by Lund, S. E.
"Oh, yes you do know about it. Just remember, he's still a priest in his mind, if not in office. He has ethics so despite how attracted he is to you, he won't act on them. I on the other hand, have only appetites."
His admission makes me strangely warm. He has appetites. Michel has ethics. But for someone with such ethics, Michel sure seemed ready to betray them, kissing me twice. Making me feel his desire when he did. The two are so different – like night and day.
Julien motions to the waitress, who comes by and takes his order for a double chocolate milkshake.
He stands after she leaves, and takes off his hat and coat. In the very short moment while he's busy hanging it on the coat hook, I examine his body. He's well-built although not overly buff like a bodybuilder, but there's a sense of strength and hardness to his body beneath his clothes. Narrow hips and tight ass fitting very nicely in his low slung faded jeans and thick black belt. Wider shoulders almost straining at his black t-shirt. He sits down again. From beneath the scarf he keeps on hangs a wooden crucifix on a long black leather rope.
"God, I hated the fifties," he says and glances around. "Everyone was so uptight. There was the whole nuclear holocaust thing starting. McCarthyism took over, making everyone paranoid. I'm more of a sixties and seventies man myself. You know – hippies, pot, free love. But then again, I did love the nineties – the seventeen-nineties, that is. Mozart, Beethoven. Hell, I loved the whole eighteenth century, for that matter. The Age of Enlightenment. Vienna. Paris. Rome. Florence. The French Revolution was great for vampires."
I shake my head and just stare at him in amazement. "It must be wonderful to live so long, see so much."
He tilts his head to one side for a moment, looking at me. "There are some perks to being damned."
"Damned?"
"You know. Undead. Fallen. Vampire…"
"Don't tell me you ascribe to the cursed by God thing?"
"Oh, we're cursed all right," he says. "And who else but God would do it?"
I shake my head. "I'm an atheist. I don't believe in curses." The waitress brings my tea and I stir in some sugar.
"Ah but God believes in you, Eve, no matter what you believe."
"You were a priest as well?"
He leans back, clasping his hands, his fingers entwined. "Yes. Until the Church went against my father."
"Michel said you left the Church?"
He nods and looks around as if he doesn't like this line of questioning.
"So, what are the other perks?" I ask, curious.
"Strength, I suppose. Senses are superior. Speed helps when someone's chasing you with a stake." He takes in a breath and leans forward, his grin starting. "Un-believable stamina, not to mention knowledge gleaned through hundreds of years of practice." He wags his eyebrows suggestively.
I feel my cheeks heat at that and glance away, unable to hide my own grin.
"God, you're sweet looking, Eve," he says. "And that blush." He mock-frowns and puts his hand over his heart as if in pain.
The waitress returns with our food and Julien takes a big sip of his shake.
"A vampire drinking a milkshake in a fifties diner," I say, while I cut up my omelet. "Who would have ever thought?"
"Come on, Eve. We're just humans who have a really hard time dying. We do everything the same as you. Eat, sleep. Fuck." He grins. "So," he says, leaning forward. "Tell me about what happened since I last saw you."
"We've met before?"
"Not formally. Your mother kept you away from me," he says, grinning, and I wonder if he takes anything seriously. "Didn't want to scare you, but I think you saw me once at your house when you got up late at night and I was walking to the bathroom. You screamed, if I recall, because you saw me in the dark. Your mother had to assure you that I wasn't a monster. Or," he says and makes a face, "at least, not one who was going to hurt you."
The waitress arrives to ask us how everything is and he thanks her, touching her hand, smiling like he's some kind of celebrity. She's all giggly and leaves, whispering to the other waitress when she goes behind the counter.
"You were saying?" I don't know why his paying attention to the waitress bothers me, but it does.
"Oh, yes," he says, turning back to me. "Your mother wanted to wait until you were a bit older before you met an actual vampire. But I was around, in the background, watching. I met with her quite a lot to discuss the Council. She was having a hard time deciding which side to take and I was trying to influence her as was Michel. Did she support the treaty? Did she support eradication of us all? It was difficult for her because she actually liked some of us."
"What do you support?"
"The Treaty, of course. Anything else would be suicide."
"Michel wants to eradicate all vampires."
"You don't have to tell me that," he says, and for once he's serious. "That's why we're not the best buds any longer. I happen to like existence." He takes a sip of his milkshake. "I like it a lot. Let me tell you something I've learned in the long years of my life. Existence is far preferable to death. Mortality sucks. Dying sucks."
"You say your 'life', but you’re a vampire. You're dead."
"I'm not really dead," he says. "I'm undead. Undying. There's a difference."
"What do you know about my mother's death?"
He exhales heavily, as if he doesn't want to discuss it.
"Not much. She was working late at the office. You were reading in another room when she was attacked. You found her and remained with her for hours until a janitor found you with her body. You were in shock. They took you to the hospital and you were almost catatonic. Your father fell apart in the weeks that followed, and he stopped caring for you. You were supposed to go into a Council-sponsored foster family when you father cracked up and was put in the asylum but somehow, both you and your file were lost and that was it. We lost track of you. It's all there in the files at the SCU."
