, unconsciously giving back to her the solace she’d given him so many times in the past, both as Donatella and Lucia.

“I can’t say that I truly understand what it is you’ve become,” he said, “I’m just a simple man, and I don’t know anything about ‘vampires’ of any kind, but I know that you’re still my grandmother, regardless of what’s happened.  I also know that if it’s one thing that my grandmother isn’t, it’s weak.  You’ve given so much to both the family and myself, two lifetimes’ worth, at least, and if you feel you have to move on, then you must move on.  I have so many things I want to ask you and tell you, now that you’ve opened my eyes to the truth, but I won’t stand in your way, Grandmother.  You’ve given us enough of yourself to last us to the end of our days, now you need to go live for yourself.”

“You have such a wonderful heart, thank you,” she whispered, hugging him with such strength that he was momentarily afraid that she was going to accidentally crush him.  “Your mother and father were so proud of you, just as I am.  That’s why I chose you to be the one to carry on the secret of your half-vampire grandmother, as well as the one to continue the work I’ve began in my book.”

Kissing him on the cheek, she let go and picked the thick, leatherbound book off the stone step and handed it to him, letting him feel its weight and heft.

“When I returned to the family under the guise of Lucia, I brought this book with me, and I’ve been writing the history of our family in it ever since.  I’ve recorded every birth, death, and notable event from the birth of my own grandfather long ago to the passing of Simona on this very day.  I now hand this task over to you, the new head of the family.  Someday, you’ll pass on the secret and the book to one of your own children or grandchildren, and the cycle will continue on and on.  Only write in this book, never in anything else, because I’ve prepared this book for this very thing.”

Gazing at the big, impressive tome, with its strong metal bindings and thick cover, Antonio asked, “What will I do when this book fills up?  There are so many children and grandchildren running around now, and the number is sure to grow even larger in the future …”

Donatella laughed merrily and patted the book proudly.  “It will never fill up.  I spent years learning the proper spells and incantations to make this rare and already-special book, which I bought from a silent eastern merchant, one that will always have as many pages as it needs.”

“But won’t it get so many pages in it that it will be impossible to carry around?”

“Not at all, mi bambino.  It will always be this size, even if it contains thousands upon thousands of pages.  To get to where you need to go, all you have to do is turn the pages, and the book will take care of the rest,” said Donatella.  “The first thing that you’ll write in there, once I’ve gone, is that old Lucia entrusted the book in your care after leaving the family to make a journey to Florence.  Nobody will question you when you tell them that Lucia’s gone, because Lucia’s done this sort of thing before.”

Antonio nodded, remembering how Lucia would strike out on her own once or twice a year, disappearing for a month or so and then returning.

“This time, though, Lucia won’t be coming back,” his grandmother said.  “Three months from now, lead the family to Florence, where the Solario name has been held in high regard since my grandfather’s day.  There, you will seek out a man named Giovanni Spinelli the 3^rd, who Lucia had mentioned that she was going to visit.  Giovanni, who is a trustworthy man, will sadly inform the family the Lucia had taken ill and died shortly after she arrived in Florence, and he will give you her farewell letter to the family, as well as make you aware of a great repository of wealth that Lucia had been hoarding away for years.  You may do with the wealth as you please, so long as you use it wisely, because I worked hard to earn that money for the benefit of my family.”  She laughed ruefully.  “Whenever my Grandfather Azzarello deemed that no one in our family would ever steal from anybody else ever again, regardless of the circumstances, he may have gained us a fine reputation among the city-folk, but he also made it very difficult for his granddaughter to accumulate wealth!  If not for the help of a half-mad alchemist in Sicily, I would never have been able to put together a suitable golden egg for my family’s future.  Being a respectable gypsy has its benefits, but there are times that it also has its downfalls.”

“At least we aren’t harassed by the city-folk,” said Antonio with a smile, and Donatella gave him a shrug.

“Yes, there is that, I suppose.  At least we Solarios can go into the cities without worrying about getting stoned by the people or locked away in a jail somewhere,” she said, and then gave him a mischievous grin that he knew quite well.  “Though there were times that I was sorely tempted to break Grandfather Azzarello’s edict and just take what I needed.  But I was a good girl and stayed my hand.  I have the feeling that being a good granddaughter is going to make life difficult for me someday at one point or another, but at least I won’t have to worry about Grandfather’s ghost appearing and twisting my ear.”

