The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3)

by K. P. Ambroziak

  Beck leaned over the body of his fallen friend and sobbed. “Tim was closest to the door,” he said. “Timmy … was … closest.”

  “I couldn’t see his face,” Paul said. “But I knew—I knew—it wasn’t you.”

  “Did he speak?” I asked.

  By now I had suspected it was the nomad, but when they described his voice, I knew.

  “It was sinister, dark,” Paul said. “And he was speaking Russian or something like that.”

  “Romanian,” I said.

  “You know him then?” I assumed there was no reason to deny it. “He just—just—jumped—pounced like an animal right on …” Paul said, dropping his chin.

  I was grateful I had been with the girl. If not, Wallach may have found her instead. Alessandra would not have had the wherewithal to take him. I did not need to guess why he stopped at Tim. He had vomited up the man’s ichor shortly after consuming it. I assumed his affinity for animal blood had become so powerful he could no longer stomach human. “I need to take the body with me,” I said.

  I snatched up the remains before the men could protest and left the hovel. I will track the nomad and make him pay for his trespass.

  11 December. — I spent the night looking for Wallach, but he is gone. Before I went out, I moved the men closer to the other two. I left Alessandra to watch over all of them—in retrospect, probably not the most rash decision.

  “Will we be safe here?” Paul asked.

  It was a fair question, though one I did not answer. “You will not be put in restraints again,” I said.

  “Tim believed you—we all did,” Paul said, “when you told us we’d be safe here.” I could not change the past. “I still want to believe that,” he said.

  “I shall renew my efforts to keep you safe,” I said.

  When I left Wallach on the rock ledge near the bluff, I was certain he was finished. His appearance in my camp meant there would be others. Paul sat by the hearth, placing logs on the fire one at a time, while Beck lay on the stone floor with his back to us.

  “I’m sure Tim didn’t know what was happening,” Paul said. “It was worse for us.”

  I was only slightly surprised by his narcissism.

  “It was traumatic—the horror,” Paul said. “He gripped Tim by the scalp and yanked his head back then stuck one of his long claws into his neck—right here.”

  Paul showed me the spot to which he referred. It was almost as if he needed to share the details with me.

  “Right in the jugular,” he said. “Blood went everywhere—and he stuck out his tongue and put his mouth on the wound—and then—”

  “Shut up,” Beck said.

  Paul looked at me and I restrained myself from licking my lips.

  “Just shut up,” Beck said again. “Shut up.”

  I excused myself then, telling them Alessandra and I would be watching over them all night. I had already turned my back to go when Beck lunged at me. I had not seen him stand up. I almost laughed when I felt his tiny hand on my throat, but the steel of the pistol abated the urge.

  “Kneel,” he said.

  “Beck,” Paul said. “What are you doing?”

  Paul moved toward his friend. Beck tried to close his hand around my throat but could not get a grip. He pressed the gun to my temple and though I did not feel the barrel on my skin, I knew a bullet at close range could do some damage.

  “You’re the reason he’s gone,” Beck shouted. “It’s your fault—you killed him.”

  “Beck.” Paul matched his intensity, enraging him even more. I was calm, as I strategized my escape—and his demise.

  “No,” Beck said. “If he didn’t lock us up—we could’ve got away. Tim could’ve—I would’ve shot the bastard just like I’m going to shoot this one.”

  He pressed the gun into my temple, emphasizing each word with a tap on my skin. He was too excited to notice my flesh did not give under the pressure.

  “Beck,” Paul said, “you don’t want to do this. Vincent’s not to blame here.”

  “Bul-l-l-l-l-l-shit.”

  He was hostile, getting louder with each objection. I tried to seduce him with my words, using the melodic tone I had relied on so often in the good ole days. “I know your pain,” I said, “I have lost loved ones too—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” My charm was not effective with everyone.

