“Not anymore.”
“Good morning.”
I smile at him. I don’t know what I’d do without Harvey. I’d say he’s the best pet I’ve ever owned, but calling him a pet seems insulting. I grab some seed and one of his toys from their boxes and place them both in his cage, leaving the door open.
“Scratch,” he demands.
I stroke his head affectionately and gesture to the feed. “You hungry?”
“Carrots.”
“Eat your seeds.”
“Carrots.”
I think that means he’s doing better. I grab a carrot from the fridge and cut it into slices, dropping a few on top of his seeds. “Happy?”
“Happy,” he agrees, attacking the carrot. After a few pieces, he gobbles down some seeds and attacks the toy I brought him. He spins the little puzzle box, nicking it in a few spots as he works at the colorful sides. It’s good to see him having energy again. It’s probably too early to give him the next pill. I wish we could get them all over with, so I didn’t have to worry anymore.
I sit there, watching him play until he grows bored and hops on my shoulder. “TV,” he insists.
“You don’t even like watching TV. You sit with me for five minutes and fly off.”
“TV.”
“Fine, but I told you.” I carefully sit in the well-worn couch to avoid disturbing him from his seat on my shoulder and find something to watch. I can tolerate humanity from a distance like this, though I do wish there was an alternative. We settle on a bright and colorful kids’ show that seems to capture his attention, and he manages to sit through an entire episode. I guess I shouldn’t doubt him. He knows what he wants. He even flies a few feet excitedly at one point, but I have to help him back up on my shoulder. I really hope this medicine is actually helping. I need him to be healthy again.
When he finally grows too restless, I help him back into his cage and turn the lights back off. I don’t put the cover on, so he can stay awake and spend some time with me if he wants, but I hope he’ll get some sleep. I know he needs it.
For my part, I return to the couch and try to find something decent to watch. I wish I could find sleep myself. If only all it took was a curtain.
Chapter Three
The Reunion
Something falling on my stomach rouses me from a fitful sleep. I don’t remember the dreams, only that they were bad, which is to say typical. I look down, ready to rip whatever has stirred me limb from limb, only to find Harvey. He flew here. He’s flying!
“Morning,” he squawks, a cheeky little grin in his eyes.
I can barely contain my glee. It’s all I can do not to hug him. He doesn’t like hugs. I instead affectionately scratch his head. “Good morning to you as well, Harvey.”
“Morning,” he repeats, playfully flapping his wings and hopping on my belly. “Morning.”
I reach my arms to the ceiling, stretching. I’m not sure my body really needs it, but it just seems like part of waking up. He hops off of me and flies over to my desk chair. It’s wonderful to see him flying again. I could almost cry.
When I walk over to him, he flies onto my shoulder. “Treat?”
“All right. Want a grape?”
“Grape.”
I take that as a yes and procure a couple from the fridge. He attacks them, ripping them apart and eating pieces. So much energy this morning. We’re halfway through his course of medication, so I’d expected him to be even more lethargic after everything it was putting his little body through, but this is a welcome surprise. “I’m going to go shower. Enjoy your grapes.”
“Play.”
“No, shower.”
“Play!” He hops toward me, kicking a piece of grape.
“Want to come shower? Will that make you feel better? Then we can play with your new toy.” It arrived the other day, but I’ve been waiting to open it. He already has too many toys. I need to stop spoiling him. This is why he has no manners.
“Shower.”
“That’s what I thought.” He flies after me and plays in the water as I shower. It’s nice and refreshing, even if I have to keep the temperature a bit more reasonable for him. I might actually have to thank that vet. The way she was acting, I was a little worried, but she seems to really care about the animals she looks after.
When we’re both dried off, I show him the confetti-tree thing. He glares at it and gives it an experimental peck, squawking happily when a piece of it falls to the floor. I hang it from his cage, and he menaces it, flapping his wings in a display of his prowess before diving on it, scouring the little toy. Confetti after confetti falls before his might, littering the bottom of his cage. My little warrior, just like his mama.
