by Ben Alderson
Not all vampires are like that. Savi isn’t. She is good. I’d know. I’ve been around her for as long as I can remember. The treaty stops vampires from feeding on humans—something Savi and her brother follow honestly. Whereas those turned do not have sense of what is right and wrong. Before Mother brought me down this morning, she told me of the crimes the vampire before me committed. He fed, killed. And to kill means you too can die. It is the only way Mother and I would get away with this if anyone found out.
As the sunlight begins to creep over the vampire’s boots, he squirms, snapping out of his trance and focusing on the pain the sun causes him. I will the blinds to cease opening for only a moment. Already, smoke seeps from his boots. The room is silent save for the sizzling of his skin.
“Name, or I will keep the light moving across you until you combust entirely.”
The threat leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It makes my skin crawl as I say it to him. Mother seems delighted as she sighs from behind me. I hear her rub her hands together with glee. I can practically taste her excitement.
“No—” he says, so I allow the blinds to continue opening.
“Marcus. My name is Marcus.”
I flick my wrist, and the blinds fall back down, fully covering the morning sun and bathing the room in darkness.
“Now, that was not so hard, Marcus.”
“Shut up.” Flecks of Marcus’s spit fly across the room. “What do you want from me?”
He is panicking now. Vampires may be undead, but they value their lives. They always tell their secrets in the end.
“You have been caught feeding on Hillcrest’s land, which violates the treaty put forth by our ancestors. Do you understand what your actions mean?”
“I follow no rules,” he shouts at me. Smoke slithers into the air from where the morning sun touched him. “I bend them, break them. That is what I do.”
Marcus begins to laugh so wildly the hairs on my arms stand on end. Is it the pain of the sunlight’s kiss or his deep panic that causes such a deranged reaction?
“You may not follow the rules, but we do. We make them, we enforce them, and we ensure they are followed,” Mother says, and I glance back. Her face is covered by the darkness. Her long mane of honey-colored hair is all I can see as she speaks. “George, do it. I have heard enough.”
“Wait!” Marcus struggles to free himself from the chair. The veins in his neck bulge with tension, because he knows what is coming. It’s Mother’s favorite part. And my least.
I spin toward her, refusal on the tip of my tongue, but a single look from her stifles my cries.
“He must be cleansed for his actions. Clean him with fire, George. Do not make me ask again.”
Looking back at Marcus, I finally see a shred of the boy he would have been before he became one of the turned. He could have been innocent. I wonder if he chose this life.
Tears of blood cut down his sharply angled cheeks, dripping onto the cement floor. My stomach turns, but not from sickness. I have only seen a vampire cry once before. Savi’s blood tears stained the shoulder of my jumper as she released her pain after her parents died.
Now, Marcus’s tears invoke the same emotions I felt during those dark times. Vampires cry blood. It is a reminder that they, unlike other supernaturals, are unliving. Thriving only on the blood of the victim from which they feed. A vampire who cries is showing great weakness, yet it is I who feels weak. My hands are shaking as I lift my palms to face Marcus.
Fire. The hardest element for me to tether and control. I don’t understand why Mother asks me to do this when she knows I lack confidence in this power. Maybe she enjoys seeing me struggle. I wouldn’t put it past her.
The only way for me to call upon fire is to do it like I did in a failed attempt long ago. Even now, as I glance at my palm, I see the sliver of a scar across my soft skin.
Blood. It’s the key to power. One drop, and I can call upon my magic. Is this what Mother wants? To turn me into him? To force my hand? To become a killer?
No. I can’t risk using it, not after what happened to him. Not after my great failure.
Closing my eyes, I try to breathe, but my throat is closing on me. I feel the familiar warmth of magic in my blood, flooding my veins and tingling my skin. But my fear of the element always stops it from going any further. Air, earth, and water are part of me. Elements that happily follow my control. But fire hates me as much as I hate it.
