Olivia

by Genevieve McCluer

  “Sure.” She helps herself, and together, we finish off both of our meals. With some hesitation, I grab my napkin and wipe a speck of food from her lips. Her eyes almost close, and she leans forward but catches herself, her cheeks turning bright red. It’s a first date, and she likely expects me to be old-fashioned. She’s not wrong.

  Back in the car, she leans against me as I drive. She’s buzzed and likely a little sleepy. It is late for humans. I stop outside her apartment. Part of me wants to see about going inside. Tonight has been absolutely wonderful, but I’m not ready for that. “I had a great time,” I say.

  “I did too,” she agrees. “Next weekend work for you?”

  “For what?”

  “We both said we’d make each other dinner. We could do it together, if you’d like.”

  I don’t have any of my family’s old recipes, but maybe I can find something similar. That would be nice. “I’d love that.”

  “Until then.” Rather than reach for the door handle, she plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I freeze, torn between seeing where this could go and my horror over how far I’ve already gone. “You have a good night, Liv.”

  “Don’t call me that.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to. “It just sounds ridiculous,” I add quickly. “I’m not going to be an undead woman named Liv. I’d be a walking joke.”

  “All right then, Ollie.”

  I stare at her. “Ollie?” I roll it over my tongue. It’s a little too masculine, but that’s hardly strange. It’s sort of cute. “I don’t hate it.”

  “Well, Ollie, I’ll see you next Saturday. Eight o’clock, right here? My kitchen is kind of small, but we can manage.”

  I want to tell her she can come to my place, that I trust her that much, but I still can’t do it. I really am a coward. “I’ll see you then.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bianca

  My hands are bound, and a long chain runs from them to the wall. I haven’t had a drop of blood in weeks, nor seen a single soul. My body aches. The pain is unending, almost unbearable. If I had the means, I’d end it myself. Alas, I’m too weak. I can barely even raise my head. The stone floor beneath me offers little comfort. My eyes are covered, I think. It’s too dark to be certain, even with my night vision. If there’s no light to take in, there’s nothing to see.

  When the room fills with blinding light, I roll, covering my eyes with my hands, the chain ringing from the sudden movement. Footsteps fall on the hard floor, deafening in the stone room. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. It’s too bright. It’s too much. A soft hand touches my cheek, and I hear a woman speak. “Do you still resist?” she asks.

  I can’t find my voice. It hurts too much. A drop of blood lands on my cheek. I turn, opening my mouth, my tongue reaching for the droplet. I can smell it. It’s my entire world. I need it. A drop lands in my open mouth, then another, and just as it’s piqued my hunger, as I think I may well die if I don’t have the rest, it stops. I continue trying to reach the drop on my cheek, eventually wiping it off with a finger and licking it. More goes to waste that way, but it’s my only option. I need more.

  “Join us. We can leave right now, and you can have all the blood you want.”

  I can scarcely even remember why I’m fighting. I’m starving. Give it to me, I’ll do anything. I almost say it, but an image flashes in my mind. My wife. Her dead body beneath me. And him. I won’t do it. I can’t. Sitting up, I turn to her and open my eyes. I do my best to focus. It takes all of my willpower not to agree to any and every demand. “No.”

  “You know how much he loves you. He only wants you to himself. Is that truly so wrong?”

  Finding the words is difficult. My throat is dry, and I haven’t talked in so long. “He did. This. To me,” I manage, the words coming out rough and hoarse. I want to collapse in exhaustion from the effort.

  “O—”

  “Bianca, the two—” I swallow, taking a deep breath to gather strength. “The two of you can go to hell.”

  “If that’s your answer.” She picks up the small canteen. I can hear, smell, almost taste the blood inside. I need it. I almost call out and beg for more, but I resist. She walks away, taking the lantern with her, and with it, the light. A door closes atop the stairs, followed by another, and I’m left alone in silence and darkness. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Even calling it weeks between her visits is only a guess. It could be minutes, hours, days, or even years. My only way to measure time is pain. The longer I go without blood, the more it hurts. The meager helpings they give me barely even stave off the agony.