After a fruitful day’s work attacking the thing, he proudly looks up at me from its half-ravaged carcass. I pet his head and reach for the toy only for him to bite my finger. “Play.”
“You want to keep playing with it?”
“Play,” he repeats.
“Okay. I’ll leave you to it.”
He tilts his head, staring up at me as I move away. “Where?”
“There’s something I’ve been putting off for too long. I told Father Gregory I’d consider it, and I’m running out of excuses not to give it another try.”
“Try?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I give him another quick pet, and he hops toward me and gives me a little kiss good-bye, his beak softly striking my cheek.
“Be good,” he says.
Giggling, I walk out of the room, leaving the door open so he can fly around the house. It’s worth having to clean up after him if it means he can get his exercise. I think he’s putting on weight again, but that’s hardly a bad thing when he’s been looking this gaunt. I leave a few bits of carrots around the kitchen for him to find if he feels up for exploring.
With that done, I throw on a pair of slacks and a nice blouse and fight back a brief bout of cowardice. I want to stay here, to hide away from the world forever, but it’s growing clearer by the day that that isn’t always an option.
Grabbing the keys from their hook by the door, I climb into my car, and take a deep breath. I don’t want to do this. Ever the soldier, I suck it up and drive to the Community Center just in time for my appointment.
* * *
“Ms. Rosseau-Lester,” I manage, taking the seat across from her, my eyes locked on the floor. Why is this so difficult? Hunting humans is easy. I could kill her in an instant. Is it because I have to be vulnerable around her? Christ, what am I even thinking being here? I wince as I cross myself for using the Lord’s name in vain.
“What was that?” she asks, stifling a chuckle.
“Nothing.”
“Was that vampiric self-harm?”
“What? No. That’s ridiculous.” It did hurt, though. A lot.
“Are you Catholic?” she asks, adjusting her laptop as she crosses her legs.
“I am. What of it?”
“Seems unusual for a vampire. Do crosses still hurt you? I know I should know these things, but I’ve heard very inconsistent information on it. I’ve known one vampire who wore a cross with no issue and another who was burned just by touching one.”
This is why humans shouldn’t be therapists for fiends. It doesn’t matter how much they’re part of the community or if they’re married to one of us; they’ll never really understand. Maybe I should go ahead and turn her. It’d certainly make this easier for me. “Vampire is a bit of a catch-all for a number of…” Would we call them species or races? Science has progressed so much since I last bothered doing any substantial biological research. Perhaps I should catch up on that sometime. Maybe I’ll buy a little lab and look over their results. “Species,” I decide. “I believe striga is the closest to my ilk, though even that seems somewhat wrong. I suspect there’s been some miscegenation over the years.”
“Oh. That explains a few things. I’d looked over all the varying myths—”
“Yes. That would be why.
We’re a queer hodgepodge of several strangely compatible creatures.”
“You’re one whom the cross doesn’t hurt? Or is that some sort of placebo effect based on the vampire’s belief?”
“I’ve heard a few takes, though I’m not terribly able to test it myself. The most common claim seems to be that it’s heavily faith-based, going both ways.” Why am I teaching her this? Do I want to expose my weaknesses?
“Interesting. Since you have faith, that means it doesn’t hurt you?”
I wish. “Not quite.” My scar burns as if to remind me of how untrue that claim is. “It still hurts me.” Am I possessed? Why would I possibly share such a thing with a human? This is precisely what led to the Hunt in the first place. Stoker shared all of our secrets and led to one of the greatest genocides the world had ever known.
“So that was self-harm. What, is it your version of self-flagellation?”
She doesn’t even understand Catholicism. “No, I took the Lord’s name in vain, so I crossed myself.” I would probably sound less mad had I actually done it out loud in the first place. “I do it less than I should due to the pain, but sometimes, it’s necessary. Even if I’ll never actually earn his forgiveness.”
