A Different Hunger

by Lila Richards

  Springer moved his long legs to a more comfortable position and smiled at Rufus. “You’ll already have some inkling of what I felt.”

  Rufus, sitting on the edge of the bed, nodded. “Yes, sir, I think I have. I don’t want to seem intrusive, but I can’t help wondering what happened next. Are you still bound to von Dunkel?”

  Springer sighed, though Rufus heard no sense of relief in it. “I never saw Stefan again. By the time he returned, I was long gone. It broke my heart to leave him, but how could I see him embroiled in the horror that was now my life?

  “As for von Dunkel, he soon realised that far from becoming his willing acolyte I loathed him with all my being, so he was glad to see me go, and hoped to turn the situation to his advantage. But although I dared not tell Stefan the truth, I couldn’t bear to see von Dunkel’s plan succeed, so I left Stefan a note telling him von Dunkel was responsible for my leaving. I later heard that he’d banished von Dunkel from the castle.

  “As soon as I heard of this, I determined to find him, to take vengeance for what he’d done to me. I had little in the way of money – just the horse Stefan had given me, a few clothes, and my knife. Using my newly enhanced faculties, and the tracking skills I’d learned in the army, I eventually ran von Dunkel to earth in the back streets of Vienna, where he preyed upon prostitutes and other refuse of society. By now, of course, I was little better than him, but I had no awareness of that at the time. It does me no credit, but my only thought was revenge.”

  “But, sir, surely that’s understandable after what he did to you,” said Rufus, and then fell silent as the parallel between him and Springer struck him.

  Springer’s lip twisted. “Perhaps I did the right thing by the world, but I can’t pretend I did it for the right reason. At any rate, I eventually found von Dunkel in a rundown part of the old city. He was sleeping rough in the back room of a disused apothecary’s shop, one of a row long-since abandoned. It was shortly before sunset, and he lay asleep on the floor curled up like a dog in a nest of old sacks. He appeared to be unarmed. As I crept towards him, my knife in my hand, he awoke, instantly alert. But he stretched his limbs in a leisurely way, his black eyes mocking me.

  “ ‘I thought it would not be long before you came to me,’ he sneered.

  “Before he could rise to his feet, I threw myself on him, plunging the blade of my knife into his breast with all my vampiric strength. Such a wound would have killed any ordinary man, but von Dunkel merely pushed me aside and sprang to his feet. As he stood there laughing at me, I saw the gaping wound begin to heal over. Within minutes, the only signs of injury were a livid scar and his torn and bloodstained shirt. I had missed the heart I’d been aiming at.

  “ ‘That really is no way to use a family member,’ he said, reaching for his doublet and drawing it on in a leisurely way.

  “ ‘You’re no kin of mine,’ I spat at him.

  “ ‘Oh, but I am,’ he replied. ‘Are we not – blood brothers?’

  “Snarling, I made to spring at him.

  “He laughed. ‘Please, spare yourself the trouble of wounding me again. I shall only heal, you know, for that is the vampire’s nature. And now, time for some supper, I think. I would ask you to join me,’ he gestured at his bloodied shirt, ‘but it would seem you don’t enjoy my company.’

  “He deliberately turned his back on me and strolled towards the door. I wanted desperately to attack him again, but I realised it would be futile. I should have to find some other means of destroying him.

  “As if reading my thoughts, he half-turned at the door, taunting me with his black eyes, ‘Ah, yes, I forgot to mention that we vampires are immortal.’

  “With that, he was gone, leaving me to ponder the ghastly import of his words. I finally left von Dunkel’s den more determined than ever to destroy him if I could. At first, I thought the task would prove impossible, but for all that, I found myself fascinated by the creature who’d destroyed the life I’d loved so much. I couldn’t resist following him like a wolf stalking its prey, though I loathed, with all my heart, what I saw.