  He cursed and raged, as he squeezed my throat. He must have felt the texture of my skin, he must have noticed his grip failing; he could not damage my flesh and his hand probably hurt from the tension. I assumed he would tire before pulling the trigger. As I sat there with the raving man’s barrel on my temple, I wondered how I had missed his having a gun. I suppose it never occurred to me they would be armed.

  “You will pay for Tim’s—” The man’s grip faltered, as he swallowed his words. The gun went flying across the dirt floor and he fell to the ground beside me. I looked up at Helgado, standing over Beck with the butt end of his machete poised.

  “The baby sleeps,” he said in broken English. “I don’t have … how you say … want this loud voices to wake her.”

  Paul nodded. “We’re sorry,” he said. “He’s just …”

  Helgado held up his hand to Paul, brushing off his excuses before leaving the hovel as discreetly as he had arrived.

  I smiled—I would have never thought the boy would be saving me.

  12 December. — I spoke with Alessandra when I returned at dawn.

  “He is gone,” I said.

  “Will he be back?”

  “I cannot be sure,” I said. “But I doubt he only came for the men.”

  “The baby?”

  “Her, Evelina,” I said. “Me. Revenge is a strong motivator.”

  “He must be nothing to you,” she said. “You can destroy him, no?”

  Yes—but I thought I had. “I do not know how he made it past the bloodless in the field,” I said. “He must have scaled the cliff from the sea.”

  “Didn’t you feel him coming?”

  I did not want to answer that—knowing I had not heard his frequency bothered me. I brushed off the question and asked about the newborn.

  “She is healthy,” Alessandra said. “Evelina is … well, she suffers a little I think.”

  “How so?” I had not felt her sorrow or pain since the nomad showed up. The death of the other has kept me occupied.

  “She’s asking for you,” she said.

  “Has she eaten?” I could not feed if she had not.

  “No,” she said. “She tells me she’s nauseated.”

  I tried to subdue the pang of thirst that hit me when I thought of her suckling the child. “Is the baby feeding?”

  Alessandra nodded as though nostalgic for better days, human days.

  “And how did you handle all that blood?” I asked.

  She sighed. “It was easy,” she said. “I’ve fed on animal blood too long to desire anything else.”

  “You know human blood gives you more strength,” I said. “It makes you—”

  “I know,” she said. “But I can’t.”

  I respected her decision, though I could not understand it. I assumed her nature was inauthentic, as was her genesis. I felt sorry for her—it is no way for a vampire to live.

  “Go see Evelina,” she said. “She’s looking for you.”

  Later. — I delayed seeing her for as long as I could. If she had not eaten, I could not taste the thing I wanted most. I did not think I could sit with her if I could not feed. When I finally gave in, I found her with the baby asleep in her arms. I could distinguish the two smells now—the mother’s being the only one I desired.

  She smiled at me. “You look hungry,” she said. “Come, let me feed you.”

  It sounds macabre, I know. She held her newborn near her breast, but wanted to nurse me instead. I would not resist her for long.

  “I’m ready again,” she said. “The baby’s here now and we can go back to like it was.”

 
She dropped her head to the side and stretched her shoulder downwards. It was perfectly perverse to bite the nape of a new mother. My fangs dropped. I sat beside her and caressed her neck, as the boy came into the hovel.

  “She has to eat first,” he said.

  I turned to him with a scowl. I could have ripped open his chest for the interruption.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”

  I was not a complete devil. “You have to eat something,” I said.

  The boy took the baby from her and placed it in the bassinet, and then offered her a handful of cherries. She put them in her lap, plucking off the stem one at a time before popping them into her mouth. Her lips and teeth were soon stained red and I ran my tongue over mine in anticipation. I had never desired to kiss the girl until that moment. A blood obsession will do that—it can fool one into thinking they are in love. I have seen many vampires fall into that trap. It never leads to anything good.

  When the boy left, I sat down beside her again.

