A Vampyre's Daughter

by Jeff Schanz

  He wasn’t even a pop fan. His music preferences centered mainly around the blues, country, and some classic rock. He supposed it was harder to hum a B. B. King song, especially if he wanted something danceable while he worked. The irony was that the blues came from these same kinds of circumstances: laborers singing something to keep themselves occupied during tedious tasks. But for whatever reason, on this island, 80’s pop was king. Go figure.

  He finished the paint job with plenty of paint to spare, figuring he’d do a final coat later after this one dried.

  A layer of tar was smeared inside the bilge. It was hard to reach in there, but he managed. It stressed out his sore back and ribs, but he would have another day to recover before he needed to recoat anything. He thumped the lids back onto all the cans. The paint was the only thing he was going to need again, so he figured he’d return the cans he didn’t need to the shed a little later.

  It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, so he thought he’d do something he had wanted to do since he found the boat. The shoal was basically a sandbar that blocked the ocean current from throwing waves into the lagoon, and he did want to keep that feature, but he also wanted to get the boat in and out without having to get in the water and drag it. So he took a shovel he had brought from the shed and went out to the center of the shoal. The bomb he had tossed out there had created a good crater in the shoal, and if he worked to deepen and widen it, he could create a nice channel, so to speak, to get the boat in and out.

  Digging sand underwater isn’t the easiest work ever. Downright tedious, actually. Pick up a shovel of sand and half of it melts away into the water before you can move it somewhere else. Eventually, he found a kind of push and drag method that sufficed, and a majority of the work got done. He decided he would finish it later since his ribs were feeling it and he was hungry anyway. Taking a break, he cooked one of his fish.

  After lunch, he humped the cans of lacquer and tar up the sinkhole exit and back to the shed. He put everything back in their place and was about to leave when he saw something interesting. It was a small quart can of black paint. Just house paint, not marine, but it gave him an idea. Finding another brush, he placed the ones he had used in some mineral spirits before picking up the little can of black paint and leaving the shed.

  He looked back at the house wondering how Lia was. He wanted to go check on her, but he didn't want to be intrusive or patronizing. Her father seemed to do enough of that, and Lia had been gracious about turning down Brandt's help. She was an independent-minded, proud woman. Brandt would find a better reason to check on her and decided to dismiss it for now. He was about to head back to the beach when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye.

  Lia was walking near the barn. She was walking slowly, not feebly, not energetic either, heading for the goat pen. It was mid-day, and she was out in the intense sun after being near comatose and burned? There had to be a good reason. She was fully covered except for her face, which was shaded by the wide hat and beekeepers veil. She leaned against the fence for a moment and then opened the gate.

  Brandt put his paint down and started toward her. “Hey, Lia!” he called.

  She stopped, saw him, and seemed to stiffen. Did I do something wrong?

  “Lia,” he called again. He was within twenty feet of her. Her face looked even more pale than usual. “Hey. Should you be out so soon? And in the middle of the day?”

  Lia grimaced. “I already have a father, thank you.” Her tone was a little icy.

  Brandt slowed his walk. “Ok. I’m sorry.” He stopped in front of her. She looked anything but welcoming. Brandt didn’t need to read minds to get the hint. “I can see I’m intruding,” he said. “I’ll go.” He turned and began to walk back to the shed.

  “Wait,” she said. When he turned, her head was hung and her shoulders slumped. “It’s not you. I’m just not myself.”

  Brandt turned to her but didn't come closer. “It's cool. You want to be alone. I get that way too.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not wishing to be alone. I’m just mad at my father. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  Brandt shrugged. “You’re allowed a snap or two. I’ve got a few coming.” He walked back to her. “I’ll go if you want, though.”

  “No. It’s alright. But you may not want to stay. I’m not here to feed the goats. I’m here to…” She hedged, trying to find a way to say whatever it was.

  “To feed yourself?” said Brandt.

  She nodded reluctantly. “I don’t make mistakes like the one you saw. I pushed myself too hard last night and became lethargic. Normally, I would’ve felt the sun burn me, but – I just let myself get too tired.”