“Pathetic,” I hear Mother say from behind me.
The moment I process her words, I hear him. His screams make me shy away. Heat billows ahead of me, bright orange and yellow, as Mother’s conjured fire devours the vampire. He withers within the dancing flames, his skin melting and bones disintegrating.
Witch fire is powerful enough to kill vampires and werewolves, but it is harmless against other witches. It was my ancestor’s warped way of turning a witch’s weakness into her strength. So many souls had been killed by fire for possessing magic before the treaty. Fire was used to eliminate witches. Now, we control it. Except, I don’t. The scar on my chest tingles as I shy away from Mother’s flame. I know it cannot hurt me, but it is all too real. I rub a hand over my shirt, massaging the scar. It is a reminder of everything I lost all those years ago.
If Mother had not secured our home with sound charms, the families living within the Victorian-style homes lining our street would have heard the vampire’s screams. But that was part of our legacy. Only we were forced to listen to the cries of each vampire who entered our home.
Mother’s features were highlighted by her fire. Her green eyes, like mine, glowed with the presence of her magic. Her pointed, sloped nose and plump lips were creased by her smile. The only difference was our skin tone. She was pale with rosy cheeks and clear skin. The only two things I inherited from Father were my tan skin and the strange power I kept tucked within me.
Once Marcus’s screams are silenced by the fire, Mother retracts her palm into a fist, and the flames recede. All that is left are the charred marks across the floor and wall. The chair remains untouched because of yet another charm Mother had placed in this room.
“That went on longer than I hoped. We should see to breakfast.”
I stand, shell shocked, unsure how she can so easily disregard what just happened. “I’m not hungry.”
The smell of burning flesh is inescapable, making me feel like I will vomit across the charred floor at any moment.
“Oh, come on, George. You need to eat.”
“I will get something on the way out,” I say, moving for the door before she can stop me.
“Wait.” She grabs my upper arm, nails pinching my skin beneath the material of my long-sleeved black top. “You know we had to do this. We must keep these beasts in line and carry on what your father started. It is our legacy.”
“Legacy, Mom? Really? To murder and kill?”
“We do only what we are forced to do. That is what the treaty states.”
I pull myself from her grasp and throw open the door. “I won’t be in tonight. Don’t cook for me.”
I don’t let her reply. I barrel up the staircase, jumping over the second step as I always do, and run for my room. Shutting the door, I whisper a minor locking spell to stop Mother from following me. Not that she would dare. She never comes up here to see me.
My clothes were clean this morning, but I shower again and put on a fresh set. I can’t let anyone else know what happened, which would be troubling, because my paranoia is on level one hundred.
I check my phone to see Savi’s reply for a text I sent her before Mother called me down.
It's a surprise. Meet me by Old Oak at sunset.
Sunset can’t come soon enough. I check the time on my phone and see that I am going to be late for the Academy. Even if Mother tries to force food into me, I will decline. Sweeping my bag from my bed, I leave my room, breaking the locking charm and thinking about tonight over and over again.
I need time away from Mother
and the unrealistic pressure she puts upon me to be like Dad.
Truth is, he was the last person I would want to become. If I thought Mother was bad now, she was nothing compared to him.
Savi
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and I see her. Her baby blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, and tan skin. Our differences mock me. Her eyes are sad, accusatory. They ask me why I killed her. I look away, unable to answer their silent question.
I shake away the feeling that her spirit is here, watching me. The after effects of fresh human blood is ecstatic, but when the ecstasy wanes, I’m left with only remorse.
I close my eyes, and suddenly, I'm in her life. Her memories envelop me in an uncomfortable bliss. The worst part of hunting is the erotic connection. The worst part of killing is reliving my victim's memories. Over time, they'll fade. I'll barely remember her face. Her memories will become a muddled mess in the pool of lives I've stolen over the course of my life.