  “As my understanding of my new nature grew, I came to loathe myself as well. But the need for blood was a craving that would not be denied. I was as much a slave to it as the opium addict is to his drug. For that, and the loss of Stefan, I hated von Dunkel. Besides finding ways to feed in safety, destroying him became my obsession. Several months later, however, I seemed no nearer to my goal. One night, as I stood in the shadows near the door of some low tavern, watching as von Dunkel sought to lure a young prostitute away to become his unwitting sustenance, a fight broke out nearby. Before the landlord could summon help to quell it, someone knocked a lantern flying, setting fire to one of the curtains. As the flames leapt up and the tavern patrons scrambled to escape, I saw stark terror in von Dunkel’s eyes. I knew I’d found his weak spot at last.

  “In the confusion, I slipped away unseen, waiting nearby until I saw von Dunkel rush out of the burning tavern, his intended ‘supper’ forgotten in his desperation to escape the flames. I followed him back to the apothecary shop and waited to see if he would re-emerge. His dealings with the prostitute suggested he was in need of blood, and I hoped he might be weakened – or at least distracted – by that need. I waited, crouched by the window of the shop next door, where I could see if he left his lair. The fire must have frightened him badly, as by the first rays of sunrise I had caught no sight of him. If my own experience as a vampire were anything to go by, he’d sleep the day away. A plan began to form in my mind.

  “It was a very rudimentary plan, and depended on my being able to stay awake long enough to carry it out. I waited until the sun was well up, and then crept into his den, carrying my knife in my right hand, and in my left a lighted taper formed from a twist of some yellowed paper I’d found lying around.

  “But von Dunkel was nowhere to be seen.

  “I stared about me in alarm. How could he have escaped while I was keeping watch on him? Or was invisibility another of his foul tricks? Once my panic had abated, however, I noticed what looked like a trapdoor in the floor of the room. I crept across to it and saw there was no dust or detritus on or immediately around it, though both lay thick on the rest of the floor. I took hold of the iron ring bolted onto it and pulled it up, inch by careful inch, taking great care not to make a sound. For the first time, I found myself grateful for my new strength and senses. The open trapdoor revealed a narrow staircase leading down to a small cellar. Even from the top of the stairs, I could smell von Dunkel down there. Creeping down the stairs on silent feet, I quickly made out his inert form in the cellar’s farthest corner. To my huge relief, he lay in a deep sleep, curled up on one side on an old mattress with his back to me. As I stood over him, he seemed to me to be dead. I could sense no pulse, no stir of blood in his veins, and his skin was like ashes. For a second, I paused to wonder if I looked like that during my daytime sleep. Then I bent over him and drove my knife hard through his ear and deep into his foul brain.

  “I scarcely dared hope this would kill him, but with luck it would disable him long enough for the rest of my plan to work. As I left, I used the taper to set light to the mattress on which he lay, and to whatever detritus I thought might catch fire quickly. I raced up the stairs and jammed the trapdoor shut with a length of wood I tore from the decaying shop counter. I hadn’t counted on von Dunkel having retreated into the cellar, and could only hope his mattress would produce enough fire to consume him. But I set fire to the shop as well, so even if he managed to escape from the cellar, he’d still have to run a gauntlet of flame.

  “Within minutes, all the dry, rotting wood in the building was ablaze. Despite the brightening sunlight, and my desperate need for sleep, I forced myself to watch until the fire had burnt itself out. I could never be certain, but I think, through the roar of the flames, I heard a thin, high scream, not just of agony, but of sheer, unadulterated fury. So perhaps, before he died, von Dunkel knew I’d had my revenge.”

/>   Springer stood up, pushed his chair back against the cabin trunk, and went to stand by the porthole, staring out through its thick glass at the night sky. After several minutes, he turned to Rufus. “Perhaps now you can see why I feel my vampirism to be something of a curse.”

  Rufus had been sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin. Now he unfolded them and swung them over the edge of the bed. “I can, sir, yes,” he said in sombre tones. “To deprive you of mastery over your own life for the sake of his own safety, that was a terrible thing to do.”

  “It would have been bad enough if it were only that,” Springer’s voice was filled with bitterness, “but I believe it was as much for his amusement as his safety. Can you wonder at my reluctance to bring Serafina across? Being what von Dunkel had been, how could I be certain of my own motives? Oh, I know it was what she wanted, but I’m not sure I’d have agreed, had it not been for that dreadful business in Paris with the Compte de Mar. Has Serafina told you about it?”