  “I’ve done it. It’s alright.”

  Lia waited for a moment, perhaps allowing Brandt a last chance to exit, but Brant wasn’t going to leave. He walked in the pen with her. She pointed out a goat and Brandt herded it to her. While he did that, she got out some frustration. “Father pressed me again on how I need a protector. He offered to find a man and bring him here. I refused of course, but he won’t give up.”

  “He’s your father. He loves you and he just wants you to be safe.”

  “I know, but it drives me crazy.”

  Brandt bent down and gave the goat something to eat so it would relax where it stood. Lia came over and knelt down next to it. She soothingly petted it as it mindlessly chewed its offering.

  “Are you sure you wish to see this?” she asked.

  Brandt was sure. He felt embarrassed that he had turned away at her feeding from the blood bag. But this time it didn’t feel the same. He couldn’t reason out the difference. “I really would like to understand everything. If you’re willing, I’d like to watch.”

  Lia cocked her head and took an exasperated breath. “Look who’s the entertainment now?” she said with a smirk.

  Brandt let out a brief, nose-snort laugh.

  Brandt fed the goat some more of what he had offered before and Lia gave it a final pet. The goat was oblivious and only interested in the food. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, preparing herself, or her teeth, Brandt guessed. She bent forward and nuzzled the goat, then wrapped her arms around its neck in a gentle hug. Then she opened her mouth and pressed into its neck. It looked honestly like she was kissing the beast. The goat, however, could care less, chewing like there was nothing else in the world that existed besides its snack. Lia closed her eyes and rocked her mouth back and forth against the goat. It looked sensuous like she was in the throes of making love. If it wasn't for the goat, it would be erotic. The goat's only real reaction was a brief waggle of its stumpy tail like he suddenly found a piece of chocolate in his cud. She had written that vampyre feeding can be a pleasurable sensation, and it seemed the goat wouldn’t argue against it. Then Lia was done. She gave the goat another pet and then stood up. Only the tiniest puncture marks, with a hint of red, would attest to what she had done. The goat noticed that he wasn’t getting more snacks and decided to wander somewhere else.

  Brandt stared at her as she stood. Her lips were bright red and her face had a pink tint, looking as healthy as a newborn. She shrugged daintily and looked at Brandt, her nervousness plain.

  Brandt had no idea what to say and simply muttered, “Wow.”

  She nearly giggled, but the moment was too awkward. “Wow?”

  Brandt didn’t have a good explanation for his reaction. “I don’t know. It was just something I’ve never seen before and it was – kinda cool. God, that sounds lame.”

  Lia shook her head and walked toward him. “No, it wasn't – lame.” She emphasized the last word with a mocking tone. Her voice got softer and she stared distantly past Brandt. “The first time I saw someone do it was my mother. Vampyre children don't turn until they mature as adults, and she showed me what to expect. When I watched her do it, I thought it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. I had been scared of what was going to happen to me when I turned, and once
my mother was done, I wasn't scared anymore.”

  Brandt felt better, though Lia now looked more wistful. He hadn’t meant to bring back a memory of her presumed deceased mother, and he felt self-conscious.

  She deflected his concern. “It’s a good memory. It’s alright.”

  Brandt shrugged. “Is asking what happened to your mother a story that would be hard to tell?”

  She nodded. “It’s a long story. And I promise I’ll tell you if you wish, but not today.”

  “Raincheck.”

  “And you owe me a story, too.”

  Brandt was afraid of that. But he might be almost ready. Almost. “Rain check on that one, too.”

  She patted his arm, smiled, and pulled back the sleeve of her dress to show Brandt that the arm he had put salve on was back to her flawless cream color again. He felt better looking at her healthy hue and the hint of brightness in her eyes again.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said. “I would like a short nap since I have neglected my rest, and then back to my work.”

  Brandt watched her walk back to the house, marveling at her transformed complexion. The same thing had happened the day they had been out gathering eggs and milk.

  Which reminded him. He went into the chicken coop, found two eggs, and decided he’d make himself some extra protein tonight. On his way back to the cave, he hummed an old Beatles song. Again he wasn’t sure why he picked that tune, but at least it wasn’t 80’s.

