He wrestles with me, his blade caught against mine, a hand on each other’s arms as he attempts to use my inertia against me and I try to use my supernatural might. We fall into the sunlight. It’s unpleasant but not fatal, something they know all too well from that damn book. It was far easier when they just believed the local legends. It disconcerts me so much that he manages to seize the upper hand, shoving his sword into my gut. I reply in kind by burying mine to the hilt, pinning him to the ground as he bleeds out.
The fire is spreading. The next building blazes as a volley of bolts is unleashed upon me by the waiting hunters outside. I hate to say it, but every ounce of military training, of honor, urges me to stay on, to fight to the last man. But there’s no honor—no sense—in this bloodbath. This isn’t a war; it’s a slaughter. We’re nothing but vermin to them, and they’re intent on exterminating us.
I rip a bolt out of my leg and hurl it toward my attackers, taking off in the other direction. It burns. I don’t know how many times they’ve hit me, but I’ve taken quite a beating. I’m not sure how long I can go on. I run for as long as my legs can take me, which isn’t nearly far enough. I collapse, sprawling on the ground. The whole village is on fire now. Everything is ash and smoke and flames. The air is scorching, and the dewy grass is covered in soot.
I crawl on my belly like the worm they seem intent on making me, managing to throw myself into the bushes before the regiment reaches me. I hear the sound of marching boots, the screams of my kind and theirs, all muted by the roar of the fires.
They drag out any survivors. Their own wives, their neighbors, their children. Anyone they think could be a threat, and in this time of upheaval, that’s everyone. They tie their hands and legs and leave them sitting on the ground next to their smoldering homes as the lives we’ve built together fall apart around us.
When every last survivor is rounded up, the man who must be the leader of this glorified militia stands at the head of the company, facing down their victims. “Give them the cross,” he commands. “If they won’t take it, or if it rejects them, then you know what to do.”
I lie there, hidden by foliage, as every person I’ve known in the last decade is put to trial. I couldn’t utter a sound if I wanted to. Each one is met with a cross and immediately staked. I don’t know how many were really vampires. It wasn’t as if we kept a list. They were supposed to see if the cross burned, but in their fervor, few of them seem to care.
When all is said and done, there are barely more than a dozen villagers left. The score of hunters leave them be, without so much as a word or a farewell, as they make their way onto the next town. Their hunt isn’t over. They have more of us to put to the slaughter.
I don’t know how they didn’t see me. The trail of my blood should’ve led them right to me. I don’t move an inch until the sun sets. I’m not sure I even could. I’m paralyzed by pain and fear, but just as the fear freezes me, when I have my chance, it galvanizes me. I make a run for it, eating one of the surviving villagers as they lie huddled together for warmth. The deed doesn’t even rouse his companions. I’m tempted to take another. What’s to stop me? Why shouldn’t I? They’re all the same, just like the men who did this to us. Humans can’t be trusted.
I wipe the blood from my lips as I set out, away from the hunters, with no destination in mind. Nowhere can be safe, can it? Maybe I should go back home to Italy. Perhaps this craze hasn’t reached there yet. Or maybe I should head to the New World. I could find someplace secluded. There’s still more land than the people there know what to do with.
Either way, I’ll need lodging and a port, so I head for a city that can provide both. London-bound, I make my way on foot, avoiding any other travelers. Even at full speed, it takes most of the night, but I arrive in town in time to find a familiar face, one of the few I’m happy to see.
“Vanessa,” I mouth, pulling her into my arms. The coolness of her body provides me great comfort. She hugs me back, looking as shaken as I am.
“It’s horrible,” she says. “Patrice, he…” She shakes her head, tears falling. “Everyone is dead.”
I nod. I have no words to describe the horror I’ve seen. I’ve lost so many people in my life, more than I would care to count, but never like this.
“It’s that damn book,” she growls, her nails digging into my hand.
“I know.”
“We have to get out of here. Anyplace is better than Britain right now.” She stares into my eyes, pleading with me to agree.
“You’ll hear no argument from me. I came here in hopes of returning home. You’re welcome to come with me.”
“You think Italy is safe?” She scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. “We need to be someplace far from here, someplace where no one will come for us. We can make a new life together. I can’t be alone right now.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hand, doing my best to reassure her. “Okay, we’ll need a ship either way. Perhaps we could head to America or maybe Africa. Anyplace where we can find some seclusion.”
“Yes, that’s perfect. We will.”
We both glance around, our eyes never staying in a single place. I wish I’d bothered to scrounge up weapons before I left. I wouldn’t feel naked. No one seems to be coming. There’s no blood on her at all, and the dirt and mud has covered up what was visible on me. I need a bath and a way out of here. “We should rest,” I say. “We need to map out our journey and figure out how we’re getting there.” There may be a few other things I’d like to do with her, but they’re hardly worth mentioning. “We can’t do anything until we have a plan.”
“We’ll steal a ship.”
“We’d need a crew.” I can sail just fine, but anything large enough to take us that far would be more than the two of us could manage.
She shakes her head, baring her teeth in frustration. “We can’t trust a crew.”