Ms. Rosseau-Lester purses her lips, considering me. I swear, everything I say she takes as an admission of some other mental defect. “Are you able to go to church?”
Here we go. “No. I can’t enter a sacred place. I just meet with my priest sometimes.”
“Well, if you’d like, there’s a chapel on the second floor. I know it’s not Catholic, but the holy symbols have been removed. I think there’re even a couple fiends who hold congregations there from time to time. It’s really quite lovely. It won’t be quite the same, but it might help you feel better if you ever really need to go to church.”
I open and close my mouth, narrowing my eyes as I stare. That’s actually not that terrible an idea. It would feel wrong, going to a different sort of church, but I suppose beggars can’t exactly be choosers. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Thank you, that’s all I ask. Your priest, is he human?”
“Yes.”
“And you have no issue talking with him?”
Groaning, I lean back, my eyes falling back to the floor. “He’s a man of the cloth. It’s not the same.”
“He’s still human.”
“Well, it wasn’t Catholics who were hunting us, and he’s a servant of God. He’s as removed from his humanity as I am from mine.”
The keyboard clacks as she jots down a note. No doubt calling me out for some imagined hypocrisy. “Last time we talked, you were trying to take your bird to the vet. Did you manage to do that?”
“I did.”
“That’s fantastic. How is he doing?”
“He seems to be a lot better.”
She smiles, looking far too proud of herself. To think I made a human feel this contented…it makes my blood run cold. There’s probably still some coursing in me from last night. “Do you think the exercises helped?”
I want to say no. I want to insist that they were a stupid little waste of time and nothing more than play. It’s not the real world, and it doesn’t make a difference. I was able to overcome it on my own because I’m strong enough to manage anything, but whether or not that’s true, there’s a reason I’m back here. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if I could’ve talked to Dr. Sun. Granted, I wouldn’t have been able to talk to Ms. Rosseau-Lester in the first place if I had known she was a human, but there was no way I could’ve expected the same to work for the vet. I knew she was human. “Maybe.”
“Perfect. Would you like to try more?”
“I don’t see how it could be necessary.”
“Just having to talk to a human at all is enough, then?”
I bare my fangs. Cheeky little human, taunting her betters. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. This was a mistake.”
“Olivia—”
“That’s Ms. Crocetti.” I almost said General Crocetti. Old habits truly do die hard. How long has it been since anyone has called me that? I’ll not have a human act so familiar with me. I’d sooner be friends with a snail.
“Ms. Crocetti, you came back here for a reason. Clearly, this is still bothering you. Why don’t you sit back down and tell me why you’re here rather than making me guess?”
I didn’t even realize I’d stood up. The door is only a couple paces away. I could walk out and never see her again. I compromise, leaning against the couch, my gaze still on the door. I’ve put up with a human disgracing my sight long enough. “The dreams are getting worse,” I admit. “I haven’t been sleeping. I can’t. Every time I close my eyes…” I shudder, not letting the images invade my waking mind. It’s too much. We should have wiped them all out when we had the chance. Humans are a plague on this world, and we’d all be better off if they were gone. “I just keep reliving it.”
“The Hunt?” she asks, as if she knows a thing. She wasn’t there. She can’t imagine what it was like. Being hunted by the very people you’d called your friends. Life keeps teaching me that I can’t have any.
“Mostly.”
“What else?”
I snarl, turning on her. “You keep pushing, don’t you? You expect me to spill my guts to the very kind that want me dead. I’ve seen thousands of you, killing us, hunting us.” And not just then. No matter the reason, her people always find an excuse to persecute me and mine.
“I’ve said that you’re welcome to turn me. You’d be doing me a favor. You were once human. I feel as little relation to them at this point as you do. My life is here.”