I don't want to kill, but the hunger tempts even the strongest of hearts. To be honest, I'm not sure how the earliest settling vampires of Hillcrest convinced their witch brethren to enact a treaty. How could anyone believe a vampire, rather than the hunger, was in control in those crucial moments fang met skin? The second blood hits my tongue, I’m no longer in control. It takes everything I have to stop feeding.
I stride toward my bedroom window. In the distance, the sun is setting. I inhale deeply, letting the cool air of autumn nestle deep within me. I love this season. I love the crunch of dying leaves under my feet. I love the crisp breeze that tickles the back of my neck, an odd sensation for a vampire. I love escaping to the orange, yellow, and red speckled forest bordering our sleepy town, where George and I have spent countless days dreaming of easier lives. We never talk about the chaos. It’s our number one rule. Our friendship is an escape, and it has never bothered us that we turn heads in town. Even with the treaty, supernaturals still very much live separate lives. I guess George and I are rebels at heart.
I glance at the clock on my bedside table. I've managed to sleep through the day—a rarity for me. Vampires don't need much sleep, but after this morning's inquisition, I am not in the mood to lounge around the garden until it is time to meet George.
Sliding my phone into my back pocket, I exit my room. I tiptoe through the hallway that connects my room to the manor's other bedrooms. I'm able to make it to the stairs without the heels of my boots smacking the hardwood floors. I dash down the stairs before I realize all this stress was avoidable; I could have just leaped from my bedroom window and hid among the overgrown brush in our side garden. He never would have looked for me there.
Standing between me and my way out of this house is Chad, arms crossed, lips pursed, tiny vein in his forehead protruding like it always does when he's annoyed or angry. I've seen this very same glare dozens of times before. I roll my eyes as I make my way toward him.
"Don't be so dramatic. I'm going out with George."
He arches a brow as if interested. "Where?"
I shrug and try to push past him, but it's no use. His frame is solid, and if I slam my hand against his chest, sending him crashing through the front double doors, he'd probably make a pretty good argument for canceling my plans. So I rein in my emotional mess and hear him out.
"Savi," he says. His voice is soft, and it pulls at my heart strings. Before our parents died, Chad and I were close. George and I spent countless evenings curled up in the parlor, watching movies or playing games. Chad usually joined us. Even when the movies bored me and I started drifting to sleep, Chad would stay awake late into the night to keep George company.
"We're just going to take a walk, maybe stop at Crest Coffee. I'll be home early tonight."
He glances at his wristwatch before meeting my gaze again. "You promise?"
I nod.
"You know what day it is?"
I exhale sharply. "Of course."
I know he expected an answer even though his question was moot. Of course I know what day it is. Vampires could sense the full moon almost as well as the wolves. On this day, we stayed indoors to avoid conflict. Werewolves in their true forms were monstrous beasts. Double the size of an average wolf, their heightened senses in dog-form matched our own. They were true contenders under the full moon's sway.
"It's not safe out there tonight," Chad warns.
Suddenly, triggered by his words of caution, my mind wanders. I'm no longer standing in the manor’s foyer. My brother is no longer mere feet from me. Instead, I'm standing in a hallway, a long corridor of doorways extends on both sides of me. Posters emphasizing school spirit and football signups clutter the wall I’m leaning against.
I am frozen, paralyzed, and at the will of her. As her memory unfolds, I must bear witness to her truth. Unable to change what has already been, I am at a standstill—and I'm not even wearing my own underwear. It's as though my essence has been wrapped in her skin.
I watch as though I'm her. I stare at the girl she's speaking to, and their closeness makes me assume they're friends. She's as close as Chad was to me only seconds ago. Of course, I'm still with him physically. Chad will understand the dazed look on my face, as though I'm lost in thought, as being a side effect of an all-human blood diet. It will only fuel his desire to keep me—and George—inside tonight.