"What was in the manuscript that you wanted my mother to read? Was there some clue about vampires and how to destroy them all?"
"I don't know why your mother wanted it so badly. I think she wanted to understand what we faced when we became vampires. What it was like. She was surprised that not all of us were monsters."
"So it's not important to her research?"
"She seemed to think so – that there might be hints somewhere that she could use. I'm not up on the science side of things but I do know they were looking at gene therapy to alter vampire DNA. Also human. There's also lots of good info at the SCU, if you do become a Blood Witness and of course, your mother's files."
I finish my omelet and check my watch.
"Speaking of which, I have to go. I have to meet Michel at the SCU." I motion to the waitress for the check.
"Let me get this," Julien says. "I think I'll stay and listen to some early Motown."
"Thanks," I say and place a ten-dollar bill on the table. "But I'm able to pay for myself."
"Eve," he says and pushes the money away. "Really. I may not look it but I'm a viscount with a huge inheritance. Let me get this."
I relent and take the money back. "Very well."
He stands and watches while I get my things together then extends his hand once more. I take it and he leans down once more and kisses it.
"It was really nice to meet you, and see that you're doing well. Good luck tonight," he says. "I hope you won't need it."
I force a smile. I don't know if I'm doing well. I seem to have found myself right in the middle of a very dangerous turn of events. Finally, he lets go of my hand.
"Good night," I say.
When I close the door to the diner, he's still standing there, looking beautiful, watching me through the window.
Chapter 5
"Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence."
Eric Fromm
I open my umbrella against a sudden spring deluge. Darkness does nothing to improve the neighborhood's ambience and despite the s
ecurity detail, I glance nervously behind me, still spooked by the darkness. Shadows fall long across the sidewalks and spill out from alleyways when I arrive at the Foster Building. I feel like prey aware of my vulnerability, but not knowing where the predator hides, in wait for a chance to pounce but I know it's there – somewhere.
I climb the steps to the old brownstone huddled between an empty lot and an abandoned brewery. There's no intercom. The door is unlocked and I enter and walk to the elevator to take it to the second floor. As the old doors close and the elevator jerks into service, I shake out my umbrella and wipe a few stray drops of rain from my cheeks. Whatever's waiting for me on the other side of the elevator doors, I hope I can handle it.
The elevator opens and admits me to a small hallway. There's a door across from me and I knock.
"Come," a voice says from the other side.
I enter and find myself in a dojo – a small room with mats on the floor used for martial arts training. At the front of the room, a man and woman sit and so I go to them, my backpack in one hand, my umbrella in the other. The man looks like some kind of cop with a shirt and tie and half-eye glasses and the woman is very hard looking, with short grey hair and tortoise shell glasses perched on the end of her nose.
"Hello. I'm Eve Hayden. I'm here for the interview."
Then motion out of the corner of my eye distracts me and I turn to see Michel, dressed in black SWAT-like uniform, short Wakizashi swords at the ready.
Holy hell. I wasn't expecting this.
I glance at the two people and see they're waiting, watching expectantly to see what I do. I glance around the dojo, and on a table at the side of the room are several wooden weapons.
"I hope you can fight," Michel says quietly. "If you can't, you're of no use to us."
He lunges at me, challenging me. What the hell? Does he expect me to fight him? With what? Wooden practice swords?
I hesitate for a second then drop my bag and umbrella, running away from Michel as he comes at me. I reach the table on which the wooden swords rest and grab them. I face him, and something strange happens to me. I can't understand it, but everything seems to slow down, like everyone but me is stuck in molasses. It's like I'm in a different time dimension from them and I can see Michel's intentions in the tiniest movements of his muscles, the smallest change in direction in his line of sight, and the way he tenses.
I throw myself at him, my wooden blades slamming him on the side of his head and he's like a statue. I dive and roll, then rebalance, my wooden swords poised. Time returns to normal and I watch him respond, stumbling and then righting himself.
"Commendable," he manages, raising his swords once more.
He challenges me and the time thing happens again. I lunge at him, aiming my swords at his to disarm him. His response is too slow and my blades strike a direct blow, knocking a sword out of his hand and it goes flying. Now he has only one sword.
I can fight.
I land, use my momentum to pivot, plant my feet, blades up and at the ready, and then I feint to the left. Michel responds but I jump at him from the right, knocking away his other sword and then, with my wooden swords crossed, I catch him against the neck before he can respond. The force of my weight knocks him backwards and he stumbles. Together, we fall back on the mat.
If my blades were real, he'd be without a throat. Only after we come to a stop with my wooden blades still at his neck does time return to normal for me. Michel raises his arm behind my back, but it's more of an embrace than a threat.
"Beautiful." There's real pleasure – and some admiration – in his blue eyes.
I'm lying on top of him, my face just inches away from his and he's so beautiful with those perfect blue eyes and dark lashes, the full lips, and I have the most irrational urge to just lean down and kiss him.
For a moment, I'm tempted and he looks in my eyes, lips parted as if waiting. I move closer, my heart racing, and Michel's eyes close, but then the man from the table pulls me off him and the moment passes. I adjust my clothes, which are all out of shape from the struggle. I'm barely out of breath.