  “What?” She asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  She sighed, as she bit into another cherry, sucking on it before chewing it up. I waited for her to offer herself to me again but her thoughts moved on to other things. She reached for the sack of Dilo seeds tucked beside her cot and clutched it in her hands. Clearly emotional, she started to cry. “I know they’re coming,” she said.

  She could not have known about Wallach. We had agreed not to tell her.

  “Who?” I asked. “The bloodless?”

  “The ones in my dreams.”

  “The bloodless cannot breach the walls,” I said. “Not with the plants there.”

  “These bloodless can,” she said.

  She was being foolish and temperamental but I was tolerant for the moment. I wanted to settle her down so I could enjoy my long delayed nip. The baby stirred in the bassinet and I asked if I should bring her to the girl. “She’ll be fine,” she said coldly.

  “Have you chosen a name yet?” I knew she had named the baby after her sister but I was not sure if she had made it official.

  “There’s no point in naming her,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “She won’t live long,” she said.

  I admit I was taken aback by her austerity. “My darling girl,” I said. “Do not let your feelings overpower you. They will pass.”

  “Feelings,” she said. “They’re not just feelings. I know—I know we’re doomed.”

  I had never seen an outburst quite like it. She was willful and petulant, not like herself at all.

  “Have I not kept you safe?” I asked. I did not match her melodrama but remained stoic, if not compassionate. “What more can I do?” When her despair shifted to adoration, I realized the boy had come back into the room.

  “Alessandra wants to see the baby,” he said.

  He picked up the bassinet and carried it out of the hovel. Evelina looked away and sighed. I wondered if she was not suffering some sort of trauma from the birth, some sort of psychological side-effect. Byron had told me she would be hormonal, and perhaps even depressed after the delivery. I wondered if this was what he meant. I attempted to get up from her side to pour her a glass of grappa, but she held onto my sleeve.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t leave.” She took my hands in hers. “Do you still desire me?”

  I never desired you—just your blood. “Of course,” I said. “We are bonded now.” I am obsessed, I freely admit it, but I can control my addiction if I choose. I can overcome anything—even desire.

  “Now that the baby’s here,” she said, “what good am I to you?”

  I ran the back of my hand along the curve of her clavicle. “Let me show you,” I said.

  My subtle fangs dropped anew and I opened my mouth slightly, exposing the points of my teeth to subdue the wildness in her eyes. “Show me,” she whispered.

  It sounds erotic, I know, but it is not really equatable with human sex. Perhaps sharing the pleasure of a hallucinatory drug is a more fitting analogy. Though my hunger for the girl is not libidinal, my lust for her blood is undeniable. I will suffer almost anything to ingest a drop of it. And some days, I feel like I have.

  As I pulled her blood up into my mouth, letting it slide down my throat, I relished the shot of adrenaline it gave my heart, kicking it into beat. My muscles tensed with the power she gave me. When I felt our exchange come to a close, when her body collapsed in my arms, I withdrew my bite, but like a soft breeze upon a stone I felt Evelina’s hand resist my egress. She held me in place, trying to prevent me from pulling out.

  “Change me,” she whispered. “Make me like you.”

  It was dangerously irresistible—a Siren luring me to the shoal. I hesitated before resisting her offer and she passed out in my arms. I had not done the irreparable, but making her faint was not the gentlest way to feed off her. She would be hungover for several days.

  I basked in the rush of her blood, licking the ichor from my lips. I held her in my arms despite my wanting to fly through the streets, over the wall and into the forest, just to feel my renewed vigor. I was grateful to wash away the blood of the other two—hers was unrivaled. When she stirred, I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. Vincent. Her small dreamlike voice was in my head. Vincent. I waited for her to open her eyes. Vincent. I returned the smile she gave me. “Evelina,” I whispered. “How do you feel?”

  She blinked her eyes and sat up, looking around the room. “Everything is the same,” she said.

  “You were not out for that long,” I said.