“I know.” I hate this hesitation. I never used to be like this. I was a man of action. I made decisions and damned anyone who stood in my way. Now look at me. “Let’s rest, clean up, get some new clothes for me, and figure out how we’re doing this. We can’t stay out in the open. We’re too exposed.”
Wanting for any better plan, Vanessa and I head to the inn and buy a room for the night. We’ve known each other for most of a century. I don’t love her, and she doesn’t love me, but her embrace does me a world of comfort in a time when I desperately need it.
The next evening, I awake to find her missing from our bed. Assuming that she must have gone to book us passage, I step outside. In the alley, I find her—her body, at least. Her head is gone. There’s blood, both human and her own. She must’ve gone out to feed in the night. Someone found her. England isn’t safe. Perhaps nowhere is at this point.
Maybe it’s the sentimentality in me, but I find my feet not taking me toward the docks. I’m following her scent trail. They still have her head. I’ve sacrificed my honor and everything good about me, but she was a dear friend, and I can’t allow anyone to live with a piece of her like that. She deserves better.
By the time I find the warehouse, I’m seeing red. I will end whoever dared to harm her and anyone who gets in my way. I don’t take the door. It’s too obvious, and I’ve little doubt they’re expecting someone, if not exactly me. I find a weak plank in the roof and climb in. I regret that decision.
I expected to find her as a trophy, perhaps already pinned to the wall. Instead, these monsters have dozens of us, carcasses rotting, putridly stinking from whatever foul deeds they did with them. If my vision was red, then at this point, it’s black. Someone’s blood pounds in my ears. I’ve already forgotten their name. Humans don’t deserve names. They’re no better than animals if they’re capable of this.
I add their bodies to the pile. They fall with little fight, too weak from their ale and debauchery. The sick bastards deserve it.
With a stir, I awake, not cold with sweat, but shaking and nauseous. The dream isn’t normally quite as detailed. Usually, it’s only
the bloodshed, all of it, all at once. It’s strange to relive the whole thing. Perhaps that alley brought back some bad memories, or perhaps it’s simply that time of year. I wrap my arms around myself, quivering under my down comforter. I’m safe. The hunt’s over. It was all dismissed as a cholera epidemic. Mankind no longer believes in us, let alone sets about eradicating us.
I rise from my bed, dragging the comforter with me. Harvey sleepily squawks from his room, but I don’t want to wake him. Instead, I go to the kitchen.
The tea does nothing to soothe my nerves. I know there’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I still see their blood on my hands, and I still see my kind falling before them.
I need to go out.
* * *
My car grinds to a stop in the gravel parking lot. It’s around nine a.m., and the sun decides to poke out past some clouds. I’m glad I thought to grab my sunglasses. I hide under my jacket, throwing up the hood as I leave the car.
I leisurely walk through the brightly lit garden, simultaneously smelling the fourteen different types of flowers they planted a few months ago. I linger, letting the scents cling to me as if bathing in it could somehow purify my mind of all the vile scenes I just relived.
Singing floats out from the church, the scent of the candles wafting in the breeze. It’s all comforting. So little of it has changed over the centuries. I do miss the Latin, though. Everything sounds profane in English; it’s not right.
I take a seat on a bench out back, letting the building shade me from the sun. Birds chirp from a nearby tree, and I can hear the sermon inside. I half listen to his words, letting the scene take me. I don’t think I fall asleep, but I lose track of time as I sit there. When I look up, there’s no more talking inside, and the shadow has moved a good distance. This was exactly what I needed.
“Olivia,” a warm basso voice calls from behind me.
I turn to see Father Gregory walking toward me, the gravel crunching under his feet. “Good morning, Father.”
“Good morning. What brings you out in this weather?” he asks with a wry grin as he gestures toward the bright sunny day.
Leaning back against the bench, I say, “Nothing. I just needed an escape for a few minutes.”
“Sister Paula says you’ve been out here for almost two hours. Are you sure that all you want is to take in the scenery? You know I’m here if you need anything.”
I hesitate. I hate burdening him with this knowledge. “Perhaps confession first?”
“Of course, my child.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve given up any right to that title. God himself has thrown me out. “It’s been four weeks since my last confession.”
“It felt like longer. What is it, my child?”
“I’m not…I’ve hurt people.”
“Of course. I’m glad to hear that it seems to all be people who deserve it these days.” His big meaty hand pats my shoulder as he offers a warm smile. “Did you kill them?”
“No, Father.”
“Then I don’t see what the harm is.”
“I’m still hurting God’s children. Clearly, he doesn’t approve.”
“You do what you have to in order to survive. You’re one of his children too.”
I huff, turning on him, narrowing my eyes as my hand instinctively flies to my chest. The old scar reminds me of how untrue his statement is. I don’t know why it’s lasted all these years, no other burn has, but after all this time, I still carry that reminder. “He has cast me out, Father. You know that as well as I do. It’s why we have to meet out here rather than in the confessional. I can’t enter his ground.”
“All of this is his ground, Olivia. The whole world is, but even where you’re sitting, you’re in the backyard of a church. It’s consecrated ground. If you were as unwelcome as you claim, you couldn’t even be here. I think—”
“The last time I tried to enter a church, it burned so much, I thought I was going to die. I know exactly how he feels about me. I’m a monster.”