"What do you think?" the man says, his hands on his hips as he examines me. "How'd she do?"
"Perfect," Michel says as he stands, and he sounds truly impressed.
"What the hell is going on?" I say, glancing between them. "I thought I was here for an interview."
"This was the first test," Michel says. "We had to see if you could fight and beat me. Beat a vampire."
I can beat a vampire… The thought does something strange to me, a thrill goes through me, but I remember what my mother said to me when I'd have nightmares as a child. She said she was faster than the monsters and could kill them.
Now, I know what she meant.
"What happened to me? It was like time slowed down for everyone except me."
"You can see a few seconds ahead of current time when you feel threatened. You have what's called 'fight sight'. The only way a vampire can overcome you is before you feel threatened."
"There are other tests?"
"Yes." Michel picks up his swords and puts them on the table and then takes the wooden practice swords from me.
"That was the most important one, but yes, there are others."
He comes back to my side. In his hand is a dagger, which he places in my hand, closing my fingers around it.
"When you hold this, what do you see?"
I frown and try to pull my hands away, but he holds them firmly.
"Just let your mind blank for a moment. Remember the connection I showed you the other night. Think of how it felt. Open yourself to the knife. Let the images come to you. Don't be afraid."
I relent and focus on the dagger, its steel blade shining in the overhead light. I remember when Michel touched me the night we met and that strange connection that formed between us. I glance down at my hands on the blade and try to imagine forming that kind of connection with it.
The ivory hilt has strange symbols etched that resemble letters from the Russian Cyrillic alphabet. I turn it over in my hand and close my eyes, trying to blank my mind as Michel instructs. Then I feel as if the ground beneath my feet heaves and my stomach lurches with it. The world around me disappears and I'm in a room somewhere, the walls dirty, pockmarked, the furniture worn. On a table, plates and cups are stacked, half-empty bottles line up beside them, and in the center is an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Everything is covered in flecks of crimson.
I turn in the vision and see a man leaning back in his chair, a bloody gash from one side of his neck to the other, the blood flowing down his chest, bubbles of blood frothing out of his mouth. The scent of blood is thick, turning my stomach and I glance down and see blood covering my hands and arms, and in my hand is the bloody dagger.
I'm trying to cut off the man's head.
I cry out, dropping the blade. As soon as I do, the vision dissipates and I'm back at the dojo. Michel reaches out to steady me as vertigo strikes, holding me up as my bearings return, taking one of my hands in his.
"Tell me what you saw."
I look in his eyes. "I saw," I say struggling to speak over my dizziness. "I saw a man with his throat slit. I was covered in blood. The dagger was in my hand…"
"Yes," he says. "It was used in a recent murder. I brought it along to show you what your gift is. This is why you're so valuable."
I close my eyes for a moment and try to calm myself. When I feel somewhat better, I try to pull my hand out of his but he resists me.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I say and finally, Michel lets go of my hand. "I feel a bit dizzy, that's all."
He nods. "It affects people differently." He bends down and picks up the dagger, returning it to the table.
"What happened? How did I do that?"
"You have touch telepathy, like I already said. But more than that, you can feel memory traces of violence in the objects you touch. When humans commit violent acts, their extreme emoti
ons leave traces in the material they touch – weapons, everyday objects that have been touched soon afterwards. This exists at the quantum level and persists over time, depending on the material. In some materials, it persists longer, in others much shorter. After a while, the traces lose their power and vanish so it has to be relatively recent violence."
"How long does it last?"
"Depends on the person who left the trace, depends on the intensity of the event, depends on the material. Could be a few hours, a few days, or even weeks."
"I've never felt it before."
"You've led a very sheltered life. You've been kept from violence on purpose because your parents wanted to mute your gift, keep it from being used. If you had grown up in a violent environment, you would have felt it and it would have really bothered you. Since you weren't, you have to learn to use it, learn to focus it like any skill. The more you do this, the better you will get."
I try to understand what just happened and glance around, hoping to shut the awful image off in my mind's eye.
"Agent O'Neil will take you upstairs to sign some papers and let you know when the next test will take place. Go." He nods toward Agent O'Neil.
O'Neil leads me to the door to the stairwell and to the third floor. I glance back at Michel as I leave the dojo.
He's smiling to himself.
* * *
Agent O'Neil – Ed, he says I should call him – sends me home after I sign a few papers, including a contract to work with the SCU.
Ed introduces me to his partner Dr. Terri Starr and we shake hands. She says they knew my mother and that they're happy that I've resurfaced and am old enough to take on this role. They've been looking for almost a decade for me – since she died and I was taken into state custody and the file was lost – or stolen, they're not sure which.
Then I leave, going back down the elevator and out the empty entryway to the street. I'm surprised – and a little saddened – that Michel doesn't come up to the third floor and say anything to me before I leave.
I beat him – the memory of the very short battle and the moment after when I almost kissed him lingers on my mind. It all happened so fast. It was like something took over and I knew how to defend myself and how to attack. In the excitement of the moment, my emotions almost got away from me.