  Rufus shook his head. “I think she wanted to, but I thought she was just trying to excuse the inexcusable.”

  Springer smiled. “Well, you clearly have her favour. It’s not something she likes to talk about, even with me. It’s not my tale to tell, but perhaps you should listen to Serafina when you feel up to it. It never hurts to have more than one perspective. At any rate, after that, I realised Serafina was far too naïve for her own good. There are creatures like de Mar everywhere in society preying on innocent young women, and others with even worse proclivities, so I felt she’d be safer as a vampire. At least then she’d have the means to deal with them. I admit my decision was also to my own benefit. I reasoned that if Serafina became a vampire, she’d become more independent, leaving me freer to pursue my own objectives. It wasn’t long, however, before I saw that she’d been so damaged by the appalling uncle into whose care she was given after her father died, that she ran the risk of becoming nothing more than a predator hell-bent on vengeance.”

  “Like von Dunkel?” asked Rufus, inwardly shuddering at the idea.

  “Not exactly,” Springer said. “He was opportunistic and cruel, but I don’t think revenge was his motive. I think he enjoyed it for its own sake. The one I had in mind was…well, never mind that now. The important thing was that I should teach her to retain as much of her humanity as possible, for her sake as much as to appease my own conscience. In those days, they still hunted vampires, attempting to burn us with crosses or fumigate us with garlic.” Springer wrinkled his nose at the memory. “Neither of these worked, of course. Vampirism itself has nothing to do with either religion or evil. However, a stake through the heart would certainly do the trick, just as it would with anyone. In some of the more backward areas they were still burning us to death when they could capture us, and I had no wish to expose Serafina to that. She is, after all, my family.”

  Blood of my blood, thought Rufus. Those were the words Serafina had used.

  Springer nodded, as though he’d heard Rufus’s thought. “It’s certainly made things easier for us since, though when I think of what I’ve denied her – marriage, children, the joy of growing old with someone she loves – I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself. I can only hope you don’t come to resent her for depriving you.”

  Rufus said nothing. He’d been hoping the same thing himself.

  FOURTEEN

  As Serafina had promised, the hunger was never again as ferocious as that first time. Scenting and approaching suitable victims—he still found it difficult to think of them as anything else—continued to cause him considerable apprehension, but this was invariably banished by the sheer, animal pleasure of drinking in their warm, pulsing life force. At first, he found it necessary to have someone on hand when he fed, to prevent him from inadvertently killing his prey. However, despite his undiminished love for Serafina, he couldn’t bring himself to forgive her, and for her part, Serafina kept her distance. So it was Springer who helped him to learn how to scent and hunt prey, how to subdue them by mind control, and to use it to ensure that afterwards they’d remember nothing of what had happened. Also, perhaps most important of all, he learned how to know when he’d taken enough blood, by recognising such signs as shallower breathing and the subtle cooling of skin.

  While he was flush with new blood, Rufus positively gloried in the heightening of his senses. Standing by the poop-deck railing, he could smell not only the piquant tang of the sea, but the fish beneath its waves. He could sense the approach of seabirds long before they came within human view, could feel the air parting to flow round their bodies, and hear their tiny hearts beating as they flew past. On the sea winds, he could scent the aromas of unfamiliar plants growing on unseen islands. All around him he heard the beating of human hearts, the movement of joints and muscles, the soft, alluring surge of blood in veins and arteries. He longed for Serafina’s touch, and the musky scent of her skin, with a hunger that all but eclipsed even his need for blood. At such times, it was as much as he could do to keep from abandoning his resolve and begging her to forgive him for sending her away.

  Yet once the intoxicating tide of fresh blood had ebbed, he would find himself once more prey to doubt and self-recrimination. Part of him detested Serafina for what she had made him, while part desired nothing more than to hold her in his arms. Between the two, he found himself thoroughly confused. He had never thought of himself as religious, but what he had become seemed to make nonsense of even such basic concepts as good and evil. Was he suddenly evil because he was no longer human, or was he now subject to other laws altogether? Or were the very concepts pointless? These and other questions besieged him whenever he was not preoccupied with satisfying the one hunger he could not deny.