But I have to know... Who was this girl? Why was she in a forest only frequented by werewolves and two rebel supernaturals? The wolves do an excellent job of keeping away prying eyes, so how did she, a tourist, a mundane, find her way past their security measures?
Someone laughs, and I'm brought back to this moment. Already, though, it's slipping. I'm losing her memory of this place. I listen as she makes plans to host the bonfire in Wolfsbane Forest.
"It's remote," she argues. “We can get away with anything there.”
"Yeah, but I've heard whispers about that town," her friend replies, brow furrowed.
She’s smart to be afraid. Hillcrest’s picturesque setting draws in tourists, but every year, dozens go missing—mainly because of me. We follow rules passed down through the generations: don't feed from locals, and don't expose magic to humans. The treaty says vampires feed from blood bags, and wolves hunt animals.
But reasoning with a monster is a fool's dream.
When the sight of blood bags makes me queasy, I indulge. I take myself out for a big meal, and I cover my tracks.
At first, I told myself as long as my victims are left alive and without memory of the attack, the witches of Hillcrest would turn a blind eye. But I was so good at hiding my attacks, no one ever suspected what I was doing.
When the lust, the hunger, became too much, I took my very first life. And it was inexplicable. The way the blood cascaded down his skin, splashing onto the ground, was... the true definition of art. It was a beautiful modern piece with thick splashes of crimson dripping in every direction. My first was messy, but I took my time with him. Slowly, I drained everything he had to offer, and his last breath was music to my ears. He awakened something in me that night, and since then, I haven't been able to sustain myself for long on blood bags.
A loud bellow interrupts my memory of my first kill. Soon, he’s in my sight. My lips curve as she smiles when their eyes meet, and I feel her heartbeat race. I imagine this is what humans refer to as their hearts skipping a beat. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt this… consumed with emotion. This girl was completely and irrevocably in love with this boy.
And I killed her.
He strides closer, smiling widely. When he reaches her, he pulls her into a tight embrace.
“Hello, gorgeous. How was your exam?”
I stare into his eyes, feeling everything she feels for him in that moment, and it aches. I want to pull away. I want to scream at him to stop. This feeling, it gnaws at my insides, erupting within me. Even as I crave to escape his grasp, I’ve never wanted something so badly in my life.
But I can do nothing. I’m merely a bystander in her l
ove affair. I wish to run my hand up the length of this torso until my fingers tangle together behind his neck.
His neck. His wonderful, beautiful, blood-filled neck. I stare at the vein hidden beneath layers of untouched skin…
I want him. I want him splayed out before me, gripping my body as I indulge in the liquid gold swarming through his veins.
I’ve never wanted to feed so badly in my life. I know her emotions are affecting me. Her memory grips my throat, holding me in place. I want him the way she wants him. But I also want so much more. I want all the things he never gave her.
I didn’t pay attention to her response, but I don’t care. Academics don’t matter to the dead.
He leans down, brushing his lips against hers, and I nearly lose my mind. My fangs ache, a physical pain I’ve only experienced when I wait far too long between feedings. Now, they crave something more, something new, something… taboo.
"Savannah?"
Chad's voice echoes around me, bouncing off the walls of the corridor I'm standing in. Meanwhile, my host leans against her lover and continues her speech, trying to convince her concerned friend that having a bonfire where people will be drinking in an isolated area is a good idea.
I already know the ending. Somehow, she agrees to host the party, without ever considering she could be one of those people who disappeared from the mysterious seaside town of Hillcrest.
Focusing on the feeling of the human embracing my host, I blink several times as the walls around me crumble down, molding into the familiar shell of my home. Shaking my head, I move unsteadily, teetering back and forth on my feet.
And I know he’s gone. The memory has passed, but I can’t help but pray for more stolen moments with this human boy.
I mumble a line I've regurgitated many times about feeling lightheaded even though Chad has long since discovered my secret hunts.
"Are you sure you're well enough to go out tonight?" he asks once the spinning stops.