  “But why is it the same?”

  It occurred to me then that she thought I had turned her vampire. I could not contain my laughter—the thought was ridiculous. When she pulled away from me, I released her.

  “I told you to change me.” Her petulant tone had returned. “I told you,” she said.

  I did not bother telling her I do not take orders from anyone, especially humans. “I will never make you vampire,” I said. “I would regret your blood too much.” My confession stung her, but I was honest nevertheless.

  “I can’t go on like this,” she said. “I can’t be human.”

  She ripped the neck of her gown as though it constricted her and slapped the inside of her arms, bruising the skin overtop her veins. When she began to wail, I got up and left her there. The boy rushed in with the newborn, as I was leaving. He did not have the courage to ask me what I had done.

  13 December. — The perimeter is holding, though several new swarms have formed at the end of the field near the border of the woods on the other side. We have reloaded the powder on the outside of the wall and the plants are growing rapidly. They will be flowering soon.

  No sign of Wallach, though I expect a return visit. If he got in as easily as he seems to have done, he will be back for more. I can only hope he will be alone again.

  The men will stay put—even the traitor. I decided not to kill him, to give him a reprieve. We have taken away his weapons of course, and I have told them that I will not hesitate to chain them up if need be. In the meantime, I use them as watchdogs, keeping them on the parapet in shifts.

  15 December. — It has been two days since I visited the girl. I regret hurting her, if in fact I have, but she forgets her place, and mine. Alessandra tells me she is doing better, though she still refuses to eat. I have ordered the vampire to cover both Evelina and her child with the remaining incense oil. We need to manage the growing number of bloodless outside our walls even if that means masking the scent of the most desirable humans in our camp. The men will have to do without—we barely have enough left for the girl and her newborn.

  I did not want to leave, but we needed fresh water. I checked the perimeter before I left. I had cleared my mind, silenced my inner dialogue, so I could listen for his frequency. I heard the waves splash up on the rock, but no vampire. I heard the buzzing of vultures in the fields pecking at the howling bloodless, but no vampire. I heard th
e low voices of the humans, but no vampire.

  With a sackful of powder, I made my way over the wall and back to the ravine. I could not ignore my heart’s pounding, working to consume the girl’s blood. My heavy feet crushed the soil beneath my boots, as I made my way past the bloodless. The powder kept them away, but I moved so fast they could not catch me if they tried.

  When I reached the stream, I sensed something strange. I was not picking up a frequency, but a familiar feeling overcame me, as I pictured the faces of my missing clan—Maxine, Elizabeth, Jean, Stephen, Veronica … you, Byron, all came to me. I felt the pull of our union, our commitment to each other, our sacrifice. Sadness nagged at me, as I filled the canteens and lugged them back to the camp. I would not see those faces again—immortal beings I thought I would know forever. I will—

  … — The date escapes me—I am guessing days have passed since my last entry. So much has happened—I do not know if I can record it all from memory but I am determined to try. My future is changed—our history too.

  When I came back from the ravine, I was oblivious to any danger. I did not check on the girl, I went to the smithy and began my journal entry. You cannot imagine how I regret not seeing her, not tasting her again. But the past is irrelevant …

  I remember thinking about all the things I would have to do to prevent others from finding us. I recall his image, as I wrote the words that were my last—will was the final word my pen scribed before her scream tore up the lane. I smelled the smoke at once, and then I heard his frequency, his low grumble echoed through the camp. I rushed out of the smithy and flew the five paces to her hovel—but it was too late.

  She was gone, the baby too, and Alessandra was … was no more.

  The clone’s body was slumped over in the chair. He had slit her throat, almost severed her head from her neck. It had fallen to the side and rested on her shoulder. The cut was clean, made by the edge of a talon. She had not sensed his approach, the danger. The baby held her attention when he yanked her head back and dug his claws into her throat. She still had a smile on her face. She did not have time to say my name.