“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought. You’re still one of them. You’ll never have gone through what I’ve gone through, and you’ll never rid yourself of their stench.” Shaking, I dig my fingers into the back of the couch. For centuries, I’d let myself trust humans. I’d seen the things vampires were capable of, and it seemed that humans were the lesser of two evils. Never again. I won’t repeat that mistake.
“My wife is a wendigo, one of my best friends is a ghoul, and I only see about a dozen human clients, as opposed to my massive fiend practice. I’ve chosen my side. For you, it’s clear that the war never ended, and you’re welcome to view me as a traitor, but I’m not your enemy, and I never will be.”
Never? Not even if I set upon you, draining you of every drop of blood and leaving your lifeless husk on the floor? Even then. you’ll still be on my side? “I’ve heard it all before. I’m old. Nothing ever really changes.”
“Yet you’re still here.”
I resist glaring at her again. She’s made her point. As far as I’m aware, there’s no other therapist anywhere who deals with us, and certainly none in Toronto or likely all of Canada. I need the help. Maybe it’s worth it to suck it up and talk to her. With a derisive snort, I make my way back around the couch, taking my seat again, my eyes locked on the clock above her head. I still have over half an hour. I take in a deep breath. Am I really doing this?
She sits patiently, waiting for me to make the first move.
“I ran,” I say, more to myself than to her, my voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “My friends, people I’d known for decades, if not longer, were all murdered, and I ran.”
She nods, letting out a heavy sigh. I can feel the sympathetic look she’s giving me, even without meeting her gaze. “You did what you had to in order to survive. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Of course you’d say that. You married a wendigo. I know how they happen. I don’t even have half as good an excuse. I could’ve fought. I could’ve won. I’m a soldier, a warrior, and instead I made a coward of myself. I’m a disgrace to Venice.”
The clicking of her computer keys is the only sound in the room. “If you had the chance to do it again, would you do it differently?”
I pause, trying not to let myself imagine it. Would I? Of course I would. I’d stay and fight. I’d die with my comrades. I don’t care
how despicable vampires are. I’d not let that happen. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. “If I could do it all over again?” Wouldn’t I? It was all I could do to survive. I don’t want to die, not anymore. I had that choice taken from me long ago, and now I keep living with all of my guilt. Am I so afraid of the fate that I know awaits me? “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice shaking as I try to blink away tears. “I don’t. I really don’t.”
Handing me a box of tissues, she says, “That’s okay. But it also means that you shouldn’t regret it. There was no good option there. You did what you had to.”
Aren’t therapists supposed to let you come to your own conclusions? I know there are many schools of thought, and I’m fifty years out of date, but it seems strange having one tell me something. Perhaps she’s saying this not as a therapist but…as what? I’ve made it quite clear we’re not friends. “I’ve done countless horrible things in my life. I only regret two of them, and that will always be one. I don’t care if it was my only option. I don’t care if I’m just as much of a coward now. It was the wrong one. I should have fought.”
The silence builds as she stares, waiting for me to go on or perhaps for me to meet her eyes. I don’t give her the satisfaction.
I wipe my eyes and blow my nose, tossing the tissue into the nearby rubbish bin. Maybe I’m simply too broken for therapy.
“I’m going to recommend some medication for PTSD. There’s a dealer on the other side of the mall who usually has them in stock. Prazosin should help with the dreams. With vampiric tolerance, I’d recommend starting with about four pills before bed and working your way up if that’s not enough. I’m not a psychiatrist, and this is not a prescription, but I’ve had a prior client who it helped a lot, and I think it might let you sleep.”
Now that’s a surprise. I was expecting more of a fight. She had been so insistent on going over my history with a fine-toothed comb and resolving each and every issue at the root of this. “And the…” I gesture at her and her humanity.
“Lamotrigine has been effective from what I’ve read, but I haven’t had any clients who liked it. They might have some in stock, though, so take a look at it, but please try the two pills separately so you know how they each affect you rather than trying both together and hoping for the best.”
Olivia Page 4