  I collapse back on the floor, unable to hold myself up any longer. I reach for my cheek, feeling for any blood I may have missed, and I suck on my finger for even the slightest bit of extra sustenance. “God,” I say, my voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I know I don’t deserve your aid, but please, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” Tears fall, wasting what little hydration I have. “Give me a way out. Let me break my chains. Please. I’ll do anything. I need to get away from him. I can’t serve him, I won’t.” I slam the shackles onto the stone floor as hard as I can. It barely even makes a sound. “Please, God. Please save me.” I roll onto my back and try to stop the tears. I need every ounce of strength I can save.

  Perhaps I’ll never escape. Perhaps this is the fate I deserve. The restraints give me some difficulty as I cross myself. It burns, but I barely even notice amongst all the other pain. “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I detest all my sins…” I strain against the pain, forcing the words out. “Because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin.” One last tear streams onto the floor, and I close my eyes, waiting for death or sleep to claim me. I don’t deserve his forgiveness.

  I know not how many more days pass. Most of the time is spent in sleep and the rest in prayer. I lack the voice to even pray aloud, only capable of thinking. Cursed as I am, I doubt they will reach God either way. I’m beyond redemption. I should have died that night. Not her.

  One day, the door opens again, the light again blinding me, and Bianca again asks me to submit. She gives me no blood. Patience never was his virtue. I must have exhausted what limited supply he had. “Stop fighting,” she pleads. “It does you no good.”

  I don’t even bother to look at her. I remain sprawled on the ground, unmoving, unwilling. The pain is too much. If I let myself respond at all, I may just give in.

  “Why do you still fight? I don’t. It’s easier to do what he says. Please, we’ll give you all the blood you need, and you can finally leave this wretched pit.”

  My silence is answer enough. She leaves again. This time it’s worse. I can barely take it. Without even that meager meal, there’s nothing to stave off the pain. I convulse, racking in agony, unable to even sleep. My entire body feels like it’s trying to devour itself. I’ve known nothing like it. It’s the worst pain I’d ever imagined. Perhaps I’m already in hell.

  The next time she comes, I don’t wait for the question. I don’t know where I find the strength, but my lips move, and out comes the word, “Yes.”

  My dream weighs heavily on me as I rise. The pills seem to taunt me from my nightstand. I suppose it’s hardly worth fighting it at this point. Clearly, I wasn’t any worse on them. I take four of each. Then another two of each to be sure. After a far-too-long shower, trying to force myself to think of anything else and finding that my mind keeps going to Mia when I search for a distraction, I turn the light on in Harvey’s room, wake him up, and give him some feed and a few snacks. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” he calls back, hopping to and fro as he tries to decide what to eat first.

  It’s almost five. My dream didn’t wake me up too early. I brew some tea as I try to finish waking up, and Harvey soon comes along for h
is share.

  “Tea!”

  “Oh, you want some?” I ask, feigning surprise.

  “Tea,” he confirms.

  I pour a helping into his little cup and sip my own. It’s soothing. I need soothing. “I made English breakfast today. I know it’s not your favorite.”

  He takes a sip. “Not tea.”

  “Still tea,” I insist.

  “Tea,” he demands.

  “I’m not making you a whole pot for yourself. You can have some at afternoon tea if you don’t like this.” It’s still caffeine free. If he’s not going to have any, I’ll just go back to buying the normal kind. That way, I can enjoy the taste.

  “Tea.”

  “No.”

  He stares at me, cocking his head. He opens his mouth as if to say it again but squawks instead, hopping back. “Carrot.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stroll to the fridge and grab him a carrot. He can be so demanding sometimes.