“No one is beyond forgiveness. Not even a monster.”
I bare my fangs. To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps we should all burn. He could start over again.”
“Why do you say that?”
I grit my teeth, digging my nails into the metal bench beneath me. It groans under the strain. “Never mind.”
“Olivia, it’s eleven a.m. on a Sunday. You’re a vampire out and about at a church. Why aren’t you asleep? What’s going on with you? You’re acting even more cynical than usual.”
I shake my head, staring at the ground.
“Is Harvey okay? He hasn’t—”
“No. I took him to the vet yesterday, and it looks like he might be on the mend.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear it.” He gives my shoulder an affectionate squeeze before pulling away, leaning over to peer into my eyes, studying me. “Then is it the dreams again?”
I nod.
“Maybe it’s time for you to see a therapist. There’s only so much I can do.”
“I saw one,” I mutter.
I can almost hear him blink. His jaw drops open. “You…Olivia, that’s amazing. Was it the one I recommended? Did she seem to help?”
“Of course not.” Maybe. I managed to actually talk to Dr. Sun without panicking and running away. That’s more than I’ve been capable of for quite a while. “She’s human. She’s part of the…” I hesitate. He knows about our society, but I’m always reluctant to mention anything specific around people. As much as I trust him, that way lies nothing but trouble. “I can’t work with a human. They’re disgusting. They’ll all betray me in the end.”
“Olivia, I’m a human.”
“You don’t count. You serve God.”
“A lot of people have done terrible things in his name. I’m not sure that gives me any extra credibility. In fact, given your nature, that should make you more suspicious of me.”
I sigh, giving him an appraising look. He’s unarmed, having even left his crucifix inside. “It’s Protestants I don’t trust.”
“I know that’s not true. You don’t even seem to trust any of our nuns. They’d all be willing to talk to you. They seem fascinated by you. Why do you trust me?” His voice is calm, patient, almost as if he’s giving another sermon.
“I don’t know.” I do. It’s just silly. In truth, he reminds me of my father. Both my actual one and the priest I had growing up. They were strong men but two of the kindest people I’ve ever known. They didn’t even judge me for my decisions when I was young. They supported me all the way. I don’t know what they would think of me now, but the fact that he seems to approve of me means far more than it should.
“Well then, think about it. I would love to know if you ever come up with an answer.”
I shrug.
“Would you like to tell me about the dreams? Which ones were these? You said there are a few.”
Shaking my head, I reply, “No. I’ve relived them enough for the day.”
“Then how can I help? Olivia, I don’t want to see you suffering like this forever, in a hell of your own making. I know you think that’s what you deserve, but you’re wrong. You’re a good woman. I’ve known you for thirty years now, and there’s not a thing about you that would make me think you deserve to suffer like this.” He rolls his eyes as I turn to argue. “No, not even that. Fiends are welcome in my congregation.”
“I believe he still disagrees.”
“Would you like to try walking in with me? Perhaps you’ve been forgiven.”
“I’ll save myself the headache, Father.” I stare at the simple wooden door standing between me and the halls of the church. It seems to mock me. If only I could step right in, but I know the pain it brings me, the toll it takes. I’m not welcome in God’s domain.
“Well, you’re part of my church regardless.” He scratches at his close-cut beard. It’s almost military standard, and I’ve always wondered if he served. It always seems wrong to ask. Though
I suppose that’s not as common anymore. I don’t think the Canadian army even allows beards.
“I should go.” I move to stand, but he stops me, placing his hand lightly on my forearm. I could easily pull away, but he only wants my attention.
“Please wait. If you’re not going to talk to me about this, promise that you’ll find someone else to talk to. You don’t have to be alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Harvey.” I pry loose, stepping away from the bench. It’s been a century. If I was going to get over it on my own, I’d likely have done it by now, but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t think Ms. Rosseau-Lester can help me, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone more capable. “But I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I can ask. You know I’m here for you anytime.”
Without turning back, I nod. “I know, Father. Thank you. Say a prayer for me.” I still say them, but it never feels like they get through. I know God has no interest in anything I have to say.
“I always do. Are you sure you want to leave? We have some coffee brewing.”
“I’m all right. You have a good day.” I walk away, still shaking off the lingering remnants of my dream. I feel better, less like it’s all happening again, but I still can’t rid myself of those images, those smells. They’re as fresh as the day they happened.
I head back to my car, admiring the flowers again on my way. The sisters always manage such beautiful displays. I wish they didn’t view me as another one. I’d rather they not spare me a thought. The more people aware of me, the worse things will be. I gun the engine and set off, making a leisurely pace through traffic back toward my house.
I pull up in front of the Italianate structure, parking in the garage before heading around to the front door. My senses perk up for any sign of an intruder. There’s no reason to think there would be one, but old habits die hard. The house is empty, with nothing of note save for a few dirty teacups in the sink.
I wash them and go to Harvey’s room. He needs his sleep, but I want to check on him. I lift up the cover, receiving an annoyed squawk for my trouble. “Nighttime,” he says.
Olivia Page 3