She waggled an eyebrow at the long-standing family joke about the legendarily-stubborn Azzarello’s ghost appearing to mete out punishment whenever someone thought they were pulling off something on the sly.  Antonio guffawed and she joined in, the two of them laughing together in the sunset, simply enjoying one another’s company.

When the stars began to twinkle in the deep purple velvet of the early night sky, Antonio, holding his grandmother’s hand, asked, “Where will you go?”

She looked out over the sea, her eyes seeming to gaze at something he was incapable of seeing, and she said, “North.  Far north.  I’m going to travel to the land of the midnight sun, near the roof of the world itself.”

“What’s there?  It sounds very cold,” he said, unconsciously shivering: he’d always hated cold weather.

“The cold doesn’t bother me any longer, mi bambino,” she said, glancing at him with a grin.  Her features turned sober again and she returned her gaze to the sea.  “I’ve been … seeing someone in my dreams for several years now, and I want to find her.  I think she needs me.”

Not sure what his grandmother meant, Antonio asked, “Who is she?”

Donatella shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I see her in the northern snow, walking by a frozen lake, wrapped in the furs of animals I haven’t seen before, and she looks so sad.  She’s always alone, and she never smiles.  She often cries.  I’m certain she’s like me, a half-blooded vampire.  I don’t know how, but I’m sure she is.  I want find out what’s wrong with her, but in my dreams, I’m immaterial, and I can’t speak to her or touch her.  But sometimes, I think she knows I’m there, because she looks in my direction, and it’s as though she’s pleading for me to help, but I can’t do anything,” she said.  “She’s hurting and she needs me to help her.  I have to find her.  I have to.  I won’t stop until I do.”

Urgency slipped into her voice, and Antonio knew that this was something his grandmother felt very strongly about.  Though he hated the knowledge that she was going to be leaving so soon after he’d discovered that he’d never really lost her, he took comfort in the fact that she had a definite plan of what she was going to do next.  His father had often said that Donatella would go crazy if she didn’t have anything to do or have anybody to look after, and it was good to know that she had a mission and purpose to her life after she left her family.  He hoped she found this woman from her dreams, this other half-blood vampire, and wished for it to be so as hard as he could.  If anybody could make that poor sad woman happy, it was his wild-hearted grandmother.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said, his voice catching in his throat, and he squeezed Donatella’s hand as tightly as he could.

“I already miss you, mi bambino,” she said, and though her eyes, unlike his, were dry, her voice quavered nonetheless.

“Will you ever come back to us?”

“Someday,” she said.  “Many years from now, whenever my name has become a part of long-ago family history, preserved for all time in the book I’ve given you.  That’s why I’ve written in the book for so long, and why I want you to continue my work.  I want to someday sit down and hold the book in my hands again, and read of my family’s deeds and exploits.  I want to know the names of my great-great-great-grandchildren, I want to know how much trouble little Francesca causes, and I want to make sure that you all uphold Grandfather Azzarello’s no-thievery edict, because if I have to do it, so do you.”  She gave him a wry grin and squeezed his hand.

“I’ll never see you again, will I?” he asked softly.

            “No,” she answered, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said.  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, especially not after all you’ve done for us.  I’ll never forget you, and I’ll make sure that your name will always be remembered by our family.”

“I know you will.  I know you will,” she said.  “You are the finest man I’ve ever known, and that’s why I’m not afraid to leave my family behind, and find my own path in life.  I know you’ll take care of them for me, and they’ll always be safe with you.  Thank you, mi bambino.”

Unable to hold it in any longer, Antonio grabbed his grandmother and clutched her tightly, unashamedly crying his eyes out, overwhelmed by the mixture of sadness and joy in his heart.  For one last time, Grandmother Donatella held her first grandson close and comforted him in his time of need, letting him cleanse his soul with his tears while she gently sang to him, so that he could lead her beloved family into a bright future while she sought out her own strange and wonderful destiny to the north and beyond.