  He croons happily, tearing apart the treat and eating it. My laptop starts making a noise in the other room. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a call. Harvey imitates it. “Not you too.”

  He continues ringing at me.

  “Eat your carrot.” Sitting on the couch, I flip open my laptop and find an incoming call from Dr. Lange, the biologist I’m funding. Her picture pops up on my screen, and I promptly close the laptop. I’m still not dressed. One of these days, I’ll learn how these things work. “Just a minute,” I say, throwing on a dress as quickly as I can manage. A single article of clothing is easier. I consider a bathrobe, but it sends the wrong message. “Sorry about that,” I say as I open it back up.

  “It’s fine. I didn’t see anything.” She has a very pretty smile, showing a few too many teeth. If the objects around her are to be believed, she does not live up to her name, as she’s anything but tall. Her blond hair cascades down in waves. I’m not checking her out or anything, but it’s hard not to notice, and she may have had an eyeful of me.

  “Thought I’d clicked the voice button.”

  “It’s fine,” she repeats.

  “Well, I’m Olivia Crocetti,” I offer, introducing myself.

  “I’ve gathered. I’m Hannah Lange.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Lange.”

  “And you as well. Is it Dr. or Ms.?”

  Being a doctor of history and psychology, both from a hundred or more years ago, is hardly relevant to this conversation. “Ms. is fine.”

  “All right then, Ms. Crocetti.” She butchers the pronunciation. I’d like to think I did fine with hers. My German may be rusty, but I do have a master’s in it. “May I ask what interested you in my work?”

  “Of course. I’ve been interested in supporting some biology research that looked promising, and yours seemed very impressive. My knowledge on the subject is quite outdated, and it seemed a fantastic opportunity to brush up on it.”

  “We talking high school outdated or college?”

  “Mostly independent studying.”

  That brings another smile to her face. “Now, that is admirable. And that led you to my work?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Well, I’m flattered.”

  “Think nothing of it. You’re doing good work. I just want to support you.”

  “And take a cut of any contracts it results in.”

  I shrug. “And a good portion of the risk.”

  With a high-pitched laugh, she replies, “You’ve got me there. What would you expect? That I keep you up to date on everything, or would you want to approve all of my decisions?”

  “I only want information. You’re the biologist. I’m only a layperson. I’ll give you money, you give me results and teach me about what you’ve learned. It hardly seems an unfair arrangement.”

  “No, it certainly doesn’t.” She stretches, leaning back in her seat. “All right, you have my interest. I’ve only ever had grants before. I’ll admit, I was hesitant when I first heard your offer. It sounded like selling out.”

  “I don’t represent anyone. I’m a member of the idle rich, and I’d like to do some good with my money. Maybe I’ll earn a profit in the process, but I assure you, it’ll be invested again straight away.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, I’d be a fool not to take you up on it. What do I need to sign?”

  “It should all be pretty standard.” I’m glad there’re a few lawyers in the Community Center. I’d hate to deal with a human for a contract. This call alone is already stressing me out. “I need to make a few adjustments to my normal contract, and I should be able to get them to you tomorrow.”

  “Fantastic. Anything else I should know?”

  “I don’t think so. Have your people look over the paperwork and get back to me.”

  “Thank you. I don’t think I said it before.”

  “It’s my pleasure. You have a good night. I’m going to go see about that contract.”

  “Sounds like a plan. You have a good night too.”

  I hang up as Harvey lands on my shoulder. “Doctor?” he asks.

  “Yes, but not the one you’re thinking of.”

  “Pretty?”

  For a second, I think he’s asking if my new business partner is pretty, making the little bird even more of a pervert than I thought, but it finally hits me. That’s his name for Mia. He never learned an alternative. “No, not her. Maybe you’ll see her again someday.”

  “Tea.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stand up. “Maybe later. I have some errands to run. Take care of the place while I’m gone.”

  He salutes me with his foot. I swear he knew how to do that when I got him.