  Somewhat to his surprise, Rufus found himself missing food less than he had expected, although this might well have owed something to the fact that by this stage of the voyage the meals had become less than appetising. Conversely, he missed the ordinariness of human company more than he’d imagined he might. Of course, he could still have attended evening entertainments such as the concerts and games evenings Doctor Wells continued to organise from time to time, but he felt unexpectedly self-conscious, as though people would see through his human exterior to the vampire within. Or worse, that those from whom he had fed would recognise him. Even the piano was effectively denied him for fear of attracting an unwanted audience.

  The thought of Serafina hunting drove Rufus half-mad with jealousy. He would find himself picturing her seducing men into her arms in ways he was still human enough to resent. He knew perfectly well that by no means all her victims were men, and that most of them were steerage passengers, since there was less chance of being recognised by them, yet this knowledge did little to ameliorate his torment. But then the hunger would take hold of him and he would prowl the dark ship until he scented what he needed. Sometimes it would be a lone passenger asleep in his or her cabin. These were the easy ones, although now he took the precaution of ensuring they were not personal acquaintances like Mariah Hamilton before he began his dreadful task. At other times he found it necessary to approach crew or passengers on deck, luring them, as he’d seen Springer and Serafina do, with a combination of mind control and honeyed words and phrases. While he was hunting or feeding, his mind would become so focused, so intent upon his task, that he would sometimes find himself back in his cabin again with only the vaguest memory of how he had got there.

  Much of the time, he found himself terrified by desires so overwhelming he seemed always on the brink of being swallowed up until there was nothing left but the shell of his body, inhabited by something alien and elemental – and monstrous. What if it demanded so high a price that it must claim everything he had been? And when there was nothing at all left of his old self, what then? Would he become like von Dunkel? As much as he might remind himself that neither Springer nor Serafina had so succumbed, he seemed unable to shake the suspicion that he might not be so strong.

  One night, Rufus’s prowlin
g led him to a young steerage passenger, a girl hurrying back from an assignation with one of the officers, her thin coat clutched about her, her mind and body still so filled with the pleasure of her encounter that she easily fell prey to his powers. Standing in the drizzle in the shadow of one of the lifeboats, he held her in his arms, drinking in her sexual enjoyment along with her blood, sweet with the rum her lover had given her, and the smell of lavender water and pipe tobacco on her skin and hair. Afterwards, he watched as she scurried across the deck to the hatch leading down to the women’s quarters before returning to his cabin.

  Still half-ecstatic from the fresh blood in his veins, he flopped down on his bed. His mind swirled with a kind of delirium combining both pleasure and a cold, prickling anxiety. Like an opium addict after his pipe, he must have dozed off, as he woke feeling stale and sluggish, yet restless and irritable at the same time. Too ill at ease to concentrate on reading, he decided to go for a walk.

  On the main deck, Rufus raised his head instinctively to scent the cold night air, heedless of the drizzle that was fast turning to sleet-laden rain. He could see the watch house by the flickering light of the watchman’s lantern, but even his enhanced sight could see little more through the drifting curtains of rain. He began to pace about the deck, icy water sluicing over his body unnoticed. How could he bear this half-life to which he’d been condemned? A great wave of despair engulfed him, pressing in on him until he felt scarcely able to breathe. For the first time since his stark introduction to boarding school as a small boy, he felt utterly alone. All but unaware of his actions, he wandered over to the railing and stared down into the heaving, oily mass of water pitted by half-frozen shards of rain. His enhanced sight picked up faint glints like dark rainbows on the waves, but he saw no beauty in them. He seemed to see through them into the stygian depths of the sea. Below the uneasy surface, it seemed so calm, so peaceful. He felt himself drawn to the cool serenity it appeared to offer. It seemed to Rufus then that everything he’d hoped for in life had come to nought. Even the love he had hoped for with Serafina had been ruined, not just by what she’d done, but by his own inability to accept it. And now he was condemned to live forever as some kind of demon. Why shouldn’t he just be done with it, once and for all?