  “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?”

  The paint on the hull was still drying. It was oil-based, so it would need a while. He wouldn’t be able to recoat it until tomorrow. Brandt decided to finish his work of making a deep channel through the shoal, and since he had already found a method of doing it, he got through the task in another hour. Around it, he floated two of the dilapidated foam markers that had been aboard the trawler for marking traps. Those would be his new channel markers.

  After that was done, he went up to the island’s surface for his constitutional surveillance. The horizon was thoroughly scanned for anything that might look out of place, and he still he saw nothing. He knew he needed to be watchful for The Russian’s men to return, but he felt that he still had a few days. They would take their time making a serious plan before they came again. Throwing another two or three guys at the problem would be a surprisingly stupid move, and Brandt had not known The Russian to be stupid about anything. There would be a real strategy involved this time to account for Viktor. Whenever they did come, it would be in awesome force. Though he felt certain that would take a while, he should be vigilant just in case.

  Lia had mentioned how far she could see when she was on her mountain, and Brandt wondered what he might be able to see from that vantage point. Maybe she’d be willing to show him how to get up there.

  But first, he had some work to do on separating the mast from the sloop, so he started on that.

  Brandt leaned his head into the library doorway. Lia was seated in one of her leather chairs, head resting on her propped hand.

  “There you are,” he said.

  She wasn’t asleep, but his voice had startled her. “Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

  He shrugged. “I did everything I can do for now. I took apart the mast, but I can’t put it on the trawler until I get the boat titled back up. And I can’t do that until the hull is done. The paint is still drying, though. I’ll put a final coat on tomorrow and let that dry. Long waits, but whatcha gonna do?”

  Outside, the sun was in process of going down. Though Lia still looked sleepy, the color she had gained from her feeding was still on her cheeks. She motioned for Brandt to sit and he did.

  Brandt noticed that she had a medical book in her lap. “Did you get any rest?”

  Lia gave him a weary smirk, “Yes, Papa.”

  “Sorry. Give me a break. I’m new at this caring about other people stuff.”

  She shot him a comically dubious look. “You lie more often than you tell the truth.”

  “I do not. Ok, yes, I do.”

  “You lie to hide your feelings so you don’t seem weak or feminine.”

  “Excuse me? You’re a psychiatrist now?”

  “I have read and studied many psychiatry books.”

  “Fair enough. In certain areas of L.A., you could probably get a license.”

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes, hiding a smile. She closed her book and looked at Brandt with an inquisitive stare.

  “There is something on your mind?” she asked.

  He waggled his head. “No big deal, but I was hoping to do a little lookout stuff tomorrow after I do a final coat on the hull. I can watch things from the shore, but I’d like a chance to get a higher vantage point.”

  She nodded. She probably already knew what he was going to ask, but she kept silent.

  “So, I was wondering how hard it was to get up to your little mountain perch,” he said.

  She thought a moment. “I have never brought anyone up there.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m asking to invade your sanctum, aren’t I?”

  She giggled. “No, silly. There hasn’t been anyone else here to take up there. And it’s probably difficult for a human.”

  “Oh.”

  She placed her book on the table. “But, it will be nice to have someone up there with me. I would enjoy taking you. If you can make it.”

  Ah, the gauntlet is thrown down. “Challenge accepted, sister.”

  Lia smiled and reached for her book again. Brandt wasn’t sure what his plan was for the rest of the evening, but he decided he’d leave her to her reading. As he got up to leave, she said, “Wait.”

  He raised an eyebrow like Mr. Spock. “Hmm?”

  “Do you mind if I bounce some of my findings off you?”

  “Your blood experiments?”

  She nodded. “I’m frustrated and need another person’s opinion.”

  “I don’t know anything medical, or science-y. But I’ll try.”

  She smacked her knees with her palms. “Ok, I found what I thought were similar anomalies in your blood that were found in the other men’s blood, so I’m checking to see if my method is at fault. But if I am not at fault, which is what I truly think, then how do I reconcile it?”