  * * *

  My normal lawyer is out of the office today. If I didn’t want to sign this contract before someone else has time to snatch her up, I’d head out, but I check to see if anyone else is available. “Of course,” a perky little selkie paralegal says. “Dovana is finishing up with another client. If you’ll take a seat in there, she’ll be with you in a minute.” She gestures at a cubicle with a table and a chair on either side of it.

  “Thank you.” I take a seat, waiting as patiently as I can. I hate crowds, even if they’re not human. Though a selkie barely even counts as not human.

  A few minutes later, a woman sits across from me. My chair squeaks on the tile floor as I slide back. She looks human. Pale and blond but still human enough. Only, her blood doesn’t smell like food. It’s too tainted by the fae. A changeling?

  “Hi, I’m Dovana Gudaitiene. What can I help you with?”

  I collect myself enough to go over everything. She’s a changeling; it’s fine. No changeling has ever even bothered me in the slightest. By the time we’re finished with the contract, I’m almost as comfortable as with my regular lawyer.

  “I think that should be about it,” she says, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Sign here, here, and here, and I’ll notarize it, and we can fax it over to her.”

  “Thank you.” I grab a pen and sign where she pointed. I don’t need to read it again for a third time. I tried taking a couple law courses once but couldn’t stomach it. It’s the driest reading I’ve ever encountered in my life, and I have a degree in economics. I sent Dr. Lange an email a few hours ago asking for a way to fax the contract, and while it sounds like it’s not the easiest method for her to receive it, she found a way. We send it over, and I leave my lawyer in peace. “Have a good day, Dovana.”

  “You as well, Olivia. I trust I’ll see you again soon.”

  “I’m certain of it.” We shake hands, and I head back out into the main hall of the Community Center. I’m pretty well stocked on blood, but since Harvey hates my English breakfast, I may as well buy some tea while I’m here. I find the loose-leaf tea shop that I usually visit, though it’s been long enough that it seems to have relocated. Online shopping is simply too convenient. “Ms. Crocetti,” the young nymph greets me. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

  I suppose I shouldn’t be sur
prised that everyone knows me. I’ve been coming here for over a century. Well, here meaning the Community Center. It moves around once or twice a decade. “Ms. Floros, I trust you’re doing well. I hope the same of your wives and husband?”

  She smiles, her green teeth showing. “How kind of you to remember. Yes, we’re all doing quite well. Is there anyone new in your life? I know my sister seemed quite interested when she saw you back in the 80s, if you’re free.”

  “Interested” is putting it lightly. She was indefatigable. Even after a good helping of blood, I could hardly walk straight for a week. “I’m not actually sure right now,” I admit. “Do give her my best wishes when you see her.”

  “Of course. I’ll let you know the next time she’s in town, if you’d like.”

  I suppose I can’t guarantee I’ll be more serious with Mia by then or that she’ll even be alive. Crisanta rarely leaves Greece. “That would be wonderful.” I look over her impressive collection of tea. They grow it all themselves and aren’t great at labels, so it can be a bit of work to find exactly what you’re looking for, but you can’t beat the quality.

  “I have some caffeine-free tea. I don’t have it set out as it’s rarely requested.” She bends over, opening up a box under the table.

  “Thank you. Yes, the usual assortments there, and a normal English breakfast if you have it. Harvey hates it, and sometimes, it’s just nice to have caffeine.”

  “Of course.” She flashes another smile at me as she stands back up, holding a few bags of loose leaves and snatching another from the table without even looking. “That should be, well, let’s call it forty dollars. I’ll give you a little discount.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “It’s fine. It’s good to see you again.”

  I thank her and hand over the money. I should come here more often. It’s nice being able to be around a crowd that doesn’t set me off, and a lot of the shop owners are surprisingly friendly. Though there are exceptions, as Mia found out the other day. “You have a great day,” I call over my shoulder as I head toward the exit, only to immediately be stopped by—