  Brandt smiled and tried to think. It sounded like this might take a while. That was alright with him. He had nowhere else to be, and a comfy bed down the hall when they were tired of talking.

  CHAPTER 19

  Brandt was awakened by Lia early the next morning. She was like a kid on Christmas day. Though she hadn’t said that she was looking forward to Sherpa-ing him up the mountain, it was obvious that she was. He reminded her that he had another insurance coat of paint to put on the boat’s hull, and she responded that she knew that, which was why she was making sure he got up so early and got to it. The sun had barely ignited the edge of the horizon, which was hidden behind the mountain.

  Brandt slipped his jeans and t-shirt back on, then headed downstairs. He hadn't expected to do anything except exit the house and go down to the beach, but Lia had already prepared him a small dish of fresh eggs and goat’s milk. Gee willikers, June. It was like they were a married 1950’s couple and he was being shuffled off to work. But it was sweet and appreciated.

  He wolfed the breakfast down and headed to the cave. The boat was right where he left it and was waiting for its final coat. It didn’t take long at all. There was nothing to guess anymore, just paint the same places that had already been painted. That would take another day to dry, then he would float the craft again and check for leaks. If no leaks, he’d erect the mast and viola’: One Pacific Voyager ready to depart. That was a day away at least and there was no guarantee that he got all the leaks. He’d just have to wait to find out. So, once again he accomplished his daily goal and packed up his supplies. The paint can needed to be put away, and his
brush needed to be put in mineral spirits, so he headed back to the shed.

  Lia was waiting for him there already dressed in her mountain attire. She wore a white sweater that was neither loose nor snug-fitting, plus a grey skirt that stopped at her ankles. Her boots looked like military surplus. White gloves were tucked into wool sleeves, and on her head was her wide-brimmed hat with beekeeper veil rolled up. She was trying to act like she had something she needed from the shed, but she had nothing in her hands when Brandt was finished.

  No one had ever been taken up to her mountain perch, she had said. He wondered how important this place was to her, and if it was as significant as her library. Brandt had felt a little apprehensive asking, but now that he saw how excited she was, he felt good about it.

  Rocks rolled under his feet as they trekked through the mountain pass. Crisp twigs and undernourished plants crunched which each step. Lia glided ahead of him like she wore skates. Mountain climbing skates. The pass itself was a layer of rubble that had fallen in between two mountain slopes and it wound around at a consistent angle upward for a good half mile.

  While they walked, Lia talked about something that Brandt was curious about. Makal Island was originally claimed by the Chumash Indian tribe. Although the Chumash were an island people, Makal Island was not very hospitable to live on, grow anything on, or access from the ocean, and wasn’t close to anywhere else. Very few of the tribe stayed there, and those who did only did so temporarily as camps for fishing expeditions. When Viktor was looking for a safe place to rest, he had used the island. Sooner or later, the island was believed to be haunted by a winged demon bat spirit (gee, wonder who that could be) and the Chumash avoided it altogether. At some point, Viktor offered to buy the island from the tribe, paid them well, and had someone draw up an official charter. The California government attempted to block the sale, but in the end, a compromise was reached. Viktor would keep the land as long as he met government regulations, and when he died, and should a member of his surviving family decide to give it up, the government would have exclusive rights to buy it back. The government counted on the family members getting frustrated with the inaccessibility of the island and being enticed by a wad of government cash, so the government waited for time to do its work. But they didn't know much about Viktor's family. And Viktor III (really just Viktor, giving himself an official rebirth) wasn't about to give up his land claim. Viktor I had built the house and exhausted a good sum of money to do it, but there was nothing else to pay for after that. He and Lia became self-sufficient. And so the years passed, the whole thing was pretty much just forgotten, and only occasionally would anyone make an effort to reassess the situation. A petty symbol of hard feelings on the part of the government was the fact that the official maps of the area show only a rise in ground level, but acknowledge no island or name. But the Chumash gave the island a name a long time ago, and no one changed it since. Makal was the Chumash name for bat, given when they decided that the island was home to the demon bat spirit. Viktor had no interest in changing the name. He liked the idea of intimidation.